Talisman Ch. 4: Lucy McFey

"I shall have to persuade him otherwise," declared Lucy.

The rest of the journey was made in comparative silence and Emma decided that Lucy was sulking. She showed her to the room chosen for her by Faulkner, situated directly beneath her own, and left her there.

"Dinner will be at seven, Miss McFey. If you require anything in the meantime, please ring. Either myself or Maria will attend you."

Faulkner returned earlier than he had expected and at four-thirty Emma was serving him tea in his study.

"Has Lucy arrived safely, Emma?"

"She has, Colonel, and is presently taking a nap. Is there anything else?"

"Not at the moment, Emma. Please ask Lucy if she will join me in the parlour."

Lucy was awake, had changed and was looking out of her bedroom window. She took Emma's hand and pointed. "What is that, over there? It seems to be a wall, but if it is, it must run for miles."

Emma smiled. "It is, and it does. That is what is left of Hadrian's Wall, built by the Romans almost seventeen hundred years ago."

"Goodness," cried Lucy. "I heard tell of it at school, but never thought I should see it myself. Can I get closer?"

"Tomorrow, I shall show you, if you wish," Emma offered, trying not to show her reluctance.

"Please, Emma, I would like that."

"Come downstairs if you are ready. Colonel Faulkner asks that you join him in the parlour." Lucy was dressed now in a light gown of palest blue, cut low over her full breasts, gathered tightly beneath them, supporting and enhancing. Her blonde hair was piled on her head and she had satin slippers on her feet. Her mood seemed much different now to what it had been as Emma travelled with her in the gig.

"You know, you are quite the most handsome housekeeper I have ever met," declared Lucy. "Are you Richard's lover?" she asked abruptly.

Emma gasped, and about to issue a vehement denial perversely checked herself. "Alas, no," she said as calmly as she could manage, laughing lightly. "I fear Colonel Faulkner does not notice me." Emma glanced across at Lucy, noticing for the first time a medallion pendant suspended in the warm valley between her breasts. The dim light of the hall did not lend itself to inspection and she resolved to look more closely in the brighter light of the parlour. There was something else about Lucy, too, for she was not the same girl she had been on the journey from Hexham. Strange, thought Emma, it is almost as if she were a different person altogether.

"Not notice you?" cried Lucy. "I shall make sure that he does."

Alarmed, for she wished for nothing that might damage her relationship with Faulkner, Emma put her hand lightly on Lucy's arm. "Please, Miss McFey, say nothing."

Lucy looked at her for a moment, then put her hand over Emma's and squeezed it lightly, sending a sudden unexplained tingle through her. "As you wish, Emma."

Faulkner was waiting for them in the parlour. A decanter of claret stood waiting at the side. He stood as the women came in and almost stared at them for a moment before remembering his manners and smiling a greeting.

"My dear Lucy, words fail me to describe your beauty."

"Why, thank you, cousin Richard," said Lucy, and she dropped into a deep curtsy, so much so that Emma almost expected her breasts to pop free from her gown. Richard Faulkner must have thought so too, Emma thought, as his eyes were fixed on Lucy's swelling bosom. A faint flush suffused his cheeks as he caught Emma's eye. As Lucy rose from her curtsy her eye caught Emma's and a smile, smirk almost, flitted across her face. She was about to turn to the table when Faulkner stopped her.

"A moment please, Lucy. Your pendant; I have not seen its like before. May I examine it?"

"Of course, cousin. Here," she said, lifting the cord over her head and handing him the medallion. As she did so she looked almost confused for a moment. Faulkner inspected the medallion closely, examining both sides, before handing it back to Lucy, with a piercing look.

"The medallion is ivory, I think, but this cord is most fascinating, for I have never seen its like before. Look, Emma, see how the cord seems woven from golden thread, but it is endless, without a fastening. These images, however, these I have seen before. Or something very like them," he said as Lucy lifted the cord of the medallion back over her head, her breasts again seeming likely to escape their flimsy restraint as she raised her arms.

"Do tell us, sir," said Emma, "where?"

"In India," said Faulkner, tearing his gaze away from Lucy's bosom.

"India?" asked Lucy excitedly, "when were you in India?"

"It was back in '03. I had just been promoted to lieutenant when the regiment was sent to India. I had been there some three months when I was sent to escort one of the local bigwigs. I had some free time and there was a temple, which I was encouraged to visit by my brother officers. I realised why when I saw the carvings." He flushed.

"Carvings, Richard? Of what?" asked Lucy.

"Errm, er, um, men and women," said Faulkner, obviously embarrassed.

"Doing what?" asked Lucy, her eyes wide.

Faulkner hesitated, and Emma spoke up impulsively. "In coitus, I believe," she said, feeling heat in her cheeks and berating herself for speaking so freely.

Lucy gasped and clapped her hands together and Faulkner glanced sharply at Emma. "How do you know that?" he asked.

She faced him steadily. "My father had an excellent library. Some of his books are still with me, here." And there are illustrations, which make me feel most strange when I look at them, she thought.

"I see," said Faulkner, nodding. "You are right, of course. There were also carvings of the local deities. Unless I am mistaken, Lucy's pendant bears likenesses of Shakti and Shiva, the Nurturer and the Destroyer, or something much akin to them."

"Goodness," said Lucy, lifting her pendant so that she could look at it. "How exciting." She smiled. "I care nothing for its origins, I just like wearing it. I feel good when I do, exciting and attractive."

Interesting, thought Emma. She laughed to herself. I don't think I have anything that makes me feel good wearing it. Aloud she said, "If you will excuse me, I have the dinner to prepare. I will call you at seven?"

"At seven," Faulkner confirmed.

Emma retired to the kitchen where Maria was preparing vegetables and the two women worked in companionable silence for a while until Emma broke it.

"Maria?"

"Si, Miss Emma?"

"Colonel Faulkner?"

"Si?"

"Did he have no lady friends, I mean, when you knew him in Spain and France. No, I'm sorry, I should not ask you such questions." Emma found herself flustered.

Maria regarded her, head tilted like a bird. "The Colonel, he have lady friends, si, but no one he like special, I think." Maria smiled. "He like you, Miss Emma, but I think he scared of you."

"Scared of me? Ridiculous," said Emma, and hurriedly changed the subject. "Do we have enough vegetables prepared, do you think?"

Maria looked at her for a moment, then smiled. "I think you like the Colonel, too, Miss Emma. Si, we have enough vegetables. I wash them now."

Emma let her mind dwell upon Richard Faulkner and Lucy McFey. Lucy was playing the coquette, she thought, finding herself unusually irritated by the thought. A thought that was confirmed when she served dinner to the two of them, for Lucy was hanging upon every word Richard Faulkner uttered, oohing and aahing at his tales of military life. She was still acting in the same manner, but this time sitting next to him on the sofa, when Emma served them tea in the parlour after dinner was finished.

"Thank you, Emma, that will be all for this evening," said Faulkner.

"Very well," said Emma. "What time do you want breakfast tomorrow, Colonel? Eight? Eight-thirty?"

An embarrassed look appeared on Faulkner's face. "Oh, Emma, forgive me! I forgot to tell you. I have to go to Newcastle tomorrow. I need to leave early and I will be away overnight. Could you prepare breakfast for seven, please?"

"Of course." Emma glanced at the clock. Almost ten. "I'll go to bed now, Colonel, if that's all right, if I have to be up early. With your permission, I'll get these dishes in the morning."

"Of course. I'll see you at breakfast, then."

Emma turned to Lucy. "Will you require an early breakfast too, Miss McFey? Or shall I make yours later?"

"Later, Emma. About nine would be most satisfactory. Might I have it in bed?"

Emma smiled. "Of course. Goodnight then, Miss McFey. Goodnight, Colonel."

The others smiled and wished her goodnight in their turn, and Emma made her way back to her room. There was still some summer light in the sky and she had no need for a candle, so she undressed in the warm gloom of her room and in moments was in her bed, dropping off into a sleep where her dreams were peopled with Richard Faulkner and Lucy McFey, who for some reason kept trying to remove her clothing. She woke suddenly, startled awake by some unheard noise and lay for a moment trying to orient herself.

'What was it?' she thought, listening, and then it came again, a moan. The sound came from the open window and she realised it was probably coming from Lucy's room, below her own. 'Is she ill?' Emma wondered. 'Mayhap I'd better check'. Slipping from her bed, she donned a light wrapper and went soundlessly down the stairs in her bare feet.

The door to Lucy's room was ajar, candle light spilling softly into the hallway. Emma tiptoed closer and peered round the door, a gasp stifled in her throat, her hands to her mouth to still her cry. Richard Faulkner was lying on Lucy's bed, on his back, head comfortably supported by pillows. He was naked. His hand was at his groin, idly stroking the first erect male penis Emma had ever seen. She felt a flush of guilt and excitement rush through her at the sight, and her nipples tightened as she stared at it, fascinated. At first Emma could not see Lucy, but then the blonde girl moved into view. She had removed her gown and was wearing a light wrapper like Emma's own. Unlike Emma, she wore no nightgown beneath it and the shadows of her nipples were clearly visible. She had loosened her hair, her blonde curls cascading down her back and around her shoulders.

Lucy's bed was oriented so that its head was towards the wall in which the door was cut, so that Emma had a good view of Faulkner's body, but not his face. Emma could also see Lucy clearly in the candlelight. She was startled when Lucy spoke, her voice husky.

"Pray, do tell me what you are planning to do with that magnificent weapon, Richard?"

"Why, I plan to tup you with it, lass, since you have made it very plain to me that such is your desire."

"Oh, it is, Richard, indeed it is!"

"You need to be a little nearer, then, I think." Richard Faulkner's tone was playful.

"I do believe you are right, cousin," said Lucy, an eager smile on her lips.

"It would be a welcome sight to see you naked, too, girl."

"That I will arrange immediately, cousin. Like you what you see?" Lucy asked as she unbelted her wrapper and dropped it to the floor. She pirouetted, giggling.

"Why, most certainly, little cousin, for you are indeed beautiful."

And she was, thought Emma. A little plumper than Emma, Lucy's belly was gently rounded and her breasts stood proud from her chest, soft pillows tipped with enticing pink nipples, pink nipples which were hardening and crinkling even in the warmth of the summer evening.

"Thank you, cousin," said Lucy, curtsying, incongruous in her nakedness, her breasts swaying to her movements. She moved over to the bed and knelt astride Richard Faulkner's legs, then shuffled forward until she was poised above him. "Are you ready?"

"Aye, lass, as ever I will be. Feel me," he suggested.

Lucy reached down and took his erection in her little hand. "Mmm," she murmured, "it is indeed exceeding firm, Richard." She moaned softly. "I must have it, I must have it now!" she cried.

"Well, have it lass, for faith, and we'll both enjoy the coupling."

Emma watched breathlessly as Lucy lowered herself so that Richard's prick parted her lower lips and penetrated to her very core. She was fascinated as she watched, a tingling growing between her own legs as her excitement grew. Lucy's nether lips were pushed in as she lowered herself over Richard Faulkner's erection, and then pulled out as she rose again, the gleam of her secretions covering Faulkner's rigidity.

Faulkner groaned as she came down again, a lustful groan that made Emma quiver as she watched and listened.

"You are wonderfully tight upon me, Lucy, wonderfully tight. As tight as I have ever felt," said Faulkner thickly.

Lucy giggled. "Thank you, cousin. That is what dear Arthur said, too."

"Who is Arthur?" asked Faulkner, then groaned again as Lucy sank down on him.

"Arthur Pendleton. He it was who gave me the pendant. Aye, and took my virginity the very same night. Oh, it was so good!" she sighed.

"You are cock-smitten, then, lass? You enjoy this?"

"Oh, I do, cousin! And so do you, I vow, for if I am exceeding tight, then you are exceeding hard, and you fill my quim most wonderfully."

Emma suddenly realised that Lucy McFey was still wearing the pendant. But only that, and a most satisfied look upon her face as she rose and fell steadily on Richard Faulkner's erection.

Lucy raised her hands to her breasts and cupped them, lifting, squeezing, pulling the nipples. Her movements were quickening and a slight gleam of sweat was on her brow in the warm summer night. Emma could feel her own excitement building as she stood in the gloom of the hallway, wanting to tear herself away but finding her legs unwilling to move her in her fascination at the scene unfolding before her. There was no sound save Lucy's heavy breathing and her occasional moan, and the liquid slither of her movements on Richard Faulkner's prick, so that Emma was startled when Faulkner spoke.

"Lucy, my little lover, I come very close to spending." His voice was tight, strained.

"I too, Richard."

"You want my seed within you?"

"All of it!" cried Lucy, then screamed tightly. "Oh, Richard! I come!"

"Aargh!" cried Faulkner. "I too!" He was driving up into Lucy, lifting her on his prick so that her breasts bounced and her face was contorted in a rictus of pleasure.

Gradually they stilled and Lucy collapsed forwards on Faulkner. Emma saw his arms come up to clasp her and she made to tiptoe away but paused when Faulkner spoke.

"I hope we did not wake Emma. Her room is just above this."

"You do not worry about a servant, do you?" asked Lucy, surprised.

"Emma is more than servant, Lucy. This was her family home, until her father died and left her in debt. Only by selling the house and becoming my housekeeper could she escape homelessness and poverty. She is too fine a lady for that to happen. Yes, she is my housekeeper but I consider her a friend, too."

Surprise and pleasure struck Emma. Oh, that you were more than friend, she thought, and that it were I rather than Lucy sharing your bed.

"Have you told her that?" asked Lucy.

"No, I regret not. Perhaps I shall."

"You should." Lucy sat up then, still rosy and disheveled, still impaled on Faulkner. She smiled down at him. "Perhaps Emma would like to have joined us?"

Faulkner snorted. "I think not, Lucy."

Lucy looked up and Emma realised that she was looking straight at her. "Do not be so sure, Richard. I think Emma might be very interested in what we do tonight."

Shocked, Emma realised that Lucy could see her. Her face aflame, she turned and fled, soundless in her bare feet, locking herself in her room and throwing herself on her bed. She lay sleepless for a long time, imagining every night noise to be further lovemaking by Faulkner and Lucy, realising that she wished it was herself that Richard Faulkner fucked. Yes, fucked, she thought; rutting like an animal, because I want him. Sobbing into her pillow, eventually she fell into a troubled sleep.

Morning found Emma serving breakfast to Richard Faulkner before his trip to Newcastle. She tried to avoid his eye, being certain that Lucy would have told of her watching, but Faulkner was his usual polite and almost silent breakfast-time self and she began to think that perhaps he did not know, although he seemed unusually troubled and somewhat tired. She bade him farewell at seven and watched as he rode away, watched until he had gone from sight. At eight, Dan and Maria came to check what provisions were required for the household and by eight-thirty were away to Hexham, to purchase what was necessary. Emma did not expect them back until evening, so she was alone in the house with Lucy.

At nine, Emma prepared a breakfast tray and took it up to Lucy McFey's room. Taking a deep breath, she knocked and then opened the door and went in. She almost stumbled, startled, as she saw Lucy sitting up in bed, quite unconcerned, obviously still naked for her breasts were on clear display, the nipples dormant now, the medallion pendant resting comfortably between them.

"Good morning, Emma," said Lucy brightly. "Did you sleep well?" she asked, her tone implying the anticipation of a negative response.

"I – I – I." Emma faltered.

"You were watching us, Emma, weren't you?" asked Lucy quietly.

"I heard a moan, I thought you were ill. I came to check." Emma subsided into silence again, the breakfast tray still in her hands.

"Put the tray on the dresser, Emma, and come sit on the bed," said Lucy gently.

Almost numbly, Emma did as she was bid, sitting on the edge of Lucy's bed, hands tightly clasped, avoiding Lucy's eye. She jumped, startled, when Lucy put her hand gently on her arm.

"It's all right, Emma, I didn't tell Richard that I'd seen you watching us. It's our secret, yours and mine."

Emma looked up at Lucy. "Thank you," she whispered.

"But if you want me to keep our secret, you'll have to do something for me in return."

Emma looked at Lucy, surprised. "What?"

"Take off your clothes, all of them."

"No!" cried Emma.

"Yes," said Lucy quietly. "I know we are alone in the house, for Richard is gone to Newcastle and Dan and Maria to Hexham. I know where they have gone as I was listening behind the door when they came to see you."

"But – " began Emma, scarcely knowing what she was saying, but feeling a rising excitement that she was at a loss to explain.

"But nothing," said Lucy. "Your clothes, all of them. Please, Emma dear, just for me. Don't you like me?"

"Of course I do." Although do I? I wonder, for you have bedded Richard Faulkner and I have not, she thought. I think I hated you last night.

"And I like you, dear Emma, so please, take off your clothes."

"Why?" whispered Emma.

"Because I want to make love to you and I cannot if you are fully dressed. Have you not daddled with another woman before?" There was surprise in Lucy's tone.

Numbly, Emma shook her head.

"It is exceeding pleasant, Emma, for only another woman can truly know where and how to touch to give the most pleasure. Your clothes, Emma. Your dress, your shift, your stockings, your shoes. All of them. Now." She smiled. "Or do you wish me to tell Richard that you were watching us?"

Almost in shock, reluctantly but with a rising excitement, Emma complied, retaining enough sense to fold her clothes neatly until she stood naked and barefoot beside Lucy McFey's bed, trying to shield herself with her hands. Lucy swung back the bedclothes and stood before Emma. "Don't worry, Emma. I'm not going to hurt you." She reached out and gently but firmly took Emma's hands and pushed her arms down until Emma stood straight with her arms at her side, her fists clenched.

"That's better," said Lucy. She studied Emma so intently that Emma's flush deepened. "Do you know, Emma dear, how lovely you are? I think if Richard could see you now he would not rest until he had made love to you all night long. Would you like that, Emma? Would you like Richard to make love to you all night long? You would, wouldn't you? Answer me, Emma."