Chapter 10

Part 8: An International Conspiracy

In which Amelia tries to help Lucy and learns something of Lady Jefferson’s horsey set.

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The Dower House
Brinswark Estate
Nr. Eyam
Derbyshire
22/08/02
Dear Monique,
Firstly it was so good that we could get together in London. I did enjoy your tales of Paris. What it must be to live in the centre of so much innovation in the artistic world!

It was also so interesting to attend the meeting of your group. It was fascinating and so educational to see so many contrasting views debated and considered.

I hope you will forgive me writing on a personal issue to trespass upon your good will, but I need assistance from someone independently minded and with contacts in France.

You may remember I told you about my dear friend, Lucy. I am anxious to do something to help her escape from the clutches of her father and his plans to marry her off. There is no way that he will allow her to visit England but perhaps she might find an excuse to visit France.

I am hoping to find someone that could be trusted to provide her with safe accommodation in Paris, from where she could find a way of travelling on to England. I would not trust a hotel to keep her secret but thought you might know of someone that could help.

Do let me know if you have any suggestions.

Yours, hopefully, Amelia.

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The Dower House
Brinswark Estate
Nr. Eyam
Derbyshire
25/8/02
Dear Mama,
Thank you for your warning.

It is too bad that my step-father has not come to accept things. Surely he should have learned his lesson with the failure of the enterprise before my wedding. You would have thought that after this time he would have realised that nothing will part James and I. It is hardly any fault of ours that his friends are as backward thinking as he is (do you suppose he is encouraging Lucy’s father to treat her so badly?). How can he feel that his position in the community is somehow reduced because his daughter’s marriage has been arranged by her mother and not by her father?

I do hope that your suspicions regarding his actions are unfounded but James and I will both take great care.

Your loving daughter, Amelia

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The Dower House
Brinswark Estate
Nr. Eyam
Derbyshire
25/8/02
Dear Alice,
Firstly I want to thank you. We met at my wedding where you were the guest of Lady Jefferson. You probably do not remember but it was a moment of such significance to me when we met and you said to me, “What do you do?” My mumbled reply must have sounded ridiculous for, in honesty, it was. In Brabant a woman had no higher aspiration than to be married; in England there are other opportunities and I have yet to take them. Your question was my spur to action and I have determined on finding a role that does not define me by where I live, who my husband’s mother is or what child I have borne. So I do not know yet which path I will follow, but I know there is a path to find. Thank you once again for your inspiration.

There is one thing that you can help me with, though. I remember you telling me of your work in international finance and I wonder if I could ask your advice. A friend of mine is fleeing her father to escape a forced marriage. I hope she will soon be in Paris. The poor girl will be completely without financial resources. I want to help and have some means of my own that I could help her with but have little idea of how I could go about sending some money to her. I thought you might be able to advise me.

With best wishes, Amelia.

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The Dower House
Brinswark Estate
Nr. Eyam
Derbyshire
27/8/02
Dearest Lucy,
I hope this finds you well and in good spirits. It must have been heart breaking to decide to leave your home with no certainty about your future. My own position was so much easier. You have my utmost admiration. A world of adventure awaits. If you can – as you suggested – make your way to France, I may be able to provide some help through a friend. Let me know of your progress and keep yourself safe.

In comparison with your adventures, my own life is rather quiet, although not without its amusements. I am back in Derbyshire as you can see. Yesterday evening we dined with Lady Jefferson at the hall and I wore my new dress with the spiked collar. James regarded it nervously. I do not blame him, for the spikes are long and disturbingly sharp. They would certainly do him harm were he to be so impertinent as to try to kiss me (on the lips, at least!).

The outfit had a similar effect on poor James’ father. I have had little to do with him since the marriage – normally his wife keeps him out of the way when James and I visit but on this occasion he joined us. If, as Miss Mifton advises, my dress is intended to intimidate, tantalise and arouse, I can report that on this occasion her design has been most successful. His lordship’s expression combined fear and respect in a way I have not known before and lust in a way that must surely be considered inappropriate for a father-in-law. I will admit, though, that I found it rather amusing.

I think I told you that Lady Jefferson’s friends are all very much enthused by country sports. They invited me to take part in an event this week that I would not have believed had I not agreed to be there. Several of Lady Jefferson’s set are keen equestriennes and had decided to run a gymkhana in which their husbands would compete as ponies! I was invited to join in and to bring James along. It seemed like a very odd idea, but James said it was something of a tradition and that he certainly would not wish to discourage me as it would please his mother. Besides, he said, I might find some of the others taking part to be interesting people. I was a little sceptical about that but Lady Jefferson urged me on as well, saying that she was sure it would do James no harm as he had taken part in something similar with one of his cousins when younger. I did not want to offend her and James seemed so supportive, so I agreed. I felt that maybe I would remember enough from the times we rode when we were small but how it would go with my husband as a pony, I was very unsure.

James was rather perturbed when Beckworth said that the ponies were expected to compete naked but Beckworth said I should take no notice and that she would see that all necessary preparations were made.

Sure enough, on the morning of the event, I found that Beckworth had laid out a riding habit that Lady Jefferson said I might borrow. Once dressed, I certainly felt I looked the part, in my riding jacket, jodhpurs, and boots. The top hat and veil made me look quite the horsey lady!

James was waiting for me in the yard. True to her word Beckworth had made him ready for the event. He was standing, harnessed between the shafts of a two wheeled trotting rig and was quite naked apart from his cock cage and a set of leather harness, bridle and bit and blinkers. The weather was quite cool for summer and I must admit at first I was feared he would catch a chill. In the end, I suspect that his trembling was more in anticipation than in any response to the temperature.

While I was checking the trotting rig ready for the event, Anna – the engine woman that I told you about - happened by. She gave me a smile and, I fancy, an appraising look at my tightly jodhpured rear. “The invitation still stands to look over the engine house, Miss,” she said. “Drop by any time. There’s so much that I would like to show you.” Her tone was so obviously salacious that James was quite disconcerted and seemed to be fretting in his harness. I gave him a few calming words – just as we would to any pony - and he was soon settled but I fancy he will be suspecting that Anna and I are planning something. I fear his suspicions are, for my part, not without foundation for I fear that Anna’s looks alone are sufficient to arouse me. Not that I have done anything about it. I feel life is complicated enough at present.

The driving event was really quite extraordinary. There were perhaps a dozen women involved. Eight were like myself with their men hitched to trotting rigs and we all had the opportunity to compete around a circuit that Lady Jefferson had set out on one of the flatter areas of the park. Scurrying around at as high a speed as could be managed under the puzzled gaze of the park’s deer herd was quite an experience. The other four were taking part in a contest to show the precision with which their men could be made to walk on a lunge rein.

James and I were not so successful. He is not terribly athletic and I fear that, with my height, I was not the lightest of the drivers. After five races we had managed to achieve sixth position overall which I thought quite creditable for me as a beginner. James was quite exhausted by the racing and he needed a little encouragement from my driving whip. Luckily he did not seem to mind this, accepting it as a natural consequence of the competition. Indeed after the race to allow us to finish sixth, I found I had cut him quite cruelly but he still nuzzled up against me at the end with the same, wide-eyed, look of affection that he always has.

Once we had been eliminated from the trotting races we went and watched the lunge events which are as much about display as the skill of the participants. Elaborately decorated cod-pieces and plumed head harnesses were very much the order of the day for the “horses” and their harnesses were well polished with fittings shining brightly in the August sunshine. The way the women controlled their “horses” to follow intricate patterns of movement without a word of command but only the touch of the whip was genuinely impressive.

The whole thing made for a splendid afternoon with trophies awarded to the winning drivers and rosettes for their “horses” and a most glorious afternoon tea served on the garden terrace in front of the hall with the “horses” waiting all together in a paddock set up from hurdles nearby.

At the end of it all I rode in the trotting rig back to the Dower House. Beckworth said that we should put James in the loose box in the stable yard over night as that was very much the way things were done. James voiced no objection (although in fairness the bit across his mouth might have made it hard to understand him if he had) and we soon got him settled down ion some straw. Then, Beckworth exclaimed that with all the effort of the afternoon I must be in need of a soak in a bath. I had to confess that the excursions of the day had left me less than fragrant so Beckworth set to filling the metal bath with jugs of hot water brought from the stove (no piped luxuries here such as there are at the Hall!) while I disrobed. She was so kind to me going far beyond her duties, I am sure, in helping me to bathe with soap and sponge on even my most intimate places. I am afraid that from time to time her touch brought gasps of pleasure from me and I quite forgot myself, splashing her playfully as I emerged from the tub bringing squeals from her at the soaking. The upshot of all this amusement was that Beckworth insisted I should demonstrate to her that I had indeed understood the lessons she has been giving me, siting on the edge of the bath with her skirt up around her waist while I knelt and applied my tongue as she had shown me. I fancy, from her cries of delight, that I have learned my lessons well, if that does not scandalise you too greatly.

Poor James could obviously hear what was going on, for the bathroom window is directly over the stable.

Oh Lucy, I fear my obsession with Beckworth is growing. There is something about the touch of her hands, worn with housework, on my skin and the feel of the muscles on her arms – she attributes her strength to the efforts of laundry and fetching water – that drives my desires. James is soft and gentle (he has never, I suspect, done a day’s manual labour) but Beckworth is sometimes quite rough with me, pinning me down and ordering me around in a way that I suppose is fun enough in sexual play but I must not let it grow into any lack of respect outside of the bedroom. I imagine a romp with Anna would be even more tempestuous.