A New Georgy-Girl

Eventually, Mrs. Kinnison left us to hold each other, Georgy had calmed and seemed almost ready to sleep again, but her arm though mine kept me there, and I wasn't going to be so churlish as to disengage her; if she needed to hold me close to scare the demons away, then that is what I would let her have.

*****

I woke with a start, something had triggered me, and that was when I realised Georgy was still clutched on to me, fast asleep, her features in repose the girl I used to know; that hunted, haunted look that had become normal for her was gone, and my pretty little sister was back, her fine features rested and finally at peace.

As I studied her sleeping face her eyelids fluttered open, and she smiled sleepily, and it was Georgy smiling at me, not the pallid, expressionless ghost I'd been living with.

"Hi Will..." she murmured, snuggling deeper into my arm.

"This feels nice," she whispered, yawning prettily. "I like it, please don't leave... "

"Don't worry, Georgy, I'm not going anywhere. Go back to sleep," I murmured, patting and squeezing her hand reassuringly. "I'll still be here when you wake up. Now get some rest, kid."

*****

The bright morning sunshine on my face woke me, and for a second confusion reigned as I felt someone huddled tightly against me before memory clicked in and I remembered Georgy's nightmare and me calming her down. She'd turned somewhat on her stomach, and kicked the bedclothes down during the night, but what I wasn't prepared for was how her sleeping T-shirt had ridden up to her waist, displaying the most delectable bottom I'd ever seen, only the slim string of the flimsiest of thongs bisecting her cheeks preventing her being entirely naked from the waist down.

I had always been aware, without really being aware, if you follow me, that Georgy was beautiful; roommate after roommate at Sandhurst had commented on the hot girl whose photos were on my dresser, but I'd never seen her that way myself. She was just my kid sister, my best friend, and the one who always took the blame because dad was incapable of punishing her when we were younger.

Now, seeing her so innocently displayed I realised just how alluring she really was, had always been, and I'd never noticed, because I was only ever seeing her as "kid sister". Suddenly I was aware that she wasn't just my kid sister anymore; she was a beautiful young woman, and I didn't know how to shut off the thoughts that had arisen unbidden at the sight of her innocent near-nudity.

If that wasn't enough, I saw, really saw, unencumbered by jeans or jodhpurs or more formal clothes, just how shapely her legs were, long, perfectly proportioned slender yet with that smooth, rounded muscularity of perfect muscle tone, the legacy of her equestrian hobby.

Georgy stirred and mumbled "Will, move over," before hugging my arm closer and lapsing back into deep sleep again. All I could do was freeze, desperate to not disturb her, because I knew if she woke and realised her state of undress with me there she'd be mortified, and so would I.

I was stymied; I didn't know what to do, whether to try and surreptitiously ease her sleeping-shirt back down to a more modest length, or slip her arm out of mine at glacial speed so I didn't disturb her and make a dash for the door, or just do nothing, pretend to be asleep, and hope she didn't wake and catch me ogling her.

I was still debating what to do when she giggled at me.

"Quit staring at my bum, Will, you must have seen a bare bum before!"

My face instantly grew hot, and I knew I was blushing fiercely. Georgy giggled again, an amused little chuckle that for some reason sent icy-hot shivers racing up and down my spine.

"You should see yourself, Will, you look like a traffic light!"

I tried to disengage my arm from her so I could get the hell out of there and try and live the embarrassment down a little but Georgy wasn't having it, rather she held on tight and jiggled her bottom as she smirked at me.

"You can look some more, if you like, you know! Maybe you can tell me if it's any better than all the other girly-bums you must have seen while you were off out there shagging around with your hunky soldier mates and being one of our fearless defenders!"

She was obviously having a high old time embarrassing me, but she'd struck a chord; her bottom was the best one I'd ever seen in my regrettably limited experience of sampling hot girls' delectable bottoms, but there was no way I was telling her that; she was my kid sister, for fuck's sake! I had to head this off somehow, this was just wrong!

"Georgy, stop it, make yourself decent, please, just don't... " I begged, ostentatiously turning my head away so she could see I wasn't staring at her naked bottom, much as I still wanted to.

Her tinkling laughter echoed in my ears as she wriggled but made no move to cover her nakedness, and when I glanced at her she showed no trace of embarrassment or guilt, just the "naughty-girl" grin I got whenever she'd pranked me when we were younger. She stretched languidly and bounced her tummy on the bed, making her bottom jiggle and twinkle most fetchingly.

"You're such a dork, Will! But seriously, though, tell me: have I got a nice arse?"

"GEORGY!!" I snapped, "Enough, God's sake, you're my sister! Cut it out!"

"Yes or no, Will? I'm going to keep asking 'til I get an answer, you might as well give in!" she giggled, her rippling little laugh making the hairs on the back of my neck prickle and goose-bumps erupt on my arms and legs.

"Alright, since you ask, then no, I think you've got a weird, saggy arse, I bet it wipes out your footprints! There, happy now?" I demanded, and 'woofed' as she punched me in the side.

As I tried to get my breath back from that sucker punch she swung around and slid off the bed and onto her knees by the side of the bed.

"Okay, then Will, how about these?" and with that, she crossed her arms at the waist and grabbed the hem of her night-shirt. There was no way I was looking at that, and I bolted for the door, her 'Gotcha!' laughter ringing in my ears.

As I grabbed the doorknob she softly called out to me.

"Will...?"

I refused to turn my head in case she'd followed through, but the good manners mother and Mrs. Kinnison had drummed into me took over.

"What is it, Georgy?" I answered.

"Thank you..." she murmured, "love you, Tyler Wilmot."

I grinned to myself; she only ever called me 'Tyler' when she was trying to wheedle something out of me, so I didn't turn my head, just in case she was trying to fake me out.

"I love you too, Georgy, always, now get dressed, I'll get breakfast on."

*****

I was juggling grilling a pack of bacon, a string of sausages, and a tray of sliced tomatoes, making toast, and simultaneously frying eggs in one pan and mushrooms in another when Georgy finally came down with Mrs. Kinnison. Mrs K was, as usual, dressed impeccably, while Georgy was still in her nightshirt, looking impish and adorable, all trace of the previous night's terror gone; now, at last, my beautiful baby sister was back, looking how I always pictured her, no trace or echo of the trauma she'd been going through showing in her eyes or her expression.

At last she was just Georgy again, although I couldn't help but notice how tight her shirt was, or how short, or how closely it hugged her shapely body ("cut that out, Will, she's your sister, for Chrissake!" my conscience chimed, but I wasn't going to; Georgy's teasing had started something inside me, and it refused to go away).

Mrs. K tried to herd me to the table so she could finish breakfast for us but I wouldn't let her; she was our 'Aunt Kay', the one happy part of my childhood I had left, not chief cook and bottle-washer, and I had no intention of letting her behave like an employee. She was all we had, and I wanted to do whatever little I could for her to repay her for all the care she'd lavished on us, especially Georgy, our whole lives.

To my mind she was family, not an employee, and family did stuff for each other. There were no servants or employees here, now or ever again.

After breakfast we cleared up, loaded the dishwasher, and retired to the lounge, because Aunt Kay wanted to talk to us. While we were settling down, she brought through a tea-tray with teapot, cups, saucers, cream-jug and sugar-bowl. I cocked an eyebrow at Georgy, wondering why such a formal setup; normally we'd just brew a couple of teabags in mugs and drink them while we chatted in the kitchen.

Mrs. Kinnison poured for all of us, then started on why we were there.

"Will, Georgy, your poor mother's estate is still in probate, I don't know how long it will take to clear, all I know is it takes a while, but I know, because I witnessed for her, broadly what the provisions were in her will. Children, I don't know if you're aware of what your dear mother intended, but in keeping with the terms of the trust, she wanted the care of the entire estate split exactly down the middle between her children, regardless of the fact it's the Wilmot estate, and you're technically not a Wilmot, Georgy, with an annuity for me, and the use of the Lodge for the remainder of my life."

She sighed, putting her cup of tea on the table.

"I've lived with this family nearlyfifty years now, since I was younger than you are now, Georgy, since Will's father was just a toddler. I was married once, a long time ago, when I was still just a teenager. My husband was a soldier, a Royal Marine, and he wasn't much older than me, but we wanted to be married so our families gave in. He was killed in Northern Ireland, and I had to find a job, my family couldn't support me forever. I answered a job advert your grandmother had placed in the Labour Exchange, looking for a nanny and housekeeper, and here I stayed."

She looked sadly at me, her eyes soft and sorrowful.

"Your poor, dear father was just two years old when I first came here, Will, and I have always been very happy here; this was my refuge, the home and family denied me when I lost my husband, and I have loved every moment of my life here. Your grandparents never treated me like a servant, and your father was the son I never had. Your grandmother and I raised your father, I watched him grow into a fine young man, and I was there the day your grandparents welcomed your mother into the family."

She sighed, obviously saddened by what she was telling us.

"When your father was lost it really was like losing my own son. I had spent most of his life raising him, and it was a terrible loss, but then your dear mother met and married your father, Georgy, and she was happy again. Will had a good man for his new father, and then you came along, Georgy, and your mother was so happy, she finally had the little girl she'd always wanted. I have watched this family grow and loved each of you every day of my life. I know you'll do the right thing by your sister, Will"

She smiled vaguely into the distance, obviously seeing something only she could see.

"Your mother and I were very close, I was her friend, her confidante, and, when your father passed away, it was me she leaned on, because she didn't want to burden you children with her grief. I watched as that man wormed his way in and took over her life, I tried to get her out of his clutches, but, well, you know what happened. Before he completely took over her life, she gave me this, please read it, both of you, it concerns you both."

She passed me a fat, padded envelope with something hard and small inside it. I passed it to Georgy, indicating she open it. She pulled out a crisp folded sheet of buff vellum notepaper, and my eyes blurred as I recognised my mother's elegant copperplate handwriting. Georgy looked at me, her eyes bright with unshed tears, but I gestured to her to read it.

"My Darling Tyler and Georgy-Girl,

If you are reading this, it means I've passed away and dear Mrs. Kinnison, your Aunt Kay, is with you, as I asked her to be. The reason for this subterfuge is that this matter concerns immediate family only, and all three of you are the only family you have, so please follow these instructions carefully.

In the envelope with this letter are two keys-"

Georgy looked at me then tipped the envelope out, and two flat steel keys dropped into her palm.

"-these keys are important, hold on to them carefully. Somewhere in the house, I don't know where, I made sure your Aunt Kay never revealed to me where it was, is a steel trunk, one key will open the trunk, and the other key will open what is in the trunk.

Use what you find there well, children, both of you, it was the best I could do with what I could gather. The rest of the estate will come under the provisions of my will, and for you Tyler, will be governed by the conditions of the Wilmot estate trust, but what you find in the trunk is for both of you and you alone. I hope it serves you well, my own dear, sweet children, and remember this: when you need to, rely and depend on Mrs. Kinnison, your Aunt Kay; she has loved and cared for you all your lives, and she knows you better than anyone else in the world. She will help you decide what is best for you if you need help or guidance; I am gone now, so your Aunt Kay must be your mother now, please respect her as such in my memory, and rely on her, she will only do what is the very best for both of you.

God bless you both, my darling children,

Mummy"

Georgy's voice was hoarse with emotion as she read the note, tears running down her cheeks, as they were on mine, and Mrs. Kinnison's, Aunt Kay's eyes, were brimming too at my mother's last words.

"When you're ready, Will, Georgy, come with me, please," said Aunt Kay, dabbing at her eyes. "It's time. Your mother wanted this, it was the last thing she managed to do for you before that... that creature came here and destroyed everything. Come on now, spit-spot!"

Georgy grinned through her tears at her favourite expression from 'Mary Poppins', a movie she'd watched time and again on either mother or Aunt Kay's lap when she was a little girl.

We followed Aunt Kay upstairs, Georgy with her hand in mine, up to the fourth-floor attics. Long ago these rooms had been the servants' quarters, little hutches and garrets for the chambermaids and scullery maids, cooks, footmen, and boot-boys to sleep in (but the not the head cook; in the grand households of old the head cook was all-powerful, and the cook's slightly grander room as was, was next to the main kitchens "below stairs.")

There were even three steep little servant's staircases leading from the attics all the way down to concealed landings on each floor, the doors on each floor cleverly disguised as linen closets in the corridors, or tucked away in chimney-corner reveals, and finally ending in the scullery kitchen, the old laundry, now dad's old workshop, and the linen presses. Heaven forbid a guest should be traumatised by actually seeing a servant on the elegant main staircase! How times have changed...

Georgy and I used to play and chase each other up and down those surprisingly solid ancient staircases and little hidden landings until mother put a stop to it.

My grandfather had renovated the attics sometime in the 1950's, removing walls and opening out the warren of garrets into more useful lumber rooms stacked floor to ceiling with furniture and bric-a-brac that had outlived its usefulness or had gone out of taste or fashion as the years passed but was too good and well-made to be simply thrown away.

There was a confusing jumble of elegant Georgian and Regency, ugly Victorian and eclectic and unfashionable Bauhaus and Art Deco chairs, sideboards, armoires, dining tables, chaise-longue's and bookcases, dusty, faded Grandfather and Grandmother drawing room clocks, writing bureaux, and knee-hole desks stashed away up there.

Apparently my family had never thrown anything away, preferring to just stash it in the attics and forget about it, because there was probably enough drawing room, parlour, and dining room furniture up there to completely furnish a more modest house than ours.

There were even a whole range of huge, imposing dressing-room linen presses and mirror wardrobes stored up there that Georgy and I used to clamber around in when we were young, hoping to find Narnia.

Some rooms, but not many, were left pretty uncluttered; I grinned as I recalled playing 'Hide & Seek' up there with Georgy and our assorted friends when we were young, and there was even a large playroom-cum-bedroom that my friends and I had used for sleepovers when I was a boy. This was where she led us.

The room had a large walk-in closet currently being used as a linen store, where all the old table and bed linens that were too good to be just thrown away were stored, bales of them, on dowelling racks.

At the very back of the closet, surrounded by and hidden under a stack of probably priceless Regency and Victorian cotton Lawn tablecloths and linen table napery I could see a huge riveted steel steamer trunk, three times the height of an army footlocker, so a chest really, such as one sometimes saw in the retro furnishings stores (usually with a hefty price tag attached).

Georgy and I took all the linens off and piled them elsewhere, and finally revealed my Great-great-grandfather's name and service number stencilled on the trunk; obviously this huge thing had been part of his campaign furniture back in the day. Georgy looked at me and I nodded, so she knelt down and fumbled the right key in the lock.

When she opened the heavy lid, we were confronted with rows of neatly folded antique baby clothes. Georgy looked at Aunt Kay in puzzlement, but she just motioned for her to move the clothes out of the way. As it happened, the clothes were just a single layer, folded there to disguise what was underneath, a flat steel tray or lidded box about six inches high that fitted exactly into the trunk.

I'd seen these large campaign trunks before, although none as big as this one; there was one in the Imperial War Museum in London and several in the Guard's museum with one of these fitted boxes inside, which was usually a travelling gun case, probably from 'The Army & Navy' store, the Victorian campaign furniture and tailored uniform outfitters in London.

These fitted trunk-boxes were usually where the owners pistols, often cased matching pairs given as gifts when the owner went to war, sabres, ceremonial swords, and awards and insignia were stored.

Obviously the remaining key opened that, which Georgy did, and we both gasped in wonder. Inside the red baize-lined gun-box were jewellery boxes, dozens upon dozens of blue fish-skin or green velvet ring, brooch, and necklace boxes stacked three deep and filling the case completely, with names like Lalique, Boucheron, Cartier, and Verver stamped on them in gold leaf. In the centre of the tray there were more than a dozen flat, green and blue fish-skin boxes with the magical Фаберже imprint stamped in gold on them that I'd seen so many times on television: Fabergé, a king's ransom of the rarest, most beautiful, most desirable jewellery in the world locked in a trunk in the attic of my home; it was almost surreal.

Georgy stared wide-eyed at me, while Aunt Kay smiled down at her.

"This is your mother's, grandmother's and great-grandmother's collection and family pieces going all the way back to Tudor times, Will. Your mother took it all out of the vault at Coutts Bank after your poor father passed away because she didn't want estate taxes or Death Duties to grab any of these pieces if anything happened to her. Your family has spent generations acquiring these pieces and loving them, she wanted you to have them, not have them disappear or be sold off to pay bills. Your grandmother and your mother loved and treasured each and every piece there, and she knew you would too. She had me hide them against this day, reasoning that if she didn't know where they were nobody could ever make her reveal their location. She trusted me to keep them safe for you, something I was both honoured and privileged to do."