by Blake,Zoe
Elma started to choke on a scone crumb. Alarmed Sarah popped up and patted her on the back till she could breathe evenly again.
After a sip of water, Elma rasped, “I’m fine. I’m fine.” Waving away the concerned Gladys who approached the table. “Gracious, Sarah. You should warn a person before saying such things!”
Sarah was contrite but undeterred. “He said he would spank me!” The last bit uttered as barely a whisper.
“And?” asked Elma.
“You don’t find that scandalous enough?” responded a shocked Sarah.
Elma shrugged her shoulders. “Didn’t your father ever put you over his knee when you were bad?” It was clear Elma assumed it would be a chaste punishment over the skirts like a parent or school marm would do. Sarah saw no reason to enlighten her.
Sarah played with the corner of her napkin. “I lost both my parents when I was a girl. Typhoid fever.”
Elma reached out to clasp her hand, a look of warm, sympathy in her eyes.
“It’s alright,” continued Sarah. “No big tragic Dickens’ tale like you would say. I was raised by my Gran who was wonderful. She always had a soft spot for London. It’s where she was born. So right before she died I made her a promise that I would sail over and make a go of things here.”
“How is it we’ve talked about everything from ribbon colors to who can do the cakewalk better and we’ve never chatted it up about why you came to London?” asked Elma, astonished.
“Because all you snobby Brits assume us American girls are just here to marry your Princes,” laughed Sarah, grateful for the change in subject. It was clear she couldn’t confide in Elma that Lord Warrington had in fact already punished her and not over her skirts.
Blushing at the memory, Sarah picked up the stack of papers lying on the empty chair between them. “I do not understand your fascination with these hideous Penny Dreadfuls!” she exclaimed.
Elma loved ghastly tales of true crime. She frequently snatched up cheap broadsheets which detailed the crimes of nefarious murderers and the mayhem they caused around London and the surrounding countryside.
“Did you see what I got at the lending library today?” asked Elma, a curious light in her eyes. Holding up a battered old book, she gleefully announced, “They finally found a copy of The Lives of the Most Notorious Highwaymen & Footpads for me!”
“You really are an odd little duck, aren’t you,” quipped Sarah.
“Come to Madam Tussaud’s with me today! I want to see the other chamber but I don’t want to go alone.”
Sarah shivered. The other chamber was the gentle class’ euphemism for where they displayed the waxed likenesses of hanged men.
Not sharing Elma’s interest in the macabre, she asked, “Can’t we just go to St. James’s park and feed the swans?”
“Fine, but you owe me.”
As Elma collected her things and paid their tab at the counter, Sarah once again thought of Lord Warrington and her unexpected reaction to his punishment. No, she would not dwell on it, she thought with a shake of her head. Besides, it was not like it was going to ever happen again. She had absolutely no intention of being late tomorrow.
Sarah strolled up to the counter. She needed to get some of Florence’s favorite chocolates. She was still mad at Sarah and behaving positively horribly toward her. Sarah hoped the chocolates would sweeten her demeanor. She had enough handling her feelings toward the enigmatic Lord Warrington without having to also deal with a spiteful Florence.
~*~
“You can stare at that photograph all you want but it won’t come to life.”
“How many times have I warned you the chemicals I work with are sensitive to light and not to enter this room?” sighed Pierce without bothering to turn around.
“Countless times,” laughed Fannie in a sing-song voice. “She’s a sweet little thing.”
“She’s half my age.”
“You act like you’re in your dotage. That girl is ten and nine years if she is day. You’re what? Twenty and eight, twenty and nine years?”
“Twenty and seven”
“Even better.”
“She’s too innocent. It wouldn’t be fair to force her into my…games.” The vision of her pinked up-turned bottom burned in his memory. Still, a small part of him warned he should take it no further no matter how he yearned.
“Dearie, trust me. A woman knows. I saw the look in that prim girl’s eyes. I’m sure you wouldn’t have to force her for too long.”
After a moment with no response from him, Fannie left without another word.
In Pierce’s hands was a photograph of Sarah. One he had no intention of ever showing anyone. Though it was just of her face, it had an intimate quality that struck him. The contrasts were stark…captivating. The sharp angles of her high-cheekbones, jaw and slim neck stood in contrast to her full mouth and large bright eyes. Originally, he thought about sending it out to a watercolorist but no artist could capture the beautiful vivid green of her eyes. Never had Pierce wished so much that a camera could adequately capture color. Unlike with the other women he had photographed, Sarah was already different, both her beauty and her personality refreshingly unique. He had no desire to share her or her image with the world. There would be no public or private viewings of his work with her, this he already knew.
He was keeping her for himself.
There was no point in prevaricating. No point in acting noble where Sarah was concerned. He knew he had to have her from the first moment he laid eyes on her.
And if she resisted the dark nature of the games he liked to play? Well, he had ways of changing her mind.
Chapter Six
Falling to one knee to right the wooden tray before it toppled over, spilling the fresh apples and oranges onto the dirty ground, the costermonger raised a clenched fist, shouting a curse at the back of the running girl.
Sarah turned her head to apologize to yet another street vendor.
Dang it all! She was going to be late. Would he think it was intentional? That she wanted another spanking?
The thought spurred her on faster. Once again, trying to hail a hansom cab and failing. She would just have to get to Regent’s park on foot. If she ran down Charing Cross Road and cut through the park, she might just make it on schedule. Hiking up her borrowed skirt, this time she was wearing one of Victoria’s. Mrs. Needham insisted. It was high-waisted purple serge with glossy jet buttons. The difficulty of course was Victoria was several centimeters taller than she. Despite her best efforts, the skirts dragged through the dust and dirt when she wasn’t hoofing it through a grassy park!
It was so foolish of her! To oversleep…of all days! Sarah felt a gentle flush creep along her cheeks as she recalled the true reason why. Late at night after she was certain Elma was asleep she finally allowed herself to dwell on Lord Warrington’s punishment and how it made her feel. With no thought or reason, she found her fingers between her legs, exploring the area he touched. Trying to recreate the naughty tingling sensation. Having never done something so shocking, she was enthralled with her body’s reaction even to her own ministrations, but it left her feeling wanting…as if there was something more she was too innocent to know. The thought kept her up half the night.
And now she found herself running pell-mell through a fashionable district of London like a harridan, once more.
~*~
Arriving at York Terrace East at least a quarter past the designated hour, Sarah hurriedly banged the lion’s head knocker. A very irritated Parked answered the door moments later. Looking down his considerable nose at her ruffled appearance, it almost seemed he would deny her entrance.
“Please…sir…I’m…expected,” said Sarah through deep pants, trying to catch her breath.
“So you are, Miss Grey.” He sniffed before stepping aside.
Holding her hand against the stitch in her side, Sarah could only nod her gratitude. She knew she must look a fright. Her hair was once again tousled, with the
bonnet hanging by the ribbons. The skirt hopelessly wrinkled from her bunching it in her hand. There was a sheen of perspiration across the bridge of her nose and a decided flush to her cheeks.
“Might there be someplace I could freshen?” she asked timidly. The butler intimidated her almost as much as his master.
“Best not, Miss Grey. You are already tardy.”
“Yes, of course,” she responded, chagrined.
“Follow me.”
The butler then turned but instead of walking down the long hallway to the conservatory, he set out for the large front stairs.
“We are not going to the conservatory?”
Parker turned, clearly annoyed at all her questions, without responding he continued up the stairs and expected her to dutifully follow.
Gripping the polished mahogany rail, her slippered feet cushioned by the thick Persian carpet, Sarah took the time to compose herself and curiously look about. The various framed photographs, presumably taken by Lord Warrington, were stunning. Sweeping views of the countryside, romantic old castles, gloomy ruins of monasteries. It seemed Lord Warrington was quite comfortable taking his photographic equipment just about anywhere. As they reached the second floor, there were portraits of people. Ladies in glorious feathered hats, stern looking gentlemen, even one of the British Queen…playing cards of all things. Parker continued on to a third staircase. This one was rougher looking. Unpolished wood, no carpet. They must be entering the servant’s wing, she thought bewildered, although she knew better than to ask Parker.
Here the photos took on a more intimate, scandalous look. Women draped in sheer fabrics posed on chaises, leaning against columns. There was even one of a woman almost entirely nude except for a few well-placed peacock feathers. Despite their outrageous subject matter, they were actually quite beautiful…artistic even. Nothing like the overt French postcards of nude women they sold on Haymarket Street in the tobacco shops. Mrs. Needham was forever warning her girls not to fall for someone wanting to take a lewd photo for that purpose.
Finally, Parker stopped at an imposing set of double doors. After a discreet knock, he opened it and motioned for Sarah to enter, quickly closing it behind her without announcing her presence.
It was a large, open room painted a pleasing cream color. There were only three pieces of furniture. A table with his various photographic equipment upon it and an odd looking upholstered bench of sorts. It was square and low to the ground with one side raised at an angle like a chaise and covered in a beautiful royal blue velvet. What made it odd was the short wooden bed posters, sticking up from each corner. It was like it was a combination of a chaise and a small child’s bed. Finally, there was a large cherry cabinet with lots of doors and drawers with brass handles. There was no other adornment in the room. No paintings or other photographs. A blank canvas.
The door opened suddenly behind her, giving Sarah a start.
Raising a hand to her beating heart, she exclaimed, “Dang it! You frightened me! I mean of course not dang it but dash it or rather uh…uh…I…” Sarah was beyond flustered at her first sight of him.
As with the day before, he was only in a linen shirt and waistcoat. This time with black, tight fitting trousers tucked into high polished boots. He looked as if he had been out riding. His wavy, chestnut brown hair slightly ruffled from the wind. And as always, those ice blue eyes looking bright and intense.
Without saying a word, Pierce paused to study her. His astute gaze did not miss a detail. She looked so adorably afraid, like a schoolgirl who just got caught stealing a sweet. Once again, her hair was a delightful mess about her shoulders. Her bonnet only precariously perched on top her head. His little minx was running through the streets of London again. He would have to put a stop to that. She was going to get herself hurt, either by running into a cart or being accosted by a street vendor. Pierce made a mental note to instruct Parker to arrange for the carriage each day.
Sarah nervously twisted her hands in the fabric of her skirt. Unwilling to break the silence. She could feel her heart pounding as she waited to learn if he would chastise her…or worse…for being late.
When he finally spoke, the empty room seemed to echo his voice, giving it a harder, more thunderous edge. “There is a suite of rooms down the hall with fresh water and a brush. Do go and freshen yourself while I finish getting my equipment ready.”
Sarah bolted out of the room.
~*~
She found the room easily enough. It was sparingly furnished. A bed, wash stand, wardrobe and dressing screen. Curious she opened the wardrobe. It was filled with lovely Grecian drapes, reams of sheer fabric and several beautiful dressing gowns. This must be what those women in the photographs wore. Sarah reached out to touch the rich looking silks and brocades. Foolishly, she was more than a little jealous. She should have learned her lesson yesterday about the ruin of that particular emotion but apparently not so. It stung more than a little bit that she was so obviously nervous on greeting him again after their intimate encounter while he barely spared her a glance. She found herself almost wishing he had noticed she was late!
Sarah looked down at her wrinkled skirt and damp blouse and thought of how graceful and beautiful the women in the photographs looked. All Mrs. Needham’s warnings about men and French postcards rang in her head. Lord Warrington was not that sort of man she was certain of it. Besides, it was not as if the other girls didn’t occasionally appear nude at a session…with Mrs. Needham’s blessing at that. Florence sat exposing her bosom for a painter doing a classical theme. Victoria was the model for a risqué perfume advertisement showing her breasts and one nude limb which appeared in a gentleman’s periodical.
Her mind decided, Sarah quickly undid the small pearl buttons of her blouse.
~*~
Pierce turned at the sound of the door opening and once again found himself amused by the antics of his little minx. She obviously had found the wardrobe. She was dressed in a burgundy and green brocade robe with a silver fox fur trim. The luxurious colors highlighted the golden tones of her skin and the jade in her eyes. Her hair, always a pleasing point for him, was down and brushed to a high sheen. By the peak of her toes from under the hem, he could at least surmise she had undressed to the point of removing her stockings. Intriguing.
“Should I…” Sarah cleared her throat, “should I just sit there?” She finished by pointing to the blue upholstered bench.
“If you would,” he responded, still admiring the view she presented, already thinking of multiple poses he would like to see her in.
Sarah sat gingerly on the edge of the bench, very quickly losing her nerve.
Staring down at her exposed toes, she decided to break the silence. “What is that you are holding?”
Moving to stand over her so she could better see the black box he had in his hand, Pierce answered, “It’s a camera, little one.”
“It doesn’t look like a camera. It’s far too small!”
“That is the point, a rather ingenious chap named George Eastman, from your country as a matter of fact, is trying to create smaller cameras that can more easily be transported about. This is a very early model. Do you want to know the rather silly name he has for it?”
“Yes, please.” Focusing on the camera and not her state of undress before him was helping her ease a bit.
“Brownie,” he laughed.
“Be serious!”
Laying his hand over his heart, he teased, “I assure you I am. He thinks it is a novel name.”
“But it is not even brown! It’s black!”
“Apparently it is the name for Scottish fairies or some such nonsense. You Americans are an odd lot at times, I must say.”
Ignoring the small jibe at her countrymen, Sarah asked, “I see the lens but how do you slide the film in?”
“That is the ingenious part. Eastman has managed to create film on a roll of paper of all things. The film is inside. This little box actually has twelve exposures. I can take one p
hoto after another just holding it in my hand without having to change plates.”
“Are you going to take my photo with it?”
“If you are a very good girl,” he said, touching the tip of her nose with his finger. “Now let’s get started, we are wasting light.”
Sarah was pleased. He did not seem angry at her borrowing the dressing gown or her tardiness in fact. She settled in for a pleasant afternoon session in his enigmatic presence.
Pierce put down the camera and approached the bench once more. Sarah could feel the palatable change in the atmosphere. It was as if lightening had just struck, leaving a lingering burst of energy and sparks in its wake. She held her breath focusing on the tops of his boots, afraid to raise her eyes.
Pierce reached down to cup her chin, forcing her head back. Looking into her wide, slightly wary eyes, he felt a tightening in his groin with what he had planned for her later. The poor little minx actually thought she had escaped punishment for being late after he explicitly warned her not to be. It will be interesting to capture the transition in expressions across her beautiful gamine face on film; from serene to one of pain-filled desire.
“I want you to lie back. Drape your hair about you,” he instructed. The lowering of his voice to a husky murmur adding to the charged atmosphere.
Sarah stayed seated but gingerly leaned back, allowing the mass of tangle locks to fall about her.
“Let me help you.”
Leaning down on one knee, Pierce took hold of her left ankle. Sarah gasped at the contact of his warm hand on her cool skin. His long fingers easily wrapped around her trim ankle. He swung her leg up onto the bench. For the barest of moments, her legs were open with only the folds of the dressing gown protecting her modesty. Horrified, Sarah quickly swung her right foot up onto the bench, demurely keeping her knees together.
A raised eyebrow and small knowing smile was Pierce’s only response. He returned to his usual camera, positioned a few feet away on a tripod.
