Chapter 2

 

Jose had first toured The Grange six months earlier, with his major domo Pera. It had not seemed encouraging, at first. It felt as if they had been there for hours, but they had barely seen half of the grounds, and as they began their inspection of the main house itself Pera was obviously having doubts. The old man pushed open yet another door and wrinkled his nose. 'Just the same, Mestre,' he said over his shoulder. 'More damp, more dust, more spiders.'

Jose grinned. 'No need to be surprised,' he said. 'It's been empty for six months. A house of this age needs living in.'

He heard a snort from Pera. 'Living in? If you say so. Me, I'd settle for knocking it down.' The old man turned and looked at Jose. 'Seriously, Mestre, are you sure about this?'

Jose gently moved the old man aside and walked into the dim room. What little light there was seeped past thick curtains that covered the full height windows at the far wall. He pulled the heavy fabric carefully aside, and shafts of sunlight glittered off the infinite dust motes that they had disturbed. Behind him, he heard Pera draw in a breath. He turned, and looked, and then grinned, very slowly.

'Well, well, old man,' he said. 'We seem to have found something interesting, at last.

The room was half opulent dining room, half torture chamber. A handsome flogging horse stood on a raised podium, and the wall behind it was lined with tall cupboards. Some of them hung open, revealing row upon row of whips, crops, canes, paddles and straps.

'Dieu!' Pera walked forward slowly and took out a cane. He swished it though the air and nodded approvingly at the sharp hiss. 'Still flexible. This place, it is a shrine to La Vice Anglais.'

Jose laughed. 'Not just Anglais, old friend. All the vices! See?' He opened more cupboards, raising clouds of dust. 'Chains! Dildos! Collars!' He whistled. 'Dinner guests here must have seen quite some floor show.'

He shut the cupboard. 'Come on. Let's explore some more.'

And they did. Room by room, the old house gave up its secrets. There were basements, bare of all but the most functional furniture. Some were equipped as cells, and had heavy barred doors. There were dormitories with iron bedsteads and rows of collars, of a size to fit humans rather than animals, hanging on the walls. There were stables, with rooms of tack and several smart traps, some fitted for horses and others for humans.

Pera ran his hand over a leather harness. 'You know,' he said thoughtfully, 'this stuff seems cleaner than what we found in the house.'

Jose nodded. 'No dust,' he agreed. He wrinkled his nose. 'And there's a smell of polish.' He looked round. 'Someone looks after these stables. I wonder who.'

Pera was about to speak, when both men froze. Pera raised his eyebrows questioningly, and Jose nodded.

There was no doubt about it. They had both heard a tiny creak. It had come from the far corner of the tack room.

Pera turned and began to move towards the sound, but Jose reached out and stopped him. He winked at the old man, and then said aloud, in English: 'Well, whoever it was, our mysterious cleaner, we can be grateful to them. What a shame we may never meet them.'

He took Pera by the shoulder and propelled him gently towards the door. And then they both stopped again, and turned.

A girl had stepped out from behind a partition. She wore a light summer dress in a cream cotton print, and when she moved away from the partition they could see she had bare feet. She was small and slim, but her rounded breasts and the swell of her hips gave her away as an adult, albeit a young one. She brushed aside a sweep of long ash-blond hair and spoke.

'You didn't fool me.'

Jose spread his arms. 'In what way?'

She folded her arms, in a gesture which Jose suspected was supposed to mean confidence, but which looked a little defensive. 'I speak French, you know,' she said. 'I could tell you were hoping I'd appear. I knew it was a trick.'

Jose grinned. 'And yet here you are,' he said, in French. 'Are you the cleaner of harnesses?'

She nodded.

'May we know why?'

Her chin jutted forwards. Defensiveness was winning out over confidence, thought Jose. 'I like them,' she said. 'And anyway, there's no one left to do it, not now they've all gone.'

'Ah.' Jose looked round, found a short bench, and drew it towards him. He sat down and patted the bench beside him, and after a seconds hesitation the girl joined him. There was a hint of obedience, even of surrender, in the action, and he felt himself stirring in response. Close up, he could catch the scent of her - a floral perfume, with a faint undertone of sweat - and he could see that she was trembling slightly. A frightened little animal with a tough façade, he thought. One to be played very carefully.

He thought for a moment. 'Now that we are sitting together,' he said, 'what should I call you? There must be a name, other than Cleaner of Harnesses.'

Her lips twisted into a brief smile. 'I'm Natasha,' she said. 'People call me Tash.'

'And how old is Tash?'

'Nearly nineteen.'

'Well, Tash who is nearly nineteen, people call me Jose, and the fossil standing in the corner is Pera.'

Pera bowed. 'Enchanté, Madamoiselle. Ignore Le Mestre; he has always been a rude child.'

Tash looked sideways at Jose. 'Le Mestre? The Master?'

'Yes, and maybe.' Jose looked at her. 'My second name is Mestre, which is uncommon but not unheard of, and sometimes, for some people, I am the Master.' He waited for a second, and then added: 'If they wish, of course.'

She nodded uncertainly. Jose leaned a little closer. 'Do you wish, Natasha?'

'I... I don't know.' She took a breath as if to steady herself. 'I used to watch. When there were people here. I saw.'

It was Pera who spoke. 'What did you see, Natasha?'

She looked up at him sharply. 'I saw a girl being harnessed to a trap, like a pony. She pulled it, and a man whipped her to make her go faster.'

'Ah.' Jose nodded. 'And this excited you, yes?'

'Yes.' She lowered her head.

'And you wished yourself in that girl's place?'

The bowed head nodded.

'Well done!' Jose took the girls hands in his own and stood up, drawing her with him. 'Well done,' he said again. 'It is a brave thing, to confess as you have just confessed, and to strangers as well. Perhaps you have begun a journey.' She opened her mouth as if to speak but he placed a finger on her lips. 'Listen,' he said. 'The people you saw, or people like them, will be coming back. I have bought this place, and I intend that it will be at least what it was before, and much else as well. Perhaps you will be part of that. '

Her eyes opened wide, but he kept his finger on her lips. 'Now,' he said, 'you have a little choice to make. A simple choice. Are you in the mood to choose?'

She nodded, and he took his finger away. 'Good. So - choose between leaving now, forever, or lifting up your dress and bending over.'

He had expected her face to register shock, or at least surprise. He was ready for her to stand up and walk off, and he had already promised himself that he would not follow her.

She didn't. Instead, her face became almost serene. She stood up. 'Where should I be?' she asked simply.

Jose looked around. A rail went half-way across the room, at waist height. Near the wall it was draped with tack, but in the middle of the room it was free. He nodded towards it. 'There,' he said. 'Bend over that.'

She stepped up to the bar, and with a single neat motion lifted the hem of her dress and bent herself forwards. Beneath the dress she wore plain white briefs; the act of bending rode them up between the firm mounds of an athletic-looking behind. Jose admired the sight for a moment, then walked over to one of the many tack racks that lined the room. There were several whips hanging there. His hand hovered, and then withdrew. He turned back to the waiting girl. 'I know what you have seen,' he said, 'but now tell me what you have felt. Have you ever been whipped?'

'No.'

'Punished in any way, then? Even la bonne fesse, the good spanking as a child?'

'Not much.' She still seemed calm. Never mind, thought Jose. We'll have you jumping around shortly. Out loud he said: 'Well, you have a steep learning curve ahead. I intend to whip you, but I think it would be wise to begin more, ah, domestically. Pera,' and he signalled to the old man who stood watching in the corner, 'will you please apply the hand to the seat?'

Pera chuckled. 'Oh, yes, Mestre, I'll warm up her arse for you. If she's gone without for nineteen years, she's got plenty of catching up to do.' He strolled over to Natasha and placed a calloused hand on her bottom. 'Now then, little one, nothing personal, but you're overdue for a dose of a female's birth-right, so stick your cute backside out for Papa Pera and take it like a good girl, okay?'

She nodded, and Jose saw her hands clench a little on the rail. He sat back down on the bench and made himself comfortable.