A Sissy Saga Ch. 18

Fortunate enough to claim a table by the window, she ordered morning coffee instead of tea, and since she'd eaten no more than a bird at breakfast she asked Miss Moffet's girl if she could find her some cheese and a few crackers. The sweet thing was about Jennifer's age, with superb legs and a short skirt, and the swing in the front of her blouse advertised the fact she wasn't wearing a bra. Miriam couldn't help wondering if the lovely creature sometimes entertained women during her free-time.

Through the window the life of Peasmarsh dawdled along in its innocuous way. On the far side of the road Larkin the grocer had put out a display of apples, oranges, rhubarb and melons, and the riot of their contrasting shapes, hues and textures inadvertently competed with the velvety pansies, glowing dwarf marigolds and multicoloured polyanthus outside the florists shops next door. Among the passers-bye investigating these products she noticed Dorothea Boroclough. She was stooping over the boxes, her tweed skirt immodestly high, and with some dread Miriam hoped the awful woman had no intention of taking tea at Moffet's.

Unfortunately it appeared that was exactly her intention. Mrs Boroclough straightened up and suddenly plunged across the road, the movement so abrupt that she nearly swept an elderly farm labourer off his bike. The man complained in vain, for her only response was a dismissive flick of her head and an expression of contempt as she stormed in through the door of the tea-room.

The matriarch of Peasmarsh entered like the Queen of Sheba on a royal progress, with a smile and a little wave to everyone in the room, then to Miriam's considerable horror she made a beeline straight towards her table. It was a surprise too, since in the past the woman had cut her dead if their paths crossed. This day she seemed to be actively seeking her out.

In the village and for miles around Dorothea was a force to be reckoned with. She was leader of the Peasmarsh Mafia who under the guise of the Women's Guild met weekly to gather, dissect and pass judgement on all local affairs. She was wealthy and dominated the Guild in the style of a feudal tyrant. The diktats she issued, whether directly or by subtle hints and innuendo, were slavishly adhered to by all the Guild members and their spouses. Her opinion mattered, her grievances were sympathised with, and her abhorrence's were always viewed as justified.

For months her self-righteous intolerance to the kind of school Miriam was running had necessitated herself having to face enmity and invective from all kinds of people, and at a time when everything about the future of Fairyfield Grange was in the land of topsy-turvy the last thing she wanted was a public row with her. But if the overbearing bitch wanted one Miriam was in the mood to give as good as she got.

To her surprise the woman's expression was not one of hostility. There was no sign of pique, no hint of antipathy. "Would you mind terribly if I joined you?" Mrs Boroclough asked, smiling.

Miriam gave her a blank stare, neither welcoming nor offensive. She was curious more than anything. Puzzled as to why the leader of a gang of narrow-minded harridans now wanted her company. She nodded, and pushed down on the Stilton, cutting a thick crumbly slice which she carefully loaded onto her plate. "Please do."

Dorothea took a critical glance at the nearest chair and dusted it with a slap of an handkerchief before sitting. Other than that her mood was friendly and conciliatory.

"I feel I owe you an apology, Miss Hancock. I've been somewhat offhand lately, and I have to concede I was in the wrong. You operate an unusual establishment - it's unorthodox, and it takes people such as I time to adjust to radical ideas. The parson says I'm too critical of change and should be prepared to embrace innovation."

She turned to click her fingers at the serving-girl, then went on. "I've concluded there is nothing strange about having young men trained up to be servants. Everyone finds in hard to get staff theses days and shortages can make life rather difficult. Young girls just don't want to go into domestic service the way they once did."

Miriam buttered a biscuit and scooped some Stilton onto it. "Clerics have always been a trial to people of reason, but for once our revered incumbent appears to speak some sense. You've been listening to lurid stories about me Mrs Boroclough, and sometimes stories have no relation to reality."

The serving-girl wheeled up a tea-trolley and Mrs Boroclough helped herself to a gingersnap filled with cream whilst a cup and saucer and a pot of Earl Grey were being placed on the table. The delicate aroma of oil of bergamot permeated the air as she poured.

"You've every right to reprimand me Miriam. In small communities such as ours entertainment is too often comprised of malicious gossip."

As the tea-trolley departed Mrs Boroclough stared at the backs of the serving-girl's legs. "A shameless hussy, that one," she confided, "I have it she was seen in the spinney last night, in the back of a car with TWO men." She licked her lips. "Another account says it wasn't two men at all, but old Jessup the Postmaster and his WIFE!"

She offered an ingratiating smile before changing the subject. "I enjoyed a discussion with Alec Grimshaw yesterday - I believe you're acquainted with him being on the County Council - he speaks most highly of you."

So he should, thought Miriam, after all the fingering and fucking of young girls she'd organised for him in Harrogate - but where on earth was all this woman's gobbledegook leading?

"The students at the Grange," continued Dorothea, dropping a slice of lemon into her cup, "They're all such sweet things, though I - er - suppose you have to punish them on occasions."

"Naturally. They may have the appearance of blameless angels but they can display the behaviour of imps."

"Spare the rod and spoil the child is an adage I entirely agree with. When the flesh is weak, firm discipline is usually the only answer. It's a practise I've often had to apply to those in my employ."

She sipped her tea delicately. "Between ourselves I'm in something of a quandary. I have a rather large home that requires a live-in maid to look after it, and the girl I have at the moment now insists on moving out to live with her boyfriend." Her faced buckled with indignation. "People can be so selfish. I don't mind telling you, because I know it will go no further - but, I'm at the point were I need to make some other arrangement."

Now everything made sense to Miriam Hancock. The overindulged, outwardly pious leader of the community was really just a degenerate old bat who wanted to do business.

Having broached the subject Mrs Boroclough opened up with her requirements. "I have it on a whisper that you are likely to place some of your - er, pupils, into good quality homes quite soon. I'm not altogether hostile to having a male servant, and I'm am not altogether penniless either, so I'm curious as to - well, as to what kind of fee you'll be demanding."

Miriam gave no clue as to her troubles with the National Trust. Knowing that a sign of weakness would encourage various hyenas to begin nipping at her heels she was determined to refer to the future as assured.

"Taking on one of my young people could prove an expensive business." she said.

The older woman smirked. "As I've already mentioned, I'm not short of money. My dear hubby left me well provide for, and I have my own income too. I own the village."

"Own it?"

"Yes." Dorothea's eyes glowed. "There are about seventy houses and some shops. Some of the houses are let out to farm workers and only bring in peppercorn rents, but all in all I do very well from them."

"It sounds rather feudal."

"Perhaps. That's the way it is around here. Lady Diana may have a title, but I more than match her with money and property. Tenants. Always problems. I'm like a marriage guidance counsellor half the time."

"I expect you give excellent advice."

"I do have some influence. I have a lot of influence actually. No one around here dares question anything I say."

Miriam pushed her cheese to one side. Originally she'd been adamant that her students should be sent off to places well away from the locality when she disposed of them, but now she reassessed things.

If she obliged Mrs Boroclough, others would follow, and perhaps it wouldn't be a bad thing to accommodate a few of the top people in the immediate area. To a large extent it would bring them under her influence, and it would ensure their support instead of risking their acrimony.

"The produce of Fairyfield Grange will certainly be affordable to people such as yourself, Mrs Boroclough. Look, my school breaks for recess shortly, but there will be one or two students who will have to board-on through the holiday. Perhaps you'd like to have one on approval for a weekend and see how you get on before taking someone permanently."

The woman opposite perched a pair of spectacles on the end of her nose and delved into her handbag. A pocket diary, a chequebook and a gold plated fountain pen were then heaped onto the table. "I like the notion of a trial period. It's an excellent idea, and I'd like things settled soon. This weekend would be ideal. I'll give you a deposit right away."

Since Mrs Boroclough was already busily scratching figures onto a cheque Miriam was loath to stop her. And here was probably a woman who could manage the chaotic and irrepressible nature of Poppy.

Now, if she could only somehow get a feel of that serving girl's tits before she left the tea-room, she'd reckon her visit to the village time well spent.