Brian arrived at the estate sale early in the morning, parking his auto outside the stately country home and making his way inside. He hadn’t known Lord Palmer, but they had both been members of the same gentleman’s club and so he’d gotten the news a few days before. Lord Palmer had been an avid collector: art, books, and those odd curios many a gentleman of leisure packed their homes with. With no heirs to inherit his collections, it was all to be auctioned off later that day.

 Inside, Brian slowly made his way through the elegant hallways and rooms. Nearly everything in the house, near as he could tell, had been hung with a discrete paper tag, identifying the object and, in the case of the rarer objet d’art or curio, its provenance and value, ending with the lot number for the auction that afternoon.

 He was just examining a set of antique cavalry sabers when another acquaintance from  the club approached and greeted him. “Thought I’d find you here to day!” Smithers, the other man, said, extending a hand. “I figured you for a collector too.” He grinned and leaned in conspiratorially. “I say, have you seen the Help here?”

 “The Help?”

 “Yeah, the Help, the servants.” Smithers replied, excitedly. Brian shook his head. “Well come on, then. I’ll show you.” With a shrug, Brian followed the other man through the parlour into one of the other rooms. He wasn’t really sure what he expected to find, but he certainly wasn’t expecting to see a dozen or so young women standing in line along the far wall, completely naked.

 Three or four other men were in the room already, giving the girls a, in Brian’s opinion, most thorough examination, but there was room for Smithers and Brian to join them. As he got closer, Brian noticed all of the girls had their hands behind their backs. When one of the other men turned one of them in place so he could give her pert, naked bottom a pat, Brian saw her hands were tied together at the wrists with cord. The girls had their heads bowed low, so it wasn’t until another man placed a finger under one girl’s chin and pushed her face up Brian saw a thin, rolled length of cloth tied between her teeth. Things finally clicked when Brian saw the paper tag, tied to a string hung round her neck.  

 “These girls are for sale?” He told Smithers, incredulous.

 “Indeed, old chap. Everything’s up for sale: furniture, art, curios, and the help.” The other man replied with a grin. “See any you like? My favorite’s the dark haired lass, third from the right. The head cook, apparently, French of course, old Palmer apparently got her at an auction in Paris just last Spring…”

 “But I mean...you can’t just…” Brian stammered, stepping over to one of the girls: a young, mousy haired lass with a cute, freckled face and green eyes cast down at the floor. She didn’t stir as he reached out and grabbed the paper tag, though it lay across one of her pert, round breasts. He glanced at the small, neat writing. “Miss Allison O’Toole, Age: 19, Position: Upstairs Maid, Purchased from Private Trainer in Dublin. Item 07 Lot 183.”

“Go on, old chap.” Smithers said, nudging his companion. “Give her a feel.”

“I...I really couldn’t…”

“Don’t worry, she won’t mind, will you love?” Smithers said in a teasing tone. To Brian’s surprise, she didn’t react to the lewd proposal, continuing to look downwards, as if she was not aware she was standing naked and bound in line with a dozen other girls being ogled and felt up by strange men and were, apparently, soon to be sold.

Hardly able to believe what he was doing, Brian reached out a hand to cup the girl’s bare breast. She didn’t move, nor did her expression of dull apathy change, though he detected a quiet moan escaping the gag between her teeth as he squeezed and messaged her breast. “See, what’d I tell you. All of these girls are very well trained.”

“Trained?” Brian asked, surprised. “You mean they’re...they’re...slaves?”

“Of course, what else could they be?” Smithers said with a laugh. “After all, you can’t see free girls, right?”

“But certainly that sort of thing isn’t allowed these days…”

“Not for those in the know…” Smithers chuckled, tapping his nose conspiratorially. “There’s still companies out there, supplying Help for those with money and good taste. I reckon half the blokes at the club have at least one or two chippies helping ‘round the house. Wasn’t expecting Lord Palmer to have so many, but I case the chap always was a collector at heart!” He laughed, gesturing to the lineup.

They certainly were a worldly bunch. To the left of Miss O’Toole was a blonde Bavarian lass and beside her a dark skinned wench from the African colonies, then an Auborn haired girl from America and two sisters imported straight from Hong Kong. All had a position listed on their tags, from the scullery maid to laundress. “I’ll wager all of them had a hand in the bedroom though…” Smithers replied with a laugh.

Brian nodded, still trying to take all of this in. “But I mean…” He said as they finished going down the line and left the room, giving one last glance at the strange, lewd line up. “They aren’t really going to sell those poor girls, are they? Isn’t it all a little cruel, keeping them as slaves? Using them for...things.”  He waved a hand, his sense of propriety, even in these strange circumstances preventing him from being more specific.

“Now now…” Smithers replied, giving him a hearty pat. “It’s not like the same sort of thing don’t happen with free serving girls.” Brian nodded, he’d heard the gossip and scandals spread round the club, often enough. “And at least these girls don’t have to worry about getting the sack. Job security, you might call it, wot!” He shrugged. “Well, if it’s not your game, I understand. But I think you’d enjoy having one of those lasses helping round the house, right? You being a bachelor and all. And anyway, you’ve got until 2 this afternoon to decide. That’s when those girls go up for auction. Hope I’ll see you there! Only don’t bid on that French girl, right?”

Brian nodded, lost in thought as Smither’s have him another thump on the shoulder and headed off to another room. Of course, Brian thought, he could never do something so scandelous as buying a slave girl, whatever the other chaps at the club did. Still… “Two O’clock, eh?” Brian said softly to himself, making a mental note...