Chapter 2: Dark Waters
Trish pushed open the fogged, glass door of the pool house with her thumbs; her arms filled with folded, bath towels. After restocking the pool larder, she sat on one of the many chaise lounges orbiting the pool. First, her eyes darted to the pool door to see if anyone was coming. Satisfied, Trish stole a moment and took off her shoes. She groaned audibly as she rubbed the soreness out of her tired feet. She'd been standing all evening, serving her Lord, the Earl of Wiggindorf, and his guest, the Honorable Lord Dusendorf. During dinner, Dusendorf's hands had been all over her, her bottom still sore from his continual pinching. As she'd served the roast this evening, she'd felt his eyes on her. Each time she leant over to refill his wine cup, she felt his breath through the thin material of her maid's chemise.
It was always this way when the Earl had his 'Army compatriots' over as guests. Together, they'd served somewhere exotic, like India, though she'd never bothered to ask. Most of them had never appealed to her. None except for the Captain, Hennington. He was tall, with fair hair, and unlike the rest was mostly silent. He'd invited her back to his room and she'd accepted. She was curious and, up till then, had only kissed a few of the servant boys. She had gone that evening, to the Captain's room. She had found not only the Captain waiting for her but also Mary, the maid from Upstairs. Mary was sitting on the bed, her blouse strings undone and her large, full breasts were exposed. The Captain had invited Trish in. She was polite, but quickly retreated, despite Mary's pleadings with her to stay. She'd not known Mary very well at the time, but had come to know her better in the following months. Trish and Mary had found a small space in the attic they went to to talk. Of course, when they talked, it was often Trish interrogating Mary about what she'd done with the Captain.
"Do you mean you don't know, Trish? How could you not know?" Mary'd chided her, smiling. Their bodies close to each other in the small space, only an oil lantern giving light.
"Oh, I know, Mary," Trish said, at the time, so wanting to be older. "Just not exactly"
"Do you want me to show you? Exactly?" Mary's grin so pretty. Mary's hand would slip gracefully into the ties of Trish's blouse. Her strong fingers wrapping around Trish's breasts, squeezing them lightly. Mary showed her the pleasures of a woman, and so Trish's knowledge grew. They're soft moans and quick, careful grasps hidden carefully in the small space of the attic.
Thinking about Mary, Trish rubbed her legs together, causing the hosiery to grate nicely. Trish filled her maid's blouse and short skirt well. There were full curves in her hips, and her blouse ties concealed her ripe breasts poorly. She'd lived in Wiggindorf manor all of her 22 years of age, never knowing a land further than the stone fences still within view of the manor. She'd let her long, black hair free, for Mary, but on duty, she wore it tightly under her lacey cap.
Trish often came to the pool house in the evening. It was soothing after hard days, to hear the gentle lapping of the water against the sides of the pool. Often, as tonight, the tall windows would shine the outside moonlight and stars onto the water's surface. The walls rippled and turned with the shadows. The entire pool was lined in bright, irregular Spanish tiles. The south wall of the pool house held a line of Corinthean columns, purely for decoration. The water would sometimes be clear enough to see the small tiles lining the bottom, or opaque enough to reflect the stars. The end Trish was sitting at was deep, but as you crossed the pool, it shallowed. At the north end, the bottom rounded up, becoming a beach, equally lined with tile.
Trish heard a small splash in the water. It woke her from her reverie. Looking across the top of the dark waters, Trish felt it was speaking to her. "Back to work, I s'pose," Trish said absently to the dark waters, and started to put her shoes back on. Reaching over for them, Trish noticed a small, dark shape, leaning against one of the columns. Squinting, she couldn't make it out, so she, in bare feet, tiptoed over to it. The tiles in the floor seemed to suck at the heat her legs had built up. Arriving, she picked it up.
"A shoe," she said to no one. It was dull brown, ordinary, though highly polished. Certainly, a servant's shoe, a man's shoe. The laces were undone.
"Whoever wore this didn't get very far..." Trish said to no one.
Looking behind the column, Trish noticed a man's shirt, pants, socks and cod, scattered about. A ladies expensive evening gown was also lying hidden, rumpled hideously. Trish stared, trying to make sense of the forgotten clotheing. If she hadn't known better, she'd swear someone had gone for a swim. But no one was in the pool.
Experimentally, Trish slowly edged over to the lip of the pool and peered in. The water was dark, at first not giving up any secrets. Just the shadows and stars playing across it. Suddenly, a bright, beam of moonlight entered through the windows, just for a fraction of a moment. Just long enough for Trish to see into the waters.
There, hovering as though suspended in time, were two lovers. A man and a woman. They were wrapped in each others arms, kissing and touching. Their skin shone like highly-polished ivory, glimmering in the seabeams. The man's dark eyes were open, looking at the woman, while her head was tilted back, eyes shut. Her hair was a giant mane about her, the tendrils of which reached to pull the man closer to her. Her breasts were large, with nice, puffy nipples tipping each. The couple appeared like something out of a painting. Or rather, like the Grecian statues that Lord Wiggindorf kept outside in the garden. Some thought the garden statues obscene, but Trish had always liked them. They'd always looked so beautiful to her, like what she saw now.
Trish knew the woman, though she'd always seemed a girl before. Amanda Wiggindorf, The Earl of Wiggindorf's nineteen year old daughter. The man, undoubtedly the owner of the shoe, was Charles Bradfordshire, the head Butler for the manor. Charles had always appeared so stuffy, so full of pride and principle. But here they were, for an instant in front of her, before being swallowed by the darkness.
