Edwardian Awakening

Edwardian Awakening

Emy Naso

Chippewa Publishing • Wisconsin

Sale of this book in printed/hard copy on paper is unauthorized unless the copyright of Chippewa Publishing. This book is released in eBook format only by Chippewa Publishing. Sales of this eBook on a site other than the Chippewa Publishing bookstore is prohibited. If you have not paid for this book in eBook format, please visit our site at http://www.chippewapublishing.com to purchase a copy. Thank you. All characters in this book are a work of fiction. The characters and names of characters nor their activities do not represent any human on this Earth. Author: Emy Naso Editor: Joletta Hill Cover Art: Beckie Pack Copyright 2004 Emy Naso All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Chippewa Publishing, Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin.

It was the end and the beginning. The Queen was dead. So many people had known no other monarch. On the 22nd. January 1901 the Victorian age came to an end. It was the sixty-fourth year of her reign, and Hannah Rollesby’s twenty-second birthday. The train journey from Thetford to the fashionable seaside resort of Cromer was long and daunting. Not that the distance was much more than ninety miles. Her mother had gone as far as the railway station and the departure scene became a tearful one. From there, Hannah watched the heathlands roll past from the carriage of the train, and at every stop another little slice of life came into view. It was mainly women traveling from the market towns with their wares to sell and hawk. They were raucous and she enjoyed watching and listening to them talk. She was from a quiet family. Before his death three months ago, her father had been a gentle and considerate man. When he suddenly died, the small income from his work on the smallholding had stopped. To make matters worse, he was only a tenant farmer, and the owner now demanded the land back, unable to countenance the land being worked by women. Mrs. Beatrice Rollesby tried to manage on her own, but she had three daughters. Hannah was the eldest, so she had to seek employment away from

home. This would lessen the burden on the family and enable Hannah to send home part of her earnings. The county town of Norwich appeared on a platform sign, and Hannah collected her few belongings together. She had to change here and take the train north to Cromer. Slowly the countryside changed. In her twenty-two years, she had never left the flat lands of central Norfolk. It was a sheep grazing and market garden district. The soil was meager and the people even poorer. The landscape now became rich and she could see many fine houses dotted in the distance as the train chugged toward its destination. With her nose pressed against the window, Hannah played mind games, guessing if the next cloud of smoke from the engine at the front of the train would be darker or larger than the last one to stream passed her. The train strained up an incline. Hannah saw something she’d never seen before. It was the sea. The young woman tried to open the window to get a better view. As she leaned out her brown hair steamed back and those deep black eyes had to squint to keep the grit and smoke from the engine from getting in them. So this was the way the land ended. All Hannah knew of the sea was from books and tales. Britain still had a mighty empire and she had read about how it stretched across the world. But for Hannah Rollesby, this was a great adventure. This was her expedition.

Her world had expanded. Struggling down the platform, Hannah managed to hand in her ticket, and then stood lost on the outside the station. Watching the scenery from the train had diverted her thoughts from the trepidation she felt. But now she was here; maid to the Paston family. Now what was she supposed to do? “Miss Rollesby?” She turned. A tall figure addressed her. His face was severe, feigning interest, but indifferent. It reminded Hannah of the undertaker who had come to the house when her father died. He’d expressed condolences, but was more interested in seeing her mother’s burial insurance policy to make sure the family had the pittance needed to pay for the simple funeral. “Yes,” she answered, aware he was waiting for her reply. “Come with me. I am from the Paston family.” He marched off with a slow coffin cadence. He made no attempt to help carry her bags. She was in for another shock. By the side of the road stood an enormous dark…what did they call it…automobile. Horses still did all the work in her village. Metal horses were a wonder. “It don’t bite,” the man huffed. “This is a new fangled Daimler Motor carriage.” “Put your bags on the back seat, Miss…and get in.”

Hannah sat next to the gloomy driver, and as the engine roared and spat, she clutched the small personal case she held on her lap, and wondered if this was what the minister in the chapel on a Sunday had meant by Satan’s Chariot. Overstrand House stood perilously close to the cliff, the North sea staring up in a sinister way at the ivy covered mansion. It had been built by money made in the colonies by the Paston family. Some say in slavery, back in the eighteenth century. Hannah sat motionless, her head turning slowly to take in the massive frontage. She tried to count the number of windows. All of them seemed to hide a secret. The light itself showed reluctance to penetrate through the leaden windows. “Come, Miss. We can’t be dawdling. You’re to meet the housekeeper, Mrs. Tremane." Her cadaverous escort walked up the stone steps, pushed at the double oak doors and went into a central hall. The light filtered down through a domed atrium fanlight. Its fantastic design of a dragon, threw colored patterns across the red tiled floor. As Hannah followed, she heard the footfall echo of her tiny leather shoes, and the heavy boots of the man. They echoed in a weird tympanic sound. “Enter, girl,” he commanded, and opened a door at the far end of the hall. She went in. The door closed. Before her stood a woman in her mid-forties, red hair,

piled and pinned on her oval head. She had her hands on her hips and was a formidable looking lady, attractive and striking, rather than what Hannah would call beautiful. “You must be Hannah. I’m Mrs. Tremane. In this kitchen, and when the Paston’s are present, that will be the way you address me. There might…I say might…be occasions when you can call me Henrietta.” Mrs. Tremane circled Hannah, inspecting her in the way the young woman remembered the farmers back home would scrutinize a prize bull at the market. “You’ll sleep with Rose and Amelia. They are the other maids in service here at Overstrand House. There are very few rules, my girl.” Hannah stood, bags still in her hands, overwhelmed by the woman and the place. “Well, Hannah, as you haven’t asked what they are, I’ll tell you. Two rules. Below stairs you do exactly as I say. Above stairs you follow the Masters’ instructions to the letter. Understood?” “Yes, Mrs. Tremane” “Good, girl.” Then of a sudden, the housekeeper bawled out, “ROSE.” Hannah jumped back. A woman about her own age shuffled in from the scullery, her blonde tasseled hair held with a ribbon. “This is Hannah…” “Rollesby, Mrs. Tremane.”

“And this is Rose Goodhart. Now Rose, show Hannah to your room. Mind, you have ten minutes, then you’re both wanted down here sharp to help serve dinner. There are ten guests this evening. Don’t stand around girls. I can’t be having idle minds and lazy hands.” She clapped her hands as if she was ordering the harem back into their quarters. Hannah now followed Rose, but not back through the grand entrance hall. They went up a winding narrow staircase leading out of the corner of the kitchen. The walls were rough hewed stone and there was little light, except from an occasional candle swinging in old iron lanterns. They seemed to climb forever. Eventually they got to a landing. “Mrs. Tremane’s room is over here. We’re in this one.” Rose went in first. Along three walls were single small beds. The fourth wall had a tiny window to let in the dying daylight, and a long, battered trunk. “That’ll have to your bed, Hannah. Me and Amelia have already spoken for those two. You keep your outside clothes in that trunk, along with ours, and your uniform is hung on the hooks. You get a clean uniform twice a week. If it gets dirty before it' due to be changed, you wash it yourself. Both Mrs. Tremane and the Masters’ are very particular.” Hannah absent mindedly stared out of the window

while Rose was talking. In the dimness she couldn’t see anything. But she could hear the sea. It sounded as if it was calling. Like a stranded animal up on the top meadows where she used to live. The thought of used to, made Hannah shudder. “What are the Master and Mistress like, Rose?” she asked, having left all the arrangements for this service position to her mother. Rose pushed her blonde hair up out her eyes. They were gorgeously round and blue. Hannah was struck by how pretty the woman was. “There ain’t no Mistress, bless you Hannah. Mrs. Alice Paston died a year back. Took by the cold and faded away within the week.” “So there’s just Mr. Paston?” “Two of them.” “Two?” “Mr. Paston, who was the husband of the late Mistress, and young Mr. Paston, their only son.” “So he’ll be in bed now when we serve dinner.” Rose chuckled and gave Hannah an odd look. “Where you from, Hannah.” “Thetford.” “Don’t anybody ever leave the place?” “Why, Rose?” “Lord, you don’t seem to know nothing about the grand Paston family. Reckon they own most of this part of the county. Some say they’ve lived in the area

for six hundred years.” “No, I’m sorry, Rose,” Hannah offered sheepishly. “But what about the Masters? “Look, Hannah, I can’t tell you everything. There ain’t time before Mrs. Tremane will be scolding our hands. You’ll see both the Masters. There’s Mr. Edward Paston…he’s the father. And then young Algernon Paston. Can’t miss him in the dining. Twenty five and the most handsome man in these parts. Just be careful of what they ask.” Rose face became grin. Hannah was puzzled. A faint call came reverberating up the stairs. “That’ll be Mrs. Tremane. Now grab that uniform on the hook, Hannah, and let’s be getting to our business before we feel everyone’s temper.” The kitchen became a battleground. Mrs. Tremane shouted orders at everyone. Rose showed Hannah the way to stack the dishes on the trays and the man who had collected her from the station hovered about waiting to take them up to the dinning room. “That’s Grumpy Dumpy,” Rose whispered in a giggling voice to Hannah. “Not really his name. He’s Mr. Bentick. Handyman, chauffeur, and general misery.” “Stop chatting, girls, and take those vegetables up to the dining room before they get cold,” Mrs. Tremane instructed, with a chilly eyed stare that could freeze the hot desert..

Quickly picking up and tray and following Rose, Hannah again went up the back stairs, but only as far as the main floor. Turning out into the hall, they hurried across to huge ornately carved doors, partly open. Hannah could hear chattering and noise from within. Rose pushed the door with her hips, as her hands were tightly gripping the large tray. Hannah stopped and gasped. “Don’t gawk, Hannah,” Rose smirked. "They’re waiting for their dinner." The dinning room had a long table in the center with the ten guests set equally either side. Above them was a glittering cut glass chandelier and everywhere Hannah looked the reflection of shining silver caught the light and sent it dazzling in all directions. Even when she’d gone with an aunt to the High Church in the next town to her home in Thetford, she had never seen so much opulence. On the serpentine inlaid sideboard a long tray of meats were already being carved and made ready. The woman cutting looked up and her smile was sad and seem to hide something unsaid. Hannah presumed this was the other maid, Amelia. Mr. Bentick arrived carrying bottles of wine. He walked solemnly up to the end of the table and showed the bottle to the gentleman sitting at the head. He was a man in his early fifties, immaculately dressed, his wavy brown hair, slightly touched with streaks of silver at the

temples. He studied the label on the bottle, nodded to Bentick, who then poured a small quantity in the glass for the man to taste. Once approval was given, Bentick strolled deliberately along the table, filling the glasses. All was chatter and laughter. Hannah served the vegetables, trying to surreptitiously take in all the fine clothes of the guests. When she got to the head of the table, the distinguished gentleman, who looked so handsome when she got close, looked into her eyes and gently touched her hand. “You are doing just fine, Hannah.” Then he turned his head away to chat to the woman next to him. Hannah went on with her task, finally reaching the other end of the table. She felt her mouth open, and the man sitting at the head of the table that end, inclined his head and grinned in an arrogant way, that both excited and made her wary. “Are you going to stand gulping like a fish, young woman, or serve those vegetables,” he joked to the amusement of the guests. Hannah thought he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. Even more striking than the angel in the stain glass windows of the church in Norwich she’d once seen when her father took her to the county town for a birthday treat. Hannah felt her arm being nudged. “Finish up and come on out of here,” Rose whispered.

Outside the dinning room, Rose shut the door and held Hannah’s hand. “Bet you think young Mr. Paston is a darling?” Hannah became flustered. “Don’t worry, all the ladies think he is gorgeous. Like his father. That was the gentleman sitting at the other end of the table.” “I was just…” Hannah still couldn’t find the words. “Be careful, Hannah. Do your duty and be respectful. And remember your obligations.” “The Masters are men of handsome countenance but shallow souls,” Hannah said to know one in particular. Rose shrugged her shoulders and hoped the new girl wasn’t going to cause any trouble. “Come on you three, off to bed and, mind you, no noise. I’ll be up in my room soon, and don’t want to be woken by three young women giggling and talking.” Mrs. Tremane shooed the three maids out of the kitchen and went about her task of clearing up after the dinner party. Bentick morosely came and went with empty trays from the dinning room. Hannah noticed that he occasionally shook the bottles to see if they were completely empty, and if not he would take a sly swig. The three women went off up the servants stairs, Rose chattering and doing the introductions. “You’ve seen Amelia, haven’t you Hannah? She

shares the room with us.” The other maid, nodded a hello. They reached their room and went in. “Been a busy night, so I’m off to sleep,” Amelia yawned. Hannah sat on her bed. There was only a single gas lamp in the room and as the other two didn’t turn it on, she listened to the quite rustling of linen as her new friends undressed in the dark. Sharing a room was nothing new to her. She’d done that with her younger sisters at home. But here she was the new girl. Everything was strange. Eventually Hannah got her uniform off and into a nightdress. She tucked down in her small bed. “Good night, Rose,” she called softly. “Good night, Hannah.” “Good night, Amelia,” Hannah said. There was no answer. * * * Edward Paston sat at the kingwood and parquetry desk with its gilt mounts and ornate metal candlestick holders. It was one of the many treasures throughout the house. His thoughts went to his late wife, Alice. If it hadn’t have been for the money she brought to the marriage, the long dominance of the Paston in the district would have now been over. All the beautiful furniture sold, along with the house, to pay for his

debts. Alice had her own treasures of the body. He missed them. In the faint light from the single gas lamp he looked at the time. It was ten minutes passed midnight. Leaning over he touched the George the third lacquered bracket clock, admiring its chased spandrel, and calendar aperture. Edward loved all things delicately exquisite. The door to his study slowly squeaked open. He didn’t turn to look. “You are late. I said midnight.” His baritone voice absorbed deep into the fabric of the pristine furnishings. “Sorry, Sir.” The reply was hesitant, respectful and with an edge of fear. “Don’t stand there. Close the door.” The figure glided toward him and stopped. Edward patted a chair next to his. The young woman knew it was a command. She sat on the yew wood Windsor chair. He superciliously looked at her. Rose was almost as beautiful as his other possessions. Probably more so, because she moved, had reactions and did his bidding. “Is the new maid settling in?” “Yes, Sir.” “Hannah, isn’t it?” “Yes, Sir.” “I hope you will be teaching her better habits than

you have. Your slovenly manner in serving at the table this evening, Rose, was disgraceful.” Her blue eyes avoided his stare. Edward went back to the papers on the desk and scribbled in a blue bound book. “I am recording that you have displeased me, Rose. Later I will enter the punishment. How severe that will be, is dependent on you.” Rose sat dumb. Edward Paston looked at her again. Her blonde hair was hanging loose to her shoulders. He liked her that way. He knelt in front of her, letting his fingers lightly touch the white cotton material of her nightdress. His hands took hold of her bare feet and smoothed them. Such tiny feet, he thought. He pictured her dashing around the hall on her errands and marveled at the perfection of her toes. Slowly his hands went from feet to calves, then knees and with a dryness in his throat, he felt the warmth of Rose’s thighs. All the while he was making the journey to desire, he pushed up her nightdress at the same time. It had been an exhilarating evening. Edward Paston was impatient to complete his satisfaction. _ His fingers sought her mound. Rose made a little gasping noise as the Master’s cold hands pushed open her legs. He was not content with her response. “Let’s take this nightdress off, Rose.” She sat passively, moving and shifting her rear

slightly so he could lift the garment clear and pull it up over her head. Edward Paston knelt, transfixed. Seeing the splendor of her naked body sent a shiver of sensuality through him. He lifted her legs, positioned them, soles flat on the seat of the chair and spread apart. The gas light flickered its soft iridescent glow onto Rose. Edward Paston ran hands down the edge of her clitoris, working fingers into her. The sight and sensation drove him into lusts grasp. His head buried into her open legs and as his tongue explored her, he knew she was moist and responding. Without saying anything, he ceased, stood up and took her hand. “Shall we try your tender and sweet skin against this equally magnificent chair, Rose?” She knew the question was a command. The maid stood up and bent forward, leaning her hands firmly against the back of the cows-horn stretchers of the chair, Edward Paston was breathing heavily. “Are you sorry, Rose?” His voice took on a preaching tone. “Yes, Sir,” she whimpered. “We will see,” he answered in a mixture of sorrow and excitement. His hand whacked her naked ass, the flat palm covering her displayed roundness. She flinched and

gripped the chair even tighter. Twice more he spanked her fabulous posterior. Rose sobbed. He came up behind and put a hand around her, fondling her breasts and grinding his loins into her rear. “Take heed, Rose, how lenient I have been tonight.” As his words sought to soothe her soreness, she sensed his other hand unbuttoning his trousers. In the gloom of his study, his erect cock pressed against her tanned ass. “My delectable girl,” he whispered in labors lust, “How shall my eager shaft find satisfaction in the honey dew of your body. Shall it be in the petal of rose by sweetness as you are Rose by name. Or will the wild bee at my loins penetrate into your mysterious rear.” The maid knew his games. He would decide. The Master had taken her before. Seeking her sex with his cock and pumping rapidly, only withdrawing when his hot eruption trickled over her loins. But he had other needs. Thrusting his shaft into her rear and finding satisfaction in this way. She must let him fulfill his desires. Hannah had no idea what time it was. Surprisingly for her first night in Overstrand House, she had slept. Now a faint noise awoken her. She thought it could be a mouse. Then Hannah realized it was a sobbing sound. Creeping out of bed, careful where she placed her feet in the dark and unfamiliar bedroom, she moved to the source of the sound. It came from Rose. The maid

was huddled up in bed, emitting a plaintive low cry like a puppy. “What’s wrong, Rose?” The sobbing continued. Hannah slipped back the one cover, got into the bed with Rose and put her arms around her new friend. Rose had been facing away with her wet eyes to the wall. Now she rolled over and let her tears flood into the shoulder of Hannah. “Be still, dear Rose.” she cuddled the sobbing maid. “Shallow souls should be released,” Hannah murmured. * * * Somewhere in the house Edward Paston could hear a faint tapping. He knew what it was. Bentick must have been an owl in a previous life. The Master often heard him walking about down in the servants quarters. The handyman was an odd fellow and Paston didn’t interfere with what his nocturnal habits were. The clock bell chimed three. It was time for Edward Paston’s own bed. “Hello, Sir.” The sudden voice scared him. He swung around, wondering who was entering his study at this hour. The new maid, Hannah, stood by the closed door. How the

hell did she get in here, he thought, I didn’t hear the door being opened. “What do you want?” “I thought I heard you calling, Sir.” He became confused. The woman was smiling. Standing in his study, and grinning! “You must be mistaken.” Hannah turned, seemingly to go. “Wait,” he called. She stopped and faced him again. This new maid was standing in front of the gaslight, its radiance silhouetting her womanly figure, clad only in a flimsy nightdress. His feverish mind thought he could detect the swell of her breasts, the shape of her hips. “You’re Hannah, aren’t you?” “Yes, Sir.” “Now you’re here, it might be a good time to introduce you to your new Master.” “I am at your command,” she smiled, and with crossed arms, lifted her nightdress up and over her head. Edward Paston stared, heart beating, cock hardening and lust rising. This was going to be a night to remember. “Would you like me to teach you how to obey your Master, Hannah?” “I think I can instruct you, Sir. Have you rope in your study?”

Paston could hear his own pulse race. A maid who embraced bondage and shared his dark desires. “You are going to do well in my employ, Hannah” he said, licking his lips and seeing such erotic scenes in his imagination. * * * As Mrs. Tremane prepared breakfast, she didn’t know whether the piercing scream came to her first or the crashing of the tray. For a moment she was frozen. Then she bustled up the stairs and reached the landing where the main rooms were situated. At the far end, the door of Mr. Edward’s study stood open. Amelia crouched in a ball outside in the corridor, head in hands and a tray with broken dishes scattered everywhere. Mr. Bentick stood, immobile by the door. He sensed the approached of Mrs. Tremane and put his arm up to bar the way. She stifled a shriek. On the far wall she could see the shadow of what Mr. Bentick was staring at. The body of a man swung slowly back and forth. He was strung by the neck. “It was horrible,” Bentick said. It was about all he had managed to say since the policeman had arrived from Cromer an hour ago. The handyman was taciturn most of the time, now he just kept repeating the

sentence. Amelia had been put to bed, still in deep shock at finding the hanging, lifeless body of the Master swinging from a rope attached to a hook in the ceiling of his study. Mrs. Tremane had administered one of her herbal sleeping potions to calm the maid. Rose and Hannah went about their duty in the house but in a subdued manner, not wanting to talk about the ghastly affair. “So what exactly did you see, Bentick?” Inspector Halliday asked again, hoping this time for more sense. “Heard the maid scream, didn’t I?” “Yes, we know that, but what did you find?” “Got to the Master’s study. That slip of a woman, Amelia, was near in a fit by the door. Staring she was, just staring.” “So you went in, Bentick?” “Had to, didn’t I. It was horrible,” he intoned. Halliday signed at the repetition of this phrase but kept quiet. Bentick went on. “The Master was hanging by that rope. His eyes bulging, tongue hanging out like a dog with the rabies.” “Was that all, Bentick?” “All, he said. The man was indecently naked. His face scratched with congealed blood everywhere. And you ask me if that was all.” Halliday looked over at Mrs. Tremane to see if the description was causing her to go queasy. She sat, stony

faced, listening. “And those words on the wall, Bentick, did you write them?” Halliday returned to his questions. “Of course I didn’t. Damn fool question. I can’t write. Only educated people can do that.” Five minutes later the detective had left the kitchen and gone back to talk to the new Master of Overstrand House, Mr. Algeron Paston “Bentick,” Mrs. Tremane said. “What was this about writing on the wall of the old Master’s study?” “You heard me tell that there policeman I couldn’t read it…but young Amelia did tell me what it said.” Mrs. Tremane waited for the old guy to decide to tell her. “The young maid said it was written in blood and said, “The shallow soul must die.” * * * The day passed in silence in Overstrand House. In the games room Rose and Hannah went about their chores, polishing and cleaning. They didn’t talk, except when it was time to remove the cloth from the billiard table to gently brush the baize. Hannah looked sympathetically at her friend and said, Don’t worry, Rose, I know you didn’t do it.” Rose stopped dusting and took a sharp intake of breath.

“He deserved it.” “Why do you say that?” “Because the late Master was doing things to me that I dare not tell you about.” Hannah moved to Rose’s side of the billiard table. “Is that why you were crying in the early hours of the morning?” Rose dabbed at her eyes. “He told me to come to his study…but you know, Hannah, I was back in our room at one o’clock.“ “Yes, I know Rose,” she comforted her friend, remembering how she had held her close in the single small bed. “That detective says the Masters met his death at about three in the morning.” “Don’t fret, Rose. I know you had returned a long time before that.” They smiled at each other for reassurance, then got on with their work. Rose sniffed and blew her nose. “After what happened between me and the late Master, you were kind to comfort me. I was very upset.” “We are friends, Rose.” Another exchanged smile. Rose then put on a cheerful face and shrugging her shoulders, said, “And if you want an alibi, Hannah, I know it couldn’t have been you.” Hannah frowned and asked her friend, “How?”

“Because I was so distressed that I stayed awake for the rest of the night…and you were in my bed with me all the time.” * * * A week went past. The funeral of Edward Paston took place in the family church, along the coastal road. Although he was much respected in the district, gossip was rife about the circumstances of his death. Many society friends stayed away because of the scandal, and the ordinary folk were scared of the rumors circulated regarding witchcraft. Back at the house the new Master, Algernon Paston assembled the staff, both the servants and those that worked on the farm estate, and after a few words regarding his late father, he said, “The future is what we must concentrate on. My father is now at peace, resting in the crypt with his beloved wife, Alice. I want you all to continue to be part of the family.” He put his black top hat on, and walked from the hall to the grand stairs. “A word with you, Mrs. Tremane.” The housekeeper went to the Master. “This is not a time for jollity. Please send Amelia to my room with a tray for supper at about nine ’clock. Apart from that, I want silence in the house as a mark of respect and no one roaming around. I would suggest

we could all retire early. “Very well, Master Algernon,” she obediently replied. At exactly eight and fifty five hours, Mrs. Tremane rang the bell to summon a maid from their room in the attic. She had previously told Amelia that Mr. Paston wanted her to wait on him as she was the longest serving of the trio and he felt that would do due deference to his father who was a stickler for form. When the tall, red haired maid arrived, Mrs. Tremane inspected her apron. “Better make sure on this the funeral day that you are turned out extra smart. Now take this salad up to the Master’s private rooms and mind you are both quiet and courteous to his wishes. Amelia was, like Rose and Hannah, in her early twenties. Her red hair and sparkling eyes, gazelle like elegance and light step gave her an appearance of a ballerina in flight. She was slim, and something about her walk made her more than a maid, even though her origins were humble. She approached the door to the Master’s rooms, put the tray on the small round table outside, and dutifully knocked the door. Without a pause, it opened. Young Mr. Paston stood back and ushered Amelia in. “Come through to my parlor and put the tray on the table, Amelia.” She did so and stood waiting for any further instructions.

“Amelia, did you know my mother?” The maid looked surprised at the question, but felt for the grief of Mr. Paston. “Yes, Sir. I’ve been in service here since I was fourteen.” He walked to her side and pointed to a picture on the wall. ”That’s her. Wasn’t she beautiful?” The maid nodded. Algernon sighed and moved to the sofa, sitting down, heavy of heart. “How I wish she was here now to comfort me.” Again Amelia nodded but remained silent. The Master got up and coming to Amelia took hold of her shoulders. “You remind me so much of my mother, Amelia.” His handsome face had a boyish look, all round eyes and disconsolate expression. The he wanly smiled. “Amelia, do you want to be a good maid to your late mistress and a faithful one to me?” “If I can, Sir.” “Well, I believe you can.” He took her hand and led the maid into another adjoining room. “Look, Amelia, in this trunk is my mother’s favorite outfit. Will you wear it for me?” Her eyes widened and she gulped, thinking the grief had deranged the Master. “Please, Amelia. It is such a silly request I know.

But it would make me most grateful.” Amelia couldn’t find a reason to say no, or the determination to refuse the Master. She nodded her head. Algernon kissed her forehead and walked from the room. Just before leaving Amelia with the trunk, he called back. “I’ll wait in here. Once you’re ready, come in and gladden my heart.” Ten minutes went past. The connecting door opened slowly and tentatively. Amelia’s red hair appeared around the edge. Algernon stood, hands behind his back, rocking on his heels. “Don’t delay, Amelia. Come on in.” She sidled shyly into the room. “This was all that I could find in the trunk, Sir.” The slim maid sashayed in wearing a red brocade basque …and nothing else. “Absolutely perfect, Amelia. Walk around and let me see you. I love to watch your graceful cadence. I’ve often looked at you when you are dusting in my room and have always imagined you in that basque.” He held his arm up to indicate she should stop parading. “Let me see you, Amelia.” Algernon took her hands and puckered his mouth. To her astonishment, he kissed her cheeks and rested his head on her shoulder. His fingers were playing with the cords and lacing on the front of the basque. Amelia stood motionless. He unlaced her

down the front and exposed her small apple breasts. His lips kissed each side then sucked slowly and moistly on Amelia’s nipples. “I am sure as a baby I would have feasted on glorious breasts like these.” Taking her in his arms, Algernon held her tight. “Do you know the story of Oedipus?” Her throat closed up. All she could do was shake her head. “He committed what was called a crime. He lay with his mother. That sounds a wonderful thing to do.” She had never heard of Oedipus, but begun to realize where the Master was leading them. “You must obey me, Amelia. Then when you have submitted, I will be your son and you can chastise me.” She felt him removing the basque and falling to his knees to delve into the wetness of her sex with tongue and fingers. He tasted and sipped, then moving his head away, looked up and said, “Now, Amelia I have drunk your honey. Let’s bring life back to the dead.” * * * The sea had two personalities. It could be a hazy summer friend, cooling the body and sending gentle breezes into the air. When you neglected to show respect, the North Sea sharpened claws, hacked at the cliffs and tried to sweep you all the way to hell.

The morning had started benignly. Algernon Paston set up his easel on the bluff overlooking Trimingham cove. The view swept around to the Mundesley resort to the east and all the way back to Overstrand House to the west. The sun had moved to the south, slanting rays across gentle braking waves and highlighting the already golden sands. He sat intensely deciding the focus of his painting. “Good morning, Sir.” He looked up and saw that pretty dark eyed maid, Hannah had approached him across the hayfield, waving and calling to him. He let her get near. He liked the aroma of women - rich ones and servants. “Don’t we give you enough work, Hannah," he joked. He knew he was handsome. Flirting was a game. Algernon played it seriously and loved winning. “I’ve brought down your brushes, Sir. You left them on the sideboard in the parlor.” He shrugged a puzzlement, convinced he‘d pack them. Licking his lips he wondered what Hannah would be like in some frilly undergarment. And better still, what she would look like out of all her clothing. He openly admired her breast, firm and shapely, even under apron and dress. Hannah stood seductively, perhaps innocently, on one foot. Her virtuousness captivated him.

“Why are you looking at me like that, Sir?" She asked, but with a smile on her red lips. “Just thinking,” he leered. “I bet I can guess what?” “Go on then, Hannah,” he teased. “You want me to be your model and pose for you like I’ve seen in those foreign paintings. You know, where the lady is nude.” Algernon lost interest in the canvas. This maid was more knowing than he’d given credit. His hands reached out to take her by the waist. “Please, no…not here, Sir. You can see us from the house. If you want to paint me nude, let’s go down to the edge behind that clump of trees.” Her forwardness made him hard and anxious. The thought of this Pre-Raphaelite goddess in nothing but her white skin gave him a delirious erections. * * * Inspector Halliday couldn’t believe it. One hideous murder was all you could expect in a lifetime. Now he had two to solve. And both in Cromer. “Get that crowd back and tell them to go home,” he shouted at the two constables. At least thirty people were gaping down to the beach. If any of them got any nearer the edge of the cliff he’d have another death to report.

He stared at the easel Algergon Paston had left. The shallow soul must die was painted in blood red. His eyes roamed around trying to figure out what could have happened. He needed to go over the evidence again. “Constable Albright, bring that fisherman over here again”. The uniform officer directed Elisha Peters to go and talk to the inspector. “Tell me again, what you saw?” Halliday asked, rubbing his forehead and eyes. “I’d put out my shrimping pots early in the morning as I always did. About mid-day the sky turned nasty so I took the boat out to collect the pots. Don’t want to lose them in a storm.” “Is that when you saw Mr. Paston?” “Up on the cliffs he was, inspector. Never hope to see such a thing again. Poor man was staggering about with the ends of those brushes stabbed into his eyes. Blind and insane with pain, I’d say he was. He got near the edge of the cliff. I shouted, but of course he couldn’t hear me. Then he plunged to his death. Down there on the rocks at the foot of the cliff." “So, all four of you were in church this morning,” Inspector Halliday wearily asked Mrs. Tremane. “And where else would we be on a Sunday? I went with Rose, Amelia and Hannah to the service. The first we heard of this tragic accident was when we got back to the house.”

“Don’t think it was an accident,” the inspector muttered and blow out his cheeks. “And this Bentick character?” "Away at his mother’s. She is sick,” Mrs. Tremane answered. “Then who would want to murder Mr. Paston is such a foul manner? No don’t answer that ladies, it was a rhetorical question." * * * With the death of the younger Mr. Paston, the future of Overstrand House and its servants was in doubt. The estate manager kept everything together for a few months, but then decided it was time to dismiss the staff. Fate played a hand. News came that a Mr. and Mrs. Tingwell, had purchased the property and wanted everything to continue as before. When they arrived all the staff assembled to greet them. As Mr. Tobias Tingwell watched his wife advise the maids the way she wanted the meals prepared, the good looking banker of thirty-five pursed his lips and noted the pretty dark eyed maid called Hannah. He nodded his head ever so slightly and smiled in a way she thought was lascivious. That evening Hannah went into the old private apartment of the Paston’s to remove the dust-sheets.

Up on the wall the oil painting of the late Alice Paston looked imperiously out. Hannah’s eyes reddened. She curled her lip and the fang teeth were razor sharp. The maid from Thetford went into a trance and said to the dead mistress. “Another man who will feel our revenge.” Alice laughed, knowing that her own cruel death at the hands of her husband had also been assuaged. She left Hannah’s body and waited for an Edwardian Awakening. THE END

Also available from Emy Naso and Chippewa Publishing: In the Silver Screen of Dreams, available in PDF and HTML formats. All is not as it seems in the mountains of Wales, and Emily, the daughter of Breydon House, will be the first to let you know! Under control of her over protective mother, a secret is learned of her past, but are all secrets just a shade of the truth? Emily is guided by her fantasies and a surprise visit from a new ghostly friend. Will she be able to love the man she so desperately desires? Or will she find that her mother’s secret is just too much for anyone to know? Emy Naso creates a dashing tale of love and mystery in the novella In the Silver Screen of Dreams. You’ll want to know more about the mysterious spirit who invades the daydreams of Emily and guides her to learn the secrets of her past. You’ll find Llewelyn, Emily’s love, a dashing young catch and a fine prize for Emily until a rumor is set to destroy their love. http://www.chippewapublishing.com