The Devotee

From the diary of Edith Fawcett:

Tues 16 May 1905

Another glorious day. I had another dawn swim, which refreshed me greatly, and after only a brief nap back at the house, I was the first down to breakfast.

Mr Squire and I had a good deal of correspondence to deal with, and we were finished by eleven, whereupon I walked down to the village and posted his letters.

After a light lunch, he, Mrs Freehold and Mr Squire and I walked in the garden.

Mr Squire pointed out an unfinished part of the house, the southwest wing.

What had been a secondary drawing room had been begun to be converted by the previous owner into a Turkish bath, but the project had never been finished, partly because of neglect on the owner's part and partly because of the very lack of funds that had caused them to sell the house in the first place.

Mr Squire has no desire for a Turkish bath, but the incomplete wing bothers him, and he expressed the wish that it be converted into a small indoor swimming pool, as he wishes to be able to exercise during the winter months.

Mrs Freehold immediately adopted the role of guardian of Mr Squire's interests, warning him of the urgent danger of being, as she put it, 'fleeced' by local contractors.

Mr Squire listened to this with a patient smile, and asked me to make enquiries about local builders, and also an engineer, to see if building a swimming pool in a private residence is even possible. I undertook to do this. It will be an interesting project, while I wait for us to begin work on the memoir.

At dinner, Mrs Freehold complained at considerable length about the difficulties her husband is having with a lawsuit against a journalist for theTimes, who has written an article raising questions about how Mr Freehold, in his capacity as a minister of state, was able, on his minister's salary alone, to afford improvements on their home and a new motor car. Mrs Freehold's attitude is that since Mr Freehold is a minister of state, reports of him engaging in improper activity is an insult to the government, and therefore injurious to the state, and therefore to the people, and that the journalist in question needs to be punished swiftly and vigorously for what she regards as little short of treason.

I listened to this, and was somewhat puzzled. It seems to me that, if Mr Freehold may have misappropriated public funds for his personal benefit, there is a public benefit in an inquiry as to whether or not he did in fact do that. When I ventured to suggest this to her, her manner changed dramatically towards me, and she went from (as one might say) imaginary Headmistress to a school in which, in her mind, I am a pupil, to Police Agent confronting a Threat to the Nation. She asked me if I am a socialist. I replied, truthfully, that I am not, but that I do have some sympathy with the Labour Representation Committee.

For some time after that, she stopped directing remarks at me at all, but merely darted looks of suspicion at me, until, after three and a half more glasses of claret, she seemed to forget her fears with respect to me and behaved as though I were merely invisible. When our little party broke up, she bade me an airy goodnight, addressing me as 'Miss Hackett', about which I did not attempt to correct her.

I find that as long as I leave longish intervals between glasses of wine, and drink plenty of good Kent water in between times, I do not become intoxicated.

It was, all in all, a most interesting evening.

*

From the diary of Ida Plank:

Wed 17 May 1905

I do wunder when we are goin ome.

O i ave so much to tel but i will leev it til after this story.

I was in the kitchin after brekfass tryin to reed mr tuppers book. I feel i ort to make a go of it seein as i was givn it but its so ard goin.

An then wot appuns but mr squier come in an sees me. I am most put off cos he is the master of the ouse and i am but a maid on a vizzit.

O dont mind me miss, e sez, i just cum to get sum lemmon for the tea.

I dunno wot to do cos its not my ouse and i am only a maid. So i just nod and go back to my book. E goes to a cubberd and gets some lemmons.

And then he duz a straynj thing.

E sez, my deer girl, may i arsk, wot are you reedin.

I sez, sir, it is mr tuppers proverbial philosophy.

E sez, i see, and pray, wy are you reedin that.

I thawt about this an i thawt to tell the truth.

I sez, sir, i ave no letters, and i wish to lern to rite, and i ask Mrs Freehold wot is a good book to reed, and she gev me this.

E sez, i see, and do you find it ard to reed.

I sez, yes sir, but my eyes aint the best.

E sez, wy do you not ave specktickles.

I sez, i cant aford specktickles sir.

E sez, that is fair, but specktickles or no specktickles, do you like it? Does it pleez you?

I dunno wot to say.

E sez, there is no rong anser, my deer girl, do you like it or no?

I sez, i dunno sir, they tole me it was the best thawts in the best words, wot do I no.

E sez, but, my deer girl, never mind wot other peepul say it is, does it bild you up. Does it make you luv life and luv words.

I give up and i sez, no sir it dont. Its borin.

E sez, may i, an e olds out is and.

I gev im the book an e looks at it. E duz this face. Like e thawt what i thawt.

E sez, my deer girl, i think i ave sumthin you might injoy more. Wait ere wun mowment.

E goes off, with the book, and i sit there worryin, an e comes back with another book wot is smaller and redder.

E sez, please except this with my complemence.

I look at it and it sez on the edge, Tennyson, Idylls of the King.

I sez, O sir i cudden take this.

E sez, it is mine to give. An i think it is far finer than poor mister tupper, who if you arsk me is a sorry thing to ave to reed wen you ave only one book.

I open it up an e says, skip that bit, go to the comin of arfur.

So i turn the pages and i get to that bit, an it is much much better than mister tupper. I mean its proper poe tree.

I am most moovd an i sez, thank you so much sir, this looks like a good book.

E sez, it is a verry good book, i met the awther long ago. He gev it to me when i was abowt your age.

Sir, I sez, cud you do me the onner, and rite in this book that you gev it to me.

E sez, why sertinly, but i do not think it will gayn more valyoo by avin my name in it.

I sez, no sir, its not that, its just no one wil beleev its mine if you dont say you gev it to me.

He stoppd then and e lookd sad.

Im sorry, e sez, i dont no yore full name.

I sez, Ida Plank.

He looks at me for a bit and then nods, an then e looks around an he finds the cooks pencil, an e rites in it. Then he give me it.

On the page theres some old ritin which I just abowt made out.

'To Lionel Squire, with (somethin somethin), Alfred Tennyson D.C.L., 1859'

Underneath that, wot he just rote.

'To Ida Plank, from Lionel Squire. With great respect and in the hope that it pleases its reader. 16 May 1905.'

I sez, im very graitful sir, thank you so much.

E sez, i ope one day you shall rite somethin, miss plank.

I shud be keen to reed it.

An e goes.

Wot a gent.

An now i ave a good book.

*

From the diary of Edith Fawcett:

Friday 19 May 1905

Before I write about other events of the day, I must relay an extraordinary encounter I had this morning.

I have already mentioned the splendid summer weather. The lengthening days have forced me to rise even earlier if I wish to have a dawn swim, which I confess is becoming something of a habit.

This morning I rose, put on a nightdress, a robe and shoes and brought a towel down to the pool among the trees. There I undressed and entered the water and found it as refreshing an invigorating as ever. The water is quite cold after the night; I am sure it would be rather pleasant to indulge in these aquatic cavortings in the late afternoon, after the sun has had time to heat the water, but apart from the privacy afforded by the early morning, I relish the shock of going from the pleasant morning air to the chill water.

But this time, after some ten minutes of swimming and somersaults and immersing myself, I had the uncomfortable sensation that someone was watching me.

I was at first alarmed, and then I recovered my composure and tried to survey the encircling undergrowth to see if my suspicions were based on evidence. After some moments, I finally detected what looked like a white shirt, behind a thick bush.

I considered my options.

I was not so very far from the house. If my voyeur were a man, he would be very foolish indeed to have the effrontery to make himself known to me. If the voyeur were a voyeuse, on the other hand... but that did not seem terribly likely.

After weighing up the possible courses of action, it seemed to me that the wisest choice was to behave as if I were unaware of being watched.

If the voyeur happened to be indulging in some private stimulation using me as his visual reference, that was unpleasant and disgusting, certainly, but not so unpleasant and disgusting as a confrontation in which I might be manhandled. I have some knowledge of self-defence and was confident that, with anyone but a much larger assailant, I could preserve my virtue. But still.

The best approach was therefore to finish my swim as if I were quite unaware of being watched, and then dress and return to the house, and regretfully decide that these morning swims had to be abandoned because of the presence of unwanted observers.

I had been crouching in the water up to my neck during this process of ratiocination, and on reaching a decision, I stood up straight and shook out my hair, to get some of the water out of it.

And then, to my surprise, my observer stepped out into plain view.

To my even greater surprise, it turned out to be Ida, Mrs Freehold's maid.

She stood on the grass by the edge of the pool, hunched forward as usual, and stared at me. She was wearing a white blouse and a dark skirt and boots. She did not move.

I was standing in the water up to my hips, with my hands raised, combing out my hair with my fingers. It seemed rather foolish to try and cover myself. I was more or less fully exposed.

She made no sound.

'Hello,' I said.

She did not answer.

'Would you like to join me?' I said, and then quietly cursed myself for asking such a transparently absurd question.

There was a long pause, and then her head twitched once, laterally, in what I recognised as a negative shake of the head.

'I was just finishing my swim,' I said.

'I 'ad to see yer,' she said in a hoarse voice.

'I see,' I said.

'Yer so...' she said, and stopped. I looked closely and realised that she appeared to be shaking slightly.

'So what,' I said.

'So lovely,' she said.

'Thank you,' I said, 'although I can assure you, there are lovelier.'

'No,' she said. I realised, then, that she was actually weeping.

'My dear girl,' I said, and began to walk out of the water, 'whatever is the matter?'

''M sorry,' she gulped. 'I know I shouldn't've.'

'Yes, it is a bit wrong to spy on people when they are bathing, but, for my part, I suppose I could have worn a bathing suit, and I didn't, so let us say we are both at fault,' I said. I reached the grass and picked up my towel and started to dry myself.

She was still standing some twenty feet away. I walked over. Her bright dark eyes were peering at me. She has a rather pleasing, serious face.

'Yer so lovely,' she said again.

'Again,' I said, 'thank you. Why do you cry?'

'We're goin' back to London,' she burst out, 'an' I was afraid I wouldn't talk to you but I saw you come down 'ere and I thought I'd follow and, and say somefin' but only when I got 'ere I realised you was swimmin' and then I was embarrassed an' I 'id but I couldn't go away.'

'Well,' I said, 'now we are talking, so the awkward part is over. Shall we sit down?'

We sat down together on the grass. I knew I should really cover myself with my towel, but from the evidently heroic effort she was making to not openly stare at my naked body, but keep her eyes on my face, I felt that I could put her at her ease by behaving as though my nakedness were perfectly normal.

'Surely,' I said, 'there is some nice chap, with whom you have an agreement?'

'I don't like men,' she said bluntly.

Ah, I thought.

'You dislike all men?'

'I don't 'ate 'em,' she said, 'I just don't like 'em that way.'

Well, well, I thought, so desire will find a way, even in the East End slums, even without a shelf-ful of Sapphic literature to put one on the path.

'I see,' I said.

'D'you fink I'm bad,' she said, looking miserable.

'Not at all,' I said. 'I myself like both men and women. That way.'

She stared up at me in wonder.

'Blimey,' she said.

'So, you like me, that way,' I said.

'I fink so.'

'I'm very flattered,' I said. 'So, when you... pleasure yourself, it is women you think of?'

'When I what?'

A pang of pity went through me.

'I see,' I said. I reached out and gently took her hand in mine. Her hands were red and chapped and abnormally large.

'This,' I said, holding it up, 'is your friend. You can get a great deal of pleasure from this, simply by... touching yourself in the right place.'

She frowned.

'You just need to find a little private place and time in which to do it.'

'Ain't got much of that,' she said.

'Let me show you,' I said, and I swivelled on my sit-upon so that I was facing her, and parted my legs. Her eyes widened as she stared down at my vulva.

I confess to feeling a little thrill at being so bold and intimate with a near-stranger. But I felt that I had to pass on what I knew.

'Now, only if you would like to,' I said, 'I would like you to touch me, just around here.' I pointed to my glans.

She stared up at my face. Perhaps herself emboldened by my brazenness, she had stopped looking fearful, and now looked intent and serious.

'Just touch you,' she said.

'Stroke it, if you like,' I said. 'If you don't want to, I can do it myself, but I want to show you what happens. And I would like you to feel like you may touch me. But, only if you want to.'

She slowly reached down and began, very tentatively at first, to stroke me, and I felt a shiver of pleasure run through me and gasped slightly. The fact that I was naked and she clothed, the fact that we were outdoors, the sun rising in the eastern sky, the fact that we had only just met: all these conspired to make the experience hauntingly intimate.

Seeing how my body responded, she stroked me with more purpose.

I was breathing rather rapidly, and she looked up at me, and our eyes locked.

Her mouth was hanging slightly open, and she seemed to be peering inside me, intensely fascinated with what she could do to me. Her gaze was so piercing that I had to break away, and look at her face, with her sharp nose, and her dark lips.

She brought her right hand up, and, still gazing at me, licked her fingertips slowly, lightly tonguing her fingers, as if to taste me. Then she put her fingers down on me again, and I shivered.

There was a slight bead of moisture on the edge of her lower lip.

I was so aroused that I had to close my eyes briefly. Then, before I got too excited, I gently took her hand in mine and made her stop.

'Did I do it wrong?'

'No,' I said, 'actually, you were rather too good at it. I stopped you because... I think we do not quite know each other well enough, yet, for where that was going to lead, if you had kept on doing it.'

She nodded once and sat up, regarding me with her head tilted back slightly.

The almost electric tension between us seemed to dissipate, and I was left feeling terribly exposed and terribly, intenselyseenby her. She closed her mouth and folded her hands in her lap.

'I would like us to be good friends,' I said. 'Would you like that?'

She nodded.

'Will you write to me?'

'I'm terrible at writin',' she said.

'It does not matter. I would like to hear from you anyway. I shall write to you, and we shall meet again and talk again. If, I mean... you like?'

Her face, set in a perpetual frown, twitched at the corner of her mouth, and I realised it was part of a smile.

'Good,' I said. 'I suppose we had better get up to the house.'

'I s'pose,' she said, staring past me. 'The old trout will want 'er muffins.'

She glanced at me worriedly.

'I didn't mean...' she started.

'It's quite all right,' I said. 'I know to whom you refer. I now understand what Mr Squire said when he called her "unquestionably something of an abundance."'

She looked at me, puzzled.

'He meant, A Lot,' I said, raising my eyebrows.

And at that, she did at last smile.

'I myself have seldom turned down a muffin,' I added, standing up. She stood up too. 'But it is not easy when one's employer is a lot.'

'Mr Squire's ever so nice,' she said. ''E gave me a book 'cos I could tell 'e didn't like the one I was readin'.'

'He is ever so nice,' I said, walking over to my clothes and slipping my nightdress over my head. 'What were you reading?'

'It's called Proverbial Philosophy.'

'Ugh,' I said. 'Well, yes, it is frankly dreadful. It was very popular in the reign of the late queen, though.'

'God rest 'er soul,' she said simply.

'What book did he give you instead?'

'It's called Idles of the King.'

I was briefly puzzled.

'"Idylls", I said.'

'Right,' she said, nodding. 'Fank you, Miss Fawcett.'

'Oh, come,' I said, pulling my robe on, 'after our conversation, you need not call me that. Call me Edith. At least, when we're not in front of others.'

'Very well,' she said gravely. Her accent made her swallow the twin l's:Very we'w. 'Fank you, Ediff.'

'My pleasure, Ida,' I said, and I walked over to her.

We faced each other. I like her face; with her pointed nose, an elliptical cone affixed to a very slightly prolate spheroid.

'I know we shall be friends,' I said.

'I would love that,' she said in a low voice. She seemed to be struggling with herself, then said at last, 'May I kiss your 'and?'

'Would you like to kiss my mouth?' I said.

And in truth, I wanted her to. It is a while since anyone kissed my mouth.

She was breathing rather heavily, and after a long pause she said, 'I would prefer to kiss your 'and, if that's alright.'

'Of course,' I said, and held out my hand. She took it in hers, bent over it and kissed it fervently. Then straightened up.

'I should go first,' she said. 'Won't do to 'ave us come back togevver.'

'Good thinking,' I said. 'I shall wait a few minutes.'

'Goodbye, Ediff,' she said, backing away from me.

'Au revoir, Ida,' I said.

'Wot?'

'It means "Until we next see each other".'

'Alright then.' She was still backing away from me, evidently wanting to keep me in sight as long as possible.

'What's your last name?' I called. A resigned look came over her face.

'Don't larf,' she said. 'Plank.'

'Now I know how to address a letter to you,' I said.

She gave me a gloomy smile, then turned and strode into the trees.

... And so it seems that I have captured the heart of Mrs Freehold's maid.

I must proceed very carefully. I like her very much, but tremendously many things could go wrong about this.

Well, I shall write to her. How strange to begin an acquaintance when one is naked and exposed, and only then move to the courtesies! But we shall be parted now, which will hopefully help her recognise where her affections lie, because I can hardly think that I am her true love.

She did have a very sure touch with her fingers. ... But no more of that. I must work, and prove myself, not become a slave to carnal desire.