Scots Grey, Book 2

Scots Grey

Scots Grey

A vintage pony-play adventure.

A vintage pony-play adventure.

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Book II

Book II

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This series depicts the unique relationship shared by a pair of British ladies in the first decade of the last century, with each of our co-protagonists being of different stature, age, and class. Scenes of intimacy are not explicitly portrayed. To better reflect the aesthetic of a bygone era, the author recommends that Font Face be set to Times.

The first Book in this series was offered as an illustrated edition; In these that follow, readers will need to rely--for better or for worse--upon the author's ability to depict our heroines' adventures by means of prose alone. Familiarity with the events related in Book One is not essential to comprehension of the remainder, but will likely prove illuminating.

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As a general policy, Lady Gordon disdains regret, and she will not make exception for the scene that she created at the costume ball. No apology in any case would satisfy her cousin Harold, nor the local gentry. The latter has reacted to her insult like a well-drilled regiment under assault and closed ranks against her.

'Ana,' she decides one day at tea. 'I believe it's time you were introduced properly to London. Pack a case, dear, or a small trunk. We'll get the morning train.'

Seated together at a table draped in white, and set with china and silver, that on this fine day has been positioned in the garden behind the Lady's sprawling Midlands manse; The noblewoman and her companion might seem a mis-matched pair. The great and vivacious spirit of Lady Boudica Gordon--a woman as notorious for her globe-trotting adventures as for her independent mode of life--is contained within a mortal vessel of deceptively small volume. Though perhaps not sufficiently compact to qualify as 'diminutive', in height the Lady would stand somewhat below the median of her peers, and well into her thirties she retains a figure of girlish slenderness. An appearance which should not be mistaken in any way for frailty: a riding crop might be slimmer than a finger, and yet still remarkably tough and resilient.

The Lady's companion, fair Anabelle Smith, represents an altogether different type. Born as a daughter of labourers on the ancient Gordon estate in Scotland, along with her ginger hair Miss Smith has inherited from her forbears the sort of sturdy structure that might best endure a life of toil in the cold, wet North.

Orphaned at an early age, Anabelle had then been taken in as a ward of Gordon House, where she was raised as a gentlewoman. And like the sapling of a hardy tree that's planted in the garden, where its roots draw nourishment from the beds of more delicate flowers that require special feeding; On the wholesome, ample fare that she was provided 'Little Ana' had bolted in prodigious growth, until the girl prayed earnestly that it might cease. While she was away at school Miss Smith's stature finally had peaked, at a tick above six feet--but still her expansion had continued in dimensions other than the vertical, as the girl's rugged frame came to be enveloped over time in sleek, curvaceous womanhood.

By nature shy and modest, Anabelle was mortified by all of these developments. As a young gentlewoman she still often wishes that the Creator had assigned to her a less exceptional physique--one that's not so prone to attracting strangers' gaze.

Born in the Highlands, then raised and educated in bucolic corners of the English countryside, Miss Smith had not previously been offered the opportunity to become acquainted with any proper city--much less the greatest in the world. Worrying late into the evening over which dresses and accouterments she should bring, packing her trunk for London and then emptying and packing it again, Anabelle looks forward to the adventure with fretful excitement.

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When the ladies' train chugs into Saint Pancras, Miss Smith peers up in wide-green-eyed wonder at the station's expansive roof. Supported by pencil-thin arches of wrought iron, the structure spans a width that she'd have thought impossible.

'Why, all of Gordon House would fit within this space, Milady! And the garden too!'

Her well-travelled mistress is charmed, and refreshed in her own spirit, by the fair innocent's unabashed display of awe.

'Saint Pancras Station is just the first of many marvels that await us, darling. Come! Let's get a cab. The baggage will find its way.'

Lady Gordon has a town house in the elegant district of Mayfair, where the two will spend a few happy weeks. Their days oft begin playfully, with tall and strapping Anabelle carrying her petite mistress on her back, down to breakfast. Such frolics--most often prompted by the Lady but by both women heartily enjoyed--allow Miss Smith for a few moments to conceive of her powerfully capable construction as, perhaps, a kind of blessing.

Later in the morning, the ladies will take their time to dress properly.

Boudica does not attend closely to the trends of fashion, regarding with bemusement its tendency toward pointless encumbrance. About her country manor she's often clad in riding garb, or else in the style of dress favoured by sporting ladies in the field: made of durable cloth and tailored to allow for movement. In town, herensemblegenerally will be of finer weaves, and more closely fitted to her slender frame--but still the Lady's skirt is hemmed an inch higher than some might deem 'proper' for city wear, and her smart jacket sewn with hidden pleats, to allow for freedom of action.

While admiring the self-assurance evident in her Lady's choice of dress, Miss Smith prefers for herself more conventionally feminine styles.

From an early age, as the ward of a magnanimous clan Anabelle has been well-provided with whatever she required, including clothing of good quality as appropriate for a young gentlewoman. Among the posh residents of Mayfair, though, Ana feels acutely that her attire is less thanau courant,and marks her as countrified. Humble, she never would presume to ask for such an extravagant boon as a new wardrobe, when her existing remains perfectly neat and serviceable.

And don't be foolish and forget,she scolds herself.You're a blacksmith's daughter, oversized and over-built. Already you stand out among these well-bred ladies like a birch in a rose garden. Swell dress would only draw further attention.

The Lady is aware that Ana holds views on fashion different from her own, having seen Miss Smith study issues ofVanity FairandLadies' Fieldas intently as if the girl were conducting scholarly research. Boudica has not encouraged this interest, but neither does she upbraid her companion for giving weight to superficialities. She recalls that preoccupation with the current vogue is an affliction all too common among young women, one that's for the most part harmless, and might be outgrown.

Now she observes how Miss Smith's eyes track the daughters of Mayfair--Or the mistresses,the worldly Lady would surmise--as they strut the pavement in theirhaute couture.When one of the plumed coquettes passes, with her nose high in the air, and Boudica sees Ana tuck her chin and sigh in resignation; Lady Gordon feels a weight upon her own heart.

Setting aside her own bias toward practical dress, Boudica determines to rectify the discrepancy in fashion, so that Anabelle might go about town with greater confidence. The Lady undertakes at once a day-long tour of London's most exclusive boutiques, seeing her companion--who is at once surprised, confused, and thrilled--fitted for a panoply of frocks in whatever style Miss Smith prefers. Each is made-to-measure from best materials, by the finest makers, to flatter the young woman's robust six-foot frame.

Fitted with a bespoke tea gown, still unfinished, Ana faces her triple reflection in a dressmaker's mirrors. The shy girl's cheeks go pink at sight of her broad proportions so lavishly displayed--though she cannot help but smile to see her formidable physique, for so long despised as ungainly, transformed by corsetry and seamstress-skill into a form that might be best described as monumentally female.

Seated in a nearby chair to watch the fitting, Lady Gordon is gratified by her darling's joy.

'Can you complete it by tomorrow?' She inquires of the dressmaker.

This rail-thin woman, who might have been a beauty when the Queen reigned in her prime, wears her greying hair pulled back tight into a bun. Kneeling at Ana's side, making adjustments to the gown's hem, the seamstress draws a pin from between her pale lips.

'Such rapid delivery could only be accomplished at increased expense, Ma'am.'

'Naturally. I would not ask you to burn the midnight oil without fair compensation.'

Standing, the dressmaker tugs closed an unsewn seam at Ana's back, which had been pulled open by the breadth of the young woman's capacious chest. With eyebrows arched, the artisan murmurs from behind her fittee.

'Your... patron is most remarkably generous, Miss.'

Anabelle is too excited to detect the note of disapproval in the dressmaker's tone. With eyes riveted upon her reflected metamorphosis, she gushes in reply:

'My Lady makes all my dreams come true!'

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On most of their days in London, by mid-morning the ladies will be out exploring all that the city has to offer. Anabelle at first is shy to promenade in her eye-catching new attire, but unease soon gives way to marvel: at the famous historic landmarks, the exquisite art and objects collected in a dozen museums, exotic plants that thrive inside glass palaces at the Botanical Gardens, and of course the myriad shops!

Lady Gordon has seen it all before, and more, but cherishes the excitement and sense of wonder evinced by her ingenuous companion. As they tour the various attractions, the sharp-eyed sportswoman finds pleasure in a new sort of 'shooting': recording moments from their sojourns with a folding Kodak. Given her retiring disposition, Anabelle serves as a reluctant model for the Lady's photographs, if still a most fetching one.

In the evening, the two may attend a theatre performance, or a music hall. Miss Smith is especially thrilled to visit Covent Garden, where the ladies take in the London premiere of a new opera entitledMadama Butterfly.

A talented soprano herself--though too timid ever to consider public performance--Anabelle is moved to tears by the tragedy and spellbinding beauty of Puccini's masterpiece. Upon returning to the town house she's inspired to make a rare exhibition of her own sweet, powerful voice, serenading Boudica with artfully phrased melodies until late in the night.

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The ladies' brief indoor frolics provide moments of delight, but the town house lacks sufficient private space outdoors to play the more evolved form of pony game that the two so much enjoy. In order that Miss Smith might keep in condition, several times each week the Lady escorts her companion on purposeful perambulations about Mayfair, with Ana wearing her hoofed boots and, beneath one of her new frocks, her corset-harness. In place of a saddle, the harness supports on these occasions a specially constructed bustle weighted with sixty pounds of lead.

Anabelle undertakes this exercise willingly, and without complaint. Ever-eager to please her mistress, she looks forward to the day when the two might play their game again more properly.

The hoofed boots accentuate Miss Smith's already unusual natural height, elevating her stature to nothing short of spectacular. The eyes of passersby are distracted from the local coquettes--who appear suddenlypassé de mode--and drawn instead to the impressive new arrival on the scene.

Ana would cringe before their stares. But with a light touch of her finger, Boudica lifts her companion's chin.

'Just as a well-trained filly always shows good form, darling, a lady must exhibit proper posture!'

If Ana finds the eyes of strangers upon her to be discomfiting, she remains confident of her safety while in the Lady's company. Boudica, meanwhile, quietly enjoys secret knowledge, of the burden that her lovely playmate carries with such apparent ease.

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While the ladies revel in their companionship amidst the great metropolis, Harold Gordon has not forgotten his cousin's offence. He still covets, too, Boudica's share of the family legacy.

One sunny afternoon, as the ladies exit Hyde Park after a pleasant stroll, on their way to tea; In the bustling jam of horse-drawn traffic near the Marble Arch--hansom cabs and delivery carts, several broughams and a tall omnibus, along with one of those curious and cacophonous new 'auto-mobiles'--Lady Gordon's eye is drawn to an ambulance carriage. While Ana rhapsodises upon the ancient trees that thrive in the park, surrounded by noisome modernity, Boudica watches the ambulance driver rein his team to a stop on the ladies' side of the street.

From his seat beside the driver, a hospital orderly in white uniform climbs down; When his apparent twin exits from within the ambulance the Lady notes that its door has a barred window. The two men, grim-faced, stride aggressively along the pavement, shouldering their way through the crowd.

Warning instinct tingles behind Boudica's neck.Has a madman escaped?As Ana carries on with her happy monologue, the Lady turns her head to check behind.

The sun passes into shadow-- The shadow cast by the beefy orderlies, who without a word seize the noble Lady by the arms and lift her promptly off the ground!

Taken by surprise, she quickly finds her voice to make objection.

'Unhand me at once! Villains!'

She kicks with airborne heels at the shins of her assailants. But the orderlies have long experience in handling violent patients, typically of greater size and strength than this wiry little dame. Despite Boudica's fierce and vocal resistance, they instantly gain control, and with her flowered hat falling away as she struggles in their ruthless grip Lady Gordon is bundled forthwith into the ambulance. The door with its barred window slams shut, and at once the carriage rolls and rattles away, disappearing into the busy traffic.

Anabelle in her fine dress stands aghast, quivering, alone. Surrounded by the teeming city--which all seems to have stopped to stare and whisper--the tall ginger lass has not only lost her voice but forgotten how to breathe.

From out of the murmuring throng, an elderly gentleman approaches, dressed in well-worn clothes years out of fashion. With pity written on his face, the kindly stranger hands Miss Smith the Lady's hat.

The tentacles of Harold Gordon's vengeful greed stretch long. With sworn lies and bribery he has conspired to have his cousin seized from the public street, and committed to a lunatic asylum!

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Confined within the bleakest wing of the asylum, allowed no contact with the outside world--not even light of day--Boudica is treated ill by a doctor most unworthy of his profession. Well aware of his patient's sanity, he subjects her nonetheless to his harshest 'cures', intending to coerce the Lady into signing papers sent by her scheming cousin. Whatever promises or threats Harold might have made to subvert a physician's oaths, a gleam in the beady eyes of this debasedmedicoreveals that he's all too glad for an opportunity to indulge his own twisted fancies.

In evil straits and sorely tried, Lady Gordon at least is not without allies. Her father, a renowned military commander and privy legate of the late Queen, had met his heroic end as a martyr to Victoria's empire. Men who'd owed him for their lives are now high in government.

Anabelle had been left stunned and mute by the shock she'd suffered when her beloved was snatched from her side. When she'd staggered back to the town house, leaning heavily upon the kind old man, Miss Smith's composure had failed utterly. Just inside the door she'd fallen to her knees. Only with great effort, and between wracking sobs, was Ana able to inform Boudica's valet of the abduction.

Lady Gordon's long-serving valet, Balbir, is a veteran of many battles, and keeps a clear head. He offers what comfort an old warrior may, and when Miss Smith finds her feet again to stand he guides her on his arm to the offices of one of General Gordon's old tent-mates--now a minister--where she might make appeal.

This gentleman would rather not become involved in a scandal that the Lady, in his view, had instigated. But Anabelle pitches camp in his anteroom, sitting there day after day, weeping quietly; until finally the minister's beleaguered secretary prevails upon him to grant the poor girl an audience. When admitted into the presence of the whiskered grandee, Miss Smith stifles her sobs well enough to make clear the unjust nature of her Lady's confinement, and to implore him tearfully for aid.

The minister allows a few more days to pass, so as not to appear condoning of Boudica's outrageous conduct. But owing to her father's sacrifice, eventually he applies influence to obtain her release.

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Freed from the asylum, Lady Gordon sits in the sun-dappled courtyard behind the town house. Anabelle is a few feet away. Upon Boudica's release, the young woman had clasped her mistress tight in long embrace; Now, having surrendered to exhaustion after a week of sleepless terror, Miss Smith has slipped into a doze while seated upright in a wing-backed wicker chair.

The Lady lifts her teacup--and sees it trembling. It demands an exercise of will to hold the cup steadily. Aggressive treatments designed to quench the fires of madness will grind hard on a sound mind.

With her spirit intact, but mindful of the need at times for healthful rest, Boudica will allow herself a day and a night for recuperation.

And then I'll see Harold in the dock, called to answer for his crimes!

Balbir comes out to the courtyard, bearing an unsigned note that's been delivered by anonymous messenger. On fine stationery, it reads:

'I am informed that he intends another attempt, this time upon the young lady.

I will not be in a position to assist her.'

Boudica looks to fair Anabelle, napping peacefully on a summer afternoon. Her diabolical cousin would stoop so low as to torment the innocent girl, to use Miss Smith as a lever in his vile machinations!

The daughter of a cavalry commander, Boudica Gordon is not the sort to crouch behind barricades in defense, always preferring mobile action. With her cousin's paid agents crawling about the city--Is that one of them, there, watching from across the street?--she determines to hold her eagerness for confrontation with Harold in abeyance, and to first protect her ward by removing her from danger. Legal matters of defamation and inheritance can be managed capably enough by her solicitors.

Already for some weeks she'd been preparing for a trip to East Africa. There, as a girl standing at her father's knee as he acted on behalf of the Queen, Boudica had come of age, and as a grown woman she's returned twice since on safari. In London, Harold and his ilk hatch their plots in smoky club-rooms that deny ladies entrance; Boudica feels that in Africa, she'll gain the advantage of familiar terrain.

Without revealing to Miss Smith the true reason--so as not to excite the girl's paralyzing anxiety--Lady Gordon simply informs her companion that their schedule has advanced.

'All that we truly need is ready, and I see no reason to delay. We shall depart with the next sailing.'

Anabelle has dreamed, on too many nights to count, of travelling at her Lady's side to exotic lands. She would be pleased, as well, to see her dear mistress in a place far away from Harold and the asylum, where Boudica might take time to recover from her unspeakable ordeal.