Every morning, except for Sunday, I attended class with a private tutor, Mr Clement.
He was the last of a line of teachers my father had employed to oversee my and my brothers' education. In this capacity, he had been with the family for three or four years at this point.
He was a man of fifty, with a pot belly and thinning white hair. He wore a pair of gold-rimmed glasses low on his red nose.
Mr Clement was a man of few words. He could talk for hours on any academic subject, if prompted. He spoke fluently and without the need to consult any of the volumes of the family library. But he could as easily be silent, if nobody queried him, and be seemingly content with his own company.
He taught us mostly Greek and Latin, some Mathematic and Geometry, and a little Biology. I say 'us', but it was usually me, as my brothers preferred the open air to the stuffiness of our library.
Their rather wild upbringing my brothers were subject to didn't seem to concern my father, who was happy to indulge his two boys, seemingly certain they would eventually find their way into the world. He probably had a design to utilise his connections to find them meaningful employment and was happy to see them enjoy this life of leisure for now.
Their absence from almost all classes certainly didn't concern Mr Clement. Every morning, he waited for me in the library. I found him staring at the ceiling, his hands subbing his round belly under the gilet.
'Good morning, Mr Clement,' I would say.
He would slowly lower his gaze to finally rest upon my face.
'Ah,' he would reply as his form of greeting.
As soon as I sat down, he would produce a Latin passage to. Once the translation was done, he would read it, scan it for plain errors or for clunky renditions and scratch little notes in red ink on the page.
We would discuss some of the grammatical peculiarities of the text, maybe the author's style (Caesar was simply, Cicero was expansive and elegant, Seneca was fragmentary and surprising), then move on to another topic.
The end of our lesson was marked by the chiming of the large grandfather's clock in the centre of the room.
'Twelve… Already…' Mr Clement would say, bowing slightly. 'Thank you, Miss Eloise. I will see you tomorrow.'
But that particular morning, I hadn't gone down to the library for my lesson. I hadn't even attended breakfast with mother. Nay, I hadn't left my room.
From the moment I woke up, I kept thinking about what I had seen the night before. I was going over all the little details I had spied, and that I still couldn't fully make sense of. There was the hand of the priest between my mother's thighs; there was my mother's lips wrapped around the priest's private parts, and then the loud moaning I had heard, and also the words my mother and the priest had exchanged: I kept thinking about what they had asked each other, how they had demanded, coaxed, and begged.
Another thought of a different nature had also been planted and was slowly taking roots inside me. From the way Father Briac and my mother had been talking, it was clear to me that they had met in this way before. Most likely, this had been going on for quite some time, in fact. There seemed to be various, less clear, implications in what I had seen (they took the shape of my father's dark visage, my own red hair, my mother's careless laugh), but I didn't want to focus on them at present.
My attention was entirely absorbed by what appeared to be the greatest pleasure I had ever witnessed, and I desperately wanted to partake in it as soon and as fully as possible.
When the maid opened the door, she found me standing in front of the mirror. I was completely naked.
I had been admiring my body all morning. I had discovered I was a woman, like my mother was. Without me knowing, all my life, I had been harbouring within me a secret, the ability to excite and be excited. I was determined to find out where this treasure, that I was certain was hidden within my body, was lodged. I wanted to pry my body open and see what marvels Nature had concealed with its fibres.
I had admired my large breasts. I had caressed them, indulging over the pink circles of the nipples. I had run a finger, following the demi-circle that runs underneath a woman's breast, all the way to the tuft of red hair under my armpit. I had caressed the soft hair, tickling myself lightly. Then, I had examined my stomach, the little white almond of the belly button, and continued lower until I felt the beginning of the fur that covered my front.
The first contact with this part filled me with excitement and fear in equal measure. What if I couldn't produce that state that the priest's fingers had caused in my mother? And, if by some stroke of luck I could manage it, what would this excitement feel like? Would it change me forever?
I positioned my hand between my thighs and waited. I waited, hoping to feel something, but I had to eventually admit to myself that I was too ignorant of these secrets of Nature. Tears of rage came to my eyes: how was it possible that I hadn't been taught something of such obvious importance? Moreover, I felt entitled to this knowledge as it belonged to me, just like the body that hid this secret belonged to nobody by myself.
The maid found me in this position: naked, with one hand firmly lodged between my thighs, and a desolate look on my face.
'Yes?' I said, noticing her face in the mirror.
'Mr Clement would like to know if you're joining him for your lesson, Miss…' the maid said.
'Ah…' I sighed. 'What's the point?'
I sat on the bed.
The maid was at the door, unsure of what to do.
I looked at her. She was a year or two older than me: she had that typical aspect of the Breton woman, with sandy hair, big dark eyes, a tall forehead, and thick pink lips. Her complexion was pale. Under her cheekbones a thin lace of broken capillaries gave her the only accents of colour.
'Is there anything I can do?' she asked, seeing I was staring at her.
'You probably know… Don't you? Everybody knows, except for me.'
The young woman seemed at a loss.
'I have heard,' I said, almost to give some order to my thoughts than for a real need of discussing such topics with her, 'that women can put their fingers under their stomach and produce a wonderful change in their countenance. I heard they scream and cry too.'
The maid was biting her lip, unsure of whether to speak or be quiet, whether to stay or leave.
'So?' I asked, annoyed. 'Do you know?'
She nodded.
I scoffed: even the maids knew! Every person around me had probably been walking around with this secret knowledge all my life, and I had never suspected any of it.
'What's your name?'
'Margot.'
'Well, Margot, my tutor has been deceiving me: he has taught me many things, but you seem to already know more than me.'
I watched her blush gently, whether from the compliment or the embarrassment of being the depository of such indecent knowledge.
'Would you teach me?' I asked, struck now by the fact that this pretty woman, not much older than me, knew everything I so desperately wanted to learn, and there was no reason why she couldn't share this information with me.
She seemed unsure.
'Is it money?' I asked. 'Would you do it for money?'
'No,' she stuttered. 'The fact is that it wouldn't be proper of me to teach the young miss how to do certain things.'
'But you know what I'm referring to?'
She nodded.
'Then show me… Come on,' I said with some sugar in my voice, 'come closer, good, little Margot.'
She walked into the room and closed the door behind me.
'This is very good. I'm sure we can be good friends?'
I produced a little coin which I showed her.
'What would your mother say?' she asked.
I laughed. If this intelligence ever reached my mother and she wanted to confront me about it, I would easily turn it against her: what was she doing with the family priest, late at night in the chapel? I was ready to blackmail my own mother, to cast away any filial respect for her, in order to acquire the forbidden knowledge I so desperately desired.
'My good Margot,' I said. 'The door is closed, and it's only the two of us in the room. If you promise not to tell a soul, my lips are sealed to.'
I watched her eyes travel to the coin.
'So, will you teach me?' I asked.
The girl nodded.
'This is very well, then!' I said.
I jumped up and positioned myself before the mirror.
'See, I know it's something down here, but I don't know what,' I said.
Margot walked up behind me.
I felt the rough surface of her heavy skirt against the skin of my legs, and the stiff bodice coming up against my back. I saw the girl's face next to mine in the mirror.
She put her hand on my pubis and caressed the fur.
'You're so smooth,' she said.
'You like it?' I asked.
She nodded, shyly.
I was impatient, but I allowed her some time to get used to the oddity of having her hand on my private parts.
The girl caressed the pubes, almost marvelling at their texture.
'There is a fleshy part between a woman's thighs,' she began, her voice trembling. 'Here,' she said, moving the palm of her hand through the fur on my pubis.
I felt her fingers explore my front and then rest in the point where my labia joined. She began massaging the flesh.
Instantly, I felt a rush of heat colour my face. I felt a mixture of sensations at the pit of my stomach. The sensations that the movement of the girl's fingers caused were new and I could not express them in words I knew, but, at the same time, they felt familiar.
'Oh, Margot. You're making me so warm,' I said.
I was looking at her face in the mirror, at her hand hidden between my thighs, at my naked body within her harms.
Margot gave me a kiss on the neck.
'Please don't stop,' I told her.
I could smell her. It was the woolly smell of her clothes, and the odour of her unwashed skin.
I noticed how my hips were now swinging back and forth under her touch. I couldn't control this movement. It was as if my body knew what to do now that Margot had begun.
'You're murdering me,' I whined, as the sensations were now doubling in intensity. I was warm all over; my skin was tingly; my balance was unsteady, and my head was spinning violently, as if I was now suddenly drunk.
Margot's fingers hadn't strayed from the original place. Her movements were monotonous, but, at the time, they seemed adventurous and exciting.
I squeezed my nipples, as I had seen my mother do.
'Ooh!' I moaned.
'Do you like this, miss?' Margot asked, staring at me with large, timid eyes in the mirror.
'Very much!'
I wanted to ask her what was happening next, if this crescendo of heat and confusion was ever going to end, and how.
Then, the girl began to move her fingers faster. They exerted more pressure on this new secret organ she had discovered, and my extasy reached its peak.
'Ooh… What are you doing, good Margot?' I whined.
Margot kissed me on the mouth and brought my body closer to her. We swung back and forth together as she imparted the last few strokes. Finally, I came with a long, sustained cry upon her lips.
'Oh, Margot, little Margot, you have murdered me,' I sighed, as I dropped on the bed.
I ran a finger between my thighs and found myself very wet, as if I had urinated.
'People are probably wondering why I'm taking this long,' the maid asked, picking up the coin from my night table, 'What should I tell Mr Clement?'
'I was a little indisposed, but I feel much better now. I will be downstairs presently.'