CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE SUBJUGATION OF THE DUKE OF PONTEFRACT

 

Miss Madeleine St. Clair and the Duke of Pontefract dined with the Morphys ten days later. Peter Morphy had wanted to arrange the dinner the preceding week, but his wife had insisted that, since John would be in some form of mourning, it should be put off for a little while - another week, at least. Peter had wanted to help John meet Madeleine again as soon as possible and so he had pointed out that, as she very well knew, the mourning would be only superficial, and a private dinner party in any case was always acceptable. He went on to explain, with unarguable logic, that if the mourning were in fact deep and true, the postponement of the dinner party for only a week would make no difference at all: it would have to be postponed for several months; since it was not deep and true, there was no reason why it should not be given at once.

For some reason he could not understand, Audrey had been adamant. And so the invitations were sent out for the following week.

There were six guests, and the party was a great success. John, of course, sat on the right of his hostess, and Madeleine, at Peter's suggestion, was seated next to him.

After they talked for half an hour or so, John told himself that he had been extremely foolish to worry about her. She did not seem the type of person who would let anybody down, and she certainly could never have thought of blackmailing anybody, even if she had not herself been rich. She was a very attractive girl, polished and gracious, cultured and intelligent, and he found himself paying more attention to her than to his hostess. And when the ladies left the men to their port and cigars, he fretted with impatience to be with her again.

In the drawing room at last, it was Audrey who put him next to her. He sat down gratefully and looked at her.

"It is nice to meet you again." he said. "I've been hoping I should, since that awful night."

She said, "It was my idea, as a matter of fact."

He raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"I asked Audrey to invite us both together."

He looked at her keenly, and his heart sank a little. "Did you indeed, why?"

"I wanted to talk to you."

"About ... ?" He paused.

She nodded. "Yes, about that."

"Oh," he said glumly. "I had an idea you might."

"But in private, of course."

"Yes, of course."

She sipped her brandy. "Audrey's shown me a room where we can talk privately, without any fear at all of being disturbed."

He looked at her sharply. "Does she know about it?"

"Yes," she said, with some embarrassment. "I'm afraid she does. It slipped out, I'm terribly sorry."

He frowned. "Oh dear, that's not so good."

"I'm sure it doesn't make any difference. Audrey's as good a friend of yours as she is of mine. She won't breathe a word."

"Does her husband know?"

"No, I don't think so. In fact, I'm sure he doesn't." She gave him a very sweet smile. "I'm awfully sorry, but don't worry, Audrey is as safe as I am."

He smiled back at her. "Yes, of course." But I wonder, he said to himself, how safe you are, after all, and I wonder what you want to talk to me about.

"I think the best thing," said Madeleine, "would be for us to pretend to leave now. You can be giving me a lift again. Let's say goodnight here, and when we're outside in the hall we can slip upstairs."

"Upstairs?"

"Yes, it's a room on the top floor."

He stared at her. "It all sounds very mysterious."

She laughed and got up from her chair. "Does it? Come on, let's say goodnight."

They went round the room saying goodnight to their fellow guests. Peter was surprised at their leaving so early. He moved in the direction of the drawing room door.

Audrey stopped him. "No, I'll see them out," she said. "You go and look after the glasses, darling, half of them are empty."

In the hall Madeleine kissed her hostess impulsively. "Thank you very much, Audrey dear. We'll let ourselves out when we've finished our talk." She went to the foot of the stairs. "Come along up," she said to John.

He thanked his hostess and followed Madeleine up the stairs. He was feeling very puzzled. There was something in the air which he could not put his finger on, but which worried him rather a lot. In spite of his worry, however, he gazed with a good deal of pleasure at Madeleine's lithe figure, in its backless, tight-fitting dinner frock of heavy black silk, as she led him up to the top floor.

She opened her evening bag and took out a key-ring with two Yale keys on it. she went to the door at the end of the landing, inserted the keys into the two locks and turned them simultaneously. She pushed open the door and stood aside. "You go in first, please."

He said: "More and more mysterious," and walked into the darkness of the room. He felt her come behind him and heard the door close with a heavy chunky sound.

"Prepare yourself," she said, "for one of the biggest surprises you've had in your life."

She put a hand to the switch and turned on the lights.

He gave a gasp of astonishment and stared at the room with open mouth. He stared for several moments and then put a hand to his head. He turned to her.

"I don't understand," he said quietly. "Why have you shown me this? Why have you brought me here?"

She looked at him with misgiving. The tone of his voice made her nervous, if not frightened, of going forward with what she had planned to do. At Knollys Vicarage it had all seemed so easy. Here, now the time had arrived, things looked very different. What would she do if he flatly refused to obey her? She would feel, and look, very silly indeed. But she had gone too far now to draw back - and, in fact, she did not want to draw back. She looked at his tall, slim body, in its well-cut dinner jacket, and felt a strong desire to give it a sound whipping.

"Let's sit down, shall we?" she said, as lightly as she could. She went to one of the armchairs. "And will you give me a cigarette, please."

He offered his case and lit her cigarette in silence.

She said: "You'll find all sorts of bottles in that cupboard. Let's have a drink while we talk. I'll have a brandy please."

Still without speaking, he went to the cupboard and poured the drinks, coming back to her, he handed her a glass and sat down in another chair.

"Well?" he said, "why have you brought me here?"

She drew on her cigarette. "First, to have a talk, as I said."

"And then?"

"To give you a whipping."

He stared at he for a full half-minute, with a sinking heart, realising that he was trapped. "Good God!" he said. "So you're one of those. A sadist."

She nodded seriously. "Yes, I'm a sadist."

He looked around the room. "And so of course, is Audrey."

"Yes, and now that you know her secret it doesn't

matter, does it, that she knows yours?"

"I suppose not. I also suppose that my secret didn't exactly slip out, as you said downstairs."

She nodded again, "no I'm sorry for the lie. It's the only one I've told you, and it's the only one I'm going to tell you."

"So Peter doesn't know?"

"No."

"But he's in on this with Audrey, of course. He's the masochist, I suppose."

"Yes. I'm not sure, but I suppose so."

He gazed at the trolley that held all the flagellation instruments. He turned his eyes to the whipping post with its ratchet wheel. He looked at the couch with its dangling ropes. His heart sank lower. He was very much at her mercy.

Madeleine wished that her own heart would stop beating so fast. "An interesting room, isn't it?"

He grinned suddenly, in spite of himself. "And you're an interesting as well as a very beautiful girl. But suppose I refuse to be whipped? What then?"

"Are you in a position to refuse me anything?"

"Perhaps not, but if I refuse nevertheless?"

She smiled at him sweetly. "You wouldn't be so foolish.

I don't think you'd give me up."

"No?" Here, she realised, was the moment for her to tread very carefully.

"You're not the type to go in for blackmail."

She raised her eyebrows. "Blackmail? Oh yes, of course, this is a sort of blackmail isn't it?"

"Very much so, aren't you ashamed of yourself?" He knew, as he spoke, that he was only postponing the moment. He would have to submit to whatever she was going to do to him. He did not really think that she would give him up - but he could not be sure. He would not dare to refuse.

She sensed that she was gaining the upper hand in the conversation. One more push and the game would be hers.

"Listen," she said seriously. "I am a sadist, and sadists are never ashamed of themselves. You say that you don't think I'd give you up. You can find out the truth by refusing to obey me. I am determined to give you a whipping from time to time."

"From time to time! Not just tonight?"

"Of course not. You're thoroughly in my power for good. The only way you can get out of it is by giving yourself up, and you won't do that, will you? So you shall have a whipping from me from time to time - whenever I want to give you one. And you will obey everything I tell you to do, otherwise I'll give you up."

He tried to look at her steadily. "I don't believe you." He forced his voice to be calm.

She looked at him blandly. "You are being foolish. Why do you think I took the trouble to put you in my power in the first place?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Why do you think I persuaded you to drive off and leave that man there in the road?" If he swallows that, she thought, the game is mine.

He looked at her and smiled ruefully. "Was this really the reason? Good Lord!"

Her heart gave a jump as she realised that he had stopped struggling. Quickly following up her advantage, she got up from her chair and went to the trolley. She chose a slender whalebone riding switch, and swished it backwards and forwards. "Take down your trousers and pants," she ordered. "And come and bend down here in front of me. Take off your jacket too."

He gave her another long look, and shrugged his shoulders. He drained his glass, then stood up and took off his jacket, slipped off his braces

, unbuttoned his flies, then walked to her slowly. He pushed his trousers and then his pants, down to his ankles. His heart was beating fast. "As my lady pleases," he said, with an attempt at flippancy. He looked at the switch in her hand with a feeling of considerable fear.

She said: "Bend down then, right down and touch your toes." Her nerves were tingling with excited anticipation.

"I doubt whether I can." He was able very easily to put his hands flat on the floor, but he knew that the further he bent down the more painful would be her whipping. "I'm rather out of training at touching my toes."

"Nonsense. Over you go. Go on, further, touch them."

"I really can't."

She swished her switch. "I'll help you with this then, I'll whip you till you're touching them - but those lashes won't count. The real whipping will start as soon as you're properly down."