Divin
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Even in his half-awake state, Tobias realised that things were not quite as they should be. Beyond his almost closed eyelids, the bedroom was bright, but the angle of the sun seemed lower and more golden in tone than was normal in the morning. He started to become more aware of his surroundings and as he did, he noticed that he seemed to be pushed to one side of the bed and also, that something was tickling his nose.
As he came to full consciousness, he realised that he was not alone, which explained the abrupt curtailment of his normal habit of being sprawled across the full width of the bed on awakening. The quality of the light was decidedly that of late afternoon and a stray ringlet belonging to his divan co-habitant was trailed over his face, causing the itchy sensation.
He carefully removed the offending lock and sat up, regarding his peacefully reposing bed-mate and a satisfied smile crossed his drowsy face as he recalled Meg’s unexpected arrival and their tempestuous tumbles in his bed.
However, although some appetites had been thoroughly slaked, his stomach reminded him that he had eaten nothing since breakfast-time. He slipped from the bed, eliciting nothing more than an incoherent mumble from Meg as she turned over in her slumbers, picked up his hastily discarded breeches from the floor and putting them on, went downstairs in search of sustenance.
On reaching the empty kitchen he noticed that the unattended fire was low and required rekindling. Luckily, as he bent down to attend to it, a crackle of paper in his pocket reminded him that his overbearing churchwarden’s prioritised parish visiting list for the coming week might come in practical use after all.
Once the fire was burning nicely, Tobias fetched from the larder the cold ham, cheese, bread and a jar of the good pickles from home, and arranged them on the kitchen table. Then he foraged in the kitchen cupboards for cutlery, plates, glasses and a nice bottle of claret he had tucked away for a special occasion.
As he returned with his arms full of glass and crockery, a sleepy-eyed, tousled-haired Meg entered the room wearing nothing but his shirt. Tobias’ jaw may have dropped, but thankfully his burden of dishes and precious wine bottle landed safely on the scrubbed wooden surface.
With a knowing smirk, Meg approached the hastily set table announcing, “I’m famished.” She sat on the chair, crossing her legs in such a way to give Tobias a tempting glimpse of her upper thighs.
They were both indeed ravenous and enjoyed their simple repast in near-silence, punctuated by the homely crackle of the fire. When Tobias had finished concentrating on eating, he had the leisure to admire the rosy glow of the setting sun and firelight on Meg’s bare legs and unbound hair.
He caught her eye and she smiled naughtily. As he rose to clear away the dishes, she beckoned him to her, saying, “this is more urgent,” and with her eyes aglow, brought him down for an increasingly hungry kiss.
She stood up in his embrace and they held each other in a passionate clinch until she broke away momentarily and started to swivel around in his arms. Tobias was about to protest as her lush mouth was no longer available for his kisses. However, any objection was irrevocably silenced as Meg bent over the table, pulling up the borrowed shirt to reveal her bare backside.
Tobias could not help but release his suddenly very eager member and taking it in his hand, gently traced the tempting cleft of her peachy bottom. Up and down he proceeded, making sure to rub the swollen tip against the deliciously soft yielding of her very aroused femininity.
In response, Meg moaned and pushed out her posterior in evident invitation that he should continue. After he had repeated this teasingly several times she looked over at her shoulder at him with a pleading expression and a simple instruction.
Tobias gladly obeyed her command and with an easy thrust, he was home. With Meg hanging onto the edge of the table and Tobias clutching her hips, it was a vigorous and breathless session with Meg crying out in pleasure several times before Tobias joined her in Nirvana.
Once satiated, Meg turned around again so they could hug, then they walked a trifle awkwardly in this way to the fireside rocking chair. This mellow mood was only partially interrupted by Meg getting up to replenish their wine glasses before returning to her comfortable perch of Tobias’ lap. They sat there peaceably by the glowing hearth until there was no light remaining in the patch of sky through the kitchen window.
When Meg announced if she didn’t make a move now, she would fall fast asleep right there, she rose and departed for the bedroom, the length of her glorious legs on delicious display once again. Tobias only delayed following suit to bank down the fire for the night and to take the plates and glasses through to the scullery sink. That way, they would be disguised by the other dishes that needed rinsing by his housekeeper in the morning.
As he left the darkened room, he mused that he would never think of his humble kitchen table in quite the same way ever again.
.oOo.
There was an unexpectedly decorous scene in Tobias’ shabby drawing-room the next day.
Unsurprisingly, most likely having tested the loudly discussed, sermon-interrupting theory of over-diluted beer at several watering holes in the town, his housekeeper had come home late and did not rise early.
When she eventually emerged from the kitchens, both Tobias and Meg were fully dressed, downstairs in the drawing-room and behaving as though Meg was merely an early traveller who had dropped by for a word with the vicar before continuing her journey. In this way, he requested a dish of tea for his visitor, which they took together politely.
This interval of comparative decency allowed Meg to acquaint Tobias as to why she had arrived so precipitously. One of her local admirers was to due to stay in the area for a few weeks and had again hired the pretty cottage for her use in the nearby town that Tobias’ relative, the Canon, dwelt in.
Normally, this residence, only a few streets away from his clerical superior, would provide the perfect excuse for Tobias to visit her privately. Sadly, on this occasion, the gentleman who had organised her domicile would be in her almost constant company for the duration.
As he was due to arrive this very afternoon, Meg had taken it upon herself to travel as far as Stratton-over-Wye a day early to make the most of Tobias’ society while she had the opportunity. He was slightly downcast at the news that she would be so occupied during her stay. However, it did give him a slight frisson to know she was so nearby and knowing her, might surprise him again, given even half a chance.
The routine duties of the following day or so were ameliorated by the reminiscences of a memorable Monday sunrise in bed. These were especially welcome during particularly dull meetings with the churchwarden. Visions of Meg astride him (as seemed to be a favoured situation), her firm bounties fully displayed in the clear morning light with her urgent directions ringing in his head; “Faster, harder, oh, yes, just like that.” Then rather breathlessly, “Yes, yes, Tobias, just there, oh, a little more. Ooh!”
He tried to keep the inane grin from his face while pretending to listen to the churchwarden’s rather droning tones.
This feeling of lightness of spirit continued unabated until it was completely punctured in the most unexpected way. He entered the vicarage after his usual round of pastoral visits. His housekeeper pronounced that someone had called around, which being quite normal, gave him no prior warning.
He stood on the threshold of his reception room to find a complete stranger standing on his threadbare hearth rug, which was the first surprise. A lady, or rather given her somewhat strident taste in clothes, perhaps not quite a lady, was awaiting him. However, given Tobias’ close acquaintance with ladies who were not quite ladies, he was not one to judge and so he smiled politely as he greeted her.
To his astonishment, she stood up abruptly and declared in a ringing and decidedly metropolitan accent, “I’m here for my money!”
“Excuse me, madam?” Tobias thought he mustn’t have heard her quite correctly.
“None of your paltry excuses, sir,” she declaimed. “I am in need of my funds forthwith.”
Tobias looked about him momentarily, as if the world had turned upside down and he was suddenly inhabiting another person’s life entirely. He reassured himself that, yes, indeed, he was not in some strange nightmare but in the familiar territory of his drawing-room which was as comfortingly shabby as ever.
This gave him a little confidence to reply, gesturing to his sparse, unfashionable and be-cobwebbed furniture, “Madam, I beg your pardon. But what money?”
At this, the lady sat down heavily on the groaning settle, muttering, “Oh well, it was worth a try,” as she started to rummage for a handkerchief in an overlarge cloth bag placed on the floor by her side.
Tobias, glad of the slight interruption in her bewildering discourse, glanced around and saw his housekeeper in the doorway, gawking open-mouthed at the scene. He quickly decided that a cup of tea might help pacify his unexpected guest.
She was a fine looking woman, he mused, when she wasn’t demanding money with menaces. Majestically tall, with handsome features and built on statuesque lines that would always garner eager male attention.
Having blown her nose noisily, Tobias ventured further into the room, sat opposite her and asked cautiously, “May I inquire who you might be, madam?”
“Eliza Gutteridge,” she replied promptly. Tobias looked blank at this totally unfamiliar name, which rang no bells in his admittedly not entirely reliable memory. In response to his obvious lack of recognition, the lady sat up straight, pushed out her formidable bosom and pronounced in reverberating and suddenly alarmingly gentile tones, ‘but my nom professionel is Fifi Fontayne.”
“Ah,” replied Tobias, as enlightenment dawned. He wouldn’t have forgotten that name in a hurry as it had caused such heated consternation recently for the Whitmore matriarch and thus, the rest of the family. His middle brother Tom, a soldier, had become infatuated with this Fifi while serving abroad and spent all his pay and more on her. He had recently returned home on leave, both to pacify his mother’s injured morals and no doubt to beg some funds from his father to pay off the most pressing of his debts.
The housekeeper arrived with the tea tray, warily putting it down on the small table near Tobias, looking askance at their volatile guest. Dismissing her kindly, Tobias poured the tea and passing the less chipped cup to the slightly becalmed lady, he asked pleasantly, “So, Miss Fontayne,” thinking but not saying, ‘apart from blackmail,’ he continued, “what brings you to my door?”
There followed a garbled, evidently highly expurgated explanation from which Tobias sifted some salient facts. The bottom line was that Mistress ‘Fifi’ Fontayne-Gutteridge, or ‘that opera dancer’ as his mother had denounced her, had found herself stranded in the middle of the countryside without the means to go any further and had somehow remembered Tom mentioning he had a sibling in this area.
That reference evidently gave her fresh ammunition. She impaled Tobias with a fierce look, proclaiming, “If you know his current direction, you will provide me with the coach fare to call upon Mr Thomas!”
Tobias demurred politely, saying something vague about complexities of army manoeuvres, while knowing full well where the wretched Tom was. Frankly, if he’d had the spare cash in the house, it would have been extremely tempting to pack off Fifi on the first available transport to the Whitmores’ and dump the problem in female form on his feckless brother.
He also reckoned, given her impressive command, that it would be odds on in a showdown between her and his mother. Talking of coin, if he were a gambling man, he reckoned he could make a pretty penny laying bets on that confrontation, from a very safe distance, of course.
Attractive though that notion might be, his conscience informed him that it would be advisable and less catastrophic all round if he tried to solve the problem from the comparative neutrality of his vicarage and hopefully before his mother found out. Given his usually oblivious housekeeper was agog at Madame Fontayne’s dramatic arrival, that might be hours rather than days, Tobias thought gloomily.
Resignedly, he offered the lady the hospitality (such as it was) of his modest abode until her next move could be arranged.
“If I have to,” she said, with an audible sniff that could have been heard in the back row of the stalls, looking about her in evident contempt. Tobias repressed a sigh and silently wished his brother to perdition.
Before Fifi could continue to complain about the facilities, the housekeeper returned with a jug of hot water to refresh the teapot and Tobias asked her to prepare a spare bedchamber, hastily (if not convincingly) inventing some mishap while travelling to explain her tempestuous arrival. The housekeeper looked dubiously at Tobias, then rather fearfully at their guest and shuffled off as quickly as she could manage.
Having resigned herself to remain at the vicarage, over another cup of tea Fifi then asked some searching questions about the amenities of Stratton. Tobias answered her queries as equably as he could. However, having concluded that there were no fashionable shops to speak of in the town, no regular assembly room, no coffee houses and no clubs for organised card games, she glared at Tobias furiously as if he was entirely to blame for this omission.
Fortunately, before she could yell at him for his lack of foresight at providing her with these basic necessities before she descended on St Margaret’s, his housekeeper entered to announce the lady’s room was ready and Miss Fontayne exited grandly, stage left, to inspect her new quarters. Tobias gladly escaped to the sanctuary of his study to pen an urgent note to his brother.
When in the privacy of his domain, he hesitated. Despite his plight, he knew the tone in his letter must be calm, as knowing Tom, he would merely breezily dismiss any panicked request for immediate assistance. He also prayed earnestly that his mother, on recognising his handwriting, would not ignore his brother’s name on the letter and open it herself. The consequences of that did not bear dwelling on.
As Tom’s general approach to life was enthusiastic rather than astute, Tobias kept the contents as clear and simple as he could, merely explaining the dilemma of Fifi’s dramatic advent and her lack of means to go elsewhere.
Even as he sealed the missive, he doubted his kinsman could be of much assistance, even if he wanted to be. In a way, while at their parental home, Tom was almost equally stranded and penniless as his former mistress and also had the insurmountable obstacle of their mother to contend with.
Suddenly inspired, or perhaps merely desperate, Tobias wrote another quick explanatory note, explaining the urgency of the issue and the depth of his dilemma, this one to a local address. He had no idea if there might be a sorority of mutual acquaintance between ladies who were not exactly ladies, or a vain chance Meg might be acquainted with any theatricals, but anything was worth a try, he thought as he heard Miss Fontayne’s imperious tones echoing down from the upper floor.
The next few days felt like a month as Tobias tried and mainly failed to keep Fifi entertained. The weather seemed to reflect Tobias’ grey mood as it rained solidly. At least this kept Fifi from public view as the notion of her voyaging at full sail down Stratton High Street would provide local gossip fodder for several months and his name would be as muddy as the deluged street, Tobias mused, trying to count his blessings. On the other hand, the damp conditions marooned her in the vicarage and constantly under Tobias’ feet, which was trying to say the least.
Her outrage once she realised he had no Gothic novels on his bookshelves (offering her a copy of Fordyce’s Sermons to Young Women might result in it getting thrown at him, he decided) spurred Tobias to dare to borrow a few books from near neighbours. However, Fifi huffed at these peace offerings as either hopelessly old-fashioned or declared she had read them at least three times before. She also criticised the simple diet and frankly not very well cooked meals at the vicarage, which resulted in the already terrified housekeeper to remain hiding in the kitchen for the duration.
Once he had finished his parish duties for the day, there was not a moment's relaxation as Fifi declared she was at her wits’ end with boredom and demanded his constant company and some distraction. Having rapidly run out of suggestions, he had the bright idea of rummaging in his old university trunk for a rather creased pack of playing cards.
As neither of them had the cash to spare, Tobias managed to find a box of old gilt buttons which they used to wager on each round. It was then that he fully understood why Tom’s modest stock of remuneration had drained away so quickly. Clearly, Fifi’s enthusiasm for card games was only matched by her total lack of skill. It took all his concentration to manage to lose against her, which at least kept her in reasonable humour.
Given the constant complaints of daylight hours, the later evenings were not so bad, although they did make dramatic inroads into Tobias’ modest stock of wine. However, as Fifi became entertainingly indiscreet and quite the raconteur after the third glass, he reckoned it was well worth the sacrifice.
During those rather one-sided conversations, he learned that his mother was misinformed in thinking Fifi was an opera dancer (as she was not exactly dainty, Tobias had wondered at her suitability for this activity) but was, in fact, an actress of some considerable experience and reputation. Tobias gathered that any interruptions to her promising career were punctuated by her temporary infatuations and dubious taste in suitors.
Alongside some very amusing theatrical anecdotes, Tobias found out the exact circumstances of how she had come to be marooned in Stratton, of all places.
She had reluctantly departed from Tom’s side, whom she seemed to have some genuine fondness for since she remained with him even after it was evident he had no recourse to further funds or friends credulous enough to lend him further sums. “Not a feather to fly with,” Fifi had declared sadly, with an accompanying consolatory gulp of claret.
So she had resourcefully latched onto a senior officer in another brigade who was returning to England. They spent a very jolly (and as far as Tobias could gather, ruinously extravagant) fortnight in a well-appointed property just south of Leamington Priors, a picturesque village that was fast gaining a reputation as a fashionable spa. In fact, so much fun was being had, that her host had entirely forgotten the impending arrival of his lady wife.
As Fifi told it, the resulting action stations were very reminiscent of a fashionable French farce, with the Lieutenant amicably greeting his spouse at the front entrance of the house while Fifi and her possessions were hastily bundled out of the back door. This abrupt parting meant she only had enough in her purse to get halfway to a largish town where she might find a theatrical troupe in need of an extra a leading lady, or lacking that, a congenial fellow who would pay for her lodgings. This was when her capacious recall came in handy and deposited her precipitously on Tobias’ good nature.
The following late morning, Tobias entered the vicarage after paying his pastoral calls and looked automatically at the hall table as he had every day for some much-anticipated post. To his bottomless relief, he could see his brother’s handwriting on the top missive. Although it was far too early for Fifi to emerge from her bedchamber, he was taking no chances and sped to his study, shut the door and ripped open the letter.
Dear Toby, it read. Tobias winced at the much-despised nickname from boyhood that only Tom used nowadays since he knew how much he hated it. However, Tom continued in more conciliatory tones,
My dear fellow, I’m aghast to hear Fifi has landed on you all of a sudden with nowhere to go (she’s a splendid girl but gets a bit restless without instant diversion.)
Tobias thought that was typical of Tom’s breezy understatement.
I honestly didn’t realise I had mentioned your direction, let alone that she would turn up on your doorstep for the duration. I’m so sorry if you are in a fix on my account.
Tobias briefly marvelled at the first (and possibly last) apology to be received from his scapegrace brother.
Tom continued, I couldn’t ask Pa for an advance for this purpose as he’d feel obliged to tell mama.
There was no need for further explanation on that point.
But Ned has come up trumps and I hope this will be enough to help Fifi on her way. I’ve faithfully promised to pay him back as soon as I get my next wage.
Yrs, etc
Your affectionate brother, Tom
Tobias blinked at the enclosed banknote that their older brother Edward had surrendered. As Ned was saving every penny for a future marriage which depended on his financing the rebuilding of a farmhouse for the happy couple, this showed how much of a crisis all three Whitmore boys saw Fifi’s presence as being.
Despite Tom’s fine words, Tobias knew from experience it would be up to him to repay Ned, but that worry was for the future. At least for now, there was sufficient money to get Fifi out of Stratton and more importantly, his vicarage. As Tobias unseeingly opened the next letter in the pile, he mentally steeled himself for a conversation with Madame Fifi on choosing a distant and sensible destination.
With a sense of solace, he recognised Meg’s scrawl immediately. Refreshingly, her note was brief and entirely to the point.
I don’t really know any theatre folk, so I haven’t heard of this Fifi. But Betty was an opera dancer, she wrote, and it’s a small world, so I’ll ask her.
As though aware that this was a trifle vague she added below in even larger letters, Don’t worry, followed by several exclamation marks, which cheered Tobias a little and made him smile.
He sat at his desk for the ten minutes until the midday meal, the rest of his correspondence temporarily ignored. His time was agreeably spent pondering on the enjoyable distraction of the luscious Betty’s former occupation. The idea of her prancing around on the public stage, her considerable charms bouncing out of a skimpy, low-cut opera dancer’s costume did a great deal to soothe his troubled mind.
As he had surmised, he could not get a great deal of sense out of Fifi that evening as he casually steered the conversation to the prospect of her next possible sojourn. She had ideas aplenty, but the expense of them was well beyond Ned’s note (the knowledge of which Tobias kept to himself for the time being).
His main concern was that she would get stranded again and either bounce back to the vicarage semi-permanently or (even more worryingly) give the Whitmore name to account for a trail of bills at a series of expensive coaching inns. He quailed at the thought of the effect of either of these options on his mama’s disposition.
So, the very next afternoon, when he opened his front door to see the lovely Meg and her bubbly friend Betty standing there, he greeted them with more than usual eagerness, not amorously, but more in the manner of a man on a sinking ship regarding a passing life raft.
“Where is she?” Betty asked with no more ado, and Tobias nodded wordlessly towards the drawing-room. She quickly entered the chamber and through the open door, he could hear the thud of a book hitting the floor, a sudden creak of the settle, followed by a piercing cry of, “Betty, dahling!” and some theatrical air kissing.
Meg, still standing beside him, grinned sympathetically and said with a roll of her eyes, “You have been having a right old time of it, haven’t you?”
Tobias smiled weakly as the stage whispered conversation got straight to the point. Betty informed Fifi that she knew for a fact that the troupe residing at Bath's Theatre Royal urgently required a secondary female lead for the weeks leading up to the Little Season. This role was Fifi’s for the asking, the only proviso being that she must arrive in Bath immediately.
This news was rapturously received. Fifi declared she must pack right now and so the pair of them emerged into the hallway. As if already performing for an audience, Fifi heedlessly described her ordeal by Stratton, “I’ve been stuck in this cultural desert,“ she boomed, her forearm raised to her brow in a gesture to denote despair, “with nothing for company but this vicar!” she declaimed, pointing towards a mortified Tobias. As she turned to ascend the stairs, he thought his humiliation was complete until she huffed, “At least his brother was fun!”
At this, Betty leered towards him with a theatrical wink and saucily tittered, “Ooh, he has his moments!”
Leaving Tobias wishing he could sink through the floorboards, both of them disappeared noisily upstairs to gather together Fifi’s scattered possessions. Once Meg had stopped laughing, Tobias led her into the study and revealed the carefully hidden banknote, plus a few coins he had gathered from his own meagre stipend, quickly explaining the Whitmore boys’ rapid financial collusion.
“Will this be enough to get her all the way to Bath?” he asked anxiously.
“It should be plenty for the both of them,” Meg said reassuringly, tucking the articles into her reticule. As if discerning his unspoken fears, she added, “I’ll buy the tickets myself and go with them for the first leg to see them on their way. Then Betty will continue with her right to Bath itself, to make sure our diva doesn’t get distracted and waylaid. She has a habit of doing that,” she said, her eyes full of mischief. “Betty says all it takes is a big talker with a bit of charm and more confidence than cash and she’s off!”
Tobias thought this summed up his middle brother’s character with unerring accuracy.
“How can I ever thank you both?” Tobias uttered in heartfelt relief.
“I’m sure we’ll think of something,” Meg said with a promising glint. However, any further conversation on this agreeable topic was precluded by Betty and Fifi thundering down the staircase at pace. As they met the duo in the hallway, Tobias could see a wisp of frills sticking out of the hastily packed and over-stuffed bag.
Unsurprisingly, Fifi’s final exit was haughtily regal as she grandly offered Tobias her hand. However, he got an affectionate kiss on the cheek from the two others, with Meg brushing her lips against his ear murmuring, “Poor Tobias, we’ll make it up to you soon,” which gave him an agreeable shiver.
He never thought he’d see the day when he would be glad to see his pair of luscious ladies leave and so abruptly, but he shut the door behind them with an exaggerated sigh of gratitude. He gave a moment’s thanks to the Good Lord and whichever patron saint might encompass kind-hearted damsels of doubtful virtue. Then he went directly to the kitchen to assure his housekeeper that the vicarage was now free of alarming theatricality and she was safe to emerge at last.
Sherry
- 29.10.2020
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- Category:
- Historical
