A Victorian Lord Ch. 01

Rokeby looked disconsolately from the Carriage window, the rain spluttered against the thin glass, as the contraption creaked and groaned over the rutted track slowing the four matching chestnut thoroughbreds to a bare crawl.

"Barely four hours for a hundred miles by the railway then straight back into the dark ages, by God I hate the Country."

"Cheer up old chap, things could be worse, think of your inheritance." Flemming reassured him.

"Look rather good missing the old duffers funeral hey what?" Rokeby jested.

"Look you promised me shooting, fishing and all the wenches I could prong, if I were to accompany you to this ghastly place so you should be dammed well jollying me along."

"Sorry Flemming, it's just I have such misgivings, it is one thing to be heir apparent to my uncles estate but inheriting it, well tis a big thing and no mistake."

"Yes ten thousand a year, how will you ever find time to spend it." Flemming quipped his eyes twinkling.

Rokeby checked his watch, "by jove we will be bloody late. Coachman," he bellowed. "Detatch a Pair we must ride"

"Bad bits over sir, it will barely take half a quarter of an hour sir"

"Very well but don't spare the whip." he replied reassuringly.

The crowd waited, the Village, all the farm hands and tenants and all the womenfolk, clustered around the old Village Church where the funeral was to be held, the soft rain ruining their carefully laundered Sunday best, black streaks betraying the lamp black the old timers used to hide their white hair lest the new squire decide their days of hard work to be beyond them.

The elegant ladies too, their hats for show, soaking up the rain like sponges to release the moisture down their elegant necks in an inelegant trickle.

And what elegant ladies, Hermione, now the Dowager Lady Ashfordly, Widow of the recently deceased Lord, in her finery, and her step daughters Katherine and Rebekah, all waiting to throw themselves on the mercy of the new lord, Rokeby, the estate passing through the male line only, and the other ladies, each believing themselves to be irresistible to the new Lord., and seeing themselves in white walking down the aisle to the waiting Lord for marriage. Even the married ones considering in which way their spouses may be despatched to facilitate this.

Perhaps most nervous of all Reverend Peasbody, not only was there the pressing matter of the funeral, the grave barely half the required six feet due to rock and the lazy incompetent grave digger, but the hole in the church finances, in truth he had used the Church money as his own relying on the Lord's disinterest but now perchance the new Lord might look into matters and discover his deceipt.

The Carriage hove into view, the team of four sweating and frothing at the mouth from their exertions.

"My Lord, please accept my sincere condolences," the Vicar addressed Flemming as the Carriage door opened.

"Accepted, except that dour fellow behind me is the Lord, I am just the Honourable James Flemming."

"Begging your pardon sir." cringed the Vicar,

"Shall I commence sir?"

"For gods sake yes get this bunch of drowned rats under cover before they all get pneumonium."

Rokeby made his way to the front pew as was his right sitting alongside the Dowager and his cousins.

The Vicar commenced the service, "He that is born of man hath but a short time"

Rokeby chuckled what a stupid line he thought.

He looked at the throng assembled, rain dripped through the Chancel ceiling down between the choir stalls, where some of the Village children had been scrubbed up and forced into long robes with as some sort of pantomime choir, red for girls black for boys, with white surplices over the top part, except one boy in a red dress.

Its hair long and unkempt it took a turn at the organ bellows just by his seat for the final Hymn. "We shall sing Hymn 3476 Death is coming" announced the vicar.

"Bloody come already" muttered a deep Yokel voice.

Rokeby swung around, a comedian, he thought, thing s were looking up.

The Organ sounded the first notes of the dirge.

Rokeby could repress his feelings no longer.

"For Gods sake play the bloody thing so we can sing it. it will be Thursday before you have finished."

The keyboard lid crashed down and they heard footsteps and the door slamming.

"Put your foot in it again old chap" bellowed Flemming "Have we an Organist in the house." "I can play, sir" It was the red robed Choirboy."If someone will pump."

"Go to it lad,I'll pump"

And he sprang from his seat.

"And keep it up to time, and you lot sing, you are supposed to be praising god not crying into your mead" he ordered.

The Organ started, suddenly transformed from an instrument of torture to something faintly musical. "Use your bloody feet" he stage whispered, and the lad soon had the largely unused lower pipes of the organ thumping out the bass part, odd bits of plaster and thick lumps of dirt fell from the ceiling the very building seemed to shake.

"Pull all the stops out for the last verse" he ordered and the old organ sent fort such a caucophany of sound that many feared the building would collapse, elegant ladies covered their ears, Yokels sang as never before and all knew they would never forget this day.

The last whinges faded from the Organ, and shaken the Vicar led the procession to the graveyard, the coffin lowered an embarrassingly short distance, and mud flung on top while the Vicar droned Dust to Dust, Ashes to Ashes.

"There is a small repast at the Inn," announced Lady Hermione, and suddenly the yokel horde had disappeared towards the Inn.

Hermione stood close to Him, Rokeby aware of her, very aware, she wore the same perfume as his favourite whore in Mayfair, how could she know he wondered? or did all whores smell the same, she barely thirty marrying an old fool of sixty, and by all accounts giving him a heart attack in the process of copulation.

He wondered to himself if he should offer her one shilling and sixpence for the full experience, or if provincial whores were cheaper.

He saw the doe eyed Cousins, from the earlier marriage, the first wife had been modestly beautiful but by all accounts less intelligent than his Uncle which was no mean feat, most people that stupid were after all in Lunatic asylums, and the girls sadly clearly took after their parents.

Rokeby looked around, it would be a tiresome, tedious, frustrating time ahead until he could sort the affairs out and return to civilisation.

"You must come to the House" instructed Hermione, "And we must talk."

"I fear you intend to talk whilst I listen, but I shall have plenty to say have no fear," Rokeby quipped as if in jest.

The Staff lined up at the front steps, Rokeby noted Hermione's genius in employing only the ugliest serving maids, clearly she wished the late Lord to bestow his favours on her and not on some pretty buxom serving wench for whose resulting bastard he would be required to pay and pay well.

"I say Rokeby, its like Mrs Crufts show" Flemming chuckled at the subtlety of his wisecrack.

"Mongrel class hey what" Rokeby agreed.

The table was laid with some of what passed for fine meats and fine wines but would have barely sufficed for a servants repast in Mayfair.

"This is Bradbury our Agent, he runs the estate, and does the accounts and Mr Bryant of Benson and Hedges, Solicitors he shall advise us of the will.

"Yes Mr Bryant pray tell what trifle did the old duffer leave to me except the dammed title which will lie like a millstone around my neck."

"My lord it is with great sorrow that I hear you speak of the late Lord so, he was a great man in his way sir, he overcame a fearsome lack of intellect to out babble the finest ranters in the whole of their Lordships House in Westminster Palace, talk out a bill said they, why fetch Ashfordly, he shall bamboozle and twist and turn till no one shall know what is afoot, a great man indeed sir." Bryant declared.

"I had not but met the Gentleman twenty summers since, so I cannot confirm or deny your opinion but it is good that he had friends such as thee to spring to his defence, but sir pray do not delay, am I to receive a trifle yea or nay."

"A trifle, sir all is entailed on thyself, lest that which Lady Hermone brought to the union and that be almost naught, his Lordship hath dressed and clothed her Ladyship expensively from their first dalliance, even the very clothe on her back art thine Sir to treat as is thy will."

"And I am to maintain her in luxury, clothe feed provide shelter and a season for each Cousin at court to supply, so that myself I am unable to secure a wife for want of funds." he enquired.

"No sir, nothing was so written, His lordship expected to settle the daughters and from Lady Hermione a male heir to secure, but she seemingly barren were."

"It cannot be, I am Widow all should be mine." Lady Hermione shouted thumping he table.

"It is so for lower orders but the Family trust says to the Male heir goeth the estate and in default to the Crown, had not Mr Rokeby come forward the Queens Bailiff wouldst have possession taken and have castest on to the very street all within."

"Then we must issue a challenge," she demanded.

"I serve his Lordship Madam, I shall protect his interests against thine, it is my duty."

"It is unfathomable, unreasonable, how that I hath laid abed with the stink of that evil brute and suffered his slime within me and hath made show of passion and love, to his every satisfaction and yet am left devoid of anything, not even the payment such as a common whore should receive for acts so distasteful. How can it be that I am to be left destitute."

"Did you have no affection for My Uncle?" asked Rokeby.

"How could affection for one so vulgar grow, he farteth louder than the very Ocheclopede in the Orchestra, and more tunefully, his breath stinketh likewise, My Lord the sacrifices I hath made to raise my station, it is fitting surely that I receive this house and some farms to keep me as I am accustomed." Her speech was with passion delivered."

"Did nothing but the elevation of Rank and Station and fortune, lead thee to the alter, was there no love," Rokeby asked.

"One could as well love an Ox" She replied. "And the daughters, how tedious are they, how I wished them to find husbands, but how is it to be, unless one enchanteth you into her bedchamber my Lord."

"Oh no, no I see I have a duty so I shall seek lodgings for you that the girls may do a season, with a suitable dowry." Rokeby spoke with generosity.

"Begging your Pardon sir but pray do not make promises without that the state of they fortune be set out, the coffers are bled sir" Bradbury cringed his very palms sweating.

"But there is Ten Thousand a year."

"But sir the expense of the house and the coaches and the race horses, and the investments it draineth the funds, I hath warned his Lordship but he taketh notice of Her Ladyship and ignoreth me." Bradbury was slowly turning a purple colour."

"One of such rank should have racing horses, and fine carriages, all were old, and a branch railway, so we should hath no need to crawl like mudlarks to the far station."

"She spendeth the capital sir, I say spend but the income but no, and now the vaults are bare."

Katherine spoke "We are much admired now My Lord, we were of the second rank until our new Mother showed how the present fashion could enhance and elevate us to the very front rank and we are much obliged to her for doing so are we not Rebekah."

"Yes sir I am now certain I shall snare an Earl at the very least" Rebekah simpered.

"I shall not beat the bush about, Aunt, but it is clear that you must find alternate lodgings, If Ashfordly House is to be my home,"

"But dear Charlie how shall we uproot ourselves, why you might find our company stimulating, even satisfying," Hermione suggested.

"Do you know" said Rokeby later to Flemming when the ladies had retired, and Agent and Lawyer gone, "I'll wager I could have disrobed and pronged that strumpet there and then and not received one single murmur of disapproval from her lips."

"That Hermione hath already chosen you for her new Husband old chap, take you good care."

Down the hill a piece despair and recriminations resounded around the Vicarage, Reverend Peasbody, worried out of his mind about his imminent discovery as a thief, Mrs Peasbody smarting at her humilliation as Organist at the new Lord's hands and the three daughters, Faith, Hope and Mary.

"We face the Workhouse my children, I am undone, my greed has been my downfall, unless he can be distracted, I would not ask but, my daughters can you not summon your womanly wiles to distract our new Lord."

"To consort with him" asked Faith.

"To Seduce him" simpered Hope.

"To whisk him into Matrimony, father you are living in a dream world," scolded Mary

"Ha you could never seduce anyone Mary, the new Lord mistook you for a boy" retorted Faith.

"It is of no interest to me" lied Mary, for somehow today she had realised that she had a great interest in that man, the one she had played for, who thought her a man, or at least a boy, her feelings troubled her.

"She might well be a boy, eighteen summers has she seen yet she remains as flat chested as any soldier in the Yeomanry." laughed Faith peering down her own ample cleavage.

It was in truth a desperate attempt to deny her increasing femininity, Mary wished only to read and play music and somehow to follow her father into the service of the Lord yet how could she do such? Each morning she bound herself uncomfortably tightly around with wide bands of linen to hide her protuberances, but mother nature must surely a some stage win and where would she then go?, a Convent, cut off from the outside world, no longer to walk in the woods and meadows and fish and catch rabbits to supplement the families meagre supply of food. Or to marry and turn her back on the lord to fornicate like the rabbits she watched, a few seconds of passion then the pain, the pain of the childbirths which so often her mother was called to in some rotting diseased shack somewhere where money for a Doctor or midwife could not be found. Or perhaps she could join those fallen women, given a pittance by their "Lover" that they might bring up his bastard then to walk the streets when even that was ended.

She thought of the new Lord, what a man, a man able to defy convention and speak out when needed, everyone knew her mothers playing was abysmal but only he said so, he had given her her chance to play, in front of the whole Village, no less.

The binding on her chest bothered her and she felt strange down below, wet, sticky uncomfortable, her under garments moist as if she had wetted herself slightly.

The evening turned to night and she lay tossing and turning without sleep. until exhaustion came with the dawn.

Rokeby spent the night alone, to his huge frustration, fact was there was not a single half pretty girl for miles, and he woke unsatisfied.

He went down to break his fast were an aged hag was burning toast over a roaring fire.

Flemming was there before him.

"What is on the list for today then old chap" he asked.

"Sending for some tarts must be number one," Rokeby suggested.

"That Rebekkah is pretty well, pretty pretty," Flemming suggested.

"If you want to prong her you have to marry her, quite simple." Rokeby explained.

"I thought I could prong anything with a slot but I had not banked on this lot of Neanderthals. moaned Rokeby.

"You promised Hunting" Flemming reminded him.

"Right, Fishing and Rabbits and sneak round and see who is working and who is slacking."

Break-fast finished they collected guns and fishing poles from the head Gamekeeper and set off to explore.

Mary Peasbody had similar ideas and fatefully on this fateful morn both parties chose Honeyacre copse for their sport.

Flemming found Mary's snare by the simple expedient of tripping over it, he crashed noisily to the ground winded.

"Poachers" announced Rokeby. "We will come back later and."

He stopped in mid sentence as he saw a figure approaching, he motioned Flemming to move deeper into the copse and followed him back away from the snare.

"It's the choirboy" Rokeby announced. The figure wore a worn brown leather jerkin or Jacket and brown leather boots and leather breeches, and carried a large sack on a strap around her shoulders for her catch.

Mary susected nothing until the cracking of a twig made her look up from the snare into the muzzle of a gun.

"Hanging offence poaching." Flemming informed them.

"But sire we need food my father cannot live on his stipend and we have to repay," She had said too much.

"Repay?"

"Shoot me then sir, I am prepared to die, Tell my father I love him and also mother and say I went to my death unsullied and I am sorry I was not a better daughter to him."

"That was a very pretty speech sir, was it shakespeare, or perchance that Dickins chap" laughed Flemming.

"Yet it cannot go unpunished. will you take fifty lashes."

"As an alternative to death, yes sire"

"Then drop your breeches to the ground and bend over"

"No I cannot," she wailed.

"You prefer the leaden alternative" Rokeby suggested.

"Oh god in heaven forgive me," Mary prayed as her trembling fingers released her belt and her breeches fell to the floor.

"Silken undergarments hey, what have we here, down with them lad let us get to busines" Rokeby ordered.

"He wears ladies underclothes, is it not strange," Flemming queried.

"Almost normal in Brighton" quipped Rokeby " But a bit unexpected here I admit"

"Take them down damn you" shouted Flemming and reluctantly, tearfully Mary complied.

Flemming and Rokeby resolved to take turns to whip the poacher with their belts Flemming first, but the screams were far more plaintive than they expected, and Suddenly they both realised how tender and feminine the abused backside was.

"Charlie, I don't want to worry you but we are beating a girl" announced Flemming.

"Hey" replied Rokeby.

"Yes look" he thrust his hand between her legs showing the smooth outline." Slot and no prong, says girl, to me."

"I tried to say", she blustered.

"We can prong her instead" suggested Flemming.

"And where are we to find intestine, or does disease not worry you" Rokeby suggested.

"Good point old chap."

"I am not diseased I am intact" Mary sealed her fate with these seven words.

"Then I shall take you"

"No" she cried "Not here"

"At the house then, yes come I shall prong you at the house." Rokeby decided.

They took her to the house and ignoring the servant's attempts at dissuasion took her to Rokeby's bed chamber.

"Look old chap, privacy and all that I will withdraw I think" Flemming withdrew.

"Come undress, the sheets are soft and if indeed it be your first I owe you that it be a good one."

"Can you not spare me sir?"

He worked to undo her buttons ad remove the jerkin and a wollen garment with a long neck and revealed an undersirt and the linen bindings around her protuberances "This should be around your belly to enhance your charms, not hide them."

"I don't want to be a woman sir" she pleaded. "Sadly I am in urgent need of a woman so woman you will become, but my dear you are beautiful of body and handsome of face, what is there in womanhood to fear?" He asked.

"Pain of Childbirth, poverty, that is what I fear." she replied.

He undid her breeches and boots and soon she was naked on the bed, afraid but unashamed.

"I shall pay handsomely if you bear my bastard, I promise," Rokeby removed his own garments, ordinarily he would merely divest himself of his breeches but he chose to undress completely, he wanted her approval, he found himself wanting her to want him. "Do you want me to prong you" he whispered.