The Ruin of Us

by Keira Michelle Telford

  As she pulled Camille’s hands into her lap, she caught sight of the red satin ribbon wrapped around her wrist, otherwise concealed by the cuff of her dress. She recognized it immediately. Her hair ribbon!

  “You haven’t forsaken me!” She kissed it.

  “Never.” Camille slid a hand around Maddie’s neck and brought their foreheads together. “But you know Hannah has forbidden it.” She inched forward, maneuvering Maddie onto her back. “I cannot have you.”

  “She knows?” Maddie’s chest tightened with panic.

  “She always knows.” Camille eased Maddie’s knees apart and crawled between them. “I am not permitted to love, or to be loved.”

  “What is it that binds you to her?” Maddie mewled as Camille tore down her drawers.

  “Let’s not speak of it tonight.” Camille crushed their skirts between their bellies and fell forward, preparing to align their parts, but as she put out a hand to support her weight, a sliver of broken glass embedded itself in her palm.

  She yelped and recoiled.

  “Oh, no!” Maddie sat up and seized her bleeding extremity. “Hold still.” She teased the jagged shard from Camille’s ivory skin and bound the cut with a handkerchief from her pocket. “Let me take you to bed.” She wriggled back into her drawers and heaved Camille up. “This mess will wait until morning.”

  She hooked Camille’s arm around her shoulders and helped her up the stairs slowly and quietly, only to come face to face with Hannah at the top. She was standing in the hall outside Camille’s bedroom, holding a candle, her entire body silhouetted behind the sheerest, most immodest peignoir Maddie had ever seen.

  “Whatever’s going on here?” the brunette demanded coldly.

  “Miss Camille is not at her best.” Maddie kept her propped up. “She had a little accident in her study, and I was bringing her to bed.”

  Hannah’s eyes narrowed. “Very well.” She stepped away from the door. “Bring her this way.” She diverted Maddie from Camille’s bedroom into her own.

  Disinclined to dawdle, Maddie laid Camille upon the ruffled, sex-stained sheets of the four-poster and made for the door, but Hannah didn’t let her get far.

  “You like Miss Camille, yes?” She followed Maddie a little way into the hall so that they wouldn’t be overheard. “And Miss Camille likes you, I can tell.” She pursed her lips, scrutinizing Maddie’s appearance. “That’s a problem.”

  Maddie remained silent.

  “She’s been kind to you no doubt.” Hannah took a slow walk around Maddie, picking at her dress and looking her up and down, making mental comparisons. “She’s encouraged your affections and made you feel quite special—she’s good at that.”

  “I’m not sure I know what you mean.” Maddie played dumb.

  “Nonsense,” Hannah scoffed. “You girls obsess over her—you can’t help it—but these foolish adolescent fancies pass quickly, and Camille knows better than to jeopardize herself.” She eyed Maddie contemptuously. “She may have lost her way with you in London, but I can assure you she will not make that mistake again, and you must not allow yourself to love her.”

  “The heart is its own master,” Maddie mumbled. “It cannot be told what to feel.”

  “Think as you please, but I say these things for your own good.” Hannah sent her on her way. “Loving her would not be in your best interests.” She turned toward her own room. “Besides, you wouldn’t want her if you knew what she truly was.” She slammed the door, leaving Maddie alone to contemplate the meaning of those words.

  In fact, Maddie did a lot of contemplating that night. First, she contemplated what secrets Camille could possibly be harboring about herself that would make her undesirable, but she couldn’t think of anything. She even drew up a list.

  If Camille had deserted a husband somewhere, she would understand. If Camille had committed some crime—perhaps killing such a husband—she was certain it would be forgivable. If Camille had an extra toe, she would overlook it. If Camille were utterly penniless, she wouldn’t care. If Camille had previously been a frog, enchanted into human form by a kiss, she would not mind in the least. Not even if she were a toad.

  When that topic of thought was exhausted, each possibility becoming more ludicrous than the last, she tiptoed into the hallway and contemplated the sinful noises emanating from Hannah’s bedroom. They started off faint and sporadic, but steadily increased in frequency and intensity until Maddie felt her eardrums might burst. Yet she couldn’t walk away. She had to know: Were they Camille’s desperate cries of passion? Or Hannah’s?

  In search of answers, she crept down the hall and peered through the keyhole, her stomach twisting in a knot to find Camille and Hannah nude on the bed. Camille’s face was buried between Hannah’s spread thighs, and as Hannah appeared to near the pinnacle of her pleasure, her mouth got away with her.

  “Oh, you lewd bitch.” She clutched a fistful of Camille’s hair. “You’re such a wicked whore.”

  Shocked to hear such foul language—directed at dearest, sweetest Camille, no less!—Maddie stumbled away from the keyhole and ran back to her room, the floorboards creaking beneath her feet.

  16

  Maddie rose at dawn, having slept not a wink, and cleared up the broken glass in Camille’s study before sitting alone in the breakfast room, waiting for the rest of the house to wake. What she had seen ate at her heart. She felt miserable, but perhaps not quite as miserable as Camille.

  When Camille arrived in the breakfast room—her wounded hand freshly bandaged by the matron—she was clearly bearing the ill-effects of her overindulgence. She sat at her usual table with her head in her hands, drank only water, barely ate, and left as soon as Hannah relieved her to do so. She spoke to no-one else and never once broke a smile.

  Since it was a Sunday, there was little to be done after the usual Godly obligatories. Assuming Hannah had plans to dominate much of Camille’s free time, and not daring to make a bid for her attentions in any case, Maddie kept out of the way as best she could. Once the midday heat waned to a more comfortable level, she took a book and a blanket and went to Camille’s spot beneath the tree at the lakeside. There, she read passages in fits and starts, her concentration broken by gazing intermittently at the lake.

  “Thinking of going in?” Camille startled her, and she lost her page.

  “Oh, damn and bugger.” She leafed through the book, not at all sure where she was or why it mattered. She hadn’t been enjoying herself.

  “If you want to swim, I’ll watch.” Camille sounded painfully hopeful. “Like always.”

  Sadly, watching was no longer good enough. Maddie shook her head.

  “May I join you, then?” Camille pressed on.

  She had a book held to her chest, but Maddie guessed it to be little more than a ruse to get out of the house without being subjected to an interrogation.

  “Where’s Miss Hannah?” Maddie glanced around, as if the cruel brunette might be lurking in some shrubbery like a spy ready for ambush.

  “Out.” Camille tossed her book onto the grass and sat close.

  One hand immediately strayed to Maddie’s waist, but came to an abrupt halt when Maddie involuntarily flinched.

  “Whatever’s wrong?” She shrank back. “Have you grown dull on me? I wouldn’t blame you. I must’ve been a frightful sight last night. You caught me drowning my sorrows.”

  “What sorrows?” Maddie picked idly at a disheveled page corner.

  “Nothing as could be so easily explained in a few simple words.” Camille sat sideways, heels to bum, her shoulder propped against the tree trunk. “But if I did anything whatever to upset you, then I am deeply sorry.”

  “It was not what you did then that upset me.” Maddie closed up her book and abandoned it. “It was what I witnessed after, in Miss Hannah’s room.”

  “I was afraid that was you.” Camille cringed. “I heard footsteps.”

  “You were giving her pleasure.” Maddie slipped into a sulk.
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br />   “Oh, my love.” Camille shuffled closer. “I did only what I had to do.”

  “What you had to do?” Maddie glared at her. “Who has to do such things? What hold does Miss Hannah have over you?” She demanded answers. “Who is this woman?”

  Camille shrugged. “When I met her, she was a spinster heiress who’d brought much shame and aggravation upon her parents by refusing to marry. To separate himself from his parental failure, her father gave her an annuity and set her up in this house, intending to keep her busy and away from society life, but she never wanted it.” Camille glanced back at the house, visible in the distance beyond the sprawling gardens and scattered apple trees. “It’s her house in name only. She has no interest in the running of it and comes and goes as she pleases, like a feral cat.”

  “You do not love her.”

  “I’ve tried to.” Camille sighed. “I wish I could.” She lolled her head against the tree. “Oh, how much easier my life would be if I did.”

  “What is it, then?” Maddie tucked her knees up and fit herself into the space between Camille’s crooked legs and the tree, effectively sitting in her lap. “What is it that has you bound so severely that you would deny yourself happiness? Can you not tell me?” She reached up and laid her palm against Camille’s face. “Why give yourself to a woman who calls you a bitch and a whore? The vilest of all names.”

  “I am a whore.” Camille shocked her. “Since I was fifteen years old.”

  Maddie drew back slightly. “That cannot be true.”

  “But it is.” Camille swept an arm around her waist, anchoring her, preventing any further retreat. “My mother was the same way before she caught a pox, sold me, and did away with herself, so I suppose one might say that it’s a family business.”

  “Your mother sold you?” Maddie made no effort to hide her distaste.

  “To the first man who wanted me.” Camille grimaced at the mention of him. “He took me to London as his mistress, but I fled from him and soon fell into a bad life.” She swallowed hard. “A regrettably immoral life, from which I found it impossible to escape.”

  “And Hannah?” Maddie wondered where she appeared in the equation.

  “I was not much past twenty when Hannah first came to me,” Camille recalled. “By that time, I was working at a bawdyhouse in the vicinity of Leicester Square.”

  “The place you brought me to,” Maddie supposed. “You’re well-known there.”

  Camille nodded, shaking a single tear loose. “Hannah visited often and took a firm liking to me. I was a popular commodity in those days: young, clean, and beautiful. In time, she made an offer to pay my debts—of which I had many—and took me away from the place, promising to keep me as her wife.”

  “Her pet,” Maddie sneered.

  “Either way, she bought me.” Camille didn’t debate the various possible definitions of her captivity. “It’s been over a decade now, and I’ve grown moderately content with my lot, though she never lets me forget my less than respectable provenance.”

  “She cages you.”

  “She owns me,” Camille insisted. “I had nothing before I met her, and I have nothing now. Only what she gives to me. Every stitch of every silk dress belongs to her.”

  That quieted Maddie for a while, then, “She told me not to love you.”

  “She’s right.” Camille was neither surprised nor outraged. “I’m not worthy of you. You’re too good for the likes of me.”

  “Never say that.” Maddie shook her head vehemently. “I’m the same as you: a girl fished from the gutter and thrown into a better life.”

  “Do I not disgust you?”

  “Not one damn bit.” Maddie threw herself at Camille’s chest, capturing her in an embrace. “I’ve been told that my real mother was as you were. That is to say, she found money in company. She had no other choice.”

  “Many don’t.”

  “Before she died, she gave me up so that I might have the opportunity to improve myself, but I cannot be the daughter these people want me to be.” Maddie pulled a folded up letter from her pocket. “See here.” She thrust it at Camille. “The father of this boy they intend for me to marry is sending a doctor here tomorrow. He is to verify that I am untouched, and if I am proven to be impure, they will not want me. They shall call the wedding off.”

  “Well, you needn’t fret about that.” Camille sent the letter the way of her book. “I’ve done nothing to compromise you in that way.”

  “You misunderstand me.” Maddie tried to articulate herself better. “I’ve read of a contrivance that mimics the work of a man’s article. Do you know of such a thing?”

  Camille nodded. “Rather intimately as it so happens. Why?”

  “Do you possess one?” Maddie’s eyes lit up. “Please say that you do.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Use it upon me,” Maddie begged. “Do what must be done.”

  Camille whined in disbelief. “You wish for me to ruin you?”

  “I wish for you to free me,” Maddie clarified the request. “Don’t you see?”

  “Free you?” Camille massaged her furrowed brow and groaned. “My darling, if you shame yourself, your parents will abandon you.”

  “They might, but I don’t damn well care.” Maddie wouldn’t hear a word against the scheme and remained glued to the proposition. “Come to my room tonight. Do!”

  “How can I?” Camille held her close. “Hannah would surely find out.”

  “There is no choice in the matter.” Maddie clung to her bodice. “If it is to be done—if I’m to be spared a life of possession by a man—it must be done tonight.”

  17

  Camille got dressed and perched on the edge of the bed, watching Hannah sleep. How had things turned so sour between them? She didn’t know. Her feelings for Hannah changed on a daily basis. Some days, she was consumed with pure hatred. Others, it was pity. Mostly, it was regret.

  They had fun in the beginning, though. Camille, being grateful for the change in circumstance, sought to please her in every way, and she was a delight to be near. When did she grow so cold? So cruel? She wasn’t always that way. It came with the years, each one more dismal than the last. She became bitter and resentful, and their intimacy became a battle of wills. She wanted more of Camille than Camille could give. She wanted love.

  Gradually, as she came to accept defeat in the matter, her trips grew longer and more frequent. She returned to the house only to sate her physical needs and to remind Camille of her place. It seemed purely out of spite that she refused to set her free.

  “Forgive me,” Camille whispered, and leant over the bed to kiss her forehead.

  It was time. She’d kept Maddie waiting long enough.

  Maddie awoke with a sense of someone else being in the room. What was the hour? She hadn’t meant to fall asleep. Expecting Camille’s arrival imminently, she’d cast the room in candlelight, stripped to her chemise, and tested out a variety of seductive poses upon the bed. Evidently, the last pose had proven far too comfortable.

  In front of her, positioned on the bedside table so that she would see it all when she opened her eyes, was a bottle of brandy and two glasses. Beside them lay a long phallic object attached to two leather straps.

  “Oh, lummy …” She sat up to get a better look and felt heat move in behind her.

  “Do you still want this, my darling?” Camille held her by the waist and nuzzled her neck. “If you have any doubts, tell me now.”

  Maddie shook her head. “It’s the only way.”

  She reached for the rubber phallus and held it in her palm, awed by its thickness. When she wrapped her fingers around the shaft of the thing, her thumb and forefinger did not quite meet, and the bulbous head looked truly monstrous.

  Glancing again at the bedside table, she saw that the brandy bottle was open and one glass had been recently used. There was a smear of Camille’s tinted lip paste on the rim.

  “What purpose the brandy?”


  “Courage.” Camille buried her face in Maddie’s hair. “I’ve never done this before,” she confessed in a whisper. “Brought a girl fully into womanhood, that is.”

  “I should hope not.” Maddie giggled. “I would not like to think that you make a habit of it.” She inspected the hefty priapus more closely, estimating it to be a full seven inches from root to tip. “Will it hurt?”

  “It might.” Camille sounded apologetic.

  “How is it to be done?” Maddie pondered the slight curve in its shape, the concave base, and the straps attached to it. “Ought I prepare myself in any way? I’ve heard that the titillation of fingers may be used to relax the channel and ease its introduction. Is that true? I thought perhaps we could begin with that, then—”

  “Sshhh.” Camille hushed her. “Don’t fuss. I don’t want it to be like that.”

  “Like what?” Maddie frowned.

  “Medical. Sterile. Unfeeling.” Camille sighed and flopped onto her back. “If I am to do this, I shan’t do it because it must be done, I shall only do it because …” She hesitated.

  “Because why?” Maddie wanted to hear her say it.

  “Because I want to. Because I love you.”

  Maddie heard a smile in Camille’s voice and spun around to gush her own undying love in return, but all the words got stuck in her throat. Camille was naked. The pale orbs ornamenting her chest were proudly on display, her nipples stiff, as if straining to be touched, and Maddie couldn’t look anywhere else. They had a mesmerizing effect.

  “Does this body please you?” Camille awaited appraisal.

  “This body is perfect.” Maddie wetted the tip of her forefinger and circled one of Camille’s nipples, causing it to swell more. “How much time do we have?” She scooped the whole breast into her palm, watching goose bumps prick the surrounding flesh.

  “Plenty.” Camille murmured. “I did an unconscionably naughty thing, and am certain I shall be sent straight to hell for it.” She smirked wickedly. “I slipped a sleeping draught into Hannah’s bedtime drink. She will not wake.”