Literary Love

by Gabrielle Vigot

  In the spring twilight the train stopped at the Rhinebeck station, and they walked along the platform to the waiting carriage.

  “Ah, how awfully kind of the van der Luydens—they’ve sent their man over from Skuytercliff to meet us,” Archer exclaimed, as a sedate person out of livery approached them and relieved the maid of her bags.

  “I’m extremely sorry, sir,” said this emissary, “that a little accident has occurred at the Miss du Lacs’: a leak in the water-tank. It happened yesterday, and Mr. van der Luyden, who heard of it this morning, sent a housemaid up by the early train to get the Patroon’s house ready. It will be quite comfortable, I think you’ll find, sir; and the Miss du Lacs have sent their cook over, so that it will be exactly the same as if you’d been at Rhinebeck.”

  Archer stared at the speaker so blankly that he repeated in still more apologetic accents: “It’ll be exactly the same, sir, I do assure you—” and May’s eager voice broke out, covering the embarrassed silence: “The same as Rhinebeck? The Patroon’s house? But it will be a hundred thousand times better—won’t it, Newland? It’s too dear and kind of Mr. van der Luyden to have thought of it.”

  And as they drove off, with the maid beside the coachman, and their shining bridal bags on the seat before them, she went on excitedly: “Only fancy, I’ve never been inside it—have you? The van der Luydens show it to so few people. But they opened it for Ellen, it seems, and she told me what a darling little place it was: she says it’s the only house she’s seen in America that she could imagine being perfectly happy in.”

  Newland remembered very well being in the house and whom he was with—Ellen. “Well—that’s what we’re going to be, isn’t it?” cried her husband gaily; and she answered with her boyish smile: “Ah, it’s just our luck beginning—the wonderful luck we’re always going to have together!”

  Chapter 2

  “Of course we must dine with Mrs. Carfry, dearest,” Archer said; and his wife looked at him with an anxious frown across the monumental Britannia ware of their lodging house breakfast-table.

  In all the rainy desert of autumnal London there were only two people whom the Newland Archers knew; and these two they had sedulously avoided, in conformity with the old New York tradition that it was not “dignified” to force one’s self on the notice of one’s acquaintances in foreign countries.

  Mrs. Archer and Janey, in the course of their visits to Europe, had so unflinchingly lived up to this principle, and met the friendly advances of their fellow-travellers with an air of such impenetrable reserve, that they had almost achieved the record of never having exchanged a word with a “foreigner” other than those employed in hotels and railway-stations. Their own compatriots—save those previously known or properly accredited—they treated with an even more pronounced disdain; so that, unless they ran across a Chivers, a Dagonet or a Mingott, their months abroad were spent in an unbroken tete-a-tete. But the utmost precautions are sometimes unavailing; and one night at Botzen one of the two English ladies in the room across the passage (whose names, dress and social situation were already intimately known to Janey) had knocked on the door and asked if Mrs. Archer had a bottle of liniment. The other lady—the intruder’s sister, Mrs. Carfry—had been seized with a sudden attack of bronchitis; and Mrs. Archer, who never travelled without a complete family pharmacy, was fortunately able to produce the required remedy.

  Mrs. Carfry was very ill, and as she and her sister Miss Harle were travelling alone they were profoundly grateful to the Archer ladies, who supplied them with ingenious comforts and whose efficient maid helped to nurse the invalid back to health.

  When the Archers left Botzen they had no idea of ever seeing Mrs. Carfry and Miss Harle again. Nothing, to Mrs. Archer’s mind, would have been more “undignified” than to force one’s self on the notice of a “foreigner” to whom one had happened to render an accidental service. But Mrs. Carfry and her sister, to whom this point of view was unknown, and who would have found it utterly incomprehensible, felt themselves linked by an eternal gratitude to the “delightful Americans” who had been so kind at Botzen. With touching fidelity they seized every chance of meeting Mrs. Archer and Janey in the course of their continental travels, and displayed a supernatural acuteness in finding out when they were to pass through London on their way to or from the States. The intimacy became indissoluble, and Mrs. Archer and Janey, whenever they alighted at Brown’s Hotel, found themselves awaited by two affectionate friends who, like themselves, cultivated ferns in Wardian cases, made macrame lace, read the memoirs of the Baroness Bunsen and had views about the occupants of the leading London pulpits. As Mrs. Archer said, it made “another thing of London” to know Mrs. Carfry and Miss Harle; and by the time that Newland became engaged the tie between the families was so firmly established that it was thought “only right” to send a wedding invitation to the two English ladies, who sent, in return, a pretty bouquet of pressed Alpine flowers under glass. And on the dock, when Newland and his wife sailed for England, Mrs. Archer’s last word had been: “You must take May to see Mrs. Carfry.”

  Newland and his wife had had no idea of obeying this injunction; but Mrs. Carfry, with her usual acuteness, had run them down and sent them an invitation to dine; and it was over this invitation that May Archer was wrinkling her brows across the tea and muffins.

  “It’s all very well for you, Newland; you KNOW them. But I shall feel so shy among a lot of people I’ve never met. And what shall I wear?”

  Newland leaned back in his chair and smiled at her. She looked handsomer and more Diana-like than ever. The moist English air seemed to have deepened the bloom of her cheeks and softened the slight hardness of her virginal features; or else it was simply the inner glow of happiness, shining through like a light under ice.

  It was only last night that she had come to bed and allowed him to make love to her—sensuous, erotic love. May was not the type of woman who made demands in the bedroom, but played more of the submissive role. But she was eager, and Newland knew that it was only a matter of time before she would be less naive. For that reason, he made sure that a steady supply of French magazines were within her private reach, and he never denied her an outing to the pharmacy to explore the back rooms of the shop where more than the simple tonics were offered. After last evening, Newland Archer knew very well that his bride was beginning to show promise.

  “Newland,” she said in a curious tone, entering their private quarters. “I’ve been out today, shopping a bit. I hope you don’t mind.”

  He lifted the bed covers for her. “Show me what you have in your case.”

  She held the box to him, and then slipped into the bed, beside his naked body. “They really are quite pretty. Purple is my favorite color.”

  He opened the box, and then grinned at his lovely wife.

  “I can’t imagine how to wear these beads … pearls,” she said. “The clerk said they were French pearls. But they’re much too large to actually be pearls. Don’t you think?”

  Newland laughed. “Oh, May. They’re not meant to be worn. Not in the way you are thinking.”

  She looked at him perplexed.

  “No dearest,” he said. “They’re meant to be, well, inserted.”

  She looked at him with bemusement, but then her eyes widened. “You don’t actually mean you put them …” She brought a delicate hand to her mouth.

  “That is exactly what I mean, dearest.”

  She slapped the bed with her hands and began to giggle rather wildly. “Which?”

  “Your forbidden—”

  “My forbidden door! Truly?” Her voice trilled with excitement.

  He nodded suggestively, feeling his manhood becoming aroused at her excitement.

  “I love that,” she said, her voice deepening with lust. “Please, Newland. Show me. Make haste.”

  “By all means.”

  She watched intently as he rolled the strand of graduated French pearls in his hands, studying them.

>   “I was wondering about the weight of them, how they felt,” she said. “It’s almost like there’s something else inside them.”

  “Indeed. There are. Weights.”

  “You intrigue me, Newland.”

  “All for pleasure, my dear. There’s a heavier ball inside each pearl that keeps these pearls of yours rolling and moving. You’ll understand soon enough.”

  May quickly removed her nightgown, tossed it to the chair, and threw herself back onto the mattress, parting her legs. “I’m completely tantalized just thinking about it, Newland.”

  He opened the side-table drawer and found a tube of lubricant, and then readied the strand of French pearls. Each bead along the strand was a grade larger in size, and the last one might have been mistaken for a small plum.

  “Roll over onto your stomach,” he said.

  May quickly turned onto her stomach. Newland slid his hands to her waist and pulled her up so that she balanced on her forearms, and then he urged her naked bottom into the air, so that she was fully exposed. She immediately began to grind her hips with anticipation, although he took his time. He massaged her cheeks first, and then touched her feminine folds, only to discover that she was completely deluged with desire.

  She purred as he slid his fingers through her passion, slipping one, then two inside of her sheath. Then he hastened the pace, sliding his fingers inside and out of her.

  She began to move urgently, demanding more. “Oh, Newland. I’m ready. Put the pearls in my …”

  He slid the set of pearls toward her winking nether hole and glided them between her cheeks, lubricating the entrance, and taunting her. Then he grasped the strand and strummed them through her crease and around the entrance to her forbidden door.

  “Oh, Newland. I need it.”

  He did not dare keep her waiting any longer, so he clasped the smallest pearl at the end of the strand and began circling her entrance with its smooth surface. At first, he probed delicately, but as her moans grew louder, he pushed the pearl more intently. The lubricant worked beautifully and allowed the pearl to easily slip inside her nether regions.

  “Oh, how erotic it feels,” she said, taking a deep breath. “It makes me want to … mmmm.”

  He circled the next larger pearl around her entrance, and her hips undulated as she anticipated the insertion. He teased her, not giving in to her immediately, and when she whined, he slowly pushed the bead inside. It, too, slipped inside with ease.

  “Oh, yes. Oh,” she said, sighing.

  He moved the next larger pearl into place, and circled her entrance.

  “Oh, my,” she said. “It’s so big.”

  He did not ask if he should stop, but continued to circle her entrance, probing more insistently. And this time as he pushed the larger pearl inside her, she gasped, and then moaned with resounding pleasure. Not stopping, he repeated the same until four of the pearls were inserted, and now he had but one bead left, the largest. He rolled the plum-sized pearl around her entrance, and then hesitated.

  He leaned forward and whispered teasingly in her ear, “Are you quite sure?”

  “Oh, yes. Yes, push it in. Hurry!” She ground her hips, urging him on, and so he gave it all to her, leaving the end string of the set of pearls hanging outside her entrance as a tickler.

  “How does it feel?” he asked, patting her bottom.

  “Like nothing I can describe. I can feel the balls rolling around inside. I feel so blissfully full, my love.”

  He moved a set of fingers to her sheath and began stroking them inside and out. “Yes, you are quite full.”

  She was full, so ready, and impassioned. “I’m going to make love to you now, so that you can feel the full pleasure of the pearls.”

  She rolled her head back and looked at him. “Yes, yes do.”

  Newland mounted her from behind and brought his manhood to her sheath. He pushed the crown of his staff inside her tight sheath, and as he entered, she groaned ever so loud.

  “Shall I stop?” he asked.

  “Never stop.” Her voice was breathy. “It feels heavenly … so erotic … completely wonderful.”

  He pushed the rest of the way inside her, filling her sheath to its end. Then he grasped her waist and slowly began pumping, picking up the rhythm beat by beat, while feeling the strand of pearls roll against the thin barrier that separated her sheath from her nether regions. She lolled her head from one shoulder to the next, moving sensuously, while softly moaning in erotic song.

  “Touch my pearl,” she whispered. “Touch it.”

  The moment his hand found her jewel, she exhaled heavily, and released a shriek of pleasure. Her body writhed, her back arched, and her hips ground more intensely.

  “Oh, Newland, Newland.”

  They made love for some time until he felt her body tighten, her climax nearing. He felt both the pressure of her tight sheath squeezing his manhood, and the magic pearls rolling against the wall of her sheath, and soon found himself losing control. He continued to circle her pearl, heightening the level of her ecstasy, while he intensely drummed in and out of her, all the while waiting for her release. A moment later, she thrust her hips forward and plunged back taking his full staff inside her velvety case. He knew she was reaching the most divine orgasm she had ever experienced. Lost in the throes of ecstasy, her body quaked thunderously as she cried out with a satisfied moan. He stroked hard twice more, and then released his seed, shuddering violently as he filled her sheath with his precious gift.

  “Oh, yes,” she said, and then gasped, collapsing into the stronghold of his arms.

  He circled her waist with his arms and together they fought to find their breath, both panting wildly.

  “My gracious,” she said. “Who would ever have thought?”

  “Yes, to be sure.” He smiled. “Are you ready for me to remove the pearls?”

  “Must we?” she said, giggling.

  After they left the bedroom the following morning, May reverted to her girlish ways. When she was away from their private chambers, she was simply of another mindset, acting as though their passionate lovemaking had never happened. Over breakfast that next morning, she dawdled over frivolities such as her wardrobe just as she did on other days.

  “Wear, dearest? I thought a trunkful of things had come from Paris last week.”

  “Yes, of course. I meant to say that I shan’t know WHICH to wear.” She pouted a little. “I’ve never dined out in London; and I don’t want to be ridiculous.”

  He tried to enter into her perplexity. “But don’t Englishwomen dress just like everybody else in the evening?”

  “Newland! How can you ask such funny questions? When they go to the theatre in old ball-dresses and bare heads.”

  “Well, perhaps they wear new ball-dresses at home; but at any rate Mrs. Carfry and Miss Harle won’t. They’ll wear caps like my mother’s—and shawls; very soft shawls.”

  “Yes; but how will the other women be dressed?”

  “Not as well as you, dear,” he rejoined, wondering what had suddenly developed in her Janey’s morbid interest in clothes.

  She pushed back her chair with a sigh. “That’s dear of you, Newland; but it doesn’t help me much.”

  He had an inspiration. “Why not wear your wedding-dress? That can’t be wrong, can it?”

  “Oh, dearest! If I only had it here! But it’s gone to Paris to be made over for next winter, and Worth hasn’t sent it back.”

  “Oh, well—” said Archer, getting up. “Look here—the fog’s lifting. If we made a dash for the National Gallery we might manage to catch a glimpse of the pictures.”

  The Newland Archers were on their way home, after a three months’ wedding-tour which May, in writing to her girl friends, vaguely summarised as “blissful.”

  They had not gone to the Italian Lakes: on reflection, Archer had not been able to picture his wife in that particular setting. Her own inclination (after a month with the Paris dressmakers) was for mountaineering
in July and swimming in August. This plan they punctually fulfilled, spending July at Interlaken and Grindelwald, and August at a little place called Etretat, on the Normandy coast, which some one had recommended as quaint and quiet. Once or twice, in the mountains, Archer had pointed southward and said: “There’s Italy”; and May, her feet in a gentian-bed, had smiled cheerfully, and replied: “It would be lovely to go there next winter, if only you didn’t have to be in New York.”

  But in reality travelling interested her even less than he had expected. She regarded it (once her clothes were ordered) as merely an enlarged opportunity for walking, riding, swimming, and trying her hand at the fascinating new game of lawn tennis; and when they finally got back to London (where they were to spend a fortnight while he ordered HIS clothes) she no longer concealed the eagerness with which she looked forward to sailing.

  In London nothing interested her but the theatres and the shops; and she found the theatres less exciting than the Paris cafes chantants where, under the blossoming horse-chestnuts of the Champs Elysees, she had had the novel experience of looking down from the restaurant terrace on an audience of “cocottes,” and having her husband interpret to her as much of the songs as he thought suitable for bridal ears.

  Archer had reverted to all his old inherited ideas about marriage. It was less trouble to conform with the tradition and treat May exactly as all his friends treated their wives than to try to put into practice the theories with which his untrammelled bachelorhood had dallied. There was no use in trying to emancipate a wife who had not the dimmest notion that she was not free; and he had long since discovered that May’s only use of the liberty she supposed herself to possess would be to lay it on the altar of her wifely adoration. Her innate dignity would always keep her from making the gift abjectly; and a day might even come (as it once had) when she would find strength to take it altogether back if she thought she were doing it for his own good. But with a conception of marriage so uncomplicated and incurious as hers such a crisis could be brought about only by something visibly outrageous in his own conduct; and the fineness of her feeling for him made that unthinkable. Whatever happened, he knew, she would always be loyal, gallant and unresentful; and that pledged him to the practice of the same virtues.