Chapter 3

“May I ask, who you telephoned, Madam?” Asked Eleanor as they cycled up the gentle hill on the final approach to the upper, more salubrious suburb of the town of Resterford-On-Water.

“I made two calls. First to Miss Cullen at Ultratight and Son. I wanted to establish she was working at the company today. Don’t worry, I did not say I was calling about the lost Diana girdle. I wanted to know if the deputation from the firm of Free-N-Frothy had arrived. Interestingly, she had said there was no such visit scheduled.”

“How strange,” said Eleanor from where she sat in front of Matilda, as it mattered that the Mistress could see her slave was doing the bulk of the pedalling. “So our little man made that up.”

“It would seem so. Then I made a second call, to the one reputable hotel in the town. The Harvest Hotel caters for women on their own.”

“Ah,” said Eleanor. “Good thinking, Madam.”

“They have just one guest who checked in yesterday, a Miss Sommers. Violet Sommers.”

“Not ... surely not the actress?” The slave gasped and looked back over her shoulder.

“I believe the one and same. Though she apparently used the name Gale Reed when checking in. The name you may recall she had in the film, ‘Make Way For The Maiden.’”

“Was that the one I sat bound, gagged and blindfolded throughout?”

“Yes, slave, it was. But you heard her voice and heard her name. A shrill voice she has, which alas can grate. I also found out she arrived at the hotel, curiously, with no luggage.”

“Goodness! May I ask how you found all this out, Madam?”

“The receptionist, Jennifer Turner, is Marjorie Abbey’s part-time slave. You have met her and served her at one of my Society For Kept Women dinners. Miss Turner was reluctant to talk at first about any guest, until I reminded the young woman that her owner, Mrs Abbey would be displeased to discover that her young slave has been seen serving at a party for women at Lady Carden’s mansion. As you well know, many of us owners take an exceedingly dim view of slaves serving another Mistress without permission. As Marjorie Abbey hates Lady Carden I can assure you that would not happen.”

“I understand.” Eleanor chuckled. “I wouldn’t dare do that, madam.”

“I know as I would bind you in rusty barbed wire. So we are cycling to the Harvest Hotel to interview this interesting visitor to the town.”

“How exciting! May I ask for Miss Sommers’ autograph?”

“On what? I do not allow you to have anything to write with or on. You are a slave, not a writer or collector of autographs. Now be quiet and cycle faster, we cannot waste time.”

Not for the first time Matilda wished the tandem carried a small flogger so she could warm her slave’s back as they cycled, but the girl was trying to maintain a good speed.

The pair arrived in the town and parked the tandem by the Hotel Harvest. “You must remain with the bicycle, slave, and no talking to anyone. Remember that although you are not gagged that does not mean you can indulge yourself in idle chatter with passers by, no matter how pretty.”

Eleanor nodded and stood holding the tandem while her Mistress went inside. After a few minutes the woman in the blue skirt suit emerged looking puzzled. “How odd. I asked at the desk for both Miss Reed and Miss Sommers. The receptionist—a middle-aged man who professed he had been there all day and somehow not seen Jennifer Turner—said neither a Reed nor a Sommers were registered at the Hotel. Of course I demanded to speak to the manager to sort this out but—”

“Madam, please wait. Sorry to interrupt you, but I saw someone leaving the hotel, down that passageway behind you. I believe that door is the kitchen entrance to the hotel.”

“Someone? Who? Give me a description!”

“There were two women. I would swear one of them had her hands bound behind her. She was being led by the other.”

Matilda’s eyes blazed angrily. “And, girl, you didn’t think to come and tell me?”

“Madam ... you said I should wait by the tandem. I wanted to come, but your orders were—”

“Yes, yes! Enough! We must give chase. I presume they were heading to Sanders Road via Shroud Alley.”

“Yes, madam. I think so. They were hurrying though.”

“Then so must we. I will follow them on foot. You will cycle along Dove Avenue to the junction with Sanders Road, then to Shroud Alley. I believe we can cut them off there and confront them. If you get there first do not let them pass. Or you will be in more trouble.” With that Matilda ran down the passageway and her slave mounted the tandem, riding as fast as she could to the appointed meeting place.

They both arrived at the same moment, breathless from the exertion. “Well?” Asked Matilda.

“There was no one, madam. No women like I saw. Only a few men, going about their business.”

“And I too saw no one.” Matilda ran her hands through her hair by the side of her small hat. “This is impossible. Two women cannot disappear into thin air. One of them was bound, you say? Then someone would have seen that too and caused a scene. Even Resterford-On-Water does not get that pleasurable sight often.”