Diana in the Offing Ch. 01

Charlotte bolted upright, looking around the room.

"Johnathan?" Charlotte asked with some heat, "where are you? You were just here."

She then remembered some vague notion of the girl in her...

Throwing up the sheet, she searched the bed for ... someone?

"Are you looking for something, Charlotte?" Grace asked; she looked at the girl as if she might change into a raccoon.

"I could have sworn...." Charlotte started, realized how foolish she sounded, and thought better of it.

"Nothing, just a dream, I expect," the memories already fading, "I had a dream about Johnathan, that is all."

"Oh miss, I forgot, your anniversary is coming up too; I am sorry." Grace rushed to the bedside, throwing her arms around Charlotte, and pulled the girl's head to her breasts. "There, there, pet. We shall keep you busy and love on you to keep you from thinking dark thoughts."

Pushing Charlotte away, like a rag doll, to look into her eyes. "Besides, today is your birthday!" Grace was near squealing.

"We must get you ready for the day!" Grace pulled the sheets away and pulled Charlotte up without thinking about her desire to lay abed. Thus Charlotte's 18^th birthday began.

The hours between waking and her dressing went by in a blur; Charlotte was sure it was to keep her from being underfoot.

She stood in front of her dressing mirror as she had every day since coming to Emily's home, she searched for any change, but she saw none.

Indeed, the woman in the glass seemed much the same as every other day, there was no real difference, but this day was different. First, this was her 18th birthday. She was now recognized as an adult in many aspects of her life that had hitherto been denied her.

Everyone was excited for her; of course, she knew that a party was in the offing, and the house was trying very hard to keep it quiet, which made the girls smile. But for Charlotte, it was all rather anticlimactic. She had been an effective adult since her papa's passing, and the law now saw her as an adult, which was a significant difference. Emily had told her that things would change after her birthday, but she had no idea how much.

Since coming to Emily's home, Charlotte experienced many things she could only imagine. Parties as a guest instead of a servant. Dresses and unmentionables that were made for her rather than altered secondhand.

She had blushed deeply when the seamstress had commented that she would make a potato sack look like a Paris creation. At the time, the woman was holding Charlotte's breasts for professional reasons, but still, it was embarrassing to be touched there, and her body did make its appreciation known.

Emily had insisted that Charlotte attend intense tutoring sessions, which went on for hours; she had some schooling before papa's passing. Papa had insisted she do well and study hard, but after his passing, it seemed unnecessary. Besides, she had more education than most girls.

But Emily would hear no argument, Charlotte would finish her education, and that was that one simply did not argue with Lady Emily more than once, which meant days and days of reading, study, more reading, and discussions. Emily insisted she attend lectures at the local universities; how she accomplished this was beyond Charlotte since few of them had another single woman but attend she did. Then came painting and music with a professor at Webster, no less! He was not so kind or happy to teach until Emily conversed with his wife; suddenly, he was much more polite. Her playing was now approaching virtuoso, and she was often asked to play at the grandest houses in Saint Louis, but always as a guest and to applause. Then there was tennis, bicycling through Forest Park, and her riding lessons.

It was not always fun; there were grueling studies of philosophy and practical things like languages and even bookkeeping and investment of all things. As if she would ever have enough to rub together, let alone invest!

So many distractions and educational opportunities that it took time before Charlotte began to suspect she was being distracted and often drawn away from the house. But that must be foolishness. Emily was always there for dinners, except when she was away on business. Although Charlotte often wondered what business it was since she never discussed it.

"Don't you worry; when you are older, I will instruct you. Now you focus on your studies." That was Emily's only comment on the subject, and that was it.

But still, she could not help but wonder, not long though she had archery and drawing, then pottery, cooking classes, and on and on.

She stood before the mirror and looked at herself in this ridiculous outfit.

She had been told that every buck she had shot was part of the outfit. She had no idea she had taken so many, but she had.

Leather bustier with polished silver fittings snaps and latches up the front that stopped just below her bosoms. And those were lifted and supported in such a way that they were clear for everyone to see, see from Illinois if one cared to look. She blushed, realizing they certainly would look, as her breasts threatened to burst out in a blind search for freedom. It was positively obscene, and she searched for the blouse that would at least make the outfit less criminal, but there was none. So all that remained to be worn was tall black boots, a skirt, the matching black mask, and full-length cape.

'Perhaps the blouse is being pressed? That must be it.' So Charlotte thought as she watched her breasts threaten to escape their diminutive surroundings with each intake of breath.

The bustier hugged from just under her arms down along her sides, on either side, eighteen delicate silver chains dangling from front to back like a ladder of inverted arches, down along her ribs, past her waist to the flair of her hips. There they met the tops of her boots. She had worn high boots in her riding, but these were ridiculously tall, like something from a pirate's pantomime. Unlike them, these boots were tight, laced up the back from ankle to thigh. It was a hopeless thing to get them on herself. The heels alone were enough to cause a nosebleed. The black stockings under the boots were held up by the silk ribbons attached to her bustier, and those made the boot's silk lining make the most inappropriate hissing sound that sent a tingle up her back.

The entire outfit was as black as midnight with lightning flashes of silver; leather paddles and whip hung from hips like dime-store gun fighters' holsters. A simple knee-length skirt covered her modestly, but it was low-slung on her hips, was certainly not something she would usually choose, and did not seem part of the outfit. At least her privates were covered by the small swatch of silk that Emily had given her. Charlotte thought her costume was beyond the pale, and there must be parts that she had not discovered.

Deborah and Grace had nearly fallen over each other in offers to help her bathe and dress. She could handle bathing on her own, but for some reason, neither would hear of it, and Emily was no help!

"Charlotte, darling, let us help you! It is not every day that our girl turns 18, is it?"

Ultimately, all three had 'helped' her, and Charlotte was pink enough to be considered an Indian. The woman had plucked, pinched, powdered, and even shaved every square inch of her body below her neck. Finally, they had helped cinch, pull, and prod her into this ridiculously obscene outfit and become rather cross when she objected that she looked like a whore. That exclamation had brought a frosty silence when she uttered the word 'whore'.

"Don't you ever use that word in this house again" Emily's voice held the first anger that Charlotte had ever heard from her in all these months together. "Women do what they must to survive in this world, Charlotte, and given different circumstances ...."

"I am sorry, Emily, I did not mean anything by it; I just didn't think ...." Charlotte did not know what she had done.

"No, you didn't," Emily did not look at Charlotte again before she left. "Finish getting dressed; it is nearly time to go to your party."

Deborah and Grace helped her without saying another word.

"I am sorry," Charlotte bleated, trying to understand what she had said. "I didn't mean to ... I am sorry."

Before leaving, following Grace, Deborah paused at the door and turned to face Charlotte's pleading eyes.

"Not many orphan girls are as lucky as you, Charlotte, most like me and Grace ... well, we end up selling ourselves to eat." Deborah's voice cracked, and her eyes were swimming as she cleared her throat. "We was lucky. We met Miss Emily, and she ...."

Deborah's voice failed her; then she cleared her throat again, "She saved both of us." The door closed, leaving Charlotte with her thoughts and her shame.

She was no fool; she had to fend off offers of money for her virtue since she was a young girl. She had been gifted with some talent and a small legacy that had tided her over, but if things had been only a little different, she would have had to make that same terrible choice herself.

She washed her face to cool her skin and hide the streaks of tears. Her eyes were puffy but, luckily, not bloodshot.

Squaring her shoulders, she took the cape from its hanger and stepped out of the room.

She walked to the stairs, her footsteps muffled by the carpets, and steadied herself on the railing as Emily had shown. Down the grand stair to meet the women she now considered her family.

She hugged each, first Grace then Deborah giving them both tight hugs. "I am truly sorry. I will never use that word again." She whispered, and she never did till the end of her days.

Both hugged her tightly, and tears threatened until Emily said something, and it broke apart.

"I am going to have to teach you something about a stiff upper lip, dear Charlotte" There was no heat in Emily's words, only love in her smile.

"I am sorry for what I said, but Emily, please, what kind of party will I need this sort of outfit!"

Charlotte, although chastened, was still flummoxed. So much so that she had forgotten entirely about the blouse; she had never felt more exposed.

It was Emily's turn to look confounded; finally, her face changed to reflect her annoyance.

"Deborah, didn't you tell her? Grace? You tell her everything else in this house...."

"No, Miss, this is your surprise, remember?" Both said much the same simultaneously.

"You said you wanted it kept a secret, so we done that."

"Well, I certainly did not think you would succeed; you seem never to be able to keep a secret from her before!"

Emily's words were hotter than the laughter in her voice.

"Oh dear, poor Charlotte, I am sorry. It is a Greek-themed costume party; I had hoped to dress you as the Greek goddess, but Mrs. Thurnbottom insisted on it, and as she is one of my ..." Emily hesitated, glancing at Deborah, Grace, and finally Charlotte. "Well, you, my darling, are the Roman deity Diana, Goddess of the Hunt and our guest of honor," Emily was having trouble speaking through her laughter. "Oh dear, I am sorry! No wonder you were confused."

They went to the carriage, and seated above were two rather large men that Charlotte had never seen before, but she was given no time to think as Deborah and Grace hugged and kissed her.

"Are you not coming with us?" Charlotte felt horrid that her closest friends would not attend her birthday party.

"Oh no, Miss, we have duties here, and besides, we will have cake and coffee when you return. So now you go off and enjoy yourself. I am certain you will enjoy your birthday present."

Grace had a hair trigger and tended to go off at any time, and this was no exception, "Give her a couple of solid whacks for me, Miss."

Charlotte never had a chance to consider this as Emily bundled her into the carriage, and Deborah hugged Grace.

Soon they were off, traveling up the Parkway till Lincoln Avenue, then south. That was a bit of a surprise to Charlotte, as that direction lay the rougher parts of the city, laying north of her beloved Soulard. Not precisely criminal neighborhoods but certainly not the area around Forest Park she had become accustomed to.

Down Lincoln for what seemed an eternity for a girl wearing little more than a cape. Charlotte found herself snuggling close to Emily, who patted her to reassure the frightened Charlotte that all would be well.

"Have I ever told you about my husband?" Emily was looking out into the twilight as they rode.

"No, you haven't," Charlotte could think of nothing more insightful to say as she pulled the cape tighter.

Emily smiled, that sort of lonesome smile that widows all know. She remembered the sweet times, but the oily stain of loss was there too.

"He was an attaché to the embassy in London when I met him at a garden party in the country."

Emily snuck her arm around Charlotte, "He had come to shoot, but I always thought he was there to spy."

She whispered the last as if she were sharing some naughty secret in bed late at night with a girlfriend.

"He was tall, oh so tall; he towered over everyone, including papa. He was as handsome as a man can be, and his smile was warm, so warm my insides melted."

Emily's head was near Charlotte's, whispering into the girl's ear, her hot breath tickling the hairs running down Charlotte's neck.

Emily laughed, and it occurred to Charlotte that she had not heard the older woman laugh with such ease.

"He danced with me, again and again, much to the rage of the other guests and their single daughters."

Emily's smile was not dimmed. Instead, she paused for a few clip-clops of the horse's hooves.

"He was unusual in many ways, he could dance and sing, and above all, for an American, he was quiet."

Emily was quiet herself for a few more heartbeats.

"But he did not have to shout to me; his eyes did all he needed." Papa was blind, of course, but Mama ... she knew and tried to usher him away, but he would not be distracted and nor thwarted." Emily's smile waned a bit, but only because she was lost in memory.

"He left, and I thought him gone from my life, but he turned up a fortnight later. I was just back from town when he came rushing from the house, quite cross, with father in hot pursuit, shouting about the 'impudence of the man.' I asked mama what had happened and found that he had asked for my hand, not just to begin a courtship but to marry and leave for America within a week!" Emily chuckled.

"Americans are always in a hurry for something, usually something not good for them." Emily chuckled to herself, staring into space onto a scene long ago but top of mind. "But, of course, it was impossible! Unthinkable! Unimaginable! How could he be so arrogant? So rude! Impudent was not even the word; there was only one word ... unabashedly American."

Emily's eyes were plainly suffering from some speck of dust or another as they swam with tears.

"After such a display," Emily quietly blew her nose, "How could I ever see him again? It was impossible, and I wondered about this as I found myself filling my small bag. Then, even more, as I found myself on a train for town. Then in the chapel of their embassy, and again in our berth on the liner headed to New York and finally on the train to Saint Louis, a married woman."

Charlotte sat quietly, thinking. She then snuggled closer to her protector.

"Emily, Grace told me that you have not spoken with anyone in your family since coming to America. Is that true?" Charlotte hoped it was not.

"Yes, I am afraid it is true, I have tried, but all my letters are returned unopened." Emily snorted.

"Foolish, going to the expense of returning the letters when they could simply pitch them?"

Emily shook her head.

"Is there no one?" Charlotte knew the pain of loss but could not imagine throwing someone away in her wildest dreams.

"There is one," Emily smiled, much warmer this time. "My niece, a perfect little chatterbox but a mind as keen as a razor. When she is older, I will write to her, explain...." She trailed off.

"How did he die?" Charlotte was well out on the ice already, but she pushed on.

"I honestly don't know, some sort of explosion, I believe. Probably something to do with the Jefferson Barracks' work on explosives, but they would never tell me." Emily replied, without emotion, not a lack but more too much, and it was exhausting. "We buried him in his parent's crypt with full honors." It was about then that the carriage stopped.

"This is our first home, Charlotte; it was all I had left after James died. Once my feet were under me, I considered selling it but opted to use it for other things." Emily did not explain, for the carriage door opened, and she stepped out.

"Thank you, Mr. Brown," Emily seemed to disappear next to the hugely brawny man who had offered his hand in aid. "We shall be late; I fear we will stay over, so feel free to enjoy yourselves." She handed the man money, and he and the driver smiled broadly. "Just be careful, and remember what I taught you about being polite."

"Yes, ma'am," from both men, and just like that, Emily and Charlotte were standing in the street looking at a nondescript three-story brick row house, much like any other. Indeed, it was very well maintained; the windows were spotless with freshly painted frames, and brass so well-polished it shone brightly even in the early autumn evening.

"Shall we?" Emily did not wait for Charlotte to answer.

It was only at the top of the stairs that she realized that Emily was wearing no costume!

"If I am Diana, Emily, then who are you?" Charlotte asked as the door opened onto a very comfortable foyer, and Emily stepped in.

"Why my dear, in moments, I shall be Zeus the seducer of women," Emily answered and disappeared inside, leaving Charlotte a bit stunned before stepping in and the door closed behind her.