The Gentleman's Confession Ch. 05

Originally published in "The Discerning Gentleman's Weekly"

Volume IX, number 21

Issue dated April 15th 1896

*

Strange events today indeed!

It is a week since I allowed myself to be so debauched and degraded at the hands and feet and... well, let us be frank, at all possible parts of the body of my Young Mistress. I related the experience here in these pages a few days ago, but have seen or heard nothing at all of her since. It is perhaps for the best -- thoughts of what I allowed myself to do and to have done to me in her accursed dungeon upon that evening still bring a sickening guilt to my soul.

I have had recourse to seek a separate bedchamber from my wife -- I could not lay with her knowing what I had done. What man could? I could not even bring myself to speak to her, so have feigned illness this past week, claiming headaches and sickness, and yet I have ever gone back to work. "Work is the best cure," Dr Malliday has always told me, and fortunately this excuse would appear to have convinced my darling Annabel.

But for how long?

At any rate, this is not the matter of which I took up my pen to write today. Annabel is downstairs, and knows nothing of it. She thinks perhaps I am working on papers or ledgers for the bank. She knows nothing of this journal, thank God!

And others would have course to thank the Good Lord too that its pages are kept secret, as tonight I have course to add others to my strange narrative; people of reputation and standing. On the one hand it is shocking and enough to make a man lose all faith in the moral fibre of the world. On the other, it is I must admit somewhat of a relief to me to discover that I am not alone in my sick and sordid perversions. There are others thus driven -- others in higher stations in rank and society, too. Oh yes, my friendly reader, I have discovered today that perhaps the whole world is wallowing in a sexual ardour I have barely seen the merest glimpse of.

Let me compose myself. I shall begin at the beginning and attempt to explain my narrative in an orderly and direct fashion.

I had arrived at the bank as usual this morning, somewhat earlier than was the custom, as had become my wont of these past few days, so that I may rise and avoid the necessity of a morning intercourse with my dear wife. For what words could I exchange with her, so sweet and trusting and above all such sordid acts as I polluted the world with?

Thus I was at my work even before Simmons had had an opportunity of drawing up the fire in the office, and it was quite bitterly cold while I worked at the morning's ledgers. However, I liked this, feeling that I deserved it. Even when Simmons did eventually arrive and organise the construction and ignition of the fire, I took little warmth either from its combustion or from his human company. Such devils as I do not deserve such comforts.

So I had spoken to barely a soul, excepting perhaps a word or two of reluctant greeting here and there, when at perhaps ten o'clock, Simmons lightly rapped upon the interconnecting door betwixt our offices, and explained that a message had arrived for me from the Sixth Floor.

The Sixth Floor, I should explain, is the very summit of the building, both in a literal and a figurative sense; it is where the board members of their offices, and where the very top decisions of the bank are made. A summons to the sixth floor can usually mean only one of two things for a man of my station -- promotion or dismissal.

"Who there wishes to see me?" I enquired of Simmons, trying desperately to keep the nerves away from my voice.

"Sir Reginald," he replied casually, as if the man were not Simmons's own relative, the man who had gained the impudent young fool his undeserved position within the bank!

"Sir Reginald wishes to see me?"

"Yes sir -- at your earliest convenience, apparently."

This could mean only one thing, I was convinced upon the point! Sir Reginald had somehow discovered my vile infidelity, and was about to have me thrown out of the bank's employee forthwith! There was no other explanation I could conceive upon for such a meeting -- oh, how that young fool Simmons would smirk at me! But perhaps he knew already?

It was impossible to tell, so I withheld myself and summoned as much dignity as I could muster, rising and heading for the stairs. Very well. If this was how it was to be, then so be it -- I had made my bed, and now I must lie in it. I could not skulk and hide -- I must at least face up to my punishment like a good Englishman ought.

Sir Reginald has his own secretary, a fastidious old chump named Carter who likes to think that he and he alone is responsible for the running of the bank, and that the entire edifice of the institution would crumble into dust without his presence. This tiresome old fellow, as thin as a rake and eighty if he is a day, kept me nervously pacing up and down outside of the door of Sir Reginald's office for some good five minutes, or perhaps more, before he eventually emerged and informed me -- as if he were doing me some great favour! -- that I could be admitted into the office.

Sir Reginald's office is a sight to behold, as of course befits his status upon the board of the bank. It is at least twice the size of me, and as well as the standard desk has its own small side table positioned next to the fire, with chairs clustered about it as if the place were some fellow's living room, or perhaps the smoking room of some gentleman's club!

It was in this area that Sir Reginald -- large, rounded, sixty years old with a shining bald head and a comical drooping moustache -- was seated, but there could be no mistaking the place for a gentleman's club at the current time. For, sitting next to him in another of his chairs and looking quite icily at me as I entered, was a rather striking Lady.

She was perhaps forty, with close, tight curls of chestnut hair and pale, slightly freckled skin. She looked at me with piercing blue eyes as I entered, and I felt as if the layers of my soul were being peeled away as easily as one might peel an onion. She knew all of my secrets -- this was the abiding impression that I had from her.

"He is here, sir, as you instructed."

I was not aware that Carter had followed me into the room, and found his announcement of my presence immensely irritating. To my great satisfaction, Sir Reginald evidently experienced a similar emotion, and not only dismissed the man but sent him off completely.

"I can see that, Carter!" he bellowed, with his deep voice, well-practised at the art of shouting down distinguished Gentlemen at meetings of the board. He holds some great sway in the bank, and indeed in London financial circles in general -- what Sir Reginald says is listened to, whether the listener likes it or not.

"Be a good fellow and take yourself off down to the archive, see if you can scare up that Siegerson document -- damn it, it must be down there! Just because those fools can't find it... Anyhow, away with you!"

Carter clearly held no appetite for this task, yet he bowed his head obediently and headed off to the archives, kept below in the cavernous cellars of the building. So I was left alone, with Sir Reginald and his Lady guest, awaiting my fate.

"You asked to see me, sir?" I enquired, somewhat redundantly.

"This is him?" the Lady asked. She had gotten to her feet, and walked across the deep red carpet to take a more studied look at me. Her pale blue dress trailed behind her, and I could not help but admire the grace and poise with which she carried herself.

Her tone, however, was somewhat less graceful.

"This is the tiresome little man who has my affairs so tied up and inconvenienced? For goodness sake Reginald, why do you allow such petty-minded little bean-counters to have the run of your bank? It won't do. It simply will not do!"

"Ah-hum, yes, well..."

Sir Reginald, if somewhat embarrassed at his guest's attitude, did nothing to contradict it.

"Why don't you take a seat old man?" he asked me. "And we'll see if we can sort this thing through, eh? That's the stuff..."

He was being very polite. This was unexpected.

"We shall do more than sort it!" she exclaimed, coming toward me and jabbing one of her white-gloved fingers sharply against my chest as she leaned down to examine my visage. "You, little man, have caused me a considerable deal of trouble, and I trust that you shall be severely reprimanded for your carelessness once the affair has been sorted to my satisfaction!"

She glared at me for a moment or two longer, a fierce, searching glare that I could not meet on equal terms, before she turned and withdrew to the window, her arms folded, lips puckered in anger and frustration.

"Ahem... yes..."

Sir Reginald coughed, but pretended the entire little confrontation had not taken place at all. I followed his lead, and similarly ignored the Lady's outburst.

"The thing of it is, you see, there is a certain matter you have become involved in of late," he explained. "Regarding a certain will... And an inheritance resulting from it..."

My blood ran cold! Discovery! How did Sir Reginald come to know of the existence of these things?

"I believe I know the document of which you speak, sir," I admitted, my face drained of blood, trying so hard not to show how struck I was by his words.

"He thinks!" the Lady scoffed. "Hah! I would be surprised if one intelligent thought had ever passed through the brain of this sad and sorry individual! I cannot believe you allow such matters to be conducted by such individuals!"

She turned away once more, evidently happy with this analysis. Sir Reginald shifted rather uncomfortably in his chair.

"Thing is old chap, there's been some disagreement over this legacy..."

"There is no disagreement!" the Lady insisted. "The money is mine, by all legal rights!"

"Yes... Well, you see, Lady Sarah here does appear to have a valid claim... But I understand you are already in the process of arranging for the money to be delivered to another?"

I felt as if my heart might stop! My jaw hung slack, I was at a complete loss for what to say. How much did Sir Reginald, or this Lady Sarah with whom he was somehow associated, know about the Young Lady?

"I have made some progress in that direction, sir, that is true," I admitted carefully.

"Fool," Lady Sarah whispered.

"As I thought," Sir Reginald said sombrely. "A bad business... Very bad. But I trust you're not so far along as you can't stop it in its tracks, eh?"

"Well..."

What to do? I could hardly turn around and tell the Young Lady that the money belonged to another. I had not even seen any of this Lady Sarah's documents. But presumably Sir Reginald had done so, and in the bank his word is law. Who am I to contradict him? Certainly I would have a very short future career there if I dared to do so.

"I shall tell you what you will do, you idiot!" Lady Sarah said. "You are going to tell that whore that she is not having a single penny of that money. Not one penny! You are going to rip up whatever promises you may have made to her, and you are going to ensure that I receive what is rightfully mine!"

I looked at Sir Reginald for assistance, but he seemed curiously brow-beaten by the force of the Lady's personality.

"The thing is, my Lady, there is a proper manner of doing things..."

"You think I care for your banker's traditions and other such poppycock?" she asked him.

"No, but... It would look somewhat better to outside observers if we observed the proper protocols." He switched his attention to me. "Isn't that right?"

"Oh yes sir, absolutely!"

"Now... I'm sure you can use your charm on this young lady, and undo any of the harm you've done so far, so that we can set things back on track... Don't you think?"

I didn't think so at all, and nor did I see that I had done any real harm, aside to my own moral character. But who was I to demand further evidence of Lady Sarah's claim?

"I suppose it can be done, sir..."

"That's the spirit!"

"There is no suppose!" Lady Sarah insisted. "You must do it, sir. Do not forget that I am a Lady -- touched by grace. Do you think that young hussy has anything that can come near my class? Do you think she is anywhere near in my category of personage? Does she look like someone who deserves that inheritance?"

In truth I could perceive little difference between the Ladies, outside of the twenty-or-so year age gap between them, but I nodded my head to agree with her.

"See to it," she demanded stiffly.

"Best do it as soon as you can old chap," Sir Reginald instructed. "I shall expect a report on... Shall we say this Friday? Ought to give you plenty of time."

Lady Sarah tutted her disapproval, of such a generous timescale no doubt, but said nothing. I bowed my head.

"Yes sir. I will... I will do my best."

"Splendid, splendid... Well, best be getting on old chap, things to be doing no doubt! Thank you for stopping by..."

"Thank you, sir... And goodbye, my Lady!"

She ignored me completely, continuing to stare out of the window. I thought perhaps that Sir Reginald shrugged very slightly at me as I made my way to the door, but perhaps I imagined that slightly indicator.

I cannot rightly say what caused me to linger outside of Sir Reginald's door following the elapsation of the extraordinary interview that I have just recounted. I know that I cannot pretend to you, reader, that I had either noble or innocent intent -- it was pure, human curiosity that drove me to tarry there a while. I sensed my opportunity, and I took it -- I knew that Carter the secretary would be gone down in the archives for some little time yet, so I very carefully and silently retraced my steps back to Sir Reginald's door, and -- being carefully to look around for any other sign of life -- knelt at it.

I thought for a moment they suspected my presence, as there was no sound or indication of any life or activity at all from the other side of the door. But as I was preparing to quietly steal myself away, with nothing learned about the relationship between Sir Reginald and this interesting young Lady Sarah, finally the silence was broken, and I heard Sir Reginald speak.

"Did I do well?" he asked.

His tone was totally different to that which he usually employed when addressing myself or other members of the bank's staff. Usually so gruff and uncompromising, now he sounded decidedly weak and wimpish. Clearly there was a good deal more to this Lady Sarah than met the eye!

"You did pathetically, you stupid little pig!" she admonished sharply. I could hear the footfall of her heels as she walked about the room, pacing angrily up and down by the sounds of how swift her footsteps followed one another upon the carpet.

"I tried my best Mistress!" he implored. She cut across him before he could say any more.

"You did not. And even if you had, your best would hardly be good enough, now would it? It never is. Really, you are the most miserable and pathetic specimen! That money ought to be mine! It should be in my hands, here and now! It should not be willingly handed over to little trollops such as her without so much as a by-your-leave by snivelling little junior clerks such as that miserable specimen of humanity who so recently sullied my presence!"

At the conclusion of this dramatic speech, which grew increasingly vocal and impassioned, she slammed her hand angrily down upon a solid wooden surface, which I supposed to have been Sir Reginald's desk. The description of myself was hardly flattering, I think you will agree, but I had no desire to break away from my voyeuristic observation. Especially when it occurred to me that the keyhole in the door of Sir Reginald's office was very large, and by placing my eye to it I was afforded an excellent viewpoint across his office to the desk, where Lady Sarah now stood, silhouetted in the light from the large window.

"You shall have your money, Mistress!" Sir Reginald declared, from outside of my field of vision. "It will be yours, I can assure you! Oh please forgive me Mistress! Please allow little piggy to prove himself to you!"

This was all quite extraordinary. Piggy? And why did he address her as "Mistress"? This became ever more intriguing by the moment, and never more so than when she reached out a gloved hand and beckoned for Sir Reginald to come to her.

For instead of walking across to where she stood, I heard the sound of a chair being pushed backward, and then a shuffling sound across the carpet. To my stunned amazement, I saw Sir Reginald -- one of the richest and most powerful men in all of the City of London, I need hardly remind you -- crawling upon his hands and knees across the carpet, his head bowed.

I was so surprised at this turn of events that I looked away from the keyhole, and around about me to see whether I was being observed in my spying. But nobody was nearby. I knew that I should walk away and leave, but the temptation to continue to observe was too strong -- especially when it was coupled with such relief! Yes, relief that I was clearly not the only man in England who had gone down upon his hands and knees for a woman, and crawled to her like an animal! A pet!

I half-expected to have produced the scene from my fevered imagination, and for it to have disappeared and set itself to rights when I placed my eye once more to the metal of the keyhole, but no -- not only was Sir Reginald still clearly in the thrall of Lady Sarah, but now she had raised one booted foot to rest upon his back, digging the heel of it deep into him.

"You are a stupid, pathetic little boy, aren't you?" she asked.

"Oh yes Mistress! Yes I am!"

"You are going to get me my money back, and ensure that harlot does not gain possession of it, aren't you?"

"Yes Mistress! Little piggy will do anything for you Mistress!"

His voice was high-pitched and nasal -- it was a stunning sight to see him so reduced, although it did make me wonder how I would appear if any observer had seen the things I had done for the Young Lady who held me in a similar thrall, and who appeared to exist in a state of such antipathy with relation to the mysterious Lady Sarah.

"You had better," she was saying to her own slave. "But for now, piggy, I think you have earned some punishment for allowing your little banking boy to be so stupid with my money, haven't you?"

His head darted up, and my interest was also piqued -- punishment.

For a moment, a mad moment, I wished myself in that room in Sir Reginald's place, at the feet of this Lady, and about to be punished.

"Punished, Mistress?" Sir Reginald echoed.

"Stand up," she commanded, taking her foot from his back and retreating a pace or two from him, so that she was at the very edge of my field of vision. Sir Reginald did as he was commanded, bizarrely straightening his jacket slightly as he did so, as if he were rising from a table at a dinner party than from his knees in slave-like submission.

"Now, lean over the desk for me piggy. Right over!"

He did as he was commanded, leaning across his own desk, exposing his ample backside to her tender mercies. He did appear very pathetic indeed. However, his respectability declined even further with her next command.

"Undo your breeches, piggy."

"Mistress...?"

"Little piggy is going to take his punishment on the bare!"

"Oooooooo........"

Whether his whimpering was bred from joy or from despair I could not say, but he was quick enough to fumble with his breeches, and even in his restricted position he was able to push them down below his buttocks after only a few seconds delay. He then shook his legs until the garments had slid down to his knees, well out of the way of the considerable fleshy target with which Lady Sarah was now presented.