Hawkins Mansion: Master desires a new maid.

Hawkins Mansion: Mansion in Louisiana. Owner: Jeffery Hawkins. German shepherd pet: Brutus, male, 4 years old, loyal to Jeffery. Cook: Carl Franks. Butler: Charles Garvey. Groundskeeper: Old man Kincaid.

The estate known as Hawkins Mansion stood several miles beyond the nearest town, hidden behind ancient live oaks draped in gray Spanish moss. Built in 1884 by river merchant Auguste Bellemarre, the mansion blended French Creole elegance with late Victorian luxury. Though called a “plantation house” by locals, the property was less a plantation and more a self-sustaining aristocratic estate, famous for its imported horses, and sprawling ornamental gardens.

The mansion itself was a broad, two-story structure of pale cream brick and dark cypress wood, with deep wraparound verandas shielding the rooms from the Louisiana heat. Tall shuttered windows lined both floors, and wrought-iron balconies overlooked the grounds. Gas lamps once illuminated the front approach, though many had since been converted to electricity over the decades.

Visitors entered through massive double doors into the grand foyer, the true heart of the manor. Marble tile floors reflected the glow of crystal chandeliers overhead, while a sweeping staircase curved upward to a balcony overlooking the entrance hall. Portraits of the Hawkins family lined the walls, their painted eyes following guests through the room. Hallways branched east and west from the foyer, dividing the mansion into two symmetrical residential wings.

The lower east wing served as the domestic and operational side of the household. Closest to the foyer sat the formal dining room, capable of seating twenty guests beneath an enormous brass chandelier imported from France. Beyond the dining room was the kitchen complex, expanded several times over the years into a maze of preparation rooms, copper stoves, and storage spaces. Attached to the kitchen was a cool pantry room used for preserving dry goods, smoked meats, and imported wines. A small half-bathroom sat near the servant entrance for convenience during large gatherings.

Further down the east wing were the servants’ quarters, separated from the family areas by a narrow corridor. Though modest compared to the rest of the manor, the rooms were considered unusually comfortable for the era, with several small bedrooms sharing a proper full bath supplied by one of the estate’s earliest indoor plumbing systems. A discreet rear staircase near the quarters allowed servants to move between floors without crossing the main foyer.

Outside the east wing stretched the manor’s famed rose and herb gardens. Brick pathways wound through hedges of camellias, magnolias, jasmine, and climbing ivy. The gardener maintained decorative fountains, marble statues, and carefully shaped hedgerows year-round. Near the edge of the gardens stood a weathered gardeners shack, a low cypress building used for storing tools, seed trays, fertilizer, and storm lanterns. Older servants whispered that the shack had once been a temporary infirmary during a yellow fever outbreak many decades earlier.

The lower west wing reflected the intellectual and social life of the Hawkins family. Nearest the foyer was the study, paneled entirely in dark walnut and dominated by an enormous desk facing tall windows overlooking the western lawns.

Adjacent to the study stood the library, one of the manor’s proudest features. Two stories tall with a narrow upper gallery accessible by spiral stair, it housed thousands of books on law, medicine, natural philosophy, and foreign travel. Hidden behind one shelf was a narrow records room where financial ledgers, land deeds, and private correspondence were stored.

Past the library sat a small half-bathroom and then the sitting room, a more relaxed gathering area filled with velvet chairs, card tables, and a grand piano. During storms, the family often gathered there to listen to rain hammer against the windows while servants lit fires in the stone hearth.

The upper floor mirrored the layout below, divided into family quarters and guest accommodations.

The upper east wing housed the primary family bedrooms. Three secondary bedrooms lined the corridor, originally intended for Hawkins children and close relatives. Each room possessed high ceilings, private fireplaces, and tall windows opening toward the eastern gardens. A shared full bathroom sat between them, renovated in the 1920s with porcelain fixtures and clawfoot tubs.

At the far end of the east wing lay the master suite, occupying nearly a quarter of the upper floor. The master bedroom featured a four-poster bed beneath embroidered canopies, a private sitting alcove, and French doors opening onto a balcony above the gardens. Attached was an expansive full bath clad in white marble, with a deep soaking tub and brass fixtures imported from New Orleans.

The upper west wing served primarily for visitors and recreation. Three guest rooms occupied the northern side of the hall, simpler than the family rooms but still lavish by ordinary standards. A shared full bathroom sat centrally between them.

At the far end was the play room, added during the early 1900s when the Hawkins hosted extended family during summers. Originally intended for children, it eventually evolved into a recreation room containing billiard tables, chess sets, cabinets of old toys, and phonographs. Some sections of the room showed signs of later renovations, as though walls had been subtly altered or expanded over time.

Behind the mansion stood the horse stables and corral, separated from the main grounds by gravel paths and white fencing. The Hawkins bred fine riding horses there for generations, and the stable complex included tack rooms, feed storage, and lofts filled with hay. Beyond the corral stretched low marshland and distant cypress groves where fog often gathered in the mornings.

Jeffery Hawkins is the sort of man people noticed the moment he entered a room. At fifty-four years old, the CEO of one of the nation’s largest electronics corporations carried himself with the confidence of someone accustomed to being obeyed. Standing an even six feet tall and weighing just under two hundred pounds, he possessed the sturdy build of a man who had once been athletic and had maintained enough discipline to keep age from softening him too much. His gray-streaked dark hair was always carefully combed back, his beard and moustache immaculately trimmed, and his wardrobe consisted almost entirely of tailored suits imported from Europe. Even in private, Jeffery rarely appeared anything less than composed.

His voice was deep, measured, and deliberate. Employees described him as a man who never needed to raise his voice to command attention. A simple glance from him during a board meeting could silence an entire room. He spoke with the practiced elegance of old money despite the fact that the Hawkins fortune had only truly emerged during the late 1980s tech boom, when Jeffery transformed his father’s struggling radio parts company into Hawkins Dynamics, a global electronics and defense contractor specializing in communications systems, robotics, and experimental consumer technologies. Though extremely wealthy, Jeffery lived with unusual privacy. He never remarried after a brief engagement in his thirties collapsed under mysterious circumstances. Society pages once speculated endlessly about the breakup, but after a few veiled legal threats from Hawkins’ attorneys, the press stopped digging. Since then, he had remained single, cultivating a reputation as a difficult but desirable bachelor whose standards seemed impossibly high.

His estate, Hawkins Mansion, reflected the man himself: elegant, imposing, and quietly intimidating. Built deep within the Louisiana countryside on land purchased from a declining plantation family, the mansion combined restored southern architecture with modern technological renovations hidden beneath antique walls. Guests often remarked that the house felt strangely alive. Doors opened automatically without visible sensors. Music drifted softly through empty halls. Lights adjusted themselves before anyone touched a switch. Jeffery claimed it was simply an experimental smart-home system integrated throughout the property, though visitors sometimes swore the house seemed capable of anticipating behavior before it happened.

Jeffery maintained only a small household staff, all personally selected. Loyalty mattered more to him than experience. Employees who served him well were rewarded generously, but those who disappointed him rarely stayed long. Few former staff members ever spoke publicly about their time at Hawkins Mansion. Those who did usually described the work as demanding, isolating, and strangely consuming, as though life beyond the estate slowly became distant and unimportant.

Outside of business, Jeffery enjoyed quiet routines. He preferred expensive whiskey over crowded parties, smoked imported cigars late into the evening while reading financial reports or classical literature, and kept a private study lined floor-to-ceiling with rare books and prototype devices from Hawkins Dynamics laboratories. He disliked modern social culture, distrusted most politicians, and believed discipline was the defining trait separating successful people from failures.

Despite his cold reputation, there were moments when another side of him surfaced. He donated quietly to hospitals and technical universities across the South, personally funded scholarships for engineering students, and occasionally paid off debts for employees facing hardships. Yet even these acts of generosity carried an uncomfortable edge, as though Jeffery preferred people indebted to him. Desires a fully anthropomorphic Cocker Spaniel maid with voluptuous body to serve him and be his consort.

Charles Garvey serves as the mansion’s head butler with the precision and authority of a military officer. At 38 years old, he is tall, lean, and impeccably groomed, with sharp features, neatly combed dark hair streaked faintly at the temples, and piercing gray eyes that seem to notice everything. His uniforms are always immaculate—every button polished, every crease perfect—and he carries himself with rigid posture that rarely relaxes. His crisp British accent and measured tone give even ordinary instructions the weight of commands.

Charles runs the mansion staff with uncompromising discipline. Schedules are memorized down to the minute, silverware placement is exact, and servants quickly learn that excuses hold no value to him. He expects professionalism, silence during work, and complete loyalty to the household. Despite his stern reputation, the staff’s respect for him is genuine rather than fearful. Charles is fair, never asks others to perform duties he would not do himself, and quietly protects the servants from unreasonable demands by guests or employers whenever possible.

Born in London to a struggling working-class family, Charles entered domestic service at sixteen after leaving school to support his younger siblings. He discovered he possessed an unusual talent for organization and control under pressure. Over the years, he climbed through the ranks of prestigious estates and diplomatic residences, earning a reputation for restoring order to chaotic households. Rumors among staff suggest he once worked for a powerful aristocratic family brought down by scandal, though Charles never speaks about his past directly.

Since arriving at the mansion seven years ago, Charles has transformed the estate into a flawlessly operating institution. He knows every corridor, hidden passage, and routine of the house. Guests often find him intimidating at first—his expression rarely softens, and his presence alone can silence a room—but those who earn his trust discover a deeply loyal and disciplined man beneath the cold exterior. In private moments, usually very late at night after the household has gone quiet, Charles allows himself small rituals: a single glass of whiskey, classical music played softly in his office, and a rare, exhausted sigh once the burden of maintaining the mansion finally lifts for a few hours.