Mrs Grainger's Gift 36

By Ritchie Moore

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This work is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It may contain depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do not save this story.
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PART XXXVI

Wednesday 9th September

Aftermath

The lovers slept in and missed a communal breakfast, which avoided possible embarrassment and strained conversation. Neither was very hungry, but they made their way to the kitchen and brewed tea, helping themselves to chocolate biscuits and feeling naughty. “Mrs Ponsonby won’t mind, will she?” asked Catherine.

“I don’t think so,” said Matthew with a smile. “After all, they’re our biscuits! And I got the impression she liked us last time. I think she’ll be pleased to hear of our good fortune. Say, isn’t Mr Barry coming today to do some more things?”

“Yes, in about an hour or so. Till then maybe we can walk about our estate! Oh, love, I can’t get over it! This beautiful place, that we can improve I suppose, to suit ourselves, though we could sell it and move to London, like Mr Barry said, and – and –”

“Listen, Catherine: you like music, and I want to learn about it. We are going to go to an opera, and a symphony concert, and you’re going to play me some Chopin, and we’ll get one of those wireless sets, and we’ll talk about books, and—”

She laughed. “Oh Matthew! There’s so much we can do, and enjoy, now, with no fear or troubles. We can go back to Paris, maybe, and taste the intellectual life there. And we’ll go back to Vaulx and have long talks with our friends there. And we can help people, as we were talking about. Yes, my love, we are going to enjoy life, and part of that will be making life a bit easier for some.”

He looked at her seriously. “It’s a sad thought, though, that it’ll never be enough, we can’t help everybody, no matter how rich we are. But those we know of, those we meet, we can make their existence just a bit sweeter. Yes, you’re right. And that means more planning. Oh goodness! We’re going to be occupied with lots of things! Anyway,” he said taking her hand, “let’s wander about and admire the garden, hm? Till Barry comes. Do you like hollyhocks?”

“As of now,” said Mr Barry, “you can make free with the apartments Mrs Grainger occupied, for instance, using the bedrooms down here. There’s two spares, you’ll probably not want to use hers. But you can use the morning room and the drawing room, the breakfast nook, and so forth. It’s all yours, now. And what you’ll be doing down here: you’ll be going through her possessions and making a list or two. I mean an inventory, or series of such, detailing clothes, decorations, books, yes, pictures, knick-knacks. And then in regard to her clothes, for instance, they can be laid out in the morning room, say, preparatory to being parcelled up and dispatched to a worthy deserving place. The Salvation Army, for instance, there’s many a charity would be pleased to have them. Sisters of Mercy, although,” he added with a wry grin, “Lydia was by no means religiously inclined. Her family was, good pious Huguenots, but she –” he paused. “She took after her uncle Bernard, who actually raised her after her parents died, when she was eleven years old.”

“Oh dear!” said Catherine, “how awful for her!”

“I know,” he said, “I imagine it was terrible for her. It was in 1905, during the yellow fever outbreak in New Orleans, in Louisiana. She didn’t catch it, but several of her relatives did – they were visiting the family at the time –. So you see, Catherine, she was rather like yourself, an orphan, brought up by an uncle, which is why she interested herself in you. However, Bernard seems to have brought her up in a very free and easy way, no religion, no moral imperative. He was the black sheep of the family, and it was only inevitable I suppose that she’d marry into the Graingers. When she married he went off to New Zealand, I believe. He was independently wealthy, so he doesn’t feature in her will. Anyway, bear in mind that if there’s any money to be made from the disposition of her effects, it goes into what you can call the common fund. Which will not be totalled up for some time yet, for the estate duty. I foresee that you’ll be busy with the results of her death for at least a year.”

Catherine looked aghast. “Oh dear!” she said, “that sort of ties us down.”

“No, no, my dear,” said the old lawyer, “it’s not all on your pretty shoulders. There’s the bailiff Mr Montmorency, there’s me and my dear acolyte, Jeremy, who’s taken a real shine to you, as they say, and has already worked long hours with no complaint. And there’s Mr Bryden of course. I’m not saying you can be done without, but you won’t be expected to carry all of the burden all the time. I want you to go away for a holiday, actually. I know you’ve recently had a spell in Vaulx, but I suspect that it was not entirely carefree, no? I thought not. Well, just as soon as you feel the need, and you’ve got things rolling here, take off for some relaxing place and forget Lydia Grainger for a while. I really mean it.” He smiled deprecatingly. “With or without a chaperone. Then come back to take up the reins again. Don’t you think that’s a good idea?”

Matthew smiled and said “Certainly, Mr Barry, and we’ll act on that. The main thing is not to let the problems arising from this debacle get the better of us. As of now though I’m going to take advantage of the suggestion and move my few things down here to a spare bedroom. You should do that too, Catherine. Your pick. And maybe we can have tea – and breakfast too – served in that nook, like yesterday. Mr Barry, let me confess, I’m looking forward to a bit more carefree life than before. I’m trying not to feel guilty about accepting this bounty from Mrs Grainger—”

“My dear boy!” said Barry, “you have nothing to feel guilty about. Accept it, you earned it, really! This is your just reward for what was in a way a real martyrdom. The account is cleared –oh dear, I’m into metaphors again!”

Catherine laughed. “It’s true, though,” she said, “I’m the same. I think it’ll be a little while before we come to terms with it. So anyway I’m going to make lists of things to be done, even obvious stuff like changing the curtains and getting rid of Mrs G’s bed!” They laughed and looked forward to an interesting autumn.

Barry looked at them with understanding. “I know it’s a bit like the resolution of a complicated play, like a deus ex machina situation. You can’t really believe it, can you?”

“No, sir,” said Matthew, ‘it’s … I don’t know. Listen, this past long while since I came to Summerton, the whole thing has been like a horrific dream, a wet dream, really, you know? A wet nightmare. Sorry to be so … plain.” Barry nodded. “Anyway, I prayed to wake up from it. But now, I’m so relieved and happy, I feel like I’m dreaming, only a pleasant dream now, feeling safe and secure and … and I don’t want to wake. I know it’s just a dream. But I’m afraid to wake up to the sordid reality…. Does that make sense?”

He looked up at the lawyer and grimaced. Barry nodded thoughtfully. “I can see, I can appreciate, how all this has seemed, and seems now. But rest assured, Matthew, that it is the end of the play, when all is righted and Tartuffe unmasked, the long-lost child is found, Perdita’s dead mother is found alive. You’ve been through a Sophoclean catharsis, and now begins a new chapter with a blank page. Hah! I won’t continue the metaphor. Just accept your good fortune, and think about how you’ll deal with it. As for me, I’m going to give young Jeremy a substantial rise in his salary. The dear boy was instrumental in this outcome.”

“But Mr Barry,” said Catherine, “I’ve just been thinking. If it hadn’t been for Jeremy’s forced participation in my humiliation that time – and that, his presence, was accidental – he’d have had no reason to suggest it. If he hadn’t seen me at Summerton, there’d probably be nothing happened at Vaulx either.”

“And, Catherine,” Matthew added, “it was Mrs G who did that, in the first place, got you there to humiliate. So it’s her fault, really—”

“You mean we owe our happiness to Mrs Grainger! God, I suppose we do!”

Barry looked from one to the other. “Yes,” he said, “it’s ironic but it’s true. I said as much to Jeremy the other day. She sowed the seeds, and so you pair are reaping the harvest. Oh dear, another metaphor!”

They laughed, and Bryden, who was just entering, asked the reason. “Oh, nothing, Bryden,” said the lawyer, “just my rhetorical long-windedness. Listen: you and I must have a long talk, many long talks, about the future. About these two, and several other matters. For now, though, let’s just take a deep breath and set about picking up the pieces. Catherine is in a different position from Matthew, who has a family. She has none, and we have to decide what to do with her. You are going to be in loco parentis.”

Catherine looked at the old butler shyly and said “Mr Bryden, listen, I want – I would like – please, I want to call you Uncle Theo.”

The old man’s eyes glistened with tears, and he held out his hands to her. “My dear, dear girl!” he said, “I’d like nothing more.” They embraced in a tight hug, and Catherine too showed unshed tears of joy. Matthew and Barry looked at the picture and then at each other with big smiles, and nodded as if to say Yes, a very satisfactory outcome.

Abigail came into the room and stopped. She looked at the pair with an odd expression that had to mingle resentment and fear, and said “Well! I suppose I should curtsey, or something? You’ve got the upper hand now. All right. What have you got in mind for me?” She stared at them, her mouth twisting, and threw back her head.

Matthew was the first to rouse himself to answer. “Abigail,” he said, “I don’t want to be vindictive. You’ve not been very kind to us, have you? You agreed with Lydia Grainger’s ideas and methods, and you gleefully joined in the project of putting us through all those humiliations. And for that I cannot forgive you. I can’t forget it either, and so it’s hard to see how we can stay under the same roof for any length of time. Catherine and I will be moving away, but for now it would be simpler if you took a long holiday.”

She looked at him in bewilderment. “You’re not sacking me?”

Catherine rushed to explain. “No, Abigail, it isn’t like that. I suppose we’ve inherited you along with the estate, but Mr Barry said it wouldn’t be fair to dismiss you just because we don’t like you. You served Mrs G very well, he said, so it isn’t up to us to take revenge. Oh, Abigail,” she said, “but I’d like to! I’d like to see you squirm in shame as I did, I’d like to see you cry, like I did, I’d like to see you cower in despair as I did. But that pleasure will be denied me. As it is, though, maybe I can get some satisfaction in seeing you humbled. Matthew thinks you can take a long holiday. By the time it’s over, we won’t be here, and it’ll be new management at the estate, and you can deal with them.”

“—Unless you want to leave right now,” said Matthew, “with your bequest and a first-class reference. Either way, I’d like to see you off the premises by nightfall. I can’t make you,” he added as she opened her mouth to speak or argue, “but I’d like you to. That’s all I have to say.” He stared her in the face, and left the room.

Abigail took a deep breath and looked sullenly at Catherine. “All right,” she said, “I suppose it works out that way. A holiday? We’ll see. Resign? Why not. I’m getting two hundred pounds and a reference. All right.” And at least, she thought, I’ve got that pendant, and the pearls! She squared her shoulders and looked at the girl with a sort of smirk and said “So I might as well tell you this. You were an ideal victim, you know. You’re weak, you’re pliable, you’re naïve and so trusting! You’re so foolish actually. You couldn’t believe that so much could happen to you, with no redress or let-up. Well it did happen. We put you through the wringer, and it was great to watch you beating your hands against the cell-door, you daren’t complain, or you’d be back in Cumberland being thrashed by Mrs Grove. And you couldn’t complain because Matthew was at risk, your dear Matthew.” Her voice became scornful and savage. “Matthew! A pretty boy with not much spine – though of course he couldn’t fight either. It worked very nicely, you know. You couldn’t move on account of him, and he couldn’t move on account of you. Because you were infatuated with each other!”

Catherine burst out, “You bitch, you used our love against us—”

“Love!” shrieked Abigail. “Love! Is that what it was? You saw each other naked, and got the urge to fuck, but you couldn’t so you turned your lust to something else. And you enjoyed the excitement of being naked and felt up and gloated over, didn’t you? Admit it! God, you hypocrite, you Sunday school virgin! Deep down you were trembling with arousal, you were, you know, you dripped your juice to prove it. Just as your prince there was enjoying his erections and his spending. But it was good to watch you blush, like a maiden who’d never been seen undressed, who’d never been felt, but who was suddenly stripped in front of young randy boys who were delighted to see you, feel you, make you come.” She stopped to take breath, then looked into Catherine’s eyes. “And now, I suspect, he is the only one privy to your privates. Isn’t he? He’s fucking you, isn’t he? I said at the very start you wanted that, he wanted that. So now you can, using Mrs G’s bed and reading those dirty books. Hah! You pair….”

Catherine eyed her coolly and replied as steadily as she could manage. “Yes, Abigail, he’s fucking me. I’m fucking him. We fuck together, and it is the most glorious thing I know. I love him, and I know he loves me, and we prove that love, we demonstrate it, together in bed. I admit it, it’s true, that we learned this here, we learned how to fuck here, but first we learned to love. And,” she came closer to add, “I should maybe thank you for helping the process along. Mrs Grainger didn’t know what she was doing in putting us together, and you were an accidental sort of matchmaker; but it happened, and so, for the record, as it were, I thank you. I’ve come to know an incredible happiness, and I thank God, in hindsight, that we came here to this dreadful place. But anyway, if you can see your way to getting out of our lives by dark, I’ll appreciate it. Mr Barry has already written a recommendation letter for you, and it’ll be on the hall table when you go. Rawlins will be able to drive you to the station. Now goodbye.”

Abigail looked daggers at her and clenched her teeth, but said no more. With a sort of flounce she left the room. Catherine looked after her and let out a shuddering breath. That had been an awful interview. But now, there were no obstacles to her enjoyment of her new position. Hah, she thought, position, status, oh, I mustn’t ever get arrogant and proud of my money – after all I’m just a middle-class girl who has been lucky. Remember the girl in Our Mutual Friend, and the father in Little Dorrit…. But dear Matthew will keep my feet on the ground. He’s sensible, with a good sense of humour, and … oh dear God, what a wonderful person he is! She ran out of the room and found him in the library. Going up to him, she grabbed his arms and pulled him into a kiss, making eager sounds and surprising him with her vehemence. She broke the kiss and breathlessly said “I just had to kiss you, Matthew, you dear, dear darling, because I love you and thank God we have each other. You’re so … beautiful and … loving ….” She found she was crying, and he looked dismayed. “Oh no, love,” she spluttered, “I’m not upset, it’s just that I’m soooo … haaapy …”

He grinned and said “I know, love, I know. Thank you for the kiss. I hope I can kiss you suddenly like that too, as the whim takes me. I get overwhelming urges too, to show you just how dear you are to me. And when we’re utterly alone in our room or bed or some cool grotto like the Cave of the Nymphs, we can show each other what we mean. – It’s because of Abigail, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she said, sniffling, “I suddenly saw the difference, the incredible gulf between us and her. She can’t be happy, surely, so full of that malice and … envy and … spite ….”

“Catherine, she has little to look forward to, I bet. In fact I’ll wager she has a very uncomfortable life in front of her, carrying that sort of … mental or psychological furniture. But I mean it when I say: forget her. We’re well rid of her, so close the door.” His lover gave him a bright smile and went off in a better mood than she began the day with.

Later that day Abigail left in the Daimler with a bulky handbag and a thermos of cocoa provided by Liza and Laura, along with ham and cheese sandwiches from Mrs Ponsonby. Some of the girls waved her off, and she waved at them in a condescending way, as if to say (Grace thought) I’m well out of here, you poor things! Watch me! Matthew looked out the window to see her go, and somehow felt a great relief that suddenly made itself known. He couldn’t help wondering, however, what would happen to her. She was an efficient servant, no doubt about it, and the service market in London or Manchester, say, would be happy to have her, with a recommendation from Mrs Grainger. At least, he thought, that’s the last we’ll hear of her! And we’ll probably remind each other about her sadistic schemes now and then, and then bask in the comfort of being without her. Still, Raven, try to forget her, all right?

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Thursday 10th September

They consulted with Bryden about a successor for Abigail, and he recommended Marion, the girl from Jamaica. They asked her and she was very pleased. Then they went to talk with Miss Birkett and a subdued Miss Cramond, who was regretting her treatment of Matthew. But he bore her little ill will, and was pleasant to her, reminding himself that he’d deduced she had had some awful experiences with men, perhaps a tyrant father, or a bullying husband, or maybe a cad who’d seduced her and abandoned her. It was he who suggested that the school expand into the living quarters, and rent it from the estate.

Miss Birkett looked dismayed. “But we’ve not been paying rent before,” she said, “and the fees have mostly gone to Mrs Grainger. So do you mean that we’ll be sending you the fees, and … and paying rent on top of that?”

Miss Cramond looked rebellious, but Matthew forestalled her.

“No,” he said, “I mean that I want you to be independent. This isn’t Mrs G’s school any more, and it’s not ours really. It’s yours. We’re going to go away, and you have a clear field to develop the place as you wish. You’re going to have a sports place, aren’t you? It’s all planned. And there was talk of a swimming pool, et cetera. You should be able to fund all that out of the fees. And as for the rent, I think –”

They looked at him anxiously. Catherine couldn’t bear their expressions and smiled as she broke in.

“Ladies,” she said, “don’t be afraid. We were thinking of a peppercorn.”

The teachers looked amazed.

“Yes,” said Matthew, with a grin of his own, “really that means a token rent. If you can’t find a spare peppercorn, let’s call it a fiver, hmm? You rent Summerton Manor for five pounds a year. The fees alone should keep your head above water. But the estate will be able to look after things for you – repairs to the plumbing or anything like that. Mr Montmorency will be in charge, and I think all should go well. What d’you think?”

They gazed at him with big eyes, and rose to embrace their benefactors. Miss Birkett had tears in her eyes, and the dour Scot kissed Matthew on the cheek as she merely murmured “Thank you, Matthew. We don’t deserve—”

“Not another word,” he said. “It’s best this way. We couldn’t let the girls down, could we? You can make this a fine little school, you know.”

“It was an efficient place before we got here,” said Catherine, “and I’d only ask you to relax a little bit. You will I suppose have to answer to the governors, but don’t worry too much, that means Matthew and me and Mr Bryden, who are going to be fairly … permissive in giving you a free hand. Above all, ladies, I enjoin you to try to make the school experience an enjoyable one. Don’t make it a harsh environment for learning, get the girls to grab instruction eagerly, not avoid it as either a bore or a punishment. Let them be happy.”

Cramond looked at her quietly, then nodded in acceptance. Miss Birkett put her arm round her colleague’s shoulders and looked at the new owners calmly. “Right!” she said, “I do believe this is a new beginning for us too. You won’t regret it.”

The orphans left them making plans for the redesigned Academy, and went off to tell the old butler how it went.

Friday 11th September

A confrontation

A fancy car drew up and a liveried chauffeur got out to knock on the door. Liza answered, and after a few words opened the doors wide and allowed the man and his passenger to enter. The chauffeur was sent back to the car, having got instructions as to where to go, and Liza brought the gentleman in to the morning room and asked him to wait. What was his name?
She ran the lovers down in the kitchen, where they were enjoying a conversation with Mrs Ponsonby.

“There’s a gentleman come to see you,” she said, “both of you I expect. His name is Colonel Struthers, Irving Struthers, and I know he’s the Chief Constable.”

“My word!” said Matthew. “I expect he’s come to pay his respects to the new owners, hmm? Well, we’d best go see. Come, love, we’ll entertain him for a bit. Oh, Mrs P, can you get us some sherry, maybe? I think that’s the standard thing.” She smiled and nodded, and they followed Liza out.

Struthers stood and inclined his head as they entered the morning room. He was a tall man, though not very fleshy, and his handshake was firm. He asked to see the new proprietors of the old estate, and was obviously taken aback to see a couple of children.

“Actually, sir,” said Catherine, “it’s Mr Bryden, the butler, who’s in charge, but we are the actual legal owners. Lydia Grainger left the property to us.”

“Hem! Well, I, I must say it’s a bit of a surprise. I don’t know what to say. Except to congratulate you on your good fortune. This is a beautiful estate, as I’m sure you’ve seen. I don’t know whether you’re aware of it, but I’ve been a friend of the Graingers for many years. I—”

He broke off as Liza appeared with a little wagon of drinks, and they were able to offer the guest sherry, or something stronger? It was too early for the hard stuff evidently, and he opted for sherry, so Liza poured them all a little glassful, curtsied with a smile at Matthew, and left.

“Well! Here’s health!”

They echoed the toast and sat down. They spoke about the weather, and the crops, and the government, and there was one of those silences. Struthers fiddled with his glass for a moment before saying “There is one matter I want to talk about, particularly. It shouldn’t be any trouble. It’s just a formality really. We’ll be starting cubbing shortly, and all I’m doing is giving you notice about it. The actual season, the full hunt, isn’t until November as usual.”

He sipped his sherry and looked at them with a pleasant expression of satisfaction. Matthew frowned and looked at Catherine, who had a startled expression on her face, along with a faint flush. He put two and two together. “Oh goodness! The Hunt!”

“Why, yes,” said the colonel, “And we start with the cubbing next week. When we introduce the little ones to the sport.”

“Sport!” Catherine’s eyes flashed. “What—”

Matthew interrupted. “But why are you telling us?”

“To prepare you for our visits. Lydia never made a fuss, and I’m trusting you’ll allow the hunt on your land, that’s all.”

His face became worried. “Here, I say, you don’t object, do you? Lydia followed the Grainger custom, we’ve been coming through here every so often for two hundred years!”

Matthew looked him in the eye. “Colonel,” he said, “I make no bones about it. I’ve heard the arguments, and I may as well tell you that no matter how ancient the ‘sport’ is, and no matter how accommodating the Graingers were, or Lydia, in my opinion it’s an outmoded barbarism on a level with bear-baiting and bull-fighting, and if I have a say in it, it won’t be allowed on our land!”

Catherine reached for his hand and squeezed it. In her turn she said “Yes, Colonel, we object. We object strongly. We can’t stop hunting, but by God we can keep it out of this estate. And let me tell you,” she said deliberately, “if anyone tries to ride roughshod through any of these grounds, with or without a pack of puppies, they’d better be ready for an action at law! Yes, we’ll sue for trespass! Wilde was right – the unspeakable, in pursuit of the uneatable!”

Struthers drank his dregs and stood up. His face was stony as he said “I might have known it was impossible to deal with ignorant children. I can see your minds are made up. I won’t attempt to convince you of the honourable tradition or the support it gives to the rural community, or…. All right. I need say no more. I give you good morning!”

Matthew had rung for service, and Laura appeared just then.

“Laura,” said the master, “the Colonel is just leaving. See him out, will you?”

She curtsied and led him away, then returned to ask what that was all about. They told her, and she giggled. “Oh my,” she said, “the girls will be glad to know that. Lydia was all for the hunt, ’cos Henry was for it, but it was always a bother. Congratulations on putting him in his place!”

Matthew put his arm round his lover’s waist and sighed dramatically. “I’ve got an awful feeling,” he said, “that we’ve just wrecked the estate’s relations with officialdom, and the police, et cetera. That old law about closing on Sunday, for instance, will be revived! Ah well. At least we’ve saved a few foxes, no?”

Saturday 12th September

“Catherine, come and see this.”

She looked up from the magazine she was reading in the morning room and smiled. “What? Have you found something interesting in there?”

“Yes,” he said, “interesting is the word I suppose. I finally got round to looking at that cupboard in Lydia’s bedroom.”

Catherine got up with an intrigued expression and came with him into that so feminine room that still bore a faint scent of its former occupant. The door of the corner cupboard was open and revealed shelves of books, and she sighed. “Not more obscene stuff, surely? Why isn’t it in the library? Is it worse?”

He laughed and said “Open one, tell me what you think.”

She took one out at random and looked at it. It was the size of a large novel, with maroon cloth covers, bearing a paper label on the spine with a handwritten “1915 – 2” on it. She opened it up and saw the pages covered in a neat script. “Oh no!” she gasped. “It’s not her diary, is it?”

He laughed. “Yes, but it’s more of a real journal than a mere diary. She takes pages sometimes to describe something, and I’ll tell you, as I expected, it’s pretty hair-raising. Look at it.”

She leafed through it, and said “She seems to be in America. And oh, writes about Henry. I say, he must have died by this time. And what’s this?” She read out “We talked about the war, and Derek said everybody in San Francisco, that is everyone he knows, is all for Wilson to do something about it. On the other hand Herr Brandt was saying that while it’s very regrettable that so many civilians lost their lives, the Imperial Government was within its legal rights to fire that torpedo – and a lucky torpedo it was – for lots of reasons. The ship was in contravention of some agreed-upon rules, AND was carrying some munitions. Besides all that, there was that notice in the paper warning about sailing into a war zone. I agreed with him that the ship for many reasons turned out to be fair game, but it was a great pity, it was a beautiful ship, and very comfortable to sail in. – I expect she went over to the States in that ship, then. – Of course Britain wants Wilson to declare war, and many criticise him for merely asking for apologies and reparations. Philip meanwhile was musing about the possibility of a call-up, what he calls a draught, or draft (how silly these spellings are!) to the military, and is already talking of going to Europe to sow his wild oats. I laughed and told him that we’d been sure they were well sowed right here in sunny Frisco, and the whole argument ended up in bed of course. My, those two lovely boys! You’d think at the age of 16 they’d be too shy to even contemplate going to bed with a girl five years older, a sophisticated widow! I’ll miss them both when I get back home, which can’t be long now, they say the war will be over very soon. Derek, with his snub nose and freckles, and Philip, with his aristocratic looks and pale skin – they’re so different and yet so similar in the games they play as well as the size of their cocks.” She stopped and gulped. “It’s … very interesting actually,” she said, “but I must say it does reveal a bit about Mrs G. I think she’s always been the same, no? And that ship—”

“It was the Lusitania,” said Matthew, “which was torpedoed near Ireland in May I think, in 1915. These journals will be rather fascinating as descriptions and comments on the last twenty-five years. Oh yes,” he said, seeing her surprise, “the first volume is dated 1900, when she’d be all of six.”

“Six! My goodness. Well, some time when I’ve nothing else to do I’ll browse through them.”

Her eyes fell on the page, and she flushed as she read “I never imagined what a thrill it would be to be fucked at the same time by two wonderful boys! Derek took me in my cunt, and Philip in my arse, and the extraordinary feeling it gave me was, well, indescribable. I must do this again….” She looked up at Matthew and half laughed. “Oh, love,” she said, “if they’re all like this they’ll be really steamy to read, as good, or as bad, as those things in the library! But let’s just put them back for a while. There’s other things we have to deal with. Mr Barry is coming tomorrow, remember, and we should be prepared to talk about the disposition of Lydia’s personal effects and the rubbish as well!”

He smiled and put the book back and closed the door. “Right, love,” he said, “they’ll keep! I’ll get back to my notes about what to retain and what to throw away. When’s Mr de Groot showing up?”

She looked at the clock. “Actually, any minute now. I’d better get the kettle on.”

He laughed. “Catherine, my dear darling, you’re not used to it yet, are you?” He pulled the bell-rope and Amanda came in and looked a question. “Amanda,” said the proprietor amiably, “get us some tea, would you? That Dutch gentleman’s coming shortly, and we should be hospitable. I bet you there’s some biscuits and stuff in the pantry, hm? See what you can do.”

She looked at him and smiled. “Certainly. Ten minutes maybe? Right-oh.” Off she went, and Catherine laughed to see the affable interplay between the two former servants, now in a strangely different relationship something like friends.

De Groot greeted them warmly and said “Well now! We are near the end of this marathon. Today should finish the enumeration and evaluation, pro tem., at least, of the collection. Let me tell you however that my rash appraisal as of now is in the region of one hundred and fifty thousand pounds.” He grinned at their expressions. “And that’s rather conservative,” he added, “because you never know how an auction will go. How high, I mean. This one will certainly not be on the low side. Let me remind you also of several fine tomes in the other collection. Not to mention, but I will mention, the art works that I’ve seen around the building. I’m no great expert, but I’d say you have some rather good things there. I’m pretty sure that portrait of a horse we saw in the attic is a Stubbs. You know him? Anyway, I think you’ll be pleased at their worth.”

“Yes,” said Matthew, “I was mentioning that to Mr Barry. And in the other attic too, I found a great pile of things that look as if they haven’t been disturbed for a hundred years. We really should get someone to appraise them by themselves. Can you do it?”

“Oh no, Matthew. I could estimate things for you, roughly, but you really need an expert. I’ll recommend one if you like, I know a couple personally.”

“Fair enough,” said Catherine. “Oh good, here’s the tea. Thank you, Amanda.”

Her former colleague smiled and said “You’re welcome. Shall I pour?”

“Good Lord, no,” said the girl flushing, “we can do all that. Away you go and have your own.”

Amanda grinned and nodded, and left.

De Groot looked amused. “I take it, Catherine, that you can’t quite accustom yourself to giving orders, or even requests, to someone you’ve been on a par with, in a house where you were nothing but an erotic plaything? You really will become inured to it, you know, although I venture to suggest you’ll always have that politeness and friendly gentility towards your servants. That girl, now, and her friends in the kitchen are rather a special case; but I foresee that when you’re in your own place you’ll be much the same with other servants who never knew you as an underling or an equal.”

Matthew nodded, saying “Don’t make her blush with compliments, Adriaan! But you’re right. That’s one of the nice things about her. The many, many nice things about her.”

The little bookman laughed. “Before I feel I’m de trop, instead of de Groot, let’s have our tea and talk about the library, yes?” They laughed and followed his lead.

“Adriaan,” said Matthew, chewing on a biscuit, “there are some books that aren’t erotic, but which I myself will have no use for, being in Latin, for instance, and they should be sold as well. I’ve put all the ones I thought of like that separately in the dining room. Like that Polifio thing you showed me, for instance, it’s a beautiful book, but it’ll never be a favourite book for bedtime.”

“Aha, Matthew,” said de Groot, “I hoped you would do something like that. The book is only slightly erotic, it’s in an amazing sort of Latinate Italian, or vice versa, its pictures are beautiful but maybe too mannered, too symbolic, too bizarre! Yes, I can’t see you enjoying it much. But oh,” he shrugged his shoulders in delight, “to the literary connoisseur, to the worshipper of the incunabula, it’s something like the Holy Grail. Yes, Matthew, sell it separately at Sotheby’s, and see how much it fetches. I guarantee you’ll be astonished. Our copy is not particularly handsome, in its binding, mind you. The one in the Earl Spencer collection, now, has a distinguished cover by Grolier, which is very fine – I think Dibdin, the bibliographer, said it was the finest copy he’d seen – but ours is clean and reasonable, and should fetch a very pretty penny.”

Catherine raised a finger. “I just thought of something. We don’t need those books in Latin and Greek, but maybe Elizabeth would like to have some of them? Or Eithne? What do you think?”

“Oh goodness, I never thought of that,” said Matthew guiltily. “I say, Adriaan, you’ve seen them, do you think a Classics scholar might be pleased with them?”

The little Dutchman nodded with a smile. “Very likely, Matthew! That is a very good idea you have there, Catherine! I seem to remember a copy of Mommsen the historian there, in German of course, and a copy of Martial, from Amsterdam, 1670. In Greek we found the Suda Lexicon, d’you remember, of 1705? Oh, Catherine, you weren’t there. It’s a famous dictionary from Byzantium, explaining words and quoting some interesting stuff otherwise lost. I think either of the ladies would love to have that.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do, we’ll tell them to come and choose things. Oh good,” she went on, “it’ll be so nice to give them presents!” The Dutchman grinned at her enthusiasm.

An hour later he put his pen in his pocket and closed his notebook. “That’s it, my friends,” he said. “The collection is catalogued and valued. It is now up to the owners to pick what they want out of it – you can do that in a day or two, Matthew – and we’ll get the remainder off to auction. Well!” He blew out his breath. “That was quite a job, I must say, but enjoyable nonetheless. Now I wish to celebrate. I’m inviting you two to dinner in Heighsham. Will you come?”

They stared at him with big smiles. “Oh Adriaan, thank you!” said Catherine. “We’ll come, won’t we, Matthew?”

“Of course,” he said. “Thank you, Adriaan! That finishes the task off in fine style. We’ll have a toast, maybe, to the generations of Graingers who put this awful library together, and apologise to their ghosts for breaking it up. As I suppose we will be doing?”

“Oh yes, Matthew, I don’t see any one bibliophile coming forward with a very large cheque. No, it’ll be sold in bits to the highest bidder. It’ll be interesting to see who buys them. Many will be discreetly anonymous of course. Ah—I want to ask you, the pair of you, a favour….”

They looked at him and nodded. “Of course! Just say it.”

“Thank you. It’s just that once this lot are off to the auction house, and you have the others all arranged, I would like to catalogue them. And value them, for insurance purposes.”

Matthew smiled. “Why, certainly! And we’ll pay you for it of course.” De Groot went pink and made noises, but they overruled him and agreed it would be only proper. Besides, he would be sending the estate the bill for the erotica evaluation.

“I think you’ll end up with a very good library,” he said. “Apart from the fine books, the illustrated classics, the products of the special presses, like the Doves Press and Golden Cockerel books, there are what you can call the run-of-the-mill things that every gentleman should have, like the entire works of Dickens and Carlyle, and the cheap general books, like the Bohn Library, that covers all kinds of things like history and nature. The Harvard Classics, too, Everyman’s Library, and encyclopaedias – you’ve got the grand Larousse of the Nineteenth Century there. You’ve got the atlases and volumes of travels you were admiring – Anson, and the Hakluyt series. As well,” he added with a smile, “as the modern stuff that Mrs Grainger acquired in the last twenty years – those modern novels, for instance, like Dr Thorndyke’s crime stories, E. Phillips Oppenheim, and those poets, who are beginning to make a stir, like Eliot and Pound – besides the French items, which you will I’m sure come to enjoy. I’m going to relish making that catalogue.”

They saw him off with a promise to be ready for their evening out at six p.m., and went back to their rooms well pleased.

Sunday 13th September

Barry comes to talk about LG’s personal effects.

The lawyer looked at the piles of things around them. “Well,” he said, “I see you’ve made a good start. Those clothes, as we said, can be bundled off to the charities. The jewellery````, now, I’m glad to see you’ve made an inventory. It’s quite a little collection, I must say, and that’s something else for appraisal. There may be some valuable stuff there, for the Graingers never threw anything away, and they were surely adorning their women with jewels for a century or two!”

“Yes, sir,” said Catherine, “there are some things that look old and costly. Look at this.” She went into the large box to produce a smaller one, and opened it to show a necklace of coloured stones set in silver. “Isn’t that magnificent?”

Barry looked at it in admiration and wonder. “I must say,” he said, “that that at least is beautiful and striking. It looks the sort of thing that ladies wear. I mean those with the title Lady! Yes, my dear, it’ll have to be appraised with other things, sold at auction, et cetera. Unless – oh my dear, forgive me! Unless you want to keep things yourself!”

She smiled, and said “I must admit there’s a couple of nice things in there I was wondering about. Would you let me keep them? They’re—”

“Good Heavens, Catherine, my child, of course you may keep them! You are the heir to all this. Matthew keeps his books, you keep the jewels, you both inherit her property and her wealth. I know you’re having a hard time digesting this, but try to accept it and just be thankful for it. And what about these other things?”

Matthew pointed to the bookcases which were stuffed with volumes. “That’s the lot that were in here and sent from Paris. Half are in French. I want to keep them, they’re more modern, up-to-date, than the other ones upstairs. By the way, as soon as the erotic library goes off to Sotheby’s, I’ll transfer all the other ones down to those cases and set about arranging them. But you’ll really have to look at these.” He held out his hand to a table piled with documents. “This is all I’ve found, so far at least, of her private papers. You’ll have to go through it with us, don’t you think?”

Barry pondered. “We’ll have to make it a joint endeavour,” he said slowly, “and I’ll have Jeremy along to make notes, another inventory in fact. And it might be advisable to have Montmorency along as well. Yes, we can start on that next Tuesday, I think. It might take a little time!”

Later that morning Matthew was told he had a visitor, and it turned out to be Dulcie, who reminded him about wanting to walk in the woods. “Now that they belong to you,” she said with something of a flush, “I’m asking you again. Would you let me … us … em, perhaps a friend and I …”

“Oh, goodness,” he said amiably, “of course you may! Sit in the little gazebo, maybe. You don’t need to ask, Dulcie, just come, and enjoy.” She coloured for some reason and smiled her thanks. When she’d gone he wondered who the friend would be. She’d always given him the impression of being a solitary sort, a swot (as those girls called her) with few close friends. She meanwhile was laying plans for an assignation with the boy she couldn’t get enough of. Thank goodness he was taking his holidays now! And here in the woods, a perfect place to meet and hug and …everything else….

Monday 14th September

A visitor from the past

Grace knocked and entered the drawing room, where Matthew was standing looking at a large pile of clothes laid out on the furniture. “Matthew,” she said, “there’s someone to see Mr Bryden. Is he in?”

“Actually I think he went off for a walk, Grace,” Matthew said. “Show him in, though. We can give him a cup of tea maybe.”

She ushered in a young girl, who looked strangely familiar.

“Hello,” she said. “I’m—” She broke off and looked at him closely. “Haven’t we met before?” she said. “Oh God, it’s you!” She blushed and put her hand to her mouth.

He meantime had searched his memory and exclaimed “Lord, it’s you, the boy at the stables!” He went red himself, remembering that he’d been pissing when the other came in, dressed as a boy.

“I’m sorry,” said the girl, “I was dressed like a boy at the time, and I … needed to go badly. I’m sorry to embarrass you.”

He grimaced and said “I am embarrassed, but it was ages ago. And a lot more has happened in the meantime. I’m Matthew Raven, by the way. I’ve been here for a few months. You wanted to see Mr Bryden?”
“Yes,” she said, “he’s an old friend. I’m Sally Crawford. I used to be here myself.”

“Oh!” he exclaimed. “I’m pleased to meet you. Mr B has been talking about you. He was very fond of you I think.”

She beamed, and said “That’s nice to hear. I came because I saw that Mrs Grainger had died, and to tell the truth I took the chance to see him now the coast is clear. I hope I’m not upsetting you—”

“Oh no, not a bit. Listen, if I understand Mr Bryden, you had some terrible experiences here, and you ran away.”

“That’s right. May I ask if you’ve had any?”

He laughed bitterly. “Any! God, if I told you—no, maybe we can leave our reminiscences to later. Just accept that I have. And my friend Catherine as well. You’ll have to meet her. She’s a wonderful girl, and she has been tormented as well. Let me get tea.”

Just then Grace came in with the tea trolley, and smiled at his surprise. “You did mention tea, you know. Did you want me to see if Catherine’s around?”

“Yes, please, Grace,” he said. “Thanks for the tea. That’s my favourite kind of biscuits.” She flashed him a smile and left.

“I remember that girl,” said the visitor. “Grace Cunningham. I never did get to know the girls very well, I was here such a short time. Is Abigail still here?”

He took a breath and said “No, she’s not here. She left several days ago.”

“Thank God,” said the girl. “I couldn’t stand her. Anyway, can we have tea?”

“Oh, yes, sorry. Sit down, and we can talk.”

“Let me tell you, Matthew, a little bit about me. I’m 16 past, last June, and I suppose you can call me a vagrant. I ran away from home in Nottingham a year and a half ago.” Seeing his questioning look, she explained, with something of a flush. “My dad beat me when he was drunk, and … used me when he was sober.” She saw a horror on his face, and quickly added “Please don’t be upset. I know it’s awful to think about, but it’s all behind me now. Anyway, my mother couldn’t control him, he beat her as well, and she couldn’t care about me. So I ran away, living on the streets and in the fields, a sort of gypsy life. I enjoyed it, to tell the truth. And I saw a lot of the country. But one day I was sheltering from the rain feeling miserable when up comes this big car, and Lydia Grainger came out, bundled me up and brought me here. I was so grateful! I worshipped the fine lady….” She trailed off and looked at him. Sighing, she lifted her tea and sipped it, looking back. “Of course that didn’t last. I soon found that she’d taken a fancy to me not as a child or a waif or even a lover, but a pet, to amuse her with tricks. A pet she didn’t like very much either. Do you want to hear?”

“I’d like to, Sally, but I think you could save it till my friend Catherine comes here. Your stories are very alike. For now, maybe I can tell you how I came to be here.” She nodded and chewed a biscuit. “My life was very ordinary till only a few months ago. I was a footman in a big house, with a pretty secure job, a father working in the stables and a young sister there as a maid. We were happy, till my mother died last year, in childbirth. The baby died too. My father was utterly devastated, as we all were of course, but we were getting over it when Lydia Grainger came to tea.”

“Ah,” said Sally, “and—don’t tell me—she took a fancy to you.”

“Yes,” he said with a wry laugh, “but as you can guess it was only to have another pet. I had the disadvantage of being a boy in a female world here, and she encouraged the girls to tease me. You can imagine maybe.”

She nodded and invited him to go into details, and he told some of his story without too much of a flush, ending up with the latest developments.

Sally drew a deep breath and said “Well! I can only say life plays funny tricks. I needn’t tell you I’m happy things have worked out so well. I won’t talk about retribution or anything. But anyway, I’ll be glad to see dear Mr B again. He was a real shelter from the storm, as you may have found. I’m glad he remembered me.”

“I’m sure he’ll be pleased you came to look him up. I understand how you’d be reluctant to show up until Mrs G was out of the picture.”

“I only found out by accident actually, a paragraph in a paper left on a bus. So I took a chance on Mr B being here still. After all, he’s retired. I used to go along to his room and he’d play me his music and we’d talk about things – I’d cry and tell him the latest shame she’d put me through, and he’d comfort me, hug me, make me forget for a while. He’s a dear, dear man.”

Grace popped her head in. “Matthew, Mr Bryden’s back. I’ll send him in, shall I?”

“Oh yes, thanks, Grace. Maybe we should get some more tea.”

“Sure thing!”

Sally laughed. “She’s a bit more open with you than with Mrs G! I’m glad you get on with the girls. It must have been a bit nervous-making to begin with?”

“It was, and Catherine and I had no idea how they’d take it. But they accepted it, and peculiarly enough the fact that we were all exposed together made us more like companions, colleagues, friends, than employer and employee. Let me tell you about this dinner—”

Just then Mr Bryden came in looking perplexed, and when he saw the girl he stopped dead.
“Sally!” he cried, “Oh, Sally, my dear!” She rose and went into his arms. Matthew looked at the scene with delight, smiling broadly and feeling a little sentimental tear in his eye. Soon they were sitting at their tea and exchanging news, but they’d hardly started when Catherine came in, and Matthew introduced them.

“No!” said Catherine. “It is! You’re the girl in the picture! ‘Thinking’, wasn’t it? Lady Ethel painted you!”

“Yes,” she said. “Let me tell you how it happened. When I ran away from here I lived for a while like the vagrant I’d been before, before Mrs Grainger found me. I hitched rides in cars, although that can be dangerous, and I did have some narrow squeaks, I’ll tell you. Anyway this time a fine car stopped and the lady in the back looked me over and said ‘Hop in.’ As we rode she told me she was an artist, and thought my face was nice-looking and my body was a nice shape to paint. Then she looked at me closely and said ‘By God, you’re not a boy, are you? You’re a girl! Well I’ll be damned,’ and she went on about my shape and all, and finally I told her I was willing to pose for her but she’d have to feed me. I was in that house for four months I think, and she treated me very well. I wondered about her sometimes, whether she wanted me in her bed, I mean, and to tell the truth I’d have gone along, though she was a bit unprepossessing. You’ve met her, have you?”

“Yes,” said Catherine. “She painted me too. I saw your picture, called ‘Thinking’, at someone else’s house. It was very good.”

“Oh, she’s a pretty fair artist, that’s true. But of course I couldn’t stay for ever. She got a lot of drawings out of me and gave me a knapsack for clothes and food and a fifty-pound note. Then she thought a bit and saw that I’d have difficulty cashing it so she gave me ten five-pound notes. I went on my way, dressed like a boy once more, and that’s when you saw me, Matthew.”

“Hah!” he said, “that explains things. But now you’re here. Listen, you’ve got a lot of catching-up to do. When we’re finished tea, why don’t you go with Mr Bryden, and talk over things, and maybe we can lay on a little dinner, later? Hm?” They agreed, and after the last cup the reunited pair went off.

Catherine looked at Matthew and said “That’s interesting. I’m glad that she didn’t come to harm when she ran away. That reminds me; is there any way we can begin to look for that Naomi girl, who was here a year ago? What do you think would happen to her?”

“I get the feeling you want to do something for her, do you, out of the estate? It’d be nice to do that. Listen, if Bryden has no ideas, and Mr Barry doesn’t know, we’ll probably find something in Lydia’s papers. Her diary will maybe give us a clue.”

“Good idea!” said Catherine. “That’s good to think about. All right, I think I’ll go to the kitchen and see what repast we can supply.”

“Found it! Look at this.” Matthew showed Catherine a volume of the diary, which had an entry dated two weeks after a long-drawn-out account of that notorious party. She prepared for nasty revelations and studied the neat writing.

When I told the Cohen girl her services were no longer required, she burst into tears of course, which I couldn’t stand, so I told her I’d give her a good reference and a five pound note, and she cheered up a little. She’s a sturdy girl so she can easily walk to town, and there’s trains and buses and passing cars to hail, and I’m sure she’ll be able to get anywhere she likes. She did mention York when she came, where her family used to live, so she’ll probably end up there. Lord Patrick was pleased to hear of her dismissal, partly because he doesn’t like Jews, I suppose, so I didn’t tell him I’d been wanting to cut the staff for some time. Anyway he was satisfied, though he did say he wouldn’t be attending any dinners for a while. Still, as I wrote at the time, she was a good reason for demonstrating our punishments. Oh, how she screamed! And of course her arse was red and raw, pretty much, for a week. But during the remainder of the evening I was interested to see some of the guests, like Maude and Phoebe, deliberately stroking her arse cheeks, pinching them and smacking them, so that from time to time she was punished again, and I saw her quietly sobbing in a corner. So that reminds me to get a replacement, who’ll be expected to change the sheets and so forth, but who’ll mostly be a subject for experiment. A girl in her mid-teens, I’d say, no more, to be shown to several groups in as great a state of undress as possible. There’s always the town, of course; and the boys’ schools, and even here – I think it might be amusing to ask some of the young boys in the stables or the garage to take some part in a bath for her. Yes, that’s a thought. Tomorrow will be a new day.

“So then she started looking, and found Sally by the roadside. And she started on those humiliations. But when Sally ran away she maybe gave the idea a rest for a while.”

“Or maybe,” said Catherine, “Christmas interfered, she went off for holidays maybe. Maybe she wintered in some sunny spot. For all we know she went back to San Francisco or Florida, to meet up with those youngsters who fucked her simultaneously!”

“I haven’t looked that up yet,” said Matthew, “and in a way I don’t want to know every little peccadillo she got going, though I suppose I will eventually. Anyway, the main thing is we start enquiries in York, mm? Among the Jewish community I suppose. Mr Barry can help. We’ll ask Jeremy perhaps to go and knock on doors. Isn’t he coming to see us soon?”

“Tomorrow,” said Catherine. “He’s going to have something for Mr Bryden to sign, I think.”

“I’m glad it’s Bryden who’s bothered by all these legalities and not us! But in the meantime I’ve written to my father and explained things, and he’s got to write back soon. I asked him to consider giving notice to Mr Crossley, but he’d better not do that till we’re settled, where we’re going to live I mean. Of course they could always put up at a hotel, and to tell the truth I’m a bit dubious about them coming here. Still, we’ll see. Tomorrow, as Lydia says, will be a new day. – I think she got that from Don Quixote.”

“And look,” said Catherine, “she mentions ‘Maude’, who was tormenting the poor girl, hurting her sore bum. I think that must be your Mrs Crossley.”

He looked upset. “I suppose it is. I know she has a bit of a cruel streak in her. I bet you she knew exactly what she was sending me into last May. The bitch! Anyway, that’s over with. We have to talk it over with Jeremy and plan something. Now tell me what’s for dinner.”

“Sally, I’ve made up a bed for you on the second floor up there. I hope you’ll be comfy.”

“Thank you, Catherine, that’s fine. It may be the same one I had. Anyway, I’d better go and find it. I’m a bit tired out with travel and talking. I don’t intend to stay long,” she added, “I didn’t mean to spend the night, you know. But—”

“You silly thing,” said Matthew, “you’re welcome to stay just as long as you like! Really! One more mouth to feed isn’t a problem, and we’ve lost Abigail anyway. By the way, Catherine,” he said, “Amelia says she wants to leave and go back to her folks in Doncaster. So we can get her her reference tomorrow, hm? She’d be going at the end of the week.”

She looked at him and smiled naughtily. “You won’t miss her, my love,” she said, “but she’ll certainly miss you!”

He turned to Sally and said with a wry look, “Because she was very keen to see me naked, and I couldn’t do anything about it at the time. I admit I’m a bit uncomfortable with her now.”

“I dare say,” said Sally. “Anyhow, I’d better get to bed. Which room is it?”

“Let me come with you, I’ll show you,” said Catherine.

“Goodnight then, Sally,” said Matthew.

“Goodnight, my dear,” said the butler.

“Night,” she said with a yawn, and went out with Catherine.

“Well!” said Matthew, “that was an unexpected thing! I’m awfully pleased to meet her, Mr B, and I can see why you were so taken with her. She’s a very nice girl. I hope she stays for quite a bit. Actually I think there’s a lot more she could tell us about her adventures if she cared. Or dared, maybe. I wonder if she’d like to help us, winding up the estate? Packing things, for instance, going through stuff to jettison or store – there’s a lot she could help us with.”

“Good idea, Matthew,” said the old man. “We can broach that tomorrow. Young Crowther is coming in the morning I think?”

“Yes, he telephoned to say he’d get here by eleven or so. He’ll get a bite of lunch, of course, and we can have a long powwow in the afternoon.”

“Fine! Then I’ll be off. See you tomorrow. Give my goodnight to Catherine. You do know, don’t you, what an absolute treasure you’ve got there? Of course you do. Give her a kiss for me. Goodnight.”

The butler shuffled off to his domain and Matthew looked after him, saying “Treasure? Oh, Bryden, you silly old man, I’ve known from the first time I saw her how wonderful she is. Her naked beauty, her innocence, her … God, some utter magnetism or something. It’s just as if we’re those two halves they spoke about, and we have to cleave together. Cleave together!”

When Catherine returned he took her in his arms and gave her Bryden’s kiss, then another of his own, then another French kiss, then another – and she laughed and said “All right, you amorous fool. Let’s get to bed. Let’s get tired together.” He smiled and hugged her.

“The best of all ways to lengthen our days Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear. And it’s best, I’ve no doubt, to tire oneself out By making sweet love to your boy, my dear.”

She laughed fondly and tousled his hair. “Oh Matthew!” she said, “You are my boy, my dear lovely boy. Let’s to bed.” Arm in arm they made their way to the bedroom and closed the door on the world.

==============================================================

Tuesday 15th September

Barry arrives, with Jeremy, to talk to Bryden, introduced to Sally, and J is smitten.

“Oh dear God,” said Matthew, “more stuff from Paris! Just as we were getting round to dealing with the other things.” They looked at the pile of parcels, some quite large, that had been delivered by a groaning postman from a packed van. There was another ring at the door and Barry and Jeremy were admitted. They looked at the pile and Barry said “Don’t tell me. This is the rest of the things that Lydia bought in her last days. I haven’t told you yet what I heard about that.” They looked at him and made questioning stares.

As he took off his hat and overcoat, he explained. “She didn’t know, of course, that her days were going to be so short. But she knew she was dying. Evidently she didn’t tell Bauvais, though he thought that something was up. He told the police, and it was confirmed by the concierge and so on, that she spent those last days in a whirl of activity, buying things, spending money on night clubs and dancing and drinking, ‘like a madwoman’, he said. She got drugs, and they got thoroughly intoxicated, and then that last lot turned out to be contaminated somehow. He wasn’t clear about what happened, but he himself got some terrifying delusions and trying to ward off some attack, he attacked her. There was another person there at the time….”

He sat down and continued his horrific tale, and they hung on to his words with wide eyes.

“They had evidently arranged to have a … threesome, I mean a sexual party with three people.”

“Oh yes,” said Matthew, “I know she did things like that.”

Barry looked sourly at him and went on. “This other person was a young gigolo, I suppose you’d call him, a … professional escort for lonely ladies.” Catherine started to speak but held her peace. “Anyway,” said Barry, going slightly pink, “they were all in bed together, it seems, when the full effect of the drugs came in and Bauvais ‘went off his head’, completely paranoid, shouting and tearing the apartment up, then seized some knife or other and attacked Lydia. The other fellow dashed out, completely naked, they say, and roused another neighbour, and they got the ambulance and so forth. That’s how it happened. So you see these things here must be the stuff she was buying, ordering, those last days. Look, that’s another gallery label. And these will be books from Shakespeare & Co., that delightful shop run by Sylvia Beach. Ah well, we’ll add them to the rest. I must say, children, you’re going to have quite an interesting library what with one thing and another.”

“Not only that, Mr Barry,” said Catherine. “We had a letter from that nice Mr Russell in London. He says he wants to turn over a lot of things from the farm, pictures, and uncle’s library, which I remember with fondness. My childhood books. Oh yes, we’ll have a good library!”

Just then Sally came in, and was introduced to Barry, and then to Jeremy. The youngsters shook hands, and said “How d’you do?” at the same time. Then “Very well, thank you,” simultaneously, and burst into laughter. Matthew thought it was a good ice-breaking way to meet, and could see by the way they grinned at each other that they were pleased at the meeting. In fact, when he looked at them as they chatted, he was sure he detected not just affability but what had to be an attraction, on both sides. The mad idea came into his head that he’d try playing matchmaker to the pair, and he looked at Catherine, gesturing with a nod and his eyes towards them. She looked mystified, then broke into a delighted smile. Yes, why not?

* * *
She had another idea. “Matthew! I want to give a party.”

He understood her. “You mean a nice party like the Radcliffes’? With the singers you mentioned, Vivian and Camille and so on. Certainly. And we’ll have Jeremy—”

“Who can be Sally’s partner! Oh yes. And maybe those nice boys, Colin and Nicholas.”

“And Mr Whiston! And his friend Tadeusz, and his friend – lover – Damian Collins. I say, it’s a bit top-heavy with men. Maybe we can ask them to bring guests, of the opposite sex I mean? There’s Elizabeth, though, and Eithne.”

And what about Alice? Or Justine, come to that?

“Anyway, we can certainly throw a party. Hey, there’s Gregory Maine. You could play duets! ‘Chopsticks’, and things. Hey, didn’t you tell me you could play ‘The Bluebells of Scotland’ and ‘Humoresque’ at the same time, eh? Oh yes. It should be fun!”

Summerton
Tuesday 15th September

Dear Mr Russell:

Thank you so much for allowing Mr Bryden to come to your farm and take away some things that belonged to me before my uncle died. I did miss them when I was sent away to Cumberland. And thank you for the offer of my uncle’s library and other things. Listen, you seem to be a jolly approachable person, who’s kind and willing to help people. Now that my affairs have taken an upward turn, and the lawyer who sold the farm has been arrested, I want to thank you for being so friendly. If you’re ever in the neighbourhood of Summerton Manor please come and visit. I’d really like to meet you and thank you personally for listening to a strange enquiry. You sent me your regards – now I send you mine.

Yours gratefully

Catherine Hammond

Wednesday 16th September

Dear Mamie:

How are you? I hope you’re in good trim down there in South Africa. Here we are in fine form, and I have wonderful news. Thank you for answering Mr Bryden’s letter so promptly – he was able to set about helping me, and the upshot is that the lawyer who told us there was no money was lying! I was glad you got your bequest, but I had no time to complain before I was whisked off, and no-one had time to think about things or question what was happening. But Mr Bryden looked into things, and was helped by the family lawyer, a Mr Barry, and now they’ve exposed Mr Bigby of malfeasance or something, so the estate money (apart from the farm I mean) is to be repaid, and all the bequests will be honoured. I myself will have a little money and I won’t have to go back to that awful place in Cumberland. In fact Mr Barry says I should be able to come and visit you!

I have been living at this Summerton estate for a few months and had some painful things happen, but all’s well now, and I’ve come into some more money. I’ll write and tell you more but for now all I want to say is that I have met some really fine people, and made new friends. All in all, I’m very happy. I want you to be happy for me.

Lots of love

Catherine

===================================================================

“Matthew, dearest!”

He turned to her and smiled. “I like it when you call me that.”

“Listen! Mr Barry said we’d have enough to take a trip, maybe two or three! And I thought we might go, together I mean, to South Africa, to visit my old governess, Mamie Gray. What do you think?”

“That sounds fine,” he said. “On a boat, I suppose? It’s slower than an aeroplane, but—”

“Oh yes,” she said, “a nice slow boat, that can call in at various places. Wait! Why not go overland as well? Take a circuitous sort of route, through France – and Paris, and Provence! And Italy and Greece—”

“Can we take Eliz—”

“No, silly, she’ll be teaching. And don’t interrupt Eithne’s last year. Still, I’d like to see Egypt. It seems to be a favourite sort of place these days, for the upper classes at least. And for the nouveau riche, like us! Maybe because of Carter’s discovery of Tutankhamun’s tomb, I think. Hop over to Arabia, maybe? Though it seems a bit unsettled. Meet a sheikh!” She smiled lecherously.

“We can do a lot of things, my love,” he said affectionately. “We can afford to take our time actually and make it a leisurely sort of trip, a grand Grand Tour, and wind up in Durban or wherever in a month or two. Mr Bryden’s moneybag isn’t bottomless, but there’s enough in there to take care of a nice long trip. I’m sure Miss Gray will be pleased to see you, and pleased, too, at your good fortune.

“You know, it’s funny how things work out. If you’d been warned about the orphanage and Mrs Grainger, you’d probably have refused to accept such an experience, if you could! And I, well, I said to Abigail not long ago that I’d have tried to refuse to come to Summerton if I’d known what awaited me. Yet there it is, we had all those awful things to bear, with no relief in sight! I was going to be sent back to the Crossleys, and lose you! I couldn’t bear the thought—”

“And I, Matthew, knew my heart would break if we separated, as we were bound to in the end. But now—”

“Now, my dearest love! Now we can be together. And we got here by coming through those trials. As if they were a testing, an initiation sort of, that we had to undergo before coming to our reward. Is that silly?”

“Maybe. It reminds me of the testing that Pamina and Tamino get in The Magic Flute…. But the main thing is that we did all that, suffered all that, and now it’s behind us. We have some money now, to make our lives a bit easier. And to do some good with too. I’m so glad we can give some more money to some people. And maybe give some of a minding to others, like young Nicholas Ransome.”

“Oh, because he was abused by Bradley?”

“Yes, twice over. I got the impression he was bullied quite a bit, and he wasn’t at all happy there. And he was really a sweet boy. I don’t think I told you about that sex class, the second one, did I?”

“Well,” he said hesitantly, “no, you didn’t. Let me guess. He was in that class, and he … what did he do?”

She described the business with the condom, and he responded by detailing his own with the hygiene class.

“So you see, Matthew, he couldn’t help himself really. Yes, he fucked me in the bum, but he had mixed feelings about it. I bet you he enjoyed himself actually, as one does when one copulates, but he was acutely conscious of my own shame, and he apologised, and asked if he could kiss me. I bet he had a crush on me.”

“I’m not surprised, Catherine, I’ve had a crush on you for months. So I’ll forgive him myself. So you feel obligated, somehow? You want to make his life a bit sweeter? With money? I don’t know how he can spend it though. Hey, listen. It might be easier to help him sideways. We can get hold of Mr Whiston, who should be able to do something for him, like getting him a scholarship perhaps, to a better school, I would hope. Hmm? Could we do that?”

“Oh Matthew,” she said, “that’s just perfect. And maybe there’s others we can help. Maybe that nice young Colin, who was upset to see Liza’s forfeit that time.” And was an unwilling witness to that skirt fitting, but I’d better not mention that. “Liza herself, as well. As a sort of compensation for Abigail’s awful trick. And….”

He smiled at her. “It was a good thought, Catherine, about Mrs Ponsonby, and Mr Pascau and Mireio, as Mr Barry said. And now you’ve got other good thoughts. You’re really a nice person, do you know that?”

She blushed and made to strike him playfully. “Oh Matthew,” she said, “and do you know, do you realise, what a nice person you are?”

He laughed and seized her round the waist. “Actually I think we’re both pretty nice, and complement each other nicely. We fit each other very well.”

He looked meaningfully at her, and she blushed again as she nodded, saying “Yes, we fit together, don’t we?” Still in their hug, they made their way to the bedroom, and quickly disrobed. Then they held each other’s hands and gazed in satisfaction into the eyes that sparkled with desire.

“Now!” said Catherine, and laughing they fell on the bed, to snuggle up to each other and smooth eager hands over eager skin. Soon they were writhing in a delicious passion, mouth on mouth, tongue on tongue, hand on breast and hand on arse, tickling pubic hair, relishing a smooth cunny, seeking the moist harbour with the fingers and then with the proud erection. Then moving gradually from small to great, torsos meeting, bellies smacking, his pelvis against hers, her breasts against his, her eyes shining into his, the dear one, the lover, the only one, the sole boy to ever thrust his wonderful cock into her vulva, the one she had wanted to fuck her, her fucking hero, Matthew, Matthew….

=================================================================

Thursday 17th September

As they crawled into bed that night Catherine looked at him with a question in her eyes.

“Matthew,” she said a little hesitantly, “I was thinking that … we could try some different things….” She looked at him with something of a flush. “Oh hell, I mean maybe we could experiment a bit with making love.”

He looked surprised, and then reddened himself. “Oh, love,” he said in a rush, “I’m sorry, I haven’t thought of you, what you want! I’ll go along with whatever you like, after all it’s you who should be satisfied, I think, not just me, it’s selfish. I’m so sorry—”

She broke into laughter. “No, my darling, no! I’m not complaining about your sexual prowess or your boring position. We’re fine, we’re marvellous in fact. No, I was just wondering about some other things we might try. To vary the monotony, maybe, I admit, but it might be exciting and give a little more pleasure to the act, an extra frisson or something.”

He smiled. “Then I’m all for it. You remember the dinner, when they were discussing things like that? The way they made me spend in between your thighs. Looking back on it, it was truly thrilling. My cock under your dear bum – I didn’t like the beating, but pushing my cock along your perineum was a tremendous sensation. Then there’s the other places.”

She remembered Mr Walters. “There’s the groin, the armpit, the mouth –” She stopped, remembering Jeremy’s service on the lawn, and her sucking off of awful Andrew, while he flashed back to Barbara taking him in her mouth, and they both were thinking of Michael Brent being sucked off by Mabel at the dinner.

“Then there’s the bum,” he said diffidently. “I don’t know if it’s as good an experience for you. I do know from those boys at Vaulx that it’s an incredible erotic experience, but I don’t know if any of these other … places give you the same pleasure as the vagina does. And that has to be at least half the purpose, doesn’t it?”

“Oh Matthew,” she said with a deepening of her blush, “believe me, when Nicholas was … fucking me like that, I felt a sexual thrill. When you do it, I’m sure it can only be greater… and remember Mrs G writing that she was fucked both fore and aft, shall we say, and enjoyed it. It’s a pity you only have one cock!”

She trilled with laughter, and he smiled and said merely “Well, my foul-mouthed hussy, maybe we’ll just see how you like it in the arse!” He seized her and turned her over, admiring once again the sight of her bare bum, so smooth, so tight, so inviting! Then he was fondling her nates, running his fingers up and down her cleft, feeling underneath the curves of her arse for the neat little sphincter.

“When I was putting on that ointment,” he said, “I enjoyed the feel of your behind, and especially maybe touching your delicate hole right there,” and he pressed his fingers to it, “and I admit the thought was in my mind, maybe subconsciously but there, about what it would be like to fuck you in the bum. I do know that it can hurt, and I’ll tell you I was terrified of it happening at the dinner, to you first, and then me, and when you told me about Nicholas the other night I was upset more by the thought of him hurting you than him actually sodomising you. But you seem to have survived it.”

She looked over her shoulder at him. “I was well lubricated, for one thing, and he was gentle. However gentle you are, love, I think we’ll have to use the Vaseline.”

“What will we do without it?” he laughed, and looked in the drawer by the bed. “Here it is. Hey, we should do this jointly, or whatever. You grease me, I grease you, so there’ll be no mistake.”

“Fine,” she said. “Me first, I mean me doing you. Give it here.”

She got the jelly on her hands and knelt to face him, looking down at his cock, which was already looking stiff. “Ah, Matthew,” she murmured, “your prick, your pintle, your pego, your tail-piece! There’s lots of names for it, which shows how admired it is, in all the languages. Now to anoint it.” She put her hands to his member and rubbed him up and down, at which it perked up to full erection and seemed to strain at the leash. “Look,” she said, “how eager he is! All right, that’s that bit. Now the other bit. The sheath for the sword, so to speak.”

She turned to present her buttocks and he got the jelly on his hands, then smeared it liberally on her anus. She gave little murmurs of pleasure, and he grinned. Then his fingers were inside her and spreading the Vaseline in the vestibule of her bowel. “Ready, love?” he said, “Here I come.”

He grasped her round the waist and presented his lubricated glans at her sphincter, pushing shyly at it and then in, to slide in several inches, as she gave a slight squeal.

“Love!” he cried, “I— ”

“No, no, Matthew! It’s fine! Just rest there a bit and let’s get used to it. There. Now, sir, do your worst! My maidenly cunt is forbidden you, so you may do as you please with my arse! Hahaha!”

She giggled, and he said “You’ll really have to stop reading those dirty books, you know. But anyway, love, here I go.”

He pushed in another inch or so, then withdrew nearly to the end of his shaft, then gently pushed in again, further, till his pubic hair was right against her bum. Then out a little, then in, then out a little, then in, and he began to feel that gathering pressure in his loins as he felt her clenching her muscles against his cock. She was pushing herself back against him, as he pushed forward to drive into her, and it wasn’t long before the slow movements became a rapid frenzied thrusting, and they were gasping in delight. She came before he did, but still pushed back to please him as he pushed, pushed, went in as far as his body would let him, and gushed his sperm into her backside with a shuddering cry of her name.

After a while they separated and kissed, and she said “Well, love, how was it?”

He laughed and said “It was different, of course, it had to be, but I suppose it’s fundamentally (excuse the pun) the same. The feel, for one thing, of your internal muscles, and their action, they’re different, I mean you clench your bum in a different way to the way you tighten up in the vagina. And of course outside, it’s a funny feeling up against your bum, as opposed to your mount of Venus. And is it better? I truthfully don’t know. We’ll have to try it a bit oftener, don’t you think?”

She laughed and kissed him. “Certainly. And now goodnight.”

“But don’t you want to tell me what it was like for you, on the receiving end?”

“It was different,” she said, “oh yes. In some way or other, maybe, it was better, but that’s not quite it. And there’s always the … the lack of your face, to look into, to kiss. Maybe we can think of how to do it that way.” He remembered Damian’s cry at the party.

“Yes, Catherine, I think we can. But for now, goodnight.” They kissed and snuggled down together, companionable and secure.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sunday 20th September

Raymond Lazenby, a pal of Colin’s, who had been at the school concert, drove him down to visit Liza, and over tea he related a sight he saw in a London station a week or so previously.

“It was the damnedest thing – this young woman was trying to get out of a carriage while some were trying to get in. Then something happened and they all started back. She seemed to give a sort of scream and clutched herself – I mean at her crotch – and she sort of waddled out, her dress stained with what looked like piss. I wondered if she was having a period, or something. And then we all saw she was shitting herself. She flapped about, dropped her purse, didn’t know what to do – seemed to appeal for help to the crowd around her – who by this time were holding their noses, some laughing, and some scolding her in outrage. They sent for the station master, who shooed her away around a corner, and then came back to look at the damage – a ruined compartment and shit on the platform. He got some porters to clean up and then disappeared, wanting nothing more to do with it. But she came back hysterical, yelling that she’d been robbed – her purse had disappeared, she’d lost her pearls, her jewels, or something. So there she was, evidently penniless and filthy, standing on the platform, avoided by everyone – she stank, obviously. I don’t know what happened next to the poor girl. My train left, and that was that.”

Liza looked intently at him. “What was she like?” she asked.

“To look at? Quite good-looking, really, a buxom girl about five foot ten I suppose, ginger hair in ringlets, a straw hat, what else can I say?”

“You hadn’t seen her before?”

“No, not that I know of. How could I? Hey! Wait a second! I have seen her. Here. By gosh, she was at the concert!”

Liza smiled evilly. “I thought so. Well, by God, there’s retribution for you! Don’t you see, Catherine, it was Abigail! She drank the cocoa we gave her and it made her shit herself. And she lost her purse, which maybe had her money and character in it. Ha! I’m paid back, you’re paid back. And don’t look like that, don’t feel sorry! She deserved every bit of that humiliation. God! I’ll sleep well tonight!”

Colin looked at her and raised his eyebrows. She blushed and said “Well, most of the time.”

Matthew grinned and glanced at Catherine, who was smiling herself. She knew that Liza would be stealing downstairs to Colin’s room at some point in the night, and wished them well.

“All right,” Lazenby said, putting out his cigarette. “I’ll be off now. Thanks for the tea. I’ll be back tomorrow around noon, is that all right?”

“Oh yes,” said Liza, “we’ll be up by then.”

“Fine, see you.” He nodded to them all and went out, and soon they heard the start-up noises of his car.

Catherine looked at Matthew. “I can’t get over it,” she said. “I wanted something dreadful to happen to her, and now it has. But I’m not sure about how I feel, I mean the poor thing shamed and robbed – what’ll happen to her?”

He sighed and said “She’ll be all right, I shouldn’t wonder. Apart from that incident, surely she’s got family somewhere? They’ll look after her, won’t they?”

“Not if they don’t like her, they won’t!” said Liza. “No, Catherine, don’t waste your pity, and I’m not regretting fixing her cocoa. If she survives (and she seems the survivor type) she’ll be all right, and if not, well, she can reap her own harvest.”

“As Mr Barry would say! Wait, wait, what was that about pearls? Listen – I wonder if she’d helped herself to some of Mrs G’s things? Remember that nice pearl necklace she’d on at the dinner? Well, I didn’t see it in her jewel box. And now I think of it, she was acting rather oddly the day we heard about Mrs G.”

“She stole things, knowing she’d never be caught?” said Matthew. “I wouldn’t put it past her at all.”

“Anyway,” said Catherine, “you pair. Why don’t you wander around the place. Colin, you haven’t seen all of it. Liza, take him on a tour. Matthew and I have some things to do. See you later!”

On her way to the door Liza pressed Catherine’s hand and murmured “Thank you, Catherine, for understanding about Colin and me, and helping us see each other, and … make love.”

Catherine smiled and waved her off. When they had gone she linked arms with her own lover and kissed him. He grinned and said “It’s a pleasant feeling, isn’t it, playing Cupid? I do wish them well.”

“Yes,” she said, “I’m pleased. And I’m glad the spare bedroom is being used! Now come and see to these knick-knacks and stuff. The charity people are coming tomorrow!”

Friday 25th September

Whiston calls

“I thought I’d drop by,” he said, “just for a moment, to tell you about your request. And to personally congratulate you on your good fortune. I’m so pleased. You know the saying, ‘It couldn’t happen to a nicer person’ – well in this case it’s true. And I’m also pleased to be able to help you in your charitable work. You asked about this boy, Nicholas Ransome.”

“Yes,” said Catherine, “have you found anything?”

He smiled. “I made some enquiries. I wasn’t familiar with the school, it hasn’t made any great reputation in the fifty years it’s been going, but the headmaster has acquired some … notoriety, I can say. About twenty years ago he was arrested for exposing himself to a party of schoolgirls on a beach in Wales.”

Matthew snorted a laugh. “Did he go to gaol?”

“Evidently not – an abject apology and a fine. He was misbehaving before that, though. He’s fifty-two years old, and he was thirty-odd at the time. When he was twenty-three, however, he was dismissed from his first teaching appointment, at a girls’ school, with very little said, but it seems he was rather apt to peer up (and down) dresses, be in the neighbourhood when they were swimming, and so on.”

Catherine exclaimed “He’s always been like that, then. But what was he doing at a girls’ school?”

“I suppose he seemed the best man for the job, and with not many female graduates, he was an obvious choice. But he found another situation and kept his eyes to himself, and found a niche at St Vincent’s ten years ago. As for the boy, now.”
“Yes,” Matthew said. “We wanted to do something for him. Catherine got the impression he was bullied….”
Whiston frowned. “Let me give you the background. The parents aren’t too well off, they’ve had reverses, as they say, and have made a lot of sacrifices to send the boy to a good school. What seemed a good school. He’s been there for three years, and they haven’t been too happy. I’ve established that he’s been picked on by teachers and pupils alike, punished for very little reason. There’s the tale going round – a school legend by now – of how he was being caned by Bradley, on the bare backside as usual, and he – messed himself. Shat himself.”
“Oh!” said Catherine. “That David spoke about that. He thought it was funny.”
Matthew grimaced. “Poor sod! What happened?”
“Well,” Whiston said, pulling a face, “he was being caned for some minor misdemeanour, in the presence of his class – as an awful example I suppose – and he’d hardly got two strokes when he let loose a fart and shat himself, messing up the carpet and all. Bradley was infuriated but had to stop. He made the poor boy clean up, and his classmates were laughing to wet themselves. He’s never lived it down. They call him ‘Handsome’, or ‘Hansom’ Ransome, though he’s had other more obscene – scatological – nicknames. ‘Shitless Nic’las’ and so forth. He doesn’t have any friends, it seems. But he is a clever child, good at his schoolwork, and with an amazing talent (at that age) for drawing. His pictures are displayed at the school. Jealousy and scorn have kept him from earning any prizes, or even a compliment, for any of that. So now the tide can turn.” They hung on his words.
“I’ve arranged for an art dealer to visit the school. He’ll be there today. He’s an Old Boy, as it happens, who attended there forty years ago (when it was actually a good respectable place). He is going to offer to buy a picture or two on behalf of an anonymous client, myself.”
Matthew looked dubious. “Won’t that intensify the jealousy? Poor Nich—”
“It might, but not for long. The client will be pleased and visit the school and have an interview with the artist. He will then offer the parents a scholarship to another school, leading to a scholarship to Slade.”
“Oh yes!” cried Catherine, “the very thing! So—”
“So Nicholas leaves St Vincent’s forever,” said Whiston with a smile, “and develops his skills at a real school, where he learns a lot about drawing, he’s encouraged and accepted. I’ve already spoken to one of the directors, who’s a friend of mine from the army actually, and he was most encouraging.”
Matthew patted the old man’s shoulder. “Good for you, Mr Whiston! You’ve really come through. All you have to do is tell us how much to give for the pictures, and how much the scholarship will be. Oh, I’m happy to be a part of this!”
“And in time to come, my love,” said Catherine, “we’ll see how his talent grows, as I’m sure it will.”
“And in the future,” said Whiston, “there is the strong possibility of studying abroad; certainly travel to broaden his artistic education.”
“We can always invite him to Vaulx!” said Matthew.
“Yes,” said Whiston, “you’ve got the landscapes of the Impressionists, but I was thinking of his getting to see the Prado, the Louvre, taking him round the Uffizi –”
“Oh, you want to take him yourself?”
“Yes, Matthew, I would. If he wanted it, naturally. He doesn’t know me. We could all go together, of course. I’ll pay my own way! But anyway, that’s in the future.” He rose from his seat. “That’s it, then. I’ll be off. No, no tea, thank you. I’ll keep you up to date on all the developments, by phone or letter, and I’ll be back in the flesh at some point. You may be happy about this, Matthew, but I also am mightily pleased to be able to help a deserving boy. I’m looking forward to meeting him! And,” he made a wry face, “meeting Mr Bradley in person. I wonder if anything can be done about him? Anyway, I’m off. Goodbye to you both.”

He shook Matthew’s hand, and as he held that of Catherine, he leaned forward to kiss her. She smiled and coloured, as he went pink and took his hat to leave in confusion.

The Old Boy visits

“Good morning, Mr Mészáros! Have I got it right?”

“Yes indeed, sir. I do hope it’s not too much of a mouthful. Some of our names are rather difficult for an English speaker. It means ‘Butcher’, actually.” The tall greying man shook hands with Bradley and his face creased in a smile. “My, it’s good to be back! I must say, I enjoyed my stay here. That was in eighty-five. I don’t think it’s changed that much – except for that new wing—”

“Oh sir, it’s not so new! That went up about eight years ago. Still, settle your things there, and we can walk around, and you can tell me an anecdote or two about your time here.”

“Certainly! And I’ll tell you some of the tricks we got up to!” The art dealer accepted the tour and spent a pleasant nostalgic hour.

“You’re an art dealer, you say,” said Bradley.

“Yes,” said the other, “I have a small but, I hope, select gallery in London. With what you can call a branch office in Rome. You do have an art class here, don’t you?”

“Yes indeed,” said Bradley. “I can show you some of the boys’ drawings, if you like. Look, that’s one there.” He pointed to a landscape done in charcoal on the wall of the corridor.

“My,” said Mészáros, “that’s not bad. It’s a view over Swadley’s Rise, isn’t it? Yes, please, Mr Bradley. I’ll be pleased to look at what you have.”

A little later he was examining drawings and paintings with a smile, passing comments on those that featured familiar local places. “Now, that one is very good, exceptional!” he said, pausing at a picture of a young boy drawn in pencil. “A fellow-student, I suppose.”

“Yes,” said Bradley. “That should have a date on it, around October last year, I think.”

“Yes,” said the other. “And it’s signed ‘N.R.’ I must say he’s discreet! But it’s very well done. D’you have any others?”

“By him? Oh goodness,” said Bradley with some condescension, “we have indeed. In fact, a whole file here.” He produced a bulky portfolio and spread the contents on a table.

“Oho,” said the dealer, “what’s this? A nude study?”

“Why yes,” said Bradley, who had forgotten they were there. “I gave the boys a chance at drawing a female nude, and thought it would be beneficial for their art instruction as well as their anatomical information, with no false modesty involved….”

“Oh yes,” said Mészáros, “very proper.” He held it up to the light. “I like this,” he said judiciously. “I say, this young fellow has a real talent. What’s his name?”

“Nicholas Ransome,” said the Head, with a curl of his lip. “He’s not a particularly good student, but I do say his drawings are rather good. Though I haven’t told him so,” he added with a sort of sneer, “lest I make him big-headed. You know what boys are like.”

Mészáros nodded and went on looking through the pile of work, then threw down the one he was looking at and said abruptly “Look here, Mr Bradley. I think I have a market for some of these. I want to buy them from you, unless you would care to allow me to take away this portfolio to show to a particular client of mine.”

Bradley’s eyebrows shot up. “They’re that good?”

“I believe so. How about a combination of the ideas. I will take the portfolio and leave you a deposit on the sale.” Bradley licked his lips. Mészáros, smiling inwardly, continued, “It doesn’t matter to me how you apportion the money. He’s the artist, but by any interpretation they’re yours. ‘Possession is nine points of the law,’ you know. What about it? Say twenty-five pounds?”

Bradley’s eyes bulged “As a deposit….”

“Yes, a deposit, I mean about fifty per cent. I thoroughly believe I can interest my client in these to the tune of a hundred or so. Allow me my profit.”

Bradley didn’t take any time to consider the windfall, and was calculating how much he could morally give to the boy – his family, of course, who he had heard were in rather shabby circumstances. Yes, it would do. And he knew which pictures would sell first, at good prices. Ransome had caught all the allure of Catherine’s bare limbs, yes! He smacked his lips. Yes, the London (and Rome!) connoisseurs of female flesh would be pleased!

Thursday 8^th October

The collector calls

“Good day! Mr – Whiston, I believe?”

“Yes, sir. Mr Bradley, I presume!”

The two shook hands and appraised each other.

“Now, sir, how can I help you?”

Whiston smiled and said “It’s about a pupil of yours, Nicholas Ransome.”

Bradley frowned. “What’s he done now?”

“Oh no, it’s nothing like that. I’ve seen some of his drawings at the Mészáros Gallery in London, and I’m very taken with them. I’d like to meet him, if that can be arranged.”

Bradley’s eyes popped in astonishment. “You’ve seen his drawings –”

“Yes, and between you and me,” Whiston winked lasciviously, “some of his things are rather good, if you know what I mean.” Bradley caught on and smiled himself.

“Yes,” said Whiston, “I won’t dissemble. I particularly like his nudes, the girl and the boy.”

“The boy?” exclaimed Bradley. “Oh, I forgot about that. It was a classmate that time. We drew him clothed and then nude, and it was very instructive. Yes.”

“Well then,” said Whiston, “do you think I could meet him?”

“Oh goodness, yes,” said the Head. “He’ll be in … the history class just now. Hang on.”

He pressed the bell on his desk to summon a boy who was told to fetch Ransome, and who left with an inexplicable malicious look on his face. The two continued their general chat till the boy arrived, in some trepidation, brought on by the snide expression of the messenger, who seemed to know that something dire awaited the butt of the school. He looked piteously at Bradley, expecting some punishment or other, though he couldn’t remember any misdeeds – not that that made any difference. He was cruelly accustomed to a caning for no particular reason, and was therefore pleasantly surprised to be introduced to an elderly gentleman, who wanted to talk to him.

The two left for a walk about the place, and Bradley looked after them with a grim sneer, wondering in a careless way what exactly the old boy wanted. Ransome was a handsome young fellow, and surely he was rather girlish, wasn’t he? A soft sort of boy. Watching the two go, Bradley found himself noticing the supple gait of the boy, a grace of movement, a litheness of his limbs – ha! Of course. Whiston was admiring more than his art. I’m not surprised, he thought. Huh, a fine pair!

Whiston looked sideways at the youth. “Nicholas,” he said gently, “let me tell you what brought me here. I’ve seen some of your drawings, which an art dealer in London bought from Mr Bradley.” The boy’s eyes widened, but he said nothing. “I am very taken with them, and I think you have the makings of a fine artist. No, believe me, you’re very good already, at the age of what, fifteen?”

“Yes, sir,” said Nicholas. “Thank you.”

“For what?” asked the other.

“For liking my pictures,” said the boy. “They don’t care about them here….”

“Nicholas, lad,” said Whiston, “tell me truthfully: are you enjoying your time here?”

Nicholas stopped and turned to the old man, looking into his eyes with a wild sort of despair.

“Sir,” he said, “oh sir! I—I can’t—I can’t—” All of a sudden his eyes filled with tears, and Whiston put a comforting arm round him. The boy clutched Whiston and began to sob into his chest.

Whiston patted him on the back and muttered soothingly. “Nicholas, my dear young friend,” he said, “don’t tell me. I can guess. Here you’re despised and ridiculed, punished for a trifle, sneered at by your fellows and picked on by your teachers. Listen to me. I am going to change all that. Everything is going to be all right, believe me.”

Nicholas drew away a little and sniffed, looking at Whiston questioningly. The old man smiled.

“Just be patient a little longer. You are going to go to another school.” The boy looked startled. “Yes,” said Whiston, “I’m serious. Another school, where you’ll be among friends, who value art and respect talent. But say nothing now. If Bradley or your peers find out, I imagine they’d take out their jealousy on you, wouldn’t they? For the moment, though, I think your Headmaster may relax his regimen a little; you see, you are an asset to him. But anyway, I will be in touch with your parents, and very shortly they will be able to withdraw you from this Purgatory.”

Nicholas looked at him in wonder, a smile of relief breaking on his face. Whiston grinned, looking forward to reporting to the orphans.

“Let’s get one thing clear, though,” he said, “and that is that I have no personal motive here. Let me be utterly candid: I don’t want anything from you, I don’t expect any favours from you, sexual or otherwise. You’re a fine-looking boy, but I’m not asking you to come to my bed.”

Nicholas reddened. “Bradley of course will assume the worst – let him. You may get some fun from your classmates, but please put up with it just a little while longer. All right?”

Nicholas swallowed, and stammered “M- Mr Whiston, I don’t know what to say. Thank you—”

“It’s all right, my boy,” said his benefactor. “Believe me, I’m mightily pleased to be able to do this. It’s not just me that takes an interest in you. There are one or two others who care about you. Now come back to Bradley’s office, and we’ll tell him I’m going to buy another picture or two, and he can allow you some leisure to be creative, hmm?”

“—So there we are. I’ve spoken to the parents – they’re a delightful couple in the late forties, I suppose, and they were a bit suspicious to start with, but they’ve checked my credentials and agreed to remove Nicholas from Bradley’s Dotheboys Hall this week. He’ll be going home for a bit, then off to his new place, next month I suppose. I’ve let the Ransomes know, by the bye, that I’m doing this as part of a group of friends who have taken an interest in furthering his talent. Is that all right? I mean, your anonymity is still assured.”

“Oh yes,” said Catherine, “that’s fine. Actually I think he’ll be pleased to know several people recognise his gifts. Oh, it’s good to be able to do this!”

Whiston smiled. “Yes,” he said, “it’s good. Believe me, children, there’s not too much I’ve done in life for the betterment of my fellow man, though my sins are mostly those of omission. Doing something like this, helping you helping him, is as great a pleasure as any I’ve known – seeing him released from that place – you should have seen the look on his face – hope and relief dawning – it warmed this old desiccated heart of mine. I thank you for asking me to help.”

Matthew smiled in his turn. “Thank you, Mr Whiston. I knew you’d want to do this. At that dinner you struck me as a reasonable sort of fellow who tried to see the good side of things, and you weren’t so awfully callous as the rest of them. On the Dover ferry you showed us how natural you were, not arrogant, not snobbish, and you treated us with humanity. I knew you’d be glad to help, and it’s working out very well.”

Whiston, who had gone a little red at the catalogue of his virtues, made haste to agree, and turned to the parcel he had brought. “I’ve brought these,” he said, “for you to keep or destroy as you please.”

To their wide eyes he produced a number of pencil drawings, which Catherine blushed to recognise as the nude pictures Nicholas had drawn at the school. Matthew examined them carefully, making approving sounds, and Catherine wondered about leaving in confusion, but decided to brave it out.

She had to admit that the pictures of her beautiful nudity were finely done, and sensed the loving admiration of the artist. She looked at Whiston, who said gently, “Don’t be too embarrassed, Catherine. After all, I’ve seen you naked already, and can say that your body is quite lovely. In fact, if I may say so, you compare very favourably with those classical models we were discussing at the dinner, Galatea, Angelica, and the rest.”

Matthew grinned at him and said “I told her that myself later. Don’t blush, love, it’s true! These pictures are really fine. Thanks, Mr Whiston. Where can we put them?”

Catherine looked rather startled and was trying to frame a reply when Whiston broke in. “It’s all right, my dear! These should obviously go in your private apartments, to be appreciated by your loved one, no-one else. And there’s no reason you can’t admire them yourself, just as you might admire an Andromeda or an Apollo Belvedere.”

It was her turn to grin at Matthew, his turn to blush, as he recounted to a sympathetic but amused Whiston the exposure of his own nudity to the art classes. “I don’t suppose,” said the old man mischievously, “that we can see some of the results of those sessions, hm?”

Catherine laughed. “We haven’t thought about it, have we? But you should, you know, Matthew, ask Miss Thorburn about that. She may want to prevent embarrassment by passing all of that over to you. And there may be some good things in there.”

“Another artist to encourage, hm? You might consider that,” said Whiston. “Anyhow, that’s my duty done. I’ll keep you informed, as I said, and at some point I’ll bring him here to meet you.”

“Yes!” said Matthew, “the very thing!”

Tuesday 3^rd November

Nicholas at Summerton

“Nicholas,” she said slowly, licking her lips, “I – I want to give you a present.”

He looked at her and asked “Why? I mean, thank you, but what—”.

“It’s your birthday soon, isn’t that right? Well.” She held his gaze as she said quite deliberately, “In the sex class, you liked fucking me, in the arse, didn’t you?”

He flushed scarlet. “No, I mean, you—”

She smiled. “You did, admit it! And when you kissed me, you thought about doing it again.”

He swallowed, and looked at the ground. “Catherine, please, I saw you were beautiful, I thought you felt something for me when Bradley caned me naked, after I’d come in front of everybody. Then I got to draw you, naked, and you were so beautiful … then, then you … you were naked in that class, I wanted to kiss you, and then oh God, Walters asked me to strip in front of you.” His face was fiery. “I got a, a hard-on, and then, you were naked and I got to hold you, and got to … to … fuck you in your … arse. I fucked you in the arse, and oh God it was so wonderful! I’m sorry, I wanted to do it again…. And that awful time last visit, when they stripped me and made me show myself to you – I had the silly notion they would let me fuck you like that. I’m sorry, I just thought they would. But you tossed me off instead, and, oh God, it was incredible!”

She drew in her breath. “Well, Nicholas, I want to give you a present, for I like you a lot. So come, take your clothes off. Show me your naked self again.” His eyes bulged, and he gave a yelp as her hands went to his buttons. Then he joined in and began to undress, blinking and licking his lips in confusion. Soon he was naked, and she swiftly disrobed to stand before him, not hiding herself. He was shielding his erection, but took his hands away to let her gaze at his arousal with a smile. She took up a jar from the bedside table and liberally smeared his hot member, he panting and looking at her in wonder. Then she offered the jar to him.

“Your turn,” she said. “Lubricate me up. Anoint my bum, and my bumhole. Put your fingers in and make me slick to receive you.” His eyes stared, but he took the jar and got a big glob of the jelly on his fingers. She turned her back to him and bent down. He hesitated only a moment, then with something like a sob he placed a hand on her waist and touched that delicate place again. She was breathing hard herself, and trembled as she felt his exploring fingers inside her, again.
Then he was stammering “Oh God, Catherine, I can’t help myself—” She drew in her breath sharply as he seized her waist and she felt his erection at her sphincter. “But there’s no condom! Oh—”

“I know,” she panted, “but you don’t need one. Go ahead, Nicholas, go!” He didn’t reply, but eased his member into her rectum with something like a sigh. Then began that exercise he’d learned in class. He pushed in, pulled back a little, then pushed in with more vigour, gradually building up the quickness and force of the lunges of his cock, while she tried to push back to accommodate him, feeling herself mounting towards an orgasm of her own. Then he was thrusting totally into her body, his pubic hair against her arse cheeks, moaning in a long-desired ecstasy, and he came just after she did, tightening his hold on her body, pumping into her colon, spurting the seed in what seemed long bursts, finally clasping her round her body and gasping “Jesus, Catherine!” before easing out of her and collapsing on the bed.

She leaned over him to put her hand to his blazing cheek and say “Ah, Nicholas! I hope that was good for you. Thank you.” She kissed him on the lips, and he returned the salute, looking up into her smiling eyes, then smiled himself.

“No, Catherine,” he said, “thank you. That’s the best present I ever got!” She laughed and gathered up her clothes, smiled at him again, and left. He lay back and took a deep breath. He couldn’t believe she had done that. What a wonderful girl! Matthew was a bloody lucky chap!

Saturday 5^th December

Another cause

“Matthew, look at this.”

Marion held out a crumpled envelope. He took it and saw it had been addressed simply to “Mathew at Sumerton”, which had occasioned various annotations in several hands from those in the Post Office who had dealt with it, evidently successfully.

“I read it, I’m sorry,” she said with a flush, “to see whether it really meant you. I apologise for intruding on your privacy—”

“That’s all right,” he said, “I don’t suppose it’s got anything awful in it!”

She flushed some more, and merely said “Sorry, anyhow. I’m sure it’s for you. It sounds … anyway, you have to deal with it now.”

She nodded her head and left, while he took out the letter from the envelope and read what the hopeful worshipper had written.

Dere Mathew,

I hope you get this, I just know youre in a place called Sumerton. I want to tell you about madam who has got a poor boy from an orpanage and she was hitting him on the bum with a tawrs like you saw me last time and he was bare naked and crying. Please if you can do somthing to stop her please I think you are the only one. I love you Ellen Jacobs

He blew out a long breath and pondered. The postmark was dated a week before, so had the situation changed? All at once he realised he was going to do something about it, whatever it was. He frowned and scratched his cheek. What could he do? Well, not himself, surely. But by God, he said to himself, I have a little army of my own, haven’t I? Some troops to deploy. Yes!

***

Thursday 31^st December 11.55 p.m. Naked

“So there we are, Catherine, everything is moving along nicely. My family are going to be at Thornton’s Hotel in a week or so. When we go there we’ll make some decisions about a permanent place. Then we’re going to rescue young Timothy from the Malvern clutches, and he and Ellen are just the servants to look after my father and Martha. We’ll see Nicholas and we’ll all see the things at the galleries and the British Museum. We promised to look up Mr Russell in Wimpole Street. When we hear about things from Miss Gray we’ll set about arranging that trip. What have I missed out?”

“Well, Matthew, we did ask Mr Whiston about Bradley, you remember.”

“Goodness, yes! I’ll telephone him and see how that scheme is progressing. Well! it’s amazing what a little money can do. As I say, everything is turning out pretty well so far.”

“And we’ve really only started. Oh Matthew, we’re going to have a marvellous time!”

Yes, he said to himself as he drew her into an embrace, we are indeed going to have a marvellous time. Being happy, doing jolly things together, making other people happy. He felt a great pang at his heart to be doing these things, and realised it for what it was, a sort of crystallisation of happiness, a physical experience of joy. They kissed and smiled and kissed again.

“I love you,” he whispered. “Happy New Year!”

She laughed. “Happy New Year! Happy New Life!”

She accepted him into her with a shiver and sigh of contentment. Somehow – it just happened that way – they arrived at their ecstasy at precisely the same moment, when they kissed in the French fashion, with open eyes to look into the lover’s eyes, in an incredible feeling of unity, oneness, simultaneous sympathy, a true union of being. Then as always a goodnight kiss and an arrangement of their naked bodies into the comradely comfort of twining limbs, to seek rest from the labours of the day, knowing that the morrow was theirs.

The End

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