The Mysterious Affair at Greenhampton
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THE FOLLOWING dawn promised another fair day. Though I had slept very well, an uneasy feeling arose in me almost as soon as I opened my eyes. I washed, shaved, and dressed quickly, and was just knotting my tie when I heard voices on the terrace below. Looking out of my window, I saw Daphne, radiant in a light green summer dress, deeply engaged in conversation with Julia, who was wearing riding clothes. I could hear no words, but Julia seemed to be taking the greatest interest in what Daphne was saying. I hurried downstairs.
I walked briskly onto the lower terrace, directly toward Daphne. Seeing me approach, Julia greeted me cheerfully then turned to her sister.
“I must be off now, darling,” she said, laying a hand on Daphne’s arm. I believe I now constitute a crowd.”
With a wink at Daphne, she departed in the direction of the stables.
Daphne turned to me with a radiant smile.
“Good morning, Major Bosworth,” she said with a merry twinkle in her eyes. “I trust that you slept well.”
I took her in my arms and kissed her gently on the cheek.
“My darling Lady Daphne,” I said. “Will you marry me?”
Her face lit up with delight. She threw her arms around my neck and kissed me.
“What a wonderfully sweet and noble offer!” she exclaimed. “You are very eloquent upon arising!”
She stepped back slightly, her arms still resting on mine.
“But it’s also a rather silly idea you know, don’t you?”
“But, last night...” I stammered, unable to go on.
She smiled.
“Don’t forget that when you finally released me last night, that you had to untie my legs as well as my arms and hands. This is the twentieth century. I do not consider myself compromised by the embraces and kisses of a summer night, even if my clothes became... disarrayed, shall we say?”
My face must have showed my disappointment.
“Am I too old for you?” I asked.
She laughed and shook her head.
“Not at all. It’s just that I’m on the verge of a new life, and, though you flatter me, I’m simply not ready to marry anyone just yet.”
I looked down and lifted her hand to my lips. She took my chin in her dainty fingertips and raised my eyes to look into hers.
“I shall always remember our time together last night with greatest affection. I may have looked like your prisoner, but you kept me very lovingly captive. When I do marry, I think it will be someone very much like you.”
She kissed me lightly on the lips and disappeared into the house.
I might have been crushed by her refusal had I not been so utterly confused. Wondering what to do next, I walked slowly to the dining room.
Brenda Ellsworth, looking elegant in a light summer dress, sat at the end of the long table, reading a letter from the morning post. Other open letters lay in two piles before her. Her plate bore the remains of a slice of fresh melon and some toast crumbs. She was sipping black coffee as she read, but looked up at my approach.
“Good morning, Major,” she said cheerfully. “I trust you---”
She stopped and regarded me closely.
“You look unwell, Major Bosworth? Is anything wrong?”
I tried to recover as best I could. I poured myself a cup of coffee.
“Oh, it’s nothing really,” I said with attempted nonchalance. “Just a bit of a surprise first thing in the morning.”
Brenda raised an eyebrow. She smiled knowingly.
“That would indicate Daphne or Julia, I think.”
I was desperate to change the subject. A topic occurred to me.
“After your triumph in Murder at the Manor I imagine that you’re ready to be on to a new play,” I said, trying to sound casual.
She laughed softly.
“I don’t wish to disillusion you, Major, but unlike some actors and actresses I don’t consider my profession with the same quasi-religious reverence as the priesthood or missionary medicine.”
“Really?”
“It’s very hard work,” she continued, “and I’m grateful to have reached my present status of commanding a generous fee while doing only those roles that truly interest me. I had enough of taking every part offered to me when I was younger. Much work in theatre is drudgery, often uncomfortable drudgery at that.”
I began buttering a slice of toast.
“For instance,” she went on, “in Murder at the Manor most of my work in the third act consisted of my being bound and gagged.”
I put the knife through my toast. My mouth seemed quite dry.
“For a whole act?” I croaked. “Surely you weren’t actually bound though.”
She sipped her coffee and looked at me directly.
“Oh, yes,” she replied. “And I assure you that the job was quite thorough, no half measures. I had to sit there and react to the other actors, my hands bound behind my back, giving an occasional grunt through my gag. Then I was carried, chair and all, to a nearby cupboard and shut inside.”
I took a bite of my toast and searched for a casual reply. I was struck by an odd thought.
“What was it that interested enough to accept such a part?”
She shifted a bit in her chair.
“Quite honestly, Shakespeare is not my strongest suit,” she said. “It was something of a favour to the producer, who’s an old friend. There’s also a good deal of challenge in reacting using only one’s expressions and limited body movement. And the part was a good deal more active in the first two acts.”
I had to laugh at her last remark. She put down her letters and smiled warmly at me.
“There. That’s done it,” she added. “You seem quite yourself again.”
As I ate my breakfast, we chatted about the theatre, Ellsworth Manor, golf, and everything under the sun. As I had not yet seen Peugeot, I asked Brenda if she had seen him.
“He was up very early, I believe,” she responded. “He had Randall get Bell to drive him into the village. I’m not sure when they left, but I know they’ve not yet returned.”
Thanking her, I set out on a walk about the grounds to think over the extraordinary events of last night and this morning. All signs of rain had passed. It was another fine day, bright and clear, though cooler than the eighty degrees of the previous few days. I kept up a good pace, and soon had forgotten my resolve to think deeply about what had passed between Daphne and me.
I was passing the stables when my attention was drawn by what appeared to be a figure moving at the far end of the building. When Peugeot and I had passed the day before, we had noted that there were only two horses kept there now, and that their stalls were at the nearer end of the structure. Whoever was there was attempting to move stealthily, by crouching and using cover, but this drew the attention of the keen observer more than complete nonchalance would have. I could hear some sort of faint thumping noise in the stables themselves.
My quarry must have seen that I had stopped and was watching in his direction, for suddenly the figure made a dash for a nearby thicket. I gave chase, but upon nearing the building I heard a familiar moaning sound, then the rhythmic thumping began again. I followed the sound through the open doors and down the row of stalls.
Julia Ellsworth, stripped to the waist and her hair loose and flowing to her shoulders, lay upon a tarpaulin covering two bales of straw. She was once again helplessly trussed up, gagged, and blindfolded. In a pile beside the bales were her riding hat, jacket, blouse, and brassiere. Her wrists were bound behind her back with cord, her arms pinioned to her body with loops about her waist and above and below her ripe breasts, and her knees and ankles tied together. As before, her mouth and eyes were covered with sticking-plaster. Though her legs were tied together, they had not been anchored to any other part of her bonds or the structure in any way, and she had been able to attract my attention by kicking her booted feet against the wall of the stall nearby.
“My God, Julia!” I cried, hastening to her assistance. “Who did this to you?”
I carefully peeled away the mouth plaster. She used her tongue to eject a wadded scarf.
“Major Bosworth?” she gasped. “Thank Heaven you happened by!”
I assured her that she was now safe now and began working on the plaster over her eyes.
“I had just come back from my ride when three of them grabbed me,” she breathed. “They were hiding in the stalls. They stripped my clothes off and tied me here. One of them stayed to guard me until just a few moments ago.”
I gently pulled the plaster from her eyes. Those lovely blue gems looked up gratefully at me. I helped her sit up on the bale, and reached down to begin untying the loops of rope about her body.
“Major...” Julia said softly.
I looked into those inviting blue eyes again.
“No,” she whispered. “Not yet.”
She said no more, but the message in her eyes was clear.
I leaned over and kissed her.
Some time later I released Julia from her bonds, and sat on one of the straw bales as she dressed. She was very lovely in her form fitting riding clothes, especially with her rich brown hair falling loosely on the shoulders of her partially unbuttoned white blouse. I was overcome by the beauty of the vision before me. I took her in my arms and kissed her. She hummed happily.
“Major!” she mock chided me. “This is certainly conduct unbecoming a British officer.”
“Luckily, I am a medically retired British officer,” I chaffed back. “And you are such a lovely young woman that I’m going to ask you to marry me.”
“I’m certainly lucky to be the first girl you’ve rescued today,” she said jokingly, giving me a light kiss on the cheek.
I was in no mood for her jocular manner.
“I’m quite serious, Julia. I want you to do me the honour of becoming my wife.”
She studied me closely. Her smile faded a bit, though her eyes were still good-humoured and her manner gentle.
“You are quite serious, aren’t you? Though I very much appreciate the offer, I’m afraid I can’t marry you, dear Major Bosworth.”
I began to protest. She silenced me by placing her index finger in the centre of my lips.
“Come now, darling, you know that I’m right,” she continued. “We know very little about one another. Besides, you have your work with Monsieur Peugeot and your books, while I have yet to make my mark in the world. I simply shan’t be ready to marry anyone for a while.”
I told her that it was important for me to be honourable with her.
“My dear Major, women are not as fragile as you think. I’ve enjoyed the last hour or so immensely, as I know you have. There’s nothing we’ve done that can cause any shame. My legs remained bound together the whole time, so there can be no... How shall I put it: complications? It’s always something we can remember fondly.”
She kissed me once more, gently on the cheek.
“You do me a great honour, but I must refuse your offer,” she concluded. “Now let’s get back to the house. We’ll say nothing of this to the others.”
She took my hand and led me in the direction of the house.
As we walked, I noticed Bell emerge from some trees near the house well ahead of us. Walking at a very smart pace, he headed for the Greenhampton-Millchester road. We followed. He disappeared into the trees and hedges lining the road. A moment later I heard a car engine start up near where he had gone. The sound of the motor headed toward Greenhampton, and through the gaps in the trees I had no trouble identifying the convertible driven by Butler and Carmody the previous day. Bell reappeared through the trees and headed back toward the house by way of the main drive.
My first duty was to report this development, which I felt was of prime importance, to Peugeot. After I had done that I might be able to puzzle over the behaviour of Daphne and Julia. My excitement over my discovery of the link between Bell and the two young ne’er-do-wells and Julia’s tender and friendly manner kept me from being too downcast about their refusals of me. Remembering her oddly vehement defence of Bell, I said nothing to Julia, but parted from her as soon as we reached the house. Annie told me that Peugeot had returned from the village and gone to his room. I found him there.
He greeted me heartily, evidently vastly pleased with his trip to the village.
“We near the end, mon ami,” he beamed. “I have almost all I need to put this matter to rest.”
“Well, why wait?” I demanded. “Why not clear it up now?”
“For one thing, it will need very little ‘clearing up,’ as you say. Sapp will not need to make arrests, I think. Sergeant Carrington can relax his vigilance for German spies. Just one little idea, which certainly will circulate quickly through Greenhampton and the surrounding area, is all that is necessary to ‘clear it up.’ But I think there is more that we must allow to happen.”
“It seems to me a rather passive approach, but I suppose you know what you’re doing, Peugeot,” I sighed.
“And how do you progress, my good Bosworth?”
I described my sighting of Bell and the two wastrels, insisting that Bell was the link between the two and the crimes.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if they were the two toughs in the hotel lift on Saturday. That, or one of them and Bell, overseeing the job there.”
“And why did they call off the ‘job’ there?”
“They saw the police and didn’t want to tangle with them.”
“And yet, they had the Constable Meredith attacked and bound.”
I paused to consider this.
“One member of the gang, the one in Miss Lime’s dress, was in the room with Daphne and Julia already tied up. They had to get her out.”
Peugeot shrugged.
“But she was suspected of nothing at the time. She could have left the room at any time without arousing suspicion.”
“But the two false maids were on their way up. They might have tried to continue the plan without her and jeopardized it all.”
“If there was a plan to overpower the policewoman, it would not have been abandoned because it was working perfectly. And you cannot believe that a gang as resourceful as this one would not be able in some way to divert the police constable on guard. I can think of any number of ways.”
I had to admit he was right.
“I had a small talk with Monsieur Bell on our trip to Greenhampton,” he continued. “You will be undoubtedly delighted to learn that you are correct in one way: he is in the employ of Carmody and Butler, though I hope that he has chosen to end his association with them. While I still do not like Monsieur Bell, I must say that he is not a fool. We had quite the little chat, and he now knows that Henri Peugeot is not the harmless little foreigner he had thought.”
“For what purpose is Bell being used?”
“Like many young men of their class, they are both badly in need of money. Bell was to help them to that end.”
“Good Lord!” I exclaimed. “Then this really is a kidnapping plot, despite what we thought?”
Peugeot smiled enigmatically.
“Can you not see what it is? Eh bien. I will give you one more piece of interesting information, found for me by the most efficient Miss Lime: On the evening to early morning of the 26th and 27th of May, there was substantial rain here in Greenhampton, and the temperature fell to just below 50 degrees.”
He looked at me expectantly.
“Since you place such importance on this, I assume that was a night on which one of the Ellsworth sisters was bound.”
“The night before, actually.”
I was completely fogged now.
“This thing’s an incomprehensible tangle, Peugeot! What’s going on here?’
Peugeot smiled knowingly.
“This case has the great interest for you, n’est-ce pas, mon ami?”
“You say that only because attractive women are involved,” I scoffed.
“Upon my return from the village I have the small talk with Annie. She tells me that before breakfast this morning on the terrace she sees you embrace and kiss Mademoiselle Daphne. Later, with my own eyes I see you and Mademoiselle Julia, hand in hand, returning from the direction of the stables, she brushing the straw from her hair. Since we have arrived here you walk about comme quelqu’un dans un rêverie. What should one think?”
I stared open-mouthed at him, shocked by his prying.
“Peugeot! You old busybody! You spy on people’s private moments and listen to gossip with no shame at all.”
“If a detective showed tact and shame he would solve nothing,” he retorted placidly. “I investigate. And that means all things, including those you call ‘private.’”
“In any case you’re wrong about those girls having any interest in me,” I grumbled. “They both refused me.”
I related frankly the events of the previous evening and the morning. As he listened, my friend’s eyes took on that cat’s-eye glow that signalled his closest attention. He shook his head.
“How typically English of you, Bosworth!” he said “These jeunes femmes très jolies show interest in romance, and immediately you propose to them the marriage. Suddenly the man who says that he is too old behaves as the man young and foolish.”
“I’m glad you find it so amusing,” I said coldly.
He looked out the window.
“And, further, you see not the significance.”
He looked at me with a kindly expression.
“All is not lost. There is hope for the future.”
Putting a hand on my shoulder, he guided me to a chair by the window and took a seat opposite.
“You have scolded me occasionally, Bosworth, for keeping certain pieces of evidence to myself during a case. You believed that I withheld them simply to make the solution appear more dramatic. That is not why I do not share everything, though I admit that I sometimes keep things back.”
“You may recall that just before I left for Ellsworth Manor that I left two messages with Miss Lime. One was for Chief Inspector Sapp, concerning certain details he was to pursue in London, and the other for Colonel Pikeham. I will now tell you the results of one of those inquiries.”
I sat up with interest as Peugeot continued.
“Mademoiselle Julia and Mademoiselle Daphne, plus Constable Meredith, the maid, and the two hotel maids, were bound and gagged at the hotel on Saturday the 20th of July. Their maid, Josephine, was also attacked and bound the day before, Friday the 19th. On the previous Monday, the 15th, the two young actresses, Cheryl Ford and Susan Noble were found similarly bound, gagged, and blindfolded in their flat. Upon pressing the neighbours of these women, Sapp has learned that the same had happened twice before, on the 20th of May and the 17th of June. On the first of these occasions, both women were found in the garden of their lodgings, and on the second Mademoiselle Noble was found alone, sacré tonneres, in the public park. Only by the grace of le bon Dieu did no evil come to them.”
“It sounds like the same gang, but how does that help us?”
“Non? Eh bien, then also consider that the same thing happened to another young actress called Margaret Shaw and her flatmate on Monday the 3rd of June.”
“Does Margaret Shaw have any connection to our case?”
“She has appeared in small parts in three plays in which Brenda Alexander has had starring roles,” answered Peugeot. “And her flatmate is well known to us: Melinda Riddle.”
I was now keenly interested.
“And none of these incidents were reported to the police?” I asked.
“No. The young ladies asked those who released them not to do so. In the case of Mesdemoiselles Riddle and Shaw, it was too late. A constable had been summoned already, but the young ladies wished that no report be filed, saying that it had been a practical joke.”
“So this gang strikes in the country one week and in London the next,” I mused. “And their terror is directed at a small circle of women.”
Peugeot looked at me intently.
“When the sisters first came to us with their story, I immediately noticed the fact that these intruders always struck on Sunday night, or in one case Monday night, and always two weeks apart. It seems strange, n’est-ce pas?”
“Yes, it does.”
“And now we find that these other young women have the same experience on the alternate weeks.”
He continued his expectant look, but I drew a blank.
“And further, mon ami, these young women are all actresses who have appeared with Lady Brenda Ellsworth in the past year and a half. Can you not complete the chain?”
“Good God, Peugeot!” I exclaimed. “Is Brenda to be next?”
Peugeot put his head in his hands and shook it from side to side for some moments, all the while muttering ‘oh-la-la.’ When he had finished this display, he smiled at me.
“You have such a good and honest nature, mon ami. I sometimes forget that in many ways the good heart is more valuable than the fine grey matter. I am proud to be your friend.”
Though this compliment was delivered in a somewhat back-handed fashion, I was still pleased with its evident sincerity.
“I’m sorry to be so dense, Peugeot.”
His expression grew more serious.
“But are you so blinded that you do not see...?”
He trailed off. An uneasy feeling grew in me as I began to perceive Peugeot’s line of thought. I was desperate change the subject.
“And what of your inquiries to Colonel Pikeham in the Foreign Office?”
Peugeot continued to regard me thoughtfully.
“That I must keep to myself for a little while yet,” he said.
I would have pressed him further, but the luncheon gong sounded.
We descended to the dining room to find all of our fair companions there. Julia, Daphne, and Melinda were all chattering gaily with Lady Ellsworth, and Peugeot and I were caught up in their high spirits.
Our luncheon conversation was wide-ranging and most enjoyable. Inevitably, the subject came round to Peugeot’s work as a detective, and once again the young ladies were extravagant in their praises of him. My friend attempted to appear modest, but failed abjectly. He was finally able to murmur:
“L’homme, c’est rien; l’oeuvre, c’est tout.”[1]
Melinda Riddle chuckled and Brenda Ellsworth hid her smile at this patently false display of humility, but Julia and Daphne looked puzzled. When I translated for them, they both laughed.
“Sorry, Monsieur Peugeot,” said Julia. “The only foreign language around here is German.”
“Father’s absolutely dotty about it,” added Daphne. “He says that we must be absolutely sure what Germans are saying these days.”
We all laughed except for Lady Ellsworth, who coughed into her napkin for a few moments.
The conversation came to the present case. Peugeot pressed my foot with his, indicating that we should say nothing of our recent discoveries. We managed to keep the discussion in generalities.
“Perhaps we should set a trap for them!” suggested Julia. “Of course Daphne and I would have to act as bait for them.”
“I’d be glad to volunteer as well,” put in Melinda.
“Do you think that three pretty girls would draw them out, monsieur?” Daphne asked coyly.
Peugeot gave an appreciative smile and said:
“On n’attrape pas les mouches avec le vinaigre.”[2]
Again, Brenda and Melinda laughed, and again I had to translate for Julia and Daphne.
“Does that mean you’ll consider our suggestion, monsieur?” cried Daphne. “It would be terribly thrilling!”
Lady Ellsworth broke in firmly.
“I don’t want any of you volunteering for such a dangerous thing. It’s out of the question.”
“And I agree with you, milady,” agreed Peugeot. “I do not solve the cases by putting beautiful young ladies in danger. Me, I observe the facts with order and with method until I see something that is not right; something that makes me say ‘Voilà ce qui est très curieux!’[3] Then I put to work the fine grey matter.”
Though I was growing weary of Peugeot’s dropping of French phrases into the conversation, I translated once more for the girls. Peugeot must have sensed my irritation, for he kept to English for the rest of the meal.
After lunch Julia drove Daphne and Melinda to Grantonbury to spend the afternoon at the shops, and Peugeot retired to his room to ‘rest his grey matter.’ Much to my delight, Brenda suggested a game of golf at the nearby club. I was happy to accept, and spent the next few hours walking and talking with that most charming lady, who proved to be a fine player as well.
By the time we returned to Ellsworth Manor, my spirits began to sink again. As I washed and changed clothes, I brooded about it. I knew that I was quite hopeless over Brenda Ellsworth. I realized that my episodes with Daphne and Julia had been a way to avoid the feelings I had for a married woman. The situation was impossible. The thought of being in England with the dishonourable love of that beautiful woman in my heart was intolerable.
I wondered what to do about it. I could apply for active service with my regiment again, but my health could probably not stand the strain for more than a few months. And the Army would have little use for an officer away from service since 1918. Perhaps there was a Foreign Office or Diplomatic Service man being posted oversees who could use a secretary. I had done such work after the War, and might well do it again. Then there was the dream I had always had about raising cattle in Canada or the Argentine. I resolved to find work out of the country.
But as I once again sat in the chair by the window attempting to read my book, I realized what that would mean. I would no longer be able to work with Peugeot on his cases and my writing career would be over, ending the most satisfying period of my life. Further, I would be separated from the land I loved in addition to the woman I loved. As I stared out at the pleasant green Hampshire countryside, I sank into a dark gloom.
Dinner was agony for me. Peugeot seemed not to notice, and held court in a most engaging manner, recounting various cases in which we had triumphed utterly. The younger women hung upon his every word, but Brenda could not help but notice my unhappiness. After our coffee was finished, we all went onto the terrace to enjoy the stars and the cool night air. Brenda took my arm and drew me aside.
“Dear Major Bosworth,” she said, wrinkling her brow with curiosity and concern. “Something is quite wrong with you this evening. You were so charming and amusing this afternoon. Are you ill?”
As I looked into her deep green eyes, a great tenderness came over me. Still, I could not open my heart to her and bring dishonour to us both.
“I’m not ill in any conventional sense, Lady Ellsworth. But one might say that I am unwell in the country, and I think I should return to London as soon as possible.”
She looked into my eyes with great sympathy and tenderness (it could not have been love) and pressed my hand gently.
“Do not despair, Major,” she whispered. “I feel that all will come out right for you in the end.”
She kissed me softly on the cheek and rejoined the others.
That night I lay in bed tossing restlessly, endlessly tormenting myself with guilt. I felt like an utter cad! After shamelessly making love to her two stepdaughters, I now presumed to harbour desires for Brenda Ellsworth: beautiful beyond measure, wealthy, famous, and, most shameful of all, wife of one of the Crown’s most devoted servants. I deserved to be shot like a dog! It was nearly dawn before my eyes closed, and not for long then.
I arose very early, washed, dressed, and packed for my return to London by the earliest possible train. Wondering if there was any tea ready, I headed for the stairs, hoping to find Randall or one of the maids. I had descended one flight when Melinda Riddle cannoned into me as she came rushing from the direction of the Ellsworth family’s rooms.
“Oh, Major Bosworth!” she gasped. “I’m so glad to have found you. Brenda asked me to be sure that she was up early today, but I can get no answer from her.”
“Did you try the door?” I asked.
“It’s bolted on the inside,” she replied. “I seem to hear some faint sounds inside, but no one answers my knocking and calling.”
“Go find Randall.” I ordered. “He’ll have a key.”
Miss Riddle looked even more distraught.
“Neither Randall nor Bell are here, Major,” she fretted. “A woman police constable came to the door half an hour ago and asked for assistance with a road accident near the village. Both of them went to help.”
There was only one alternative I could see.
“Come on then,” I said. “You may have to help me.”
I practically sprinted to the door of Brenda’s room. I tried the knob, but the door was bolted from within. I pounded loudly and called out, but there was no response. Placing my ear close to the keyhole, I could make out muffled noises coming from the room. I tested the oaken door with my shoulder, but it was too solid for any one man. Telling Miss Riddle to stand back, I seized a plant in a heavy cast iron urn and slammed it into the door just above the knob. After half a dozen tries, the bolt tore through the frame and the door flew open. We stepped into the room.
The first thing I saw was a white nightdress puddled near the bed. The bedclothes had been thrown back. Upon the sheets lay Lady Brenda Ellsworth, in the same state of dress as every human being is upon entering the world, bound, gagged, and blindfolded. Never had I seen a more beautiful female form, even in the paintings or sculpture of the great masters. But in this case the beauty was equalled (and to me greatly enhanced) by her utter helplessness. I had thought that Daphne and Julia had been securely bound at their hotel, but the job here was even more thorough.
Brenda’s eyes and mouth had both been covered by several strips of sticking-plaster, and a bulge in the plaster over her mouth indicated there was a large wad within. Her wrists had been secured behind her back with a dozen turns of cord, and a seize had been added between her hands to make the bonds more secure. Her elbows had also been looped and drawn toward one another, causing the poor woman’s shoulders to pull back, and thrusting out her beautiful and generous breasts. Ropes had been placed around her arms and body in several places: about the waist, above the elbows and just below her breasts, and around the upper arms just above the breasts. Also generous was the use of ropes around her legs. Her ankles, knees (both just above and just below), and thighs had all been secured. As a final insult, the lady’s bound legs had been bent back, and her tied ankles drawn back almost to her bound hands. A short cord connected wrist and ankle bonds.
Poor Brenda was scarcely able to move a muscle, so tightly and completely had she been secured. At the sound of the door breaking, she lifted her head and moaned through her devilish gag. I was struck absolutely spellbound by the overpowering vision of helpless beauty. Neither speech nor movement was possible as I gazed at the bound loveliness before me. So immediate and powerful was the rush of emotion that I could make no attempt to reject it as wrong.
A stifled moan came from the other side of the room. I turned to see Elizabeth, Brenda’s maid, lying upon a small sofa. She was also bound, gagged, and blindfolded, though she was still clad in her undergarments. Much less rope had been used on her, and as she sat up, I could see that she had nearly succeeded in peeling the plaster strip from her eyes.
Behind me, Melinda Riddle screamed. I turned to her to see her terror-filled eyes, her hands pressed to the sides of her head. I grabbed her by the shoulders.
“That’s enough.” I said firmly. “There’s no time for that now. Go to the dining room and get a sharp knife to cut Elizabeth free. Do you understand? Cut the ropes and preserve the knots.”
It took another brief shake to restore Melinda, but she came around quickly and dashed off to fetch a knife. I stepped to the bed and began peeling the plaster from Brenda’s mouth.
“Don’t worry, darling,” I said without thinking. “I’ll have you free in a minute.”
When the plaster was pulled away, she used her tongue to push a wadded scarf from her mouth.
“Is that you, Major Bosworth?” she gasped. “I’m glad you’re here. I’m afraid I’ve let myself be taken.”
“It’s not your fault,” I assured her as I began to work on the blindfolding plaster. “I even warned Peugeot that the gang might come after you, but he ignored me.”
The plaster came off her eyes. Those hypnotic green pools seized me. Though I read their message clearly, I hesitated.
“Quickly, darling,” she whispered. “Before Melinda gets back.’
I kissed her fervently, she returning my passion as well as she could in her predicament. When she opened her eyes again, they had the look of deep contentment.
“Now, darling, to work,” she said softly. “Please cut this little hitch holding my feet to my hands, then remove Elizabeth’s gag.”
I regarded her beautiful body.
“Are you sure that you don’t want Melinda or your daughters to free you instead.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“This is no time for Victorian propriety.”
The message was in her eyes again.
“Once more,” I whispered, kissing her long and deeply.
[1] The man is nothing: the work is
all. – Flaubert
[2] You can’t catch flies with
vinegar. – F.K.
[3] Here’s something very strange.
– F.K.
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