The Vicar's wife has a hard decision to make. Help the Duke's son enjoy his holiday or start packing her bags to spread God's word abroad. Which kind of missionary position will she choose?

---

"Now, my dear, I must tell you that I've come to see you about a most important matter. One that involves both the Duke and his son."

Mrs Mason looked across the tea cups with an arch expression on her face which seemed to imply a hidden insight into the mystique of the nobility. Since Diane Mason's husband was the senior Steward of the Duke of Parsvale's estate, both he and his wife were really no more than glorified servants. Still, if a cat could look at a king then Diane Mason was certainly in a good position to hear any gossip about the Duke's doings.

"Really?" Madelaine Swan-Smith answered vaguely.

She wasn't particularly interested in the Duke's affairs but she was certainly wondering what had brought Diane out to visit her on a day when gusts of rain were pattering against the cottage windows. A miserable day here in Kent, a worse day yet for the British warships in the chops of the Channel keeping watch and ward for any signs of invasion by Bonaparte's ungodly Republican soldiers.

"Yes, a matter concerning the Duke himself, and his personal wishes in respect of Lord Horace. Have you met his Lordship since your husband took over the living in this parish?"

"No. He has been away at school at Rugby ever since we came here. But we have heard he is a sturdy and well set up young man."

"Yes," Diane agreed, "Strong and well developed, and with an excellent opinion of himself. But before we discuss Lord Horace any further, my dear, let all be made plain between us. You are newly arrived, Madeline, and perhaps lucky to be here. After all, there were plenty of clergymen who would have been very happy to have been granted this living by the Duke. For this parish is part of the Duke's estates and he decides who preaches here."

Madeline blinked in surprise at Diane's bluntness: "It is of course true that we were very happy to come here. It was due to some distant family connections with the Dukedom of Pursvale that Edward obtained his position here, thus allowing us to marry."

"Precisely so. As I understand it, neither of you have much in the way of independent means and so you are financially reliant on your husband retaining his present position."

Madeline's teacup rattled as she set it down angrily on the saucer: "Diane, is that why you've made such an uncomfortable journey on such an unpleasant day? Simply in order to insult Edward and myself?"

"My dear, of course not. My husband and I are just as dependent on the Duke's good will as you are yourself. If it were not so I would not be running this important errand. I came here in both our interests."

Madeline barely stopped herself from snorting in disgust at being addressed as a child by a woman who could hardly be five and twenty, and thus only a few years older than herself. But of course Diane had crossed the great divide of womanhood by having borne her first child, which doubtless made her feel able to adopt such a superior attitude towards a younger wife.

"Perhaps you should explain what you mean."

"Certainly, Madeline, certainly, but I fear what I may have to say will prove . . . unsettling for you. When do you expect Edward to return?"

Madeline blinked: "Why, not until nightfall. He has gone to Staunton-Under-Stanton to spread the true word amongst the villagers, many of whom are having their silly heads turned by a local Methodist claiming that the word of God can come from a mere blacksmith."

Both of the women duly smiled at such nonsense, although it crossed Diane Mason's mind that many people believed that the word of God had come from a mere carpenter. Still, she had far more important fish to fry than quibbling over religious matters.

"Then, my dear, I can speak freely. I have been sent here by his Grace to request a favor from you, a favor which will be warmly appreciated and remembered. A favor, however, which you may find it difficult to reconcile yourself into granting. It has to do with Lord Horace and his desire for some obliging feminine company whilst on his school holidays."

"Good Lord, Diane, whatever are you suggesting?"

"At this precise moment, I am suggesting nothing," Diane answered rather sharply. "I'm attempting to explain to you is how things are done on great estates like this. You may have a notion that young aristocrats such as Lord Horace can pick and choose from amongst the local village girls for companionship, but that is certainly not the case. Not because the girls are unwilling, but because the Duke himself is. He believes that any such liaisons are inherently dangerous to the prestige of his family, and to the distance which the aristocracy should properly place between itself and the lower orders.

"No, on that point the Duke is quite inflexible. His son is forbidden to lay a finger on any farmer's wife or daughter, be they ever so willing. You must understand how valuable these tenants are to the estate's rent-roll. Some of the families here have been farming these fields since the Doomesday Book was written. Their knowledge and good will is essential to the estate's wealth and not to be jeopardized for any fleeting carnal fancies."

Madeline gaped, astonished at Diane's bold speaking: "But if Horace wishes to behave in a certain manner, then surely the nearest towns could provide any number of -- of ladies of convenience."

Diane seemed amused: "My dear Madeline, his Grace has far too much respect for his son's health to expect him hire sixpenny slattons from local taverns. No, what is required are some respectable married ladies who would care to oblige him with discretion in these affairs of honor. Ladies who are willing to join a young knight for a pleasant joust in the lists of love."

"But Diane, you cannot possibly mean to suggest that I should countenance any kind of improper behavior? I am the wife of a man in holy orders!"

"Which is precisely why I thought of you. You are young, personable, pretty and, as you say, you are the Vicar's wife. Which means that the Earl could send your husband packing any time he chooses to, replacing him with any one of twenty other aspiring clerics the day afterwards. Your husband is not one of the farmers that the estate needs to keep it flourishing and his Grace couldn't give a fig whom attends to this spiritual needs of Pursvale parish, just as long as the sermons on Sundays are kept a short as is decently possible."

Madeline could find no words to answer, could only sit there in the home she had worked so hard to make comfortable, rigid with terror at the prospect of having to pack her belongings and leave a place where she was completely content with life.

Attempting to show some sympathy, Diane leaned closer as she continued. "My dear Madeline, I tell you again that I am in exactly the same situation as you are. My husband could be dismissed from his position at a snap of the Duke's fingers, so I too must do what I am told, or be turned out into the mud and rain. It is a situation of point nonplus. Let us be sensible therefore and see the thing through together, with never a hint of it to our menfolk, well remembering that what the eye doesn't see the heart doesn't grieve over. Come, let's make a game of it and enjoy what we cannot prevent. I can assure you that Lord Horace has a very kindly manner towards those he partners in such ventures."

Madeline almost spilt her tea: "You mean you've already . . ."

Her visitor was apparently unmoved by the prospect of eternal damnation for the implied sin of adultery. Diane put her own cup back on its saucer without a tremor and answered calmly.

"Madeline, there is no need at all for you to concern yourself about what has happened in the past. All you need to do is whatever is necessary to keep the Duke contented. Have I your permission to speak plainly?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

"Very well. To recapitulate, Lord Horace will be home from Rugby very soon. His Grace expects that whilst here his son will be given ample opportunity to enjoy himself in the ways that young men of his station are wont to do. I have been asked to make the necessary arrangements. Because you are so suitable in every way I am asking you to help both the Duke and myself in this matter. Can I take it you will be willing to do whatever is needful?"

"Diane, I cannot be involved in any such thing. It could ruin Edward's career in the church. Caesar's wife must be above suspicion, and so must the spouse of a man of the cloth."

Diane Mason rose from her chair and picked up her gloves: "As you wish, my dear, I'll ring no more peals over you. Where would you like your things sent on to? Africa, India, or China? His Grace receives many appeals from different missionary societies seeking to spread the word of God amongst the heathen abroad. Of course wherever you go there's bound to be malaria and yellow fever and sunstroke to endure, but what are such trifles to a lady of your high principles?"

"Diane!" Madeline looked around her at her furniture, and at the walls of the cozy cottage she had already grown to love. "Very well, you have me in a hobble. Tell me what you wish me to do and I will pray for guidance."

"What a wise choice, Madeline. England, home and beauty is always the best option and I think Edward would be much happier to continue dealing with the difficult natives of Staunton-Under-Stanton rather than those of Borneo. The Methodists may be a contumelious sect but at least they rarely carry theological dissension to the point of cooking and eating their opponents. So, let us discuss the arrangements calmly.

"Next Thursday the Duke will send your husband on an urgent errand with some legal papers which must be hand delivered by a person of trust to his lawyers in Chancery Square in London. You will then wait to be collected at one o'clock in the Duke's coach and taken to Pursvale Park. Should anybody ask, you have been invited to attend a poetry reading that the Duchess is giving. There is nothing to fear, so remain calm. You will eventually return home safe and sound. In the meantime, say nothing about this to anybody else."

"But, Diane, who else will be there? What is going to happen? I must have some idea of what to expect."

Diane smiled as she prepared to take her leave. "An idea of what to expect? I can certainly provide that, my dear. Wait one moment."

Diane went out to her gig and returned quickly, the shoulders of her dress damp with rain. She held out a small package to Madeline, a package neatly wrapped in expensive paper with a decorative bow.

"Remember, one o'clock of Thursday afternoon and be of a cheerful mind. This is going to be an experience you will long cherish. And here is your clothing for the poetry reading. Wear your traveling cloak for the journey in the coach and what's in this box underneath your cloak. Nothing else but those items and your shoes. Not unless you want your last view of England to be over the stern of a foreign bound ship."

The clergyman's wife had stared with puzzlement as she took the package. "But it weighs nothing at all."

"Then now you know what to expect, Madeline, and I hope you may blush so prettily on Thursday -- 'twill look well!"

As soon as Diane's cob had dragged the gig away down the muddy lane Madeline retired to the bedroom and opened the package. There was nothing in it but a long white robe made of pure silk. The luxurious feel of the robe in her hands made her gasp but not as much as the styling of it, for from the neckline down it was cut into strips, all the way around, and each strip no wider than a thumb's breadth. The only other item in the box was a belt of the same material as the robe, clearly intended to be tied around the waist. Even more obviously, any woman wearing such a garment could never make a single movement without the risk of displaying herself in the lewdest manner.

Eventually, impelled by a fearful curiosity, Madeline took off every stitch of her clothing and slipped the gown down over her head and her arms, the silk caressing her skin with a sensuous smoothness which had her shuddering at the garment's disgusting lasciviousness. It was as if she was dressing herself in actual bodily sin. Yet surely, no man could take any pleasure in the sight of a female who permitted herself to be displayed in such an immodest manner?

Never had she seen such an odd contrast between normality and singularity. The background reflections in the mirror were the same as always. The four poster bed, the small table by the window with her bible on top of it, the rather battered oaken wardrobe which was supposed to date back to the days of Queen Elizabeth. All this was as it had been ever since she and Edward had arrived her to make the cottage their home. And what had been a place of good works and Christian principles was now harboring a -- a courtesan, a lady of the night, who looked as if she was bound for one of the utterly shameless entertainments that the Revolutionaries held in Paris, whispered about behind her friend's fans as the most decadent spectacles to disgrace mankind since the orgies of Ancient Rome!

Madeline's reflection passed its tongue over her lips as she saw that her left nipple was peeking out shamelessly between two of the silken strips. Instead of lifting her hand to re-arrange the gown Madeline tried to imagine what it could possibly feel like to be standing in front of the Duke's son in such a state of dress. A young man, a stranger, able to gaze his fill on a part of her body sanctified forever by her marriage vows as Edward's property alone. With an strange sense of detachment Madeline Swan-Smith noticed that the more she considered such a monstrous sin, the tighter and harder her exposed nipple became. Eventually her hand did rise, but instead of touching the robe it squeezed the tip of her bared breast. Madeline gasped and blushed when she realized what she was doing, forcing her mirror-image to cease its disgusting behavior immediately.

Thursday, as it must, eventually arrived and was duly followed in due course by Thursday afternoon, which in turn brought forth the promised coach. It pulled up outside the Vicarage, the footman dropping from the driver's seat to open the door for the Vicar's lady. Madeline desperately clutched her traveling cloak around her body and hoped with all her heart that no word of the real reason for this summons to the mansion had reached the servants' quarters.

"Come, Madeline, welcome aboard. Now our complement is complete."

It was Diane's voice which greeted her inside the darkened interior of the coach. She was not alone though. Two other women were already seated inside, eyeing Madeline with open curiosity, in much the same manner she was also staring at them. A whip cracked outside and the coach lumbered into motion.

"Madeline, I believe these are mutual acquaintances of ours. Edith and Yvonne."

"Of course. How nice to meet you again."

It was an absurd thing to say, as though they were all gathering on a normal social occasion, and Madeline saw wry amusement on the faces of the two other female passengers. Yet it was hard to believe that the other women were each so composed as they appeared to be. The logic of their presence was certainly as clear as her own, for Diane must be coercing them with the same kind of threats about the Duke's patronage as she had employed against Madeline.

Edith Mason was married to one of the teachers at the local school, a school paid for by the Duke, and for which he chose the staff. She was about Madeline's age, a mother of a small daughter, the possessor of a good figure and a delightful fresh complexion. Though not exactly pretty her long nosed and much freckled face was one of those which always seemed ready to smile, as indeed Edith was smiling now.

"Would you like a drop of something to warm the cockles of your heart, Madeline?"

The offerer was Yvonne Talbot, a tall, dark and deep bosomed young woman, probably the youngest in the coach, recently married to a builder in the town who was himself deeply involved with the Duke in plans for building some expensive new stables. Yvonne was holding out the small leather cup from a traveling flask to Madeline.

"Come, you'll find it a great comfort."

Not wishing to offend, Madeline took the cup and swallowed some of the liquid inside it, then began coughing as it left a burning path down her throat.

"Careful, my dear," Diane warned. "I fear that you are unused to gin. But Yvonne is quite right, we all need a little help to relax."

"And to be on our best behavior," Yvonne cut in, making Edith giggle. Madeline began to believe that some appreciable amount of the gin in the flask must already have been consumed.

"But now that Madeline is here," Edith continued, "Perhaps we can be told more of what you've planned for us, Diane."

Diane shrugged her shoulders lightly: "All I know is that we shall be taken to the music room, there to await Lord Horace's pleasure."

Edith giggled again at the implication in the words and Diane smiled: "I take it that you are all dressed in your gowns?"

They all nodded and Yvonne said: "I hope there's a good fire in the room or else it may turn out to be a cold business."

Diane reached out and patted her hand: "Be assured, my dear, you'll find it warm enough, I warrant. Let me simply add that I think it would be unwise not obey instantly any instructions you are given. His Lordship is a pleasant enough young fellow but there will be a cane in the music room and Horace, as a prefect in his school, is well versed in using it if he feels he's being disobeyed in any way. Is that all clear?"

"Yes, but how will it all begin?" Edith asked.

Diane shrugged her shoulders lightly: "Horace is the master of the hunt and we must follow whatever line he sets for us. I can only act as a whipper in to the pack, so to speak, so I ask you to do freely and willingly whatever you are told, otherwise I will have to play that role more realistically than I would wish to. As for you, Madeline, you've as much spirit as any of us, I know that, and I'm sure you can play your part full well."

The conversation died away into a reflective silence as the coach turned underneath the twin rows of elm trees which shaded the driveway up to Pursvale House. Bright eyes, wary eyes, frightened eyes, excited eyes, they all shared a common view of the approaching mansion as the gin flask was passed around again. The coach stopped, the door was swung open, the step lowered and the footman stood stiffly with his hand extended to help each lady descend to the smoothly raked gravel. If he noticed how tightly each of the alighting passengers held on to her traveling cloak he gave no visible sign of it.

Madeline kept her eyes downcast and walked closely behind Diane, up the flight of steps and into the great hall, onto a polished wooden floor which suddenly felt unsteady beneath her feet. Please God, she wasn't going to fall down drunk, not here on the Duke's own doorstep! Edward would be furious if such a thing happened and she could never explain to him how it was she had taken gin to deaden the dread of becoming involved in far grosser sins.

Down endless passageways, a flunkey in a scarlet coat leading, Diane behind him, then Yvonne and Edith, and Madeline hanging back. There were faded pictures on the walls, swords and shields, a suit of armor at the junction of two corridors. Yvonne pointed to the sharp angled steel glacis at the crutch of the steel shields, both Yvonne and Edith apparently sharing some joke about the part of the male anatomy which merited so much protection. Edith looked back and smiled at Madeline with the clear intention of also involving her in the jest. But Madeline could barely make a nervous and tight lipped response of pretended amusement.

Eventually they were shown through a door into a small room with a high ceiling decorated with rows of plaster of paris mermaids, wave tossed ships and dolphins. Even at this time of tension Madeline wondered that aristocrats with so much money should so often spent it with such bad taste. Yet the oak floor was a fine a piece of work, laid by long gone craftsmen and polished with beeswax by succeeding generations of kneeling maids to a sheen which reflected back the light cast down from the overhanging chandeliers. All of them lit, burning away a small fortune in candles as the curtains remained drawn against the daylight outside. The only pieces of furniture in the room were near the fireplace. The red glow of the flames merged into the scarlet silk coverings of the four chaise lounges set close to it. Madeline stared at each of them as if they were the Devil's footstools, yet somehow was still able to find it within herself to admire the style of the couches and the luxury of their coverings.

Diane pointed to one of the chaise lounges, set back further than the others, one side almost touching the wall. Propped up against the raised end of the couch was a cane with a handle, such a cane as school masters used to enforce discipline. Madeline's stomach smoldered like a banked fire with fear and she wished she was anywhere else -- anywhere else except on the deck of a ship leaving England.

"Now, ladies, I would have the three of you kneel down on this chaise lounge, all facing the wall. But first of all I should tell you that there are several chamber pots behind that screen. Perhaps this would be a good time to take advantage of them. Then pray kneel down here as soon afterwards as quickly as possible, for we must be ready on time."

Having had great need of the pot and the relief of using it, Madeline afterwards knelt down on the couch between Edith and Yvonne, her knees sinking into the rose petal decorations on the chaise lounge's cushions. As she settled her weight back over her heels she was acutely aware of how the strips of her gown hung and clung around her posterior, probably revealing as much of her flesh as they concealed. 'Oh, Edward, how shall I bear this shame?' she asked herself in despair.

"Hands down by your sides, ladies. Straight backs, say nothing, no laughing and remember that if you dare to look back without leave it'll be the worse for you. You're on parade now, like the sentries outside Buckingham Palace, and under discipline. Very well, ladies, it's time to open the door for his Lordship."

Nothing could be heard of Diane's bare feet moving on the oak floorboards but there was a faint rustle from her dress material as she moved, the gossamer light silken strips brushing the air as lightly as falling leaves. Madeline was astonished to be able to hear them even though her heart was thumping away in her chest like the drum of a German band. Then there was silence -- until they all heard a male voice at the door and Diane answering it.

Madeline couldn't discern exactly what words were exchanged. What she did hear with a shock of stunned astonishment was another boy's voice overlapping the first one: then yet another one, talking and laughing. Unless her ears were totally deceiving her there were at least three boys entering the room. Madeline also heard Edith's half choked whisper: "He's bought some of his school friends with him. It's going to be all hands to the pumps, girls." Edith giggled uncontrollably for a second or so before succeeding in quenching her laughter.

"I think there's another one as well," Yvonne whispered back. "Listen!"

Madeline had been distracted by the other wives' surreptitious exchange, yet as she concentrated on the sounds of the approaching conversation she came to believe that Yvonne was correct. Diane's contribution to the mingled voices was clear, the intertwined male voices difficult to distinguish between, but certainly three boys and perhaps four of them were approaching the couch. Madeline imagined what their eyes must be seeing as they came closer to the semi-naked women kneeling and waiting in servile patience.

"Oh, God!" the clergyman's wife whispered in her dry throat, praying desperately for the strength to get through this completely unexpected and terrifying addition to her coming ordeal.

Bad enough to be forced to offer up her honor and marital virtue to Lord Horace; it had never once occurred to her that other boys might also be present to watch whatever obscene humiliations were to be practiced on her. Madeline knew she was about to become the stuff of which martyrs were made from: what she couldn't understand was how it was possible for Edith to be giggling again and almost half choking herself in a desperate effort to stifle the sounds. How could it be that a woman facing such a terrible fate would want to laugh? Madeline had no explanation for such behavior except perhaps the gin that Edith had drunk. Yet she was sure that she could have drained the entire flask on her own and still felt no desire to laugh.

Madeline glanced to her right side, towards Yvonne, hoping to see an example of shared Christian fortitude as a support for her own weakness. Yvonne had her eyes closed, her head thrown back, and a look of anticipation on her face something like that of a child waiting to open Christmas presents. Far from appearing like a Christian waiting for the lions to be let loose into the Coliseum, Yvonne seemed much more nearly to resemble a lioness herself, a lioness crouched and tensed to spring.

"No need to pray, Madeline," Edith whispered. "There's plenty for everybody." Incredibly, she still sounded as if she was struggling against an inclination to giggle.

Madeline had no idea of what Edith could possibly find amusing in their situation and wondered if the young wife had already been driven mad by their circumstances. Perhaps it was more merciful if she had been. Behind them the voices had ceased, to be replaced by the pad of heavier feet on the floor until Diane spoke in a clear voice, as bold as if this was her home and she was the Duchess herself.

"Lord Horace and gentlemen, these are the ladies of the estate who have been delighted to accept your offer of hospitality."

"For which I thank them most heartily" The voice was young, drawling, a mixture of confidence and conceit. "Ladies, indulge our whims by staying in your present positions a while longer. Diane, pray tell me, whom do we have here?"

Diane answered briskly: "On the left is Edith. Married for two and a half years and a mother of one child. A well broken in young filly who should give a good gallop for any rider once she's been properly warmed up. I think you should all know that Edith took very little persuading to join us today. I suspect the pleasures of the marriage bed are already beginning to bore her somewhat. If any of you young gentlemen wish to form consortiums to advance Edith's education in shared pleasures, I'm sure she'll prove an attentive pupil for your classes."

A ripple of laughter came from behind the chaise lounge.

"On the right, allow me to introduce Yvonne. Married for only six months and, I'm sure, has known no man except her lawfully wedded husband. It took me some time to convince her that it was in his best interests that she should be with us today. One look at her figure should be enough to convince any discerning eye that the effort to get her here was well worth it. I invite you all to peruse those well shaped crescents underneath the strips of her gown. Is there one of you who wouldn't delight in becoming the man in that moon?"

That brought out another chorus of male laughter and sounds of approval.

"The thing about Yvonne is that she needs to have her modesty forcefully taken from her by some lucky lads. But not until the ladies have had their own instruments of pleasure well tuned up. No doubt you will oblige them in so doing."

To Madeline the noise from the pack of boys marked the advancing edge of an onrushing tide of evil. She felt her limbs freeze in terror as male voices hooted with laughter at each of Diane's jocular comments. The estate manager's wife seemed determined to let loose upon her victims every unbridled desire that this group of hot blooded youths could devise. And if Diane had known in advance about Horace's friends being present at her planned entertainment, why had she not told Madeline? The answer was obvious: if Madeline had known in advance that such an ungodly arrangement was in the making then nothing, no argument or pressure of any kind, would have induced her to leave the Vicarage and come here. It was beyond anything in Madeline's experience to conceive of how a church going woman like Diane could now be revealing a soul as filthy and twisted as Messalina's herself

"Finally, gentleman, and Lord Horace in particular, we have the delightful Madeline in the middle. I have to confess that the half of this matter was not revealed to Madeline when I suggested that she should come here. She thought she was going to have to oblige his Lordship only, and now she's listening to me and discovering that there's going to be considerably more work than that involved. As you can see the prospect is causing her to blush somewhat -- or perhaps it's the thought of how you're all looking so closely at that plump little bottom of hers. What she doesn't know yet is how soon she'll be waggling it around in the air like a feeding duck for all of you to admire."

This time the laughter was almost unendurable; Madeline gritted her teeth and tried to pretend she was a million miles away.

"As you can also see she's built for comfort, not speed, with lots of curves positively crying out to be caressed. Which is what I suspect they badly need, for Madeline is the wife of the local Vicar, a clergyman who's far more clergy than man, if I'm any judge. But, no matter, I warned her that she had to do good works either here or abroad, and between us I'm sure we can teach her much today. At least she's already had plenty of practice in kneeling down and opening up her mouth in thanks for a bountiful harvest."

Madeline couldn't understand what was humorous about that remark, although the youths clearly thought it to be so. Everything which was happening or being talked about was so strange, so inexplicable, that she felt she might as well be in a foreign country. Which was only be expected; the life led by a Lord and his aristocratic friends was as far above Madeline's level of society as hers was above a farm worker's wife. Even so, she still hated being used a butt for Diane's sharp humor and the boys' knowing laughter.

"Thank you for introducing us to your friends, Diane," the same languid voice said. That must be Lord Horace himself speaking. "Can I also say that you look as attractive as ever, you minx. Gentleman, as a mark of approval for Diane's organizing efforts, why don't you gather around Mrs Masefield and give her a show of hands in the usual manner."

The kneeling girls all heard Diane's voice become a parody of outraged modesty: "No, no! Unhand me, sir! Would you treat a poor defenseless female so, you villains! Oh, who did that? You rogues!"

Madeline was consumed with curiosity about what was happening behind her, yet the memory of the waiting cane at the end of the couch restrained her from turning her head. There was movement, she could sense that, and excitement as well, as tangible as the electrical flux in the air before summer lightning. Whatever was happening to Diane, Madeline was sure it was only the first flurry of a gathering storm of unbridled passions.

"I think that's enough for now, gentlemen." The same voice they'd already heard spoke again. Lord Horace was giving fresh orders. "Time to make the acquaintance of the other gals, I think."

Still desperate to seek some shred of reassurance, Madeline looked to her left again, towards Edith. The other woman had turned her eyes in Madeline's direction in the same instant; both of the wives shared a fleeting moment of shared consciousness. As before, Madeline expected to see in Edith the same fear and confusion as was welling up inside her own mind, and, as before, she failed. Edith's eyes were alight with excitement, her mouth was curved in a broad smile, and between scarlet lips her breath blew out in gusts as if driven from a blacksmith's forge bellows.

How could this be? Didn't Edith share Madeline's shock at Diane's betrayal of them? Instead of having to endure the foul attentions of a single boy the three of them had been delivered into servitude like the ancient Israelites, not only to serve Pharaoh but his nation also. Who knew what wickedness might be inflicted upon helpless females by these arrogant sprigs of the nobility? How could Edith seem to be pleased with the hounds of hell closing in on them so relentlessly? The confused thoughts inside Madeline's head spun around wildly, a garishly colored kaleidoscope of scarcely imagined images she could not believe were possible.

"Gentlemen, stroke your mounts."

What?

END OF PART ONE

---

Read Complete Story
Return to Story List