Hearts and Diamonds

by Justine Elyot

‘Really pretty. If I can do a few more, I’ll let you look at it in the mirror after.’

  ‘Deal.’

  She braced herself and breathed through the succeeding strokes, easing herself into the headspace that allowed her to accept them without rancour. Yes, now this was feeling good, the slow burn building between her already throbbing pussy lips.

  Another seven or eight smacks of the strap ensued before Jason laid it aside and went to stand further behind her, a connoisseur admiring a masterwork.

  ‘Really nice,’ he said. ‘I can’t wait to meet this bloke. I’m going to work on my design tonight.’

  ‘Can I . . .?’

  ‘Yeah. Hold on.’

  He came around to untie her and took her over to the full-length mirror on the wardrobe door. Over her shoulder, she saw a lacy pattern on her buttocks, bright red and creamy white, a kinky tattoo.

  ‘It really works,’ she said with some surprise.

  ‘It’s good, isn’t it? You have to be dead careful where the strap lands though. Need a good eye.’

  ‘Well, you’ve got that, haven’t you, da Vinci?’

  He smiled at her reflection, revelling in the compliment.

  ‘OK, enough of the artistry,’ he said. ‘Back to basics. Get back on that bed, as you were, and spread those legs. You’re in for it now.’

  And she was. She took everything he had to give her, tightening her muscles around his thick, thrusting length. She imagined his eyes on her patterned rear, gorging on his handiwork. He ran his thumbs over her bottom cheeks, exploring their texture and heat, the sensation adding to everything else that rioted inside her.

  It was a hot, hard coupling, ramming her towards the wrought-iron headboard, exercising every muscle she possessed and a few that were still in development. He made her come twice before he was ready to unload, by which time her knees had given way and he was having to keep her upright on all fours with an arm beneath her ribs. She floundered like a rag doll, helpless to do anything but take what she was given.

  Afterwards, they lay in salty languor, on damp sheets. Jenna’s thoughts were half-formed, little scraps floating by like the spots before her eyes.

  ‘I’d go there again,’ said Jason. ‘That shop, I mean.’

  Jenna laughed an exhausted laugh.

  ‘I think what just happened constitutes a rave review,’ she said.

  ‘London’s all right, really, isn’t it? It’s not like I expected it to be.’

  ‘No? And what was that?’

  ‘I dunno. Like you see in films. Red buses and those soldiers in furry hats and that. It’s more like a real place, though, but bigger.’

  ‘You really are a Bledburn boy, aren’t you?’

  ‘Through and through. Never had any choice in the matter. But I’m starting to see that there’s a hell of a lot more to see and do.’

  ‘There certainly is. And your talent will take you wherever you want to go.’

  He paused, staring up at the ceiling with depthless dark eyes.

  ‘It’s not just my talent, though, is it?’ he said. ‘I’ve always had that. It’s you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘My talent never got me anywhere until you came along. It’s not that I’m ungrateful or anything, don’t think that, but it doesn’t seem right. It doesn’t seem right that you can’t get anywhere on what you’ve got unless some person with a big list of contacts notices you.’

  ‘Well, I see what you’re saying, but it’s the way of the world. There are lots of good artists out there, but we need filters, or we’d be overwhelmed with them.’

  ‘But there are probably loads and loads of people just as good as me who’ll never even make it this far. It just doesn’t seem right,’ he repeated.

  ‘I do get that, Jason,’ she said after a while. ‘And perhaps, once your name is made, you can do something to help those people. But until then, we have to work on getting you to the top of the pile.’ She stroked his cheek. ‘Where you belong,’ she whispered.

  He sat up, suddenly enthused. ‘That’s what I’ll do,’ he said. ‘If I get famous and all that. I’ll set something up to find kids like I was, from dead end towns, heading into dead end lives. Catch them before it all goes to shit, like it so nearly did with me.’

  Jenna struggled up beside him and laid her head on his shoulder.

  ‘You’re a good man, Jason Watson,’ she said. ‘And I love you.’

  ‘It’s mutual, babe. Anyway, where’s that diary? I’ve got a feeling it’s about to get to the dirty bit.’

  ‘There isn’t going to be a dirty bit,’ said Jenna with a peal of laughter. ‘It’s written by a Miss Prim and Proper Victorian governess, you idiot. She may allude to some “slight discomfort” on her wedding night or something, but that’s as far as it’ll go.’

  ‘Don’t be so sure. She seems like a bit of a goer to me.’

  Jenna shook her head, but she tottered on shaky legs to the drawer that held the diary and brought it back for a spot of bedtime reading.

  Chapter Eight

  February 21st

  A month has passed since Lord Harville proposed to me, and I must apologise most profusely for being so errant in maintaining this journal, but there has been so much to do, to say, dear Lord, so much to think! Too much for me at times, I swear.

  I try my best to continue to regard my altered status as exceptional good fortune but, alas, on some days it does not strike me that way.

  What girl is luckier than I? I have caught a rich and titled man. Many women of much better birth and station do not do half as well. He is a little older than I, but certainly a fine figure of a man and many would consider him handsome.

  Am I one of those many? Yes, I think I am. I do feel a great access of sentiment when he turns his eyes upon me, and in those glances I can forget all the difficulties that pertain to our attachment.

  Yes, there are many difficulties. We announced our engagement and set a date for the wedding of March 10th, but very few congratulations have been spoken.

  Even my parents recoiled at the news, assuming straight away that I had allowed him to seduce me and was now in a shameful condition. In vain have I tried to convince them otherwise – I suppose I can only wait until time proves my cause.

  The family of his first wife have refused their invitation to attend the wedding – imagine having no wish to meet the woman who will be mother to their own grandchildren! It is quite unnatural!

  The servants seem to have made the same assumption as my parents, for none will talk to me, though perhaps it is jealousy that fuels their animosity.

  Worst of all, though, are the girls. Maria and Susannah have been little beasts since they found out. They refuse to attend to their lessons and they whisper among themselves without cease, even as I try to teach them.

  A few days of this broke my will to remain calm and I lost my temper with them, telling them in no uncertain terms that the marriage would go ahead with their approval or without it.

  Maria spoke to me then directly for the first time since the announcement.

  ‘We think you are a witch, and you have Papa under your wicked spell. Release him or we will tell the police and have you burnt at the stake.’

  I laughed, not from mirth but incredulity at their ignorance.

  ‘You goose,’ I said. ‘Nobody is burnt at the stake any more and nobody believes in witches. We live in an age of enlightenment and science.’

  ‘People like you have duped the world,’ said Maria. ‘But we are wise to your scheme. You mean to marry Papa and have some brat of a boy to take our inheritance from us.’

  When I told Lord Harville of her words, he railed against them so fiercely that I feared for the girls.

  He warned them that they must knuckle down and accept me as their new mother, or he would disinherit them both entirely and send them away to earn their own livings. What a threat to make to such young girls! But he would not be moved.

  It certainly ended
the accusations of witchcraft, although their demeanour remains sullen and hostile.

  What is to be done? I only wish to befriend them but they turn their faces from me with every advance. I try to take their part with their father, but he says only that they must learn obedience and he will not indulge such behaviour.

  I made bold to ask him if he loved them, and he was angry with me then – as angry as I have ever seen him.

  I knew then that I love him truly, for the thought that all might be done with between us was more than I could bear. And he is so affectionate, so youthful, when we are alone. He even carved our initials on a tree trunk in the wooded part of the garden.

  Jenna looked up at Jason. ‘I saw them,’ she said, catching her breath with excitement. ‘I saw their initials.’

  ‘In the garden? Go on. I’m still waiting for the dirty bit.’

  ‘I’m waiting for Lord Harville to stop being such a bastard to his children.’

  ‘You’ll be waiting a long time, I reckon.’

  Jenna sighed, feeling that he was right.

  ‘He’s a stereotypical Victorian patriarch all right. Anyway. Back to the romantic gestures.’

  ‘I wear a sovereign that he gave me on a ribbon around my neck.’

  ‘I saw that too,’ cried Jenna. ‘I found it, by that tree. No ribbon, but there was a hole in the sovereign that it could have gone through. Oh my goodness. What an amazing thing.’

  ‘Might be worth a bob or two,’ said Jason.

  ‘I’m thinking more of the historical value. Perhaps I should give it to Lawrence Harville, as a family heirloom or something.’

  ‘You must be joking. You don’t go near that bastard ever again, do you hear me?’

  ‘I don’t want to,’ said Jenna. ‘I’d give it to his solicitor or something. I just feel that it probably ought to stay in the family.’

  ‘We don’t know that she is family yet,’ objected Jason. ‘They haven’t got married. No kids.’

  Jenna took the hint and read on.

  ‘I despair of ever winning the girls round. It seems all I have to look forward to is their bare toleration of me and nothing more. It breaks my heart to think of it, for we could be such dear friends if they would only relent.’

  ‘Can’t really blame them,’ said Jason. ‘They’ve only known the woman five minutes. Why’s Harville in such a hurry?’

  ‘I imagine he wants a male heir,’ said Jenna dryly. ‘They were mad for them back then. You’d think Frances would cotton on.’

  ‘Too blinded by it all, I suppose. It does blow your mind a bit when somebody so far above you takes notice of you. I should know.’

  ‘Oh, Jason.’ A kiss broke into the conversation. ‘I felt like that,’ said Jenna, breaking off. ‘The first time somebody really famous called to invite me for brunch. No thought of why or what they might want from me. Just “Oh my God, so and so invited me for brunch, no way!”.’ She laughed.

  ‘Who was it?’

  ‘I never kiss and tell,’ said Jenna primly. ‘And in that case I didn’t kiss either. Let’s just say it’s a very famous, iconic British recording artiste, known for his chameleonic changes of style and his arachnids from another planet in the solar system. And he’s just as gorgeous in real life.’ She sighed.

  ‘You’ve lost me,’ said Jason. ‘Tone down the long words, yeah?’

  But she knew he knew who she meant, and they shared a complicit smile.

  ‘So, come on, turn the page.’

  She turned it, as lightly as she could to avoid getting fingermarks on the dry paper.

  March 3rd

  Such a terrible turn of events, I hardly know how to describe it.

  David went up to town three days ago, to buy things for the wedding next week. I so wanted to accompany him but he insisted I stay here with the girls – he thought our close confinement together without him might encourage them to place some trust in me, even perhaps some confidence.

  But it has not, far from it.

  They have disobeyed my every instruction and, for the most part, hidden around the house and garden so that I scarcely know where they are or even that they are not lost or hurt. I am sure the servants assist them in this, for I saw the slyest look on Eliza’s face when I asked her if she had seen the young Misses.

  But ‘Oh no, ma’am, not I’ is all I can obtain from their false lips.

  Yesterday I became so perplexed with it all that I chased them about the house, determined that they should come and spend the afternoon with me in the sitting room and that we should finally make a peace treaty, but the impudent pair ran into my own bedroom! The very idea of it!

  I will own that I was very angry by the time I joined them in there, and I had a number of cross words for them. When I found them hiding in my wardrobe, I was furious and I made to haul them out of it, but in a trice the pair of them had me in there. They shut the door and, before I could rush out and apprehend them, they had locked me in my room.

  I heard the key turning and their laughter, and I could do nothing but throw myself on to the bed and cry. I did not even bang on the door or call a servant to let me out. My sense of failure was too acute, too painful to admit any witness.

  What is to be done? How can I continue in this house, when I am hated by its daughters and held in contempt by its servants? David is not enough, even if he does love me. I want to beg him to send them away, to give the staff notice, and to begin our married life as a fresh start, with all of these people gone from it.

  ‘Well,’ said Jenna, drawing breath. ‘Those girls are certainly very naughty, but to want to cut them out of their father’s life . . .?’

  ‘She’s upset. So would I be. Why didn’t he take her with him?’ Jason said, shaking his head. ‘He might have known leaving them all together was asking for trouble.’

  ‘Perhaps he hasn’t gone to arrange wedding things,’ hazarded Jenna. ‘Perhaps he has a mistress and he’s visiting her. Or he’s addicted to the gaming tables. Or – could be all sorts of things.’

  ‘The Harvilles like their secrets,’ Jason agreed. ‘Skeletons in the closet – literally.’ He shuddered.

  ‘Do you think it’s Frances? The body you found? God, what a thought. Poor woman.’

  ‘She should have run from Harville Hall as soon as she got out of that room. If she did get out of it. Read on, then. I want to know if she does.’

  I will insist that the girls are sent to school the moment he returns from London. That will give them something to think about.

  Yesterday I was shut in here, and here I remain. I have waited in vain for some servant to come up with supper and release me, but nobody has been. I heard the usual evening sounds of the house – the dinner gong, the girls running up and down the stairs, some distant clattering from the kitchen. But nobody came to release me.

  Once darkness had fallen, I knocked on the door, called for help, tried to open the window but the drop is too much and I would break a bone.

  Eventually it became clear that I must resign myself to spending the night in captivity. At least I had the means to wash and change my clothes, even though I was faint with hunger. I lay on the bed and must have drifted off to sleep some time before midnight.

  When I awoke, in the light of dawn, suffering much from hunger, I noticed that there was a dark patch on the wallpaper. Drawing closer, I perceived that somebody had written upon it in a dark charcoal. ‘Help me,’ it said.

  One of those infernal girls must have come in and done it while I was asleep. I know that this is the most likely explanation, yet it chilled me to the bone and I confess that I am now so miserable and distressed that I want nothing more than to leave this place and go back to Mama and Papa and our genteel poverty.

  If I am ever released from here before I fall prey to the inevitable consequences of privation, that is. I know David will be back tomorrow, but I do not know how long a body can survive without water. I will try to call to the servants again. I can do no more.
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  ‘Deario, poor Frances,’ said Jenna. ‘She must have been very afraid.’

  ‘At least they feed you in prison,’ said Jason.

  ‘What were the servants thinking of, to leave her there like that?’

  ‘Perhaps the kids wouldn’t hand over the key.’

  ‘Little monsters,’ said Jenna. ‘They must have felt desperate, to do this, though.’

  ‘So, does she get out?’ hinted Jason. ‘Or is she the skeleton, hidden there after dying of starvation or something?’

  Lord help me

  I am lost

  I send you my prayers

  The last will and testament of Miss Frances Manning, being of sound mind. Am I of sound mind? And I have nothing to bequeath, save my engagement ring, which is for David. May he have joy of it, and know that I would have been a good and true wife, given the chance.

  February 23rd

  Thank heavens. He has returned and I am free.

  When I awoke yesterday, there was a bat in the clothes drawer. It flew straight out into my face when I opened it to remove my underwear. I must have screamed fit to bring the house down but still nobody came.

  Another cruel trick, designed to make me think I am haunted. They will not defeat me. I will not succumb.

  Finally, one of the maids released me this morning. I think they knew that David would be back later and feared the consequences of his finding me imprisoned.

  ‘Where are the girls?’ I demanded to know, but Eliza shook her head and would not say. ‘For the love of God, bring me food and water,’ I said. ‘For I am fit to faint. How could you let them use me thus? How?’

  She shook her head and disappeared. I called after her that I would be telling David all that had passed.

  When he arrived, oh, the relief of it. The sound of his carriage was the sweetest music. I ran out to greet him, ahead of the servants who lined up in the porch. Of the girls, there was still no sign.

  ‘Oh, thank heavens you are back,’ I cried, and only then did I break down into a torrent of grief. I had been withholding it for hours, perhaps in the knowledge that nobody would care overmuch if I did collapse. But I knew my David would tend to me and hold me close.