It was a cool fall afternoon when the bus dropped me off. It was a quaint little New England village in Vermont called Woodham Valley. It had cobblestone streets and a very old-timey vibe. It almost looked like the place hadn't been updated since it was first established. There were pubs and restaurants, little curio shops and places to buy antiques and knick knacks. I had heard this was a popular tourist town. People wanting to get a taste of the English countryside without having to go overseas. There was also a ski resort built into the nearby hills that operated in the winter.
I strolled through the town, carrying what little luggage I had brought with me in a medium sized luggage bag that rolled behind me, plastic wheels clicking against the pavement.
At the far edge of town was a massively long driveway that led up the hill to a large manor. I was thankful to myself that I chose to wear boots today as I made my way up to my new place of employment.
The name I was going by now is Goretti Maria. Though I'm actually half Somali and half Italian, you would never tell by looking at me. I inherited most of my genetics from my father, a Somali immigrant who came to America as a child with his parents. He and my mother met from a "friend of a friend's sister" kind of deal. But apparently the two fell in love rather quickly and were married the next year.
My father was an honest, hard working man. He worked at a steel mill and had aspirations of climbing the ladder there... until he was killed in an accident. I was only 10 years old at the time and can still remember how the news shook my mother and I. I also remember how hard my mother had to work to provide for us without him.
I love my mother for doing the best she could, but I remember months where we struggled to get by. I can't let her live like that, I certainly won't live like that. I'm now 30 years old and moved out. I try to help her however I can. It was a struggle until about 10 years ago I got an idea.
I was working as a housekeeper for some real foul bastard of a man, a politician. I would constantly overhear how he would abuse his power, spend tax money on drugs and sexually harass his staff, (cheating on his wife in the process).
I began to hatch a plan, all it really took was a conveniently placed phone camera hidden from view. I then seduced him, letting him fuck me and got video of it all. I would then present him with the evidence and tell him that unless he paid me an exuberant amount of money, this video would go not only to his wife, but would go live on just about every website I could get it on.
He crumbled almost immediately. He gave me everything I wanted, and in return I kept silent. And while getting the money was wonderful, the feeling of destroying him like that gave me such a rush, I wanted to do it again.
So I did, I spent the next ten years going from one rich dirtbag to the next, mostly men but sometimes it was the wife who was more manipulatable, which was a nice change of pace. I didn't get to play with women often. But by now I had racked up more money than I knew what to do with. Some I sent to Mom, but I had to be careful, start throwing too much money around and people will start asking questions. I already had established an offshore account for my ill gotten gains, but after a ten year streak, things were starting to get dicey. No doubt my previous employers were trying to get the word about me out behind my back.
So I had to lay low while the heat died down. It's why I took this job, tucked away in the middle of nowhere playing tutor and personal aid to some bratty rich girl. I could put up with that.
I had been sent a few documents after I was officially hired, mostly surface details about the girl I'd be working for, I had gone over them on the bus ride over.
Anemone "Annie" Woodham, age 19, youngest of four siblings, the only girl among them. Their family fortune was built on real estate, owning land in multiple countries. Not only did they own the town of Woodham Valley, and the ski resort; Woodham Pines
Apparently Annie barely graduated high school, she was pulled from her private school in her senior year and spent the final year being homeschooled, even then she barely passed. She was supposed to improve on her studies before trying to get into university but after a year, no such luck. I was apparently not the first tutor assigned to her already.
I wasn't concerned, I already knew how to deal with rich assholes and their children. This wasn't the first time I've been hired as a 'tutor'. Though I originally faked my credentials when I was hired to tutor the son of some hot shot CEO. I quickly learned to fake it until I actually was halfway decent at it.
Finally I reached the top of the hill, looking up at the massive mansion before me. The stone exterior showed signs of age, but not neglect. It had likely been standing here for centuries. The grounds were neatly cut and maintained. The land was surrounded by pine trees so there were little to no leaves to actually be raked from the yard.
I stopped in front of the massive doors to the house, taking a moment to fix myself and not look too sweaty after walking a mile uphill. I checked myself in my phone's camera. I was thankful for the cool November air, minimizing any damage my hike might have caused. I had noticed I got no service here. I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised, they liked their old timey atmosphere here and didn't want it ruined by people always being on their phones.
I put my phone in my pocket and used the large door knocker in front of me. It didn't take long before the heavy door opened with a groan and I was greeted with the face of a middle aged man. "Good Evening," He said to me with a dry British accent. "You must be Miss Maria, we have been expecting you."
He let me in, closing the door behind me, the foyer was massive. Large oak wood doors leading to different rooms and corridors, a giant staircase leading up to a second and third floor. Hardwood floors covered by long, expensive looking carpets. Marble busts of old white men lined the walls, accompanied by large paintings of the same people.
"Please, wait here as I fetch Madame Terrell," the man I assumed was a butler said before leaving me to take the room in. I've seen fancy houses before but this would take the cake.
"Miss Maria," an older woman's voice greeted me. I turned to see a woman who was in the late end of middle age approaching. She reached out to shake my hand, "Lecia Terrell, master of the house when Mr. Woodham is away, we spoke on the phone."
"Yes, nice to meet you in person," I exchanged pleasantries. I could tell she was putting on a nice face. I've seen her type before, the "Tyrant Nanny", used to being in positions of power. Stubborn and set in their ways, she was being nice now but I could feel that she didn't like me here. Wasn't sure if it was a race thing or not yet, but I'll have to be careful around this one.
"Please, let me get someone to carry your bags," she produced a small bell from her housecoat, ringing it and as if they had been waiting in the wings for a cue, two maids appeared and took my luggage. Their uniform was sensible, long black skirts and matching blouses that did seem to hug their figures, all covered by a white apron.
Madame Terrell led me up to the second floor, "there is something that has been neglected to be mentioned as of yet, but it is important you know as it will affect your primary task during your stay here."
I raised an eyebrow, did they have some kind of special needs disorder? Maybe they wanted to keep it a secret, old families like this were obsessed with "keeping up appearances " and something like that would certainly be considered a negative impact to the family reputation. But if this was the case, you'd think that they would have hired a specialist of some kind.
