The final attempt at finding Mike's intents are going underway. Eva hadn't had the slightest clue of what happened, so now I must inquire from a new source. Now that I've finally managed the time to visit the Secret Maids Club, all my questions should be answered. I'm hoping for a bit of relief, especially after earlier's talk with Tony. The club is located an hour's drive outside of town, in the density of woods. Cars are scattered about the pebbled parking lot and thick trunks of tall trees. Pointed leaves make for canopies at the very top of the living logs.
The walk to the two-story mansion takes five minutes on a path of yellowed, dying grass. The Secret Maids Club: SIsterhood was founded in the 1900s by Rosalind Russell after the death of her lover. She was a maid-turned-mistress of a very influential mayor who, to ensure their secret remained, made this place private property. He then had a mansion built in order to contain their affairs.
Rosalind would invite other maids to the house for gossip and entertainment. Many had come and gone, but more came than went. They all had something in common, something that Rosalind used to her advantage; secrets. This didn't sit well with one of the Mayor's other maids, Cecelia Moore, who became covetous of Rosalind's power and wealth. Rosalind was blind to that fact, which led to her demise.
This club was built on affairs, hidden devotions, secrecy, lies, gossip, and sisterhood; false or not. No one except the maids and housekeepers of the wealthy knew about it, which is still in effect. If one told a soul they'd, practically, be branded a witch and ostracized.
This is the origin of the sisterhood, as I've come to discover. The story intrigued me on a personal level. After many years I've come to see myself in Rosalind. I'm inspired by the lengths they went to protect each other and their secrets, even though it was for wealth and desire, respectively. My achievements will be far greater, I know because my actions are purely out of love.
The door opens to a congregation of women in maids outfits. One person stands out. She's suited in Khaki instead of the blacks, blues, and whites of the other women. Her caramel-colored attire blends perfectly with her chocolate hair and mixed golden eyes. She rushes over once her eyes pull away from the clipboard in hand and find me.
"Welcome to the Secret Maids Club, Ms. Price, nice to see you again. A meeting will be held in five minutes, will you be attending the hood-meeting?."
"Of course, Rach. Thanks for notifying me." She nods a silent 'you're welcome' and leaves to find the Hoodleader. The girl is not a maid, but an assistant of the, unfortunately, elected leader of the club; Hoodleader Diamond. Instead, she's the niece of an old and wealthy businessman she'd found Diamond fucking once. Diamond has a way of intimidating people, not to say that Rach has ever been hard to intimidate. She soon found a use for the girl: having her organize, inform, and practically run the club with her tech-savvy nature. I'd like to say the club uproared and branded Diamond a witch when she brought the outsider in, but they all knew what she was when they elected her.
The journey to the conference hall is long and unpredictable. The other members either stare at me with either repugnance or admiration. My strides are long, my head held high. Power emits from me in the presence of those who glare and glorify alike. The hall is located past the large entrance hall, in the center of the mansion. The graceful show makes the walk feel even longer. Let them stare, with cold eyes or soft. Either way, they'll see me, and fear me all the same. I enter where large wooden doors would be located but is replaced by a gaping emptiness.
I take my seat in the front row, to the right of the podium that Diamond is standing near. She glances at me with amusement. I've found that the look indicates a new target. Let's hope she doesn't misfire.
"Welcome back ladies!" Her eyes graze about the crowd, her dark brown hair and golden tips stretching from their loose curls. "We've reached week's end, a time for us to come together and regroup, spreading all the gossip that needs to be shared. It is known that 'secrets are more dangerous left buried than exposed'." She speaks the words that lead to Rosalind's downfall. Her eyes are on me as she says them. Anxiety takes over, but, on the outside, I seem calm and emotionless. Those are cursed words, my mind tells me as the pit of my stomach begins to churn like butter, spoken only by those who know. But what does she know? "Now," she claps, eyeing her hoard, "any naughty new updates?"
YOU ARE READING
At His Beck and Call
General FictionPeople don't know much about the Graceffa household maid. What they do know could easily be fact or fiction. One thing is true of An Price, however, she doesn't give off the working-class vibe. Growing up in a shattered home taught her how to be fie...
