A Pet's Rebellion

Laileen was in a much calmer mood by the time she was back in Duke Bransted's carriage. The doctor had been kind enough to give her an baggy old nurse's uniform to wear instead of a man's coat, plus a slightly smaller than fashionable bum-roll to give her skirt something of a normal shape. She didn't have any stockings, but she was given a pair of old wooden shoes to keep her feet out of anything dangerous. There was still a cold, trembling feeling throughout her body, though. She didn't have any stays about her waist. It was uncomfortable and simply incorrect for her to have a dress without any stays.

She wasn't sure where they were meant to go once the carriage starting moving. So, she asked the duke, "Your Grace, are you taking me to the seamstress' shop? I've been shut out of that place. My employer won't have me anymore."

The man was seated beside her once again. She thought she saw something wicked in his grin when he turned to look at her. "I was hoping you'd be willing to take a position at my estate."

A position? Such as ... a maid?

That was better than wandering the streets.

Laileen would have asked him more about the position, but he interrupted her by asking, "Why did your employer shut you out?"

She shrugged and decided that since he was offering her a job, she didn't want him to think she was hiding anything from him. "It's rather unfortunate, Your Grace. I lived in the same building as my employer, on the second floor." Her stomach seemed to vibrate, but she swallowed down her discomfort. "Her brother ... assaulted me this morning, and when my employer came to look for me, she accused me of seducing him and trying to ruin his reputation. Then she threw me out."

Her good eye closed and her head lowered. She waited for a response, any sort of response.

What she received was this very calm statement. "Do you have any family to turn to?"

Laileen shook her head. "No, Your Grace. I have nobody."

"Then you most certainly should come to my estate. Wouldn't you agree?"

She nodded and pulled her hair over her shoulder, combing through it with her freshly cleaned fingers. A tart scent was all over her fingernails. They had been almost lovingly cleaned by an elderly nurse. Laileen reminded herself that she would have to rid herself of her combing habit soon. A maid was required to be clean and tidy with a tight coiffure. No fidgeting with hair allowed.

Duke Bransted cleared his throat and settled his weight in his seat. His shoes made little scraping sounds as he relaxed his legs. "Castle Bransted is quite a grand place. I hope you'll find it agreeable."

"Of course, Your Grace." Her voice was more wooden than her clogs. She didn't offer anything more passionate than that.

The aristocrat gave a sigh, and then he seemed to finally accept the concept of silence. The rest of the journey to Castle Adurant was as quiet as it could have been.

The estate turned out to be rather impressive.

First, the carriage was pulled out of the city of Osgarth. Then, the loyal, hardworking horses took the carriage through a lush mountain pass. Castle Osgarth was located on the highest point of the mountain pass.

The first gate of the first wall nearly had Laileen urinating all over herself. Giant stone statues of naked men were carved into the wall, as if they were emerging from it, and their great hands appeared to be holding onto huge swords that served as the locations of the gate's hinges. Actually, the statues were a bit taller than the wall itself.

The second gate, located in the inner wall, was less intimidating, but it was lovingly designed with an elegant, arching shape. Still, Laileen was having difficulty recovering from the surprising architecture from before.

This Duke Bransted was not somebody a normal person would trifle with. He had fucking giants guarding his home!

Well ... they were only statues, but they were frightening enough to someone as small and pitiful as Laileen, what with her complete lack of anything noteworthy among her possessions. In fact, all she had were the few items of clothing on her figure. Everything else had been forcibly left behind with the seamstress.

The main entrance to the keep led them to a great foyer that was adorned with brown and gold banners displaying the family crest. The long rug they walked on had a similar color scheme. It muted their footsteps, which was particularly noticed by Laileen, who had clunky, loud shoes. She recoiled when the duke's great, almost playful voice called out a name.

"Rina! Rina!"

A man, probably a footman or someone similar, went to the master, and he bowed. "I'm certain Mrs. Rina will be here soon, Master. Would you like for me to take your hat?"

Duke Bransted's hip seemed to point a bit as he put more weight on one of his feet. "I'll put it away myself. Where's Egbert?"

"The last I knew, he was overseeing the men in the pantry."

The master flicked one of his hands at the man. "If I can't have Rina, then I'll have to settle for some maids. See if you can gather a few for me." His eyebrows rose as he turned his head towards the sound of shoes clicking down a set of stairs. "Ah, never mind! There she is! Rina!"

Laileen looked up at a woman so prim, so stern looking, that she was reminded of a time, long ago, when a teacher had thumped her cheek with a wooden rod. When the woman's sharp gray eyes touched Laileen's battered face, she made a point of sniffing and putting an exasperated look on her wrinkled face, as if someone had handed her a container full of cockroaches and claimed it was full of biscuits.

When the woman was near the duke, she curtsied, and then she asked, "What do you need of me?"

Duke Bransted nodded to her. "We have a guest here. She needs the best guest room and a hot meal. I also want her measured for new clothes. Wait!" He held up his hand, as if he was trying to stop something from approaching him. "Bethaline could donate ... oh." His hand lowered, and so did his posture. His face seemed to lose the previous cheer. Something dulled his eyes. Something had him look down at the floor as his thoughts seemed to cover his mind.

"Oh," he repeated, and then he shook his head as if there was something shivering between his ears. "She ... I mean, I sold all those things, didn't I? The jewelry too."

Laileen took a few receding steps. She hadn't expected to be granted a guest room. He was talking about new clothes, and even jewelry too? Why? Didn't he want a new maid?

The realization came almost immediately, splattering over her body like a cold, windy rainstorm. Her clogs paused on the brown rug beneath her. Her fingertips turned cold. The muscles in her vagina seized up in pure fear.

Then her clogs moved again, pushing her around, taking her in a direction away from the duke and the snobby woman. She wanted out. She wanted to be as far away from that man as possible. Pain was glazing over her senses, bringing her back to maybe an hour or so ago, bringing her back to a point where a man was forcing himself upon her, inside her, all round her, calling her a tease.

She hadn't teased anyone then, and she sure as fuck wasn't going to tease anyone now.

"Where are you going?!" That was the duke. His footsteps caught up to her. His arms went around her body so quickly that her brain barely recognized it. Her legs were still moving when he lifted her up. "It's all fine! I won't allow any harm to come to you!"

As he lowered her back to the floor, he held her close. Laileen whimpered, but she stopped trying to get away. She scraped together enough courage to squeak out, "I thought I was meant to be a maid!"

There was a laugh, a low, sticky laugh that clung to her ears and had her shivering in the man's arms. "Don't fret! You're my guest! If I wanted to harm you, I'd have done so long ago!" His fingers patted her sides as he held her, as strange as it was. "Let me care for you, Miss Madock. You need charity, at least a sliver of it."

Laileen didn't like having the duke's arms around her. They squeezed and pushed up her large breasts, and it felt odd. She thought it looked odd too.

She'd say anything to get him off of her.

"Please forgive me, Your Grace. I never meant to insult you."

"So, you're going to relax in a guest room?" The statement had a question in it, but his tone suggested that there was no question at all. It was an order.

"I ...?"

"I'm so glad you've agreed!" His arms slid away.

Laileen's tongue peeked out to soothe her nervous lips. Her uncertainty tugged on her eyes, bringing them down to point at her shoes.

She heard the man behind her say, "Well, see to her, Rina, and I don't want to hear any of your disapproval. It's not your place to judge this poor woman. She was savagely attacked today, and it won't do for you to assume she's an intruder."

Everything he was saying seemed so gracious, so humane, but Laileen could hear something that was off in his voice. He didn't have the voice of a kind, gentle person who only wanted to help. He had the voice of a ... she didn't even know what it was. She just felt that it was sinister.

***

The most wonderful thing of the day, as horrible as the day was, turned out to be the food given to her in the guest room. Laileen ate a hot soup of green, leafy vegetables and onions. Her beverage was light water gently flavored with herbs. Then, she was given a few tiny pies filled with mutton and thick gravy, along with a handful of round, pale, and moist potato buns. Laileen's green eyes nearly fell out of her head when she was given dessert with a glass of dark wine. The dessert was a buttery cake full of dried currants.

Laileen didn't want to be so satisfied with the food. She didn't want to softly moan to herself every time a bite of delectable food was put into her mouth. When her feet slid closer to herself, when her toes curled, Laileen silently yelled at her senses and cringed harder than she could ever remember.

It was soon time to be measured, because, apparently, the duke didn't want her to walk around in the same ugly dress all day. She had to take off said ugly dress, her bum-roll, and her clogs to give accurate numbers. Grumbling and pressing her thin lips together, the housekeeper named Rina made notes on a pad while a few maids measured her body and limbs.

"Goodness, such a womanly bosom!" one of the maids said as she held a marked leather strip against Laileen's chest.

Another maid said as she held her bit of leather around Laileen's hips, "She's quite womanly all over!" She gave Rina a number, and then she wrapped the leather around Laileen's waist. "You're a living hourglass, Miss!"

"Perhaps even prettier than Her Ladyship," the first maid said, smiling, "may her soul be in peace."

Laileen tried to search her memories for what she had heard of the Bransted family, what little there was left of it. They ruled over the province, and so, people in general were interested in them. She had never met the Lady Bethaline Bransted, but she had vaguely known of her existence, and eventually, her death. She had died in Henrisk, but the duke had taken her body to Wyden and given her an opulent tomb. Well, Laileen had heard that it was opulent. The rumors ranged in the exact amount of opulence. Some people even said the coffin was made of solid gold, as unlikely as that was.

When the measurements were all written down, Laileen dressed herself, balanced her backside onto a chair, and idly gazed out of a window as the housekeeper and the maids left her alone. She couldn't find any fault with the room. It was a warm place with creams and browns all about. Still, she wanted to look out a window.

She saw a carriage leaving the castle, moving on past the giant statues that seemed to hold the outermost gate. Who was leaving? Was the duke leaving? Why?

Laileen leaned forward a bit, her fingers biting into the stone windowsill. Her body was tingling from the lack of stays. Her muscles were feeling weaker. A good night's sleep was a fine time to go on without being laced up, but she was going past that limit.

She hugged herself as she shuffled on over to the pretty canopy bed. She crawled onto the mattress and pulled on a cord, closing the chocolate colored curtains and hiding her quivering body from the world.

The mental discomfort from all the events leading up to this point, the physical discomfort from not being dressed well, the overall discomfort from being in an unfamiliar place with a peculiar noble putting his attention on her, all these things were eroding her sanity.

Laileen wept at it all.

***

Kristof had two of his tallest, most intimidating looking men with him when he knocked on the door of the seamstress' dress shop in Osgarth, the one that Miss Madock had been so desperately banging on with her bloody hands earlier in the day. Someone peered down at him from the second floor window. Kristof tipped his hat at the person. It was a man with several angry lines all across his face, as if someone had clawed at him.

A pretty woman Kristof assumed to be the seamstress answered the door with a mannerly smile and a curtsy. "Ah! Welcome to my humble shop! My name is Maud Kalen. It's so wonderful to meet you." As the men entered the shop, the woman tried to avoid eye contact. It was strange for a bunch of men to go to a place that took commissions for women's clothing. The fact that the leader of these men wore the family crest of the Bransteds was even more frightening, or at least Kristof assumed this was so.

The shop owner wasn't the only person in the room. There were several female employees working at several desks, often sitting under pieces of fabric pinned to thin cords in a manner similar to drying laundry. The ropes were mostly attached to metal pieces between tall, handsome chests of drawers.

Two fashionably dressed women were standing at the prettiest desk, and they seemed to be customers, because they were speaking to an employee who was writing down information. When the customers noticed the lord of the land and his two men, they openly stared at him, but they hid their painted mouths with their handkerchiefs as they whispered to each other.

Without even asking, Kristof walked to a table loaded with several little wooden dolls wearing the latest fashions and even a few magazines. He pulled a chair out for himself and sat down, his hands layered over the sparkling handle of his cane, which was straight and vertical between his reasonably parted knees. His two men stood behind him, their fists grimly placed behind their backs. Their faces were every bit as stern and unwilling to listen to codswallop as their master's.

Twiddling her fingers, her body quivering, Miss Kalen asked in a feeble tone, "How many I be of service to our celebrated Duke?"

"You wouldn't happen to have a brother, would you?" Kristof kept his voice civil, but he wore his displeasure with almost as much delight as his family crest. Sometimes, even anger could be a wonderful thing to soak oneself in.

Miss Kalen blinked at him for a moment. Then she took a quick swallow of her own saliva. "I do. He's a skilled weaver. Perhaps we could be so honored as to have Your Grace purchase a bolt of fabric from him?"

"Is he upstairs?" His fingers were beginning to drum on his cane in a tetchy rhythm.

"I ... yes, Your Grace." She curtsied. "I'll tell him to be here right away."

Kristof watched Miss Kalen's smart yet plain skirt flap and flutter around her heels as she left the room, closing a door behind her. Kristof heard her footsteps move up to the second floor, even among the light buzzing of working employees.

A few tense moments passed as Kristof tried to ignore the gossipy customers and the occasional curious glances popping up from the busy workers. One of Kristof's men coughed into his elbow, but he returned to his unyielding posture as soon as his breath was stable again.

Eventually, the door opened, and the man with the scratched face emerged, his blue eyes wide and his fingers in his pockets. He stood before Kristof and gave a stiff bow. "I'm pleased to meet you, Your Grace. My name is Cedric Kalen. How many I be of service?"

Kristof nodded to him, and then, as he tapped the wooden floor with the end of his cane, he said, "I'd like to question you, if you don't mind."

Mr. Kalen took a single step back. "I don't understand why someone as important as Your Grace would bother with someone as low as myself."

"What a cockeyed statement." Kristof tapped the floor again, his knuckles turning a little bit paler against his cane. "Transiently, at least, you are quite important to me."

"I'm not following, Your Grace."

For a moment, Kristof had to struggle against the anger he had been so eager to sink into. Rape was a difficult crime to prove. The best move was to be as terrifying as possible and wait for the suspect to give up incriminating information. "Would you please come with me? I have several questions for you, and I'd rather not have these women as an audience."

Mr. Kalen shook his head. "I can't! I don't have the time!"

"You don't have the time?" Again, Kristof tapped the floor, but he did it with such force that everyone else in the room, even his two men, flinched at the echoing noise the cane made against the floor. He might have scratched the wood. "Have you forgotten who is speaking to you? I will compensate you for your lost time." Kristof rose from his seat slowly, deliberately, letting his chest puff up, letting his height become more obvious. Even if he hadn't been wearing shoes with slight heels, Kristof knew he'd tower over the other man.

"No!" Mr. Kalen bolted towards the exit, but one of Kristof's men grabbed him by his arm. There was a great struggle. Most of the women gasped or squealed. Kristof's curled index finger and straight thumb pressed into the space between his dark eyebrows as he closed his eyes groaned out his annoyance. Then he lowered his hand and opened his eyes.

He saw his other employee move in to assist his coworker in the struggle.

And one of them cried out. Kristof's eyes widened a bit as he saw blood drip down to the floor. Mr. Kalen's strangely bloody fist was up against one of the men for a moment. Then he was restrained by the other man. The injured one clutched at himself and then pulled out a very sharp pair of scissors with a struggling grunt. The pointed blades looked like they had been dipped in blood.

Well, Mr. Kalen definitely had to be taken away, didn't he?

Mr. Kalen received a few heavy punches to the face, and he soon buckled under the assaults, turning limp and quiet. The uninjured man carried him while the injured one pressed his hand against his wound. Kristof was almost relieved. They could at least charge Mr. Kalen with something.

***

"She hasn't left her bed?" Kristof said to Rina later that evening, as the sun was painting the sky with pinks, purples, and dark blues. He was in a small library, sitting near a lit candelabrum and clutching a light book containing a fictional tale full of political satire.

Rina gave a little nod as she stood a few feet away, her hands folded, her heels together, and her face rather uncaring. "She could be in stark melancholia. Only when she eats does she show any sign of life. Then again, she's not dressed as a good woman should be. The disgrace alone would put me in a bad way."

A woman with a loose waist was often considered to be a woman of loose morals. It was one thing to be caught off guard, but to walk around in a dress without the proper shape, that implied an intentional lack of propriety.

For a moment, Kristof wished that Dr. Poliver could have spared a set of stays. Then he reminded himself that the physician didn't have any to spare. It was fortunate that he even had that old nurse's uniform and pair of clogs. Kristof supposed that Rina could lend a set, but stays were generally made to fit the woman, and Rina didn't have Miss Madock's hourglass figure. Besides, Kristof believed that as a man who was most certainly better than that charred Adurant, he absolutely had to put his new little pet into the finest stays he could afford.