The Bear-Trap

Upon awakening this morning on the cracked leather chair in my gloomy study, with only flickering red embers in the fireplace to warm my old bones, I was alarmed by a mighty crash and a stream of Creole curses.

For a brief moment, I feared that my home’s carefully contrived supernatural defences had been breached. Was Muskanvaar dropping by as promised? However, upon hearing wounded muttering from the hall, I realised that it was Mange Tout and, naturally, I immediately suspected that he was the victim of one of Una’s pranks.

I called him through and he staggered in, his immense frame silhouetted against the grey morning light half-heartedly leaking from the hall windows.

“That woman, she vex me,” he grumbled as he shook a rusty bear-trap from his left leg, “it sting.”

I couldn’t help but be amused by Una’s cheek, although I couldn’t for the life of me work out where she’d unearthed the source of Mange-Tout’s discomfort. No doubt she was snuggled under a duvet in her attic room (she was a late riser, the lazy girl), sniggering at her revenge for the light flogging she had received earlier in the week.

The irony was that my poor chauffeur was merely doing my bidding, so I could slake my perverse desires vicariously. Ever my strong right arm, he is now locked in a proxy war with the cunning and svelte Una.

It is a war I fear he can never win. Especially as my housekeeper is now a firm ally of the au pair. Possibly the most terrifying woman I have met, the housekeeper is not to be trifled with.

Of course I let them get with it, stirring up a little conflict when particularly bored. It’s difficult to cope with having all of a man’s natural desires and none of a man’s actual body. The only way I stay sane is through these silly games…