Chapter 7: A Slave's Demeanour

Nicola returned, having dressed as I required. A long cloak, fastened at the neck, hung to the floor around her, shielding her nakedness from view. Her hands and arms covered with gloves to above the elbows, protruded through two slits on either side of the capes front opening. High buttoned boots covered her feet, ankles and calves.

I saw that she was anxious to speak and granted her unspoken wish with a nod.

"Forgive me, Sir, but this seems not to meet the requirements which you expressed. I do not see, Sir, how this is likely to be a source of pleasure to my husband or his friends."

I passed to her a hat, equipped with a heavy black net veil. She put it on.

"Nor this, I am afraid, Sir."

I followed the hat with a fur trimmed muff. Puzzled Nicola took it and it was only once she had placed her kid gloved hands inside it that I produced the steel cuffs and fastened her wrists together. "No, of course," I said. "Nor is it intended to be. It will however serve to dress you for a short excursion. Let us go."

"Go, Sir?" Nicola's look was one of alarm. "But Sir, beneath this cloak I am naked and with my hands fastened so I will be unable to hold the cloak closed against any breeze. Surely you cannot intend us to venture forth with me dressed like this?"

"I fear you are mistaken in that as in so many things, young lady," I responded amused by her failure yet to grasp the amusement that I derived from her discomfort, quite apart from the benefits I knew it would bring to her training. She looked distressed but showed no sign of any intention to defy me.

A knock on the door heralded the arrival of the cab that I had summoned. The sudden rap shocked Nicola, I took her arm in a firm, unyielding grip knowing that at this instant there was a risk of her bolting. "Come," I said decisively, "it is time for you to meet someone."

Nicola looked quizzically at me as I led her to the door. "But ... Outside?" was all she said as I directed her towards the Stanley Hackney parked at the kerbside.

The swift acceleration of the Stanley as we pulled away pressed us both back into the padded leather seating. Nicola, demure behind her veil and with the harsh steel of her cuffs pressing on her wrists through her gloves, sat surprisingly calmly. The Hackney was warm; a benefit of the steamers is in the recirculation of source of their motive power diverted into the vehicle's heating system, a fortunate benefit for the largely naked Nicola.

Our journey was short; our destination the premises of a woman whose skills I have come to rely on in the services I provide. Madame Genoux is possibly one of the most accomplished needlewomen of the age. Her talent as a corsetiere is unsurpassed, although her methods are considered by some to be somewhat unorthodox.

She had agreed to my commission for a range of corsetry to help achieve the transformation I intended for Nicola James and greeted us warmly as we crossed the threshold of her shop and workroom. With a small wiry frame, clad in a plain grey dress, her grey hair pulled tightly back on her head she gave the appearance of a small mouse busying herself in readiness of the task to come, collecting up the tools of her trade. Nicola to her credit remained calm throughout as she was led inside.

"I assume you wish to watch, M'ssieur?" she offered.

I nodded. It is always a pleasure to watch a true craftsman at work. Madame's philosophy was that success with these garments owed as much to engineering as to fashion. Her skills with a needle rested on exact measurement and an obsession with precision that I greatly appreciate.

She gestured through a door. "My workroom, please."

I escorted Nicola. She was, I could tell by the tensing of her arm as we crossed the threshold, a little perturbed by what she saw. Along one wall a rank of mannequins, some bare, others carrying half completed examples of Madame's work stood as silent sentinels. Bolts of cloth, reels of yarn, and bundles of elephant bone stays were piled haphazardly on a large bench. A large wooden frame filled the centre of the room. Into each side brass inlays marked in inches and fractions provided Madame with her precise measuring rule. Two bars each able to be adjusted for their height from the floor ran horizontally between the frame's uprights. "Please, M'ssieur. If you could arrange the young lady so that her neck is fastened here," Madame pointed to a collar set in the centre of the higher bar. "And it would be more convenient if her hands were fastened behind rather than as I assume they are beneath her muff?" Madame put her head on one side in the sort of quizzical gesture that might be expected of a small bird.