Young Bess - Part Three free porn video

YOUNG BESS ? PART THREE By Jane Howard This little tale is reader driven, and your suggestions are taken most seriously. As you express your ideas in your reviews, I try to incorporate them into the story line provided that I can. New readers are invited to try Part Three, and if you like it to pick the story up from the beginning. This has all been such fun! Thanks so much to Bluto, Bruce, C-Monster, Jezzi, the fabulous Elaine, and other readers for your encouragement. Without it, I could not do this. *** It was Mary who answered my knock and she led me down a short, narrow corridor. Then through a door which led us down three steps into the main kitchen and I was awestruck by the size of it. It was truly twice the size of our own kitchen at home, sixty-five or seventy feet long, and half again that size in width. It was crammed with all manner of tables, counters, stoves and tubs. The space on its pale green walls was crowded with cabinets, closets, shelves and racks. There were many mysterious machines that I imagined must cut or slice or core the many foodstuffs that had to be prepared. They were all soundly clamped down on the counter surfaces, freshly cleaned and waiting in silence to be used again. In fact, everything about the place symbolized intense industry, but, above all, cleanliness and orderliness. A most appetizing smell of spices intoxicated the air in the room, which was still warm from the fires of the several hearths that had been used to heat the main meal of the day. My eyes were so dazzled by the many objects they were taking in, that I had drifted away from Mary. I wandered around a bit and touched some of the more amazing gadgets and tried to make them work by turning their cranks or lifting their handles. I was in the midst of sticking my finger into an opening in a most promising apparatus when Mary clapped her hands sharply together. "Mrs. Norton is waiting, Elizabeth!" I spun round to apologize and that's when I saw her for the first time. As soon as I did, my nervousness returned. Mrs. Norton was sitting in a wooden chair by the only window in the kitchen. The light from the late afternoon sun was right behind her and still shining strongly enough that her features were obscured until I drew near. I approached her with some apprehension. Mrs. Norton was not at all as I'd pictured in my mind. In the recesses of my imagination, I'd seen a most unintimidating, smallish, round woman with rosy cheeks and a pleasant face. What I got instead was quite the opposite. Mrs. Norton, although seated, was tall indeed. Fully a head or more taller than I, I reckoned. Her face was very long, and her countenance most serious. There was something rather regal about her. Clearly she was a kind of queen here among the servants in the house. Certainly, she was not a person to stand for any nonsense from her staff. The most outstanding things were her eyes. Once, I think, they had been as green as the spring grass in the meadow. Now faded into a duller, more Autumnal shade, I saw in them the look of wisdom and disappointment that many people older than myself develop after experiencing the knocks and blows of a hard life. There was also a subtle sadness in them. I attempted a curtsey, but my knees were knocking together so badly that the curtsey was clumsy and I nearly lost my balance in the process. Before I could speak my apology, Mrs. Norton began the interview, "Mary has read me the letter of introduction from Sir Isaac." I nodded realizing that Mrs. Norton could not read. That was odd I decided as usually, someone given responsibility for running the domestic affairs of a great house such as this one had the ability to read and write. "You are fortunate to have such a famous benefactor," she said. "Sir Isaac is my...," I almost slipped and said 'Uncle'! So I started again, "Sir Isaac is my friend, and he has told me how very highly he thinks of you. Knowing of my need, he thought that you might..." Ignoring me, she continued, "you are also very fortunate in that we have an unexpected vacancy on the staff." "You do?" I replied innocently, acting as though I knew nothing of Bronwyn's disappearance. "The position is for a serving girl," said Mrs. Norton. A serving girl? I'd been told that Bronwyn had been much more than that! Still, any position was better than nothing, so I decided to humble myself. "I would be honored to accept," I said. "I have not offered it, yet!" Mrs. Norton rose as she corrected me. "What I propose is that we give you a trial. Come here, girl!" "I'm called Bess," I said, approaching to within a few feet of her. "Come closer still," she instructed. When I was as near as I could be, Mrs. Norton reached out, touched my face with her fingers and that startled me. I drew back slightly, but her fingers followed me and continued their inspection of my features, my hair, and my shoulders. "Pretty," said Mrs. Norton. "She is a pretty thing, isn't she, Mary?" "Yes, Mrs. Norton," replied Mary whose tone was unconvincing. Like sparrows alighting, landing and then alighting again, Mrs. Norton's clever fingers continued on their mission of discovery until they reached my bosom. There they lingered for a time until they found the cleft between my breasts and then they slid downward to the top of my bodice. "We shall need a large handkerchief to cover all this bounty, Mary!" exclaimed Mrs. Norton. From the corner of my eye, I saw Mary go to a cabinet and retrieve a white cloth and some pins, as well as a blue smock, a muslin apron and a headdress of the type typically worn by the female servants who worked above stairs. At Mrs. Norton's command, I drew the coarsely weaved smock around my body, and threw the halter of the apron over my head. I then tied the drawstrings of the apron tightly enough around me to suggest that I at least had a shape. Next, I placed the headdress over my blond hair and I hated it immediately. The back of it curved down over my neck, and the sides of it, which were folded over like two swans' wings at rest, covered my ears. I am sure that it would look perfectly natural in a painting by William Hogarth, but on me it looked dreadfully fantastical. The brim of it almost concealed half my face. I imagined that I must look like a nun with a brain case too flat for her skull. It would have to go. The final insult was the complete censoring of my upper body. This disgraceful act was perpetrated by Mary, who pinned the handkerchief inside the smock in such a way as to completely hide the exposed parts of my chest and bosom. It was much too warm to be confined in that way and I feared that the pins would stick me most painfully. The starch in the cloth really irritated my skin, and I knew that under its confining power my complexion would become blotchy and unsightly. Besides no one would be able to admire me. Both the act of dressing and the disappointing final effect of the costume on my appearance had served to dissipate my nervousness. In its place, I was feeling tremendous agitation. Of course, I could not voice any complaints aloud or I would surely forfeit the position and jeopardize my mission. Therefore, I kept my mouth most resolutely shut and I smiled. It is not flattering to the face to press one's lips together so tightly and to try to smile at the same time. Yet, I'd had much practice in the past at making this tight-lipped smile look credible. How many times my mother had required me to smile before granting me permission to leave my room after one of my many punishments for disrespecting something or someone! I had always been able to deceive her with that paradoxical smile. Paradoxical, because in truth it was not a smile at all, but rather a grimace. Mrs. Norton returned to her chair and sat. "Is it your opinion that she is presentable now?" she asked Mary. "Much better than before," Mary answered. "What I am asking is will she do?" said Mrs. Norton. "She will do, I suppose." "Good. Now, then, the new girl will need someone with experience near her to keep her out of difficulty. I think Fanny Bright is the best choice. Fetch me Fanny Bright!" declared Mrs. Norton. Mary left and Mrs. Norton used the time we were alone to explain the details of my trial. "Mr. Montfort and his guests are visiting the kennels at present. Mr. Montfort's best bitch has had a litter of puppies and he has very generously offered each of the gentlemen a pup. In a short time, they will be returning to the house and retiring to the drawing room for refreshments." "Will they have the puppies with them?" I asked, hoping that they would. "Of course not, child! Kindly refrain from interrupting me!" "I am very sorry, Mrs. Norton," I said and curtseyed again, this time with more success, not that Mrs. Norton seemed to notice the improvement in my technique. She was beginning to remind me of someone I knew very well indeed. "I will be straightforward with you, Bess," Mrs. Norton continued. "These gentlemen will be drinking all types of spirits. They will drink punch and ale, and gin, and they will drink wine and rum and brandy and every other kind of inebriating fluid that they can consume without poisoning themselves outright. They will continue drinking for most of the night. They will have contests of drinking. They will drink until they cannot stand or talk or think a sane thought." "Oh, my!" I blurted, putting my hand up to my mouth. "Your duty is to serve them. There is more than an ample supply of what they want already stocked in the room. Still more is available in a storage room that Fanny will show you. The door is locked, but she will have the key. Now is what I have explained clear to you, girl?" "Yes, Mrs. Norton. Perfectly clear," I replied. "Now, here is the main purpose of all this. Our house is not what it was before Mr. Montfort befriended these companions of his. Before they came here the house was serene and peaceful with one good day following another under the guiding hand of our beloved mistress. Now what we have here is all riot and chaos. Mr. Montfort cannot help it. There are reasons. But the staff is hard pressed to please these men. By day, these fellows are surly and rude and that is bad enough, but at night they can go too far." "Why then does Mr. Montfort offer them his hospitality, Mrs. Norton?" I asked. "Is it in his nature to behave like them?" "Certainly not! Pay attention, child! It is as I've already told you! Mr. Montfort has no choice in the matter! That is all you need to understand!" "I was only being curious! I am sorry to have ever asked the question, Mrs. Norton!" "Curious! Curious! Curiosity is the one quality you must not possess if you wish to continue here!" "Oh! I do! I do wish to continue here! I promise that I won't ever be curious again!" "That's better! Mary will return with Fanny in no time and I don't want to find myself saying these things in front of them, so let's finish this now. I had started to say that we are under pressure to keep the staff safe. They are most dreadfully abused and one has even run off. That is no doubt as a consequence of ill treatment at the hands of Mr. Montfort's companions. I fear that more may follow her example and flee. Now then, I have been fair with you and explained what is afoot here. In turn, you must show me that you are up to it. You must demonstrate to me that you have the character that we require. If you doubt yourself, or if you doubt me, then you are free to leave and my responsibility to your benefactor is at an end." Any ordinary young woman would have left but I was no ordinary young woman. Besides which, I had no choice. "I shall stay," I told Mrs.Norton and I felt like such a silly goose! The strategy that Mrs. Norton and Mary had followed in concealing my true appearance with shapeless clothes and an overlarge cap was suddenly now obvious to me. An attractive, provocative maid would not fare well with Mr. Montfort's boisterous guests. "We are here, Mrs. Norton," Mary announced, coming back into the kitchen with the young woman who I took to be Fanny Bright. I would guess that Fanny was about twenty-five years of age with auburn hair flowing in abundance from beneath her cap. Freckles dotted her cheeks and her upper lip was thin, but the lower one was full enough to make up for the deficiency. Her pretty hazel eyes assessed me from beneath her thick black eye brows. Those brows seemed completely out of place and contrasted with the delicacy of the other features on her fair face. They quite ruined her, actually. But she was pleasant enough and moved and spoke with great energy. I could see that she was a girl for getting things done, and that must have been why Mrs. Norton thought so well of her. Mrs. Norton gave her the key to the storage room and Fanny took me by the hand and pulled me upstairs as fast as she could. "We haven't a moment to lose," Fanny said breathlessly, leading me into the drawing room. "The gentlemen will be back before we know it." The drawing room was charming. The walls and doors were colored robin's egg blue, trimmed in gilt along the panels. The ceiling was decorated with lovely paintings of cherubic angels in flight. Comfortable chairs were arranged in groups for ease of conversation. The inevitable gaming table complete with a fresh set of playing cards was set up in the center of the room. French doors opened onto a large balustrade with a set of stone stairs that led down to the lawn. Fortunately, we arrived in time to arrange the room according to Mr. Montfort's guests' specifications, which they had outlined in minute detail after their arrival at the estate some six days earlier. And the arrangement was that each of these gentlemen had a favorite chair and a favorite beverage. Our task was to place the glasses and beverages in the correct places in the room so that each refreshment was ready and waiting conveniently at hand. Fanny told me that their thirst was so great that they found it irksome to call out for what they wanted or to wait even a moment before being served! It is a typical English tradition for the men to take possession of the dining room after dinner where they enjoy cigars from the Americas and brandy from France, and for the women to retire into another room on the same floor for conversation and sometimes a glass of sherry. Isolated in this way, the men are free to talk about money and the women are free to speak about fashion. Originally designated the 'withdrawing room,' the name has been shortened over the years and now most gentlefolk refer to it simply as the "drawing room." Since my sister Sheila was now absent under mysterious circumstances, no woman of reputation in the county would ever consider visiting this unfortunate house in its current state of scandal. Therefore the men had taken the drawing room over for the reasons that it was far more comfortable and could be closed up to ensure greater privacy. Fanny was so efficient in knowing what to do and so good at commanding me to help her to do it that the room was in good order in less than 15 minutes of the clock. After that, we stood waiting in the corner where we had set up the sideboard with additional quantities of spirits. During this activity, as young women will do, we chatted and I learned a great deal about Fanny, who was not at all reluctant to share the story of her life with me. Her parents were tenant farmers and she had grown up on the estate. Not finding farm life to her liking, she had applied to go into service with the Montfort family. Over 9 years earlier she had fallen in love with a footman named Jennings. At the midsummer festival, they had lain on a haystack and she conceived her daughter. However she explained that they never married because he had died. Later, I found out the truth and it was that Jennings had run away early one foggy morning with someone else he liked better. He left Fanny to look after the child herself. It was only much later that he had died and of course, I never told Fanny that I knew any of this. Once Fanny had exhausted the subject of her personal history, it was my turn to gossip. This uninhibited girl could turn out to be a fountainhead of information. I would see. "There is something a bit strange about Mrs. Norton, don't you think?" I asked. "She is blind," replied Fanny. "Blind!" I exclaimed. "Yes, although you might not ever know it," said Fanny. So that was the way of it! Mrs. Norton was blind! That certainly explained why she had Mary read the letter from Uncle Isaac. Mary must serve as her eyes, as when I was being dressed for my test or trial or whatever it was called. Despite my recent promise to Mrs. Norton never to be curious, my curiosity began to stir once more, and Mrs. Norton's warning began to fade rapidly from my memory. "How long has she been blind?" I asked. "Not very long. It's hard to say exactly, because she's been so clever about hiding it," said Fanny. "How did she go blind? Was it from a disease?" "No." said Fanny who hesitated. She sighed and then said, "I don't think it's a secret, and even if it was I wouldn't care, so I'll tell you. She didn't get it from any disease. The story hereabouts is she saw something." At that, Fanny stood in silence with her eyes downcast. "Saw something?" I asked, hoping to coax her into telling me more. "Yes. She saw something horrible. Something so terrible that it made her not want to see anything ever again. And now she don't see at all. And that's what happens when you wish hard enough for something. You get it!" I did not exactly know what Fanny was referring to in that last part of what she said, but I suspect that it had something to do with her own wishes concerning the late Mr. Jennings. Perhaps she thought she had killed him simply by wishing him dead. "What did Mrs. Norton see, Fanny?" "I don't know! Look lively now! Here comes Mr. Montfort and his guests!" In a way, it was good that they had interrupted us. I felt that Fanny was beginning to regret her openness, and I could only hope that she would not tell anyone else about how inquisitive I had been. That might become a problem for me later. Five men of various shapes and sizes entered the drawing room. The one thing they all had in common was that they were quite young. They were all in their twenties with the exception of one who looked even younger who I took to be seventeen or eighteen years old at the most. As they took their places, Fanny whispered their names and gave me a brief biography so that I would know something about them when I served them. She said they liked people knowing who they were, and thrived on the recognition. Seated first were the Hollinshed twins, named Peter and Arthur. They were identical except for one minor detail when I noticed that Arthur had a mole on the side of his neck and Peter did not. They did otherwise look very alike, were chubby, and seemed to enjoy each other's company very much. I was already familiar with the name Hollinshed. Their father, Lord Alexander Hollinshed, was a leading voice in the House of Lords for the Tory party. The Tories had strongly opposed crowning a foreigner as king of Britain. My father had once told me that German born King George did not care for Lord Hollinshed very much at all and thought he ought to be hanged. The twins were followed by a most repulsive looking individual named Lewis Mancino. His complexion was olive, oily and his face was pockmarked. As the surname suggested, his father was Italian and a penniless member of the Florentine nobility. Fanny had heard rumors that Lewis was the bastard child of this threadbare Count and a high born English lady whose family considered her suitor unfit for her hand, and undeserving of her fortune. A small amount of money had changed hands in order to settle the matter, and as a baby Lewis had been sent away to be raised in Scotland. Because Mr. Mancino was long, narrow, oily and wore a green and black suit of clothes made of silk, he reminded me of a snake. Fanny told me that he was the member of the group responsible for arranging the entertainment. I assumed that meant he was a kind of procurer, or pimp. Actually, he was worse than that, as you shall see. "You won't want to miss this next one," said Fanny. "He's the cock of the walk." The 'cock of the walk' was the youngest member of the group and he was perhaps only two or three years older than myself. He was called Philip, soon to be Philip, Lord Wharton. It seemed to me that his handsome looks were a study in how good things can go wrong. His chin was very strong, but he raised and tilted it so often that it only suggested stubbornness and arrogance. His mouth would have been pretty enough were it not always turned down at the corners in scorn. His eyes were the most beautiful shade of gray, and seemed soft and compassionate at times, but at other times they were cold, so terribly cold and remorseless that they frightened me. I stepped back a bit behind Fanny to avoid his gaze, lest it freeze me with its wintry chill. Philip Wharton became engaged in earnest discourse with another young man whom Fanny had identified as John Villiers. She needed to say no more as I knew the name very well. The Villiers name was an ancient and famous name in the shire. They had been staunch supporters of the Stuart dynasty and I knew that a Villiers, probably this man's grandfather, had been a young cavalier fighting for the executed King Charles. Even with the restoration of the monarchy, the Villiers family had turned inward and become reclusive, and I had never seen any of them before. This John Villiers was a very different kind of man from Philip Wharton. He was sandy haired, with receptive blue eyes and a frank and open look upon his pleasant features, he looked out of place compared to his sinister companion. He smiled often and when he laughed, it sounded quite musical. I would wager that he had sung in the church choir when he was a boy. Villiers only physical deficit was a slight tendency to heaviness around the middle. I was sure that a conscientious and clever wife could fix that problem with a carefully selected menu emphasizing vegetables, lean meats and fruit. If he protested, a good nightly dose of kissing, love and affection would easily satisfy his complaints. As to Villiers moral shortcomings, and why he associated himself with this pack of rascals, I charged them to weakness of character. Here too, it is well known that the support of a loving wife and the fathering of beautiful children are the best medicines with which to bolster a faltering man up. Somehow, although I was in shadow near the wall, he caught me looking at him and my cheeks became inflamed! I turned away and busied myself with the wine bottles on the sideboard. When I dared turn round again, I was relieved to see that he had gone to sit in his chair near the mantle to sip his first glass of port. I counted the just five guests in the room and neither Mr. Montfort nor his sixth guest had yet arrived. "Where is Montfort?" Philip Wharton demanded to know, as if reading my mind. Lewis Mancino answered him. "He has some business with our friend Mr. Beaseley." The way he emphasized the word 'business' imparted some special meaning to what he said. I didn't like the tone of it at all. "I see," said Wharton thoughtfully. "Well, damn both of them then! They shall miss the toast!" "A toast! A toast!" cried the Hollinshed twins in unison. Everyone rose to their feet and Villiers did the same, but reluctantly. Holding his glass aloft, Wharton pronounced his toast in a solemn, yet mocking voice. "To King George! May the plague take him soon!" Everyone echoed the last part of the toast. "Aye! May the plague take him soon!" (For your better understanding of this part of my story, I should explain that when the Stuart dynasty had been exhausted with the death of Queen Anne, Britain sought a Protestant replacement. This religious requirement meant passing over numerous highly qualified claimants because they were Catholic. The next closest Protestant family in relationship to the throne was the Hanover dynasty in Germany. George of Hanover accepted the crown in 1715. He was thoroughly German, did not speak English and was exceedingly unpopular with many who thought of him not only as an alien, but as a laughingstock and a buffoon as well.) The twins then took turns proposing their own personalized toasts to the king. "May he be drowned in sauerkraut!" said Arthur Hollinshed. "May he be smothered in Hessian horse shit!" said Peter Hollinshed. These jests caused a general round of laughter, excepting that again, John Villiers' participation was lukewarm and he simply smiled. Noticing this, Wharton said, "Why don't you laugh, John? Do these toasts not amuse you enough?" Villiers appeared to be under some strain at this point. Instead of responding to the question, he asked a question of his own. This was no doubt in the hope that it would distract Wharton from pursuing the outrageously treasonous subject of the toasts. "Have you chosen a title for your latest pamphlet yet, Philip?" Villiers asked. All at once, Wharton became enthused for a different reason. He obviously loved to talk about himself or anything to do with himself, even more than he loved slandering the king. If both subjects could be covered in the same discussion, so much the better! Meantime, as Villiers had no doubt hoped, the subject of the toast was forgotten. "Ah! My pamphlet! It's my most brilliant composition to date! Alas! I have not got a title for it yet. The one I have been considering most recently is this one: 'Eleven Excellent Reasons as to Why the British People Should Not Accept A Big Fat German Pig Sitting on the Throne.' But I am not satisfied with it." The rest of the group took this statement as a call for suggestions about the title. "I should think you would want to round the number off and make it ten reasons," said Arthur. "Or a thousand! I am sure I could find even as many as that!" Wharton responded. "No, that is too many! You must keep it simpler for the common mind to understand. Remember that your audience is not as knowledgeable as you are!" countered Arthur. "You are right! Only a very few are my intellectual equals. And too large a pamphlet would be expensive to produce. I owe my printer a fortune as it is!" Wharton exclaimed. "Are you still using Samuel Richardson to print your pamphlets?" Villiers asked. "None other! He is the best. Besides which he gives me credit on my account whereas others will not, simply because I never pay them. But the fellow finds me fascinating and that is why he is so liberal. Of course, I dare say almost everyone finds me fascinating, so why should I be surprised at that? And he says he shall put me up as a character in a book one day and make me immortal! But I am already planning to be immortal by other means so it will happen regardless, one way or another." Everyone applauded Philip Wharton's wit and his ambition. "Hear! Hear!" They all cheered. "The next important step on my road to fame is near completion. When I am done printing this latest and most perceptive and persuasive pamphlet, I shall deliver it personally to the man in all of England who most needs to read it. You here gathered know who that is..." 'Who was he talking about?' I wondered but I couldn't ask Fanny because she would have no idea. For one so young, Wharton was showing himself to be a precocious marvel despite his nauseating displays of self-importance. But I also saw that there was madness behind all his brilliance and that his pompous fa?ade was intended to conceal tremendous personal insecurity. In the short time that I had opportunity to observe him, I formed the opinion that he was exceedingly dangerous to those around him because in the end he cared for nothing and no one, probably not even himself. There was a lull in the conversation so Fanny and I used this impromptu intermission to clear away the debris from the first round of drinks and at the same time replace whatever they had already drunk with a fresh supply. We worked quickly and silently, doing our best not to draw the notice of the guests. For a while the soft clink of glasses gently handled and the whispering motion of our skirts were the only sounds to be heard in the drawing room. Then the Hollinshed twins took up the subject of the pamphlet again, this time somewhat fortified by the alcohol they had already drunk. "I say, Wharton!" said Peter. "That bit about 'the big fat pig' could be changed!" "In what way?" Wharton replied rather languidly. "Well, for one thing, I think you could make it more poetic," said Wharton. "Yes! More poetic!" echoed Arthur. "But as to how, damned if I know!" "Perhaps this will inspire us," said Wharton, who rose and bent over, displaying his own large derriere to the assembly. "Now then, pretend that this is the royal rump and see if you can choose a name for it!" "As large as your buttocks are, I'll venture that King George the German's posteriors are larger still!" said Lewis Mancini, speaking up for the first time. "It was only meant to be a visual stimulus to motivate your creativity!" said Peter. "Perhaps we should all do it!" suggested Arthur, bending over in imitation of his brother. The other three declined to follow the twins' example, but they did seem to find inspiration in the lewd display of the Hollinshed's prodigious rears shaking about. Mancini was the first to offer a suggestion. "Huge, horrifying, hog. That's poetic enough, isn't it? Does it sound better than 'big fat pig' to you, Philip?" "I'm not certain. But I feel you are close," replied Wharton very gravely. "Swollen sweating swine?" asked Arthur. Still bent over at the waist, he jiggled his own oversized behind to the right and to the left in cadence with the words as he said them aloud. "I'm afraid that doesn't flow at all," said Wharton. And so it went, with one preposterous idea after another and the group finding none of them satisfactory. I am loath to admit it, but all this tasteless nonsense began to strike me as amusing, and I snickered. The snicker became a chuckle, and the chuckle, despite my best efforts to avoid it, became a snort. Lest I begin to laugh out loud, I was forced to turn away and bite down on a corner of one of the serving linens. My muffled merriment became so intense that my eyes began to tear, and I thought how odd it is that the eye will water at moments of high gaiety and moments of great tragedy as if it had no care at all as to which was which. I concluded from this that the eye only sees what it sees and judges nothing, but that it is the heart that judges all. It was just as I had those odd little thoughts that the French doors leading to the balustrade crashed open, and Mr. Beaseley entered the room with a very distressed looking Mr. Montfort in tow. From the look of the bruises on the left side of Mr. Montfort's face, and the raw red skin on the knuckles of Mr. Beaseley's right hand, I would say that Mr. Beaseley had struck Mr. Montfort at least several times. The purpose for the linen serviette that I had pushed into my mouth to stop me from laughing was now changed, and I used it instead to prevent myself from shrieking in terror at the sight of Mr. Montfort's wretched condition. It was dreadful to see him in such a state with his clothes dirty and torn, and smears of blood all down the front of the lace on his shirt! The poor man's situation seemed desperate indeed! I tried my best to compose myself so as not to give the game away. But as I did that, my initial terror transformed itself into such great anger that I felt sure I would not be able to control it. Whatever maleness was left in me wanted to strike out at this blackguard, Beaseley. I could see at once that he was nothing but a common oaf with no breeding at all. He must be the enforcer of the group and a bully, a cutthroat! Dropping the cloth on a nearby tray, I balled my two small hands into fists. How dare he treat a true gentleman in that gross manner! What was society coming to when such a lowborn creature could bring his betters down without any consequences to himself? Damn the man! Of course, even when I was still a boy, I had never had the courage to fight and I knew I could not do it now. But instead I had every intention of giving Beaseley the tongue lashing of his life! And in the sense that I was now at least capable of confronting this churlish cur or beast, my new feminine self represented an improvement over the passivity that inhibited me so much in my former life. Armed with a silver tray, in case I needed to defend myself against Beaseley, I took a step forward but from the moment that Beaseley had blown into the room with his captive, everything was in a state of anarchy, which John Villiers was doing his best to correct as he called out to Wharton, "We need to ask the servants to withdraw!" Almost before the words were out of his mouth, Fanny had run from the drawing room screaming at the top of her lungs, "Help! Murder! Help! Murder! Mrs. Norton, call the grooms! They are beating Mr. Montfort to a bloody pulp in the drawing room! Help! Mrs. Norton!" Wharton then began chastising Beaseley. "You simpleton! I never told you to strike the man, just to remind him of his position!" "He resisted, m'lord. Wha' else could I do but pummel him about the 'ead?" replied the abashed Beaseley. "Fool!" said Wharton in disgust. Then, seeing me with the tray in my arms walking so determinedly towards his manservant, Wharton directed Villiers to deal with me while he cleared the rest of his pack of rats out of the house before the other servants arrived to detain them. Villiers' method of dealing with me was to tackle me about the waist and throw me over his shoulder like a sack of grain. The shock of the impact took my breath away and was also great enough to cause me to drop the tray. I was very frightened and I had no idea what he might do to me. I kicked at his legs with my feet, but since I only wore a thin pair of slippers, the force of my kicks put me in more pain than him, I think. When my breath returned, I screamed at him, "Put me down! You traitor! You Jacobite!" And I called him other names besides until he got weary of being insulted. "Do be quiet, you silly goose! I'm only trying to save you!" Villiers said at last. I could have struck him on the back with my fists, but I refrained because I knew that it wouldn't hurt him and then he would call me a silly goose again, and I refused to be called a silly goose twice by that man! He carried me down the outside stairs to the lawn and across the lawn into the forested area behind the house. I was truly afraid then because it was very dark by that time, and he could easily strangle me in the woods and leave my body to rot under a hedge or a tree. I had only been a girl for a single day and here I was very possibly facing the end of my life. If it were to be my fate to remain as I was, I would have preferred to live more of a life than that. I remembered Tom's kiss and more kisses would have been welcome. Love was something I had never experienced and other than Uncle Isaac, no one had ever shown me any affection at all. I should have much preferred dying with the knowledge that I might be missed and even mourned by someone who cared deeply enough to feel those things for me. This line of thinking had my emotions in turmoil. So much so, that I began to weep. "Why are you crying!" asked Villiers. "Because no one has ever loved me," I replied. "Perhaps someday I shall love you," he said. "No you won't! You are going to strangle me and leave my body to rot under a hedge or a tree!" I cried, in a very plaintive voice. At least I hoped it was plaintive. I hoped I was not whining instead. The two sound very similar, and it takes a sensitive ear to tell the difference between them. Alas, The nuance seemed lost on John Villiers... "Oh, stop your whining, lass!" Villiers said, expressing his exasperation at all my complaints. "I have never seen such carrying on! Are you expecting your monthly courses? Is that what makes you so unstable?" "No, I am not expecting them!" I replied, with all the frigid dignity I could muster considering that I was upside down in the first place, and that in the second place I honestly had no idea when I could expect them to come, never having had them. My mother used to refer to hers as The Curse of Eve's Perfidy to God, and, after having once found the bag of bloody bandages that she and my sister shared for that monthly purpose, I already knew that I was not looking forward to menstruation. Death would put an end to that possibility, of course. So, you see it is true that every cloud has a silver lining. Deeper and deeper into the forest we went, with only the rays of the moon to guide our way and I realized that he must be stronger than I thought to carry me so easily for such a long time. But although he was the one doing all the work, I was the one becoming exhausted. My ample breasts were so tight against his back that they felt as though they were being crushed in a winepress, and my poor sensitive nipples had been rubbed to a frazzle against the rough texture of his coat. Then, too, there was the fact that all the bouncing I had done, laying as I was across his shoulders as he trod his way over the uneven forest floor had ultimately put me in piddling mode, and I had the most urgent need to relieve myself. It would serve him right if I piddled all over him, but my upbringing would not allow it. "Put me down!" I said in my most commanding tone. "No!" Apparently, he was not used to taking orders from servants so I had to try another approach. "I know you are kind at heart, Mr. Villiers. Please put me down," I implored, using the sweetest, and most pathetic of voices. No one but a complete monster could have resisted the plea of such a sad, helpless little girl. "Only if you give me good reason," was his reply. I had one good reason. "Because I will wet you if you don't!" I said. That seemed to convince him so he stopped and let me slide gently down onto my own two feet. My horrible hat had fallen off and been lost long ago. I imagined, from the look of surprise on his face, that he was seeing what I really looked like for the first time. He appeared to be rather pleased. (Note: Long after all this happened, I discovered and then purloined a sheet of foolscap on which Mr. Villiers had written some lines about our first meeting. It was amongst his personal papers and I happened upon it by pure chance. I include it here for whatever use you may care to put to it. Mr. Villiers wrote the following: 'That she is lovely - extraordinarily lovely - I cannot deny and she has the voice of an angel! But there is something more than mere beauty in her that I cannot quite get hold of. But when I look into her eyes I see something rarer than good looks. There is a quickness there and perhaps it is intelligence but then she will suddenly become vague and do something quite absurd! Perhaps she is mad. She is needy of that I am quite sure and an odd mixture of timidity and boldness that I have never seen in such proportions in any other human being. It is very disturbing to me to have such a one as her look at me as if I was Father Christmas one minute, and as if I was Satan the next! All in all I suspect that there has been some serious damage to the brain and my conclusion is that she would probably end up being more trouble than she is worth!' After solemnly warning me not to try to escape, he allowed me to go behind a tree and relieve myself. I had to raise my skirts immodestly high to avoid wetting them, and there were only leaves to wipe with afterwards. I was too fastidious for that so instead I found a thin stream and made a crude bidet with my hand, washed the leaves in the stream and cleaned myself that way. The whole time, I kept turning my head to see if he spied on me, but he never did. When I returned, he made a motion for me to get back over his shoulder. I dropped to my knees in front of him, my arms hanging limply at my sides. I put an utterly helpless look on my face and began to entreat him with teary eyes. "Please sir, not that! I simply cannot bear that any more! I beg you to allow me to remain on the ground and I will walk with you. You need not fear me escaping. Did you see how good I was when you let me go off into the woods just now? I will be just as good as that. You have my promise, and I never break my promises m'lord. Please." To top it off, I fluttered my lids at him, and gave him my saddest, saddest smile. "I am not your lord anything. You are confusing me with my father. I am just Mr. Villiers to you, girl." He frowned. He paced briefly. I think he did not like being in the position that I had placed him in. Men of his type think of themselves as strong and chivalrous. If he denied me he was a cad. If he agreed to my request then he must be weak. "You may walk. But you must hold onto my arm at all times. Let go of me, and it will be the worse for you," he said at last. I thanked him over and over then kissed his hand, which seemed to disturb him greatly. We walked together after that, like an engaged couple out taking the air. I held onto his arm with both hands to reassure him of the sincerity of my pledge, even though my mind only contained thoughts of escape. After perhaps a quarter hour of walking in silence under a bright moon, we reached a clearing. A tacked up chestnut gelding with four white socks was tied to a tree waiting there. Clearly, someone had deliberately left the horse to aid his retreat from the estate. Telling me to stand where I was, Mr. Villiers approached the horse. He mounted it easily as befitted a man who rode to the hounds nearly every day. Turning the gelding's head, he cantered back towards me. "If I were you, I would not go back to the house tonight," he said. "I swear that I won't," I replied. Reaching into his waistcoat pocket, he removed a small leather bag and handed it to me. I could tell that there were coins in it as soon as I touched it. Saying nothing more, he rode off into the night, leaving me quite alone. In the one case, I was relieved. After all, despite my worst fears, he had not killed me. In the other case, it was little comfort to me that I was standing deserted in the midst of a strange woods. The moon would be setting soon enough, and then I would be trapped in the dead of night, as blind as Mrs. Norton and unable to make my way out. "What am I to do now?" I wailed into the dark threatening shadows that surrounded me. I wrung my hands. I fretted. I sniveled. I threw myself onto a moss covered slope and fell into an exhausted sleep and dreamed of my sister Sheila. In the dream she came to save me and in gratitude I reached up and cupped her face, but her face came away in my hands like a mask. What was hidden behind it was her true face, and when I saw it I woke up screaming and screaming, and for the life of me, I could not stop. End of Part Three