Evil's Niece by Melissa Macneal

royal blue and maroon set a rich yet intimate tone. The three girls sat straighter when we entered, and when one stood up — she had russet hair and a complexion tawnier than my own — the other two followed with tight, anticipatory smiles.
    Their dove-grey uniforms had high, buttoned collars and fell just above sensible black shoes, and their white aprons bore the school’s monogram — SFDE — on the upper placket. They all looked about twenty; prettier than I expected of girls going into service, with a coltish air I attributed to their inexperience.
    ‘May I present your new mistress, Mrs Chapin Proffit — most likely the wife of our next mayor!’ Monique added with a flourish. Then she waxed more serious. ‘You may call her Miss Eve, as is our Southern custom. You will find her fair, yet exacting. You’ve landed yourselves quite a plum for a first post, oui ? So if you don’t meet our expectations —’
    Smack went her hands as she focused on each of them.
    ‘— Mademoiselle Delacroix will hear of it immediately!’
    The trio of maids nodded as though they’d heard this admonition from the headmistress herself. Their gazes followed Monique to the umbrella stand at the vestibule doorway. Had that slender cane always been there? My Cajun maid plucked it up with obvious purpose shining in her jet-black eyes.
    ‘And this — this is how we correct those who go astray!’ she exclaimed. ‘You must avoid having a backside too sore to sit on, oui ?’
    Their heads bobbed as they glanced quickly at one another — and then at me. I was maintaining an air of highest propriety, but I’d never disciplined the help, nor did I want to start. Monique, the little imp, had now established this behaviour, so I couldn’t refute it without contradicting her — or myself, as the mistress she presumably spoke for.
    ‘And now Miss Eve wants a word.’
    I returned their avid gazes, and for a moment the four of us blinked in the bright light of Monique’s implied punishments, for crimes I hoped they’d never commit. ‘Good afternoon, girls, I —’
    ‘Good afternoon, Miss Eve,’ they chorused. Their eyes were alight with expectation, until the subtle tapping of that cane on the parquet floor caught their attention. Straighter they stood then, each of them smoothing her uniform as though to gain my favour.
    ‘I’d like to know your names and a bit about you, and then we’ll begin cleaning upstairs, in my suite,’ I said. ‘We’ll work our way into the main rooms of the house this week, and meanwhile we’ll discuss your roles at the upcoming soirées for my husband’s friends and political backers. You first, please, Miss —?’
    The girl with the russet upsweep and tawny eyes curtsied prettily. ‘My name’s Annabelle, Miss Eve,’ she said in a soft drawl, ‘and I am so pleased to be here, ma’am.’
    I liked her immediately. Clean and pretty, yet modest in her speech and manner. ‘Tell me about your family, Annabelle.’
    Her lower lip quivered. ‘They’ve all gone to heaven, ma’am. Victims of a fire, on a night I was…assisting a sick friend.’
    ‘I’m so sorry!’ I gushed — and then, catching Monique’s raised eyebrow, I guarded against further familiarity. ‘I hope you’ll find that time and honest labour ease your grief. I’m sure you’ll do us all proud, Annabelle. And you?’
    The centre candidate teetered on the heels of her pumps when she curtsied. She appeared to have Spanish — or perhaps native Indian — bloodlines, for her dark hair was knotted at the crown, to flow stick-straight past her shoulders. With her darker brows and high cheek bones, she looked quite exotic.
    ‘Chloe at your service, Miss Eve,’ she said in a lower, almost reedy voice — the oboe in a chorus of woodwinds. ‘My father ran off, so Mama and us girls came to the city to make our own way. It’s a pleasure and a privilege to be here, ma’am.’
    I nodded, aware of how petty my own grievances appeared