Chapter One
Cassandra Carmine sat contentedly at her
dressing table, brushing out her long dark wavy hair, while Molly wrestled with
the laces of her corset. The corset was barely necessary for Cassandra had an
admirably slender waist and the corset served mainly to support her breasts and
accentuate her full bosom. Other than the corset, Cassandra wore a chemise and
knickers that came to just above her knees. These undergarments were in bottle
green and fashionably decorated with lace trimmings in black. They would have
raised eyebrows in any respectable company.
Despite daring new trends, plain white
undergarments remained the most common items to be found in a lady's bottom
drawers. Until very recently, they would have been plain, functional and
without frivolous decoration. Only of late had underclothes begun to become
ornamented with frilly bows and lacy trimmings. Even then, only the most
innovative of fashionable ladies had started to wear brightly coloured
underwear. Previously, many of the dyes necessary for the colouring of ladies'
clothes had been prohibitively expensive and available only to the wealthiest
tiers of society and even they would have considered dyed underwear to be an
entirely superfluous expense. New innovations in the textile manufacturing
industries however, had produced much cheaper dyes; readily available to even
relatively modest incomes. The drawing rooms of Europe had bloomed in colour
and even middle class ladies now sported hues that had previously been the
preserve of the most privileged echelons. A few ladies, still relatively small
in number, had taken the trend to its logical conclusion and sported coloured
underwear as well; ladies such as Cassandra for example but then, Cassandra had
always been at the cutting edge of fashion.
Of course, in Cassandra's case, there were
good reasons for her to wear such eminently attractive underwear. For one thing
she could afford it. All her underwear, including the long stockings she wore,
as well as the emerald green dress that Molly had laid out on her bed, were of
fine French silk and very expensive. But then Cassandra was a very well to do
lady. She was thirty-six years old, strikingly beautiful, possessed of independent
means, unashamedly single and had every intention to remain so. She lived in
unmarried splendour in a fine, if somewhat secluded town house, hidden in a
discreet street, in the wealthy and fashionable district of London's Belgravia;
a toss of a stone from Belgrave Square. It was a neighbourhood of the rich and
higher classes and Cassandra found it most convenient for her business. The
rich and influential were her clients.
Therein lay the other reason for Cassandra's
innovative choice of undergarments. In the normal course of events, most
wealthy ladies would expect their underwear to be an entirely private matter,
to be shared only with their maids, husbands and most intimate of
acquaintances. Cassandra however, in her professional capacity, was frequently
called to attend upon her clients in a state of partial or even complete
undress. Bearing this in mind, it would never do therefore, to arrive for an
appointment in anything less than the most fashionable and attractive of
undergarments. Cassandra took great pride in her work and took especial care
over her appearance; tailoring it for the requirements of her clientele. It was
also, it must be noted, a labour of love, for
Cassandra enjoyed her work very much indeed.
Molly giggled and reached out a hand to touch
the fabric of Cassandra's knickers. "Blimey Miss! Someone's in fer a treat! Yer
best silk drawers! 'Oo's the lucky lady then?"
"I have a number of appointments today
Molly." Cassandra picked up the china coffee cup from her dressing table and refreshed
herself with a sip before reaching for her diary. "Let me see now..." she
murmured as she opened the slim volume. "I have Lady Avondale at ten o'clock to
start with." She pondered for a moment. "That's a fairly routine matter. I
shall require nothing more than a pair of sound canes. Please ask Alice to
ensure that the canes have no flaws in them, if you would Molly. One of my
canes broke across Countess Danworth's bottom last week. I was most
embarrassed. Then I have Mrs Barrington at eleven thirty. I think the martinet
should suffice for her. Tell Alice to pack a gag if you please. Mrs Barrington
does tend to be a little too resonant when being whipped and I wouldn't wish
her neighbours to be disturbed."
"Will yer be 'eatin' lunch in Miss?"
"No Molly. I shall be dining out. I'm meeting
with friends. I saw Theresa briefly yesterday evening and she tells me that she
and Prudence want to discuss something with me. This afternoon I have Bishop
Waldrich to attend upon. I understand he requires his wife to be disciplined. I
presume that will be a straightforward caning but I shall carry a few extra
accessories just in case. At three thirty I have the most taxing appointment.
It is time for the delectable Lady Caldwin's quarterly whipping. I shall need
full restraints and my long cow-hide whip Molly so please ensure that Alice
doesn't forget."
"No Miss. I'll see to it meself."
"Thank you. I think that will be all today
unless I have any house calls scheduled for this evening."
"Please Miss.... you
'ave Miss Wentworth comin' this 'evenin' for 'er monthly canin'."
Cassandra clicked her tongue. "Oh of course!
Damn it. I nearly forgot." She stroked her chin thoughtfully. "Hmm. I think I'd
better make it a good sound one Molly. Penny's been very naughty recently. She
wore a frightful gown to Lord Earlshaw's ball last week, drank too much
champagne, embarrassed herself in front of Colonel York and was quite rude to
Lady Huntington... not to mention flirting with that awful Roger Kenwood in
spite of my most express instructions to avoid him. I shall have to be most
severe with her. Would you tell Alice to have the caning horse prepared in the
punishment room and a good selection of long stout canes ready for her
arrival?"
"Yes Miss. Wot about Missus Allbright?"
"Ah yes. Has she had her morning whipping?"
"Yes Miss. I gave 'er an 'idin' afore I
brought you yer breakfast."
"Excellent. I'm afraid I won't have time to
attend to her personally today Molly. I might find half an hour to attend to
her needs this evening but I'll have to delegate the rest to you for the rest
of the day. Could you pop down to the cellar just after lunch and see she gets
another whipping? After you've whipped her, leave her tied to the cross for the
rest of the afternoon and I'll try to squeeze in a little time before dinner to
see to her. Make my apologies in any case. She's with us for another two days
so tell her that I'll find the time to personally give her the good hard
whipping I've promised, her as soon as I have an hour or two to see to the job
properly."
Molly giggled gaily. "That'll be summat fer
'er ter look forward ter Miss! I'll leave yer long bull whip out where she can
see it... just so she knows wot she's got comin' to 'er!"
"Yes. I think a little anticipatory anxiety
would not go amiss."
"She'll be peein' in 'er drawers... begging
yer pardon Miss.... that's if'n she were wearin' any
o' course."
Cassandra reached up to pinch Molly's cheek
affectionately. "You're a very bad girl Molly! Perhaps I should find the time
in my busy schedule to give you a long overdue thrashing tonight."
"Blimey Miss! I'm right privileged me! All
these fancy folks payin' good money fer wot I'm gerrin' fer free!"
Cassandra chuckled in fond exasperation.
"You're incorrigible Molly. Did you get the railway tickets by the way?"
"Yes Miss... two first class tickets from
Paddington ter Market Balding. We 'ave ter change at Chippenham. Train leaves
at ten ter ten on Saturday mornin'. Are we still stoppin' overnight?"
"Yes Molly. We'll be staying at Castle
Balding for two nights so pack a pair of bags if you please."
"Blimey! Lady Balding must 'ave right
misbe'aved 'erself if'n it's goin' ter take two days ter put 'er right!"
"It is not Lady Balding we are called upon to
attend to Molly. In her telegram, Her Ladyship asked me to discipline one of
her maids for her." Cassandra shrugged, "It seems that there is a growing call
for my services in correcting domestic staff. I have a number of outstanding
commissions of that nature. I shall have to formulate professional procedures
appropriate to punishing servants."
"Blimey Miss. Wot for? I mean it's not like
yer don't get enough practice at it at 'ome!"
"It's a little more complicated Molly. In
most cases I administer punishment with the consent or at least submission of
the person being chastised. In the case of domestic servants however I would
need protocols to assure myself that the miscreants in question submitted
willingly to their correction or, at the very least, deserved it and are not
being punished merely for their employees' gratification."
Molly shook her head. "I wouldn't worry yer
self about it Miss. I worked in a few grand 'ouses afore I came to work fer you
and young maids are always gettin' their backsides tanned for one thing or
another. Won't make much difference jus' cause they're callin' in a
professional ter do the job."
"Well possibly. Anyway less idle chatter. I
must dress or I shall be late for my first appointment."
Dressing was a complex business. Fortunately
the huge wide skirts of the previous decade had fallen out of fashion and with
them had gone the whale bone or steel, hooped
crinolines that had made a person feel as if they were walking about enclosed
in a cage from the waist down and made such basic actions as sitting or
attending to necessary ablutions a nightmare. Now the trend was for a much more
slender figure and petticoats, while still voluminous, were not quite the acres
of linen they had once been. The skirt of the dress therefore tended to fall
reasonably straight from the hips at the front.
At the back it was a different matter.
Fashion dictated that a woman show the perfect S shape to her figure. Thus the
corset lifted and accentuated her bosom while her rear was exaggerated by a
large bustle. It was what passed for sexual allure in these more liberal days
in that a lady might cover herself from neck to toe yet still advertise the
curves of her figure for the benefit of her admirers. The bulging bustle at the
rear was achieved with a small crinolette supported by heavy folded pads of
material and over which were worn the petticoats and dress.
Cassandra's dress, designed to be worn as a
bustle dress, was a bewilderingly complex cascade of drapes, layered skirts and
folds, in emerald green silk, decorated with black lace and bows. It had the
hint of a train to it, as was currently fashionable, and, being a day dress, it
was long sleeved and buttoned right up to the neck. Evening gowns were rather
more low cut affording a lady the chance to show a hint of bosom.
Then there were the accessories. Cassandra's
black leather ankle boots were among the most functional items of her attire.
With dresses that fell to the floor, there was little chance of ever seeing a
lady's feet and precious little call for pretty footwear. Boots and shoes were
thus solid, supportive and practical. In stark contrast to later eras,
gentlemen were far more vain and fussy about their footwear than were ladies.
Then there were her gloves, in black lace. Had the weather been cold she may
have donned a pair of her best calfskin gloves but the sun shone benignly on
this English summer day.
Last of all there was her hat. No respectable
lady would have dreamed of setting foot outside the house without a hat on.
Hats had been getting sillier and sillier over the last years until they were
now elaborate, decorated contrivances that had become so ornate as to be mildly
ludicrous and had long since ceased to have any function as a barrier to the
elements. They were startling creations; ornamented with streams of artificial
flowers and birds' feathers. Indeed the millinery industry was something of an
ornithological disaster. Such was the demand for decorative hat feathers that
the slaughter of wild fowl and other birds had reached scandalous proportions.
Some species of birds with particularly prized plumage were teetering on the
brink of extinction as a result.
Before Cassandra's hat could be placed
triumphantly atop her head, her hair had to be fixed in place. With Molly's help, she raised her luxuriant
locks into a bun fastened firmly in place with combs and pins, and facilitating
the attachment of the hat with hatpins. Cassandra's hairstyle may have shocked
earlier generations for her hair was lifted sufficiently to expose her neck and
ears. This was a daring new style and provocatively inviting since a lady's
neck and ears were considered highly erotic.
Finally the hat was set in place and
ruthlessly secured with pins since there was not the slightest chance of it
remaining in place in even the mildest of breezes otherwise. Cassandra pinned
an emerald brooch to her bosom, to complete her ensemble and admired herself in
her boudoir cheval mirror. She was every inch the fashionable and respectable
lady of London society. She was also beautiful and desirable; a wealthy widow living
on the proceeds of her late husband's estates as the official line would have
it. Gentlemen would bow and doff their hats as she passed in the park with all
the grace and dignity of a ship under sail. They would gallantly offer their
arm to aid her into her carriage; swarm around like bees about a honey pot at
balls and social functions; declare her the most handsome woman in London;
drink toasts to her beauty in White's Club on St James' Street, shower her
residence with flowers and chocolates and fight duels for her favour in Hyde
Park. She was one of the most eligible ladies in all of London and the despair
of her multitude of suitors. Only dark rumour hinted that there was more to
Miss Cassandra Carmine than met the eye.
Chapter Two
Alice was waiting in the hallway with her bag
and parasol when Cassandra finally emerged from her boudoir. "Alice" might
sound the most quintessential of English names but, even a superficial glance,
would tell the observer that there was nothing English about Alice. She was
tall, statuesque, fine boned and with skin the colour of polished ebony. She
glared at Cassandra. "Where you all goin'?" she demanded imperiously in the
rich accent that had changed little since her days on the plantation in South
Carolina.
"I'm going out for the day Alice. I have a
lot of house calls to make."
"No you 'ain't! Not like dat you ain't! Yo
hat on all wrong and dey's a smudge on yo sleeve! Ah swear dat girl o' your'n
be wuss than useless! You jes' wait dere while ah git me a brush an' make y'all
fit ter be seen in public."
Cassandra sighed. She knew of course that
there was not the faintest hope of setting foot outside the house without first
passing Alice's muster. She waited patiently while Alice fussed over her
appearance. Protest was futile. Alice would simply tell her to "hesh up" and
carry on regardless. Finally Alice declared her to be suitably dressed to step
out into public view. "Dere now Missy. You look jes' fine." She stood back to
admire Cassandra, her pride in her beautiful Mistress radiantly evident in her
dark African features.
Cassandra smiled. It was impossible to remain
annoyed with her irrepressible housekeeper. She and Alice went back a long way; twenty years in fact. Cassandra had been just sixteen when
her family had shipped her out in disgrace to the Americas to marry a wealthy
cotton planter, twice her age, that she had never met. She had not been called
Cassandra then. Few people knew she had been born Elizabeth Rosemont or that
her married name was Elizabeth Beaufontaine. Beaufontaine had been a brute; violent, incessantly drunk on corn liquor, adulterous and
cruel to the slaves on his plantation. He had treated his young wife abominably
and fathered half the slave children on the plantation.
Alice had been assigned as Cassandra's Negro
maid in the big house on the plantation and Cassandra's kindness had earned
Alice's unwavering devotion. Then had come the awful day when Beaufontaine in
his cups had taken a whip and beaten Alice half to death. Cassandra had tended
to her and planned a terrible revenge. Beaufontaine had been of the opinion
that women were merely decorative objects for the gratification of men; unintelligent, quite without competence in the world of
men and unable to think or fend for themselves. That behind the beautiful
features of his young wife there lay an intellect far superior to his own, liquor addled, wits was beyond his imagination. He had
been negligent of his plantation's finances believing money to be somehow
sordid and beneath the dignity of a Southern gentleman. It had been simplicity
itself for the brilliant young woman to gain control of his accounts and to
bring his wretched little empire crashing down after first squirrelling away a
sizeable proportion of his money for herself in an English bank.
Beaufontaine had come home from a month of
drinking and whoring in Savannah to find his estate bankrupt and his wife and
her maid gone. It was then that Cassandra had taken on her name as she and
Alice had fled across South Carolina posing as a young widow and her Negro
maid. They'd bought passage on one of the new steamships for England in
Charleston. It had been an uncomfortable and dreary crossing but there been a
prize at the end. Great Britain had abolished slavery nearly twenty years earlier
and, on setting foot back in England, Cassandra had had the satisfaction of
telling Alice she was now a free woman; free to go and do as she pleased.
What she'd chosen to do, of course, was to
stick to Cassandra with a devoted tenacity that had never wavered since. They'd
moved to London and, with Cassandra's ill-gotten gains from the debacle of
Beaufontaine's demise, bought a fine house under Cassandra's guise of a wealthy
widow. Cassandra truly was a widow now though. Beaufontaine was dead. A Yankee musket
ball had ended his ill-fated existence at Antietam, near Sharpsburg, some nine
years earlier.
Alice was a phenomena. She worshipped
Cassandra with fierce protectiveness. Even Cassandra's unusual profession
failed to shake Alice's all-consuming faith in her in spite of the fact that it
flew against her puritanical Christian beliefs. Cassandra was an angel to her,
albeit a flawed one, and if she spent her days in the flagellation of wealthy
clients then, as Alice would put it, "You go whup as many white folks as you
wants. Ain't no skin off mah nose!"
"You go be back fer lunch Missy?" demanded
Alice.
"No. I shall be dining out so you can tell
cook that she has the day off until dinner. Is my cab here?"
"Sure is. I get Mei ter take yo bag out." She
turned around and yelled in her booming voice, "MEI!" There was no immediate
response, "MEI!" Alice shouted again and scowled, "Where dat girl at?"
"It's perfectly all right Alice. I'm quite
capable of carrying my own bag to the cab."
"MEI!" roared Alice again, oblivious of
Cassandra's protestations of capability. This time there came a patter of feet
and Meiling rushed into the hallway from the scullery. Alice glared at the
young Chinese girl. "Where you been?" she growled at her, "Ain't you seen Missy
goin' out? You tink Missy gwine carry her own bag to her buggy? What folks
roun' here gwine tink of us dey see Missy have to carry her own bag cos' her
good fer nuthin' housemaids too bone idle ter see ter their chores?"
Meiling was hopping from one foot to the other
in anxious contrition. "Ah solly. I not hear. I in skull....
in skully.... I downstairs." explained Meiling, the pronunciation of "scullery"
quite beyond her.
Alice snorted in exasperation. "Hmmph! You
getting' too lazy girl! Time you had you a good ass whuppin'!"
Meiling bit her lip abjectly, "Missy go whip
me?"
"Missy?" barked Alice, "Why who you think you
are girl? Missy got better things ter do dan whup the likes o' you! Missy...
she go whup high-class folks! She ain't no time fer whuppin' her own
housemaids. She got me fer dat job!"
Cassandra was trying desperately not to
laugh. "Perhaps if I may be allowed to be about my business now."
she suggested gently.
"Why sure thing Missy." Alice turned on
Meiling. "Git dat bag girl!" She turned back to Cassandra. "Don't you worry
none Missy. While you out, I go take dis little madam
down the scullery an' have her drawers down fer a hidin'!"
"Thank you Alice." Cassandra was not unduly
concerned. For all her bluster and thunder, Alice was a gentle soul. The most
Meiling would be facing would be a few swats with the strap. Doubtless Meiling
would save Alice's face by squealing loudly and prettily. The little Chinese
girl had a penchant for histrionic melodrama while having her bottom spanked.
With Meiling carrying her bag before her,
Cassandra stepped out of her front door and descended the marble steps in regal
grace. A gentleman of her acquaintance, passing on the pavement, stopped to
lift his hat courteously. "Good day Miss Carmine."
Cassandra bobbed a tiny curtsy and rewarded
his gallantry with a radiant smile. "Good day to you Mr Winterpenny." The
gentleman walked on looking as if he had just grown an extra six inches. Her
cab was waiting at the curb; the driver holding the
door open for her. She smiled at him. "Good morning Albert."
"Mornin' Miss. Where we 'orf terday?"
"Park View House on Wellington Court if you
please Albert."
"Lady Avondale's residence Miss?" asked
Albert as he assisted Cassandra up the steps into the cab.
"That's correct Albert." Cassandra settle
down in the cab as Meiling pushed her bag in after her. Cassandra reached out
to touch the Chinese girls hair with a smile. "Thank
you Mei. I've been thinking. It's time you had some new clothes. Perhaps if I
have time tomorrow I'll stop by the haberdashery and see if we can find
something pretty for you."
Meiling's face lit up in glee. "Ah thank you
Missy. You too kind! You best Missy in whole world!"
Cassandra smiled. "Well get along with you or
Alice will be after taking her strap to you." Meiling scuttled away joyfully.
She adored pretty clothes. Cassandra watched her run off in amusement. Alice's
strap would not hurt half so much now. Meiling was another of what Cassandra's
friends would call "Cassie's stray kittens". In
contrast to the stern demeanour of her professional persona, Cassandra was a
deeply compassionate woman and tended to pick up stray waifs along the way. Her
home had been a sanctuary for many a lost young woman over the years. Meiling
was just one in a long line but Cassandra was very fond of her.
Albert took his seat and with a slap of the
reins set the cab in motion; clattering over the cobbles. The cab was an open
fronted, two wheeled carriage with the driver sat atop and pulled by a single
horse. They'd been an innovative design in the thirties; invented by a Joseph
Hansom from York. By now they were ubiquitous on the streets of London. Over
seven thousand of them transported their charges about the city's crowded
streets. Cassandra wondered how people had ever managed to cope before them.
Cassandra had more than a customer's interest in their convenience. A couple of
years earlier she had visited the United States on business for a few weeks.
The traffic in New York City had been horrendous and was crying out for the
nimble Hansom cabs with their ability to weave in and out through the tightest
places. She'd invested a modest sum with the newly formed New York City Hansom
Cab Company. The cabs had proved wildly popular as a cheap and convenient
public transport system in New York, and Manhattan was full of them now.
Cassandra had done very well out of her investment but then she was a shrewd business woman and rarely invested poorly.
It was not far to travel to Wellington Court
and, in truth, given the clement June weather, Cassandra could have walked the
distance comfortably. Belgravia was a clean and respectable district where a
lady might safely walk the streets without molestation or fear of befouling her
skirts on filthy pavements. It was not as if she were being called upon to
negotiate the rat infested back streets of Whitechapel
after all. This was a refined and elegant neighbourhood of grand terraced
houses and urban mansions lining splendid tree lined streets and boulevards
surrounding the open plaza of Belgrave Square. The wealth of the neighbourhood
ensured it was kept clean and attractive, while the police constables quickly
chased away the beggars and pickpockets that might otherwise trouble the rich
and influential residents. It was probably one of the safest places in London
for a lady to take a stroll.
To Cassandra however, to arrive by cab at her
appointments leant a certain professional formality to her visit. She had
appearances to maintain. There was a strict protocol to her house visits and
her business like formality afforded gravitas and dignity to her purpose. She
was, when all was said and done, there to discipline her clients. It would
never do to seem as if she was popping around informally to visit a nearby
friend for tea and gossip. She had to maintain at least the façade of stern
formality and censure akin to that of a particularly strict governess.
Many of her clients were, after all, her
social superiors in the ranking of society. It was important to retain the
illusion of her dominance over them. She had a very definable role to play.
They paid very good money for the privilege of submitting to her; expected to
feel dominated and subservient. A lot of
her clients were powerful matriarchs or dominant ladies in society who reigned
over their own little empires with hauteur and arrogance. Few among the
acquaintances that had suffered the acerbic cut of their tongue or their
over-bearing aloofness would have guessed, or even believed it possible, that
there was secret inner side to them that yearned to submit to a dominant woman,
be told off like a naughty girl and severely punished.
It was those yearnings that Cassandra had
recognised and catered to when she had created her "Ladies' Correctional
Service" and it was very nearly unique in England. Of course, gentlemen had had
recourse to such services for a long time and many professional ladies made a
good living out of flogging submissive gentlemen. Cassandra's genius had been
to realise that many women harboured such submissive fantasies too and that a
very discreet and trustworthy professional catering to their needs would find a
niche. Uniquely, Cassandra catered only to ladies.
Of course, Cassandra was more than aware that
her services were erotic in nature and that her services were closely tied to her
clients', often repressed, homosexuality. It was a
fact that, in spite of the apparent moral prudishness of expressed public
opinion, homosexuality was rife in England. It was most visible among the male
population and oddly, although public acts of indecency were heavily punished,
private acts would not be specifically legislated against until 1885.
Homosexuality amongst men flourished, in the barrack rooms, gentlemen's clubs,
boarding schools, on board the ships of the Royal Navy, in rugby clubs, coffee
houses, theatres and even the new Turkish Baths which had proliferated in
London over the past decade. It was the skeleton in the cupboard of the male
dominated society of Victorian England; a secret,
shamefully hidden, yet all too well known in whispered corners.
Even more deeply buried was female
homosexuality. In the prevalent atmosphere of the day, it was hard enough to
give women credence for any sort of sexuality let alone romantic
yearnings for their own gender. Men were supposed to be the ones subject to
carnal lust and serial infidelity. Their extra marital affairs warranted a mild
disapproval at best and were as likely to be dismissed with a knowing wink
because that was the nature of a man. Sex was something women were supposed to
endure for the privilege of having babies and when a woman was caught in
infidelity she was subject to the most horrendous abhorrence and social
ostracism. Being caught with another woman was simply unthinkable.
Yet sweep it out of sight as you may, female
homosexuality was a fact and just as prevalent as that among males. There was
no real term for it yet. Cassandra had heard the word "lesbian" used in
reference to love between women but it had been a term used specifically about
the female love described by the ancient Greek poetess Sappho on the Island of
Lesbos and it had not yet come into general vogue. But it was a fact and a
person such as Cassandra was all too aware of it. She rather suspected that it
was far more prevalent than many would have given credit for. She wondered just
how many husbands ever suspected that their neglected and lonely wives found
solace in each other's arms. She knew only too well how many of her clients had
had their earliest sexual awakenings with their own sex; with their peers at boarding
school, being spanked over their nanny's knee, with their girlhood playmates or
lowering their drawers to be caned or strapped by their governesses or
headmistresses. It might even be that her clients' deep
rooted shame over their sexual proclivities demanded their abasement and
punishment.
Whatever it was, Cassandra not only
acknowledged its existence but also made a profession out of it. It was a
profession that afforded her great personal satisfaction as well. Cassandra was
a very rare creature in the context of her day. She was a woman completely and
happily at ease with her own sexuality. She had stopped feeling guilty shame
over her own sexual proclivity the day her family had shipped her out in
disgrace to less than marital bliss in South Carolina. Beaufontaine's brutish
attentions had more than dissuaded her of any need to feel ashamed of herself.
She had come to accept that which she was and, from there, to embrace it and to
revel in it. She carried her sexuality with pride and without fear. To her
fearful clients, hiding behind their own shame, it made her irresistible.
The cab drew up outside a grandiose town
house, five stories high. "Lady Avondale's 'ouse Miss." Albert informed her
unnecessarily, "D' yer want an 'and wi yer bag?"
"Yes please, thank you Albert." Albert took
her bag. It was a long leather carrying case. It had to be long. Cassandra's general purpose canes were nearly four feet long. She
stepped down from the carriage and drew herself up in poise and dignity.
Another working day had begun.