The Spy Wore Petticoats

"Where are we?' she asked, looking out the darkened window as the scenery flashed by.

"We are in the low countries. Before the sun rises we will enter the domains of Count Hige."

"What's he like?"

"The count?" Ivan asked thoughtfully.

"No, the sultan of Persia," Charlotte snapped.

Ivan took so long to reply she was beginning to think he was sulking at her response. She had resolved to apologize when he began to speak again. His words came slowly, almost hesitantly, as if he was carefully choosing them. This struck her immediately as out of character for the usually open and straightforward Russian.

"Hmmm, I suppose it would be best if you knew a few things," Ivan said slowly.

Charlotte was lucky Ivan was taking so long to speak, because another thought struck her with such force that she temporarily shoved the Russian's voice into the background. She was aware that he was hesitant, and the change in tenor seemed plainly obvious. Yet, she could not recall ever noticing a person's delivery before. She wondered why she did now.

She was unsure of the answer. It could perhaps be that they had spent so much time together that she was just more able to see the contrast. But she didn't think that was it.

Charlotte had noticed, in an oblique way, that she was becoming more perceptive. That was, perhaps, overstating the case, but it was the only way she could make sense of it. She had wandered through her life, oblivious to so much. Now, she was more attuned to people in general and men in particular. It was empowering, but also slightly sad. She wondered how much she had missed in her life by not paying attention.

Her earlier blindness was particularly strange to her because it was obvious now that she was capable of picking up on such nuances. The more she considered it, the more certain she became that she had been trained to be blind. She was taught from early childhood that you looked a man in his eye when speaking to him. It was unmanly to evidence a closer interest in him as he spoke and anathema to look away. Yet, how could you notice anything if you locked eyes with a man as soon as he began to speak and held them for the duration of his discourse, as if locked in mortal combat? Were you not concentrating so hard upon maintaining that contact that you shut out all else?

"Where to start? I guess I shall just tell it from the beginning," Ivan said.

His voice was more forceful, and his tone carried his usual self confidence. The change in tenor brought Charlotte's attention back to her companion.

"The current count of Hige is the 16th. He was the tenth son of the 15th count and one of nine to make it to majority. By the time he did, the family was running out of options for placing them and even shorter on options for marrying them off to local nobility. In his case, the only option was a complete ogre of a woman. She was, however fabulously rich, having outlived two other husbands, and of suitably high station, though just barely. Faced with that or having to actually make his own way, he married her."

"That happens quite a bit," Charlotte observed.

"Yes, well, it does I suppose. All was well enough until the oldest brother took ill and died of the palsy. Two others had perished in battle and a third had renounced his faith and fled to the protection of the Ottomans. It was then that strange things began to happen."

"What things?"

"Well, the next eldest died in his sleep after taking a meal at his brother's home. Month's later, another brother was shot accidentally during a hunt on his younger brother's estates, and yet another died within days of a visit from his younger brother and his wife."

"That is curious."

"Is it? I think not. He was the ninth son. No chance of inheritance, but the death by chance of his eldest brother seems to have sparked his ambition."

"You think he was doing away with his brothers?"

"Why not? What else would a man do if he wanted more than his birth place gave him?"

"But, his own family?"

"Well, the brother between him and the inheritance seems to have suspected it was the case. He distanced himself from his brothers, but it availed him not. He was a man who had a weakness for the ladies. He died suspiciously after a night spent with a mysterious woman no one could find later. A paid assassin some say."

"So he was now the heir."

"Yes, and the old man took ill within a fortnight, dying of some mysterious ailment that confounded the best leeches."

"My god!"

"He traveled at once to his ancestral home and had barely taken up residence when he fell gravely ill. It was discovered the youngest son had poisoned him, and it is likely the others who died in suspicious circumstances as well."

"How horrible!"

"Is it? Well, perhaps it is, but we stand to benefit from the results. Upon his recovery the Count's personality had changed. He became a lecherous, tyrannical, petty glutton, concerned only with pleasure overnight. He seems to have come to regret his earlier marriage, but that too plays to our advantage."

Ivan seemed to want to say more, but at the same time to be hesitant. Charlotte had begun to wonder what was bothering him so much.

"That is most unfortunate," she said, when the silence became awkward.

"Bah. Such stupidity, aristocrats are so blind," he declared vehemently.

"But poison doesn't usually do that to a person."

"Of course not."

"Ivan," Charlotte began carefully, "It seems you don't believe the story?"

"I knew the youngest son. He was a good man, a good comrade and he wouldn't kill by poison. That was not his way. He was strong and proud and as good a swordsman as you are. The poison story was just a fabrication to give his brother an excuse to have him done away with and divert suspicion from himself."

"He was your friend?"

"He was my captain. The first of many, but the only noble to ever earn my respect, before I met De Fleury. He was the man his brother was not and he should have been the one to inherit, but instead he was vilified and executed at his cowardly brother's behest."

"And this is the man you hope to prevail upon to help us?" she asked, aghast.

"As I said, he married a woman of suitable station, a mean spirited witch, so ugly I wouldn't accept an invitation for a tumble with her. She watches him closely and holds some power over him, so he has had to curtail his amorous adventures. This has made him quite accommodating to any woman with the right skills," the Russian finished.

Charlotte pondered this as the Russian fell silent again and could not be induced to speak further by any device. The skills in question were obvious. The real question was, did she have the ability to apply them to someone she hadn't met, with the express intent of earning his favor? She was not at all sure she was ready for that, if she ever would be.

She also gave some fleeting thought to the count's wife. A woman Ivan wouldn't consider tumbling must be loathsome indeed.

The land was beautiful and green, punctuated occasionally by golden fields of grain. The small villages they passed through were interesting, like and yet unlike the small hamlets in France. Charlotte spent a good deal of time watching the scenery roll by. She noticed their passage elicited a lot of pointing and excitement among the populace. She also occasionally glimpsed horsemen, watching them from distant hills or from the edges of thick copses of trees.

She was, therefore, not too surprised, ten days after crossing the Meuse, when the coach slowed to a stop and she heard Henri calling for Ivan. The big man swung easily down from the coach and stepped out of her line of sight.

She heard muffled voices and soon Ivan returned to the coach and they began to move. This was one part of her masquerade she had found she didn't like at all.

"What was it?"

"Twas the count's liegemen, come to inquire of who was in the coach and your purpose in crossing his lands."

"And?" she exploded when she realized he wasn't going to elaborate.

"Mind your temper," Ivan chuckled.

Before Charlotte could make an acid reply he stuck his head out the window and called something up to Henri. Charlotte felt the coach slow perceptibly and Ivan sat back on his bench.

"That should give us time. It so happens we are passing close to one of the count's chateaus and he is in residence, fortuitously enough. He wishes the pleasure of your company. I shouldn't be surprised to find his wife and most of his entourage are there, along with all the petty nobility of the surrounding area."

"I know we planned to call upon him, but does it not strike you as...odd that he should seek us out?"

"You are learning, ma cherie. The same though has occurred to me, which is why I instructed Henri to slow our progress somewhat without seeming to be doing so. We must formulate a plan and prepare ourselves for a swift get away, should it be necessary."

"Surely we won't have time for that?"

"We shall. The sun is already setting and the horses are worn. We shall not make it to his residence before nightfall, and no one will consider it suspicious if we stop and wait for light to travel. If we are careful, it shall be tomorrow morning before we present ourselves. We will, of course, be watched, but we can manage, I think. Now you should rest. We will none of us get much rest this night, and you, more than any, must appear fresh and bedable on the morn."

Despite her trepidation, she found that sleep came easily, and she wasn't awakened until Madame Deveraou entered the coach sometime after darkness fell. The men had built a small fire and were moving about restlessly, but Charlotte was not called upon to take any part in the preparations.

She and her maid chatted about the beauty of the countryside as Madame Deveraou efficiently stripped Charlotte after pulling the sashes on the windows. She actually felt strange when her maid undid the lacings and the tight grip of her corset was relaxed. It felt even more strange when the sheath came off and she stood totally nude.

Charlotte turned to her maid, about to say something else when she realized that she was totally naked in front of a woman and that her hands weren't covering her privates nor was she blushing. Such a situation had horrified her the first time; she wondered now at the easy familiarity. Her maid saw her look and smiled.

"I must say, you've come a long way, mam'zelle."

"A long way towards where?" she asked, feeling confused and humiliated all at once.

"Towards being a lady of course."

"But I'm not a lady!" Charlotte asserted.

The words sounded hollow, even to her own ears, which only added to her agitation.

"There, there, you poor dear. Calm yourself. I know you're all worried about meeting this here count or whatever he is. You needn't be. Everything will be fine. Now, let's get you dressed before you catch your death of cold."

Madame Deveraou had just taken out the spare sheath when the door opened and Ivan, along with Gustav, his manservant, slipped into the coach.

Charlotte screeched and grabbed her dress, holding it in front of her body. The reaction was automatic, totally unconscious and as uncontrollable as a reflex. "Ivan, you barbarian, don't you know to knock!" Madame Deveraou admonished.

"It isn't like I haven't see it before," the irriscrasible Russian replied.

"You lout!"

"Be silent woman. We haven't much time and an important problem has occurred to me. There is little chance of her getting through this without her skirts coming up, and she can not wear that silly cod piece."

"Why can't I?" Charlotte demanded.

"Because you might be able to turn the count's lust to other channels, but if he sees that, his curiosity will not permit it. This isn't some virgin baron's son, this is man who knows exactly what he should find underneath a lady's skirts."

"Mon Dieu," Charlotte exclaimed, collapsing on the bench, her dress still clutched to her body.

"Fear not, Gustav here has a possible solution," Ivan said, slapping the small man on the shoulder.

"Erm...Yes...Well...there is a technique you see, employed in antiquity by Pankrationists..."

"You mean the Orchid?" Charlotte interrupted.

"Precisely," the small man said with a smile.

"Orchid?" Madame Deveraou inquired.

"Classical Pankration was a barbaric affair Madame, performed in the nude. No holds were barred. In fact the word derives from the Greek pankrates, meaning all encompassing or all powers. One of the worst tactics was a kick or jab to the testicles. The Greeks developed a technique whereby this tempting target was at least removed from easy reach. Perhaps you are not aware, but there is a space behind the male member. It is possible to push the testicles and penis back into this void. Once done, casual inspection would leave most feeling they were seeing what ought to be there in her case."

"That sounds damned uncomfortable," Ivan observed.

"It is, at first, but you get used to it," Charlotte replied, cutting Gustav off.

"You've used the technique then?" Gustav asked.

"I have, but it was long ago, when I was still a lad."

"I'm surprised, the technique is rarely taught these days."

"My instructor was very...through," Charlotte replied simply.

"Would you be willing to try it now?"

"Do I have a choice?" she replied, surprised by her own pragmatism in the matter.

"No," Ivan responded.

"Let me help you, mademoiselle," Gustav said as she hesitantly put her dress aside.

Charlotte slowly spread her legs and the thin man knelt between them. Madame Deveraou had her head turned politely, while Ivan seated himself and was watching with interest.

"Pray pay attention, madame. If this works, you will probably need to understand how it is accomplished to help your mistress with it," Gustav called.

Gustav's hands were soft and extremely gentle, but even with him taking his time Charlotte hissed and groaned. There were sharp pains, but nothing unbearable. Still, she kept her eyes shut and was prepared for the worst.

"I don't believe it," Madame Deveraou exclaimed.

"Looks just like a fat quim to me," Ivan said.

"Are you in pain, mam'zelle?" Gustav inquired, seemingly ignoring the other two.

"No, it just feels...tight."

"You are lucky you have practiced it before. I was not counting on such good fortune. See if you can stand."

Charlotte rose, feeling the constriction of muscles in her inner body.

"Very nice," Gustav said, rising himself.

"What if she should become aroused?" Ivan asked.

"The constriction within her cavity should prevent any embarrassing slips, but I cannot say for sure. Arousal was hardly a problem for those who invented the technique. It would be best if she...took care of any romantic inclination before hand," he said, blushing an averting his eyes.

"And if she needs to pee?" Madame Deveraou added practically.

"In that case, it should help with her disguise, as she will need to squat like any other woman."

"How long can I remain like this?"

"That I cannot say. The technique is meant for short periods of intense physical activity. I would suggest you use it only in those situations where your planned activities risk exposure. The more sparingly, the better."

Charlotte sat stiffly in her seat as the coach rolled to a stop in front of the large home of the count. The footmen assisted her and Ivan to the ground and bowed to the gathered crowd before climbing back onto the coach as it rolled away.

Ivan wore a dark green doublet, with black breeches and riding boots. He was handsome and he knew it, exuding that confidence that women found so appealing.

Charlotte wore a black brocade dress with simple gold embroidery. She was cognizant of the women examining her closely as well as many of the men. She could almost hear Julia reminding her that she would be the center of attention, and to be on her guard.

There were people standing on the marble steps in a crescent, with the count and his wife standing on the top step, center. Charlotte and Ivan approached and he bowed while she curtsied. The count barely fit the image Ivan had worked up in her mind. He was tall and had a sharp, hawklike face and intense gray eyes. His wig was less ostentatious than many of his sycophants and he wore a simple doublet of blue. His legs were quite spindly, giving him kind of incongruous look to him. He looked almost like two men of very different proportion had been made into one, the healthy and robust one donating his upper body while the thin one gave his lower.

If the count had failed to live down to her expectations, his wife easily surpassed her worst imaginings. She was short and bloated, with mean little black eyes and more jowls than even the king had. There was something wrong about her, some vaguely sinister element to her being that seemed to cast a shadow around her. Ugly did not even begin to describe her countenance, and Charlotte felt her malevolence almost as acutely as a blow.

"Greetings and welcome to my domance," the count boomed.

"Thank you, milord," Ivan responded.

"It is rare to see such a beauty away from Louis's court," he said as he stepped down and took her hand, brushing his lips over her knuckles.

"Thank you, milord," she replied, with her eyes demurely downcast.

"Come, I have many questions for you both, but they can wait. You are obviously worn from your long journey and in need of rest. Grimbald! Show them to their rooms," he ordered.

Charlotte was shown to a large suite of four rooms on the third story of the massive edifice. From her window she could see the beautifully manicured gardens they had passed while approaching the house. The bed was huge, canopied and so high she needed a stool just to get in. One of her rooms was a small maid's room.

This pleased Charlotte greatly, for it meant she wouldn't be so lonely and that Madame Deveraou would be close at hand no matter what happened. The footmen and coachmen would sleep in the stables with the horses; each was armed with two pistols and the muskets were all charged and ready. They had found it difficult to plan an escape without knowing where they were going, so the plan was mostly to remain cautious and on guard.

Charlotte carried her hideout pistol in the small pocket under her skirts. In addition, she also had a thin dagger secreted within her dainty boot. Despite the danger, the bed looked so good she could hardly wait for Madame Deveraou to help her disrobe. It was soft and she sank deeply into the mattress. In no time she was asleep.

Her maid woke her at sunset and brought out the beautiful red corset Julia had purchased for her.

"No, the white one, if you please," Charlotte said.

Madame Deveraou paused and gave her the strangest look. Charlotte wasn't sure what it meant, although she got the impression there was something approving in it. She blushed for no reason she could comprehend.

"Well, of course a lady is always right to choose and I must say, I am very pleased to see you taking an interest in what you're wearing, but I really must ask why the white?"

"Does a maid usually question her mistress's decisions?" Charlotte asked with as smile.

"Yes. More often than you would think. Some things and some colors just don't look good on certain ladies, and sometimes there are other considerations, like what's appropriate and what's in fashion."

"I thought a good deal about it when we rode in," Charlotte said quietly as she turned to the window.

"It's a good sign that you are considering it, mam'zelle," Madame Deveraou prompted.

"Is it?" she asked.

"Of course it is. A lady should always be conscious of what she is wearing and how she looks."