CHAPTER ONE

 

The day itself didn't start right. For the middle of August it was lousy! The low-hanging clouds had been grey and unfriendly, allowing not one hopeful patch of blue to show through.

This had rapidly deteriorated; now the air was still, sultry, making the clothes stick clammily to one's skin and bore all the ear-marks of an impending storm.

I regretted my choice of clothes that morning, as I regretted hiring the car I was driving through Devon towards the borders of Cornwall.

Everything I had on seemed to have become two sizes too small, the interior of the car was hot and airless and the leather seat became harder by the mile.

Everything had seemed marvellous when I set out from London two days earlier.

It had been a glorious day and I had decided that a train was too mundane a way to travel through such beautiful countrysides such as Somerset, Devon and Cornwall in such weather.

I had a whole month's holiday before me and I intended spending most of it in St. Ives.

The very name had a certain magical quality to me, being the scene of many childhood holidays.

It had not required very much persuasion to get Dad to let me have the spare car for the four weeks and I left London intending to take my time, stopping to eat when I felt hungry and booking my room wherever I happened to be when night fell.

The first day had gone well, then, the previous evening, the car had broken down.

Fortunately, I was very near Taunton and had got a garage break-down truck to tow me in.

I had stayed in Taunton for the night but this morning the garage had informed me that the car had a broken cam-shaft and it was going to take them a while to get the part.

They had loaned me a ten year old Morris saloon to continue the journey and I had arranged to pick mine up on the way back.

Now, in the late afternoon, I was finding the difference between a 1964 14 h/p. with soft seats and all mod. cons and a well-used 1956 10 h/p. Morris!

I glanced up at the sky, which seemed about to open up any minute with a jackpot in storms and squirmed uncomfortably in the seat.

My bra strap cunt into my back and shoulders and the cups were trying to force my breasts into an impossible 34 instead of their usual 37.

My panties clung to my bottom and hips; they were meant to be tight, but now the elastic waist cut my stomach, and the legs the tops of my thighs - the crotch was sheer murder!

The garter-belt had slipped under my bottom and stuck there damply, the suspender buttons digging into the sides of my thighs.

I had the two side windows down, but it didn't make much difference, the air that came in was hot.

I was sweating so much, my best friends would have been forced to tell me.

I had thought about stopping to change, but decided against it; I didn't want to be on the road when the storm broke.

Which brought another disturbing point. According to my calculations, I should have hit Exeter something like a couple of hours before.

Suddenly, the countryside didn't seem so friendly anymore; it seemed ages since I had last seen even a small cottage - the road wasn't so hot either.

This was my own fault; I had scorned the main highways, wanting to 'get a closer to nature'.

Now it looked as if I was going to get it - in the raw!

I had been driving though open country for sometime, now the fields were giving way to more and more trees and not far ahead the area was thickly wooded. I thought about turning back and trying to find where I had gone wrong, or at least finding a house to shelter in when the storm broke.

I wouldn't say that electric storms frightened me, but they do make me a little nervous - especially driving a car beneath trees.

Then the light worsened and the road became more narrow and bumpy, as I hit the tree-belt.

Seconds later came the rumble of thunder, the sort of rumble that gathers itself and echoes across the sky.

Then came the first bright flash, forking down through the trees across the road ahead, followed by a shattering roar. Then the rain came down, battering its way through the leafy boughs that overhung part of the road and beating on the roof of the car.

I wound the windows up.

It became darker and I slowed, switching on the headlamps. I got the feeling that I was the only one left in the whole world and that the elements were trying to finish the job.

Then came another discovery - the roof leaked.

How I longed for the nice mundane train and the friendly passengers, as it whizzed through all this unfriendly countryside!

Water ran down on the inside of the window and a steady drip started on my bare left shoulder from a gap in the point of the roof.

There was another blinding flash, followed almost instantly by a ferocious clap of thunder.

The storm was directly overhead.

I couldn't avoid the dripping water from the roof, as it now came from several places.

A rivulet ran down my chest, taking a natural course and running into the valley between my breasts; as I moved to try to avoid it, it dripped down onto my tummy. Then another leak started and a pool began to form in my lap, soaking through the thin summer dress I was wearing.

The air had turned chilly and I shivered as the water fell on me.

There was more lightening, more thunder, more water. It was no use, I couldn't go on like this; I would stop and crawl into the back and change out of these wet clothes - at least, I should be out from under that crack in the sun-roof.

I had slowed the car to almost a crawl, and I was about to depress the brake and clutch to the floor-boards, when I saw the low barred gate just ahead and on the left of the road.

I moved the car up closer and discovered that it opened into a narrow lane, lined on both sides by low, overhanging trees, and overgrown grass and weeds.

There was no sign of a house and it looked as though no-one had passed that way for years.

However, the gate itself suggested some sort of property, however long deserted and, even a broken down cottage or barn was better than the doubtful protection of a leaky car.

The gate hung partly open on one hinge and I nosed the car forward, nudging it aside, to go tilting and bumping over weeds, pot-holes and small rocks for about a quarter of a mile.

Another drip had started squarely on top of my head and by the time I spotted the old house, my blonde hair hung down in damp rats-tails.

The house was old, reminding me of something out of a Dracula film, especially in the stormy setting, though it did not seem to be falling down. The driveway had probably once been gravelled, but now grass and weeds grew in clumps and the wide stone steps leading up to the big oaken doors with the wrought iron facings, were cracked and moss-grown.

I pulled up in front of the steps, grabbed my bag from the back of the car and dashed up the steps for the haven of the porch. This turned out to be as leaky as the car roof and, like a drowned rat, I stood pushing against the door.

From the dilapidated appearance of the place, I was rather surprised when I found that it was locked.

Feeling a little foolish, I tugged at the bell-rope that hung at the side of the door and listened to the muffled clang echoing through the building. I tugged on it several times, not really expecting any answer.

Rain was pouring in on me through a huge gap in the roof of the porch and by now, I was soaked - my tight summer dress clinging to me like a second skin, my hair hanging in rat's tails and my shoes waterlogged.

I had to do something and, as I was already as wet as I could possibly be, I left the doubtful shelter of the porch and searched for an open window I could reach.

There were lots of them along the front of the house on both sides of the door, though all of them were locked and, strangely, not one of them broken, though they were all of the rare diamond-shaped glass with the leaded borders.

Then I came to a smaller one near the corner; I reached up and pushed - it was unlocked.

I threw my case in first and climbed in after it, finding myself on a window seat in an alcove of a large room. I pulled the window closed to shut out the roar of the storm and looked around.

The place was plentifully furnished, though everything was covered with dust-sheets.

I stepped down from the window-seat, kicked off my shoes and began to strip. I peeled off the sodden dress, then got to grips with panties and bra; these were as sodden as the dress, but I was glad to get rid of these last two items, more because of the way they had cut into me for the last couple of hours, than for their wetness.

I unfastened the suspenders from my stockings and allowed the nylons to concertina down my legs while I removed the garter-belt. I opened my case and pulled out a towel, getting a sensual satisfaction in being able to stand naked out of the pouring rain and vigorously towel my body.

When the storm abated, I would head back to way I had come, but just then I would revel in the luxury of a thick towel and dryness. When my body was glowing, I started to peel off the wet stockings. I would get some dry clothes on and then, if the storm still raged, perhaps have a look around.

The house must have been long since deserted - for whatever reason - even the dust-sheets themselves were covered in dust.

As I rubbed my legs dry, I wondered what could have caused such a fine old house to be abandoned, as this obviously was, and left to rot.

There came a loud creak.

THE DOOR OPENED.

I was so surprised I let out a startled squeak and jumped onto the window seat, a more than half serious notion forming to dive straight back through the window. I would have bet my last pair of panties that the house was unoccupied. Then sanity chased the age-old fears and I looked towards the door.

The age-old fears turned and launched a heavy counter-attack!

Standing just inside the room was a woman in her middle thirties, quite beautiful, her dark hair piled and dressed in elegant coiffeur. Her smooth shoulders gleamed white and bare, the tops of her full breasts bulging above a tight corsage.

She stood perfectly still, looking straight at me without expression.

I crouched on the window seat looking back at her, my throat constricted.

Her costume was that of the Seventeenth Century!

There was a complete and utter silence in the room and even the roar of the storm raging outside seemed to have stilled.

"How did you get here?" Her voice was cultured.

The spell was broken as she moved a little closer, her shoes making a solid, material click on the parquet flooring.

I got down off the window seat and wrapped the towel round me, all fear of the supernatural was gone, leaving only embarrassment and puzzlement.

"I'm terribly sorry about this," I began. "You see, my car leaks - and the storm - I mean the rain was coming in. I was soaked - I did ring the bell."

I paused, trying to think of something else to say by way of an explanation.

Have you ever been discovered naked in the house of a complete stranger?

"I thought I heard the bell," she said, coming closer and looking at me with a dull (?) sort of curiosity. "But how did you get in?"

"Through this window - it was unlocked."

"Unlocked?" She looked startled. "Unlocked! All the windows should have been locked."

The woman looked really worried. "We don't use this part of the house very much."

"I really am sorry to have broken in like this, but I just had to get out of the storm and remove these wet clothes - I was soaked to the skin. After ringing the bell several time and noticing how overgrown everything was outside, I thought the house was deserted."

"No, not deserted. That window should have been locked." She shook her head almost sadly. "It really should have been locked."

She looked vague - not quite with me. The fact that she had found a strange woman without clothes on in her house seemed of secondary importance to an unlocked window.

"Well - uh - if you'll excuse me, I'll get into some dry clothes. I don't want to put you to any further trouble."

I dropped the towel and reached for a clean pair of panties. As I started to pull them up my legs, I glanced up at her and felt a hot flush of embarrassment at the way her eyes bored into me.

I hurriedly covered my most vital part and hunted in the case for a bra, for her eyes had switched to my breasts, the dull, apathetic look replaced by a bright gleam of interest, the rise and fall of her white, half-exposed bosom quickening.

"You are very beautiful," she whispered, one hand raised as though to touch my breasts.

"Thank you," I murmured, taking a quick step out of range.

I couldn't lay my hands quickly enough on a bra, so I grabbed a dress that fastened down the front with large buttons and could be pulled on like a coat.

"I'll - er - get out of your way as soon as I'm dressed."

I had a rolled-up plastic mac which would keep most of the rain off me. I wanted to get out of there, now - perhaps I had come across a private mental home and this was one of the inmates.

I pulled on the dress and started on the first button. Then I got really worried. She suddenly grabbed the front of the dress and wrenched it open, gazing at my breasts.

"Such beautiful breasts," she breathed, almost licking her lips. "Just made for kisses."

"Please!" I am rather proud of my breasts and, being a well-sexed girl, by no means averse to having them kissed. However, I do like to choose whom I allow to kiss them and that has never included any of my own sex - well - perhaps once or twice at college, but that was some years ago and strictly for a lark.

I gasped and jumped further back as her fingers brushed over the nipple of the left one.

Now I had to get out - fast. I was sure I had wandered into a madhouse and thought about yelling for an attendant.

A woman in Seventeenth Century clothes with a hair-do of about that era trying to open up a lesbian association with me in a house that looked otherwise deserted, was too much - I wanted out!

I buttoned the dress up, rolled up my wet things in the towel and got out my plastic mac. I locked the case and slung the mac over my arm.

"Well, if you'll show me the front door, I'll not bother you any further."

"Yes, perhaps it would be just as well if you left at once." The woman became almost brisk. "This way."

I followed her out of the room. In the great hall I saw that the house was much larger even than the front suggested. It was vast, with a wide marble staircase set well back and in the centre of the circular hall, a gallery running all the way round the first floor.

"Perhaps you could direct me on how to get to Exeter - I've rather lost my way."

"Exeter?" She paused, a hand to her forehead. "It is such a long time since I have been out - Mark gets all out food."

"Mark?"

"Oh, he's my brother's handyman," she said vaguely. "No, I'm afraid I can't help you."

"Could you ask this Mark, perhaps?" We had reached the huge door. "Or maybe your brother?"

"Oh, no!" She gave me a horrified look. "You must go at once - quickly. It's a wonder you were not seen when you came - my brother always has a look-out."

The beautiful blue satin period dress swished as she darted in front of me to struggle with the many bolts and chains across the door. They were rusted and she was not making much impression; I went to help her, but she stepped back, shaking her head.

"It's no use - it would take too long. Besides, he has some sort of alarm system."

She looked round, her eyes almost wild, the tops of her white breasts rising and falling rapidly above the fichu of lace.

"Oh, dear - I must get you out." Then she grabbed my arm and dragged me back towards the room we had just left.

"You will have to climb back out of the window, the way you came. Do hurry - for both our sakes!"

Feeling the hairs prickle on the back of my neck as her unknown fear communicated itself to me, I allowed myself to be rushed across the hall.

"But what are you afraid of? I'm not a burglar - I only came in out of the storm."

"It isn't exactly that. I can't tell you. But please don't come back - and forget you were ever here - please!"

"If it'll make you happy! But why?"

"No questions - you must leave here at..."

"Is that a visitor we have, Julia?"

"Oh, God - now it's too late!" The woman's voice was almost a sob.

She stood stock still for a moment, then her head slowly lifted and she turned to look up at the gallery from whence the sharp male voice had come.

"A friend, perhaps?" the sharpness had gone and was replaced by a purr, which sounded even more menacing than the first tone.

"Most unsocial of you to keep her all to yourself. Selfish, too - she looks beautiful from here."

Something about the voice made my skin crawl and I followed the woman's gaze up towards the gallery. Then I wondered whether I had walked into a madhouse or somehow been shifted back in time.

Looking down at us, a triangular lorgnette with a long gold stem held elegantly up to one eye, was a man the Baroness Orczy would have been proud of.

From powdered wig to buckled shoes he was a Sir Percy Blakeney to the life!

White stockings, white breeches and maroon velvet tail coat with high collar; fine lace at the throat and wrists, silk flowered waistcoat and, to complete the ensemble, a slim gold sword.

He moved away from the rail and started down the staircase towards us.