Dot Dorothea and Dick
- 2 years ago
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Dot, The Conclusion free porn video
I found this letter among some others, scrolled up and tied with purple
ribbon, in a chest belonging to my great grandfather. You have already
perused the first four sections of the missive; here is the conclusion.
I felt it might hold special interest for you.
By now we know that the consumptive young girl known as Dorothea died
sometime around 1850 and was replaced by a street urchin, Dick Osgood,
who had become her friend and, through a tortuous series of events, had
also become her twin. The girl made a dying request to him that he take
her place, so that her parents would not realise she had died, and would
not grieve. He honored that request, and assumed her name and her
position in the family.
.......................................................................
Now that I have revealed the awful truth to you, dearest Charles, I
could not blame you if you consigned this letter to the flames. But, in
the earnest hope that you have not, I continue.
After the death of my dearest, my only friend, the days were bleak
indeed. For her sake I tended the flowers and other growing things in
our secret garden, especially the roses. Ours were red and white, for
England, for each other in the language of flowers, love and secrecy. To
these I added a peach rose, symbol of eternity. Other special emblems
were rosemary for remembrance, and pearly everlasting.
I fed the birds. They seemed to want to cheer me, and always seemed to
recognize their friend when I approached.
I performed my duties within the family circle. As much as it was
possible for me, I smiled and spoke words of affection to "mother" and
"father"; my own parents dead these many years and not even in a
hallowed grave.
But my heart was not in it, and all the household could tell. Perhaps it
was my melancholy, or the continuing aenemia which followed my
orchidectomy, but my weight steadily declined. I consumed the wretched
meats provided by the good doctor, pureed beef liver, cod liver,
kidneys. The doctor had been a good friend to both of us from the very
beginning and I did not want to disappoint him, but I could not will
myself to be well.
No more fantasy adventures, no more conversations in the library or on
the garden bench, no more sharing of dreams and prayers. I seemed to
have lost everything, my friend, my past, my very identity.
"What do you want, child? What would make you happy?" the doctor
inquired during one of his weekly visits.
"Am I truly a child, even yet? I have no idea of my age, so your
professional estimation will have to suffice. Yet I feel so very old."
"Ah well, you are in fact a young lady at this point," he said kindly.
"To judge by your stature and the development of your mind and
conversation, I would suppose that you are now of that age at which
daughters of fine houses would be ready to 'enter society', or nearly
so."
I smiled ruefully. "Enter society? Society dreads the very thought of my
presence! Yet since you did ask, if it were possible, the one thing I
most miss is a companion, a friend. Just one person to share my inner
thoughts, that would be society enough for me."
He patted my head, lightly. My own hair could never rival the beauty of
the real Dorothea; I now wore a larger version of the auburn wig which
had been such an important part of my disguise for so many years. I also
continued to use the rimmel for my eyes. and the powdered shell, and the
tinted beeswax for my lips. What seemed to be my "natural" beauty was
nothing more than an imitation, thanks to the doctor, of the true beauty
of my friend.
"The company of a crusty old physician is not sufficient for you, eh?"
But he quickly sobered. "I miss her too, you know, and we must share our
grief in privacy. But the world is large, and perhaps there is yet
hope."
Shortly thereafter, as the leaves were beginning to turn, I was seated
with the family on Sunday evening. Father repeated the morning sermon
for my benefit, as was his wont. Mother shared some of the mild gossip.
Then she surprised me by announcing that she had been learning the
pianoforte and would soon be playing for us here in the home! She knew I
loved music, and I suspected the hand of the doctor at work in this
matter.
Nurse came for me after my supper later that week, on a day when I was
usually by myself. "Oh, it's here, it's here! Wait 'til you see it! And
your mother, she's so wonderful with the great thing, it's a marvel." So
will I nil I away we went for our first concert. Mother blushed as she
seated herself before the square apparatus. I had expected something
like a harpsichord, of which I had learnt, but this was a novelty. She
started with an old familiar tune, one of the carols I love. Then crash!
Bang! She brought thundering tones from the pianoforte, a torrent of
sound! There was a resounding conclusion, and father and I both rose to
our feet for a standing ovation. She must have been diligent indeed in
her lessons!
"Did you like it?" she asked me.
"Oh yes, very much! It was so unexpected, all that sound! But wonderful,
wonderful."
"I chose that first piece because I enjoy hearing you sing it. If I
played it again, would you sing with me?"
I nervously agreed, blushing now myself, yet eager to make the attempt.
Mother and I kept good time together, looking at each other throughout,
neither leading nor dragging, and weak as I was I was nonetheless able
to muster sufficient volume to avoid being drowned out.
This time when we finished, there was silence. No applause. Was
something wrong?
We looked, and there was father leaning on Nurse and they were both
weeping and comforting each other. The dears. Much better than any
applause.
After this, I would spend several evenings each week with mother in what
had now become the music room. We seldom lacked an audience. I did not
doubt but that the doctor had somehow engineered this result, but far
from being resentful, I blessed him. I realised I did indeed have a
family, I did have loving companions. In my grief, I had been too harsh
with them. Slowly, my heart began to melt and I became human again.
"Ah, your colour is much improved, and you have even gained a pound or
two!" exclaimed the doctor some weeks later. "It must no doubt be due to
my excellent viands." I made a wretched face and he laughed aloud.
"Whatever the cause, I am delighted with the change. I hear you are
quite the nightengale; perhaps I can hear you myself sometime?" I sang
him a short ditty right there on the spot, but promised that he should
hear me at Christmas if not earlier. Mother and I had prepared a true
concert for the holiday, and I had even learnt an art song! I had no
idea what the Italian words meant or even if they were pronounced
properly, but mother and I agreed that the sound was fitting and none of
our hearers would likely know enough Italian to detect the mistakes.
Autumn declined into winter, and the weather was what we like to
optimistically call "seasonable". This means that driving sleet and
freeaing slush, broken only by occasional spates of chilling drizzle,
are somehow part of the joys of the season. Were it not for the candles
and songs and social gatherings, this would be nothing more than a
season of misery.
Sweet relief! The heavens favored us with day after day of light
sparkling snowflakes. The sleet and slush were disguised, covered over
in a garb of white, even as I myself had become disguised as a maiden,
clothed in fine things from the Continent, bedecked with "seasonable"
ribbons and lace.
I could only see a few rooftops over my garden wall, and these were
usually drab with soot. Now they seemed arrayed like judges of the
Assizes, in their wooly white wigs.
Carolers began to come to the door, and we favored them with nuts and
apples. I tried to memorise some of their tunes, hoping that mother and
I might be able to perform them ourselves.
The carolers, especially the youngsters, would sometimes give me an odd
look when I gave them nothing, but accepted my explanation "Thank you
for the lovely music! It is a pity I am not well enough to give you the
treats you deserve." Then the downstairs maid would hand out their
rewards.
Christmas Eve. We enjoyed a festive supper, and a time of prayer. "Dear
Lord, thank you for Prince Albert, who gave us the Christma tree" I
prayed, as the others smiled at me. The tree glowed with candles.
Tomorrow there would be little presents tied to the branches, I knew.
We played some of the gentler parlour games, guessing games and such. No
blind man's buff for the invalid girl!
It was great fun, but my father detected something amiss. "Is there
something you lack, that might make you happy on this occasion?" he
asked solicitously.
I considered; Why had my smile slipped? Then I realised. "It is Dot," I
said simply. "I miss her."
They nodded and gave me sympathetic hugs. Little did they understand the
true gravity of my statement.
Christmas morning meant worship for most of the household; I was there
when they returned. "It is supposed to be a solemn time," mother said,
"yet you should have seen all the adornments! The ribboners and lace
makers must be very tired, yet very wealthy, this Christmas."
"They were simply trying to keep pace with you, my dear," said father
with a twinkle in his eye. Certainly her apparel was of the finest, full
of seams and tucks and darts, ribbons and other trim.
"That reminds me!" she excalimed. "Here, my dear, please open this
parcel before we proceed to the others." And mother handed my a large
gift box. Inside were rags and paper, but that was merely to protect the
contents. Oh, lovely, just like mother's! Identical in every detail, yet
smaller of course.
"Try it on, do!" they both exclaimed, so I retired to another chamber
and removed my holiday clothes. The underthings must remain in place of
course. It would never do for anyone in the household to see my true
nature.
It was a chore getting the fine dress in place, it was so delicate, and
there were hooks to hook and laces to tie.
Smoothing myself out, I marched back to the others.
"Ooh! Aah!" they exclaimed. First mother and then father had to check
the fit around my middle. "Perfect!" they beamed. "The doctor told us
you had been gaining of late, and this proves it!"
"Now that we see how well they look together, we must be allowed to
appreciate how well they sound together!" father insisted.
It was time for our little concert! I was all on edge. "First, Father, I
should like a sip of your special tea if I may?" It was an open secret
around our household that Father would enhance his tea not only with
milk but also with a sip of rum.
He laughed jovially. :"Just this once, my dear! In honor of the Day."
I savored my tea slowly. It was warming, and gave me time to gather my
wits.
Taking a deep breath, I nodded to mother and we led a parade to the
music room.
The whole presentation was splendid, from start to finish. I asked
mother if she knew the Wexford Carol, which I had enjoyed hearing
earlier in the week, and she replied yes, well enough. So I sang:
" The night before that happy tide
The noble Virgin and her guide
Were long time seeking up and down
To find a lodging in the town...."
I thought how unwelcome my virginal friend Dot had been, excluded from
all homes in this vast city.
Lastly came the art song. "La stella ; L'abbandonata ," I intoned.
Just then there came a knock on the door and in trooped our doctor, and
a dashing young man! He grinned at me and said, "Do you know you just
sang that the star was abundant?"
I flushed and retorted, "Well of course it was! The miraculous star of
Christmas, what could be more abundant?"
"Ah, please excuse me," he said, but his eyes still twinkled. I saw in
that twinkle a definite resemblance to the good doctor's when in one of
his mischievous moods. "Pray, continue!"
I did so, with renewed energy and determination. I would show this smart
fellow!
Mother and I finished with a fine flourish, to enthusiastic applause.
"Does my critic have any more linguistic comments to offer?" I enquired,
head held high.
He laughed and said over his shoulder, "She is everything you said she
would be, uncle."
We greeted the surprise guests (surprise only to me, everyone else was
in on the joke) and sat down to table.
Cook brought in an incredible feast. We began with oysters, and I even
ate one! Then some clear turtle soup arrived. The aroma was so delicious
I simply had to have a taste. The primary delectation was a standing rib
of beef with Yorkshire pudding, but we also sated ourselves with
turkey, ham, dressing, potatoes sliced with butter and parsley, mince
pie, and plum pudding. Father cut the steaming treat and gave us each a
slice.
"Oh no, I can't!" I protested. "I have not eaten this well in months;
years!"
"It must be due to my excellent care," beamed the doctor.
"It must be due to the absence of pureed liver!" I retorted, to the
amusement of all.
In the end I did accept a slice, and of course I got the ring.
"Something about this does not ring true," I observed. "Surely this
should have gone to Nurse, she is much more marriageable than I!"
Nurse heard this in the kitchen, from whence echoed billows of laughter.
"Or perhaps to this charming young stranger," I continued.
"Ah, time for introductions I see. This brave young man is my great
nephew, Charles. He has finished his studies and is now learning the
practical side of medical practice under my tutelage. Eventually he
shall succeed me..." (the young man beamed at this) "but not until he
practises much harder!" The doctor's mock scowl made the young man's
face fall, but it was all a jest as the doctor proved by elbowing his
nephew's chest.
"But the young man must not receive the ring, as it is he who must
bestow it" you replied.
Of the rest of that day, and indeed of much of the rest of my life, you
know all the details since the dashing newcomer could only be you
yourself, dear friend.
What an impression you made on me! Taller than the average, dark curling
locks, attire much more modern than the typical London doctor, with
close fitting buff coloured trousers, high boots polished a deep russet,
Your weskit was black satin, and there was black braid on your buff
surcoat. The ensemble emphasized your dark eyes and fine colour.
After we finished off the sugared nuts, we played parlour games, and I
even managed to join in the game of blind man's buff, and be captured by
you! Yes, you were blindfolded, and succeeded not only in touching me
but in running your hands over my attire to satisfy yourself in
identifying me. Oh, how we all laughed!
At length we all shared a toast, and then it was time for farewells.
Father shook hands all around, mother embraced you both, and I?
I embraced the dear old doctor, and when I faced you it seemed suddenly
i could not breathe. I clasped your gloved hands, both of them,
fervently and blurted, "I hope we shall soon see you again!"
It was a gafffe, not quite the thing to utter, but you smiled warmly and
made a slight bow. "My pleasure, miss," you said, and then departed.
Oh, I was so spent! I fell heavily upon a chair and fanned myself. My
parents looked on me fondly, and suggested it may soon be time to
retire.
"My parents"; how quickly my attitude toward them had changed. But they
were in all respects but one my own loving mother and father, no one
could wish for a better. It would be unjust of me to refrain from giving
them the one thing they most desired, which was my affection.
I may be an untutored child of the streets (save for the saintly vicar),
but I was wise enough to apprehend that something was amiss. Why did my
heart flutter at the very sight of you? Why did your every word and
gesture cause me to lose all composure?
Upon the next visit of the doctor, his accustomed meeting with his
patient, I confronted him with my concerns.
"It is my feelings, sir," I stated bluntly. "They are not natural."
"And would you say that you yourself are, now, a natural creature?"
At first the question angered me, it seemed like a slap in the face. But
of course he had the right of it. Of my own volition I had become
something other than a man, first by conspiring to be disguised as Dot's
twin doll. then by undergoing the operation, and finally by assuming the
place of the daughter within the family circle.
I sighed.
"You may recall," he went on, gently, "that some of the medicaments
suggested by my brother from India have had some success in promoting in
you a more womanly appearance. These must of necessity have in some way
altered your nature, so that what is 'natural' for you is not what it
once was. Also, the operation has had some effect. I believe you are
responding to my charming young nephew as a maiden would, because in
many respects you have become or are becoming a maiden."
I felt dizzy. What was I? How could I sustain these new feelings? Or
should I suppress them?
I gazed helpless at the doctor, tears brimming in my eyes. "How then
must I live?" I whispered.
"As well as you can, my dear. You can listen to your heart, and listen
honestly without prejudgment. I trust you will continue to be the wise
kind person you have always been, which gives me hope that you shall
discover your own happiness by discovering yourself."
So I listened to my heart. It told me that you were a good person, one
to be trusted. It told me that as long as I did not delude you into
thinking there could be any physical aspect to our relationship, as long
as it remained as pure as Dot and I had been, I might enjoy your
friendship. I might find the companion who had been missing.
So it was that I greeted you warmly when you accompanied the doctor on
his rounds a month later. I donned my new winter coat, deep green wool
with white fur trim, and we built a snowman in my garden. We even had a
snowball fight! I knocked off your hat; your look of surprise was
comical. You could not dislodge my bonnet; it was too tightly tied
around my chin. I could not risk having you knock my wig out of place!
Eventually the doctor had to call a halt; I was tiring. But I felt
better than I had since the Christmas party. No doubt part of my well
being had to do with the sight of your smiling eyes and rosy cheeks, as
we pummelled each other with snow.
Your visits became more frequent that winter. Together we removed heavy
snow from tender branches in the garden. Together we fed the birds. I
found myself postponing some of these regular duties simply so that I
could share them with you.
When weather did not permit us time in the garden, we read to each other
in the library, and shared our thoughts about novelists and poets.
"I admire Dickens," I confessed. "I find his tales both amusing and
moving. But Father says he is too common, and would rather I restrict
myself to Shakespeare and Milton. How do you feel about him?"
"Dickens is a fine author!" you asserted vigorously. "His style may not
be classical but it is ideal for the modern reader, and he is a man of
high moral sentiment."
I was so happy at this vigorous defense, I found myself hugging you
without knowing it! Your eyebrows rose, but you did not repulse me.
In the spring there was much to do in the garden, cleaning up debris,
watering, weeding. A chill in the air delayed the onset of the weeds,
but once they appeared they were like an invading army.
I was pleased to see that the roses on Dot's grave were doing well.
"Your sentiment for your old companion speaks well of you," you said
with tenderness. If only you had known the truth. But I never had the
courage to be honest with you in that regard, not until now, at the very
end.
The months turned, and then the years. Gradually you replaced the
doctor, although I continued to use his cosmetics and medicaments. You
only knew me as Dorothea, a consumptive young lady. I would not disabuse
you of this understanding.
My vigour and weight did in fact steadily improve. That which I had told
the doctor was missing, close companionship, had been provided. I was
happy.
Sometimes you would come for one of our family concerts, when mother and
I would make music together. Once, when we began a familiar tune, you
rose to your feet and joined your warm baritone with my soprano.
I began to be concerned that I might be monopolizing your attention.
"I hope I am not occupying too much of your time; you must be in great
demand."
"Well, uncle is finally turning over the reins to me, and it is a
thriving practice. But of course some patients will always have highest
priority." You reached out then, and gently touched my cheek with your
fingertips.
"Ah, well," I stammered, "I hope you still have time for some social
life? You must have many young ladies in pursuit!"
You appeared annoyed. "I may indeed have a few, but I shake them off my
trail like the wily fox I am. I will be the pursuer, not the pursued,
thank you very much."
One Christmas, several years now after our first encounter, we pulled
crackers. You obtained a most amusing hat. Father got candy, which he
promptly consumed. Mother had a fortune written in Italian, which you
were clever enough to decipher. "Si deve fare bella musica"; "You shall
make beautiful music". I inevitably got another ring. Somehow this had
all been prearranged, for the silver circlet bore the initial "D".
On the one hand, I was grateful for the gesture of affection. On the
other, I was sad and vexed because I could never, in real life, accept
any such relationship as that implied by this gift.
When spring arrived, I made the mistake of revealing to you how
distressing it was to constantly be a prisoner within the walls of my
home. "But I dare not go out," I said. "It is my fate".
"I do not know about fate," you said, "but as far as I am concerned I
will see to it that you have at least one excursion beyond these
confines."
It was wrong, but something led me to agree to this conspiracy. We would
use the ladder which had been long ago secreted in the garden. You would
drive his carriage up beside the far garden wall, alert me with a shower
of gravel, I would raise the ladder and we would be off.
As soon as it was warm enough, we made good our plan. The night was
filled with stars, the breeze was mild, the morning birds began to sing.
A faint tinge of green appeared in the lower sky. Rattle! Clatter! The
gravel pelted my wondows, so loudly I was sure it would alert the entire
household. I quickly raised the ladder, donned my cape, and climbed up,
perched atop the wall, I raised the ladder and then lowered it on the
other side. You hid it there in the brush. I mounted your Tilbury; it
seemed very racy, light and compact. In fact it was small enough that we
were compelled to sit quite close together.
I donned my hooded cape. "Hm, I was hoping to see more of you this
morning!" you jested.
"But we do not want anyone else, anyone at all, to see me, do we?"
Nodding, you roused your steed and off we trotted at a great clip.
We sped through the cobbled streets, not seeing any traffic at that
hour. I admired the great homes and fancy shops, and you admired me,
smiling at my astonishment as I enjoyed this encounter with the greaat
wide world.
The buildings began to thin. Here and there we saw some warehouses; we
must be nearing the river. Suddenly there we were, at the Thames. A
graceful arched bridge rose in from of us, and we ascended. There at the
apex we dismounted, and watched the first rays of the sun gild the
waters as we gazed eastward.
"Oh Charles," I said. "It is more beautiful than I dared dream".
Without a word, you removed my hood and gathered me to yourself. Your
face lowered toward mine, but I durst not kiss those inviting lips.
Quickly I buried myself in your chest, and wept as you crushed me there.
"Oh, I wish...I wish...!" I sobbed. All you replied was "and I, and I."
We eventually composed ourselves and returned home by another route. How
lovely all
the gardens looked in the fresh morning light! How the breeze ruffled
your hair, lifting your locks like waves cresting the ocean.
We arrived back home before anyone had yet stirred within. As we raised
the ladder, you held me tenderly once again. I did not want to stir from
the spot. I saw a light appear in an upper window.
"Thank you" was all I said. There was too much to say.
And so we parted that morning. As I replaced the ladder, I did not know
that we would never make use of it again.
Later that summer, as I was cleaning out the bird bath, I noticed a few
red drops in the basin. I put my fingertips to my mouth; blood. Not a
profusion of blood, but Dot's bleeding had not been profuse either.
I had eluded the fate of my real mother, and of my dear friend, but in
the end I too had capitulated.
For what motive I know not, perhaps to deny reality, I hid the evidence
for several weeks. Then one day Nurse discovered some bloody cloths I
had hidden under the bed. Doctor was of course summoned. I had to see
him and not you, although at the time you could not understand. By that
time, I had begun to cough, and the dreadful small red spots had begun
to appear.
The good doctor did a most thorough examination, but in the end he hung
his head and found no words to say. I told him what I had told you,
simply "Thank you". He looked at me with a painful question on his face,
but I surprised him with a smile. "You have fulfilled your oath, you
have brought life and the joy of life where it had little chance to
come. I, we, owe you everything."
He lowered his head and brushed back a tear.
"I have one more request" I went on. "I realise it will entail risk."
:"Yes?"
"I will soon remove to a sanitorium. It will be easier on my parents
that way. It will be their final attempt to 'do something for me'. There
I will die, and my body be prepared for burial. At that time, my secret
will be discovered, which will cause distress and shame to those I love.
That is, unless you finish removing the evidence of my manhood." By that
time the evidence was small indeed, but it was still telltale.
"There will be bleeding..."
"Yes."
"A great deal of bleeding..."
"Yes."
...
There was no sound, other than the ticking of the ormolu clock on my
bedside table.
"Very well. I would do this for no other."
And so it was that we contrived to keep it all from you, dearest friend.
The doctor arranged for you to be called out of town, and then explained
to my family that he was going to try one last procedure. When you
returned, he simply said that at my request he had made an attempt at an
experimental process, and would say no more.
There was no Christmas party for me that year; I had worsened so quickly
that I was sent off to Canada's Maritime provinces while the leaves were
still on the trees. I hugged Mother, and Father, and Nurse, and told
them all I loved them from the bottom of my heart, and it was true.
Dearest Charles, if you have read thus far without consigning my missive
to the flames, I trust that for fond memory's sake you may do me one
more kidness. Accept my gift of roses; I brought with me a dried blossom
from each of the three bushes in our garden. Love, secrecy, and
eternity. They spoke once of my feelings for Dot; now they will speak
again.
Forgive me for my deception. Perhaps it was unkind. Perhaps it was
simply too difficult to avoid loving you.
As I close this, the last letter I shall ever send, it is my hope that
you will find some of the happiness you have brought to me. Be in love.
Have children to love. It may be that in my last moments I have
prescience: I foresee a boy named, Charles Junior, and a girl named
after
Your fondest friend and lover,
Dorothea.
.......................................................................
The letter had been wrapped in ribbon, and within it were three very dry
yet still preserved rose blossoms.
And now you know why certain names have persisted in our family, dear
sister, and may better appreciate how you yourself came to be called
"Dorothea".
Mckenna
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