Chapter 11

Fisherman’s Cottage was a small but neat building perched right on the edge of the placid Layham Lake, and with a small jetty it was perfect for the many anglers who rented it for their sport. It took Matilda and her slave a good twenty minutes to pedal there and having hidden the tandem under a hedge they begin to observe the building. There was no vehicle, and no sign of life outside. However there was of all things a milk churn by the side of the property. It was soon obvious that there was a light on in the one large downstairs room, with curtains closed.

“Burning the midnight oil,” said Eleanor.

“Indeed. But I suspect they are waiting for someone.”

“Really? How?”

“In that house I believe are a couple. Male and female. The woman is a voice coach, by the name of Alessandra Horvath, and the male is her lover, a man by the name of Furness. Now, like most straight couples they would normally be in bed by now—”

“Having sex, madam?”

“No, probably weary of it. These so-called normal people soon grow tired of each other, unlike we sapphic lovers and dominants. But, see the gate to the cottage drive: it is open and a small lamp placed discreetly on the gatepost. They have a mind to signal their whereabouts to some visitor. My belief is that this person will arrive expecting to have the missing girdle handed to them. For now we need to observe and wait.”

“Could I have a cuddle, Mistress, while we wait?”

“No, slave. You almost brought my investigation to an early halt and in any event, you smell of a man. I will not touch you intimately until you have bathed. Now be quiet—without a gag.”

After a few moments Eleanor begged permission to speak. “Mistress, I have seen something I wish to share with you.”

“What?”

“There is a small rowing boat by the jetty, and yet another is floating someway out on the lake, see?”

“So? A boat that slipped its mooring and drifted off. I believe it happens.”

“Perhaps not. I note there is a strong rope descending from it’s bow into the water. I believe it is anchored there. My uncle was in the navy, he told me of such things.”

“I see, well, that is not the object of our investigation—”

Matilda stopped herself, for a car came along the lane, before slowing at the illuminated gate and turning into the drive. For a moment the car’s headlights illuminated a milk churn by the side of the cottage but not the hidden women. “Ah,” said Matilda quietly. A hunched man jumped out of the car and hurried to the cottage door, pushing it open without knocking.

“How very forward of him, but we must go,” said Matilda, leading the way. “We must see inside if we can.”

The two women crept up to the house and endeavoured to peek in through a chink in the curtains. They could see so little that Matilda whispered to her slave that they must confront these people. “I have the gun,” she added, brandishing it. “A prop, but they won’t know that.”

It was Eleanor’s job to knock on the door urgently and Matilda would hold back with gun ready before making herself known.

“What do I say when they answer, Mistress?”

“Tell them you have a new improved Diana to show them,” replied Matilda. “That should hold their attention for a moment while I get into position with the gun.”

Eleanor approached the cottage front door, took a deep breath and raised her hand to knock. At that very moment more headlights swept the cottage drive and a speeding car slewed to a halt with the crunch of gravel, ending up bumper to bumper with the vehicle just arrived. An agitated Violet Sommers leapt from the car, her diaphanous night gown streaming behind her and underneath it all was a set of expensive pink foundation-wear, though by the styling it was clearly from Paris and not made by the good folk at Ultratight and Son. The actress was shouting: “Where’s my girdle? It’s mine!”