Laundry Tales 04: Blind Man's Buff

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Copyright jeanne_d_artois August 2008

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

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The main attraction of the former laundry room, which is my workroom as a potter, is Martha, the resident ghost. As a child I would sit on the scrubbed table and ask Martha to tell me a story. She always did. When I became an adult, she told me about incidents in the lives of people at the Hall. Each time I became a participant in the story and experienced the events exactly as that person had. This is the fourth of those adult tales.

Blind Man's Buff

I pushed the headscarf back off my forehead. I had just finished loading the kiln with my latest experiments in figurines. I shook the dust off and hitched up my large apron as I sat down to relax with a cup of coffee. I thought of Martha. I could do with another of her stories.

Martha rarely disappoints me. She didn't take long to start another of her tales.

"In the 1850s," Martha said in my head, "almost every woman in the household, even the servants, wore crinolines. The household had to adapt. Fragile items were moved to high shelves and mantelpieces out of reach of swaying skirts. Wherever possible doorways were widened although you moderns don't appreciate just how compressible crinolines were. Women could squeeze through narrow doorways if they didn't mind showing a glimpse of ankle -- and most were willing to flash an ankle if there was a handsome man nearby.

Some, influenced by the parsons railing about the immodesty of flying hems, were more prudish. This story is about one of them. Julia was a poorish cousin originally staying at the Hall to share the instruction given by the young ladies' governess and tutors. It didn't cost the family anything to have four young ladies receiving education instead of three -- except feeding Julia. The cost of food for an extra mouth, even one considered part of the family, was insignificant compared with the family fortune at that time..."

I sighed. Our family had been rich but now we relied on the income from visitors and grants from various heritage bodies. If only...

Martha continued with a sharpish note in her voice in my head. Martha didn't appreciate me losing concentration on her stories.

"Julia, now long out of the schoolroom, would have a small dowry. It certainly wouldn't attract any fortune hunters. Any potential husband would have to be able to support himself, Julia and any possible offspring. The daughters of the house were much better dowered. For them, fortune hunters were a real threat.

Julia met many eligible men when the family had parties or when everyone went to London for the Season. Her problem was that most were too eligible. They wouldn't consider a poor relation and Julia's excessive modesty didn't help. She wore long pantaloons under her dresses and kept her hems sweeping the ground at all times. No glimpses of Julia's ankles were allowed even though Julia knew that her slim ankles were much better than her rich cousins were. She only danced decorously and would refuse invitations for the more active dances when her crinoline might bounce around like a hot-air balloon in a strong wind..."

As usual with Martha's stories I was beginning to feel that I was the person Martha was talking about. I'm sitting in the red drawing room embroidering yet another cushion cover for the Parish Church. I could feel the constriction of Julia's corset, the flare of her not-too-wide crinoline, the cotton drawers sheathing my legs and a reluctance to let myself relax in company. I could also feel irritation with myself for my unreasonable modesty. What did it matter if I showed a shapely ankle? Whatever I did I couldn't outshine my cousins. Their ankles might be thicker but their dowries made them much more attractive to any suitor. They are as pretty as I am. They do dress better. Their maids make sure that they are well presented for every occasion. I do have a maid, Rachel, to help but only when she can spare time from her other duties. Rachel does her best with the limited time she has. She and I can't compete with the expertise of full-time personal maids.

The oldest of my three cousins, Helen, is engaged to be married. Rupert, her fiancé, is in the Army but will sell-up when they are married and take over the family estate from his uncle. The marriage is planned for next Spring.

Agnes is nearly the same age as me. She has two, or is it three, potential suitors all of whom have sought her father's consent. Her father wants to wait until Helen is married before agreeing to a suitor. That's really an excuse. Agnes hasn't decided which one she wants. Her father will consent only when she has made her choice. In the meantime she is enjoying playing with the affections of several men at once. Don't think that she is fickle or cruel. She is enjoying the game while it lasts. She is kind to all of them and diplomatic about allocating each some time with her. If she was in love with any of them it might be different. She isn't. She doesn't expect to be. Any of them would be suitable unless she finds someone who inspires passion.

Penelope is a couple of years younger than I am and still horse-mad. She prefers men who hunt and is more often to be found in the stables than the formal rooms of the Hall. She is just into her twenties but I don't think she considers men as anything but escorts for riding. She'll change, I'm sure, once she meets someone she likes better than a horse.

Me? I want to get married and stop being the poor relation. I wouldn't mind a simple lifestyle if it were to be our own. I have met several men whom I'd consider suitable. They looked right past me to my cousins even though their prospects were not glittering enough to be eligible.

The only person who treats me as a desirable woman is James, the estate manager's son. James understudies his father and eventually will run the estate. James asks me for dances that he knows I might consider, leaving others to get refusals for the livelier ones. I hold his hand. His hand sometimes rests briefly on my waist. I would love to guiltily snuggle into his embrace... And then my perverse modesty starts in and I shrink away.

If only...

Then the door bursts open and Agnes rushes in.

"Drop that, Julia!" Agnes squeaks. "We've got more important things to do than boring cushion covers. Papa has agreed to hold a masked ball next month. We've got to practise waltzing before then because he and Mama say the waltz is now permissible."

"Waltzing!" I splutter. "But that means being in a man's arms!"

"Exactly! Just what we want. So would you if you'd let yourself go."

I started to protest but Agnes hauled me out of the chair and flung her arms around me and swung me around. My skirts went flying outwards.

"Imagine a man doing this. You'd like it Julia, wouldn't you? I know I would."

I wriggled free and straightened my dress.

"Agnes! I'm sure the waltz can't be as hoydenish as that. If it is acceptable it must be more decorous, surely?"

"That's it. I don't know. I've never seen a waltz. Have you?"

"No. I've read about it, of course, but never seen it."

"Papa has engaged a dancing master for a couple of weeks. He'll be here tomorrow. Won't that be great, Julia?"

"Perhaps. But we can't all dance with him. If we're going to practice..."

"Oh!" Agnes paused for a second.

"But we have got men. There are the footmen..."

"I'm sure your father wouldn't permit you to dance with the footmen." I said flatly.

"You're probably right. I suppose he wouldn't. But there's your James."

"He's NOT MY James!" I retorted hotly.

"He could be... If you wanted him to be..."

Agnes was right. James could be MY James if I'd let him.

Eventually Agnes persuaded me to ask James to be a partner for the dancing lessons. She sent messages to our neighbours to find partners for herself and her sisters and to her friends to join in.

On Friday the dancing master arrived. To our great disappointment he was elderly, at least forty if he was a day, short and inclined to be stout. Perhaps those attributes had recommended him to Agnes' Papa. Our under-employed governess would play the waltzes on the piano.

That weekend the dancing master and governess practised the music. All four of us tried to learn the music so that we could play the tunes too. By Sunday our renditions were becoming less mechanical but the governess was making the waltzes seem delightful.

During Monday morning the guests arrived for a light luncheon before the lessons would start at two o'clock. The maids were in a great flurry dressing and undressing the sisters. I put on a simple dress over my widest crinoline that was still less than two-thirds of the diameter of the sisters' smallest.

I had thought that Penelope would be the slowest pupil. I was wrong. I was the worst of the class. I wouldn't let James lead me. I kept pushing him around where I wanted to go. I was so bad that we had to sit out some of the dances. When Agnes whispered in the dancing master's ear while looking at me I feared the worst. Would I be expelled from the class as unteachable?

Agnes whispered to me.

"Julia, your only problem is that you won't let James lead you. If you could, you could dance as well as any of us."

She raised her voice so James could hear too. "I've had an idea and the dancing master agrees. Could you and James come out into the corridor? Oh, bring your shawl."

Puzzled, I picked up my shawl and followed Agnes. James held the door open for us and then shut it as we stood in the corridor.

"James," said Agnes quietly, "Julia needs to learn how to be led by the gentleman she's dancing with. She has to trust you. There is a way you two can practise that..."

We looked at her, waiting. She giggled.

"It's called Blind Man's Buff. If you can't see, Julia, you'll have to let James lead you around. It would be embarrassing for you both in front of the others so if you go upstairs to the attic rooms James can lead you around until you get the idea of direction."

Of course we argued with her at first but actually it was a simple solution to the problem. James and I went upstairs past the floor with the family bedrooms to the rarely used attic floor. As with the whole house everything was spotlessly clean but just unused.

I let James tie my shawl over my eyes, knotting it loosely behind my neck. I brought the long ends forward, crossed them over my breasts and tied them behind my waist. I crooked my arm. James took it and began to walk me around. Even then I was a poor pupil. I kept my free arm extended, feeling for the wall.

After about ten minutes James lifted my shawl to my forehead.

"This won't do, Julia. You still don't trust me to guide you. I won't let you walk into anything but you are groping around all the time. You must stop and let me lead you. He pulled the shawl back over my eyes.

I didn't stop waving my free arm around. James jerked me to a stop.

"Julia! Stop it!"

"I can't!" I protested.

James pushed my arms behind my back, whipped the shawl's ends around my wrists and knotted them.

"Now you really have to trust me!" he snapped.

He wrapped an arm around my waist and we moved off again. Gradually I began to relax as I grew more confident that James wouldn't let me bang into anything. We even tried with me walking backwards but my skirts impeded me. I would have fallen if James hadn't caught me.

"Your skirts are too long," he stated bluntly. "Can you loop them up?"

"Not with my hands tied, I can't," I retorted. "And that would show my ankles..."

"I don't care about your ankles," James snapped back. "I'm more concerned about dancing with you. If I'm holding your waist I can't see your ankles anyway."

I felt his hands grasp my skirt and lift it slightly.

"James!" I squeaked.

"Don't worry. You're safe with me."

"But you shouldn't..."

"Stop being so prudish. Would you object if we were engaged?"

That took my breath away. I could feel James's head against my waist as he grappled with my spreading skirts. His hand came up and pushed the shawl up from my eyes. I looked down at him on his knees.

"Julia, I went away for a few days last week."

What was he talking about? If my hands were free I could have stroked his head. I wriggled my wrists but he had tied them too tight. His head felt warm against my body.

"I went to see your father..."

I stopped trying to release my hands and waited.

"...and asked him for permission to pay my addresses to you."

"You can't!" I squeaked again. "Not here. Not now."

"Why not?"

James stood up. He took my chin in his hand.

"He agreed that I could."

James bent forward and kissed me on the lips. I should have struggled. I didn't. I relaxed as his arms went round me. I kissed him back. I shouldn't have. We kissed again, and again.

James slowly pulled away before dropping to one knee.

"Julia, will you marry me? Please?"

"How can I say yes when I'm tied up?" I retorted.

"I could release you. Or I could..."

He stood up and kissed me again before returning to one knee.

"Will you?"

"Yes. Now untie me."

"Thank you for that yes, my fiancée Julia, but why? You haven't learned to trust me yet. We can't go back to the dancing class until you can let me lead. You can't dance backwards in these overlong skirts. Once they're fixed we can try again."

He reached up and pulled the shawl down beyond my eyes and mouth. I spluttered as it tightened over my lips.

He lifted my dress.

"Even the crinoline is too long. Can it be lifted?"

"I don't know," my muffled voice replied.

"If you don't know, I'll have to see."

I squeaked as he hauled my skirt up to my waist exposing my divided pantaloons to the air. I couldn't see what he was doing but I could feel as his hands pushed at the waistband of my crinoline.

"These pantaloons are in the way and they're tied somewhere..."

They didn't stay tied. I felt them sliding down my legs and the cool air in between my legs. I knew I was completely exposed to his view. Now he knew that I didn't colour my hair. Underneath the enveloping shawl I felt myself blush. He might just have become my fiancé but he was taking too many liberties. I clamped my legs together but too late as the pantaloons bunched around my ankles.

"Left foot up!" he ordered.

Why did I obey?

"Right foot!"

The pantaloons were off my legs leaving them totally bare. I was relieved as I felt my skirt and petticoats drop to their normal position brushing the floor.

"James!" I said as loudly and as sternly as the muffling shawl let me. "This is no way for a gentleman to behave to a lady even if she is engaged to him."

"Perhaps not. But you, Julia, have been behaving like a prude for years. You need a lesson in how a woman behaves with a man who loves her. I'm going to give you that lesson -- now."

"You can't! You mustn't!"

Anything else I might have said was cut short as James tied my pantaloons over my mouth. I could still pant through my shawl-covered nose but I couldn't make any intelligible sound.

James lifted my skirt again. I could have struggled. I could have kicked him. I didn't. As his hands stroked my legs I felt a warm sensation between them. The traitors opened to receive his gentle touch, first his fingers, then his lips.

Fingers and lips gradually moved higher and higher as the warmth changed to heat. I sagged against his shoulders as his tongue licked my inner thighs. I flinched as the tip of his tongue played with my lower lips before they too betrayed me and opened wider to encourage his entry.

I don't know how long James's tongue caressed me. At the time it seemed endless. Afterwards it seemed such a short duration of intense pleasure that I could revisit again and again in my dreams.

I had been screaming with delight. Had I been really screaming with my screams stifled by the gag over my mouth or were the screams inside my head? No one heard my screams so perhaps I had kept quiet to avoid ending the ecstasy.

I did learn to waltz properly. I shortened my skirts and crinoline and showed my ankles but only when I wanted too. I did learn to trust James to lead me. He learned to trust me too when sometimes I knew better than he did.

We married soon after Helen but in a much less grand ceremony. I moved into the estate manager's house and James' father took a lodge cottage.

James still ties my hands, blindfolds me, and burrows under my now much wider skirts to raise me to squealing delight. Until the children came no one could hear me scream. Once we had children I had to learn to scream silently or be gagged into enforced muteness.

Martha had stopped telling the story. I struggled to resume my identity as a hard-working potter.

"That story really worked for you, didn't it?" Martha asked.

"How do you mean?" I don't have to speak aloud to communicate with Martha.

"Look at yourself."

I opened my eyes and saw nothing. My headscarf was tightly tied over my face as a gag and blindfold. I tried to reach up to remove it. My apron ties were wound around my wrists and tied to the chair.

I heard Martha's mocking laughter gradually fading as I wriggled free from my self-imposed bondage.

I would remember the tale of James and Julia for a long time.