A Victorian Tale

A Victorian Tale!

Part Two - A daring escape!

None of these words, about tongues, lips and seed, meant anything to Jennifer, and she could find no correlation with anything written in the novels she was so fond of reading. Watching carefully, in case her stepmother glanced in her direction, Jennifer put her arm around the door and found the inner pocket of her father's coat. Her fingers touched the chill of the silver case. Her stepmother moved, Jennifer tensed expecting discovery, but she was only looking at her husband's manhood. Then she bent her head. Jennifer couldn't see what her stepmother was doing, her father was turned away from her and her stepmother's head was in the way, but groans of satisfaction, as her stepmother's head bobbed up and down, told her that her father was enjoying it.

Back in the hallway she checked the case. It was full of both sovereigns and half-sovereigns. More then enough money to get to London and for several months rent of an apartment. A few minutes later she was at the front door of the Manor.

It was locked.

Of course, thought Jennifer, the butler locks it last thing at night, and opens it again as the first thing he does on a morning. She sat and wondered what to do next. Then she remembered the large windows in the west lounge that led straight out into the ornamental garden. Bolted but not locked.

Sliding the bolts on one of the doors she emerged into the night air. Then she pushed the door closed again. A servant was going to get a telling off for leaving it open. But probably not a big telling off, it was often guests who left these doors unlocked, especially if they were planning a liaison with someone in the garden.

The heavy scent of the garden flowers still hung in the air. Jasmine and something more subtle she couldn't identify. It was a warm night with only a breath of wind. Jennifer headed to the estate wall and the small gates that penetrated it at intervals. The main gate was by the lodge, and she might be seen by Dawson, so she moved to one of the lesser used exits. Her destination was Towtun railway station, which was more in a southerly direction. It was better to leave by the south gate.

Two miles separated the estate and the railway line. An hour of gentle walking. There was no point in hurrying because it was about four hours before the first train of the day would pass through. Jennifer hoped that the little waiting room would be open. Her plan was to take the milk train to Damcaster, then the express to London.

As she walked down the country lane, surrounded by the sounds of woodland creatures, she felt free. Her own woman. But she wasn't out of the woods yet, so to speak. She needed to lay a false trail in case her father and stepmother came searching for her. Luckily she had an aunt who lived in Edinburgh. A girl running away from her family, but with a need to keep safe, might travel north to stay with Aunt Agnes. And it would take a few days for the fact that she wasn't there to be discovered.

The waiting room was open and she settled down to rest. Hours later, as the light of dawn cast its rosy glow on the platform, and the sounds of railway staff performing their duties filled the air, she visited the ticket office.

"Morning Miss Jennifer," said the clerk. "How mays I 'elp you this mornin'?"

"A single to Damcaster, please, John," Jennifer replied. "I am going to spend some time with my aunt in Edinburgh."

The lie slipped out so easily. She felt a thrill of naughtiness. An adventure was what she had asked for and certainly this qualified. Like one of her heroines from her novels she was about to embark on a journey of exploration. John put the card ticket into his machine and pressed various buttons, then slid it through the little window to her. If she took it there was no going back, she thought.

She put the ticket into her handbag. Behind her she could hear the milk train approaching and the sounds of churns being placed on the platform.

"Thank you, John," she smiled at the clerk, wondering if she would ever see him again.

The platform was shrouded in smoke for a moment as she approached the train. There was a sudden hiss of steam and she jumped. Gosh, she thought, I'm feeling very nervous today. But I suppose it's natural. I've never run away before.

Three trucks and a single passenger carriage were revealed as a light breeze blew the smoke away. Staff laboured to put the heavy churns onto the low sided trucks, adding to the number that had already been collected this morning. Milk for the good people of Damcaster who would soon be rising to start their day in the Mills. The station master stood near the passenger carriage, holding the door open for Mr Forbes.

Another person who knows me, thought Jennifer, this is the problem of country life. Everybody knows everyone.

"Miss Jennifer," muttered the stationmaster as she followed Mr Forbes into the carriage. He would remember me, she thought, but then realised that if she was going to see her aunt in Edinburgh then this was exactly the route she would take. Being seen here would not ruin her deception. But she needed to be more careful at Damcaster and make sure nobody saw her getting onto the London train.

There were four rows of seats in the carriage. It was just a little rural carriage where the railway company expected only a few people each morning. Jennifer was hoping to sit at the opposite end to Mr Forbes but it wasn't to be, unless she was prepared to be rude.

"Come and sit wi' me, lass," said Mr Forbes, patting the seat and sliding so that the space next to the window was free. "What brings you out this early?"

Mr Forbes ran the local dairy and often visited Damcaster in his official duties. Married, respectable, and thoroughly boring, he was nonetheless a local worthy who had visited the Manor on many occasions. There was nothing for it but to accept his offer. Especially since he immediately offered to help lift her carpetbag onto the luggage rack above their heads. As they both heaved the bag onto the rack their hands touched, just a brief contact. Mr Forbes gave a slight gasp and, once the bag was securely on the rack, thumped down into his seat as if shocked.

Jennifer sat next to him, trying to leave a gap. Mr Forbes had just reacted in a very unusual way. Was it because he had touched her, she wondered? The train chose that moment to set off, a spinning of the driving wheels showing the heavy load for the small engine. Then they were slowly picking up speed and Jennifer looked out of the windows at the beautiful summer's morning.

"Are ye headn' for Damcaster, lass?" asked Mr Forbes.

Jennifer felt quite rebellious now and contemplated replying that this was their trains' destination. Where else would she be going? But she knew what he meant was 'are you going to Damcaster for the day, or further afield?'

"I am going to visit my aunt in Edinburgh," she replied. "It is a long journey so I have set off as early as I could manage."

It wasn't totally a lie, she'd set off early for a long journey south, but she was intrigued the way that her imagination was adding to the tale. Soon she might add that her aunt was ill and she was going to nurse her. Mr Forbes looked at her very intently. Could he tell she was lying?

The train crossed some points and the carriage swayed. Their shoulders rubbed together for a moment. Then the engine driver gave two sharp blasts on the whistle and they were plunged into the darkness of the Fairfield Tunnel.

Jennifer felt a hand on her breast. A quick rub, but definitely a solid touch. The carriage was still swaying from crossing the points but that shouldn't have done more than make them bump shoulders. Then she felt a hand on her skirt, gently dragging at it to stroke the thigh underneath. Light returned and Mr Forbes was sitting in his place with his hands in his lap. Looking particularly innocent.

Did I imagine it? Jennifer was confused. Did the sudden darkness take her back to her father's hands on her body? It seemed unlikely. There were, she knew, two more tunnels before they reached Damcaster. One short one, like the one they had just gone through, and a much longer one under Scardine Fell. Oh well, either she accused Mr Forbes of accosting her, or she put up with it. If you took away the shock of being touched without permission then the feeling was quite nice.

Two toots on the whistle announced the second tunnel and she relaxed back into her seat. Almost the instant the light faded, and the smoke from the engine made the carriage smell like a old fireplace long neglected, the hands were back. This time the one on her chest was pushing downwards into her top which, due to the hot weather, she was wearing only loosely tied. It cupped her breast and she felt fingers running over her nipple.

The other hand could not penetrate the layers of skirts. Mr Forbes would have needed an arm long enough to touch the floor of the carriage and then either return up inside her underwear, or lift three layers of skirt to her waist. The hand satisfied itself by following the curve of her thigh until it pushed into her crotch. Her sex was rubbed and pressed a little by this. It felt nice.

Light returned and this time Mr Forbes was a little slow. Jennifer saw his hands darting back into his lap. He was very naughty but Jennifer wanted to make him squirm.

"Oh Mr Forbes," she said. "It is strange. When we go into the tunnels I have a feeling on my body. Surely there are no vermin in this carriage."

Only the one sat beside me, she thought. Then she had an insight. The Vicar had touched her, and promptly ran off to propose marriage. Her father had touched her, and visited her room that night. And she had touched Mr Forbes when he helped to put her bag on the rack. What if these things were not coincidences, what if the Ring was making this happen?

Time for a test. If this was the case then she, perhaps, should not blame Mr Forbes for his outrageous behaviour.

"I am feeling a little faint, Mr Forbes," she fibbed, laying one hand over his. "Please help me during the next tunnel. I need to be held."

Mr Forbes looked at her and she watched as his eyes dilated and his breath came quicker. Just like the Vicar and her father.

"I will, mistress Jennifer," he gasped. "Lean your head on me shoulder. I will... help... you through the Longstone Tunnel. Just let yourself relax into my arms and dinna worry if I have to move them aboot. It is all to keep you safe.. and happy."

A few seconds later and the engine gave two whistles. Jennifer was plunged again into darkness. Mr Forbes, sitting on her left, put his right hand around her waist and pulled her close, making her body lean towards him. Then his left hand plunged into her bodice and his fingers were caressing her bosom. Each breast was given a good feel and he paid particular attention to her nipples. It was not unpleasant as an experience, Jennifer thought, and would never have happened normally. Mr Forbes had no reputation for gallivanting. It had to be the effect of the ring.

Then his hand was removed. Had he recovered his senses, Jennifer wondered? There was a few moments when he seemed to be pulling at his own clothing and then his hand returned. Not to delve into her bodice but to slide down her forearm until he found her wrist. Then her hand was lifted and moved across. He pressed it down into his lap and she felt warm flesh, his manhood. Before she could object he started to rub her hand up and down his length. She could feel the hairs in his crotch and his thick shaft, and the fat, rounded head. It was very warm and twitched under her fingers.

What should I do, she thought? Grasp it, or just let him move my hand to and fro? Then his right hand left her waist and moved up to her neck. A gentle pressure was applied, pushing her head down towards Mr Forbes' lap. She gasped and, under the direction of his fingers, her left hand grasped his manhood. Mr Forbes groaned with pleasure. Now his manhood was upright with her fingers tight around the fat shaft, and - because it was upright - the distance between her mouth and it had reduced. His right hand steered her closer and then, oh, she was touching the head with her lips.

She tasted a salty liquid and smelled a deep, musk like, odour. There was a gentle but persistent pressure on her neck and she understood that she was supposed to open her mouth. Was this what her stepmother had done for her father last night? Would Mr Forbes require her to bob her head up and down? And what would his manhood taste of?

With a single blast on the whistle the milk train came out into the light.

"Blast!" swore Mr Forbes.

Jennifer was released and he quickly tucked his manhood back into his trousers. She had a quick glimpse of a thick, dark shaft and black pubic hairs before it disappeared from sight. Mr Forbes stood up, adjusted his clothes, and pulled Jennifer's carpetbag down from the rack. Then his own briefcase. He sat down with the briefcase on his lap, covering up the bulge that still threatened to cause him embarrassment. There were just a couple of minutes now before they arrived at Damcaster station.

"Thank you for keeping me safe," Jennifer said.

"That tunnel's shorter than I remember it," grumped Mr Forbes.

"Yes," replied Jennifer. "The time just flew by."

"If you ever find yourself near the dairy," he smiled. "I would happily give you a tour of the milking shed and the churn store. A long tour."

"That would be lovely, Mr Forbes," Jennifer smiled at him.

The train started to slow and, as she contemplated his words, she wondered what adventures the ring would take her on. It was now clear that she must not touch any man, not unless she wanted him to desire her. Would there be time in Damcaster to buy a pair of gloves?

--o--

The train jerked to a halt and a porter opened the door. Jennifer stepped down, avoiding both men's attempts to help her. It would be bad to make them desire her on the open platform in front of everyone. She bade Mr Forbes farewell and headed for the ticket office.

Mr Forbes watched her go, unable to understand why he was so passionate about a young, plump girl that he had never seen as a possible lover. He was happily married, he reminded himself, but he had been prepared to risk it all for a mouth fuck. What was wrong with him? He walked out of the station and, slowly, the desire for Jennifer faded in his mind. By the time he reached the office he had persuaded himself that it was just a moment of madness, best forgotten. And certainly best never mentioned.

Clutching her ticket to London, Jennifer sat on a bench waiting for the train. She placed her ticket into her little bag and then delved into her carpetbag for her gloves. Dragging them out she realised they wouldn't work.

It was early morning, the platform was warm, and there seemed no doubt that the day would be very sunny. The gloves were mittens, made from sheepskin, perfect for a chilly winter's day but completely inappropriate for today. They would stop her touching anyone, but they would look so silly and there was a danger they would make people stare, and remember. 'Oh yes,' they would say. 'We remember the strange girl whom you describe, she was wearing mittens on a summer's day.' Jennifer put them back in the bag. She would just have to cope without them. There was not the time to visit a glovers in Damcaster. But, when she was in London, there would be time.

The train arrived. It had already done many miles today and it stopped by the water tower to refill. It consisted of three grand coaches, a long parcel van, and a stubby brake van at the rear. Jennifer strode down the platform looking for an empty compartment which, to her delight, she found. There were beginning to be tales in the newspapers of a problem with the current rolling stock. Each carriage had four compartments but they did not connect. Nor did a carriage connect to the next. Once you were in your compartment you were stuck there until the train arrived at the next station, and there had been stories of ladies trapped with several men that Jennifer had been too frightened to read. But, if she could find an empty compartment, then at least the first part of the journey would be witthout risk.

She settled into the compartment and put her own bag up on the overhead rack. She wasn't going to be caught a second time with the possibility of an accidental touch. The porter came down the platform, closing all the doors, and the sound of the stationmaster's whistle rang out loud. She settled back, she was alone.

Fifteen minutes later the train stopped at the next station, Workfield. There were several stops on this service, even though it was the express, and her door was opened. She glanced over, hoping it was a lady getting on, or perhaps an elderly married couple, but it was the Conductor.

"Mornin' miss," he said. He was about the same age as her father and reminded her a little of him. Which made her think. What was her father doing now? Had her parents discovered her escape? Or was she being left in her room, without breakfast, as a punishment until she could be promised to the Vicar? In a way she hoped that the latter was the case, it would be a longer time before her escape was discovered.

"Good morning," she replied.

"Can I see your ticket please, miss?" he enquired. "I must check it, and clip it."

He had a small metal device in his hand. He would make a cut along the edge of the pasteboard ticket so that it could not be reused. Jennifer was feeling very nervous, though there was nothing illegal about what she was doing. But a young woman, travelling alone, might be remarked upon. Should she say something, or keep quiet? She got her little bag out and opened it, withdrawing the ticket, but - in her nervousness - as she passed it to the conductor, it dropped from her fingers onto the seat beside her.

The Conductor reached for the ticket, Jennifer reached for the ticket, and their hands touched. A long stroke across the back of her hand. At the same moment a porter slammed the door of the carriage shut and there was a flurry of whistles, a waving of green flags, and the train started to move.

"Sorry miss," apologised the Conductor. "I will have to stay here until the next stop. But... it will give me the opportunity to properly clip your ticket."

"Oh," replied Jennifer, knowing that she had made him desire her. Or rather the Ring had. Was it determined to follow her wish on every occasion?

He picked up the ticket and, with a deft snip, it was clipped. Then he looked at her, and licked his lips. His eyes had that dilated look she had now got used to seeing. He seemed to be struggling to think.

"Er..." he said. "Er... Railway regulations require me to check for illegal substances being transported by our trains. I must check that you are not carrying any."

Jennifer had no idea if this was true but, if he wanted to check her carpetbag, then she was happy for him to do so. There was definitely nothing in there that might count as contraband. No strange drugs from Marrakesh, no jewels stolen from a one-eyed God from India, no illegal firearms, just clothes and a few books.

She stood up, turned away from him, and reached up to get her bag.

"That's just fine, miss," said the Conductor. "Keep your arms up there." He put his hands both sides of her torso, just under the armpits, and patted and stroked her all the way down to her hips. He spent quite a while around her hips and bottom, probing between her buttocks for, presumably, contraband.

"Oh that's..." he started to say, then stopped. "Turn around miss," he continued, back in his official voice.

This time his hands started around her neck, then dropped to her shoulders, and around her bosom. Jennifer was confident she did not have sufficient curves there to hide anything. Now that she had seen her stepmother's breasts she believed that they were of a size that would allow a gemstone to be hidden between them, deep in the cleavage, or even under them where they sagged slightly on her chest. Jennifer had nothing like that. Nonetheless the Conductor spent a long time exploring every curve, however little. Then he stroked her tummy and pushed his hand down between her legs. The skirts resisted him.