by Nancy Carson
‘How do you mean?’
‘I hope you’ll be sweet and passionate, instead of stiff and constricted, like she is.’
She laughed, half embarrassed at what he implied, half delighted. ‘I’ll try. I promise. I don’t want to be like her, do I?’
‘Here, let me fill up your glass … You know, you do look like a very young angel come down from heaven.’
Sarah laughed happily. ‘Do I really?’
‘The only thing missing is a halo. But I hope you never warrant one.’
‘You mean it’s more fun being wicked?’
‘You don’t have to be entirely wicked. Just a little bit naughty – naughty having fun. We’ll have fun together, Sarah. We’ll be naughty, you and me, shall we? There’s nothing wrong with having some fun, is there?’
‘I wouldn’t have thought so …’ she said longingly.
‘Trust me, we’ll have so much fun without even laughing. Just the two of us …’
They stayed in the Dudley Arms till about half past nine. Lawson suggested they go somewhere more private and Sarah agreed without hesitation. He bought another bottle of champagne to take with them. Outside, they boarded the cabriolet and he drove to his house in Meeting Street, Netherton.
He unlocked the back door and, taking Sarah’s hand, led her inside. She was pleasantly surprised to see a fire burning welcomingly in the grate in that comfortable room as he opened the door. He took a spill from the mantelshelf, ignited it in the fire and lit an oil lamp.
‘Whose house is this?’ Sarah asked.
‘Mine,’ Lawson said as he trimmed the wick. ‘As you know, I own a lot of houses.’
‘And nobody lives here? I mean, it’s not where you live.’
‘Nobody lives here. It’s my private den that nobody knows about. I came earlier and lit the fire. To make it warm and comfortable for you. Why don’t you take off your coat and hat and make yourself at home while I get two glasses?’
Sarah smiled, took off her hat and coat as bidden and patted her hair, sneaking a look at herself in the mirror while Lawson was in the scullery. She sat down on the sofa and waited eagerly for him to come back. He returned with two champagne glasses and opened the bottle. The cork popped energetically and, with expert precision, Lawson aimed the effervescing liquid into one of the glasses without losing a drop. He filled it and handed it to her.
‘Bottoms up!’
‘Bottoms up.’ Sarah sipped it and felt the bubbles tickling her nose. ‘All this champagne is going right to my head.’
‘Doesn’t it make you feel nice, though?’
She nodded, smiling amenably.
When Lawson had filled his own glass he sat next to her and put his arm around her. ‘Oh, it’s so nice to be alone with you at long last. I’ve dreamed of this moment.’
‘Honestly?’
‘Honestly. Kiss me, little Sarah.’
She offered her lips in a pout and he kissed her gently, lingering a second or two. He relieved her of the glass and placed it on an occasional table between them and the fire grate.
‘Kiss me again, my angel, but this time part your lips. It’s much nicer that way.’
She obliged, grateful for his teaching, and he pressed his lips into hers more fervently. After about a minute they broke off.
‘See what I mean?’
‘Oh, yes, Lawson. You do kiss nice.’
He handed her the glass again. ‘Here, have another drink of champagne … Now, when we kiss this time I want to feel the tip of your tongue against mine. I want to taste the champagne in your mouth.’
‘Are you sure?’ Sarah asked dubiously, putting her glass down again.
‘Quite sure. You’ll like it. It’s the nicest way to kiss.’
She was a little shocked at first, slightly repulsed, but after only a few seconds she was enjoying the other deep-rooted sensations it bred. The very intimacy of his tongue touching hers raised her to a new, different, untried plane of sensuality and excitement. For some minutes they kissed, her desire ignited and fanned into consuming flame as his hands caressed her body over her dress. When Lawson broke off she was breathless.
‘I bought you a present,’ he whispered intimately. ‘I’d like to give it to you now.’
‘A present?’ She was taken by surprise.
His hand went to the inside pocket of his jacket and he pulled out a small, prettily-wrapped packet. ‘Here … Specially for you. Open it.’
‘What is it?’
‘You’ll see.’
Filled with curiosity, Sarah opened the packet and pulled out the contents. ‘Silk stockings!’ she exclaimed with delight. ‘Oh, thank you, Lawson.’
‘Just the first of many presents, my love.’
‘Lord, you’re so generous. Daisy always said you’m generous.’
‘Let’s put them on now …’
‘Now? This minute?’
‘Yes. But I have to do it for you … Take off your boots.’
She obliged and he knelt down before her. He lifted the hem of her skirts and lay them above her knees. Sarah was in two minds whether to resist but, on balance, considered it might seem mightily ungracious if she did, after such a kind and thoughtful gift.
‘I see you garter above the knee, Sarah. I like that.’ Lawson placed his fingers inside the garter of her left leg and pulled it gently down till it slid over her dainty foot and was off. He repeated the exercise with the other garter. ‘You have a fine pair of legs, my angel. Lovely neat ankles.’ He drew his fingers and the palm of his hand gently down the back of her slender calves.
As he slipped his fingers in the inside of her stocking he felt the smooth, warm flesh of her unblemished thigh. Slowly, deliberately, all the time holding her gaze with the utmost devotion, he pulled off the first stocking, rolling it fastidiously down her leg while savouring the smoothness of her youthful skin.
He removed the other stocking with equal ceremony and, at the closeness of the moment, Sarah’s heart was pounding so hard she felt sure he must be able to hear it. But weren’t these intimacies unbelievably exhilarating? He raised the hem of her skirt even higher. Her smooth thighs glistened like polished ivory in the soft yellow light of the oil lamp. He ran his hand over the back of her calf again and squeezed the soft flesh gently. Then he took the first of the white silk stockings, negotiated her left foot and carefully pulled the stocking up. He put the garter over her foot and slid that up her leg sensuously, letting it rest, gripping above her knee as before. Then he did the same with the other leg.
‘Beautiful,’ he breathed, running his hand gently over the smooth stocking. ‘Don’t they look sensational? Don’t they feel grand?’
Sarah nodded her agreement with a panting smile. ‘They feel so cool. I never had silk stockings before. And you have such a soft, gentle touch.’
‘Show me your gratitude with another long kiss.’
She leaned forward and flung her arms about his neck with abandon. Lawson’s hands were still on her thighs, the hem of her skirt still up. He moved his left hand higher, stroking the soft skin of her inner thigh. His other hand he slid under her buttock. His left hand roved upwards until he felt the sparse tuft of soft hair at the bottom of her belly and the warm, moist place sheltered there. As he caressed her he heard her sigh and she held him tighter still, parting her legs to their mutual benefit. Her breathing and his became faster, more erratic.
‘This lovely, soft, warm place is so inviting, Sarah,’ he whispered. ‘I’m going to kiss you there …’ He bent his head, nuzzled his face between her thighs and his tongue found her. His hands went under her small, round buttocks and he pulled her towards him to increase the sensation. This new pleasure made her gasp. Her heart and her body called out to him as compulsively as a spring cuckoo calling for a mate. How on earth had she survived almost sixteen years without these simple yet totally exotic sensations she was experiencing now? Her hands gripped his head, fingers kneaded his dark hair for fear he might move away. She
pulled his face more firmly into her hitherto secret place, now drenched with her earnest desire for him.
‘I’m going to take you to bed, Sarah,’ Lawson whispered and stood up.
Obediently, she stood up. It was consent enough. The hem of her skirt fell around her in a whisper of shifting cotton. She teetered slightly – the effects of the alcohol – and took his hand, allowing herself to be led. He downed what was left in his glass and grabbed the champagne bottle in the same hand.
‘Can you bring the lamp?’
‘Yes,’ she answered breathlessly. ‘And my glass?’
‘Yes.’
Letting go of his hand Sarah followed him upstairs, his bulk casting a huge dancing shadow in front of them both. In the bedroom she looked round for somewhere to place the oil lamp and decided to put it on top of a tallboy. Nervous about what was to befall her, she finished off what was in her glass and looked at Lawson attentively. She was perfectly willing but unsure how to proceed.
‘Let’s undress,’ Lawson said softly. ‘It’s so much nicer to feel skin against skin.’
He began to take off his clothes and she hers, till she was in just her chemise and new stockings and he was utterly naked.
‘Take off your chemise as well, Sarah, my angel.’
She slipped it over her head and sat on the bed, what remaining modesty she possessed illogically inhibiting her from displaying more of herself. She looked at him naked standing before her, unable to take her eyes off what she saw. He went over to her, sat beside her, embraced her. Once more they kissed and they lay down, and she felt the magic of his skin against her. He took her hand and placed it between his legs. She took him in her small hand, showing her passion and willingness by gripping him firmly.
‘Gently,’ he said. ‘Doesn’t he feel nice?’
‘Oh, yes.’
After too few tantalising minutes he shifted, snaked his body over hers. She found his lips and kissed him with unbridled abandon.
‘Now …’ Lawson said, whispering reassuringly as they broke off. ‘I promise I’ll try not to hurt. But it might at first. A bit … It usually does the first time.’
‘I don’t mind, Lawson … I want to …’ She felt him tentatively probing her and winced at his first insistent push. ‘Ow!… Ooh …’ She whimpered again. ‘Ooh …’ Gradually, she felt him fill her up and move lusciously inside her. ‘Oh, Lawson, I love you so …’
‘And I love you, my little angel.’
He spoke no lie. He truly loved a virgin when he was taking her.
Chapter 21
It was on 21st October, a Monday, that John Gibson received a letter written in the elegant swirl of a practised, professional hand. The elaborately headed notepaper bore an ominous string of names: Bowdler, Dickens & Moy, Solicitors and Commissioners for Oaths. He scanned the letter quickly, then slumped back into his chair at the breakfast table, overwhelmed with disappointment.
‘Well, here it is, Daisy. What we’ve been expecting. Although I must say I didn’t think it would be delivered in the form of a solicitor’s letter.’
Daisy looked at him anxiously, unsure how this attack on their love affair would affect him. ‘Do you want to read it to me?’
John raised it up in front of him. ‘It says, Dear Mr Gibson, I am instructed by your father, Alexander Gibson Esq., to advise you that, due to your unacceptable involvement with the wife of Lawson Maddox, Esq. and your subsequently enticing her away from the good offices of her spouse, the said Lawson Maddox, he has devised a new will. To summarise, the sole beneficiary of your father’s estate on his death will be your sister, Mrs Cynthia Gale, with special provision for your mother, Mrs Ruth Gibson, in the event of her outliving your father. I am also instructed to advise you that the executors are named as Jeremiah Cookson, Esq. and the aforementioned Lawson Maddox, Esq.
‘Furthermore, your father has terminated the arrangement he made with Lawson Maddox Esq. for the renting of the property in Windmill Street, which you currently occupy, with effect from Saturday 2nd November 1889. I remain, dear Sir, Yours faithfully, W V Bowdler.’
John slapped the letter down on the table and looked at Daisy. ‘It begins … The victimisation.’
‘Let it begin,’ Daisy responded defiantly. ‘We don’t want to live in any house of his and feel beholden to him.’
‘So you don’t mind?’
‘Mind? Let’s go away as soon as we can. There are plenty of houses to rent.’
‘Or buy,’ he said. ‘My pictures have been selling. Already I have earned enough money to buy a modest house.’
‘And I still have a nest egg …’
‘Do you?’ He sounded surprised.
Daisy told him about the money that remained in her possession; the winnings from her betting on the cockfighting main with Lawson – nearly two hundred pounds of it. ‘He never found it, never asked about it,’ she added. ‘It’s ours to do with as we will.’
‘Then we’re not so badly off.’
‘No, we’re not so badly off at all.’
‘What about your own mother and father?’ he asked. ‘I take it you haven’t told them yet?’
‘I haven’t had the heart. I suppose next thing, they’ll be receiving a letter from Lawson’s solicitors, instructing them to leave the house in Paradise. I must go and tell them what’s happened. But I’m dreading it.’
‘Go today,’ John advised. ‘Go today and get it over and done with. And while you’re gone I’ll visit my mother and try and make my peace with her.’
‘How do you think she’ll receive you?’
He shrugged. ‘I have no beef with her. But, for the sake of propriety, I’ve no doubt she’ll side with my father. The appearance of respectability is everything.’
‘But, John, what about your father?’
‘My father? That pompous twit? I would expose him but for my mother.’
‘What do you mean, expose him?’
‘For what he is … Let me tell you about my respectable father,’ John said, the scorn he felt for him manifest in his tone. ‘When I was about twelve years old we had some relatives of my mother come and stay with us from Exeter for about a month. My Aunts Augusta and Dorinda, with Dorinda’s youngest daughter, Stephanie. Stephanie was about fourteen at the time and a very pretty girl. She and I were good friends, we had fun together. Well, I was in our garden one day, looking for Stephanie, when I heard whispered voices and giggling. Curious as to who it was, I crept towards the summer house where the voices were coming from, making sure nobody could see me. As the entrance of the summer house came into view I could see my father sitting on one of the chairs and Stephanie was on his lap. Such a situation would not seem unnatural, you would think, a niece sitting on an uncle’s lap. Except that her skirt was up around her thighs and his hand was up there too. Both were laughing – she was giggling, pretending to resist but hardly resisting at all – so it was obviously a very friendly encounter.’
‘So what did you do?’
‘Nothing. I was too astonished to do anything. It all seemed so queer. It certainly didn’t seem normal. I mean, it’s not the sort of thing you’d expect somebody who purports to be a respectable gentleman, least of all your own father, to do with his fourteen-year-old niece, is it?’
‘You never mentioned it?’
‘Not even to her. In a way I felt sorry for her, but she didn’t seem troubled by it – I suppose some girls are more forward than others, Anyway, you are the first and only person I’ve ever told. But whatever they did, however it might have progressed, it would have been with her consent, it seems. She never appeared to shy away from my father at any time, as you would expect if he’d tried to force himself onto her. She never seemed short of pocket money either afterwards.’
‘There’s no doubt, John, that some girls are more forward than others. And, let’s face it, when you were twelve all those years ago, girls of only thirteen were of a legal age to wed. At that age they know all they need to know about bei
ng bedded, and they are curious to try it. They talk about it between themselves and listen to the experiences of older girls and are fascinated by the prospect of having a man. I certainly was, although I was too prim and proper, and too scared to try anything.’
He smiled at that. ‘Although I have never actually caught him in flagrante delicto since, I have seen how his head swivels when he sees a pretty young girl … and I do mean young. I did once drop a hint to him that I was aware of his penchant for young girls. That painting of mine that Lawson has, that you admired so much …’
‘You mean The Daughters of Paradise?’
‘Yes. I was going to call it “Virgins” but I decided in the end that that was too provocative. Anyway, I painted it with the express intention of giving it to him. It was my way of saying “I know what you are like”. As it happened, he evidently didn’t appreciate it, since he gave it to your husband.’
‘It would never have occurred to me that there was a hidden meaning to the picture,’ Daisy said. ‘It just seemed beautiful to me. All that sunshine and a calm, blue sea in the background.’
‘Symbolism, my love. I suspect virginity – innocence – is all sunshine. Perhaps only when it’s taken – perhaps only its loss – creates grey skies and consequences we can’t always account for nor control … Anyway, we have a lot to do, Daisy. We must visit our families and then we must find somewhere to live.’
That same morning Daisy took the omnibus into Dudley. From the town centre she walked along Oakeywell Street and Prospect Row and reached Paradise. She had not looked forward to making this visit to her mother and father, but she had an obligation to let them know what had transpired in her marriage, for it was bound to affect them directly. Indeed, she would be surprised if they hadn’t had a visit from Lawson already. She let herself in, kissed her father on the cheek and enquired of his health.
‘Where’n yer bin?’ Titus asked. ‘Yo’ ai’ bin a-nigh for a wik or two.’
‘I’ve been busy,’ Daisy replied. ‘And I don’t have the horse and gig any more.’