While the hunt for work is not always demoralising, Darla couldn’t help but find the state of trying to support herself with temp jobs utterly draining. Not just in the emotional sense either, as her latest gig involved quite a lot of pounding pavement for the local council’s latest charity project. It didn’t pay much, but at least it paid.

She quietly groaned to herself, thinking that this particular route had been a mistake. Normally the wealthy parts of town could be expected to make occasional hefty donations – provided they were ever in the giving mood. But this district was damn near rural. One of the blocks of land even had corn growing in their front yard.

It wouldn’t have been such a hassle if she’d grabbed her bike, but she’d disassembled it in order to clean out a lot of the gunk from a ride the week before. A near miss with another woman had sent her careening into a muddy rut. Of course she’d just planned on hosing off the mud, but then she realised that all the lubricant had been dirtied, so she’d have to properly scrub all that off and by the time she’d done so, she didn’t want to touch the thing for at least another week … to make a long story short, it was a whole ordeal she admittedly may have inflicted on herself.

So here she was, hoofing it across what was essentially a back road away from the city, to be ever so politely turned away by people who looked like they hadn’t worked a day in their lives, living in mansions that Darla couldn’t afford if she worked every single day of hers. She just hoped that one of the dozens of resumes she’d scattered to the winds and stuffed into bottles bobbing across the surface of the proverbial sea would find a recipient.

Climbing up another hill, she looked to her next house. Which, as luck would have it, just had to have an enormous driveway up to it. Luck wasn’t something Darla truly felt was on her side most of the time, but at understanding that meant she’d never lost money gambling.

Darla steeled her calves as she began her ascent, taking in the house that was coming into view above the steep path before her. It was remarkably stylish, very unlike the nightmarish cubist or minimalist warts of concrete she was used to seeing on her routes here. Instead it was reminiscent of an Edwardian manor, with a façade of limestone arches framing rust-red brickwork. To Darla it was a little gaudy, but a breath of fresh air compared to the fifth monotone monolith she’d been confronted with.

Though she was far from unfazed by this point. The climb after her prior route was starting to get to her. Her legs were burning. Why the hell did she decide to wear her damn jeans instead of her trackpants?! But finally, she had made it to the door. Flanked by delicately manicured lavender and rosemary hedges – definitely an unusual choice – she lifted the hefty brass door knocker and let it fall with a decisive tap.

She only had to wait a few moments before the door opened, revealing a woman with dark hair wrapped tightly into plaits. Her dress surprised Darla a little, as it was a relatively demure yet pristine maid uniform, again in Edwardian style. Had she stumbled into a period piece?

The woman spoke with an enunciated Parisian accent, pushing up her rectangular glasses after a brief moment of studying Darla;

‘Pardon miss, the Lady Am is not expecting visitors today. Please inform your colleagues that we have no need of canvassers, salesmen, nor representatives of faith.’

Darla took a rallying breath. She could at least try to at least get a foot in the door. Just because she hated her job, it didn’t mean she wouldn’t do her best.

‘Sorry, I’d only like a moment of your time please -’

Suddenly, a new voice joined the conversation from deeper within the manor house.

‘Don’t be cruel Clarabel, just look at how exhausted the poor girl is. Invite her in. I’ll take it from here.’

The maid, obviously Clarabel, looked surprised for a moment before opening the door for Darla.

‘If it would please you to enter, miss.’

Darla felt a little strange feeling tingle at her fingertips, but this wasn’t the first rich eccentric home she’d been invited into. Definitely the nicest by a country mile, though.

She stepped through the door, making sure to wipe her feet before she stepped onto the rich Persian carpet laid out in the entryway. Halfway down a staircase which dominated the further half of the room, a woman sauntered down.
Hers was a classical, nostalgic glamour; from the shine of her red nails and lipstick, the delicate curl of her shoulder-length auburn hair, the intense green of her eyes, and the shimmering waves of her black velvet dress. She looked like a movie star. She looked like she had to beat away suitors with a broomstick. She looked like she … had realised Darla was staring at her like a stunned mullet.

Trying to recapture her own wits, Darla tried to remember what the woman had just asked her. As if sensing her struggle, the woman tittered and graciously repeated herself, her voice tuned by a Welsh lilt that gave her question a bright gentleness.

‘I had asked: what’s your name, dear?’

‘Oh!’ Darla laughed awkwardly, ‘Darla Cley, miss.’

‘Well aren’t you charming,’ she smiled, ‘And an adorable accent too. Where’re you from if I might ask?’

‘I uh, moved here from Minnesota,’ Darla admitted, feeling a light blush from the praise. She wasn’t coming onto her, was she?

‘Ah, thought as much. I have an acquaintance from Maine, so I thought the accent seemed similar,’ she explained, ‘As you may have supposed, I am the lady of this house, Lady Annette-Marie. Though you might call me Lady Am for short.’

Darla couldn’t help but give a blushing sort of smile. She couldn’t help but be charmed by this regal Lady. Though she realised she was starting to lose track of why she was here.

She was about to go into her opening spiel again when Annette-Marie got the first word in.

‘Oh, but look at you! You’re flushed beet red, and your legs are shivering like a lamb. No doubt from that harsh climb. As you might imagine I don’t receive many visitors. Come along now, I’ll have Clarabel fetch us some tea and you can tell me why you’re here.’

As if rising at her mere suggestion, the scent of fresh lady grey tea wafted through Darla’s mind and she nodded absently.

Annette-Marie guided Darla – feeling much more exhausted from her exertion now – to a sitting room filled with plush couches of green leather, festooned with downy cushions. Darla felt herself sinking into relaxation as soon as she sat down, her legs balmed by rest as Annette-Marie sat opposite her, crossing her legs before she leaned in with interest.

‘Now darling, what was it that brought you to my house this day?’

‘Oh I um … I was visiting around the area to see if anyone would be interested in making a small donation. The city council has organised a fundraiser to help repair the Church of Saint Yennifer’s stained glass windows-’

Annette-Marie gave a droll sigh, ‘Oh yes, that old place. They’ve always seemed to find trouble one way or another.’

Darla paused for a moment, somewhat thrown by how oddly familiar yet dismissive she seemed with the local church.

‘I would understand if you’d rather not miss, er … Lady Am. Out of curiosity, do you receive many visitors from the church?’

‘Not if I can help it,’ she said offhandedly, ‘Typically we try to keep things civilised and not bother each other. But that’s neither here nor there.’

Not bother each other? What a strange way to put it. Though tempted to pry deeper, Darla’s inquisitiveness was distracted by the smell of rich warm tea, and the presence of delicate pastries as Clarabel brought them into the room, and began setting a low table with their refreshments. Darla was only here for drudgery work, but here she was feeling like a guest of honour.

‘While hearing about your work is … interesting, I was hoping to know a little more about you?’ Annette-Marie offered before continuing, ‘As I said it’s awfully rare for me to receive visitors. Besides, it's only right to make good conversation before I send you on your way.’

Darla gave herself a private smile, ‘I don’t suppose there’s much to say. I’m between jobs at the moment. Well, I am working now I suppose but it’s not a real job to me. Just something to do that’ll give me some stability while I try to find work related to my history degree.’

‘Really? As you might’ve noticed I have something of an appreciation for times bygone myself.’

‘I was thinking about that, yeah. Edwardian is a popular vintage era but so often its elements are used more in a pastiche, but from what I’ve noticed of the house the architecture is accurate to a T. Even your um, your maid’s uniform is accurate,’ Darla said as she watched Clarabel doing such delicate and dainty work around them.

From her demure focus to the way she delicately handled the fine crockery and presented the sugar-dusted pastries to the table, she looked as elegant as a ballerina, even in service. Much nicer than the café waitress role Darla had to put on during her morning shift before door-knocking for council charity.

But there was something odd about the way she moved. It was almost as if she was too … precise. Her movements were too smooth. Her hands didn’t shake at all, her eyes didn’t move away from her task for even a moment.

Something about Clarabel didn’t seem natural.

‘And your living situation?’ Lady Am asked, returning Darla’s attention to the conversation ‘I don’t mean to pry too much but, well, I don’t want to be rude but I imagine you haven’t been able to do any laundry in a while?’

Darla set her tea down in surprise, ‘How did you-’

‘You’ve got stains all over your clothes, dear,’ Lady Am said, her voice with a hint of pity, ‘I can’t imagine that’s all just from walking around today. And I can tell from here that a few of them must be weeks old at this point. And there’s … well, there’s the smell.’

Embarrassment flushed through Darla’s face. While it was impressive that Lady Am was able to tell all that from a glance, it was also mortifying to think that she’d had a smell about her that no one she’d talked to had even mentioned, let alone seemed to notice.

‘I um … The work I do now keeps me in my sharehouse but, well, it doesn’t really feel like living to me, living in a house meant for a single couple, split between four people. Feels less like a home and more like a box where I store myself, really.’

‘Four people?’ Am scoffed, ‘That ought to be criminal. I can hardly imagine four people living in my own home.’

Darla chuckled, feeling much the same sentiment.

She took a tentative sip from her cup and her eyes widened in surprise. Something about this tea was different. It wasn’t like any she’d had, even the fancy loose-leaf she could occasionally shell out for. The scent of it lingered after the tastefully bitter tea, a whorl of botanicals in harmony with each other, each taste identifiable in their own way. It was like someone had found a memory of tea she’d had before and just … made it better.

‘You know what,’ Annette-Marie said as she moved to take up her cup of tea, ‘If you’re interested, I may have a … temporary position I could accommodate you with while you pursue your interests. You’d be very well taken care of.’

‘Really?’ Darla asked, her interest sparked, ‘What kind of role?’

‘Well, I am sure it’s plain to see I am not exactly a homemaker myself. And while Clarabel is such a wonderful help with my estate,’ she gestured to the maid, who had been standing dutifully in the corner of the room, ‘There is still much to do around the place. The garden specifically has been quite troublesome.’

‘It looked alright to me,’ Darla quietly admitted, earning a scoff from Lady Am.

‘Oh no dear, those are just the front hedges. The back garden is practically a jungle, it's been so much work to keep everything neat and tidy here.’

Darla had to admit that a house of this size would probably need a whole staff of housekeepers, yet it was just Clarabel? She must be one hell of a maid.

‘So, what I would like is quite simple,’ Am offered, ‘You can move in for a while, and spend some time as our new gardener. If you like the work we can discuss a longer agreement.’

Move in? So quickly? Darla looked around the house. It was a beautiful manor, but why was she being offered this? She posed the question to Lady Am.

‘Hm. I think I might call it a good feeling I have about you,’ she smiled, her answer somewhat cryptic, ‘We share similar tastes, and I have far more money than I even know what to do with. While I'm not promising to pay off your whole college loans or anything, I can help you get on your feet and on your way.’

Darla paused for a moment, a curled finger to her chin as she considered her words, staring into her tea as she did. This didn't seem too bad a deal, honestly. Live in a big Edwardian mansion, work to bring an entire garden back to beauty, and get paid to do so? She'd likely need to take care of herself of course but all things considered, it was better than the place she currently lived.

Even so … she felt apprehensive. Something wasn't right.

‘Could I have some time to think about this? Maybe I could work in the garden and come here from my sharehouse. I've got a bike so I won't tire myself out walking here in the morning.’

Lady Am gave a benevolent smile, ‘Of course, whatever makes you most comfortable. Perhaps I was a little hasty suggesting you move in so quickly, I admit. But the option will be open for you. We have plenty of rooms, after all.’

A smile of ease crossed Darla's face, ‘Thank you. It's a really generous offer! But I might have to think about it. Come to think of it, I should probably get going too.’

‘Absolutely. I wouldn’t want to keep you,’ Lady Am said with an odd smirk, remaining seated and gesturing with her hand, ‘Clarabel will escort you out.’

Darla was somewhat surprised that Am wasn’t taking her to the door herself, but she thanked her for the tea and pastries.

Clarabel led Darla back through the mansion, being sure to take in the beauty of the richly polished dark wood, the curling hand-carved bannisters, the antique furniture that she could only really guess at how expensive it all must have been. Once they were at the front, Clarabel opened the door and bid Darla farewell as she left.

‘Safe travels, miss,’ she said, her expression and tone hard to read, ‘Please get home before nightfall. These roads are dangerous at night.’

Darla was about to ask what she meant by that before the heavy door shut behind her, a deadbolt audibly sliding closed.

Just what the hell was all that about? She felt the tingling sensation in her fingers again, massaging them as she tried to shake her anxiety away. Looking at the clouds, they were beginning to become wreathed in orange light against the mountains. Clearing her head with a deep breath, taking in the scent of lavender and rosemary, she began her descent back down the path back to the busier urban centres. She still had to log her time with the charity organisers.

A sudden realisation made Darla smack a hand to her forehead in frustration. She’d totally forgotten to even ask for a donation! Damn it! She relaxed as she kept walking. It might not have been a total waste of time. She’d gotten a new job offer out of it after all. From how pleasant the conversation with Lady Am had been, maybe it’d be a much nicer use of her time than the thankless temp work she’d been doing for one of several chain restaurants.

Watching Darla leave from a window on the third storey of her manor, Lady Annette-Marie watched the girl go.

‘Darla Cley,’ she said aloud to herself, rolling the syllables from her tongue as her face portrayed a pitying grimace, ‘Poor lamb.’

Smooth footsteps approached as Clarabel returned to her Mistress’ side.

‘She has no idea, does she?’ Lady Am mused.

‘Of what, my Lady?’ Clarabel asked.

‘Her true nature. The fact that she was able to even find this place is proof enough that she is walking a path she has no idea she cannot turn back from.’

Clarabel looked impassive, although her eyes betrayed a hesitation.

‘You have your doubts?’

‘Never of your decisions, Mistress.’

‘So what is it, Clarabel? You know I don’t like to be made to guess.’

The maid drew a short breath before speaking again, ‘Are you sure this is wise? She may be put in danger. She may reject the truth of her being.’

‘She is in danger already. Not from the facts of our life, but her own,’ Lady Am said grimly, ‘But here, at least she may have a chance to fight back. And as for what she really is … on some level, I think she already knows. She just needs to hear it in a way she understands.’

Darla walked home from the bus stop, the last leg of her journey since she gave her debrief to the charity organisers at the church.

She hadn’t stopped thinking about her brief conversation with the Mother Superior.

She had predictably been the last person to arrive back at the church before it had closed, so the Mother Superior, a woman named Jessica Gheistolm, had been cleaning up as she arrived.

Jessica was surprisingly young for someone with as lofty a title as “Mother Superior” though still showed a maturity Darla wouldn’t have for another decade or two. She didn’t know too much about how the local church worked, but she knew that it was definitely weird. Not quite cult levels of weird, but definitely weird.

But despite all that Darla trusted Jessica. She’d helped her through a lot, even if she didn’t share her religious views. She was practically a mother to her. Well, beyond being Mother Superior.

‘Darla? Is everything alright?’ she had asked.

‘Y-yes Jessica,’ Darla panted, out of breath as she handed over a clipboard with names and email addresses over to the nun, ‘I just had to run. Didn’t want to be late.’

‘Ah, I see. I suppose you were sent to the outskirts this evening. I’ll see if I can get you something easier tomorrow,’ she had said, eyes passing over the names, ‘Hm, not much luck then?’

‘No, sadly,’ she sighed, ‘Nobody really wanted to talk any more than to get me to go away. Aside from this one lady, I guess.’

The Mother Superior’s eyebrow arched, ‘What lady?’

‘Oh, she actually introduced herself as a Lady,’ Darla explained, ‘She said her name was Annette-Marie, though said I could just call her “Am” for short. It was strange how friendly she was. She invited me in for tea and everything.’

Jessica’s eyes widened slightly before immediately hardening, putting down what she was doing and turning directly to Darla.

‘I would suggest you never go to that house again. Just put that whole place out of your mind. Nothing good can come from speaking to that witch.’

Darla had felt genuine surprise, maybe even a little fear, at Jessica’s sudden change of tone. Despite her curiosity burning bright – possibly because of such an extreme reaction – she also didn’t want to see Jessica angry or upset, so she dropped the topic.

But now that she was walking through the gate of her sharehouse, the various thoughts she’d stored away had returned to swirl around and around again. Lady Am was incredibly strange, that much couldn’t be understated. For goodness’ sake, how many people owned Edwardian manor houses and kept live-in maids? Even if intellectually she could presume that there would be some hidden strings attached, Darla couldn’t help but feel like Lady Am was being honest with her. She was magnetic, and it wasn’t just her beauty. Something about her just felt … right.

A sudden voice woke Darla from her thoughts, ‘Oh Darla, there you are. Back from work?’

‘Wuh?’ she blinked, finally noticing that she’d walked all the way into the kitchen, ‘Oh, Raj. Hi.’

‘Spacing out again? You work too hard,’ Raj sighed with a shake of his head, pulling out one of the stools which sat beneath the kitchen island, ‘Come on up, I made some biryani.’

‘Thanks Raj,’ Darla smiled, setting down her things and taking a seat next to her housemate.

Raj was probably the one who’d lived the longest at the sharehouse, with stylish hair he maintained himself and intelligent eyes. In short order he spooned a generous helping of fragrant rice and spicy biryani onto a plate for Darla.
Being a full-time hairdresser, Raj kept the house in best working order by buying most of the essentials for the household. But occasionally he’d surprise people with little presents or share some of his own luxuries.

‘Actually, do you want anything to drink?’ Raj asked as he passed Darla a full plate.

‘Like, alcohol?’ Darla asked, surprised, ‘Sure, I guess. I didn’t know you drank.’

‘Not usually. But today is special,’ Raj said flatly, swivelling off his stool to retrieve a bottle of Old Monk from a nearby cupboard, ‘I got a letter from the landlord.’

Darla felt a wave of apprehension come over her, ‘What did it say?’

‘Rent’s going up,’ Raj said, pouring out two healthy pours into a pair of short ice-filled glasses, ‘Not by a little either. I did the calculations and it’s just below the maximum legal limit. I think they’re planning on turning us out to make this an AirBnB.’

Darla’s heart calcified and plummeted.

‘I’m sorry Raj,’ Darla breathed, ‘What are we going to do?’

Raj returned to the table, putting down their rum on the rocks, ‘We’d need to go through the housing commission, and if that doesn’t work out we’d need to take them to court. And that’s with all of us chipping in for the legal fees,’ Raj sighed before taking a sip of the umber booze, ‘I don’t know if it’s worth it.’

‘Well, can’t we do anything?’

‘Believe me, I’d like to,’ Raj ran a hand through his hair, ‘But I’m the only one who works just one job, and I’m still working full time. None of us really have time to spare for this. It’s just hopeless.’

Darla stared in disbelief, watching as the ice shifted in her own glass. Raj sighed deeply, eating a spoonful of food before turning back to Darla.

‘I’m sorry things turned out like this.’

‘Yeah,’ Darla nodded, ‘Me too.’

The pair sat contemplatively for a while, both taking tentative sips of the Old Monk and eating spicy biryani.

‘I’ll probably end up moving back with my parents,’ Raj sighed, ‘I’ll never hear the end of it. But I can see if my parents might have a spare room for you if you need a place to crash?’

Darla nodded, then furrowed her brow, ‘That’s really kind Raj but … I might have a chance at something. An opportunity lined up, I mean.’

‘Really? Damn, I should have let you tell me about your day first then,’ Raj chuckled as he finished off the last of his food, ‘It’s nothing shady is it?’

‘I don’t think so? I mean, it’d be weird if it was,’ she shrugged, ‘A house gardener for one of the mansions on the outskirts of town.’

‘Huh. Weird,’ Raj nodded, ‘Well, if you get the job then congratulations. Just … call me if you need anything. Including to get the hell out of there if you need it. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been the getaway driver for an emergency situation.’

Darla smiled warmly, offering her glass for a cheers, ‘Thanks, Raj.’

‘Anytime,’ Raj smiled, clinking his own glass against Darla’s.

The rattling chain of Darla’s bike was the only sound on the quiet day she rode back towards Lady Am’s manor.

There wasn’t any wind in the rural outskirts of town. No cars even. The only thing on these hilly roads was Darla and her bike, freshly greased and reassembled after she had found herself unable to sleep from last night’s revelations.

Darla kept pedalling, trying her best to keep up and make good time. She still hadn’t forgotten Clarabel’s words when she last left the manor of Lady Am.

It was silly to worry about being on the road at night, Darla thought, when it was practically the middle of the day.

Wheeling across the outskirts, Darla tried to focus her attention and keep an eye out for that manor on the high hill. Yet for some reason, every time she could have sworn she’d have found it by now it remained obscured from her. Had she really only found the place by random chance?

For a moment she tried to recall the address. But it was the strangest thing. She was sure she’d written it down, positive she’d put it on the clipboard. But … did she? She couldn’t remember it. And it felt like she always remembered things when she wrote them down. That was just how her memory worked, physical things just seemed to be more trustworthy for whatever reason.

As she ascended another hill, she suddenly noticed the huge Edwardian manor, like it had been there the entire time. Darla blinked with confusion, stopping her bike at the manor’s earthen driveway. Did she need to get her vision checked or something?

A twinge of apprehension began to seep into her tummy. That feeling that something was ever so slightly wrong was back, but there was nothing logical that she could really say was wrong. Just this vague vibe. Something didn’t feel like it should. Like not fully knowing if something she was holding was made of plastic or glass. Like she wasn’t being told something that everyone else seemed to know.

Maybe that was just her anxiety talking.

Snapping her bike into a low gear, Darla began ascending the daunting, rutted driveway to the mansion.

Darla huffed with effort as she ascended the hill, the bike chain rattling against the tension. Something on the bike began to screech as Darla suddenly came to a stop. Quickly engaging the brakes, Darla tipped herself off the bike and tentatively pushed  it forward. It wouldn’t budge. How odd. She cursed herself as she tried to look at what was wrong with the chain or the gears, but nothing seemed to be impeding the function.

Grumbling, Darla set the kickstand down and left the heavy pushbike against the wire fence cordoning off the driveway from the rest of the property.

Marching her way up the rest of the driveway, the scent of rosemary and lavender started to wash over her, with the faintest hint of lady grey tea. Darla stopped for a moment to breathe in, brushing down her breathable button up shirt and sturdy jeans. That tingling in her fingers returned again, and she tried to shake them out as she ventured towards the front door and reached for the heavy knocker.

The door swung open suddenly, the heavy wood quickly replaced by the impassive form of Clarabel.

‘Lady Am has been expecting you,’ she said, stepping aside to invite her in.

‘Oh. Um. Thank you Clarabel,’ Darla nodded, ‘How did you know I was coming?’

Clarabel’s words were informative, but curt, ‘Lady Am witnessed your approach from her window in her study. She will see you in the sitting room. Follow me, please.’

Complying, Darla stepped inside and looked around the manor’s interiors with curious eyes. Admittedly she’d been thinking about this place for almost the entire ride through the outskirts.

The door closed with a definitive thud behind Darla, causing her to jump slightly. Clarabel began swiftly walking to the sitting room Lady Am had taken her to upon her first visit, and Darla had to hurriedly catch up. Why was she walking so fast? Once in the sitting room, Darla took a seat on one of the beautiful green couches around the low table, and looked back at Clarabel.

Something in Darla’s soul panicked, seeing Clarabel’s intense stare through those rectangular glasses, light reflecting off them from the high and bright windows. Something struck her as ferocious in the way that the maid firmly refitted her silken white gloves before turning her body away, eyes locked to Darla’s.

Though it was only the breadth of a heartbeat, it felt like an age until Clarabel spoke again.

‘You will wait here. Lady Am will see you shortly.’

Darla couldn’t help but feel suddenly unsteady, like the ground she thought was flat suddenly tilted. Clarabel hadn’t moved from her position, hadn’t broken eye contact. Was she waiting for a response?

‘O-okay?’ Darla ventured.

Clarabel’s eyes narrowed, but with a twist of her head and a flick of her braids she departed. Darla sat further back into her seat, lightly pressing her nervous thighs together. Had she done something wrong? Did Clarabel not like her for some reason?

It was a few more minutes longer until Darla heard the sounds of footsteps on the carpet laid across the polished manor floorboards. Darla sat up, fidgeted with her hair for a moment and straightened her apparel, and waited.

Clarabel entered the room again, looking like she was holding in a tremulous expression. In her hand was a beautiful sterling silver hairbrush with metal and boar bristles. She clutched it perceptively tighter in one of her folded hands as she spoke.

‘Lady Am wishes for me to make you more presentable before your meeting.’

Light indignity reddened Darla’s cheeks, ‘I … I’m fine, really.’

‘That was not a request.’

Darla’s shoulders jolted upwards in surprise. This was rapidly becoming a lot more frightening of an experience.

Clarabel strode daintily towards her, crossing the room in moments until she stood above Darla, looking down at her through immaculate lenses.

‘If you wish to be our gardener, you should know better than to track filth through Lady Am’s estate,’ she said, her words low and meaningful, ‘You have already offended my Lady with your stench once. It will not happen again.’

Cowed, Darla gulped as she pressed her legs together firmer. What the hell was going on? The dire warning of the Mother Superior floated into her mind again. Maybe it wasn’t Lady Am she had to be afraid of, but the maid!

Clarabel took a step back, looking Darla up and down.

‘You will need a wash. Follow me, and don’t dawdle.’

Clarabel quickly turned and strode away, leaving Darla to blink in sudden confusion and shock. Just what was going on here?

Remembering the withering stare of Clarabel and the sternness of her statements, Darla stood up and began following. Clarabel didn’t seem to be looking back at her, so Darla quickly slipped her phone out of her pocket as they walked. Maybe it’d be good to quickly send Raj a message just in case…

Darla pressed the button on the side of the phone to try and wake it, but the screen remained dark. She tried again and again, it just wouldn’t light up! Had it turned off in her pocket on the ride or something?

Clarabel took a sudden turn around a corner, and Darla had to quickly hide her phone. Clarabel was looking right at her out of the corner of her eye.

It was only a little longer until they reached a large tiled bathroom, warm lights giving the entire room a golden glow. Darla couldn’t help but walk into the room, entranced by how warm and inviting it felt.

Clarabel shut the door behind her.

‘Strip.’

Darla’s faculties suddenly came back to her, Clarabel setting the hairbrush down on a sink top.

‘I’m sorry, what?! N-no!’

‘I am sure you would not prefer to be bathed with your clothes on,’ Clarabel said menacingly, advancing towards her, ‘I will not ask a second time.’

Darla hesitated, stepping backwards until she came to a stop at the rim of an enamel bathtub with clawed feet of brass. Clarabel continued her step, threatening her personal space.

Desperately she tried to open her phone again, but Clarabel gripped her wrist. The feeling beneath her glove was cold and hard, shockingly so. Darla looked back into Clarabel’s face, seeing her impassive yet threatening mien up so close. She noticed something was off with her.

Beneath her glasses, her eyes were strange. They seemed so glassy. Inorganic. Her skin was so smooth and unblemished, beyond minor textural imperfections. But it couldn’t be that she was wearing makeup. Clarabel moved Darla’s wrist away, placing it back onto her chest.

‘I would rather not force you to comply,’ Clarabel stated, ‘It would not do to present you to the Mistress as you are.’

Darla’s mind twitched. Something about that word. Mistress. Mistress. Mistress. She must mean Lady Am. Lady Am was the Mistress of the house. Mistress. Lady Am was … was the Mistress. Lady Am was … she was…

A sudden slap to Darla’s face shook her from her sudden mental fog.

‘Snap out of it!’ Clarabel chided, ‘I’ll not have you losing yourself like this!’

Darla tried to blink away the fuzziness, fear coming back into her body. What the fuck was happening?!

‘Okay, okay! I-I’ll strip! Just … don’t do that to me again! Please.’

Clarabel stared down at her again. She relinquished her grip on Darla’s wrist as she took a step backwards.

‘Good. You’ll need to move so I may draw you a bath,’ she said, her tone returning to its normal measured timbre.

‘Y-yeah. Okay, sure.’

The maid reached over the tub, the polished taps blasting steam-draped water into the awaiting tub. Darla took a moment to look between Clarabel and the door. She could make a run for it. She could try to escape. She could try to get on her bike. She could try to get back to town. She could try to tell Raj what happened. She could try to stay with Raj’s parents. She could try to be satisfied with her job at the café. She could try to find a new sharehouse. She could try to get another job if they increased the rent again. She could try to pretend everything was okay.

She looked back to Clarabel, who was already holding her gaze.

Darla nervously began undoing the buttons on her blouse.

As Darla began shivering from the sudden cold, the warm light from above only really warm in colour, Clarabel began retrieving a number of powders and oils from nearby cupboards, pouring careful measures into the tub. Wonderful scents filled the air, of florals, citrus, and spiced bark. Darla couldn’t fully appreciate them, terrified as she was. Why did she just space out like that?

Soon, the bath was full of delightfully scented, warm water. Still not fully undressed, Darla yelped at Clarabel’s irritated stare when it fell upon her again. She stepped towards Darla, polished heels as reflective as the porcelain tiles, and began quickly undoing buttons and shedding fabric.

Darla couldn’t help but squeak her indignity, which was quickly silenced by another stern look from Clarabel. Before she fully realised, Darla had been stripped even of her underwear; cheap and thin panties from the supermarket thinned further from years of enduring harsh laundering, and an ill-fitting bra.

The stern maid, now seeming a little more relieved at Darla’s cooperation, guided her into the bath and helped her settle into the delightfully warm water.

Even in this weird and scary space, Darla couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. She hadn’t had a proper bath in ages, settling for rushed showers when she was late to her numerous jobs. But this … in comparison, this was decadent. Luxurious. Divine.

As Darla sat, Clarabel marched over to the sinks and retrieved the beautiful sterling silver hairbrush, returning swiftly to the tub and standing behind Darla’s head.

‘We won’t have time to properly clean your hair, so we will settle for brushing it,’ Clarabel said, a slight nervousness to her voice. Another confusing thing to Darla.

It may have been the overwhelming situation, it may have been the warm and scented bath, it may have been … whatever her earlier zoning out was, but when the brush met her hair something switched in Darla’s head.

Her brain suddenly went fuzzy again, everything seeming so warm and safe and quiet. Like all of her thoughts, a quiet, safe, fuzzy place. So inviting. So peaceful. So ready to just…

Darla’s eyes slid closed as the brush pulled through her hair, its bristles massaging and gently scratching her scalp. By the time Clarabel had noticed, Darla’s eyes had fluttered closed, and her sleeping, vacant expression betrayed exactly what had happened.

Clarabel gripped the handle of the hairbrush – her hairbrush – tighter, a stormy and sour expression besmirching her face.

‘Et merde.’