Hinterlands

This is a work of historical fiction.
 
Names, characters, and places are
products of the author’s imagination, or are used in a fictitious manner.
 
Any resemblance to actual events,
locales, or persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
 
No part of this work may be reproduced
or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical without
the express written permission of the author.

Copyright
© 2013 Isha Dehaven

For
the river that flows to the sea

YouMe

A
melia was filled with anxiety and expectation as
the carriage bumped along the dirt highway, and she felt herself jump
involuntarily with each shake and jostle. She was doing her best to look composed
and servile, not an easy task for a girl just turned 18 and away from London
for the very first time.
 
She
clutched her small canvas bag tightly in her lap and sat up straight, just as
her mother had instructed her to do this morning.
 
In fact, those had been mother’s parting
words as the carriage was pulling away: Sit up straight dear! Amelia could
still hear them as if her mother was sitting in the seat beside her. It was a
full 30 miles to Hinterlands estate and the normally smooth road through the
moors had been damaged by days of rain.
 
As a result there were sections of hillside that had washed across the
carriage tracks creating frequent obstacles. Some of these washouts were nearly
impassable, and in those instances the driver had his boy jump down to guide
the horses as they carefully inched passed. After an hour of such holdups, the
driver had apparently grown inpatient and had now decided to simply power
through them as evidenced by the uptick in speed and violence of the ride.
 
Amelia tried to turn her thoughts away
from the dangers of the road and on to more positive things.

The sun shone with
a brilliance that would cheer anyone, and Amelia knew she should feel buoyed at
the prospect of this new situation: serving Lord Dunmoor at the grand country
estate Hinterlands.
 
Amelia’s mother
had arranged for the serving position over a year ago when Amelia was just
seventeen, and its importance couldn’t be overemphasized. The money she earned
here would help provide a future for her mother and her many sisters at home.
After the loss of their father to violence when Amelia was only 11 all of the
children had made due bringing in what money and food that they could, in order
to make ends meet.
 
It was a rough
existence in the streets of St. Giles, and the girl’s skirts and faces were
often dirty with coal and soot spewed forth from the many chimneys that covered
the ever-growing city. Their mother had been forced into working long hours as
a washerwoman for a wealthy widow in a distant part of the city, and as a
result of this, Amelia had fallen into her mother’s role at home, her young
life a continual struggle to care for her three sisters. Often, they could
afford only the smallest pieces of coal, and the girls had spent many nights
shivering in their small cottage, their bodies pressed together before a tiny
fire.
 
At those times she often
dreamed of being fabulously rich, and never having to freeze again.
 
It all seemed a world away.

Amelia thought of
these things now as she stared from the window of the carriage.
 
She was far from the world of London and
she wished to make it far from her mind as well.
 
She thought instead of her body-scrubbed
clean and slightly perfumed, with the faintest touch of rosewater—a
parting gift from her youngest sister. She also admired the fine cream-colored
working dress she was wearing, one that her mother had sewn herself over the
past two weeks.
 
She ran her hands
over the fabric, cool to the touch, smoothing it against her slender thighs.
She checked that her blonde hair was wound tightly into the working bun that
was customary for her position.
 
Amelia was very proud of her hair, and had always taken great care to
keep the wavy golden strands healthy and clean.
 
She shifted slightly in the seat,
adjusting to the feel of her new stockings and pantaloons.
 
She had never felt so formal, although
she was only preparing to work as a housemaid. This position had meant
everything to her mother and sisters.
 
It was a chance at a new life for them all and she felt a great pressure
pushing her from behind, urging her forward. The young girl inside of her
however, the one who sought out adventure and romance, this girl too felt
something.
 
A deep craving that
seemed to emanate from nowhere and everywhere at once, and she couldn’t
identify it even if she had tried. Yet nevertheless, as Amelia watched the
rolling hills pass by she felt the subtle stirrings of happenstance, tugging
gently at her heart.

As
for Lord Dunmoor, Amelia only knew what was spoken of him by her mother’s employer
in London. He was alleged to be a fair man, just, and fabulously wealthy.
 
He had spent the better portion of his
life fighting with the regiments in distant locales, earning commendation in
the Crimea. He was said to have a passion for horses, and was rumored to have
the most extensive stables in the north of England.
 
As the Carriage approached the house,
she could see just how expansive the stables actually were, long wooden
buildings stretching through the lush green glens, nestled in vast expanses
with beautiful horses running free across the grasses and purple nettles.
 
Here and there she spied servants, like
herself, corralling the horses or brushing their fine manes.
 
A large barn-like building that must
have been the serving quarters stood at the end of a long drive, and even this
structure seemed to have a loveliness about it, as if there had been great care
taken in its construction. But that was not to be Amelia’s place. She was to
work in the manor house itself, serving Lord Dunmoor and his guests
personally.
 
Her mother had trained
her for years to serve, just had as she her self had served, and Amelia had no
doubt that she was up for the job.

The
manor house came into view and Amelia was flabbergasted.
 
It was simply the most beautiful home
that she had ever seen.
 
Large and
gray, it resembled a castle more than a house, with many turrets and wings that
extended skyward in myriad fashions. The drive curled back and forth in its
approach to the house, and Amelia found herself being seduced by the sheer
romance of the place, from its large windows which gazed out upon picturesque
ponds filled with geese, to its ivy-covered arches and cornices, obviously
molded by the hands of some master craftsman many years before. She wondered
what lay in store for her within those stony walls, and made up her mind that
she would do her best to serve the house well, and make her mother proud.

The
carriage ground to a halt and an older white-haired gentleman opened the door
for her to get out.
 
He was wearing a
long camel-hair coat and extended his hand to help her step over a small
puddle.
 
Clutching her one canvas
bag tightly to her bosom and taking his hand, she stepped down from the
carriage, feeling her heels crunch into the soft gravel. She glanced up at her
new home, admiring the finely ornamented gables, and fine French style
panes.
 
It was the most elegant
looking place a girl from London could imagine. The view was far too brief
however, as she was quickly ushered into a side entrance by the older gentleman.

“I
am Stephen Kendlewood, the Butler here at Hinterlands”, he piped in a thick
Irish brogue as he led her down a hallway bustling with servants, “…but while
you work for Lord Dunmoor you will call me Mr. Stephen. Is that understood Ms?”
 

“Kerrick.”
Amelia replied with a bow of her head, “Amelia Kerrick”.
 
They travelled past the massive kitchens
and down a number of labyrinthine hallways in the bowels of the house, turning
right and left before coming to a halt at the end of a particularly poorly lit
alcove. Mr. Stephen opened a well-used door and gestured inside.
 

“Well
Ms. Kerrick, you will be rooming here with Ms. Corzan and Ms. Enders.
 
Presently, they are turning out the beds
for the evening and aren’t here right now.
 
No matter, get yourself settled in and report to me in the kitchen in
about 30 minutes.
 
There’s no point
standing on ceremony here Ms. Kerrick.”

The
room was tiny, cool and dark but was neat.
 
The walls were covered in peeling paint that had originally been a shade
of green but had over the years faded into a wholly indescribable color. There
were three small beds with chests at the foot, and Amelia chose the only one
that was obviously vacant.
 
As she
removed her only pair of traveling shoes and stretched her aching feet, she wondered
what had become of the last girl to inhabit this space.
 
She hoped that she had gone on to make a
life for herself, but knew there was a good chance the girl had died of fever.
 
It had ravaged the countryside the past
year and she had heard from her mother that this was how she had obtained this
position in the first place.

Amelia
had just placed a foot onto her clothing chest in order to adjust her
stockings, tightening the small straps that kept them hoisted up her thigh when
the door opened suddenly startling her.
 
It was a foreign girl of 18 or 19 with dark eyes and a fierce but
staggeringly beautiful face.
 
Amelia
dropped her skirt, flushing crimson. Her shyness had always been a problem, and
she knew she would have to overcome it as a housemaid, but some things are
easier said than done.

“Who
are you?”
 
The girl demanded with an
accent that Amelia had never heard before.
  

“I’m
the new girl Amelia Kerrick” she said holding out her hand and smiling as
sweetly as she could.
 
The dark
skinned girl didn’t take it, staring at her suspiciously. She closed the door
behind her and immediately began unbuttoning a line of fasteners down the side
of her working dress, considering Amelia skeptically.
 

‘There’s
no way to be bashful in thees place. You will find it’s a waste of time.
 
Here help with thees buttons!” the girl
commanded with authority, and Amelia began helping her unfasten buttons on the
back of the dress.
 
She fumbled
awkwardly with them, perhaps due to nervousness, or this girl’s aggressive tone.
As the buttons came apart she found herself looking at the delicate black hairs
on the back of the neck, curling this way and that. The girl’s skin was also
dark and smooth, and her body gave off an odor that was sweet, like cocoa and
rich with a spice that Amelia couldn’t identify.
 
As she helped her out of the dress and
it fell in a bundle around her feet, Amelia realized with shock that this girl
had been essentially naked beneath the dress, no brazier, no pantaloons. She
now stood plainly in her stockings and boots and nothing else. Amelia turned
her face away, wishing suddenly to be in any room but this one, but not before
she had seen the gracefully turned neck, the long smooth muscles of the girls
back, and her round buttocks. All of these curves were accentuated with her
sheer stockings and stocking belt. Amelia had never seen a woman like this, so
lurid and shameless.
 
Feverish
warmth spread throughout her body.

“Miss….you…I”
Amelia stammered.

“Enza”
the girl replied nonchalantly, rummaging through her chest looking for some
piece of clothing.
 
She seemed
brazen about her nudity the way she bent over, almost intentionally
provocative. She paused to pull up her stocking, taking her time. Then, finding
a blue serving dress with white lace, she turned to face Amelia revealing her
nakedness fully. “You don’t understand how things go here girl. But you will
tonight.
 
You will see how Lord
Dunmoore is served, and then you will know your place here.”
 
Holding the dress in her hands, but
making no attempt to put it on and cover her nakedness, she sauntered directly
up to Amelia backing her into the wall. She stopped only inches away, so close
that Amelia could feel her breath. Gently turning Amelia’s chin toward her, she
peered directly into her eyes.