Baroness Mercia awoke in a hot sweat. It took a moment but she remembered where she was, her bedroom at Nine Yews. "Some dreams, Flavia old gal." She ran her consciousness over her most recent vision. This time young Mays was fucking her good in that very bed. He was between her legs; his chest hairs tickled her nipples. He was thrusting so hard, her head banged against the headboard. She smiled. "So much for long showers easing tension."
She got up, turned on her reading light, and moved to the lavatory. She took a piss. Then she moved to the basin and removed her long nightshirt. Again she appreciated the gold and emerald pendant that lay between her breasts. The emerald was sea-dark green and as big as a thumb. It and its sun-yellow setting set off her colours marvelously. She practically hadn't taken it off since the first dinner. Now she was even sleeping with it. "I wonder what price Nigel will sell it for?" she wondered and not for the first time.
She washed her sticky face and torso with warm water. She examined her nightshirt. The perspiration stains beneath her armpits were dramatic. "Now I will need something dry. Can't say those dreams weren't worth it." she smirked. She walked back to the bed, carrying the soiled garments and placed them in the hamper. For the first time, she opened the top drawer in her dresser and scanned for something to wear. She looked inside.
She pulled out a lavender lace bra. That made her curious. The drawer was filled with similar lacey underthings. "Hmph. Must be left for the person who used the room before me. " She rubbed the fabric between a critical thumb and forefinger. "Hmm. Good quality." She curled a bit on her hand and brought it to her cheek. Her eyes closed as she appreciated how it was both crisp and smooth at the same time.
Tom's eyes snapped open. He wasn't sure what sound had woken him. He was still in the position he had dozed off in, lamp on, sitting up, with a book on his lap. Someone was moving by the bar. "Baroness?"
The tall redhead was fixing herself a drink. Using ice to plunk ice cubes into a tumbler. "Master Mays." She turned and raised an eyebrow. She was wearing a lavender coloured lace bra and matching panties. Lavender garters held up the black silk hose that enveloped her long legs. And ancient emerald-in-gold pendant nestled in her breasts.
"What are you doing here?"
"Fixing myself a drink."
"I mean my what are you doing in my room. If your husband finds out..."
"He probably foreclose on you tiny island or some such nonsense?" her green eyes looked at him over her glass, hungrily.
"Right." His father had informed Tom, in no uncertain terms, that the Baronet Mercia was now his family's sole creditor. The bastard had bought up all their paper to bring local pressure to bear. The May's family fortune depended solely on Tom being very, very nice to Marjorie.
She sighed. "My room doesn't have a bar. I'll just finish this drink and go. Be a dear and throw a log on the fire for me first. It's a bit chilly."
Willing to do anything to end the awkward moment, young Tom slipped out of bed. Too late he realized that even that brief exposure to her exquisite form had caused his dick to engorge. He threw on his robe and tired to pretend his tent pole didn't exist.
The Baroness looked amused at Tom's discomfort.
He rushed the screen and the stoked of the fire. "There. Time to go."
"You sure?" she looked down at his cock, unashamedly appraising it. "What a fine big cock you have, young Mays."
"That's enough." Tom moved to grab her but the upper arm, but she moved quickly and caught his hand. Tom stood stunned, wondering what to do next. The woman took his hand and used his palm to caress her soft cheek. She closed her eyes. She moved his hand and took his thumb into her mouth. She sucked and gently gnawed on it: promises.
She opened her eyes. Tom was no longer resisting. He wanted to see where she took his hand next. The Baroness carried his hand to her cleavage. There, she subtly guided him on the way she liked to be caressed; soft squeezes and little circles around the areolas. Then she led him to her crotch. He felt her lips through the fabric. His fingers deftly rubbed the sensitive folds. He felt a small flood. The Baroness moaned. He looked up. They still hadn't kissed.
The tall woman placed her finished drink on the mantle and then moved behind him, undid his sash, slid his silk robe past his shoulders and tossed it aside. Then she pulled off his shirt. The Baroness ran her fingers over palms between the muscles on Tom's back. "What a fine strong back you have..." she leaned in a whispered hotly in his ear, "...Tom." Tom shivered but not from cold. She reached around and unsnapped his pants. They dropped to the floor and Tom stepped out of them. The Baroness scratched her long red nails over his cheeks. "A fine fit bum you have too... Tom. Now let's take a look at what counts." Tom tensed, desperately hoping he measured up.
She took him by either shoulder and spun him around. "Wha? Hmmmm." Her green eyes flicked up and the lady smiled with those full, blood-red lips of hers.
Tom looked down. It was practically a new dick. Ten inches it was, it curved slightly upwards, the veins clearly visible and as thick as a plum. It felt right and powerful.
The Baroness took him by the hand and led him to his bed. She braced herself on the edge and pushed herself up. She flicked her setter-hair back and leaned backwards on the pillows. She spread her legs, Her left leg bent high. With her right hand she reached between her legs and flicked open the snap that held the middle band of fabric.
The lavender panties opened like a mouth, exposing her red bush and gaping cunt to Tom's advances.
Tom knew he should do what he was about to do. He had every reason NOT to do it. The Baroness was a bitch. She was married. Furthermore, she was married to the man who held all the Mays' paper; one of the most ruthless businessmen in England. He was expected to marry her daughter for sakes. Molly would not be happy. And he was all out of condoms. But all his reasons faded like morning mist in before the bright vision of the Baroness', gorgeous, glistening pussy. She just lay there, one arm behind her head, awaiting his decision.
He approached the bed. He held his cock to aim it in her cunt, and simultaneously entered her and climbed on the bed on top of her. He braced his arms on either side of her head. He looked down and continued his penetration.
Baroness Mercia's lips formed an "o" and her eyes went wide. Tom he had never been one for the ladies, something was always wrong with the moment. Now here he was enjoying the worst woman he could ever conceive of sleeping with. He had to admit her pussy felt marvelous. It was the roomiest, juiciest, most luxuriant cunt he had ever dove into and that included Molly. The sumptuous enclosure of his rod was quite beyond belief, like a combination of velvet and silk but tropically warm and sponge wet.
He began to jerk his prick in and out of her, down to root. The Baroness arched her head to the sky and hissed. Tom kept up his motion. Her pussy secreted so much juice it wasn't long before Tom's dick slurped with every thrust in or out. The Baroness nails scratched across Tom's back. He loved the pain/pleasure contrast, like Molly's bite.
The Baroness pulled down the cups of her bra so her tits mashed against his hairy chest. "Oh yeah, that's it Tom. Gah, but your so very big and thick, Tom. Whatever was I waiting for? More energy now. That's right. I don't think I have ever been so full, honestly."
Tom picked up his pace. The long slidings turned into sledgehammering. Still, he hadn't kissed her. "Screw it." He thought. He just kept fucking her. She raised her loins to meet his. The two built in frenzy, faster and faster. Snap! The lady's green eyes went wide and she convulsed underneath him.
The two took a break with Tom still inside her.
"That was great Tom. What's next? I have to confess it takes me longer each time."
Tom changed tempo. He pulled back and slammed into her all, the way to the root.
"Oh!" The Baroness's eyes brightened in delight. She wrapped her arms around him.
Tom slammed again. Falvia wrapped her legs around her lovers' ass, but did not hinder the hard fucking she was loving so much. Time and again, Tom slammed into the redhead. It wasn't long before her head was banging against the headboard. Her nails dug into him and her breath came in gasps, useless for forming words.
Tom felt his balls boiling, about to spew. He made one more gallant lancing and then came. The lady beneath him convulsed again, this time with a moan of ecstasy followed by a groan of ache. The two lovers paused; the Baroness panting like a marathon runner. "Oh, that was good, Tom. Didn't know I could come so fast on the third, I mean second time."
Tom flopped over and the lady took it as a sign. She tried to rise, but Tom caught her arm. One look at his ice blue eyes told her what he had in mind. "Again?" His monster was still rampant. "My girlfriend's are right about you younger men. All right. But this is it." She slung one leg over Tom.
She took a moment to appreciate his pillar, and then put it inside her. "Feels good, Tom. I must confess it has been a while. I guess it will have to keep me."
With Tom below her, she intended to take her time and her pleasure. She moved up and down. The feather mattress did not allow for as much bouncing as springs. As the familiar joy coursed up from her loins, she reached back and tossed her matted mane with both hands and threw her head about.
The Baroness marveled at how stimulating Tom's huge cock was. She had her share of Roger, but the tinglings she felt meant that a fifth orgasm of the night was not out of the question. Usually twice a night was plenty. But then she had a lot to make up for.
She wasn't exaggerating about not getting any for a while. The Baronet hadn't touched her in years, preferring his Asian slavegirls. She had starved herself and exercised until she was feint for the bastard. She justified her fervor by telling herself that her body must have a lot of catching up to do.
The young man reached up and caressed her tits, just the way he had been shown.
"Oooo." The Baroness cooed like a dove. "You were paying attention. How ever did you get...fuck so, so good, Tom?" With his right hand he placed his finger on his abdomen. It rubbed her pearl with every hump of her hips. The Baroness got the idea and altered her humping into more of a swiping motion.
Tom pinched a nipple hard and she hissed. The little jolt of the pain was a catalyst. Flavia could tell she was on a build up for another, glorious fourth climax. She wanted it; she wanted it like a drowning woman wants her next breath.
Her fourth orgasm left her weak and glowing. She rested her head on his chest. Her breaths were longer and more drawn out. Slowly, she got off of him. "Sorry, Tom. That's it for me. Four is my limit, even with that lovely big thing you've got there." She began to walk away.
She was turned around, lifted by her armpits and thrown backwards onto the bed. "What?"
A half a second later she knew what. Tom took his right hand and inserted it into her sopping twat. With his left hand he pressed down on her abdomen.
Flavia Mercian did not panic. She had been around. "Sorry, Tom. I am I clit girl, that G-spot stuff doesn't work on me."
"No?" Tom turned to look at her and she was suddenly frightened. It was like lightening flashed behind his irises. Then something like a buzzing surge of pleasure rocked her mind. It was like she was enjoying a whole other body.
Her eyes rolled back into her head and she lost the power of reason for a minute. "What was that?" In mute reply, Tom did it to her again, it was like she was had orgasms on tap but it was like no orgasm she ever felt before, it was like every nerve was fucking. After the second time she found she had lost the use of her limbs. Their contractions in the throws of ecstasy had quite exhausted them. "Tom, please." another surge and a blinding blue light, the earth moved, her world was destroyed and recreated. The last bolt shattered all resolve, rendering the woman quite dumb with bliss.
Apparently satisfied, Tom flopped the limp woman over and slammed his huge cock into her pussy from behind. She sighed in purest contentment. He pummeled her with his member. She grunted with each thrust, slowly she seemed to gain energy. She bucked, she threw her hair about, and she screamed, "Yes YES!" Unbelievably, she experienced another orgasm. It left her limp but Tom continued the assault. She felt her pleasure center part of the brain answer the call. "Please, Tom. I don't think I can take any more. Augh! I can feel it building again. Please!"
"We're done when I say were done." He fucked her roughly. The Baroness made a few token pushes to escape but the surges of ecstasy running though her limps like a lit fuse quite overwhelmed her. She felt betrayed by her body, by her need. And odd thought, that she had betrayed her body by her abstinence all those years, crossed her mind. She let go, deciding to enjoy what came.
It was Tom that came. He let out a low, loud, grunt-growl, his back arched, he spewed gobs of white seed into her juicy womb. Tom jerked his loins against her ass for a minute or so more, and then collapsed onto her back. He rested.
Sensitized beyond her experience, Flavia felt her lover's juice hit her uterus. It felt queer. It made her feel, well "complete" isn't quite the word. But it felt natural and right. She took assay of her body. Her limbs were quite fagged out. She was wet, sticky, and very, very, satisfied. Her very skin seemed to hum with happiness. "Ohhhhhhh. That was great, Tommy."
Tom withdrew, his dick dripped with seed and lubricant. The limp woman seemingly poured to the floor. Tom stood over her, dripping. When she gathered enough breath, the redhead looked up. She pushed herself up from the floor and onto her haunches.
She reached out and reverently touched the source of her joy. She looked up at Tom and he nodded once, sharply. She kissed the phallus, and then she stuck her tongue out of the side of her mouth and licked a bit of the top of its shaft. She licked it a little more each time. She was like a girl licking a strange lolly and then discovering it was her new favorite flavor. She swallowed just the head and then bobbed deep and deeper each time.
Tom admired her with satisfaction. Still they hadn't kissed.
Going down was something her pig of her husband always enjoyed forcing on Flavia. But now it seemed so natural. She loved this dick and all the pleasure it brought her. She wanted to express her gratitude. Ironically, by celebrating this bit of manhood she found herself feeling more womanly, the more wanton side of femininity, true, but womanly nevertheless. She was ever so grateful. "I love you, Tommy."
His dick clean and going flaccid. Flavia quite naturally joined her man on his bed. She paid no heed to the wet spots they had left. If anything she enjoyed their heady perfume. She removed the last of her bra and curled up on her naked man. "I want you, Tom."
"I want you, Flavia."
They dozed for maybe and hour. Then Flavia felt the young man spreading her thighs. She languidly stretched and welcomed him. They dozed. Tom woke to her weight on his chest. They fucked again and then dozed. Flavia woke thirsty, and padded to her bathroom. She had left the bolt undone. She opened the door and entered. She tuned on the tap and drank from a glass she had left there before. In the mirror, she saw her lover creep up behind her.
She presented her ass to her stag and he mounted her. He reached around and grabbed her mounds. Flavia could see his red-gold hair over her shoulder. The sight of her tits being grabbed for behind, while her body reacted to her lovers thrusts turned her on, tremendously. "Oh yes, fuck me Tommy. Oh I like it like that."
There was knock at the door. "Mother?"
Both lovers froze. "Yes, Marjorie darling?"
"There you are. I was worried."
"Don't fret dear. I'm just enjoying a long bath. I thought that might help me sleep better." She curled her arm backwards, hugging Tom's neck. "I'll just run more bit of hot water and then I'll be right out."
"No. It's all right. I just wanted to know where you were."
"Stupid little bitch." The Baroness hissed. She was very upset; she was just beginning to enjoy her latest screw.
Tom hushed her and ran the water. Then he returned to mounting the Baroness. It wasn't long before she was back in her "groove" again and she experienced a small, but pleasant, shiver of happiness. The water hadn't even overflowed.
The Two lovers parted and only then, did they share a kiss. Tom thought it was good. He turned and left quickly. He did not see the Baroness standing there, recreating his pressure with her fingertips. For her, the kiss was like an electrical charge. Her pussy creamed again.
She looked down. "Damn, you old thing. Can't you get enough?" She stepped into the bath and began soaking the fluids and smells that could betray her adultery. It seemed like such a shame to her. She reflected on the seed she couldn't wash away. She needed a vinegar douche. She hadn't gone thought he change yet, far from it...and the timing was right. She smirked. "If any one was going to get me pregnant it would be that virile young man in there." She took a break from scrubbing and laid back in the warm water, enjoying the thought.
Tom woke and his dick was sore down to its balls. He looked down. Indeed, even flaccid, it was noticeably bigger. But he didn't feel tired, far from it. He felt quite invigorated.
Still naked, he went to the windows and threw them open. He heard some voices from the garden but he paid them no mind. He threw open the other windows and let in all the sea fog. He depressed the intercom. "Hello in the kitchen. May I have some coffee please?"
"Coming up, sir." It was Molly's voice.
Tom was dressed solely in his robe when Molly arrived with the silver coffee service. "Och! It's freezing in here." She places the tray on the small table and shut all the windows in rapid succession. Then she turned on him in mock fury. "Well, Tom Mays, you certainly made me the envy of the staff this morning; all that fancy display you put on. You put poor Meg into quite the tizzy."
"Did I? And I think you had something to do with it."
Even with her face down and concentrating on pouring his coffee, Tom could see the smile. "Oh? And what makes you think that?"
"All those hedge charms?'
"I don't hear you complaining." She handed him the coffee. She sniffed the air. "What? Who did you have here last night as if I don't know?"
"Flavia." Tom felt strangely unafraid. He had dated two girls at once before and they both had scalded him good. Now he didn't even feel guilty.
Molly's eyebrows shot up. "I knew it! All you fine people have your ways. Old Molly just isn't good enough for you. Couldn't wait to get a piece of noble crumpet, one night you miserable...."
Tom sighed and put down his coffee. He stripped and showed her his new member. Her cursing sputtered. He walked up close to her, his dick poking at her dress, his lips kissing her neck. Her complaints quieted but continued. He pulled down the bodice of her shirt and sucked on her heavy breast.
"I can't stay angry at you, Tom." She sighed.
"Nor I you. Give me a bath, please Molly." He mumbled between her mounds.
"I think its time for a shower. Master Nigel won't be up for breakfast." As she skipped to the lavatory, she stripped. Tom frowned at the news, then followed. As Molly ran the water, she did up her long brown hair in a bun and led Tom in. She wet him. Her wet her. She soaped very inch of him. He soaped every inch of her. He rinsed. She rinsed. Then Tom slipped inside her.
Face to face, Tom gave her standing fuck. He pumped his hips. Meanwhile, Molly kissed and licked his shoulders. Tom's thrusts built up in energy. She bent her knee to run her thigh up his leg and Tom took it as a sign.
In his arms, his picked her up by her arse. Molly wrapped her arms around his neck. He bounced her on his new, huge member.
"Ow! Ow! Stop Tom it's too big."
"I'll stretch you out." Carrying her out of the tub, he pinned the maid's back against his bathroom door. His fucking only grew more furious. Molly no longer held onto his neck, only friction held her up, friction and Tom's love spike. She wailed and moaned and then she shook. Some spittle must have gone down the wrong way when she was having her fit.
She caught and coughed though her reply. "That was brilliant Tom, best yet. My arse will be sore for days but it was worth it."
He let her down then pressed her to bend over the tub. "Again? Well aren't we the randy boy this morneeeeeee! Damn your huge Tom. Easy there, oh no..."
Molly cocked her head, lost in lust, just like she was yesterday. She realized the price for following one's impulses. Tom fucked her to a second, mind-blowing orgasm. Her knees went weak.
She turned off the taps. Then slowly stood and turned. Tom still had that fierce look in his eye. "No, you can't possibly..."
Molly left the bath in a hurry but tripped picking up her skirt. Tom approached his cock as a big and hard as ever. "Tom no, you are under a spell. Stop it." Molly dragged herself along the smooth wood floor. Tom caught her by her ankle easily.
Even as she protested, Molly's legs spread for the man. The maid cursed her body. Her cunt wanted it, even as her mind rebelled against wanting any particular man so much. Then she let the wave of pleasure carry her away.
On his way to breakfast, Tom stopped by his friend's room. He knocked softly. "Go away."
"Nigel. It's me, Tom."
"Come in, Tom."
Nigel was sitting at a small table by the window, enjoying the view and a light breakfast.
"I wanted to check on you. I heard you might be under the weather." Tom examined his friend, closely. He did look pale, diminished somehow.
Nigel put on a brave face. "I'll be fine for our sea cave expedition this morning."
"Late night?"
Nigel gave his friend a queer look. "You saw?"
Tom helped himself to toast. He was famished. "Yes. I learned how to get about."
"I thought so. I suppose you want to know what's going on."
"Not really."
"It's family business."
"You call what I saw last night, 'business'?"
"Did you every read Beowulf, Tom?"
"I did go to school, Nigel."
"Right. Do you remember the story of how it was discovered?"
"Yes. It was discovered after some old lord threw it out of a window, trying to save it from a fire."
"Yes. And he wasn't even trying to save it in particular. It was just in among one more armload of Socrates or some such."
Tom was quite used to Nigel's infuriatingly obtuse arguments. He long ago realized it was his friend's way of tricking people into his way of thinking. "Your point being?"
"Think of it. One of the greatest works of literature lying on some musty old Lord's shelf for centuries."
The light bulb went on in Tom's head. "So you are saying that you family has some very old and valuable books."
"Not just one. Most we have no idea how they came here. Some we bought for literally trunks of gold."
"You are talking magic."
"Real magic, Tom; alchemy, herbalism, even some druidical stuff. It's not at all hoodoo and black candles. I could spend a lifetime studying it."
"And this holiday is that what is it all about? Curing Susan? I suppose that is a good thing. Is that what you did for poor Stephen?"
"Yes. He should be on his way to Warden's cabin by now, where he'll find himself hale and hearty in a day or so." Nigel smiled wistfully.
"Why did you bring me? What spell do I need?" he tensed.
Nigel's face grew grave and he placed a hand on Tom's broad shoulder. "I brought you because you are my friend. I'll need your help, Tom. This holiday, and all our guests, were my father's idea. I have no idea what he is up to. But I brought you, someone I could trust, along to put a shoe in his gears. You don't mind, do you?"
"Nonsense. That's what friends are for."
Nigel leaned back. "Thank you." He looked exhausted. "I asked Colleen bring me up a restorative. I should be fine in a few hours."
"You take your rest now." Tom left and by time he reached the door he could already her the smooth sounds of a sleeper's breath.
Tom arrived for breakfast. Flavia practically beamed at him. The slim young girl with long brown hair at the clearing station blushed red. Tom wondered if that was the "Meg" that Molly mentioned.
He took the largest plate and helped himself to a huge breakfast: sausages, rashers, eggs, toast, juice and a whopping big bowl of oatmeal and butter. The Baroness smiled, like she thought his gluttony was cute. She held her hands folded on her lap, restraining them.
Stuffing his face as he was, Tom did not fail to notice the little game of footsie Ling and Marjorie were playing. Susan ate politely, as astounded by her surroundings as a puppy. She made small talk whenever Tom's mouth wasn't full or the Baroness wasn't staring at him.
After less than an hour, Steward arrived in the company of a short, young, woman with blue eyes, pale skin and hair as black as coal. "Honored guests." Steward began. "The Young Master sends his regrets but he reports that low tide is not for another three hours. He stayed up all night with Stephen and is quite exhausted. He has offered you the hospitality of this house, or he suggested a tour of the hothouse with Gardener..." he held out a hand to the coal haired beauty, "...as guide. He will join you after luncheon."
Marjorie immediately seized an opportunity to get Ling alone. "I'll stay here."
"I would be most interested in the hothouse." Ling said immediately following.
Tom was puzzled. Wasn't Ling equally interested in being alone with Marjorie?
"I'd like to stay in too." The Baroness stole a sly look at Tom.
Suddenly, Tom thought he understood Lings' motivation. "I'd like to see the hothouse too."
Susan finally made up her mind. "Gracious. I would love to see both. I guess I would love to see where the flowers are grown. I love the orchids I've seen set about."
"Very well. Please come with me." Gardener requested. She spoke with a west county lilt, little different from Molly's. "You will need a coat."
The hot house was set only a kilometer or two away from the main house. Viewed from outside, it was a large Victorian affair with rusty iron beams, milky glass and a humid environment. Inside, it was far from typical. It did not have the ubiquitous birds of paradise or tree palms. Instead, herbs and plants of all shapes and sized grew in copious amounts. Tom recognized even a few species of ants and beetle that had no business existing in foggy old England.
The group was listening to Gardener explain a vermiform when Tom finally asked the question he'd been bursting to ask. "Gardener, how do you get all this..." he waved his arms " all this heat? Surely not from the sun."
"No, surely not. Nine Yews is situated over a natural hot spot."
"Geo thermal?" asked Ling.
"Perhaps. The... secluded nature of Nine Yews prohibits proper exploration. Various theories have been ventured, from deep seated pockets of flaming pitch, to an underground coal fire started by Roman miners."
"To what theory do you subscribe?"
"Why to the theory of the original inhabitants; that it is connected to hell."
Everyone laughed except Gardener. Only when she had the three wondering did she burst in a small laugh. "Fool on you." She giggled. "Really, it is probably geothermal. Been here since Roman times. Master Nigel's father imported a great deal of technology from Iceland; very expensive but cheaper in the long run, considering it our secluded nature. Oh, this is the drying room, where I hang my herbs and spices. It's a bit dull."
"Oh no. I am fascinated." Susan mewed.
Gardener appraised her. "Very well. How about if I explain the herbs to you, but you two can go see the rose section? Beauty is one of the things I do provide for the house. Just please, please don't touch them. They are quite rare and some are very sensitive. One broken branch could kill it"
Tom used the time alone to confront Ling. "Ling, why did you come on this trip?"
"Why to get to know Nigel a little better of course. You know our two fathers have hopes." She smelled a red rose then wrinkled her face. "Phew. Too syrupy."
"They why do you carry on with Marjorie?"
Ling almost turned and considered him. But she continued her own little tour. "I was wondering when you would catch on." She sniffed an ivory white tea rose. "Too sweet. When did you finally clue in, breakfast? I was afraid that the dim twit would give things away."
"If you are a lesbian, why marry Nigel? It can't be money."
Ling smelled a yellow rose. "Yuk. Too citrussy. I am not a lesbian, Tom, and I don't think Marjorie is either. I just like control and Marjorie likes to be controlled. I think she'd enjoy bending to a man's will as much or even more. Yours perhaps?" at that she turned and bathed him in an evil grin.
"Pass. You still haven't answered my question. Why Nigel?"
Ling sighed. "How tedious. I will warn you that Nigel suspects already. So put aside any thought you have of "exposing my evil plan." He is quite clever, you know, just a bit soft. Simply put, my father wants his family name. Oh sure, we have money and citizenship but it is not the same. Father has found some door closed to him; old school ties and all that. With the Caym name, the door should open. His family even has ties to the Foreign Office." She smelled a light pink climbing rose. "Eck! Much too much damask."
"But that is your father. What is in it for you?"
'Perhaps you are not so dim after all. For me... well not to bother your poor provincial mind with all the details; suffice to say that I will inherit almost everything if I don't marry him and I will inherit everything if do I marry him."
"A classic marriage of convenience."
"Hm?" She sniffed again, deeper." Yes. Ahhhh. This is it." she sniffed at a gorgeous, bone white tea rose. "No scent at all, just the way I like them." Nice strong thorns too."
"And Nigel gets the money to save Nine Yews?"
Ling laughed. It sounded like little silver bells chiming on a freezing winter's night. "He will get that. A deal is a deal. But that is all he will get. As soon as dear daddy dies, I will be leaving." She inhaled again, just to make sure.
That last part was fine with Tom. "Where?"
"Back to China." She pulled a pocketknife from her hip pocket. "Just for fun, I'll tell you the part little Nigle doesn't know." She skillessly sliced off a bone-white bloom. Ling squinted like the light hurt her eyes. "Bright in here." She removed her fashion sunglasses from her handbag.
Tom wondered at that. The milk glass panes did diffuse the light. But the light the cloud layer was letting through hardly called for smoked glass.
As she talked to him she pressed the thorns until they popped off the stem. "Tom you have no idea what a bit of money will get you back there or the things one can get away with. I will have factories full of desperate men and women, the government in my pocket and absolutely no one watching over me, no one telling what to do... ever. I will live a life that would make this pathetic, fog-bound shit of an island's old industrial age despots green with envy."
"An Nigel doesn't know all this?"
"No and I am not telling him." She finished removing out the thorns. "I think I will enjoy the desperate people the most." She looked up. "Does that disgust you?" she licked her lips.
Nigel took in all she implied. Ling was going to enslave thousands of people and use them for her pleasure. He did not want to give her that satisfaction of telling her what he really thought. He want to say, "The world would be a better place if you we dead." Or "You are one sick bitch." Instead he attempted to make her seem petty and small. "You are just a spoiled brat."
Ling raised her eyebrow. "Not just a spoiled brat; a spoiled brat who will have billions in assets." She put the white rose in her hair, behind her left ear. Tom had to admit she did look beautiful, like a spider is beautiful. "When the Baronet shuts down your piss-ant distillery and with all those sheep fuckers, you can always come to me for job. I have I position I'd like to see you in." Her eyes were hidden from view by one big slice of obsidian-black plastic.
The two finished the rows of roses in silence. Tom sulked in anger. Ling passed it in amusement. She had her rose, so she didn't bother appreciating any others. The two met up with Susan and Gardener some time later.
Tom appreciated the new Susan as she approached. Her restored short, bouncy butternut brown hair would be gaining golden highlights with a little sun. Her clear, clean, blue eyes seemed warm and friendly, not icy or bloodshot. In the the t-shirt and overalls she was wearing, carrying a small sheaf of herbs in front of her, she looked like an old fashioned farmer's girl coming in from the fields.
"Tom, Gardener here as given me quite the education. I could spend my life here. Here! Fresh basil! Fresh! In the middle of winter. And this willow sap will cure headaches and maybe bring the swelling down in that poor hand. And this strengthens the blood..."
Gardener seemed to shine on Susan. But as she got a better look at Ling's rose, a dark cloud passed over her face. She looked up at the tall Chinese girl and frowned in disapproval. "You shouldn't go cutting things when you don't know how, miss."
Susan picked up on Gardener's angry tone and went silent, just like a little girl when adults fight.
"Well it is done, now, isn't it? What's it called?"
"Verity. It is one of my extremely rare and sensitive library roses from Italy. It used to be very prized in the Renaissance days."
"I like it. It has no scent and nice strong thorns."
"Does it now?" something like amusement crossed Gardener's face. "You didn't prick yourself did you?"
"Of course I didn't!"
Gardner guided the group passed the shorn Verity. She removed a set of clippers and properly pruned the bush. Then she gathered up all the discarded thorns, like she was picking up broken glass. One by one, she placed them in an empty preserves jar that happened to be nearby and then screwed the lid on tight. The she led them to the door. They put on their coats.
Ling simply discarded the fresh cut rose to better fit her hood over her head. Tom rescued the bloom. It was still good. He carefully propped it up it within the watch pocket of his greatcoat.
Then the party walked outside into the drizzle.
Susan seemed to leap down the path, eager to get the herbs inside. Ling also rushed, if only to get out of the wet and cold. Only Gardener and Tom seemed unaffected and unhurried by the onset of soft weather. The walked side by side.
"Thank you for rescuing my bloom."
"I would have stopped her from cutting it, but for a moment I assumed Ling knew what she was doing, foolish me."
"In the old days, Verity was the ceremonial rose the Italian Courtiers took oaths under. Only royalty or guilds were permitted to grow it."
"Sub rosa."
"That's right. It is supposed to encourage truth. It was purged during the Unification. I think this is the only place the poor dear survives. Tell me sir, what is it you want?"
Tom did not think the question queer. "I want my family and friends safe, especially Nigel. Something is going on here and I am not sure what. One thing is for sure, that shit, Devon Caym, is behind it all. I feel we are being played for fools."
The three guests arrived at the house. The maids took their damp clothes and boots; Gardener took Tom's coat. He did not see Molly anywhere, for which he was grateful. Then the maids provided clean buckskin slippers. Tom chose to keep his wool socks on for warmth.
He was told Nigel was enjoying a luncheon in the dining room; hot marinated elk flank sandwiches on rolls. To Tom's relief, Nigel was there, wolfing down a roll and reaching for another. He still looked a bit wan, but his energy had certainly returned. But he was the only person there. Molly was standing against the wall behind Nigel, the perfect picture of attentiveness.
Tom avoided her gaze. His mind flashed on the last image he had of her; lying sprawled out on the floor, beneath his shaking cock, her tits and face spattered with his seed. He didn't know what came over him but he was ashamed of himself.
"Enjoy the hothouse?" Nigel asked.
"What? You didn't hear Susan skipping by? She adored the place." He avoided looking at Molly and sat down beside his school chum.
"No. We heard Ling in the parlor." Tom thought he heard the sounds of a piano, Mahler he guessed. "That's why Marjorie isn't here." He pointed to an empty chair. Chestnut Meg or auburn Molly had long since cleared away any sign of her repast.
Tom admired his friend's pint. He could use one about now. "May I have an ale too, please Meg?"
The slender brown haired girl curtsied prettily. "Yes, sir." Then she left for the kitchen and the two friends ate. Tom put the rose beside him.
Nigel deftly flicked the rose to the other end of the table. "I see you found 'Verity.' No thorns; you didn't prick yourself, did you?"
"No. But Ling almost did. Why?"
"It's very dangerous. Some Byzantine genius crossed it with nightshade. It gives it the truth serum qualities but enough thorns will kill you."
"Poisoned by the thorns of truth? Very operatic. No wondered the Italians loved it." Tom thought about what both he Ling and had said. "The aroma?"
"Has similar effects but, unlike the thorn venom, it dissipates quickly. We should be safe as long as we don't inhale it deeply or get too close."
"Like the worn in the hair or close to the chest?" Tom blanched.
Nige; finished a big bite. "Quite so. You know, that little rosebush saved my family during the war. MI-5 and 6 could never figure out how my grandfather got all the information he did. They still send some work my father's way."
Tom was intrigued. "Pull the other one."
"It's true. That little rose over there is responsible in large part for my family's influence." Meg appeared with a pint glass of amber liquid on a silver tray. "I'll prove it to you."
Meg put a coaster down and then set Tom's ale on top of it.
"I say, you got out the good stuff for my guest, Meg."
"Yes, sir, Gardener insisted."
"Really?" he pointed to the rose. "Meg, do you recognize that?"
"Yes, sir. It is one of the roses Gardener says we must never, ever touch." Her accent a twang. Tom guessed somewhere in Ulster.
"Well, I say it is all right. Please smell it. I want your opinion of it."
"Nigel..." Tom warned.
Nigel waved dismissively at his friend to reassure him that it was to be just a bit of fun.
Meg cautiously picked up the bone-white bloom and inhaled. "I smell nothing, sir."
"Try again. It is very faint. Take a longer, deeper breath, as deep as you can. Then hold it for a moment."
Meg took a deep, long pull the air around the petals. Her handful-sized breasts raised upwards. "Still nothing, sir."
Tom looked at the only other person in the room, the maid, Molly. She seemed unmoved.
Nigel wiped the juice from his chin with a napkin. "That should suffice. Now what to ask you. It has to be something you wouldn't confess to normally." Nigel looked straight at Tom, not at Meg. Meg, did you see my friend, Tom, naked this morning?"
Meg's little cheeks flushed red. "Yes, sir."
"What did you think then?"
"I thought he was magnificent."
"Did you want something? Keep sniffing the rose as you answer."
"Yes, I wanted him to fly down and take me right there."
"What did you think of his manhood?'
"Oh, it makes me warm just thinking of it!" she buried her nose into the heart of the flower. She seemed to be becoming intoxicated by its scent.
"Did you have any ideas about him?"
"Only if I could get Molly to leave him alone for moment!" She stabbed a jealous look at the bigger woman. Molly raised her brows at the junior maid's impertinence.
Tom noticed Meg's eyes seemed dilated. She wavered a bit, like she was in a drugged stupor. He looked up at Molly and grew ashamed at the cruel trick. He gripped his friend's wrist. "Nigel, stop." His eyes looked at the witness.
Nigel took a cavalier attitude that was quite unlike him. "Oh, are you worried about Molly? She doesn't mind. Watch." He turned to the full-bodied maid. "Molly would you like to ask our young staff member a question?"
She smiled. "A pleasure, Young Master."
Nigel made a 'be my guest' gesture. "How many lovers have you really had, Meg?"
"None."
"So all that was just talk?"
"Yes. I was trying to fit in."
"So what is your favorite position, love?"
"...Don't know..."
Molly kicked herself for her misstep. "All right then, what is the position you dream about?"
"Love."
"See?" Nigel smiled, "A little girl's response. Not accurate, but truth as far as she is concerned. The scent leaves the victim in a heightened emotional state. Just which emotional state depends on the situation. Now, let's see what other intimate secrets she holds. I wonder if she fantasizes about going down? Or being tied down for that matter?"
Tom thought Nigel's breath smelled odd, sickly sweet, like cough syrup. "What are you doing, Nigel? We both hate the assholes that abuse their servants. The Nigel I know beat a man in pub for treating the waitress shabbily. Remember?"
Nigel looked at Tom like he was trying to recognize him. "Tom? You are right. We better stop now. Put down the rose, Meg."
The maid complied but her stupor remained. She bent towards Tom arms pleading, pupils as big as black marbles. "I love you so much. Please, ask me anything..." Tom warded her off and Molly pulled the dizzy girl away.
"Please attend to her Molly. She will be quite useless for the rest of the day."
"Yes, sir. We girls in the kitchen will find a use for her. But who will serve you?"
"Never mind. I have had quite enough service for the day. I have to get the caving equipment together. Just send someone in to make sure our guest doesn't go thirsty, all right?"
Meg pulled out her hair clips and let her hair fall loose as Molly carried her away. She pawed at her own bodice, undoing the laces. "So hot...so hot..."
"Tom, you stay here and finish your ale. I think I need some time alone."
"Wait." Tom seized his friend's arm by the wrist. "You can't leave now. There is something I have to tell you."
Nigel ripped his arm free and stumbled back. "Tell me later, at the Sea Caves. Then he practically ran away."
Tom sat and drank his ale, deep in thought.
Ling was a monster. Nigel couldn't marry her, but he must. Marjorie was a creature. Tom couldn't marry her, but he must. All his help was gone. Susan was a child. Stephen was an invalid, off in cabin in the woods. Molly...well better not go there. The Baroness? He'd be lucky if the bitch didn't tell the Baronet.
First things first, his friend had to be shown what a disaster it would be to marry Ling, if not for him, then for all the people who's lives she would ruin.
Suddenly, Tom heard the sounds of Marjorie bawling her eyes out and storming upstairs. The piano had stopped. Tom guessed what went on in the parlor and smirked. "The truth hurts, doesn't it Marjorie?" Then inspiration hit.
Ling would reveal the truth to Nigel. He'd learn that it wasn't just his life at stake. And if Ling wasn't all bluff, he'd have her confess to her father if necessary.
He picked up his empty ale glass and mused that he did all his best thinking in pubs. Then he brought it to the kitchen. He was in luck and Gardener was there, examining the sheaves of spice hanging from the walls.
Steward was there as well, polishing silver. "Gracious me, sir. Is there something you require?"
"Yes, another pint of this ale if you don't mind."
"Let me see sir." Steward put down his polishing rag, took up the glass and held it to his crooked nose. "Oh, yes. And a noble brew it is. Comes us by Darby way it does, sir. Won't take but a minute." Steward disappeared down the cellar stairs and Tom quietly approached Gardener.
She looked up at him with anticipation. "Yes, sir?"
"Do you still have those thorns in your apron?"
Gardener at first look disappointed, thoughtful and then cheered up. "Yes, sir. Take the whole jar, they need to be fresh."
Tom figured that meant they would last long enough to be used in the Sea Caves.