Lady Pixie Ch. 03: Home affairs

The euphoria of the election victory was, at least for me, tempered by foreboding at the task ahead. I was no economist, and I was really only an accidental politician. I had been ten when the War had begun, and could remember the enthusiasm of the crowds and the boast that it "would all be over by Christmas", followed by the slow, horrific realisation that it would not be until Christmas 1918 that would be the case. This felt horribly similar. Yes, we had won an election with a massive majority. We could, in parliamentary terms do whatever we wanted; but what was to be done about an economy that had crashed as part of a world-wide collapse? We had power, but did anyone know what to do?

The answer in retrospect was "no", and not because people did not care or try, it was because the situation was unprecedented. The problem was that the more stubborn the depression was, whatever we tried, the more unemployment worsened, and the more people looked for quick fixes. I was glad I had been so honest with my voters, and my efforts were focussed on what could be done in Oldham.

The local economy depended almost entirely on the Mills, and with people not buying, the owners went to short-time working and shedding staff. The first to be fired were some of my beloved mill girls. Before May 1929 I had acted on behalf of the MP, my husband, Archie, but since then I had been the MP and decided, as I told Bella, to do what I had done in 1926 at the time of the General Strike - get my hands dirty.

Bella was busy in London most of the week. World affairs kept her chained to her news desk, and we kept in touch by phone. I longed to spend more time with her, but circumstances were not in our favour - at least not in that first few months. But she approved the idea of doing something.

My suite at the Piccadilly was a busy place that winter and spring, and after talking with my Agent and others, I got Fr. Joe, the parish priest to call a meeting of the Christian leaders in the constituency. "The Rev Joe" as everyone called him, was an austere, even gaunt man in appearance, but palpably holy, and I had discussed with him what we then proposed at the meeting in my suite after supper.

They were a mixed bunch. There was Joe, but also the Methodists, the Baptists, the Independent Baptists and even the Catholics, who usually refused to have anything to do with the "heretics"; that's how serious the situation was. Lees Mill, our largest employer was cutting back, and that would have effects all the way down the line to its suppliers, its workers and their children, and thence to the shops and businesses. I was due to see a deputation from the mill girls on Monday night, so although it was Saturday night, everyone came.

The Nonconformists - that is the Baptists and Methodists of various hues, regarded me with some suspicion. My Charleston, the flashing of my stocking tops, not to mention the rumours about my private life which had begun to circulate, made me an object of some suspicion. What, after all, could a mere woman, and a "Society woman" at that, know about the lives of the people of their communities? It was only my work during the Great Strike, and Joe's presence, that pulled them in. I knew I'd get one chance, and was determined not to blow it.

After supper I asked Joe to lead us in prayers. When he had finished I addressed them in deadly earnest.

"We all know this is bad and getting worse. The question is what are WE going to do about it?"

I could see them looking at me, some with deep scepticism.

"Surely", said the Methodist leader, Mr Barnard, "the question is what the Government will do?"

This was a critical moment and I shot back at once.

"Is that what the Good Samaritan said? Did he ask what the rabbis were going to do? No he got on and did it. Did St Paul ask who was going to help the Christians in Jerusalem, or did he get on and do it? There, is", I said with the utmost seriousness, "no 'them', there is only 'us', you, me and the leaders of this community. Between us we know every man of wealth in this constituency, and we need to get them to dig into their pockets - and I am starting with a donation of the whole of my parliamentary salary, plus the same sum from my own pocket".

There was a gasp. That was five hundred times the average annual wage.

"The Rev Joe and I are asking your help in raising the money which will do three things: fund foodbanks for those who cannot afford to eat; fund free schools for children to help parents who do work; and fund training programmes to re-skill and educate workers. God helps those who helps themselves - are we or are we not God's agents in this place?"

There was a round of applause. Then the Rev Joe intervened.

"You heard the lady. Are we on board brothers or are we going to fiddle while Rome burns?"

That night everyone of them signed up, and within the month we had raised three times the sum I had donated.

"Lady Cynthia", Mr Shufflebottom, my Agent, said to me after they had gone, "I was never prouder of thee. Thou hast no reason to do all of this save that thou art an angel in disguise." There was a tear in his eyes.

"Well Mr S, you're too kind, but we need a word about these rumours."

He looked embarrassed, as well he might.

"So tha's heard hast tha?

"I gather that some of our Nonconformist friends have been spreading stories about my 'unnatural predilections' during the campaign. No doubt that's why Barnard looked so shifty."

"Ignore them, my lady."

"No, no, Mr S. I am not minded to. We've a meeting with the mill girl deputation on Monday night, invite the press and tell them I'm open to questions about anything."

He looked concerned.

"Is that wise, my lady?"

"Probably not, Mr S, but I'm not aiming to be one of the Three Wise Men."

I talked down the line to Bella before sleeping. She expressed her concerns.

"But Pix, why confront them? Let it be, you know that they can't prove anything."

"No, Bella", I said, unusually for me when talking with her, "it won't do. It'll undermine what I am trying to do here if folk won't get behind me."

"They will Pix, but the problem is that they will have knives in their hands."

We agreed to differ.

I went to the parish church in Springhead for Morning Prayer at 11. Cranmer's words soothed me. I dined with the Rev Joe and some of his flock and stayed for Evening Prayer. Afterwards Joe pulled me aside.

"You are doing His work Lady C, don't you worry."

I thanked him. He knew the truth and he had never once judged me. One day, I hoped, his example would become the norm; but even as I write this so many years later, that hope is as far from realisation as ever.

I spent the next day in the office dealing with a thousand and one problems. As the MP I was the first, but also the last, resort for many of my constituents, and my team was kept busy. The last meeting of the day brought a familiar face into the room - Sally, the blonde mill girl who had goosed me during the election victory photograph.

"What can I do for you Sally?"

I could not but lick my lips, at least mentally, as I looked at her. Her work clothes were hardly haute couture, but nothing could hide that bust and her blonde hair and blue eyes, and she had about her the look of a woman who knew what she wanted and, from the way she was looking at me, who she wanted.

"Thanks for seeing me, your ladyship. Your secretary said to remind you to lock up, as she has to go early. I wanted two things, first to talk about our deputation tonight, and then about something I know is going to arise after."

Intrigued I invited her to say more.

She told me that the job losses and the cuts in working hours and wages at the Mill were going to create major problems and that many of the girls were listening to the Union activists who were recommending a strike. She thought all that would do was to cause further job losses, but did not know what to say or do.

I told her what I had in mind, the plans that I would outline.

"But why would you do that my lady? We're just common working women, no-one gives a fuck about us - pardon my French."

"I do, Sally, and we'll work together. Will you join my team? I need a leader on the ground, and there'll be some pay in it."

"You need a leader do you, my lady? That's what the rumours say."

I blushed.

"What do they say, Sally?"

"Well, my lady, I know from some of the mill lads that the young Mr Everard pays some of them to do unnatural things with him - 'a bit of rough' he calls it. Do you like a 'bit of rough' too your ladyship?"

I could feel the blood rising in my cheeks, and the juices wetting my knickers as she looked directly at me.

"What do you mean, Sally?"

She stood up, turning, she went to the door and locked it and then turned back to me.

"Get out from behind that desk. In fact, stand in front of it."

I looked at her. Neither of us had any doubt of what I would do; so I did it.

"Unbutton that skirt and take it off, then do the same with your blouse."

It never occurred to me to question her instructions, and as in a dream, I unbuttoned my skirt, stepping out of it and exposing my stockings, suspender-belt and knickers. I took my blouse off, and the silk semi-camisole I wore did nothing to hide the fact that my nipples were erect.

"How does it feel to have a common working girl taking charge of you - Pixie?"

Her use of my nickname made me conscious of renewed wetness between my legs.

"I like it, Sally."

"I know you do. Dot is a friend of mine, so I know just what you like."

So that was how she had so much confidence. That made sense. Dot was the maid from the hotel who my former lover Annie, had involved in our sexual adventures, and she, like Annie, had assumed a dominant role.

"Take that top off, I want to see if your bouncers are as tiny as Dot said."

Sally was smirking as I obeyed, and laughed as I took it off.

"My little sister has bigger bouncers than you!"

I blushed bright red, and I could feel my knickers flood.

Sally approached me and began to play with my nipples. As she pulled and squeezed, I began to moan.

"But these are right sensitive aren't they, Pixie?"

'Oh golly, yes, yes Miss Sally."

She smiled.

"Oh I like 'Miss Sally' I like it a lot. Right, on your knees and crawl between my legs."

She sat in the chair, but not before lifting her skirts and pulling her knickers off. I could see her very hairy pussy, and as I got closer she grabbed my head and pushed me in.

It smelt. I had forgotten that working-class women did not have the same hygiene habits as the women I was used to, but oddly that added to the pleasure.

Parting her hairy lips, I licked upward, scooping her gooey juices. She moaned. As I licked slowly, all the way up, she gripped me between her firm thighs.

"Bugger, bugger, oh that's, that's ohhhhhh!"

I doubted anyone had ever done to her what I was doing to her, and delighted in teasing her, introducing her to the delights of the sapphic code. The smell heightened my feelings of humiliation, and I put my hands under her bum and pulled her to me. I pressed my head against her, fucking her with my tongue, and then, pulling out, moved up to feather-lick her clit.

As she gripped me tight, I slid two fingers into her, curling up until I could feel that special rough patch, at which point I sucked her clit. As my fingers and tongue played with her, it was clear that she would not last long, and so I determined to make her orgasm the best she had ever had. My tongue feathered her clit as my lips sucked, and I could her pussy squish as I fucked her. When she came, it was with a shuddering cry of release. My face was coated. She held me there, and as she came down from her high, I cleaned her up.

Sally looked down at me as she recovered.

"What the hell was that? And how do I get more of it? You're all wet, sorry, I got carried away, are you okay?"

I smiled.

"Never better Sally."

"I should have washed, if I'd realised."

Her sentence trailed away.

"It's okay - I liked it."

"Really? You are a little pervert aren't you?"

I smiled.

"That's the rumour is it?"

"Yes, my lady, and someone is going to raise it tonight."

As I cleaned myself up, I thanked her.

"What are you doing to do about it?"

"Wait and see', I answered." As to how do you get more of that, well you take up my offer to work with me."

"Done", she smiled.

"You were - and will be again", I smiled as I finished dressing.

"You smell of me", Sally said as we kissed goodbye.

"Good", I said. "See you later."

Of course I washed before the meeting, but was conscious, not having had the chance to change my knickers, that they were a little stiff between the thighs. So, I smiled to myself, the game was once more afoot.

I could see that Mr Shufflebottom was tense, and sensed the atmosphere in the meeting as we convened. There were at least two London journalists there. They scented blood.

There was approval as I announced what the press would call "Lady Pixie's new deal", but almost an impatience to get to the questions.

The first few were to do with details of the "new deal" and easily dealt with. Then one of the London journalists fired the cross-bow bolt meant to finished me off as a real one had done to Richard the Lionheart.

"Lady Cynthia, this is all very heartening, but what have you to say to the rumours that you engage in unnatural practices?"

There was a sharp intake of breath. The room fell silent. I could see Sally, who was in the audience, looking anxious.

"What sort of unnatural practices would those be?" I asked all innocence. "Wealthy woman helping the poor, is that natural? MP helping working for her constituents, is that natural? Someone actually caring for the working men and women of this place rather than using them to sore political points, is that natural?"

The mill girls were cheering me to the echo, and the men in the audience were clapping and shouting their support.

"Aye, she's a game lass, what's wrong with that Mr Reporter?"

The reporter suddenly looked distinctly uneasy.

"Well," he began, more hesitantly, "unnatural practices like those certain men indulge."

I took on my most innocent air.

"I am afraid, sir, that as a married woman, I have no idea what it is you are referring to. I do not have the correct physique to do what a man does!"

That brought the house down. The girls whooped, and the men cheered. Then the Methodist leader, Mr Barnard intervened.

"I know you come from London, sir, but up here in God's own country, we don't talk smut, and we don't tolerate others doing so. If that's something to say, say it, or shut up!"

There were more cheers.

"Well?" I asked, "What are these unnatural practices to which you refer?"

Either, which was highly probably, he did not actually know what women like me did, and, or, which was equally likely, he didn't feel able to articulate it before such an audience.

"Go on, Mr Reporter, would you like to see my unnatural practices?"

That was Big Betty, one of the mill girls, and the poor man blushed and lost his nerve. The working women of Lancashire and Yorkshire were not shrinking violets.

"I take it," I added, "that you don't want to take Betty up on her kind offer? Well, if there are no more questions, I suggest we adjourn to the tea room."

The applause was deafening.

As I talked afterwards, Sally came up behind me and, pinching my bum, whispered in my ear, "That was bloody brilliant. Up for some unnatural practices after this?"

I smiled.

"And what would those be?"

And so it was that the direction of Home affairs was, for the moment, settled. Foreign affairs, on the other hand, were less easily put to bed.