The Invisible Girl

Chapter 2

Mrs Harris is the closest thing I have to a godmother, or a favourite aunt. She took me in when my mother died – I was five - and has been there for me ever since. On the downside, she is constantly worried about me, and she knows me so well that it is almost impossible for me to keep something from her. The change in my behaviour is not lost on her, of course. She has noticed that I got up early today to wash my hair (she gave me a quizzical look and asked, "On a Monday?"), and that I have been checking my appearance in every reflecting surface in the house.
My expression must have given me away because she stared at me disbelievingly. "You're not thinking about Judge Turpin again, are you? Really, you shouldn't waste your time on such nonsense. He's old enough to be your father, and even if he wasn't, he would still be your master, and what is worse, you have no idea what kind of man he is!"
I blinked. "What kind of man is he?"
"A very bad man," she said, mopping the floor aggressively, "And certainly not the kind of man that would be good enough for you! If you only knew half of the things he has done…"
I crossed my arms in front of my chest and asked stubbornly, "And what would that be?"
But Mrs Harris did not hold my gaze and turned back to her work, mumbling a couple of swear words.
The Judge came home half an hour ago. I saw him arrive when Mrs Harris was in the cellar checking the food supplies. Fortunately Mrs Harris hasn't noticed. She thinks we're still alone in the house. It's Robertson's free afternoon, and the other maids are still running errands for Mrs Harris.
I want to get back to the library, but she hasn't left me alone for a minute. It's getting late already, and I'm nervous. Of course there is no guarantee that he's going to be there, or that he even remembers what passed between us yesterday. Us. I chuckle a bit at that.
"What's so funny?" Mrs Harris asks suspiciously.
"Nothing," I say quickly, but as she is still looking at me skeptically, I have enough sense to feign a coughing fit.
"You haven't caught a cold, have you?" she asks in a more concerned tone.
I shake my head. "No, don't worry, it's only the dust. Listen, if you don't need me any more, I'd like to go downstairs. I still have to clean the windows in the library."
Mrs Harris looks displeased. "Now? I thought you did that yesterday!"
"I didn't finish," I reply truthfully.
"All right," she says with a sigh. "Then I'm going to apply the beeswax alone, on my poor knees." The reproach is obvious from her tone.
I feel a little guilty, I know her knees will hurt a lot when she has to do all the polishing, but the impulse that draws me towards the library is stronger. I'll make it up to Mrs Harris on my free afternoon. I'm going to get her one of Mrs Mooney's meat pies for compensation. Thus having calmed down my remorse, I give her my best damsel in distress look. "If the Judge complains to Robertson about the windows being dirty, I'll be in trouble."
At the word 'Judge', she gives me a scrutinizing look. "You're not going to the library to sneak a peek at the Judge again when he arrives, do you?"
"But Mrs Harris," I protest, "Of course not!" I'm not even lying. I hope to do more than just 'sneak a peek' at him. His voice is still resounding in my head, as he is whispering to me in that hoarse, seductive voice that he expects me to finish the job today. Trying not to blush at the mere thought of him, I rub my cheek demonstratively. "It still hurts where Robertson hit me."
Mrs Harris' expression softens. I have won. "Oh well, if you must," she tells me.
My face lights up, which is bad because we're still talking about work. I don't want my sudden enthusiasm about window-cleaning to give me away.
She frowns at me. "But leave the door open so you can still hear me. I'll start polishing the floor and stay close by the staircase, so we can chat a little."
Damn. The library is the first door at the foot of the stairs. When the door is open and Mrs Harris is busy on the first floor, she'll be able to hear everything that is going on in the library. Why can't I get lucky just once? I give her a forced smile. "Yeah. Great."
I descend the stairs slowly. I'm no longer in a hurry to get to the library. When I finally reach it, it is empty. Of course it is. How could I expect him to turn up? Compared to the most influential judge in London, I matter so little that by now he has probably forgotten who I am.
I start working with little enthusiasm.
"Don't forget to polish the windows with old newspapers when you're done," I hear Mrs Harris say upstairs, "That makes them shine!"
"I know," I say, "I always do that!"
"I wonder what the Judge needs so many books for when he's never at home," Mrs Harris says loudly. "Probably all about law."
I almost burst into laughter, but I pretend once again to be shaken by a coughing fit.
"That cough of yours really worries me," Mrs Harris remarks on the first floor.
"I told you, it's the dust," I say, loud enough for her to hear. "But you're right, they're all law books." I blush a little, thinking of the drawings. The book is still on the table. He hasn't removed it. I know it would have been my job to shelf it, but I couldn't bring myself to do it because it is the only proof that I haven't dreamt the whole thing. My heartbeat starts racing as I remember his hands on me, and it's hard to concentrate on my work.
Mrs Harris has no idea about my thoughts. She is still chatting about the Judge. "Trust me, people like him should never become judges," she says, "He's got a stone where his heart should be!"
I am about to make a reply, but something stops me. Something has changed. The butterflies in my stomach are back. I feel my hair stand on end. The very air is different.
I turn around.
Judge Turpin is leaning against the door frame, watching me with an amused smirk.
I open my mouth to speak, but he places a finger to his lips, signaling me to keep quiet.
He enters the library almost soundlessly and pulls me into a tight embrace.
I melt against him and close my eyes for a moment. He hasn't forgotten.
Meanwhile, Mrs Harris is still talking about him. "A judge ought to have some pity, some compassion, but he's so cold," I hear her say while his hands are roaming over my back, down my spine, sending shivers through me. "He doesn't care about justice, he sends children to the gallows for stealing a slice of bread!"
His lips brush mine very briefly, I'm trying to really kiss him, but Mrs Harris' sharp voice stops me. "Are you still there?" she asks, puzzled at my long silence.
I gaze at him in panic.
He nods ever so slightly, encouraging me to reply.
"I'm listening, Mrs Harris," I say. "But can't we change the subject?" Please, please, change the subject. I don't want her to get herself into more trouble. I study the Judge's expression, but he does not look offended about Mrs Harris' comments. He pretends not to hear them.
I suppress a gasp as kneels down. My heartbeat is racing. It is a secret fantasy of mine to have the Judge kneel down before me, although in my dreams he usually confesses how much he loves me, and he usually has a ring on him… Not now. What is he up to?
I soon find out because he caresses my ankles, he takes off my shoes. I step out of them nervously, but he just smiles.
Then his hands disappear beneath my skirts.
"Of course you don't want to hear this," Mrs Harris says, a little peeved, "Because for some reason I can't begin to understand, you are still looking up to that man!"
His hands are traveling up my legs, my thighs, sending those pleasant shivers all over my body, and he looks up at me with burning desire.
"Well, technically, I… I'm not looking up to him," I manage to stumble.
I can barely form a coherent thought. He's removing my undergarments, leaving them in a discarded pile on the floor. I feel exposed even though my skirts still fall down to my ankles, but at the same time, not just a bit aroused. Those conflicting feelings are driving me mad.
For the first time, it occurs to me that I might not be ready to go all the way with him right now. I look at him with all the doubts and terrors of a virgin, but still, I long for him – oh God, I long for him!
"I didn't have such silly thoughts in my head when I was your age," Mrs Harris is ranting on as the Judge leads me to one of the leather armchairs, sits down and pulls me into his lap, very casually, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "I really don't see why you're so smitten with him. The thought of his touch alone makes me shiver!"
I arch against him as he shoves my skirts up to my waist and caresses my inner thighs. "I feel quite the same way," I reply breathlessly as his hand reaches the juncture of my thighs.
"I'm glad to hear it," Mrs Harris comments. "Some masters really take advantage of their servants, and it usually ends badly for the girls. If the master gets them with child, they are turned out of the house without any references. I doubt the Judge would have any second thoughts about that."
I feel terribly embarrassed. The Judge takes my hand and kisses it affectionately, shaking his head as if to tell me that I should know better. Should I? I realize that he hasn't said a word to me, and it's not like we had a real conversation yesterday, yet here I am, in his lap, craving his touch, not wasting a thought on tomorrow.
The Judge lets go of my hand, and his hand is back between my thighs, stroking my centre. A thousand emotions are sweeping over me, emotions new to me, and scary, but I wouldn't stop him for the world.
"But," says Mrs Harris, "There's always them young things who can't wait until they're married!"
The Judge has stopped teasing. He parts my folds and slips a finger inside of me, then a second. He arches an eyebrow at me with a surprised expression when he hits an obstacle, I feel the colour rise into my cheeks and flash him a shy smile. I didn't have a chance to tell him that no one's ever touched me that way – not in real life, that is. In my dreams, it has always been him.
"You don't get to meet a lot of men when you have only one afternoon off per month," I whisper into his ear, trying to play over my insecurities. He nods understanding. He's proceeding more slowly now, more carefully, avoiding to hurt me, and the tension is almost killing me as he is torturing me with his slow, soft thrusts.
"How are you getting on with those windows?" Mrs Harris inquires.
"All wet," I gasp.
He chuckles darkly, and I'm mortified because Mrs Harris might hear him, but the danger of discovery adds to my arousal, my skin is tingling and my eyelids flutter closed as he finds a sensitive area close to my entrance while his thumb is swirling around my swollen clit. My whole body is on fire, his attentions reduce me to incoherent moans and breathy sighs with every thrust of his fingers. I can't think about being overheard any more, I'm moving my hips, pushing myself against his hand, feeling him build the tension, begging him with my eyes to release it, but he's cruel, he's slowing down, watching my despair, the expression of pleasure and pain on my face.
"Will you be long?" Mrs Harris' irritated voice rings through the haze of my passion.
"Not long now," he whispers close to my ear, in a voice that sounds an octave deeper than his usual tone. He gives me a very chaste kiss – about the only thing that is innocent about him -, then our eyes lock. "I want to see you come," he says softly, and increases the pressure. That sends me over the edge, unexpectedly and powerfully, the burning heat sweeps over me, I don't care any more if my moans have been heard upstairs, I'm losing control of my whole body, I'm losing touch with the world around me, I float away in an ocean of desire and fulfillment and passion, until I finally collapse against his chest. He smirks down at me with a self-satisfied, smug expression on his face. I'd love to wipe that smile off his face and make him scream my name one of these days, no, now, right now, but an alarmed voice thwarts my plans.
"Is everything alright?" Mrs Harris inquires.
"Perfect," I reply and give the Judge a smoldering look.
"You don't sound right," Mrs Harris insists. "I'm coming down."
"No!" I almost scream, trying not to panic, "That isn't necessary, really!"
"I'm on my way," she says, and I can hear her rise from the floor.
"You're in trouble," the Judge whispers as his fingers, still wet with my juices, trail along my thigh leisurely.
Mrs Harris' steps are on the stairs.
I free myself from his grip in alarm and get up with some effort because my knees are still weak. I hurry to the door and slam it shut. "Please," I hiss, trying to smoothe my dress with my hands and check my reflection in the window. Does my transgression show in my face? My cheeks are still flushed, and I'm trying desperately to put my hair back in order.
If it wasn't for Mrs Harris' arthritis, she would already be here, but I can hear her steps approaching faster than I feared.
There is no time to put on my undergarments, so I just toss them on a chair and cover them with a cushion. I hastily grab my shoes and try to get them back on, which isn't easy with trembling fingers. He watches my efforts with an amused expression, but he makes no attempt to help me, or to leave the library. I hope he isn't going to give me away.
I brace myself to face Mrs Harris when my eyes fall upon the Judge. His enormous erection is clearly visible in his tight trousers. Oh, no. Please, no. Think, think! I grab the book from the table and put it in his lap to conceal the tell-tale problem. He looks at me as if to protest, but my pleading look silences him.
The door flies open and Mrs Harris appears. "Why the heck have you closed the door?" she thunders, but falls silent immediately as she spots the Judge.
"The…. The w-w-wind?" I stutter.
Mrs Harris curtseys clumsily. "I'm sorry, my Lord, I had no idea you were back," she apologizes.
"I only just returned," he says calmly. "It was I who shut the door. I was looking for a particular book that I was unable to find." He is pointing to his lap, and I begin to feel faint. "The maid was extremely helpful," he adds.
I am as white as a sheet.
Mrs Harris looks at me impatiently.
I can't say anything.
"What are you waiting for?" Mrs Harris hisses, "Thank the master!"
My voice is just a little bit shaky as I raise my eyes to the Judge and say, "Thank you, sir."
My heart skips a beat when he gets up from the chair and puts the book back on the table, but the erection is gone. If I hadn't suppressed it, a sigh of relief would have escaped me.
He walks past me and towards the chair that holds the cushion – and my undergarments. He carefully takes both – my undergarments hidden from Mrs Harris' view by the cushion, sits down in the chair and places the cushion on his lap.
"That will be all for today," he says in a neutral tone, but his eyes follow me as I make to leave the library with Mrs Harris.
She practically flies from the library – she can't bear to be in the same room with him, she says – and I am about to follow her when…
Just when I believe I am safe, he addresses me.
I freeze, but I keep my composure and ask: "Yes, sir?"
"Will you be cleaning the library again tomorrow?" he asks casually.
"I do not know, sir," I reply. "Will it be dirty?"
His hand moves beneath the cushion. "I should think it will be very dirty."

TBC…