The Education of Victoria

by Meadows, Angela

  My train neared Waterloo and I looked out for my father come to meet me. But there was no sign of him. When I descended from the carriage he was still not there. I waited for some time then decided to use some of my own coins to take a cab to our home. The house was dark and no servants came to the door. I waited on the doorstep sitting on my trunk, gradually becoming colder and colder. As the church clock struck eleven, my father appeared on foot. He swayed a bit and I could smell drink on his breath. Despite the cold his coat was undone and his clothing dishevelled. I had never seen him in such a state before.

  ‘Ah, Victoria. You found your own way home then.’

  ‘Yes, Father. Where have you been? I’m cold and tired after my journey.’ He struggled to place his key in the lock.

  He sniffed, ‘You’re cold and tired. No thought for me I suppose, your only father.’ He pushed the door open and staggered inside. I hurried to follow him. The house felt cold and empty.

  ‘Where are the servants? Why is the house cold? Why are you like this, Father?’ He continued along the hallway and up the stairs.

  ‘Gone, gone. It’s all gone,’ he said to himself as much as to me.

  I dragged my trunk over the doorstep and closed the door. Then I hurried up the stairs, following my father. When I got to his bedroom the door was closed. I turned the handle but the door would not open.

  ‘Father, let me in. What is the matter?’ There was no reply. I banged on the door a few times and called out again but he would not answer me. Eventually I gave up and went to my room. It was cold but at least the bed was made. Without undressing I crawled under the covers, curled up as much as I was able in my tight-laced corset and eventually fell asleep.

  I awoke as the winter sun, filtered through yellow fog, made a half-hearted attempt to banish the night-time shadows. Yawning and stiff from my fitful sleep I made my way down the stairs. There was no sign of my father in the dining room or his study. I went back upstairs to his bedroom but though I found the door open, the room was empty and the bed unmade. Back downstairs I searched the kitchen. There was no sign of my father or food but for a piece of stale bread. The cooking range was cold and there was no coal at hand. I presumed that my father had already left to attend to his business but I was more concerned with how I was to see to my own needs for warmth, food and hot water to wash. While gnawing at the hunk of bread I walked around the whole house. Many rooms were bare, their furniture, furnishings, ornaments and paintings from the walls gone. Even the bookshelves in the library were bare. What had happened? Had father sold his belongings? Why?

  It was mid-morning when there was a knock on the back door. I ran to see which tradesman was calling. I opened the door to the coalman. He was a young man dressed in shirt, jacket and trousers, all covered in a film of coal dust.

  ‘Oh hello. I’m so glad you’ve come. We seem to be out of coal. I don’t know why.’

  ‘It’s because I haven’t been paid, Miss,’ the coalman said.

  ‘Haven’t been paid?’ I repeated.

  ‘No, Miss, not for months. I’m not to deliver any more until the bill has been paid.’ I couldn’t understand. Why hadn’t my father paid the bill? How had he allowed the household to run out of fuel?

  ‘I’m sorry, I haven’t got any money.’ The coalman turned to leave. I grabbed his black hand, ‘Oh, please don’t go.’

  ‘If you can’t pay and the master of the house isn’t here, there’s no point me staying, Miss. It’ll be the debt collectors you’ll see next.’

  ‘No, please. I need coal. The house is cold; I need hot water to wash.’

  ‘I’m sure you do, Miss, but there’s nothing I can do.’

  ‘Just one bag.’

  ‘Only if you can pay.’

  How could I pay my father’s bill? I looked at the young man. Beneath the coal dust he had handsome features. I knelt in front of him, looked up into his face and appealed to him to think of a poor woman in the cold. He shook his head. I placed a hand on his groin without thinking and felt a twitch. An idea came into my head. Perhaps one service would deserve another. I undid one of his fly buttons, then another.

  ‘What are you doing, Miss?’

  Another and another came undone. He wasn’t wearing anything beneath the trousers and his penis flopped out. It was white and clean. I caressed it with my middle finger. It trembled and grew. The head lifted up and the purple knob pushed through the foreskin. I gripped it in my hand, squeezing it gently but firmly.

  ‘Just one small bag?’ I asked. I reached out with my tongue and touched the tip. He staggered but I kept my grip.

  ‘What do you mean?’ His voice had developed a dreamy, faraway quality. I encircled his knob with my lips and rubbed the ridges beneath it with my tongue. I released my grip on his shaft and cupped his balls, running a finger behind them up the crack between his buttocks. I took hold of his cock with my other hand and leaned back, letting the knob slide out of my mouth.

  ‘I’m sure you can spare just one small bag.’ He rocked on his feet.

  ‘Yes, yes. Just do it.’ I smiled and lowered my head again. This time I took his cock deep into my mouth and rubbed my hand up and down the shaft. As I suspected it did not take very long for his climax to arrive. He groaned loudly and his semen gushed into my mouth. I swallowed it hungrily. I made sure every last drop had been licked and sucked from his penis before I released it from my mouth and tucked it and his balls back inside his trousers. I stood up and he hurried to do up his buttons.

  ‘One small bag,’ I repeated. He turned to run out to the rear yard.

  ‘Yes, I’ll get it. But the bill still needs to be paid.’ He went to his cart and good as his word returned with a half hundredweight of coal.

  ‘Perhaps we can repeat our bargain some time,’ I said.

  ‘Perhaps,’ he replied running off. He mounted his cart and urged the patient horse to get moving.

  I managed to get the range lit, which warmed the kitchen. Then I heated some water and undressed in front of the fire to wash myself. I dressed in some looser clothes more suited to working in the kitchen and pondered what to do about food. I did have a small amount of money in my trunk saved from last summer; it seemed that I must go shopping for my victuals. I dressed myself like a housekeeper and went out to the market to buy bread, butter, milk and pies. Back home I was at last able to satisfy my hunger. The rest of the day I spent awaiting the return of my father from whom I hoped to find an explanation for our situation. But he did not return. Late into the night I sat by the small fire in the kitchen keeping myself warm. It was nearly midnight when the front door bell was rung. I ran along the hall and flung the door open expecting to see my father on the step. Instead it was a policeman.

  ‘Good evening, Miss.’ He took his helmet off and held it in the crook of his arm, ‘I’m afraid I have bad news.’ He informed me that my father had fallen from the platform and had been hit by an underground train entering the station. Some witnesses said that he had jumped while others said he slipped. Either way he was dead and I was required to identify the body. The policeman very kindly escorted me to the mortuary where I confirmed the body as that of my father. I only saw his face. The rest of his body was covered by sheets. His chest had been crushed by the train. He looked peaceful lying there as if he was asleep. I almost wanted to shake him to wake him up. The policeman took me back home, said a few kind words and then I was alone again.

  The fire had gone out and the kitchen was cold again. I sobbed then as much for myself as my father. What was I to do? I fell asleep, eventually, in the wooden chair in the cold kitchen.

  I was woken by the bell ringing and someone banging on the front door. I stirred and hurried to see who could be making such a racket. On opening the door, a gentleman in a frock coat and bowler hat pushed past me and into the hall. He went into the dining room and looked around.

  ‘Who are you? What are you doing?’ I demanded. He pushed past me again and went into my father’s study.r />
  ‘Bailiff, Miss. You’ve got lots of unpaid bills and the courts have given me the authority to assess what items we can confiscate to meet the sums.’ He went into the drawing room.

  ‘But you can’t do that,’ I appealed.

  ‘Oh yes I can.’ Now he was in the kitchen.

  ‘But my father only died last night.’

  ‘Sorry to hear that, Miss. Means that I had better work faster before the executors tie everything up for an age.’ He climbed the stairs and reached the library. I followed him into the bare room and watched him gaze at the empty shelves.

  ‘Seems someone cleaned it out before I got here,’ he went on. He moved on to my father’s bedroom. There was just the unmade bed from the night before last, his last in this world. The bailiff finally arrived at my bedroom. He pushed my door open.

  ‘Ah, this is better. Some good stuff here.’ He looked at my wardrobe, dressing table, chest of drawers, the pictures on the walls, the full-length mirrors.

  ‘Oh, please, sir. You wouldn’t take my possessions.’

  ‘Nothing is yours. It all belongs to the courts. It’ll be gone by nightfall.’ I collapsed onto the bed in shock.

  ‘What will I be left with?’

  ‘Nothing I should think. Your father’s creditors are owed thousands of pounds.’

  I felt as if I was bound in cords by the courts. I had no freedom, no control over what was happening to me. Only one course seemed to remain. I took hold of the hem of my skirt and pulled it and my petticoat up to my waist. I revealed myself to the bailiff.

  ‘Is there nothing that will delay you?’ I asked.

  He looked at me and a grin spread across his face.

  ‘You’ve lost everything so you might as well lose your honour,’ he said, removing his hat and coat, and beginning to undo the buttons of his trousers. He advanced towards me. I shuffled back onto the bed, pulling my skirt and petticoats up to my waist. I opened my legs and raised my knees. He crawled on to the bed between my legs with his erect penis poking out of his trousers.

  ‘You’re a right temptress, aren’t you, my lady,’ he said as he crawled over me. His hot breath brushed my cheek and his cock rubbed against my fanny.

  ‘Guide it in,’ he ordered. I reached between my legs, took hold of his penis and placed it between my lips. He pushed and the tip slipped into my vagina. He sighed. He thrust again and I felt the cock sliding deep inside me. He lowered his head.

  ‘Kiss me, darling.’ I didn’t want to but his tongue found its way between my lips and I tasted its foul flavour. He began to thrust repeatedly.

  ‘Come on, love. Match me.’ He held my arms against the bed and grunted on each inward thrust. He came with a gasp and I felt a gush of semen within me. He dropped onto me, his weight pressing me into the bed and stifling my breath. I struggled to breathe and beat against his shoulders. He heaved himself off.

  ‘Careful, lady. You don’t want to upset me now, do you?’ He stood up and rearranged his dress. ‘To show you how much I care, I will put off my return until tomorrow. I am sure you will be able to entertain me then. Good day.’

  He left and I listened as he went down the stairs, walked along the hall and pulled the front door closed behind him. I stood up and brushed my skirt and petticoats down. I was disgusted with myself but thankful that I had bought a day’s grace. But what could I do? I hurried to my father’s study and pulled drawers and cupboards open. Paper after paper spilled out, letters, invoices, nothing that meant anything to me. I was in despair when the front door bell rang again.

  I opened the door but an inch and peered around it. I was fearful that the bailiff had returned despite his promise. Instead a slim, smart, young man in a new overcoat was standing on the step with a cane and top hat.

  ‘Hello. Miss Victoria, is it? My condolences regarding your father’s untimely death.’ He doffed his hat and I saw that he had short, dark hair slicked down and pale features.

  ‘Who are you?’ I asked.

  ‘Ah, pardon me.’ He presented a card and said, ‘Samuel Blenkinsop of Blenkinsop, Blenkinsop and Blenkinsop, Solicitors. I’m the last one by the way; my father and grandfather are the others. We are the executors of your father’s estate.’ The card confirmed what he said so I opened the door. He stepped into the hall.

  ‘Executors?’

  ‘Yes, we represented your father while he was alive, and we shall handle matters now that he is dead. May we talk?’ I took him into my father’s study. Papers were strewn over the floor and other surfaces.

  ‘I’ve been trying to find out what happened but I don’t understand it.’ He sat in a chair while I grabbed handfuls of papers and dropped them again.

  ‘Ah, I’m afraid your father’s business dealings suffered a great misfortune in recent months. Well, he lost a fortune and left a lot of debts. There is not going to be anything left in his will for you once our bill has been paid.’

  I told him about the coal man and the bailiff demanding payment.

  ‘I’m afraid there will be a lot of that.’

  ‘But I can’t service them all,’ I cried.

  ‘Service them?’

  I described how I had gotten a bag of coal from the coal man and put the bailiff off for a day.

  ‘You would sell your body for a bag of coal?’ There was a look of amazement on his face.

  ‘Not my body,’ I replied, ‘my skills, my knowledge, my experience. Just like you I suppose with your knowledge of law and wills and I don’t know what.’

  He laughed. ‘Well I suppose you’re right. We each have our expertise. What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Help me. Save what you can of my father’s estate. I suppose the Berkshire house is gone as well. Leave me enough to set up on my own.’

  ‘And how will you pay?’

  I turned away from him, knelt and pulled my skirts and petticoats up. I presented my bare arse and fanny to him.

  ‘This is all I have to offer,’ I said, my head resting on the carpet.

  Perhaps it was the sight of the white heart of my buttocks, or the pink orchid of my sex. Or possibly it was the faint musky odour that rose from my exposed fanny. From being starchy and distant he became inflamed by animal passions. I looked over my shoulder to see him throwing his coat off, and fumbling with the buttons of his trousers. He thrust his trousers and drawers down below his knees and knelt behind me. His penis was already proudly erect and his commendable testicles dangled between his legs. I turned my head away and awaited the touch of his cock against my quim. His cool hands rested on my buttocks and then I felt his cock, not against my fanny but pressing against the tight puckered hole of my anus. A few months earlier I would have recoiled from this indignity and not believed that a fully erect penis could enter my rear passage, but the last term at the Venus School for Young Ladies had taught me differently. I used my newly developed skill to relax my muscles and so when he applied pressure his knob slid inside me. He let out a long drawn-out sigh as he pushed in further. When he could penetrate no more he paused. I felt as though my abdomen was full, that I was forever rendered immobile by his spike, like a butterfly pinned to a display box. Then he began to pump me. Each thrust was accompanied by an insult, ‘you slut’, ‘whore’, ‘common hussy’. I took each name and accepted it, for they were indeed true. After innumerable advances and retreats, when I felt that my whole arse was afire, he came and filled me with his semen. When he withdrew it trickled down my thigh.

  He remained kneeling, breathing heavily. I got up and let my skirt and petticoat fall, restoring my decency to some extent. I collected a bowl of water and a cloth and, kneeling before him, washed his shrunken penis.

  ‘I’ll do what I can, Victoria, but it is not going to be easy. Your father’s affairs are in disarray.’ He re-fastened his trousers and replaced his coat and hat. ‘I will call again soon.’

  Christmas was a lonely and dismal affair. Samuel was, however, as good as his word and ensured that I had sufficient fuel to
fire the kitchen range, and food enough for my needs. I moved a small mattress and blankets into the kitchen and lived there, spending my time looking through father’s papers and trying to make sense of his business dealings, with little success. The bailiff did not return but Samuel did on a number of occasions. Each time he came I offered him my body and each time he took advantage of the availability of my rear orifice. On one occasion early in the new year we were lying on my improvised bed in the kitchen and I was caressing his erect manhood prior to intercourse. I asked a question which had been troubling me.

  ‘Why, when I offer you my mouth and my vagina, do you always choose to sodomize me?’

  He turned a little red in the cheeks and there was a pause before he answered.

  ‘My father expects me to marry soon. I would not want the scandal of making you, one of my clients, with child.’

  I sensed that was not his whole answer. I stared at him and after a few moments’ thought, he went on.

  ‘Also, I like the constriction one feels when one enters an arse.’

  ‘You have experienced others similarly, then.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said almost inaudibly, ‘at school and university I have been both the active and the passive partner. But please do not speak of it again. My father must never know of my predilection for a tight anus.’

  I chuckled, ‘I don’t think I am in a position to tell tales, Samuel. Come, your cock is ready for the game, fill my arse again.’

  I really do feel that despite my apparent subservience to his desires I gained some kind of authority over Samuel Blenkinsop. He became most solicitous about my health and well-being. However, despite his efforts in warding off the creditors and bailiffs nothing could prevent the ultimate forfeit of all my father’s possessions. I discovered that the London house had been mortgaged and many of the furnishings already sold to service his debts. Our Berkshire estate would also be broken up. In a few weeks it would all be in the hands of other owners and I would be homeless and penniless. I had to decide what to do and my only thought was to get away. There was only one other place that was anything like a home and that was the Venus School for Young Ladies. I determined to return for the spring term. My fine dresses and jewellery were sold and together with the remaining cash from my summer occupation, I bought my passage to the Austrian mountains.