The Lady and the Slut
By
Cindy May
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2010 Cindy May
Cindy May’s –The Lady and the Slut.
They had been unlikely best friends from the day they started in Primary School together until a silly row erupted. Mavis was the illegitimate daughter of the village slut, whilst the blue-blooded Annabelle came from the Manor House, and could trace her people back to the Conquest in 1066.
They had nothing in common and hadn’t seen one another for a decade until HE helped both of them when they were in trouble. They both fell in love with him.
Now the Lady and the Slut were rivals, or were they?
******
She felt a hand investigating her skirt. She had to stop this presumptuous young man who was not in her social set, and never could be. She broke their kiss to tell him off.
‘The zip’s at the back of my skirt.’
His left hand traced its way round her right buttock to the small of her back and found the zip. She had meant to tell him to stop, but the words went wrong. She needed to stop this lunacy. She arched her back, which made it easier for him to slide the fastener down.
******
Despite her protests her mouth was held open and the contents poured down her throat. She either swallowed or drowned. The three guys continued to hold her, but as she struggled, Annabelle felt her thoughts going increasingly woozy. She realised that she had been drugged. After five minutes Spiro smiled.
‘OK, Let her go.’
Max and Les did so. Annabelle lay there with an inane smile on her face. Les went to the cupboard and took out a digital camera and photographed the naked woman.
******
If mummy had had one person, just one..’
Mavis collapsed in tears, gasping out between paroxysms of grief.
‘One, is that too much to ask for, just one bloody friend in your entire life?’
Annabelle stepped forward, her green eyes glittering with rage.
Copyright 2010
The Moral Right of the author has been asserted. All Rights Reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, Characters, Places and Incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Author's note: Explicit scenes in this work of fiction are confined to characters who are 18 years of age or above. A non-explicit reference to under-age activity is essential to explain emotional and psychological damage to one of the characters.
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The Cotcote Chronicles
The Lady and the Slut
By
Cindy May
Chapter 1
It was a perfect September morning. The trees were still in full leaf, but the hot days of July and early August had given way to a fine autumn. The playground at the village school in Cotcote had been silent ever since the middle of July when school broke up for the summer holidays, but was crammed with people once more. It was the first day of the new academic year, and the playground was alive with older kids and with the fresh intake of five year olds who were about to embark on their voyage through the education system.
Had you asked everyone who was gathered there to write down their recollections, you would have had as many different impressions as you had participants. For some it was excitement, for others relief, hope, fear, apprehension and every other known human emotion. To an adult, used to large crowds, it was nothing to worry about. To a small child accustomed to just a few people it was bewildering, and even frightening.
To Ethel Moorhouse, who had been head teacher for over twenty years and had just a few years to go before retirement, it was an important day, but the first day of term always was. Although she was not a local girl, born and bred in the village, Miss Moorhouse had lived there for so many years that she identified with the village and was regarded as a local. She also knew most of the parents and had seen the children grow from toddlers to school age, and indeed go on to marry and have children of their own.
Her first concern in the babble of activity that marked the start of the new school year was to welcome the parents, and more importantly, the children themselves. Ethel Moorhouse was talking to one of the parents now. She knew that Lisa Jones was regarded as ‘fast’ in the village, and her succession of men friends was the talk of the village gossips. Ethel Moorhouse was not in any way influenced by Lisa’s lifestyle, and even less by the gossips.
Her job was to look after and educate the little blonde girl who her mother held very firmly by the hand as if to prevent her escaping. Lisa was holding her daughter tightly because the child had an insatiable curiosity. She smiled uncertainly at Mrs Moorhouse.
‘I hope Mavis won’t be too much of a trouble or too badly behaved, Miss.’
Miss Moorhouse shook her head.
‘Quite a few children have come here over the years, including yourself, and they settle down, Lisa.’
Lisa bit her lip.
‘I hope so, but ..’
Ethel realised that Lisa knew only too well the disturbed background that the child had endured.
The little girl, who was straining so hard to get away, wanted to explore, and talk to the other children who were thronging the school playground. A mop of golden curls surrounded a pretty face with china blue eyes and a turned up nose. She had a quizzical lively expression and an engaging smile. If you had compared Mavis with a photo of her mother when she was the same age, the similarities would have been striking.
To look at the girl, you would not know that she had such a troubled childhood, but in the five years since she was born, she had called three different men, ‘daddy.’ As to who her real daddy was, Mavis had no idea, and it was doubtful if Lisa could have given a cast iron answer, as there were three plausible candidates and a couple of possibles.
The concept of mummy presented the child with no problems as mummy was readily identifiable, but Daddy was more problematic. Clearly Daddy was important, or supposed to be relevant to her life, at least this is what people said, but Daddy changed regularly, so was less relevant. Mavis knew that mummy was a permanent feature of her life, but was resigned to the idea that Daddy could change at a moment’s notice.
If she had been asked, Mavis might have said that she would prefer a permanent daddy, but she was so used to the situation that it did not disturb her. If you had asked her at that moment what was bothering her, the reply would have been that she wanted to see ‘children’, and to play with them.
Lisa Jones turned to go. She was on her own as ‘Daddy No 3’ was lying in bed with a hangover. It was not uncommon for him to do so, and the first day of school for his partner’s daughter hardly seemed to warrant getting out of bed. As Lisa did so, she nearly walked into a tall man in a hand tailored suit. She offered her apologies, as she realised she had almost collided with Edward Beauregard, the 10th Earl of Shipston. He inclined his head, smiled and replied affably.‘
‘No problem madam.’
The woman by his side was not smiling. Lady Deirdre, came from an old titled family, and strongly resented her husband’s decision to enrol their daughter in the village school, rather than sending her to a private primary school. She was also well aware of the reputation Lisa had acquired. The woman was a slut and it disgusted the countess that their daughter would be in the same school as that slut’s progeny.
The Beauregard family had come over with William the Conqueror in 1066, and by luck or judgment had backed the winning side in the various wars between different factions through to the days of the Tudors. The family had advanced through the peerage from a Barony within a few years of the conquest to attain the rank of Earls of Shipston.
They had occupied Cotcote Manor for more than five hundred years, and the family had for several generations taken a keen interest in the affairs of the village. Once most of the land around Cotcote Manor had belonged to the family, but death duties had reduced the estate to the manor house and eight farms adjacent to it, five of which were leased to tenant farmers.
When selecting a school for Annabelle, the countess had demanded that they send her to a fashionable private preparatory school in Cheltenham. The countess was used to having her way in whatever she demanded. To her surprise, her husband had, for once, stood firm. He pointed out that at Miss Moorhouse’s request, he had been on the committee of the campaign group that had fought to save the village school from closure.
It would hardly be appropriate to say the school did an excellent job for other children, but was not good enough for their own daughter. Lady Deirdre, who was not popular in the village, was resentful, and it showed in her manner. Miss Moorhouse turned to the couple.
‘Lord Shipston, Lady Shipston, I cannot say how pleased we are to see you and Lady Annabelle. We are delighted that you have decided to place her with the school, and we will look after her. With Your Lordship’s permission, we will call her Annabelle, as I do not think it would be good for her or the other children if she was to be treated differently.’
Lady Deirdre was about to slap down such presumption when Lord Shipston replied.
‘We will be more than happy to take your advice on that, Miss Moorhouse, as you have a great deal more experience of the educational system than we do.’
Lady Deirdre bit her lip in anger. It was unforgivable that Lady Annabelle should attend the same school as rubbish like the Jones brat. Even worse, Lady Annabelle was going to be plain Annabelle to kids like that. It was all because Edward had this ridiculous notion that he had to support the village school.
Ethel Moorhouse crouched down.
‘Hello, Annabelle, are you looking forward to your first day in school?’
The five-year-old Lady Annabelle Beauregard was silent. Children are perceptive of adult’s feelings and Annabelle was aware that this trip to the strange place called school was the cause of friction between mummy and daddy. Mummy did not want her to go to school, or so it appeared to Annabelle, but daddy seemed to think it was a good idea.
She was not quite correct, as mummy did wish her to go to school but not this school. Annabelle had no idea whether school was good or bad, or what it was, but was sure it was confusing. There were dozens of children rushing about. Annabelle’s only previous contact with other children had been visits to a cousin of her own age in Scotland who lived in a castle. Annabelle wondered if all the children at the school also lived in Castles, but was too shy to ask.
She realised that the tall woman with glasses was speaking to her, but she was a shy introverted girl, so kept silent. Her mother’s voice cut through the air coldly.
‘Annabelle, you are being rude, speak to Mrs Moorhouse.’
Ethel Moorhouse wished that the Countess had not intervened, as Annabelle would now speak because she had to, rather than of choice. The little girl replied with a flat ‘Hallo.’ Lady Deirdre spoke, her voice as precise as it always was.
‘We had better be going. If you have any trouble with LADY Annabelle, you are to let us know.’
Ethel Moorhouse resented being treated as if she were the downstairs maid, but inclined her head deferentially to the Countess.
‘Certainly Your Ladyship.’
Lady Deirdre turned on her heel.
‘Edward.’
Lord Edward gave an apologetic smile, and turned to go. Annabelle also turned to go, but found that the strange lady was holding her hand tightly. She struggled but in vain, and burst into tears. Edward Beauregard looked back, but Lady Deirdre strode out of the school gates without looking back. Annabelle’s howls intensified.
The next couple of hours were spent in a whirl of unfamiliar activity, until the bell went for the 20 minute mid-morning break. The older children spilled out boisterously into the playground, the new first year children following more uncertainly. Soon groups of children had formed and were running around, giggling and just having fun. A few were playing with balls or skipping ropes.
One child stood to the side of the playground. Her face was tear streaked, but it had been so all morning. Lady Annabelle Victoria Beauregard was unhappy. School was strange, Miss Moorhouse, although seemingly kind, was strange, and other children were strange. Several children had invited Annabelle to join in their fun and games, but she wasn’t sure what she should do, so remained silent, and sooner or later they lost interest and wandered off.
She noticed a lively little girl jumping about without a care in the world. Momentarily, Annabelle wished she could change places with that happy child, who must obviously have a wonderful life. Annabelle loved her father and respected her mother, but from what her mother told her, she was not like other children. She had to behave with dignity becoming the Earldom at all times. Why this should be was beyond her, but it was so, and she accepted it.
The happy child glanced in her direction and waved. She stared at Annabelle, and a look of pain came across her face. She detached herself from the group she was playing with and ran across the playground and stood in front of Annabelle panting.
‘Hallo, Come and play.’
Annabelle stared at her miserably. The little girl smiled.
‘I’m Mavis, what’s your name?’
Annabelle was silent, wrapped in her misery. Mavis grabbed her hand, and dragged her across the playground. Rather than resist, Annabelle went with her. Mavis propelled Annabelle into the circle and the children danced round holding hands. Finally they stopped and the circle broke up. Annabelle noticed that Mavis still held her hand tightly. Mavis exclaimed.
‘That was fun.’
Annabelle, at a loss as to what she should say, nodded her head. She summoned up the courage to speak.
‘Yes.’
Mavis smiled, her golden curls cascading around her pretty face.
‘I’m Mavis, what’s your name?’
Annabelle decided she had to answer, and found she wanted to, as it was better holding hands than standing on the side.
‘Annabelle.’
Mavis smiled.
‘We’re friends.’
It was a statement rather than a question, and Annabelle, although she was not sure what friendship meant, decided she had to agree.
‘Yes.’
One of the older boys crept up behind Mavis and pinched her, but she turned round and thumped him.
‘Go away Harry.’
The boy left the two girls alone. Mavis muttered.
‘Little Sod.’
Annabelle was not sure what a little sod was but felt it was not very nice, and that the boy probably was a little sod. Mavis smiled at her.
‘You gotta hit em.’
Annabelle stared at her.
‘Ohh.’
Mavis giggled, a pleasant musical giggle.
‘You never hit a boy?’
Annabelle shook her head and whispered.
‘Never played with one before.’
Mavis looked in disbelief.
‘Cor. You got nice red hair, Annie.’
‘Mummy says my hair is auburn.’
‘OK auburn, whatever that is.’
The bell sounded for the end of the break, and Annabelle looked confused. Mavis told her.
‘We gotta go back inside.’
The two girls walked back into the classroom hand-in-hand.
Over the net few months, Ethel Moorhouse noticed that the pert little blonde, Mavis Jones, looked after the shy and withdrawn girl from the manor. At school, the two children were inseparable, but whilst other children might visit one another’s homes, that did not apply with Mavis and Annabelle.
One day, shortly before Mavis’s birthday party, to which Ethel knew many of the children had been invited, but seemingly not Annabelle, Ethel found Mavis by herself.
‘Mavis, you and Annabelle Beauregard are friends. Why don’t you get your mummy to invite Annabelle to your birthday party?’
Mavis looked at her and burst into tears.
‘Mummy did invite Annie, but her mummy said no. I think my mummy was upset.’
Ethel looked at the five year old.
‘But you and Annabelle are still friends.’
The child drew herself up.
‘Course we are.’
As Ethel Moorhouse walked away, she was angry. She thought about what to do, and a few days later announced that she was giving a birthday party. The kids wanted to know whom it was for. Ethel Moorhouse smiled, ‘ME.’ One of the kids called out.
‘But you’re a grown up, Miss Moorhouse.’
She laughed.
‘Yes, but even grown ups have birthdays.’
This came as a great surprise to many of the kids.
Ethel Moorhouse wrote out each invitation by hand, but rather than give them to the kids, she was careful to post them. Had she given an invitation to Annabelle, it would probably have gone to the Countess, and Ethel had been careful to address the invitation to the Earl of Shipston. The day after the invitations went out, Ethel Moorhouse received a phone call.
‘Edward Beauregard here. Annabelle will be delighted to accept the invite to your birthday party, Miss Moorhouse. I will bring her along.’
‘Thank you, my lord, maybe you can stop for a piece of cake.’
‘That would be very nice. I shall look forward to it.’
The party was a great success. As usual, Mavis looked after her introverted friend to see that everybody did not ignore Annabelle. At the end of the day, when her father came to collect her, Annabelle was full of cake and beaming with contentment. Ethel Moorhouse looked at the earl and smiled.
‘I think she has enjoyed herself.’
He looked at the contented child.
‘I’m sure she has.’
Ethel Moorhouse stuck her neck out.
‘It was Annabelle’s birthday a couple of months back. I thought there might be a party at the Manor House for her. It’s the kind of thing kids love.
The earl nodded, his face suddenly sombre.
‘Lady Deirdre did not think it would be convenient.’
Ethel Moorhouse had not been a head teacher for twenty years without gaining a deep understanding of human nature. The earl was not the problem. It was that stuck-up bitch he had married.
‘If it would be of any help, my lord, I could make the schoolhouse available, to save any disruptions at the manor. I think a party with some of her school friends would be good for Annabelle. It’s still not too late, you know.’
She saw an expression of gratitude cross Lord Shipston’s face.
‘That would be excellent, thank you so much.’
Annabelle, half understanding, but half confused by the exchanges, asked hopefully.
‘Does that mean I can have a real party, Daddy?’
Her father looked at Miss Moorhouse.
‘Ask Miss Moorhouse, darling.’
The little girl stared up at the teacher.
‘Can I have a birthday party please, Miss Moorhouse?’
Ethel crouched down.
‘Of course you shall, princess.’
Annabelle hugged her and then raced off. Ethel Moorhouse had not the least doubts where the child was going. She flew straight to her friend Mavis, and hugged her.
‘I’m gonna have a party, will you come, Mavis, do say yes.’
Mavis hugged her back and the two little girls jabbered excitedly. Ethel Moorhouse excused herself from Lord Shipston and walked over to the children and to Mavis’ mother. The 24-year-old mother had been one of the first children that Ethel Moorhouse had welcomed to the school after she became head teacher, and she usually addressed her former pupils by their Christian names. She smiled.
‘Lisa, I arranged for Annabelle to have a birthday party at the school. If Mavis can attend I am sure Annabelle would be thrilled, and if you happen to be free, I could do with some help.’
Lisa Jones flushed. Although a few of Mavis’ school friends had attended her party, none of the parents had, and no one had offered their help. Lisa knew that she was the subject of ceaseless gossip in the village, and few people had any wish to be too closely associated with her. She looked at her old teacher.
‘I’m not sure if people would think that is a good idea, Miss.’
Calling Ethel Moorhouse ‘Miss’ still came naturally to Lisa. As she spoke, she glanced at Annabelle, and it was clear which parent she was thinking of in particular. Ethel Moorhouse looked at her levelly.
‘Lisa, it is my schoolhouse, and I shall invite whom I please. You attended this school, and I remember the day you arrived, looking remarkably like this little scamp.’
She put her hand on Mavis’ shoulder. Lisa replied a note of longing in her voice.
‘If you really want me, it will be a pleasure to help, Miss.’
Ethel inclined her head gravely.
‘Thank you Lisa. I knew I could depend on you.’
Annabelle’s party was a great success, and as the star of the party, she came out of her shell under Mavis’ prompting. Lisa, although despised by the adults, was kind with the children, and was an immediate hit. For the next few years, this remained the pattern, with Ethel Moorhouse organising Annabelle’s birthday party at the school each year, and. hosting her own birthday party, primarily for Mavis’ sake.
Chapter 2
After a weak academic start, due to her acute shyness, Annabelle proved to be an industrious and talented student and was soon one of the scholastic stars of the school. Mavis was obviously clever, but her troubled home background, and a fourth ‘daddy’, who was even less suitable than the first three, did nothing for her academic progress.
Mavis was to give Ethel Moorhouse the blackest memory of her academic career. One day Miss Moorhouse had been checking the school at the close of day, and heard giggles from the bicycle shed. She had walked round the corner of the shed and remembered how her jaw dropped. The eight-year-old Mavis was kneeling with her skirt up round her waist and no panties on. She was the centre of a circle of five of the final year boys, all of whom had their penises out. Mavis had been energetically masturbating two of them. Miss Moorhouse had bellowed.
‘Mavis, what do you think you are doing. Get up at ONCE.’
She recalled glaring at the five boys and telling them.
‘I shall have words with all of you in the morning. Mavis follow me.’
Mavis had picked up her panties and scuttled after Miss Moorhouse into the school. Ethel Moorhouse sat down, and looked at the girl. She had asked her.
‘Child, what do you think you are doing?’
Mavis had started to cry.
‘I’m sorry, Miss M.’
Ethel Moorhouse was not supposed to know that ‘Miss M’ was the name the girls used behind her back, but she had been aware of it for more than twenty years.
‘Go on.’
The child sniffled.
‘Some of the boys dared me to get their cocks out, and and.’
Ethel said softly.
‘Go on.’
Mavis blushed.
‘I said no, but one of the boys said my mummy put it about so I should.’
Ethel felt her temper rising.
‘What happened?’
‘He lifted up my skirt and put his hand inside my knickers.’
‘Who was it?’
‘That’d be telling.’
‘Mavis.’
‘Sorry, Miss.’
Miss Moorhouse was well aware of the code of honour adopted by children. She decided she could not pressure the child, so nodded.
‘Go on.’
‘The boys take my knickers off every day before school, and said that if I didn’t wank em, they would tell the rest of the school that I was a whore like my mummy.’
Ethel Moorhouse had never found it necessary to use corporal punishment, but at that moment, if she had the boys in front of her, she could have joyfully caned them. She looked at the child.
‘Mavis, there are good grown ups and bad grown ups in the world, and sometimes children behave badly.’
Mavis interrupted.
‘I’m sorry Miss M.’
Ethel smiled at her.
‘I meant the boys, Mavis. If any of them try anything like this in future, you are to come to me immediately, do you understand.’
Mavis nodded.
After hearing Mavis’ explanation, Miss Moorhouse had felt strongly like expelling all five boys. She realised that if she did so, the whole incident was bound to become public knowledge. Lisa Jones was regarded as a slut in the village. If it came out that her daughter was masturbating boys behind the bike sheds, the daughter would be seen in the same light. She remembered shaking her head. She knew she couldn’t do that.
The following day, she called all five boys into her study. In a voice quivering with rage, she warned them that if there was any repetition of the incident, she would inform their parents and expel them from the school. Four of the boys were abashed, but one of them had a cheeky look that she did not like. It worried her.
A few days later, one of the girls came to her and said.
‘Miss, there is some rude writing in the locker room.’
Ethel Moorhouse groaned, and went with the girl. Mavis’ locker was the centre of a small crowd. Mavis herself was vigorously but ineffectually scrubbing the locker. She was also crying. As ‘Miss M’ walked in, the crowd dispersed. She stared at the locker. “Mavis the Whore” was daubed in red paint. She turned round.
‘Who did this?’
There was complete silence, save for Mavis’ sobs. Ethel Moorhouse noticed that the only girl standing anywhere near Mavis was Annabelle, and by the look of her blouse, which was stained, she had been trying to clean the writing off as well. She subsequently discovered that Annabelle had discovered the taunt before Mavis, and had been desperately trying to clean it off before her friend saw it.
Miss M summoned the janitor, who removed the offending door, and replaced it with a spare. Two days later, Ethel Moorhouse was patrolling the school during the mid morning break and heard laughter from the bike shed. She stepped into view, and found a group of children staring at the corrugated iron and the slogan ‘Mavis sucks Cock.’ Ethel Moorhouse bellowed.
‘Move, the lot of you.’
She went to the janitor, and told him to bring a brush and some paint. Over the next few months, the obscene graffiti continued to appear with sickening regularity. As the pupils started to joke about it, their parents got to hear of it. Mavis and her mother were increasingly ostracised by the school and the village. Only Annabelle remained loyal to her friend, whilst Miss Moorhouse continued to be courteous to Lisa Jones.
To Ethel Moorhouse’s distress, the effect on Mavis was devastating. The bright lively child became increasingly sullen and uncommunicative. She started to neglect her homework, and was regularly in trouble, although her engaging frankness usually carried her through most predicaments. Whilst Annabelle climbed to the top of the class, Mavis sank to the bottom and stayed there, although the two girls remained close friends.
With people calling her a whore, Mavis gave up bothering about what people thought. She no longer cared for authority, or indeed what she did. Miss Moorhouse could understand it, but despaired. Mavis’ skirts became steadily shorter. Once or twice she caught a glimpse of the child’s bare crotch, and realised that she seldom wore panties any more. Miss M was aware that Mavis was meeting boys behind the bike shed. She had a suspicion that the activity was no longer confined to just wanking the boys.
If she had been forced to speculate, Ethel Moorhouse would have accepted that the slogan ‘Mavis sucks Cocks’ was probably now true, though whether it had been on the day it first appeared was another matter. Thinking back to the lively little girl who had entered the school and who had run over to help the lonely and shy Lady Annabelle, Miss Moorhouse seethed at how her pupil was being destroyed.
She wondered whether she should officially discover the goings-on behind the bike sheds, but felt that the effect on Mavis would be even worse. She decided to avoid precipitating a situation that could only lead to the girl’s expulsion.
Annabelle did her best to stick loyally to her friend, but in her desperation, Mavis became increasingly wild, and was soon taunting her friend to do the same. Ethel Moorhouse realised that the friendship was being strained to the limit. One day she heard the two girls screaming abuse at one another in the corridor. It was less than three months before they were due to finish at the village school and progress to secondary education.
Miss Moorhouse was grieved at the break up of a friendship that had meant so much to both children. Mavis had led the timid Annabelle out of her isolation when they started at school. For two terrible years, Annabelle had stood by her friend through thick and thin. Although Annabelle would survive, she would sad. Apart from the boys who clustered around Mavis, but not out of friendship, the child no longer had anyone to turn to.
At Lady Deirdre’s insistence, Lady Annabelle was to go to one of the premier girls private schools in the Cotswolds when she left Cotcote. Mavis, her education in tatters, and neglecting her homework, was assigned to the worst secondary school in the area.
On the last day of term, Ethel Moorhouse said goodbye to all her pupils, and wished them well. As she spoke to Mavis, she asked the child.
‘Have you said goodbye to Annabelle? Your ways are parting now, but you have been friends a long time.’
Mavis looked at her sullenly.
‘No.’
She prompted the girl.
‘Even the best of friends have tiffs. Off you go.’
Mavis shook her head, but Miss Moorhouse saw tears in her eyes. She spoke to another couple of pupils, and then saw Annabelle.
‘Well, dear, you have done very well, and we are proud of you.’
Annabelle dropped her eyes.
‘Thank you, Miss M.’
Ethel looked at the child.
‘If I were you, I would go and say goodbye to Mavis, you’ve been friends a long time.’
Annabelle looked at her.
‘I know, I’ve tried, but she doesn’t want me anymore.’
The child’s voice tailed off. Ethel Moorhouse sighed. She was seldom given to hate, and never towards the children in her charge, but she had an intense loathing towards the brats that had tormented and humiliated Mavis Jones. Little swine like that would grow up into big swine. Miss Moorhouse felt that somehow she had failed, and it distressed her.
The two girls, once inseparable, left the school, and one another’s lives. As they walked out of the school separately, Ethel Moorhouse looked at Lady Annabelle, and mused, She has a private school to go to. She’s bright and can do anything she wants.
A few moments later, Mavis Jones walked out of the school. Miss M stared at her departing figure. She’s one of the brightest sweetest kids I’ve ever had here, yet if she keeps out of jail, it’ll be a miracle.’ She shook her head. The end of the school year was always poignant, but Ethel Moorhouse had never felt such deep distress.
At the school gates, Lady Annabelle looked for her parent’s Rolls Royce and turned right. Mavis looked for her mother, saw her standing there and turned left.
As they were looking for their parents both girls had chanced to look at one another, their eyes locking for a moment. Had anyone looked in Lady Annabelle’s eyes, they would have seen tears. Had anyone looked in Mavis’ eyes, the girl who was branded ‘whore’, they would also have seen tears.
That morning, “Mavis the Whore” had reappeared on the bike sheds as a parting salutation. The janitor had not yet got round to painting it out.
Chapter 3
In the September after she left Cotcote Primary School, Lady Annabelle started at one of the most fashionable girls public schools in the Cotswolds. The annual tuition fees were more than Lisa Jones earned in a year. Miss Moorhouse had expected that Annabelle would do well, but she had also been seared by the break-up of her friendship with Mavis.
There was no new ‘Mavis’ to rescue her at her new school, and she became introverted and life drifted from week to week. Lacking inspiration, she failed to develop her true potential. She left the school at 18 with three GCE “A” levels. Unfortunately her grades were not sufficient to gain her the place her mother had wanted at one of the old established universities.
That was a blow as both her parents had taken their degrees at Oxford. Annabelle could have secured a place at one of the redbrick universities. When the earl mooted that, Lady Deirdre put her foot down. She said that such places were not socially acceptable, and that Lady Annabelle would not meet the right sort of people.
If Annabelle was not going up to Oxford or Cambridge, where she might meet a suitable husband, the alternative was to go on the “Deb” circuit. Once the Debutante balls had been the marriage market for the titled families, and a girl’s “coming out” was the highlight of her life. Depending on her looks and wit, and the financial standing and social status of her parents, she would find a suitable husband amongst the merchant bankers or sons of the peerage.
Put bluntly, the aspiring young merchant bankers were looking for the bluest of blue blood, whilst the impoverished younger sons of the peerage were looking for the daughter of a nouveau riche business entrepreneur. The idea was that Money marries Class, to the benefit of both.
Until the 1950s, any thought that the Debs would undertake something as demeaning as work was outrageous. Changing social attitudes meant that the new generation of Debs had to have some useful way to pass the time. Charitable work was one option. The prestigious London auction houses that were grouped around Knightsbridge and Kensington were another possibility.
The girls were paid a pittance, but the kudos of working for a leading international auction house was more important. For the auction houses the titled young Debs added a touch of class. Through judicious string pulling, a place was found for Lady Annabelle at one of the most celebrated auction houses, as an Earl’s eldest daughter was a cut above the younger daughters of a viscount, a baron or a mere knight.
Annabelle received strict instructions from her mother that she was to attend the right parties, and mix with the right set. Presence at events such as Wimbledon, the Chelsea Flower Show, Henley and Ascot was mandatory. She was to support appropriate charities, but above all, she was to remember that an eligible young man might be keen to get a girl into his bed, but the girls who said yes were not the ones who attracted the right husbands.
At 19, after a year on the Deb circuit, Annabelle was no longer a “newbie”, and Lady Deirdre was irritated that her daughter was taking as long as she was to find a husband. Even worse, the girl had an unfortunate habit of coming home at weekends, when she should have been attending suitable events where some eligible young man might notice her.
For her nineteenth birthday, her parents had bought a metallic silver Porsche 996 convertible for Annabelle, which she kept in the Mews garage near her flat in London during the week, but liked to get home at the weekend. A few weeks after she started driving, she had been at work from 7.30am as there was a major fine arts auction. She had not managed to get away until after 7.00pm. A quick trip on the tube to her flat, a shower and then she was on her way.
She drove out of London on the M40 and then transferred to the A40 Oxford and Cheltenham road, turning north on to the minor country lanes to reach Cotcote Manor, shortly after the junction with the A429 Watling Street. It was raining and after a long day at work and a long drive, Annabelle was tired. She had opened the window several times to get some fresh air, but she was yawning a lot. It would be nice to get to bed.
As she was within three miles of home, she was not paying as much attention as she might have been. As she rounded a corner, she saw a red brown shape dart straight in front of her. She spun the wheel to avoid it, but instead of striking the fox between her front wheels, all she did was to hit the fox with her left wheel, the car lurching sickeningly as it rolled over the hapless animal. Due to Annabelle’s violent actions with the steering wheel, the car was already skidding on the wet road before it hit the fox.
With contact between the left wheel and the road lost as the car crushed the animal, the vehicle went out of control. Annabelle wrestled with the steering wheel. Foolishly but understandably she pumped her brakes. That was the worst thing she could have done, but she had not been driving long, so lacked experience in an emergency. The car slid off the road and into a shallow ditch.
As her belt was fastened tightly, Lady Annabelle was shaken rather than hurt. She was horribly awake now, and got out of the Porsche. The rain was heavier than it had been and her blouse and hair were soaking wet within seconds. The car was not badly damaged as far as she could see, but even minor repairs to a Porsche do not come cheap. Her parents were not going to be amused.
Clearly she could not sit in the car all night, so she reached for her handbag, took out her mobile and switched it on. The battery warning indicator came on, and before she could dial her parents the phone went dead. Her mother had cautioned her that only common folks swore, but Annabelle gave a muted damn. It made her feel better.
‘Damn, damn, damn.’
Three ‘damns’ each one louder than its predecessor made her feel much better. It was almost midnight. She was cold, wet, tired and frustrated. Her car was not going to move without a recovery vehicle and would then need repairs. If the police saw it in the ditch, they might be inquisitive. Mummy would not like her to appear in court for driving without due care and attention, or whatever they called it.
Her phone didn’t work and she was hungry. She realised she was very hungry, and as the ‘three damns’ had helped her a moment before, she snarled.
‘I’m bloody hungry.’
Mummy would not have approved of such bad language, but mother was not there and Annabelle was in a filthy mood. She looked round. There was not a house in sight. There were no public phone boxes for miles, and she realised with a sense of horror that she had left her coat at her flat. She had to walk in a thin blouse in the driving rain in the middle of the night. She screamed out.
‘Shit.’
Swearing had relieved her feelings but had not got her out of her predicament. Her clothes had been soaked within seconds of getting out of her Porsche, but as she tramped along the road, she could feel the rain lashing her hair and face. She could feel it striking the thin fabric of her blouse and running down the inside, as well as the outside of the material. Her skirt clung to her legs and even her knickers were soaking wet.
She walked along the road in misery, hoping there would be someone she could flag down, but afraid that they might be a serial rapist or something like that, if she did do so. She muttered to herself, ‘shit’, and repeated it a good few times. After ten minutes, she saw a light in a farmhouse that was set back about 100 yards from the road. She realised with a sense of irony that it was one of the farms owned by the Cotcote Estate.
Wearily she trudged up the drive, her shoes squelching in the mud and banged on the door. After a couple of minutes, the door was opened. A man, who was around six foot tall, so was some six inches taller than Annabelle stood there. He was curly haired and in shirtsleeves.
“Hallo?’
‘I am Lady Annabelle Beauregard.’
The man gazed at her. He did not seem impressed.
‘If you say so.’
She spat back at him.
‘I AM Lady Annabelle Beauregard.’
‘Fine, but if you merely called here at midnight to tell me that, I am not terribly excited.’
‘I don’t care whether you’re excited or not.’
‘That’s fine, Lady Annabelle, so I will wish you good night.’
He made to shut the door. She shrieked out.
‘No, no, no, you don’t understand, I’ve had a car accident and I need help.’
The man opened the door again.
‘Why didn’t you say so then? Come in. Are you all right? Are you hurt? Is anyone else hurt? Do you want me to call an ambulance?’
She shook her head.
‘I’m all right. I’m wet and miserable, a bit shaken up, but there’s no one else involved.’
The man took her arm, but she shook him free. He raised his hands, palms outwards.
‘OK, OK, don’t get excited, I was just bringing you in. You must be soaking.’
Lady Annabelle went into the hall of the farmhouse. It was clearly an old building, but she had been vaguely aware of that. She followed “the man” and he had not yet introduced himself into the kitchen. She thought “How common”. The correct thing was to invite a guest, even a commoner, into the best room, not into the kitchen. It showed how unpolished the lower orders were.
As her mother ceaselessly reminded her, she was not a commoner but the daughter of an Earl. She was not merely the daughter of an Earl, but the Earldom was one of only a handful that could descend through the female line in the absence of a male heir. As she had no brothers, and her mother was now past childbearing age, Annabelle would eventually become Countess of Shipston.
‘Take a pew, love.’
She glared at him and said primly.
‘My name is Lady Annabelle.’
‘And my name, is LORD James.’
Lady Annabelle glared at the man. How could anybody be so rude? None of her father’s tenants were quality people. They were all commoners. She snapped at him.
‘How can you be so rude to me?’
He stared at her.
‘Love, you came banging on my door at midnight, telling me you’re Lady Muck, treating me as if I was some sort of serf in my own home, and I’ve had more than enough of you. If you want my opinion, you’re a spoiled selfish bitch, and ….’
The man saw she was trembling. His tone changed.
‘What’s up, Love?’
‘I’m cold, I’m hungry and I want to cry.’
The man walked over to her, took her hand and led her to the fireplace. It was summer, but there was an electric fire, and he switched both bars on. She looked up at him.
‘Thank you, I’m sorry.’
He shook his head.
‘No, I should apologise. It should have been obvious to me that you were in trouble.’
‘No, I am the one that was in the wrong.’
He laughed, a friendly smile lighting up his face.
‘They speak of love at first sight, but in our case, it seems to have been hate at first sight, and now we want to argue about which of us apologises. Look love, stop where you are, I’ll find a blanket for you, because you’re soaking wet.’
She smiled at him.
‘Thank you. Yes I suppose arguing is a bit silly.’
The guy came over to her, put his hand on her back. It made her jump.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’
‘Seeing just how damp those clothes are. Even if I get a towel, you’ll still get pneumonia if you sit like that.’
‘But I haven’t got anything else.’
‘Stay there.’
‘Yes but…’
The man went off. He returned a couple of minutes later with a man’s shirt and a pair of trousers.
‘You’d better put these on.’
She stared at the dry clothes and shook her head.
‘Look Love, you need to change. Now don’t worry, I’m going to go into the hall and you can tell me when you’ve finished. Then I’ll make something hot for you to drink. Do you want tea or coffee?
‘Coffee please.’
‘You said you were hungry?’
She nodded mutely.
‘Well, it’ll have to be something instant, but I’ll see what I can rustle up.’
He went out of the door.
Lady Annabelle unbuttoned her sodden blouse and took it off, realising with a shock that it was so damp that it was almost translucent. As she hated wearing a bra, and normally only did so to keep the censorious bunch at work happy, she realised that her tits had been on show to the man ever since she had knocked on his door.
She unzipped her skirt. Momentarily she wondered whether to keep her panties on or not. They were also soaking, but they were pink and black and she was horrified at the thought of a stranger seeing her underwear. She shrugged her shoulders. The guy had a virtually uninterrupted view of her tits for the past ten minutes, so it hardly mattered if he saw her knickers.
She peeled them off, put on the trousers he had given her and the shirt. Both were too big, but as the guy was a lot bigger than she was, it was hardly to be expected that he would have the right size of clothing in hand just in case a waif and stray turned up. She called out.
‘OK, I’ve changed.’
He came back in with a towel.
‘Dry your hair, love.’
No one, but no one, ever called her “love”, but dry clothes made a big difference and a dry towel would be a help. The fellow was ignorant, but he had been kind.
‘Thanks.’
The man bustled around bringing her a mug of coffee and then some beans on toast and a fork to eat them with. He went back and got a mug for himself and a second plate of beans on toast. It was nourishing, but eating with a fork and juggling a plate on your knee was not Ascot. He glanced at her.
‘By the way, my name really is James, James Forbes, but I’m not a lord.
Dry clothes, a towel round her hair, a warm fire and hot food had sufficiently mellowed Annabelle that she was able to laugh at the joke.
‘And I’m Annabelle, and I really am a lady, but just plain Annabelle will do.’
James looked at her.
‘No it will not, love. Annabelle, yes I accept that, but plain Annabelle, no way. Pretty Annabelle yes, plain Annabelle no.’
He grinned at her and Lady Annabelle laughed out loud. She realised that the boorish oaf had actually paid her rather a sweet compliment. It was her first happy thought since the car accident, but it reminded her of the accident. James saw the sudden change in expression. She started to cry.
‘What’s up?’
‘My car. It’s off the road a few hundred yards up the road.’
James asked where. When she said it was clear of the highway, he smiled.
‘Well at least we don’t need to get the police out tonight.’
‘Mummy will kill me if she knows I’ve had a crash in the Porsche, and if the police get involved.’
‘Well, you better not tell her.’
‘I was going home this evening.’
‘In that case do you want to ring them?’
‘Yes… No….I don’t know.’
‘Do they know you’re coming?’
‘No.’
‘Well, don’t tell them. We can sort the car out in the morning, and maybe we can get it to a repair centre for you. I’ll have a look in the morning and I may be able to get it out of the ditch with one of the tractors. In fact, I think I’ll go and have a look now.’
Wordlessly, Annabelle stood up. James Forbes stared at her.
‘What are you doing?’
‘You said we needed to look at my car.’
He shook his head.
‘Stay and get warm, I’ll go. It won’t take long.’
James put on a set of wellies and a waterproof and vanished into the hall. She heard the front door slam. She sat back finishing her coffee and felt sleepy. She lay back in the chair with the rug he had given her tucked around her body.
When she woke up it was daytime. She was lying in a bed with the sheet tucked around her. It was clearly a man’s bedroom. She shook her head and looked around. She had no recollection of going to the bedroom, and could not imagine how she had got there. She got up and walked into the kitchen to find James preparing a meal.
‘Hi, sleepyhead. You were out for the count when I got back, so I put you to bed.’
‘But how?’
James shook his head.
‘I carried you there, if you must know.’
‘Ohh, Where did you sleep?’
‘A tempting question, love. I’d like to say next to you, but in the armchair.’
‘But it’s your bed.’
‘Well, a gentleman does not leave a lady sleeping in a chair and go off to bed, and ..’
‘Thank you very much. James, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, Lady Annabelle.’
She shook her head.
‘Annabelle, please.’
They ate a meal, exchanging small talk, and the awkwardness of the previous night had disappeared. Annabelle insisted on drying up as James washed the dishes. As she bustled around putting the dishes away where he told her, his eyes followed her.
‘Quite the married couple aren’t we, sharing the chores!’
She blushed. Although James did not know, it was the first time in her life that Annabelle had shared “doing the dishes” with a guy. She smiled and said.
‘I suppose I’d better think about getting my Porsche out of that ditch.’
Jim shook his head.
‘It’s in the yard love.’
‘What? How?’
‘The Fairies did it. Obliging lot you know.’
Annabelle laughed and shook her head.
‘Just one fairy.’
James shook his head.
‘Sweetheart, don’t call a man a fairy. It’s not polite.’
Annabelle went bright red. She realised what she had just said.
‘I’m so sorry. I do apologise, but you must have been up all night.’
‘No. Farmers are used to rising at the crack of dawn or earlier. I went down with the tractor, pulled your car out, and found it was drivable, but only just. You have a fox shaped dent at the front, one tyre is completely knackered and there is a bit of damage to the underskirt. I got it back to the yard, bouncing along on the flat.
Annabelle stared at him.
‘I bang on the door at midnight, behave like Lady Muck, treat you as if you were a peasant, and you give me a meal, put me to bed, and retrieve my car. I don’t know what to say.’
‘Ta would do fine, and if you like you can say yes to a lunch invite.’
She looked at him. Ta was a word she never used as mummy regarded it as common. If you wanted anyone to think you had breeding, “thank you very much” was what you had to say.
‘Ta, James, and about lunch, I would be honoured, but I’m not sure about my clothes. Unless they’re dry I can hardly go out as I am.’
‘I put them in the airing cupboard last night, so they should be dry now. If you want, I’ve got an ironing board.’
Annabelle blushed.
‘Including my …..’
She was so embarrassed that she just couldn’t finish the sentence. He smiled and nodded.
‘Especially your….’
He left the sentence unfinished. She replied almost without thinking.
‘I’ve never let a man see my panties before.’
James put her as about 19 or 20, and for a good-looking girl of that age to make that sort of an admission suggested she was a candidate for the “Miss Frigid” contest. James Forbes was tempted to pull her leg, but seeing her standing there red faced, he decided not to.
In the late morning, Annabelle asked James if she could have a bath, sort out her hair, and then put her own clothes on again. Afterwards she went into the kitchen to find that James had put on a suit, which she realised was for her sake. She giggled.
‘Very smart, Mr Forbes.’
‘And you, Lady Annabelle are very lovely, a bit different from last night.’
She stared at him, and then giggled. He could see that although she was not blushing there was a hint of pink there. She replied.
‘A bit different, doing the dishes with the man who has seen my knickers and even handled them.’
He shook his head.
‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t be. Ever since I banged on the door you’ve looked after me, when most people would have told me to go to hell. You’ve been a lot kinder to me that I deserved.’
It was now the turn of James Forbes to colour.
Chapter 4
James and Annabelle went out to the Land Rover. As they were pulling out of the farm drive, James asked her.
‘Lady Annabelle.’
She corrected him firmly.
‘Annabelle please, James.’
‘OK, but how about Jim?’
She nodded. Annabelle had told Jim that she would keep her visit secret so that mummy would not get to know about her accident. If they called at “The Shearer’s Arms” in Cotcote for a meal, word of Annabelle’s presence in the village could get back to the Manor. Jim had suggested the 16th century Kings Head Inn in Bledington village, some 3 miles from Stow-on-the-Wold. The couple had a delightful meal, washed down with a fine bottle of wine.
As Jim was driving, he drank sparingly, so Annabelle consumed more than her fair share of the wine. After their meal, Jim asked if she wanted to return to the farm, or if she would like to spend the day seeing the sights. Annabelle happily agreed to go sight seeing. They had a pleasant time exploring Broadway Tower, wandering around Broadway village, “just as if they were American tourists” as Annabelle joked, and finished up at The Red Lion, another 16th century inn at Chipping Campden.
The meal over, they started to head back towards Cotcote, but Annabelle who was slightly tipsy from all the wine she had consumed, said what a beautiful full moon it was. She suggested they look at Broadway Tower in the moonlight. James agreed and they parked the Land Rover near the gate that led into the field where the tower stands. They walked along side by side and stood looking over the Vale of Evesham set out beneath them.
With nightfall, it was much cooler now and Annabelle shivered. Jim asked her.
‘Cold?’
‘A bit.’
He unbuttoned his jacket and held it out. She murmured.
‘What a kind man, what a kind gentleman you are, Jim.’
She slipped her arms into his jacket and rested her back against his chest. It was nice to be warm. It was even nicer to be treated with such courtesy. She could not recall any of her London dates being that considerate.
His arms came around her and started to fasten the buttons. Annabelle placed her hands on his, holding them in front of her. They stood with Jim’s arms around her for several minutes. To her surprise, he nuzzled and then kissed her left ear. It made her giggle. Their only movement was when he gave her ear a periodic kiss.
They walked back to the Land Rover, and to her surprise, Annabelle found she was holding hands with Jim. He opened the door for her, and then closed it when she had scrambled into the high-slung vehicle. As he went round to the driver’s door, she shrugged off his coat, and offered it to him. He put it to one side. She smiled at him.
Jim slipped his left arm round her shoulder, turning her to face him. He drew her to him, kissing her full on the lips. She was shocked and for a moment she resisted. Then she parted her lips, allowing his inquisitive tongue to enter her mouth. Their tongues fought the unique battle where there were two winners and no losers. Annabelle kissed back enthusiastically and felt a strange feeling of excitement.