Teena Thyme

by Pope, Jennifer Jane

  'Oh, how sweet we do look now, your ladyship,' Meg cried mockingly. 'Like a little calf, or a deer. What do you think, Polly?' The ginger-haired younger maid stepped back and peered at me and I peered back at her through the two narrow slits that now aligned with my eyes.

  'Well, she do look weird,' she muttered. 'Don't hardly look human at all, if you asks me.'

  'No,' Meg agreed with a grim smile, 'she doesn't, does she? More like a helpless little animal now. Well, don't just stand there gawping at her, my girl, get her boots on and then we can add the cuffs.'

  The boots were unusual in that they seemed to have both a platform sole and a chunky heel, quite out of keeping with any fashions I had ever seen depicted for this era, and far more like the sort of footwear I'd been used to clumping about in back in the early seventies.

  I also discovered, when I went to move my feet, that there was something else decidedly unfashionable about my new footwear: these boots were by far and away the heaviest things I had ever had on my feet and the weight of them seemed to be out of all proportion, even allowing for the thick soles. Meg, the bitch, waited for a minute or so and then just had to explain.

  'Weighted soles,' she informed me with undisguised malicious glee. 'Lead poured into both the soles and the heels. They'll remind you of just what you really are here now.'

  'And what's that, exactly?' I said, my voice sounding muffled through the slit opening across my mouth, as Polly began locking a broad leather cuff about my left ankle.

  'Why, you're nothing but a slave as far as the master is concerned,' Meg retorted. 'In fact, you're worth little more consideration than the livestock on the estate, and come to that, why that's exactly what we're turning you into now, isn't it?' She cackled out loud at this and any medical man hearing that sound would have had little doubt about declaring her at least slightly insane. Polly, meantime, moved on to my other ankle and I was once again fettered and hobbled, though with the boots on my feet these fetters were just about as obsolete as the pair Polly had removed before taking off my last impossible footwear.

  They turned their attention to my wrists next, buckling and locking thinner leather cuffs about them, from which short chains extended to sturdy rings set in the waist at either side of the doe skin suit, preventing me from raising my hands as far as my face, though leaving just enough slack to enable me to bring my fingertips together in front of me.

  It was not an uncomfortable form of bondage, but it was a very efficient one. To all intents and purposes I was now completely helpless, unable to free myself nor even any part of myself and now the finishing touch was applied. Meg produced a long leather lace and what I at first took to be a small ball, though this turned out to be a soft wadge of something sewn into an outer covering of smooth leather.

  Before I had time to even contemplate resistance, she forced my lower jaw open as far as the enveloping helmet would allow and thrust this foul tasting gag into my mouth. Then, as Polly reached across to hold my jaws together, Meg began threading the lace in and out of the two rows of small reinforced holes that ran above and below the mouth opening, drawing it tight and sealing it completely, so that any chance I might have had of expelling the wad was removed with utter finality.

  'Better,' Meg sniggered, straightening up again. 'Just how a little cow should be. Say "moo" for us, little cow!' She began to laugh again as I tried to settle my tongue around the awful obstruction and I had the most terrible feeling that all this, bad enough as it was, was simply the beginning of the next chapter of horrors these evil maniacs had in store for me.

  As you've probably realised and as friends and acquaintances have remarked down the ages, I have a somewhat skewed sense of humour and I've always prided myself on the ability to see the funny side and make a joke - albeit a black joke at times - about almost anything. However, as I sat there now, imprisoned inside a skin of leather, hobbled, cuffed and rendered incapable of making any intelligible sounds, for the first time in my life I just couldn't see anything remotely humorous in my situation.

  12.

  Whether Hacklebury actually had any money or not, he certainly had wealth in terms of land, for the grounds of the estate, even to judge from that small part I was now able to see, were extensive in the extreme.

  At the back of the house the cultivated garden area, with its manicured lawns and carefully tended flowerbeds eventually gave way to a wilder area of trees, shrubs, long grasses and some of the densest bramble bushes I had ever seen. Blackcurrants, blackberries, redcurrants - I identified these three from the berries already forming and beginning to ripen in many cases, but there were others too, which I simply did not recognise.

  If this area wasn't cultivated in any true sense, there was at least evidence of man's hand at work, for the path down which they led me, shuffling awkwardly in my bondage and weighted footwear, had not been kept clear by accident. For myself, the leather hide skin I was laced into offered plenty of protection against wandering thorns, but neither maid had that dubious advantage and their skirts would have been torn to shreds in any case, had the way not been maintained to a sufficient width.

  Away to the east I detected the first greying fingers of the impending dawn and reflected that it was as well that the daylight approached if we were to continue much farther. The moon, if it was still up, was at least tucked behind gathering clouds and the flickering lantern Polly held before us served only just to differentiate between the undergrowth and the uneven pathway as we passed deeper beneath the canopy of trees.

  Several times I stumbled, grunting in alarm, but Meg, who brought up the rear behind me, quickly jerked me back to a balance by means of some sort of strap attached to the back of my leather suit.

  'Clumsy little cow!' she hissed, when I missed my footing for the third, or was it fourth, time. 'Watch where you're going.'

  I bristled with indignation; easier said than done; still nearly dark and these eye slits did little to improve one's field of vision. Either the bitch was completely oblivious to the obvious or, more likely, I reckoned, she was just emphasising her superiority and deliberately adding to my feeling of sheer helplessness and humiliation.

  It was all but impossible to gauge the distance we travelled: my progress was so painfully slow that it felt like miles, though in reality it was probably little more than several hundred yards before we emerged into an irregularly shaped clearing, in the centre of which was a brick built building that was plainly a recent construction, to judge from the colour of the mortar.

  In appearance it resembled a large shed, though without any obvious windows. Instead, there was a series of narrow apertures set high in the walls, just below the eaves of the slated roof, which closer inspection revealed were unglazed. If this was to be my ultimate destination and if I was to spend any time inside, I thought grimly, it was as well it was still summer and the awful hide skin in which I was encased would certainly have its uses, and I suspected I might be grateful for the insulation it offered before much longer.

  As we made our way around the end of the building, I was able to make out, in the gradually lifting gloom, that the shed in fact formed one end of what appeared to be a small courtyard, the other three sides comprising brick walls perhaps seven feet in height and with a gateway set into the shortest of these opposite the shed end.

  This opening was designed to be closed off by means of a roughly timbered door, but as we approached I saw it had been left half open, so that I could just make out the enclosed yard within and the shadowy figure that began to move towards us from the direction of the building. Even in the near darkness, there was no mistaking the fact that this newcomer was a very large male, well over six and a half feet tall and with shoulders that seemed as if they must have been hewn, rather than grown to their current proportions.

  Peering out from behind my mask, I saw he had fairish hair, straw coloured, which hung loosely in an unkempt fashion well below collar length - or at least, it would have been below collar length
were it not for the fact that he wore no collar. Instead, he was clad in what I could only describe as a black leather vest and tightly fitting breeches and boots of the same colour and fabric.

  He paused, framed in the opening for a second or so and then stood back, allowing the three of us to enter. As I passed him I stole a covert sideways glance and saw pale blue eyes and an expression that was both puzzled, amused and perhaps even anticipatory. Anticipatory of what, dear reader, I shall leave to your fertile imagination!

  'This is your charge, Erik,' Meg sneered, grasping the strap at my back and hauling me around so that I faced him square on. Don't ask me why, but I just knew his name had to be spelt with a 'k' rather than a 'c'. 'Her name, while she is here, will be Buttercup.' She snickered meanly. 'Her real name need not concern you and if you ever learn it, his lordship will be severely displeased.'

  Erik inclined his head slightly.

  'Of my discretion assured you are,' he lilted. Oh my God, I thought, a real bloody Viking! 'Sealed my lips will always be.'

  Meg grimaced as she stepped past me and turned to peer closely into my face. 'And you, dear little Buttercup,' she rasped, speaking so quietly that only I could hear her clearly, 'will never mention any name but the one you have just been given. If Sir Gregory so much as suspects anyone learning your true identity, that person's life will be measurable in hours rather than years. Do I make myself clear?'

  I nodded my comprehension. Insane she might have been, but she was a sound enough judge of character to know that 'we' or I would certainly think more than twice before risking being the cause of another human being's demise.

  'She is to be kept gagged at all times, except when you feed and water her,' Meg continued, turning again to Erik. 'The suit is also to be kept enclosed except for when she needs to perform her bodily functions. Its workings have been explained and demonstrated to you, I believe?' Erik nodded, his features devoid of expression.

  'Demonstrated indeed it has been,' he confirmed. 'Simple enough it is and it shall be done as you wish. Leaving her with me you may now be doing with confidence due.' Yes, okay, so his English was as stilted and as stereotypically Scandinavian as you like, but then who was I to criticise? Did I speak Norwegian, Swedish, or whatever his native tongue was? Too damned right I didn't.

  The inside of the shed-like building had been partitioned off, not unlike a stable. At one end was a stall area, guarded by a two sectioned stable door, within which was a simple mattress - straw-filled as it transpired - and a metal bucket set within a low retaining wall of bricks to prevent it being knocked over.

  The outer part of the interior, if that's not a contradiction in terms, contained a rustic timber framed bed, a small table and a simple chair. There were shelves along one wall, upon which stood a variety of bags and metal containers, together with an assortment of jars. Away in the corner a heavy metal bowl stood upon a stand made from more bricks, and two stone pitchers stood alongside this. If these arrangements were for Erik's benefit, I realised, then his comfort here would be only a marginal improvement on my own. Still, his Viking ancestors would probably have laughed in the face of far worse deprivations...

  ...reflection time...

  Things were going from bad to worse, but then it didn't need a rocket scientist to come to that conclusion. Dear Gregory, having had his wicked way with me in best melodramatic novel traditions and then some, seemed to have lost all interest, possibly preferring to concentrate his efforts on the Angelina doppelganger, or just as possibly content to go back to screwing Meg. Either way, I had been rapidly and unceremoniously reduced in the ranks and seemed to be consigned, for the time being at least, to a life in what could best be described as a byre.

  The only positive point - and was I merely grasping at straws here? - was that, whilst I was clearly surplus to requirements just at the moment, I still had to have some potential value, otherwise why go to all this bother instead of simply slitting my lily-white throat, etcetera, etcetera?

  Erik pushed me gently into my stall, pointing towards the unpromising mattress and stepped back, swinging the lower section of the door closed behind him. He stood there for several seconds, regarding me as I took stock of my new surroundings, for what stock there was to be taken. At last he grunted, nodded and rewarded me with a peculiarly lopsided smile.

  'Sleeping you are to be, I think,' he said, pointing even more urgently. 'Food it will be coming later and eating it you will be and then exercised you will be.'

  Grateful for sure I am, I thought darkly. And what about the rest of the time? A week of being incarcerated here and I'd be ready for a straitjacket. Except, I realised as I gazed morosely down at myself, what I was wearing was as efficient as any straitjacket could be and hid far less. Completely covered or not, my body felt naked in this skin and that fact clearly wasn't lost on good old Erik, whose features were already flushing.

  Raising my hands as far as the chains would permit, I tried to indicate my mouth and made small grunting noises in an attempt to convey my request the clearer. Funny English or not, Erik understood right enough, but that didn't mean he was about to comply.

  'Staying as things are it must be,' he said, shaking his head and tossing his blond mane from side to side. 'The gag later removing I shall be, if sleeping like the girl good you now are.'

  I sighed and bit hard into the foul leather covering in frustration. I sighed again and turned away from him, regarding the mattress. Oh well, I was tired, there was no arguing with that; my fuzzled brain tried to work out how long it had been without real sleep and came up with several different answers at once, probably none of them right. I tried to yawn - not easy when you're gagged, take my word for it.

  Slowly, I managed to lower myself onto my knees, landing with a bump and just about managing to prevent myself toppling forward with my hampered hands. Getting down further presented a greater difficulty and I looked around, wondering if Erik might suddenly decide to play the gentleman and help me. Some hope.

  At last, however, I managed it and wriggled over onto my back with some difficulty. Unappealing though it looked from above, the mattress was surprisingly comfortable as I squirmed for position, but as my eyelids grew heavy and sleep rose to claim me, I vaguely wondered just how long it would remain so...

  13.

  By the time I finally awoke the atmosphere inside the confines of my stall was becoming quite stuffy. Despite the vent gaps high in the walls, the soft leather skin inside which I was confined did nothing to help my comfort.

  I let my eyes flick open momentarily and quickly appraised the situation, but nothing seemed to have changed while I slept and if Erik the Viking was still beyond the half section door he was keeping very quiet about it. I sucked reluctantly against my gag, swallowing the awful tasting saliva that had gathered in my mouth and wondering how it was that I had managed not to choke while asleep and then closed my eyes again and lay still, listening as best I could, given that the hide over my ears muffled all sounds anyway.

  Eventually, I assumed, Mr Scandinavia would have to come in to check my situation, but there seemed little point in drawing his attention to me too soon. I was thirsty and I would need a drink before long, but for the moment I wanted to take stock and this was the first opportunity I'd had of that for some time. Things did not look good, but that was both an obvious and simplistic conclusion and I needed to be slightly more analytical and systematic about things than that.

  I began making a mental list...

  Point One: Gregory Hacklebury and his cohorts thought I was Angelina and having Angelina as his wife was mucho important to the sadistic bastard. Exactly how much my/Angelina's estate was worth I had no idea, but even a few tens of thousands of pounds was worth a lot more back now.

  Point Two: I wasn't actually legally married to Hacklebury - that was to say Angelina wasn't legally married to him, but given my present predicament that much subtlety didn't seem to matter in the equation.

  Point Three: Despi
te having the doppelganger go through the wedding ceremony and a bent vicar to conduct it, Hacklebury must still have a very good reason for keeping me alive; something this other girl couldn't perform for him. Or was keeping me alive just a safety valve?

  Point Four: Whatever reasons Hacklebury had for not just slitting my throat and dropping me down the nearest well, my continued existence did not please Meg and, whilst it was probably a toss up as to which of them was furthest from touching base with sanity, there was little doubt in my mind that the supposed maidservant was far less logical. My presence and Hacklebury's possible continued intimacy with me would be acting like a sharp thorn in her clitoris and I wouldn't have put it past her to arrange some sort of 'accident' in order to get me out of the frame.

  Point Six: The way I had now been so efficiently incapacitated was not the work of amateurs and, if my continued survival was important, my continuing comfort clearly was not. I tried to flex my hands inside the confining gloves and tight mitts and grimaced around my gag. No, I wasn't getting out of this little lot without some sort of outside help.

  My thoughts turned again to Erik. If there was likely to be a weak link, then it definitely had to be him. He was, after all, a man, and like all men...

  No. I frowned to myself and tried to sigh. It would be just my luck if Erik was only in to men and it would be typical of the sort of perverted cunning I'd so far seen displayed for Hacklebury to have selected him for his role as my minder for just that reason. There would be, of course, only one way to find that out, but first I had to get myself into some sort of position for that.

  I sighed again and reopened my eyes. Patience, Teena, I told myself. He'll have to take your gag out sooner or later and then your first chance will come. Just don't rush into it and balls it up first time around. Somehow, I had the sneakiest suspicion that any chances that did come my way certainly wouldn't be second ones...