‘I was given the same choice, the night before that. Men are no better than dogs anyway, with their cocks always stiff and ready for any hole that is offered... no, not offered, but into which they can stick themselves without reaping the consequences.’
‘That is perhaps a little harsh,’ Thrift answered. ‘True, men are naturally inclined to lewd behaviour, but many are models of self-restraint.’
Lucy gave a sceptical sniff, then spoke.
‘If you were tied, and helpless, with a blindfold perhaps, and men could come to you with no possibility of detection, they would fuck you, one and all.’
‘Did something like this happen to you?’ Thrift asked softly. ‘You can tell me.’
‘No,’ Lucy answered, ‘nothing like that. Women are as bad anyway, like that dreadful Mrs Budge, and Kirsty, and the twins.’
‘You were playing with your quim last night,’ Thrift reminded her gently.
‘I like playing with my quim,’ Lucy responded, ‘and I would lick, I suppose, if asked, for the sake of companionship, but why do they have to be such bullies?’
‘It is how they are raised, I would suppose, or perhaps their natures?’ Thrift answered. ‘I would say it was their class, but I have known quality girls as cruel. Was that it then? Were you caught with another girl?’
‘No, not that.’
‘You were seduced, like Elizabeth, and betrayed?’
‘Not that either.’
‘You took a lover? Or were you tricked, as the soldiers tricked me, and it came out?’
‘Neither.’
‘What then? If you were not forced, nor seduced in any way. I know you are no virgin!’
‘I don’t want to say, really,’ Lucy insisted.
‘I have told you about myself,’ Thrift remonstrated, ‘in great detail, and really, whatever you have done it can scarcely be more shocking than Jane and Joanna. Tell me, for the sake of trust, and of friendship. You have my word as a Lady that it shall go no further, and that I shall think none the worse of you.’
Lucy gave her a doubtful look, biting her lip, then suddenly leant forward, to whisper four brief words into Thrift’s ear. Instantly the blood was rushing to Thrift’s face, to bring up a crimson blush that had quickly spread to her neck and chest. Her mouth had come open, her eyes were wide, and as she turned her face to Lucy she found herself quite incapable of speech. Lucy shrugged.
‘Now you will hate me.’
Thrift tried to speak, but found herself unable to answer. Lucy sighed, and bowed her head, looking utterly miserable. Taking a deep breath, Thrift at last managed to find her voice.
‘I... I don’t hate you, Lucy. You are one of the kindest, sweetest people I have ever met, and I could never hate you, but... but why?’
Lucy shrugged, then spoke.
‘There is no why. I was bored, that is all, alone in the house all day, doing the most tedious things, while my brothers were down in father’s workshop learning the trade. My family are stonemasons, as you know, and mother would keep the books and see to their needs and those of the customers, so I was quite alone in the house all day. My tasks took two, perhaps three hours each day, and I quickly grew tired of reading, and embroidery, and even of playing with my quim, and so...’
She trailed off, shrugging. Thrift could think of nothing to say, and presently Lucy began again.
Then one day I forgot to bolt the door, and who should walk in but the new curate, who hadn’t the wit to realise that to place an order he had to go down to the shop. I was on the kitchen floor, stupidly you may think, but it was the best place, and so Reverend Lupton appeared right behind me. I did not even realise at first, and he saw everything, and heard me calling out in pleasure, so he knew it was no accident. The fuss he made, and my parents! You would have thought I had murdered somebody, or several!’
‘There is always a fuss,’ Thrift agreed. ‘When I was first caught playing with my quim it was as if the world was about to end, the way my Companion and my family behaved. I was put in restraint, and on quite horrible doctor’s regimes, to stop me, but they only made me worse.’
‘I had no opportunity,’ Lucy answered. ‘I was marched around doctors of every sort, nine of them, vicars also, four in all, then a man who was neither, but wore a black frock coat. He didn’t scold me, or beat me, which most of the others had done, but set me tests, in algebra, and to see if I had a good memory.’
‘Why?’
‘He didn’t explain, and neither did the Very Reverend Freedom Farleton explained why I had to suck his pego after he’d given me fifty strokes with a wooden paddle, you know the sort, those they use to pass the collection plate. Usually they are on a pole, but he took it off to spank me.’
Thrift nodded and Lucy went on.
‘Two weeks later I was collected in the van, with Kirsty, and brought to Weathercote House. By then I had realised my guilt, and knew it was my proper place. The rest you know.’
Thrift nodded again, unsure what she could possibly say, determined not to condemn, but lost for words of comfort.
All that night they walked, along the winding road which followed the valley bottom, ducking into the hedge or over the low, dry stone walls on the rare occasions they were passed by cars. It continued warm and dry, and in the village of Gawthrop they stole two dresses from a washing line, one red, one yellow, of moderate quality, but quite unlike the shapeless blue gowns which marked them as escapees.
They hid in a wood as dawn was beginning to come up, and once more slept through the morning. When they awoke they changed, buried the old dresses and washed in a stream, making each other as respectable as possible before moving on. Where the open land gave way to fields they took to lanes, doing their best to seem casual in their manner. Nobody questioned them, and by the evening they had reached the River Lune and the major road that ran alongside it. Not fifty yards from the junction was a large inn, with a sign showing a red boar over the door and the aroma of frying sausages and onions drifting to them on the warm breeze. Thrift’s stomach felt tight with hunger, and she was sure Lucy would not be able to go on much longer without food.
‘Kendal is across the hill,’ Thrift said, pointing, ‘maybe five or six miles.’
Lucy didn’t answer, but sat down on the verge. Thrift glanced at the inn again, wondering if the landlord would have been warned to look out for girls on their own. It was only sensible to assume he would. She sat down next to Lucy, trying to think. There was traffic, but again, to ask for a lift was to invite risk. So was merely sitting by the roadside. Briefly she considered changing her plan and throwing herself on the mercy of a person of quality, but they were still too close to Weathercote House.
‘We must earn some money, seems so,’ Lucy said glumly.
‘It seems we have little choice,’ Thrift sighed. ‘You must find a man, and make a lewd offer, but be sure not to reveal our origins.’
‘Who?’ Lucy asked, glancing up and down the road.
‘What of those gentleman?’ Thrift answered, pointing to where a group of four men were clustered around a large machine some way off across a field.
‘They are not gentlemen,’ Lucy replied with a touch of distaste. ‘They are wallers, common labourers, no more.’
‘We must not be particular,’ Thrift pointed out.
‘What if they do not want my custom?’
‘After a hard day’s work walling, whatever that may involve, surely they would be delighted by such an offer?’
‘They make walls,’ Lucy answered, ‘or rather, the machine makes walls. They operate the machine. It is a task of no real skill. I suppose they might want...’
‘Then you must ask. I shall wait here.’
‘No! I couldn’t possibly, not on my own!’
Thrift sighed.
‘D
on’t give yourself airs, Lucy Prior. Why, I would not even know what to say!’
‘How do you imagine I would!? What about the soldiers, in the train. You managed well enough with them!’
‘I had little choice in the matter,’ Thrift replied frostily. ‘You must approach them, and be sure to take their money before you give service.’
‘Be sure of it... What should I charge, anyhow?’
‘How would I possibly know a thing like that!?’
‘I don’t for certain sure!’
‘Let us not quarrel. We must use out common sense in this. I recall that Sally-Anne charged five shillings extra for a man to put his pego between her breasts.’
Lucy look down at her own chest with a dubious glance.
‘Should I charge three then?’ she queried. ‘Two maybe?’
‘Because you have smaller breasts? I’m sure it doesn’t work that way.’
‘Why not? In trade, the more one buys the greater the price. Of course, there is also the matter of quality.’
‘Sally-Anne’s family are in trade, yours are craftsmen. There is no great difference.’
‘I had meant to imply that my bosom is every bit as nice as Sally-Anne’s,’ Lucy replied, slightly stiffly, ‘but yes, I suppose a girl of quality might be expected to charge more for such a service.’
She gave Thrift a quizzical glance. Thrift felt the blood rush to her cheeks, and her chest as the image of some grunting, sweating labourer bringing his cock off between her breasts rose unbidden into her mind.
‘I couldn’t possibly!’ she exclaimed, and went on quickly. ‘Besides, they might wish a different service...’
‘You could charge more, a lot more, whatever the service,’ Lucy pointed out. ‘It would amuse any man greatly to so abuse a girl of your station.’
‘I am aware of this,’ Thrift answered. ‘It is the grossest impertinence.’
‘Why so? Is it not natural to be envious of those who have more than you do yourself?’
‘Certainly not! An attitude of respectful admiration would be appropriate, but you are right, this seldom seems to be the case.’
She sighed, thinking of the shame of having to fold her breasts around some labourer’s erect cock and let him fuck in her cleavage, and her inevitable reaction.
‘A sovereign, do you think?’ she queried.
‘They would not have a sovereign between them,’ Lucy pointed out.
‘Then there is no gain in my performing the task, rather than yourself,’ Thrift said smugly. ‘Now come along, and enough of your nonsense. I am hungry.’
Lucy made a face, but got up. Thrift was feeling ever more nervous as they crossed the road and entered the field. The men were evidently breaking up from work, but seemed in no hurry to depart, standing by one huge wheel and drinking beer from dark bottles.
‘What if they know we are from Weathercote House?’ Thrift asked as they started across the short cropped pasture. ‘My accent is sure to betray me as a lady of quality, while I am dressed as a farmer’s daughter! You must speak. I will feign shyness.’
Lucy didn’t answer, her pretty face set in the same resigned expression she had always worn when told she was to be made to lick one of the other girls. Thrift nodded to herself, pleased with her choice and knowing that had she gone with Kirsty or the twins, she would be the one about to accept four men’s cocks in her body for a few paltry shillings.
The men had seen them, and turned, grinning. They were in rough work clothes, and as Thrift came close she caught the odours of sweat and beer. She curtsied and stopped, then nudged Lucy, who had done the same and seemed unwilling or unable to speak. One of the men, the tallest, with thick black hair and a chin dark with stubble, spoke first.
‘Afternoon, girls, and what can we do for you?’
One of the others gave a chuckle, which earned a black look from the oldest, a solid, grey bearded man with a red scarf tied loosely around his neck. Finally Lucy found her voice.
‘Good afternoon,’ she managed, ‘we... we are on our way to Kendal, and had hoped you might be able to assist us...’
‘Kendal?’ one of the last two, both young men with the look of brothers, answered. ‘Six miles to Kendal, it is, north a short way, then left and over the hill.’
‘We know where Kendal is...’
‘They know where it is, you daft tyke,’ the tallest echoed. ‘If it’s a lift you want, girls, bear with me. I’ve to take the waller into Mike Hutton’s garage, on account of how she’s not laying true.’
‘We should be delighted,’ Lucy answered.
Thrift nudged her again, then found herself blushing as the man turned to her.
‘Cat got your tongue, love?’
‘No, no, not at all,’ she responded hastily. ‘Thank you. It is most kind of you to offer us a lift.’
The man’s eyebrows rose in surprise, and his manner changed immediately.
‘Begging pardon, Miss...’
He trailed off and cast a curious glance at the older man, who shrugged. Thrift felt her stomach start to knot, sure they had realised the truth. The old man spoke.
‘Jim here’ll take you in, and not a word spoken.’
‘So kind,’ Thrift answered, with a curtsey, still uncertain what was going on, but encouraged by the man’s tone.
Lucy gave her an uneasy glance, but the tall man was already climbing into the waller. Thrift followed, him, allowing one of the young men to help her up into the high cabin, and ignoring the hand used to boost her up by her bottom. In the cab she was a good ten feet from the ground, and when Lucy got in she had to squash up to the man on the bench seat. Just the feel of his hard, muscular thigh immediately put her in mind of his sex, and her own dishevelment. He seemed indifferent, and started the huge waller off across the field, then north on the road.
Thrift remained nervous all the way to Kendal, although no hint was given that he had guessed. He simply spoke of his work and his family life, in a somewhat embarrassed manner. Soon Kendal airship mast had come into view, then the town itself, as they made their way over the crest of a wide, gentle hill. At the outskirts Jim turned the waller in behind a garage which appeared to specialise in agricultural vehicles. Thrift and Lucy climbed down to stand uncertainly on the wide concrete apron.
‘They guessed, I am sure,’ Thrift stated as soon as Jim was out of earshot.
‘Perhaps they were simply good hearted?’ Lucy suggested. ‘In any event, we here, with no unpleasantness.’
‘This is true, yes, but we still have no money! When he comes back you must make your offer.’
‘I couldn’t, not possibly!’
‘Why ever not?’
‘He seems such a nice man, and his wife...’
‘Lucy! This is a matter of urgency, we can not afford to give undue consideration to the sensibilities of others, any more than we do our own!’
‘Happen so, but...’
‘Oh do hurry up, you foolish girl! No, I am sorry, that was unworthy of me. You are right. We must find a single gentleman... a man anyway. I know. You must make an offer to the garage men instead.’
Lucy gave a nervous glance towards the garage. Jim had gone inside, but a stocky, muscular man in oil stained overalls was pulling shutters down, apparently shutting up shop for the day.
‘Come, come,’ Thrift insisted. ‘The time is ideal. We must eat, and we have been two nights out of doors. I wish lodging, however lowly, and a hot meal, and more than anything, a wash. None of these things are available without money, regrettably.’
Lucy made another face, but set off towards the man. He turned as they approached, giving them a friendly smile. Thrift curtsied, then nudged Lucy when she failed to speak. The man spoke instead, as he wiped his oily hands on an oily rag, which made little differ
ence to either.
‘Friends of Jim Stainton, are you?’
Thrift cast Lucy an urgent look, but only elicited an unintelligible bubbling noise.
‘He was kind, and gave us a lift,’ she answered, struggling to hide her accent.’
He gave her a peculiar look, but went on with his work, pulling down another of the heavy shutters.
‘We find ourselves in something of a predicament,’ Thrift went on, the blood rising quickly to her face but determined to go on. ‘Owing to a misfortune...’
She stopped, realising that it was very hard to account for not having any money or anywhere to stay without giving the game away. Yet Kirsty had evidently managed it. Sudden inspiration struck her.
‘Are you, perchance, acquainted with a friend of mine? A Scottish girl, with striking red hair? She would have passed through her a couple of weeks ago?’
He shook his head. She sighed and turned to Lucy again.
‘Ask him!’ she demanded. ‘I can’t!’
Lucy tried to speak, but only made another bubbling noise.
‘Ask him what?’ the man said, his voice full of laughter.
‘If... if...,’ Thrift struggled, her face blazing red. ‘We are hungry, sir, and tired, and would very much appreciate a... a small sum, perhaps ten shillings... or eight... for which we... my friend, is prepared to offer a... a... a most intimate service.’
The man was staring in astonishment. Lucy was looking at the ground and shuffling her feet. Thrift could feel her face and chest burning with embarrassment and was sure she would wet herself at any instant. After a moment the man spoke again.
‘Are you in trouble? You’re Weathercote girls, aren’t you? Thought as much.’
Thrift hadn’t answered, but Lucy had given a small, miserable nod. The man laughed and spoke.
‘Well, you’ve no need to go whoring yourselves, not for Mike Hutton. I’ve as much pride as Jim, you’ll find, and if you’ll do me the honour of accompanying me into town for a steak supper, I’ll be glad to assuage your wants, any way I can.’
Schooled for Service Page 19
