The Devotee

(This one is a little longer. It had to be, because we get through some serious story in it. Not to mention quite a bit of sex.

The Battle of Colenso was an 1899 battle in the Second Boer War. Thanks to disastrous command decisions, a large British force got its ass thoroughly kicked by a smaller force of Boer guerrillas. Jack Page's bitterness is understandable.

The Lustful Turkis a real book.

Note that £2 in 1905 is about £315 in 2026, and £3 then is about £473 now.)

*

From the diary of Edith Fawcett

Sunday 25 June 1905

Mr Squire spent the night in London, and is returning this afternoon. So, I spent the morning exploring his library.

It is magnificent. An education can be had in this room, and I refreshed my memory of some of the finest poetry in the language.

However, while at the top of a ladder, examining some curios of Elizabethan literature, I discovered that the shelf swung outward, and revealed another shelf hidden behind it, which proved to contain a remarkable selection of what I can only describe as erotic literature.

I had no idea that Mr Squire was interested in this kind of thing, but one supposes that it would make sense for him to find erotic stimulation in books, rather than in life.

I started leafing through one volume, an apparently early 19th century novel titledThe Lustful Turk.

It was little more than a shapeless chronicle of libertinism, riddled with hoary clichés about sex-crazed oriental folk, but my eyes were shockingly and permanently opened to anatomical configurations of the male and female body that had literally never occurred to me.

I am not entirely sure if I would want to engage in them myself, but, however much pleasure they actually create--because of course the book represented them as being thrillingly pleasurable if scandalously illicit--one of them did have the advantage that anyone regularly engaging in it, rather than in conventional intercourse, would run less risk of becoming pregnant.

Still. I read the book at great speed and replaced it carefully, then put the shelf back that covered this array of erotica, and descended the ladder a somewhat more experienced woman, my imagination having been comprehensively and rather violently deflowered.

Monday 26 June 1905

It was a little cooler today.

I lunched with Mr Squire, being all too conscious of my fatal susceptibility to the animal attraction of Mr Page.

No, not 'animal'. We have talked little, but he is attentive, gentle and polite, and clearly he has experience in how to pleasure a woman, as he certainly knows how to pleasure me.

But when we meet in some private place, some demonic chemistry overtakes us, and we cannot control ourselves, but must yield to it, and cleave to each other.

After a solid afternoon's work on Mr Squire's childhood, he and I finished in an excellent mood. It was a balmy evening and, the builders having gone home, I decided to take a walk.

I wandered through the fields, being careful not to damage the flourishing wheat (I am teaching myself what crops are grown around here).

Then, at about half past six, when it was time for me to return to Curl House and dress for dinner, I happened to pass through a gap in a hedge, in a corner of a field where some trees formed a small glade, a long way from habitation

Here, I came face to face with Mr Page, who was evidently taking a walk of his own.

'Mr Page.'

'Miss.'

'You are talking a walk, then.'

'I am.'

'A lovely evening.'

'That it be,' he said.

We stood there for a moment, tense.

'Mr Page,' I said, staring at the ground, 'we must not always yield to temptation.'

'No, miss,' he said. ''Tis not wise to.'

'And yet I am tempted.'

'So am I, miss.'

I raised my eyes and looked him up and down.

He returned my gaze.

Well, dear diary, moments later we were on the grassy floor of the glade, removing the last of each other's undergarments, and once more, I was drinking in the sight of his supple and muscular form.

But, while I was already both resigned to, and ecstatic about, the prospect of coition, I maintained some presence of mind.

'Mr Page,' I said.

'Jack,' he gasped.

'Mr Page,' I said, 'I cannot express how important it is that I not become pregnant.'

He hesitated. We stared at each other, he beneath me, I atop him.

'That's fair, miss,' he said, his face flushed. 'I don't wish to bring that upon thee.'

I looked down at him, his penis already more than half-erect, and I had an idea.

'We shall be safe,' I said, and I rotated myself, so that my face was over his groin, and my vulva over his face.

'Is this satisfactory,' I panted.

'Yes, miss,' he said, and he pulled my hips down to his face, and I felt him tonguing me.

I, for my part, opened my mouth and took his penis inside.

It was far from easy, as I had never done this before.

At first, his length reached to the back of my throat and touched my gag reflex, which was highly unpleasant. Then, the impulse to bite down upon him was almost irresistible, but I sensed he would probably not appreciate it.

I soon learned to put myself in his position, and imagine what I could do that might arouse him, and I formed my mouth into the shape of a kiss, and drew my lips along the length of his penis, so that the friction might arouse him.

This seemed to be effective, just as his steady licking and tonguing of the flesh around my clitoris was highly effective upon me. I shut my eyes and gave in to it, clutching his strong thighs and muscular buttocks.

The thought crossed my mind that I might invite him to use me, as the lustful Turks in the titular novel used their fair English victims, by letting him penetrate meper ano, but it occurred to me that he might be repelled by the idea, and in any case, I did not feel quite ready to engage in something so utterly depraved.

So, instead, he and I used our mouths on each other, and then, with great satisfaction, I felt my pleasure building, and overspilling, and flooding me, and his hips jerking beneath me, faster and faster, and then he groaned and I felt that he, too, was about to climax. And I relaxed and gasped with joy, as my body was suffused with pleasure.

And then it occurred to me that he might ejaculate inside my mouth, and I feared that I might choke, so I withdrew his penis from my mouth and looked down at it.

At which point--and I really should have predicted that this would happen--he ejaculated copiously into my face.

I closed my eyes as his semen splashed over my forehead, nose, eyelids and lips. It was disgraceful and humiliating, yet... curiously satisfying.

I hung there, my upper body raised on my elbows, my eyes closed, feeling it drip off me, cooling and congealing.

Then I got off him, and we sat up.

'Oh,' he said, sounding contrite, 'beg pardon.'

'It's quite all right,' I said, sitting there, my chest rising and falling, my eyes shut, letting it sit on my face. 'I brought this upon myself.'

Only after my breathing had become less laboured did I reach up and wipe the stuff out of my eyes and blink.

I turned my head and looked at him.

'This really is terribly wrong,' I said.

He reached down and took from his breeches pocket a neatly folded handkerchief, which he handed to me. I nodded in gratitude and carefully wiped my face.

Then he extended his arm, and I shuffled over to him on my backside, and we leaned against each other, his arm around my shoulders in a friendly fashion.

'I dunno what it is,' he said simply. 'I see thee and I can't get a run of myself.'

'I am the same,' I said, laying my head on his shoulder. 'I am slightly appalled. Yet I don't wish I had not done it.'

'Me neither.'

'Thank you for helping me to not get pregnant.'

'I wunt worry too much bout that,' he said.

'Why?'

'Well,' he said, 'I were married, when I were younger. We were set on 'avin' a child. But it never 'appened. In the end, she left me. She were with another bloke, and within six months, she were 'avin' his baby. Now got six.'

'I'm so sorry,' I said.

'Well, she bain't what she were,' he said. 'I saw her last month. Right lost her figure.'

'I should think so,' I said, smacking him lightly on the leg, 'after six children. Be fair.'

'True enough,' he said. 'But, think I've got weak seed, if that makes sense.'

'Did you want a child?'

'Oh, aye. Dint 'ave to be a son, neither. I'd've liked a daughter runnin' around. See 'er grow up, see what the world be like for 'er. Better than it were for my mum, I 'ope.'

'What happened with your mother?'

'Married my dad,' he said. 'He were a right shit-pot. Scuse my language.'

'What was wrong with him?"

'Drank. Fought. Hit us. He were no good. I got out soon as I could. Took the shillin'.'

'You were in the army?'

'Got to be sergeant. I were at Colenso.'

'What was that like?'

'I'll never 'ave no bloody toff over me again, tellin' me what to do,' he said, with great depth of feeling.

I looked at him. His face was impassive, but I could tell he was in the grip of strong emotion. I took his hand.

We sat there in silence.

'You are a good man, Jack,' I said.

'Thank you, miss,' he said.

'Edith,' I said. 'For god's sake.'

He laughed quietly.

'Thank you, Edith,' he said.

'Why must we not do this,' I said. 'I mean, I do feel that we mustn't, but I find it hard to put into words.'

'Because we onlyfancyeach other,' he said.

'Ahh,' I said, and he was right.

'I don't want to be with no one. Not proper, like. I'm alone but I ain't lonely. I like bein' alone. And I like you, but...'

'Yes.'

'You're young, an' you deserve someone'll be all yours. Not I. We fancy each other, but...'

'We are weak,' I sighed.

'Reckon that's about it,' he said. 'Your fault for bein' so comely.'

'You are quite comely yourself, you know.'

'This were a kind of madness,' he said. 'I'd never wish we 'adn't done it, but...'

'Yes. It was foolish, but I have no regrets.'

We turned to each other and embraced, affectionately.

He is a very easy person to be with. It is just that I cannot seem to achieve this ease, without first having vigorous sexual intercourse with him.

'I must go back to the house,' I said. 'It is nearly time for dinner.'

'And I'm for my tea,' he said. 'But, afore we do that.'

And then, to his great amusement, and my mild amusement and embarrassment, he made a fuss of cleaning the remaining traces of his semen from my face and hair. Then we dressed.

We walked back to the road, chatting like friends, then we parted company.

Back at Curl House, I washed and dressed myself in record time, and had a very pleasant dinner with Mr Squire before retiring, somewhat spent, at ten o'clock, where I am now, writing this entry.

So that, I think, marks the end of my brief, foolish but, on the whole, rewarding fling with Mr Jack Page.

*

From the diary of Ida Plank:

Tuesday 27 June 1905

So im goin to rite this down as wot append today an leev out my feelins about it.

I wos doin some lawndry when kate sez Mrs F wantid to talk to me. So i goes up to her study and nock and she sez, come in.

I come in and theres my Tennyson book on er desk.

She sez, I was in your chambers and i found this. where did you get this.

I sez, i got givn it.

She sez, wy do you ly to me.

I sez, im not lyin i got givn it.

She sez, you stole this book from Mr Squiar did you not.

I sez, no, e give it me.

She sez, egaveit to you. Like shes askin a qwestion. She sez gave very loud.

Yes, i sez, e gave it to me.

She sez, you are a filthy little lyer, Ida Plank, an you are dismissed imeejitly from our serviss.

I sez, im not lyin, e gave it to me, look inside, e wrote in it so peepul wud know.

She opens it and reads what e wrote.

I watch er.

It wos like i could see er brain workin to see ow she could get out of this.

She looks up at me and sez, there as been a miss understandin.

I sez nothin.

She sez, it is not your folt, ida, you have just faild to understand what mr squiar ment to do. E ment you to give this to me.

I sez nothin.

She sez, he rote that e opes it will give pleasure to the reader.

She sez, you are not a reader ida. you are a maid. I am the reader.

I want to say somethin but she olds up a and.

I do not blame you, she sez. You cannot be xpectid to understand how people of our sort think. But this book was ment for me. Not you. And I shall trezhur it for ever. For unlike you I know its true worth. And in fact, mister squiar askd me not long ago what I thawt of it an I ad to ask him what e ment, for of corse i had not reseeved the book. Witch is wy I had you come ere.

She put the book down on er desk.

I was so stonished she wud ly like that i honest

i did not know where to look

It dint even make sense. First she sez i stole it, then she sez he askd er why she adnt got it.

Does she think i am bloomin stupid

Make up that in front of me

Fuckin cheek of er

That is all, she sez. You may go.

I curtsyd. As i was turnin round i saw er reach for the india rubbr on er desk and start rubbin out in the book wot mr squiar rote to me.

I went back to the lawndry went back to work.

An as i went it was like i ad this i dunno wot

growin on my back

and on the back of my neck

like it was takin me over an makin me want to hit somethin

An i let it grow.

Becos this was not rite.

Kate comes out and sez, wot did she want.

I sez, she wantid to steal my book. An she did.

*

Lionel Squire to Mary Freehold

Wednesday 28 June 1905

My dear Mary,

Many thanks for your letter. Once again, I am grateful for your concern for my welfare, but I can assure you that Karlin & Sons are a most excellent firm, and are being most meticulous.

A will is not an easy thing to draw up, especially when one feels, as I do, that I am still in fine enough health to have something to offer the world, but Mr Karlin and his sons are tremendously attentive and patient, and I have every confidence in them.

I am sure that you have every proper confidence in Johnny's cousin's firm, but I feel it would be wrong to change such very healthy horses in a stream that is, at present, little more than a rill. I do not doubt that when you reflect upon this, you will see that I am not being hopelessly unrealistic.

While I am writing; would it be possible for you to be a little morepianoin your stream of criticism of Miss Fawcett? I confess that I don't understand your hostility toward her, except perhaps that she is here every day, while you of course cannot be. I can only say that she has my full confidence, and that she performs her duties with alacrity, as well as being a pleasant companion at dinner. I can hardly ask her to be anything more, but she is nonetheless these things.

Still, it pains me that you do not see her value. Be assured, dear Mary, that it is nonetheless real.

Your very affectionate friend,

Lionel

*

From the diary of Edith Fawcett:

Friday 30 June 1905

The work on the pool has been proceeding very well.

I arose at dawn this morning and went for a swim.

I plunged in, naked, and exercised vigorously in the water for several minutes. Then I surfaced.

On looking around, I saw Jack Page at the water's edge.

Any other man would have frightened me. But I extended my hand to him.

He disrobed, and entered the water, and we embraced. We swam, then embraced again, and I took his penis in my mouth, underwater, but that proved to be a choking hazard.

We tried various positions, but the one that was most effective was when I stood before him with my back to him, and floated, and he entered me from the rear, and pumped into me while stroking my glans, while I for my part ducked my head repeatedly underwater. This was most deliciously sensual, and with an edge of exquisite humiliation. We both achieved climax.

Then he walked out of the pool and left me there, floating face down, spent, naked, quite abased, and shamefully satisfied.

... I think I should leave the countryside for a bit.

*

Edith Fawcett to Ida Plank

Friday 30 June 1905

Dear Ida,

I hope you are well. I am sorry that you have not replied to my letters, but I understand that you must have your reasons, and I respect them. I would like to have been told them, but, again, I must accept that you have clearly made your decision.

I will always remember, with great pleasure, our conversation by the pool, earlier this summer, and for my own part, whether you consider me a friend or not, I will always consider you one of mine.

If you should ever require my assistance in anything, I will be most happy to help, if I can; and if I cannot, I shall spare no effort to find someone who can help you.

I hope that you can find the time to let me know if anything I did caused you to not reply to my letters, and if there is anything I can do to remedy it, because I would dearly like our friendship to resume.

With great and affectionate remembrance,

Edith Fawcett

*

Mary Freehold to Edith Fawcett

Tuesday 4 July 1905

Miss Fawcett,

Oblige me by ceasing to write letters to my maid.

I have been receiving your letters to her since the beginning of last month.

I threw them away unopened, since she has no business receiving letters from people. I had thought that that might deter you, but I opened and read your most recent one.

I have no idea what you imagine passed between you and her in your 'conversation beside the pool', and I have no interest in knowing.

Ida Plank is a stupid, illiterate slattern and, moreover, a thief.

I keep her in my employ only because she is acceptably efficient at her job. She has no interest in being distracted from her minimally worthy existence by the attention of a pretentious bluestocking, who imagines herself to be a friend of the working classes.

I know your sort. You pretend to love working folk, while secretly despising them. You give them false hopes of raising themselves above their natural station in life, and then blame respectable, hardworking persons such as myself for 'keeping them down', while patting yourselves on the back for your good intentions.

You are the worst sort of socialist agitator, a corrupting influence in society. It beggars belief why Mr Squire thinks you good at your job, but I can only suppose that you are good at typing.

Do not attempt to write to my household again, or I shall complain to Mr Squire about your constant and malevolent harassment.

Yrs, etc.

Mary Freehold

*

From the diary of Edith Fawcett:

Thursday 6 July 1905

I have received a most shocking letter from Mrs Freehold.

I have not told Mr Squire about it. I fear it would wound him.

I had written a fourth letter to Ida, earnestly asking if I had done anything to offend or hurt her, and practically begging her to write back.

I did not receive a letter back from her.

Instead, I received a letter from her employer, bluntly ordering me to stop writing to her, informing me that she had passed none of the previous letters to Ida, talking about her in the most insulting terms (calling her a 'thief', which if untrue is surely actionable), and calling me a 'pretentious bluestocking' and, worse, a socialist.

I am not a socialist, but I am sorely tempted to become one, when a blustering bully such as Mrs Freehold presumes to lecture me about what she imagines to be my attitudes towards society.