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Captain Montague's Mission (continued): By Vivienne Marcus (This is the second "slice" of the story: readers who have not read the first part are advised to do so before proceeding.) Five: There was a long silence. After she was sure the Germans had left, Sylvia jumped to her feet in exasperation. "How did they know? How did they know that there was an agent here?" She walked over to the edge of the arboretum. Through the glass she could see down the long driveway to the house. Presently the troop carrier led by the staff car rumbled down away from the house. "They knew nothing," said Mme de Veuvray. "It is as they said, the plane was heard to go over last night. They did not know there was a drop, and they did not know there was an agent." "It is an act of God that we were so ready. If we had been an hour later, we would have been discovered," said Sylvia. She shuddered. She looked across at Violette, who was still sitting by the fountain, shivering and breathing rapidly. "Poor cherie!" exclaimed Sylvia. "This was a terror for you, non?" Violette nodded breathlessly. "And you did so well not to give yourself away! Perhaps you should lie down and rest." She picked up the little bell and rang it daintily again. The maid appeared silently. "Please escort the Viscomtesse to her room to rest," said Sylvia. The maid bobbed a curtsey. "We do not have much time before Saturday. After luncheon we will continue working on the voice and deportment," commented Sylvia. She frowned prettily. "We have much less time that I had anticipated. We must be perfect to fool those Germans. They already suspect us, and they will be watching." Violette stood, feeling suddenly faint. She swayed a little. The maid caught her arm to steady her. "Come, Viscomtesse," she said. They left the room together. The maid helped Violette, taking very small steps, to walk back up to the chamber. She helped her to sit on the bed, and remove the dress over her head. Then she carefully reached round into the small pocket in the back of the corset and released the laces. Violette gasped, and her breathing became much easier immediately. The faint feeling disappeared and her mind became more focused. "That was a close call with those Germans," she commented. "I was really away there." The maid smiled gently. "It is always difficult at the beginning, Viscomtesse," she said. "But the corset becomes more comfortable with time." She knelt and began to laboriously undo the laces on the boots. Violette looked down. "What is your name?" "Janine." She was a very attractive young girl of about eighteen. She had natural straight blond hair which was tied back under a frilly cap. She was dressed in the traditional black French maid uniform, with seamed stockings and neat polished shoes. "I have been given the task of looking after you while you are here, Viscomtesse," continued Janine. "I will be responsible for assisting you with your personal care and dressing until you are able to manage it by yourself. I looked after the master while he was here. I will take care of all your requirements." "Please, don't call me Viscomtesse," said Violette. "But I must! It is ordered," said Janine. "When it is just the two of us, you can call me Violette." Janine paused: she had feared she would be asked to use the name Rupert. "Very well. Violette it is, then." "So it was you who ran the bath, and brought the breakfast?" She nodded. "My instructions are very specific. I must help you to dress in the morning, and I am instructed to make sure you dress appropriately at night. The Comtesse was most insistent. She appreciates that it will not be easy for you to change yourself completely to live as a woman. I am to look after your every need in the mean while." "My every need?" Janine looked directly into Violette's eyes for a long moment but made no answer. "How long have you worked here, Janine?" asked Violette. "I have lived in the servant's quarters all my life. My mother, Mme de Veuvray, has always worked for this family, and it was only right that I should be taken on." "Your mother...I see." "My mother knows what is expected of a maid whose position it is to serve an aristocratic family. She made sure I was well trained from an early age with all the skills I would need for this role." "And what skills might they be?" Janine said nothing. "You may wish to rest now," she said. "I must dress you again in one hour for your lessons in deportment from my mother." She busied herself tidying away the dress. "Very well," said Violette. She lay back on the bed, with the corset still loosely around her and breathed deeply. The dark tresses of the wig formed themselves cosily around her head and shoulders. She brushed away a stray wisp with a finger and was a little surprised to catch sight of the scarlet enamel on her nails. She gazed contemplatively at the ornate plasterwork around the ceiling. Whitehall, the RAF, even Britain seemed so far away. Already a gulf was beginning to form between her existence as Montague and her new identity. She knew that her safety (and beyond that, the war effort) depended on the maintenance of her disguise as Violette, and yet, there was something more, something which she could not place a finger on just yet. It was a new but somehow familiar feeling, of new horizons opening out in front of her, like the feeling of opening a door which had always been kept locked. She lay back on the pillows, dreaming lazily. Presently, she began to doze softly. Janine regarded her solemnly for a long moment, before soundlessly leaving the room. Six: "Is it really necessary to tie it so tightly?" gasped Violette as Janine was relacing the corset. Her hands were braced against the wall. Janine pulled the long laces with expert hands. "With time and training it will be more comfortable. But you do not have such a small waist as a French woman yet, and it will be necessary to make the corset very tight until you do," replied Janine. Violette gasped again as her breathing was once again restricted. Janine tucked the laces out of reach, and once again reached for the soft kid-leather boots and helped Violette to put them on - she was quite unable to bend to tie them herself. Janine turned her around, and deftly adjusted her breast forms, and then, with a few swift touches, refreshed Violette's makeup. Janine produced a sky blue silk robe. "Please put this on," she said. "No dress?" asked Violette. "Not for this lesson. My mother and the Countess have issued instructions that you are to wear only the corset and the boots this afternoon. A dress will only get in the way. Come." Once again, Violette managed only a clumsy stagger. Janine caught her arm to steady her as they made slow progress along the hallway. For the first time Violette noticed the full-length portraits which were hung along the length of the hallway. She assumed they must be members of this extended aristocratic family. Some of the women seemed to bear a resemblance to Countess Sylvia, and they all possessed her elegance and slightly aloof demeanour. Janine stopped and opened another door. It opened into a large, wooden-floored room with a baby grand piano in one corner. There was no other furniture in the room. Several large windows gave the room a bright, attractive aspect. The end wall was entirely mirrored, making the room seem much larger, and a wooden rail ran across in front of the mirrors at waist height. A thin white line was painted down the centre of the wooden floor. Madame de Veuvray and the Countess were already present. The Countess gave a smile of welcome. "The ballet room," she commented. "I remember many happy lessons here as a young girl. Once again we will use it to assist us with providing elegance and poise. Mme de Veuvray?" "Bon. Come, Viscomtesse. We begin with the deportment. Please remove the robe so that we can see your shape as you walk. Good. Now please walk along the white line, if you will." Violette slipped off the robe and gave it to Janine, who left the room silently. Violette stood at the end of the line. It seemed to continue through the mirrors. At the other end of the line stood a curvaceous young woman with long dark hair. Violette was once again surprised that it was her own reflection. She began to walk hesitantly, looking down along the line. She wobbled precariously on the unfamiliar heels. It seemed to take a very long time to reach the mirrors. She stopped and turned around. Mme de Veuvray was frowning. Sylvia looked politely amused. "Ah!" said Mme de Veuvray. "There are many things to learn. First! Do not try to walk as a man. You are striding out too far and over-reaching the step. Next! You must try to walk without your heels touching the ground. The high heels are there as a reminder to walk on the toes. Next! Keep the knees slightly bent but the back straight. Walk on the line as if on a rope: at each step the toe must touch the line. Next! You must look straight ahead, with your hands clasped behind your back. This way," she demonstrated. Despite her years it was clear that she walked with immense fluidity and grace. "Now, you try again," she said. Violette took a deep breath. She clasped her hands behind her and tried to ride up onto her toes, and face straight ahead. She began to walk again, taking shorter steps and copying Madame de Veuvray's gait. It was easier to walk in shorter steps with the corset, and her slightly bent knees caused her buttocks to rotate pleasingly with each step. But she found she had to look down to see the line. Mme de Veuvray seemed more satisfied. "You are getting the idea," she remarked. "Up on the toes, the toes! Not too much with the hips. We want you to look like an aristocratic lady, not a Marseilles prostitute. And always, you are looking down." She reached over and picked up a large heavy book from the top of the piano. She came over and placed it squarely on Violette's head. "This will remind you to keep looking straight ahead," she said. Violette tried again. With practice, it came a little easier each time. She dropped the book several times to begin with, and became accustomed to Mme de Veuvray's exclamations of "Up on the toes!" and "Shorten the stride!" After almost two hours, her calf muscles were stiff and sore. Her corset was once again feeling constrictive, making her breathing come in little gasps, and was biting into the skin at several tender points. But she had made definite progress, and her inelegant stagger had disappeared. "Bravo! Bravo!" exclaimed the Countess, clapping excitedly when Violette had negotiated the length of the room without dropping the book, wavering from the line, or allowing her heels to touch the ground. "So much to do, so much to do," commented Mme de Veuvray. "The turns. The sitting at a table. The stairs. The getting into a staff car." "But, enough for now, surely," said Sylvia. "Violette is tired, I can see that." She rang the ever-present bell. Janine appeared in moments. "Janine, please take the Viscomtesse back to her room. You may release her from the corset for no longer than ten minutes. Then please bring her back here. There is time for a little work on the elocution before dinner." "Oui, Comtesse," said Janine. She held out the robe for Violette to put on. This time there was no need of a steadying hand. Violette walked neatly out of the room without assistance. They walked along the corridor to the room in silence. Once in the bedchamber, Janine released the corset again. Violette gasped in relief. "I have brought you some chamomile tea as refreshment," said Janine. "Thank you very much," said Violette. "But there is a more, ahem, pressing matter for me." "And what is the nature of the matter?" "It's, er, that is to say, it, um, well, you know, I have to, erm..." Violette squirmed. "Viscomtesse?" Janine blinked in incomprehension. "Dash it, I have to make water!" Janine's eyes crinkled in merriment at the stiff expression. "Soon you will understand that the French have no inhibitions about discussing such matters," she said. She undid the clips on the stockings, and loosened the corset completely, letting it slide to the floor. Underneath it, Violette was completely naked. She made efforts to cover herself. Janine simply looked amused. "Do not worry, Viscomtesse Violette," said Janine. "It does not bother me whether you are wearing clothes or not. You must expect that I will see you in all states of dress and undress while I am looking after you. Now, please go and conduct your business." Violette walked into the bathroom to relieve herself. She was surprised to note as she caught sight of herself in the mirror that her waist was still sculpted by the corset and had not returned to its usual masculine dimensions. She returned to the bedchamber. Janine was proffering a cup of sweet-smelling chamomile tea. She sat on the chaise longue and lay back, sipping the tea delicately. When the cup was finished, Janine simply held up the corset. There was to be no respite, Violette realised, as she stepped into it and once again found it sliding its firm embrace around her. Soon, the Viscomtesse Violette was seated stiffly by the piano in the ballet room. In front of her, on a music stand, was a dark green leather-bound book containing the poetry of Baudelaire. It was open at a page and she was reading from it aloud. Sylvia sat off to one side, watching intently. She had been allowed to dress in a simple ivory dress. It was much less ornate than the previous gowns, and more comfortable, but the corset and boots were an ever- present reminder of her enforced femininity. Her hair had been gathered into a neat queue which draped luxuriantly over one shoulder. She felt uncomfortable sitting with her knees pressed so tightly together. Mme de Veuvray was pacing in front of her in the room as she read aloud. Violette reached the bottom of the page and stopped reading. Mme de Veuvray paused, frowning. "Your accent is not perfect," she began. "although for a foreigner it is extremely good. It is unlikely that our German friends will notice the difference. We will say it is the accent of Lyons if there is any comment made." "Are we really going to this dinner on Saturday?" asked Violette. "It is only the day after tomorrow!" Sylvia exchanged glances with Mme de Veuvray. "Richter is a man of his word. If you are not there, he will make trouble for us. He will not accept excuses. I am confident that we can complete the deception, although I fear that time is shorter than I was expecting." "Bon! So back to the elocution!" said Mme de Veuvray. "And we shall try to teach you to speak like less of a man. I want you to enunciate more clearly. I want you to speak a little higher up in the throat. If it helps, imagine you are an actor on the stage. Do not attempt the falsetto: you are not a castrato, and it will sound ridiculous. We must nudge your voice into femininity without making you sound like an impostor. So! We begin again please! Read with me. 'Comme un betail pensif sur le sable couchees...'" Violette began to read again, concentrating on the formal rigorous French of the poetry. She tried to raise her voice from her chest into her throat, and it lost some of its deep masculine timbre and projection and gained a lighter, more feminine quality. It naturally became softer and quieter. Her voice wobbled a little as she stumbled over the awkward words. Oddly, the pressure of the corset seemed to help to force the voice upwards. "...et les urnes d'amour dont vos grands coeurs sont pleins." she finished. "I chose Baudelaire because his style is not easy to read. It is not conventional French, and therefore demands much more concentration. I think that you are doing well. However, your voice drops at the end of the sentence. Your enunciation is not perfect. Concentrating on the poetry will help you to learn to speak in a more formal way, as a lady who has been educated in such things. The cadence and meter will help your diction to be more structured," said Mme de Veuvray. "Ah, Madame, you are always the critic," said Sylvia. "I think she did very well, for a complete beginner. You are new to Baudelaire, are you not, ma cousine?" "Yes, this is the first time I have read the work." "And I think you are picking it up very well," said Sylvia. Her eyes twinkled with amusement, and Violette wondered a little if she were missing some private joke. However, Mme de Veuvray's countenance remained severe, as usual. "Once again please, from the top of the page! Comme un betail!" They worked on the poem, repetition after repetition, until Violette felt she could read it without the book. She wondered idly if there had been a reason behind its selection, whether it had some deeper meaning. "Bon!" said Mme de Veuvray at last. "And now, we practise the two together. You will stand please. Close the book , and place it on your head, and walk along the line as you did this morning." "I cannot! There is too much concentration!" said Violette. Mme de Veuvray was formulating an acidic response, but Sylvia interrupted softly. "But no, ma cousine, you put yourself down too easily. Come." She stood in front of Violette, and took her by the left hand. "Look at my eyes," she said, "and say with me: Comme un betail..." Violette began to recite, without taking her gaze from Sylvia's sparkling blue eyes. Gently, Sylvia began to lead her, walking in front of her and helping her along. As they walked, they recited the poem in unison, and Violette found the rhythm of the poetry helped to guide the rhythm of her gait, to keep it natural-looking. The effect was striking, and Violette felt she had tapped into a new way of walking and speaking. They reached the end of the room. "Now you try alone," whispered Sylvia. "Concentrate on the words." Violette swallowed hard, and turned on her toes, and began to walk daintily along the line, reciting the poetry aloud and using its rhythm to guide her footsteps. She made it to the other end of the line with the poetry book balanced perfectly on her head. Sylvia clapped her hands with excitement. "Bravo!" she said. "I knew that Baudelaire would come in useful at some time in my life, but I did not know when!" There was a distant chiming. "Ah, it is almost dinner time! You must be hungry, my poor Violette." Said Sylvia. "Not when I am wearing the corset," replied Violette. "It keeps me squeezed very tight." "But I am sure you will manage a little soup. I will ask Janine to have you dressed properly." Once again, Violette realised that there could be no refusal. Seven: The dining room was as elegantly furnished as the rest of the house. The walls were draped in luxuriant swathes of burgundy velvet. Wall-mounted candelabra cast a warm glow. An unlit crystal chandelier hung delicately above the deep mahogany table, which was long enough to seat perhaps thirty diners in comfort, and there were approximately this number of tall-backed dining chairs neatly around. At one end of the room, there was a huge fireplace with a generous stone hearth, and the room was pleasantly warm. Violette had spent a full hour in the company of Janine in her chamber. Janine had taken her through the contents of the armoire and helped her to select a voluptuous evening gown. "In time," she said, "you will learn to choose your own clothes with good taste." There had been no avoiding the corset, although with time, it seemed to have become a little more comfortable; perhaps moulding itself to her, or perhaps, as Violette realised with a quiet frisson, it was moulding her to itself. The gown was deep scarlet, trimmed with ivory and lined in exquisite Belgian lace. Her hair had been styled delicately and was piled up loosely behind with combs, which made the weight sit higher on her head, and helped to lift up her chin. The hair was lustrous and beautiful, and the combs caught and reflected the candlelight. She wore diamonds in her ears and a triple string of dark pearls around her throat. Janine had spent particularly long on the makeup, carefully instructing Violette in the matters of selecting subtle colours, and applying them with fastidious care to cheeks, to lips, to eyelashes. Violette, once again, had been astonished at her appearance in the mirror. The room was set for only two diners, facing one another across the table at the cooler end of the room. There was a bewildering array of cutlery, several plates nestled together, and three tall cut crystal glasses at each setting. Janine left her at the door. The room was unoccupied, and she walked around it once, on the toes, keeping her back straight and her hands behind, enjoying the soft play of smooth fabrics on her skin as she moved, and the gentle rustle of her skirts with the rhythm of the pace. The corset aided the posture, there was no doubt. Sylvia entered at the other end of the room. "Good evening," said Violette. "Ah, ah, ah! The voice! The voice! Do not forget your lessons!" Violette took in a deep breath. "Good evening," she tried again. "Bonsoir," she said. "Much better. It is now dinner time." "I really have no appetite," protested Violette. "Perhaps this is for the best. The important thing is to give the semblance of eating, and to eat without guzzling. When wearing a corset you will feel sick very quickly if you eat too much. And a fine French lady does not eat like a pig, but only takes very dainty amounts. Please, sit." "It is so difficult to sit with this on." "I know, but you will learn in time. We have all had to do it." Sylvia showed Violette how to sit with her knees tight together, as the chair was pushed in from behind. "You should not sit, if there is no-one to help you with the chair. It is not acceptable for you to touch the chair: this is very rude. If you must rise, turn to the side slightly before you stand. It is appropriate to arrange the dress to the sides so that it is comfortable and does not get crushed." "So much to learn!" "And so little time. Pay attention, ma cherie!" Violette sat, and stood again a couple of times to practise. Although at first the corset seemed not to want to bend, it was easier than she had believed: sitting elegantly in a tall-backed chair kept the back straight and was quite comfortable. She turned to the bewildering array of cutlery before her. There were four full sets of cutlery in all. "Start with the outside, I presume?" she said. "Of course. We begin with the amuse-bouche, to whet the appetite." She picked up one of her little bells and rang it. Mme. de Veuvray appeared shortly at the door, carrying a tray on which were two wide plates, edged in gold and deep indigo with the family crest. On each, in the very centre, was a tiny morsel of food. She set a plate down in front of each woman. Violette inspected hers closely. It was the size of about half an egg and seemed to be composed of tiny shreds of dark red meat. It smelled delicious. "This is breast of quail. It is considered impolite to inquire about the food if the host forgets to mention it. You must consume it in no less than three bites." "But I could manage in one!" "And that is the problem. An aristocrat must show her breeding at all times." Violette picked up the cutlery. Sylvia watched her critically as she shaved off small slivers and ate them as delicately as possible. She nodded. "It will do." Violette watched in turn as Sylvia cut tiny morsels of her own dish and opened her mouth only a fraction, chewing delicately with her mouth closed. The soup course came next. Sylvia showed Violette how to fill her spoon by sweeping it away, instead of towards her, and how to dip bread discreetly in the soup without dribbling. "Now for the wine. I assume that your palate is not educated in French wine," said Sylvia. "Well, I,- that is, not really," said Violette. "This is the Chateau Yquem 1924. It is perhaps a little young, but one must make do with what one has left. Later we may try some of our own vintages." She rang the bell, and Mme de Veuvray appeared silently and poured a little into a glass. Sylvia picked hers up by the stem and seemed only to let the wine touch her lips before putting it down. She closed her eyes in appreciation. "Ah yes. I remember there were heavy rains early in the season which caused the grapes to take in a little too much water, which lends the wine a slight acidity in the aftertaste." Violette looked on in astonishment. "All my family know our wines, it is part of our heritage." "And how much of this will I need to know?" said Violette, picking up her own glass. "I hope, that like much of your stay here, the acquisition of such knowledge will come with more pleasure than discomfort over the time," said Sylvia. She caught Violette's gaze and held it a long moment as she tasted the wine, which was sumptuous and rich, with a burst of floral fruitiness in the mouth. She waited, but was unable to discern any acidity in the aftertaste. As she returned the glass to the table, she was a little taken aback to see the sensuous smudge of lipstick around the rim. Then the fish course arrived, with more detailed instructions on the use of the fish cutlery. "If you must remove a bone from the mouth, do it as discreetly as possible and place it in the napkin. Do not eat the skin. Oysters should only be eaten with the correct oyster fork: you should never gulp the oyster from the shell. Do not eat lobster: it is not ladylike." The rest of the meal came in a blur of courses, and of strange intoxicating flavours. There were a thousand details to remember, and a thousand things not to do: never allow the elbow to touch the table. Ladies are served from the left; men from the right. It is better to leave a little food on each plate. Never accept a second helping. Do not leave the table until the meal is over. Violette's mind was a whirl. At the end there was pate and a wide selection of cheeses from the board. Sylvia was careful to mention which were which, and which were likely to adversely affect the smell of the breath. "It is important that we consider all possible types of food and drink which we may be served." At the end of the meal, Violette had eaten no more than a few mouthfuls, but had managed to work her way through several glasses of the wine. She felt dizzy, and lightheaded, but oddly triumphant, and filled with confidence. "I can do this, you know," she whispered. Sylvia paused for a moment. "You are beginning to enjoy yourself," she commented. "I can't explain it. I've never felt like this in my life. I've never felt like dressing up as a woman, and I've always felt very masculine as a man. And yet, it is very liberating to be someone else." She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. "And this is so far from what I expected! I expected to be concealed under a dungheap in a pigsty where the Germans wouldn't dare to look! And instead there is all this," she gesticulated. Sylvia giggled behind her hand. "The secret is to conceal you in plain view, right under their noses." "And what of the rest of the plan? The sabotage? The Resistance?" "The first, and overwhelming priority, is to make you into the most convincing woman. That way you will always be safe. Later, we will arrange to meet with members of the Resistance and you will pass on your training to us, to help us to fight." "And our first great test together, will be the dinner on Saturday," said Sylvia. She held up her glass. "To the Viscomtesse Violette Catherine de Chauvigny de Lyons!" "To the Viscomtesse!" said Violette, and the glasses chimed melodiously together. Eight: The Friday morning dawned bright and clear. Violette awoke to the distant sounds of activity in the house. Birdsong floated in through the window. She smelled perfume, and realised with a little surprise it was coming from herself. Once again, as she felt downwards to the pleasant roundness of the breastforms, and allowed her hands to roam over her silky smooth skin, it came as a surprise to wake up as a woman. From the window of the chamber Violette could see down onto the early morning mists which clung round the trunks of the apple and pear trees in the orchard. Idly she flicked a stray wisp of hair behind her shoulder. Janine glided in presently with a silver tray, with fresh soft bread rolls, honey, eggs and tea. She did not make eye contact, but withdrew discreetly. "Janine," began Violette. "Viscomtesse?" she gave a tiny curtsey. "What is the itinerary for today?" "I believe that the Comtesse Sylvia wishes to take you on a tour of the grounds in the morning. Do you ride?" Violette groaned in a most unladylike way. "Well, not since my old school days. I could never get the hang of it." "You will learn again today. Come. We must prepare." Janine took Violette through into the bathroom, and helped her bathe thoroughly. She inspected her critically to make sure that none of the hairs had begun to grow back. Already Violette was comfortable being naked in her presence: she seemed so unafraid and matter-of-fact, which Violette found refreshing and enticing in a young girl, compared to England, where sensuality was never spoken of. Janine dressed Violette in a different corset this morning. Where the previous one had come down to the thighs to enforce a feminine hipline, this one had two leg holes and was moulded round the gusset. It felt much heavier and there was a very stiff panel stitched into the front. "Normally," Janine commented, "aristocratic ladies ride side-saddle. It is, however, the Comtesse's practice to ride with the leg over, as they do in Paris. We will therefore dress you in the riding britches, and it is most important that your manhood does not make itself apparent. This is why the riding corset will be used today." "How does that work?" "We will have you tucked up," she giggled a little. "Come. I will show you. Step into the corset like so." Violette complied. Janine proceeded to tuck her testicles up into their pouches on either side. Violette gasped and winced: it was very unusual to be touched in this manner, and the sensation was initially quite uncomfortable. She yelped a little. Janine pulled the corset up very tight, and began to lace it up as before. Finally she added the breasts. Violette gasped as she looked down. Of her normal bulge, there was no sign, only a smooth sensual curve from her stomach down beneath her legs. She felt an uncomfortable feeling of pressure beneath the corset. "It is uncomfortable to begin with," commented Janine. "But, like everything, you will get used to it." "The last time I went riding I thought I was going to smash them up anyway," commented Violette with a wince, recalling a spine-jarring gallop through the woods of Suffolk on the back of a bay mare. Janine completed the outfit with tan riding britches, black leather riding boots, a cream blouse, a smart black velvet riding jacket, and a pair of dark brown riding gloves. She finished off with makeup and tied the hair neatly behind in a generous ponytail. Violette went downstairs. She was beginning to know her way around. There was a not unpleasant sensation as she descended the grand stairs, held so rigorously in check by the corset. Sylvia was waiting at the bottom, and greeted her with a delicate kiss on each cheek. "Ma cousine, how are you today? I trust that you slept well?" "Very well indeed, thank you," said Violette. The voice was much easier with practice. "Today, we will go riding. I wish to show you the estate. You do ride?" "Of course I ride," bluffed Violette. She did not want to mention that she hated horses, that they seemed to hate and fear Rupert Montague, and that every time he had been on a horse it had been uncomfortable, smelly and painful afterwards. Animals always seemed uneasy around him. Sylvia held out a hard black riding hat and a short stiff leather crop. Violette put on the hat. She led the way out of the rear of the house towards the stables. The sun shone warmly down, though the air was still cool and fresh. Violette could smell the sweet odours of horses, of hay and of the rich brown earth. The air was alive with the sound of birds, and insects, and the occasional snort and whinny from ahead. The stable block was a couple of hundred yards from the house. Violette tried to copy the easy pace of Sylvia as they walked. In the centre of the stables was a small cobbled courtyard with two handsome mares, one a sleek chestnut and the other a glossy black. A dark powerful man was making adjustments to the straps on the saddle of the black mare. He moved easily and elegantly around the horses and murmured pleasantly to them all the while. "This is Gilles, the groom," whispered Sylvia. "Good morning, Gilles!" she called. "Good morning, Comtesse," he called, smiling, and waving. Violette felt a little uncomfortable: this was the first stranger she had met since her encounter with the Germans the previous day and she was not sure how convincing she would look, especially with the britches on. Gilles looked her over carefully; perhaps admiringly? Violette searched his face carefully but his eyes gave no hint of suspicion. "Gilles, this is my cousin, the Viscomtesse Violette de Lyons, who will be staying here for a few months." Gilles nodded respectfully. "My lady." He turned, "I have saddled the two mares as you asked, Comtesse," he said. "Excellent. We will ride out for a few hours, and return at noon." Gilles held the black horse, and Sylvia swung herself up into the saddle with ease and grace. She had complete poise in the saddle, and sat with her back straight and held the reins easily. The horse sensed her confidence and stood restfully. Violette approached the mare. She gulped, and held out a hand to pat its patient cheek. Instead of drawing away as she was accustomed to, the horse nuzzled her face, and sniffed loudly. Violette smelt pungent breath on her face. The horse snorted, and seemed contented. Violette turned to Gilles. "Your horse seems to have a lovely nature," she commented. "Ah, she is a sweet one, this," said Gilles. "She normally takes well to strangers." He took the reins. "I will hold her for you to climb up," he said. Do you need assistance?" "I will manage," she said. She grasped the saddle and put her foot in the stirrups, and swung herself upwards. Although a little clumsy, she managed quite well. In the saddle, she composed herself a little. Her legs were splayed out quite widely, and she was surprised (as before) how broad a horse's back is. The riding corset seemed much more comfortable in this position: clearly it was designed for this activity. Sylvia clicked loudly and her horse picked up a gentle walk, and Violette's horse followed. As they rode, Sylvia described the history of the house, how the grounds had been laid out according to the fashions of Louis the XVI, how her great grandfather had drawn up the plans for the orchards and vineyards which were still cultivated according to his strict instructions. The grounds seemed enormous. The further from the house they went, the wilder and less cultivated the scenery became. They left clipped lawns and immaculate flowerbeds and entered lush temperate woodland, through which the bridle path meandered, at times passing a bubbling brook. There were sounds and smells of the countryside all around. They chatted the while pleasantly. Violette was coming to realise what an outstanding woman Sylvia was. Instead of hiding behind her breeding and her status to sit out the war, she was instead choosing to place herself at personal risk to fight with the Resistance against the occupation. She was at once intensely feminine and yet strong and commanding, a combination which Violette was beginning to find bewitching. They rounded a bend in the path, and Violette realised they had topped a rise, and were looking over the woods to the house. Sylvia had stopped talking and was swaying slightly forwards and backwards as she rode. Violette noticed her eyes were closed and her mouth was open a little, and she was breathing deeply. "Come, cousine!" called Sylvia. She kicked her heels, and her mare took off into a gallop. Hair streaming out behind her, she held the horse masterfully as it pounded the turf. She laughed musically, and was soon gone from sight. Violette sighed. She did not want to risk a gallop, but did not want to be lost. She tilted forward in the saddle, kicked in with her heels, and smacked the horse on the rump with the crop. It bolted with a jerk, and she almost lost her grip on the reins. The horse put its head out, and its ears back, and Violette had to lean into the wind. It seemed to be breathtakingly fast, faster than a car or a Spitfire, and was incredibly bumpy and jolting. She felt her breath coming in tight little gasps, as the horse's huge muscular body stretched and flexed beneath her. The horse galloped out across a wide clearing. Ahead, Violette could see Sylvia's horse, still galloping, Sylvia still laughing with delight. They were gaining. They drew up level, and Sylvia looked around laughing. She egged her horse on a little faster, but both horses were running flat out now. At the end of the clearing was a small clump of trees beside a wide blue lake. Violette could already feel the cool breeze from the water blowing against her face. She feared that the horses would run right into it, but Sylvia reined her horse in with ease, and she found she could do the same: obviously the horses were used to running this way and stopping at the lake. Sylvia rode her horse into the water a little way. It whinnied in delight, and kicked up the water in a spray. Violette gave her horse its head, and it followed, plunging into the lake. The two horses frolicked in the icy water, splashing it around wildly, all over the two riders, who laughed and whooped with exhilaration. At last calmed, the horses put their heads down to drink. Sylvia rode hers to the bank and dismounted. She left the horse at the water's edge, its breath steaming and its sweat running down to the water. Violette dismounted too, and let the horse have its rein. It joined its companion in a cooling drink. Violette regarded Sylvia, flushed, sweating a little, and glowing. She looked ravishing, Violette realised. She stepped forward a half pace. Sylvia stepped forward a half pace too. She held up a hand to Violette's face, a little hesitantly, looking deep into her eyes. Her mouth was open and she was breathing rapidly. "I am always amazed how beautiful you look, Violette," she said, trembling slightly. Violette's heart was pounding and her mouth was dry. She too reached up a hand to Sylvia's face and stroked her cheek. She said nothing. With her other hand she reached out and pulled Sylvia to her. Sylvia made no resistance, and put her arms around her. There was hunger in her grasp. It was a strange and wonderful feeling, the feeling of holding another woman, and yet, so intoxicatingly different to how it had been for Violette before. Breast to breast, hips to hips, they clasped each other tightly. Sylvia began to talk softly. "It is so difficult for me. There is no-one to turn to. No-one to help me. The Germans are everywhere. I am so alone, and it is so frightening." "Shhh," said Violette. "you don't have to be alone any more. I am here now." "Violette, there is so much that you do not know." "I will discover in time." "Oh, we must not do this. If Mme de Veuvray finds out, or what if-?" Violette silenced her by pulling her forward and kissing her deeply on the lips. It was unbelievably soft and gentle. Sylvia's generous lips parted and she put out her tongue, a little hesitantly at first. Violette was a little surprised: they did not kiss like that in England! But she did not falter, and opened her own mouth to accept and share the sweet moment. It was so tender, yet so urgent. Sylvia slipped off her riding jacket and then her blouse seemed to come open in her hands. Violette slipped the straps of her basque off her shoulder and suddenly Sylvia's beautiful golden breasts were free, each crowned by a delicate raspberry. Violette knelt and began to lick them softly. Sylvia moaned. Violette in turn began to take off her clothes but they were unfamiliar and she could not release the corset. Sylvia helped her, but when Violette was going to take off the wig, she said "No, leave it!" And indeed, it seemed more comfortable to comply. Violette was drunk by the smell and sight of Sylvia's lithe body. When the corset was finally off she stood up tall and strong. Sylvia smiled delicately and reached below, to caress gently. The feeling of the touch of smooth skin against smooth skin was indescribable. They made love passionately under the trees. Being a woman made Violette behave very differently, with compassion and mutuality and respect. Part of her dimly remembered England, rutting like a stag with a round- breasted girl, but this was so unhurried, and felt so right. She was so keen to give as well as to receive pleasure. Afterwards they lay on the soft grass holding each other. Violette let her hand drift lazily over the creamy whiteness of Sylvia's skin, and Sylvia ran her hands through Violette's glossy locks. Dappled shafts of sunlight danced through the trees and sparkled on their naked skin. "Do they make love like this in England?" asked Sylvia. "Nothing like this, my sweet," said Violette. "I did not want for this to happen. It will make things much more complicated." "I know." "For me, it has been a long time." "And for me. But perhaps, not such a long time until the next time?" Sylvia smiled. "Perhaps." Then her brow crinkled in a frown. "Oh, la, la, the time, the time! We must be back for lunch! Mme de Veuvray will be expecting us. Your training is to commence first thing this afternoon!" She jumped to her feet in a fright. Violette scrambled up. Sylvia was gathering up the clothes and trying to put them on all at once. Violette knew she could not get dressed without help, but made efforts to replace the corset and tuck herself into it. "What about my makeup?" she asked. "Do not worry," said Sylvia. "I have a plan." She took from her saddlebag a compact makeup kit and refreshed her own makeup, before helping Violette with hers, in particular wiping away the smeared lipstick. "Do you always carry spare makeup when you ride?" asked Violette. "But of course," she replied with a flounce and a wink. "You never know when you might need it when you are out riding. Now come! We must return!" And with that, she swung herself into the saddle and galloped off. Copyright (c) 2002 by Vivienne Marcus.