Autumn in Scotland

by Karen Ranney

  Someone who would shock people with her daring. Someone whose hunger for life would overwhelm rational thought.

  Just then the chapel door flew open, and the wind blew snow along the aisle and up to the podium as if it were being batted there by a thousand angel wings.

  “My dear, we are sorry to interrupt your service,” Lady Eleanor said from the doorway. She began to remove her coat. “It was a long and grueling journey from Inverness. The snow did not stop in all this time.”

  Lady Eleanor and her entourage had arrived. Angels—or devils—here to coax her to wickedness.

  She really should have made her prayers a little more explicit. God truly had a sense of humor.

  “I think it’s quite auspicious that the snow stopped just before our arrival, my dear,” Lady Eleanor said while reaching for a pastry. She blew on it as if it were too hot to consume, but perhaps she was just ridding the offending cake of any extraneous crumbs. The napkin she held in her right hand was spotless. So were the gloves neatly folded together and resting on the left chair arm. She sat properly, her knees pressed together and, no doubt her ankles together, the skirt revealing only the tips of her highly polished shoes. She was the epitome of all things polite, graceful, and refined, which was probably why Charlotte was having such difficulty with the conversation.

  “We would have been here earlier, but dear Amanda has a tendre for her brother-in-law. We had to settle that before we traveled here to assist you.”

  “Assist me?” Charlotte asked.

  “Have you given any thought to our discussion, my dear?”

  “I sent you a letter, Lady Eleanor. You should have received it more than a week ago.”

  The older woman waved her hand in the air. “I received it, my dear, and proceeded to pay it no attention. We’ve all felt a little reluctance to change, to broaden our outlook. It’s what society hopes for, after all. Whatever would the men in charge do if we women put aside our reticence and talked to each other?”

  Charlotte looked helplessly around the room. Each of the seven women who’d accompanied Lady Eleanor to Balfurin were sitting in the Green Parlor partaking of Cook’s new batch of biscuits and cakes. Thank heavens the woman had not gotten out of the habit of cooking for a large number of people in the past month.

  “Dear Eleanor was so helpful to me,” a woman said. Charlotte glanced in her direction. She knew four of the women, but the others had been introduced to her in the walk from the chapel to the parlor. Now she couldn’t recall the woman’s name. Barbara? Beatrice? It had started with a B, she was certain of that, because of the woman’s bonnet. There was a plethora of flowers attached to it, in such profusion that Charlotte had immediately thought of bees.

  How odd that her memory failed her just at this moment.

  “I think dear Eleanor has been helpful to each of us, in our time. It’s a shame that such ignorance has been left to fester for so many generations.”

  Another stranger, one with a very narrow face and a pair of thick spectacles tied to a bilious green ribbon resting on her chest. Margaret. There, she’d remembered.

  “I think it best if we began our meeting, dear,” Lady Eleanor said. “Unless you wish to delay it until this evening? I’m certain we can find something or someone to help us pass the time.”

  “Now is fine,” Charlotte said quickly, wondering if her footmen would ever know how much she’d sacrificed to protect them from The Edification Society.

  One of the women stood up and went to the parlor door, a thickly banded oak door that was part of the original castle. This room had been intact when she’d first occupied Balfurin, but she’d opened up the room by having three more windows created in the thick walls, and having the fireplace and chimney expanded. The result was a space that could accommodate a group of people in relative comfort in any season.

  “Does it lock?” the woman asked.

  Charlotte shook her head. “No one will interrupt us.”

  The other woman nevertheless took up a position in front of the door as if to physically block anyone from entering.

  Charlotte’s palms were growing damp. Not a good sign.

  Lady Eleanor reached into her commodious valise and came up with a sheaf of papers. She gave them to a woman sitting to her left.

  “Take two and pass them down, please, Hortensia,” she said.

  Since she was sitting on Lady Eleanor’s right, Charlotte was last to get the information handed out. She took one look at the graphic drawing and clasped the paper to her chest. She was the only one whose initial reaction was horror. The other women were either sighing or smiling, and more than one was commenting upon the size of the subject in question.

  She closed her eyes and pretended she was not here. She was not in the parlor at Balfurin. She was in her schoolroom, and the titters of laughter were from a group of mischievous girls in the back of the class, not eight matronly women.

  “A friend of mine, a physician, provided me with this drawing, anatomical in nature, I grant you, but we must begin with science in order to understand the amatory arts.”

  Charlotte opened her eyes and stared at Eleanor.

  She held the sheet up by the corner. “It’s a drawing of a man’s…parts.”

  “Why of course it is, my dear. The penis is quite attractive, but in its flaccid state it leaves a great deal to be desired. It looks like a pig’s bladder that’s been drained. But in glorious tumescence, why, that is something to behold!” She stared down at the drawing. “I do wish he could have drawn it erect,” she said sadly.

  Eleanor looked at the assembled group. “One day, we shall simply have to encourage a young man to come before us, and show us how quickly a male can go from flaccid to erect. Hominus erectus. What a glorious state!”

  “Not today,” Charlotte said weakly.

  “Oh no, my dear,” Eleanor said, “we’re not quite at that stage yet. There are many things we have to learn first.” She leaned over to Charlotte and spoke in a low enough tone so that the woman across the circle could not hear her. “We’re going a little in reverse, my dear,” she said, “in order to bring you up to the rest of the group’s understanding. We’ve all passed this particular stage, but it was so enjoyable that I’m sure none of the other women are having difficulty revisiting a subject already taught.”

  “That’s very kind of you, Lady Eleanor, but it’s not truly necessary.”

  “Nonsense, Charlotte. Now if you will release your death grip on that particular paper, you’ll notice that there’s another drawing to note. Again, a physician friend of mine assisted me in this matter.”

  If she’d thought the first drawing was shocking, Charlotte didn’t know what to say about the second. It was a drawing, evidently, of a woman’s nether regions, as if she had her legs spread wide open for anyone to see.

  Her feet were sweating and her palms were cold. Even if she hadn’t such a splendid memory, she’d never be able to forget either illustration as long as she lived. She’d be a very old woman, she was certain, lying on her deathbed, and these pictures would be there in her mind.

  She closed her eyes, again, but it didn’t help. Lady Eleanor was still talking and the group of women were still conversing, saying things that Charlotte truly didn’t want to hear.

  “Now, who would like to discuss the quickest way to get the male penis from flaccid to erect?”

  Charlotte’s eyes flew open.

  Eleanor looked from one woman to the other. A very small woman with a very large bosom held up her hand tentatively.

  “I have heard that placing warm hands on either side of the penis is conducive to an erectile state.”

  “Very good, Honoria. Anyone else?”

  “I speak the most vile words to my Harold,” a woman by the name of Susan said. “The more vile, the better.”

  Charlotte had to look away. For the last three years, she’d known Susan as the very strict mother of two daughters, both students at the school.

&nbs
p; “He likes to pretend that I’m a woman of the docks. In fact, there are many occasions when I don’t let him into my bed until he pays a fine for the privilege.”

  She would never be able to face the woman again.

  “When the night is over,” Susan continued, smiling, “I don’t return the funds.”

  “I have found that a judicious application of the tongue works the fastest.” This from a woman Charlotte had never before met. “Even mentioning that I might wish to mouth him causes his John Thomas to rise rather quickly.”

  “No euphemisms, Darlene. We are pledged to truth in this group.”

  “Penis,” Darlene corrected.

  “I have found the same,” Lady Eleanor said. She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms and nodded sagely, as if she were agreeing on the proper bordering plant to be installed in her garden. “But there’s a technique to mouthing, ladies. You must pay some attention to your drawing now.” She held the illustration of the penis up and pointed to the bulbous tip. “Use the shape of your mouth, and ring it around the penis very gently. Suck just slightly, as if you’re tasting an orange.”

  Charlotte had always wondered what hell was like. Now she knew. Hell was being in this room, at this moment, with the relative of a duke instructing a group of women on the proper mouthing of a penis.

  “There’s a great deal of hair there, isn’t there?” This from the lady with the spectacles. “I tend to avoid the testicles, but I understand it’s a source of great pleasure for the male.”

  “Indeed it is,” Eleanor said. “But it is also a source of great pain if you do it incorrectly. You must ignore the hair there. If you do not wish to touch the testes with your mouth, a gentle cupping motion with your hand is sufficient to incite great pleasure in your partner. Also, if you will inject your longest finger just behind the testicles to a small inch of skin, that, too is a great source of pleasure.”

  She turned to Charlotte. “Have you found these techniques to be useful, Charlotte?”

  “Me?” She looked wide-eyed at Lady Eleanor. “I don’t know. I was only married for a week before George left me,” she added.

  Not one woman spoke, and the silence was so thick that it was almost a presence in the room.

  “George is larger,” she said, and then clapped a hand over her mouth as the other women began to smile. Why on earth had she said such a thing?

  “How very fortunate you are, my dear. I thought that he had a very substantial package when I saw him.”

  “Indeed,” Susan said. “I do thank heavens that Harold is still a young man.”

  “An old man is not as preferable a lover as a young one,” Sylvia said. “The organ turns an unbecoming shade of purple with use.”

  “Blue in some,” Hortensia said.

  Would they never stop?

  “A younger man, especially one of lesser means, is a great deal more grateful than an older one,” Lady Eleanor said.

  A maid named Sally tapped at the door and opened it slowly. Charlotte raised her hand, a signal for the girl to enter. Blessedly, the other women fell silent. Good, at least the maid would not be scandalized, which was more than could be said for her mistress.

  Perhaps she should pay attention to Lady Eleanor after all. She’d gone to George’s bed and afterward he’d acted no more impressed than if the gardener had told him he’d found weeds in the flower bed. Instead, he’d gone off to London and Edinburgh for twenty days.

  “Even a magnificent creature such as yourself could benefit from some knowledge, Charlotte.”

  “I would not call myself magnificent, Lady Eleanor.”

  “Which just contributes to your charm, Charlotte. You do not take on airs. But you have the most delicate ivory skin.”

  “My mother has the same.”

  “It’s true your nose is rather large, my dear. But your Titian hair makes up for it. And the quite unusual shade of your eyes.”

  “They’re just green,” Charlotte said.

  “Nonsense, they’re very unusual. They have flecks of blue, don’t they?” Lady Eleanor peered closer. “Do they change color depending upon what you wear, my dear?”

  “Sometimes I’ve thought so.”

  The older woman nodded in satisfaction. “Tell me,” she said leaning closer, “is he a very good lover?”

  Charlotte closed her eyes again, and this time she murmured a prayer to the Almighty who must be clutching His stomach and rolling with laughter.

  Please, God, let these women leave. Please let no one in Edinburgh or Inverness or the whole of Scotland know of their visit. Please let them be gone. I shall not complain about anything forever. If the French teacher wants to go on and on about how barbaric a country Scotland is, I shall not correct her. If the linguistics instructor wants to criticize the state of the library, I shall not complain. If Cook wants to use the most costly cut of meat for her stew, I will no longer cavil at the cost.

  God, however, was not cooperating. Either He had tired of bargains, or was genuinely amused at the situation. All eight women remained firmly in place.

  “Well, my dear?” Lady Eleanor said.

  He was an absolutely glorious lover. He was so adept at the task that she missed him more than she’d ever thought possible. More than once, she’d awakened feeling hot and damp, the memory of their night together making her yearn for him. But that was not a confession she’d make to these women.

  “I think it’s time for me to begin arrangements for dinner.”

  “Nonsense, my dear. We’re in the midst of a very interesting discussion.”

  She only looked at Lady Eleanor.

  “Very well, I can sense your reticence. Your husband has returned; has there been no sexual congress in the interim?”

  “No,” Charlotte said, lying straight-faced. “There has not.”

  The woman with the spectacles looked at her pointedly, as if unable to understand English.

  Finally, after sighing deeply, Charlotte answered. “I have every intention of divorcing my husband.” Another lie. At the moment, she didn’t know what she was going to do.

  “On what grounds?”

  “Desertion,” Charlotte said.

  “But he’s come back.”

  “Wouldn’t it be better to simply punish him another way, my dear?” Lady Eleanor asked. “Keep him in thrall with his penis.”

  She blinked at the older woman, wondering if there would ever come a time when Lady Eleanor ceased to shock her.

  “He’s an earl, my dear. He is quite good-looking, and he’s the heir to this marvelous place. Whatever would you get out of divorce except for the satisfaction?”

  Without waiting for Charlotte to answer, she went on. “I should think keeping him in delicious agony would be much more satisfying.”

  A demon, evil, malevolent, and curious, made her ask, “How do I do that?”

  Lady Eleanor reached over and pulled free the illustration of a woman’s nether parts from Charlotte’s grip.

  “You must begin to know yourself, my dear. I suggest you take a mirror and match the parts listed here with your own. You’ll find that the body has a very great need to enjoy itself. If you do not allow yourself to feel pleasure, you’re cheating yourself of one of the great joys of life itself.”

  One by one, the women in the group nodded.

  “Pleasure to the human body is as necessary as food and drink.”

  Charlotte took back the drawing, turned it upside down on her lap and kept her hand over it. If she agreed to everything Lady Eleanor said, would that mean the meeting would end sooner?

  “Very well, I shall try.”

  “And that is all that we can ask,” Lady Eleanor said brightly. “A willful end to ignorance. Now, how are we to assist you in seducing your husband?”

  Chapter 19

  D ixon was determined, upon leaving Edinburgh, to tell Charlotte who he was the minute he entered the doors of Balfurin. Halfway home, he decided that he would wait and talk with Nan
first, to surmise if there was something else he could learn about George’s disappearance. When he could see Balfurin in the distance, he decided that he needn’t be hasty about divulging his identity.

  From his conversations in both London and Edinburgh, Dixon learned that George had simply dropped off the face of the earth. No, first he’d married Charlotte, and then a week later he’d disappeared.

  Had Charlotte’s father aided in that disappearance? Had the man been greedy for a title but unwilling to have a wastrel and a drunkard for a son-in-law? Another tidbit of information he’d discovered. The memories of George’s so-called friends were harsh and unrelenting. “He was more often in his cups than standing upright.” “I found him lying in the street, singing at the top of his lungs.” “There wasn’t nobody like Georgie when he wanted to fling a girl’s skirts up over the top of her head. More often than not, though, he was already three sheets to the wind. Lots of talk and no action.”

  In the three weeks he’d been gone, Dixon had found no sign of George. He’d frequented the gambling establishments his cousin had liked to visit, along with a few new ones where the manager claimed to have no knowledge of a spendthrift earl wasting his wife’s dowry.

  Nor was there any sign of him at Leath, where the oceangoing ships berthed every day. No captain there, no clerk in the sprawling counting houses, no one seemed to have ever heard of George.

  His cousin had simply vanished one day and no one but Charlotte seemed to note his absence.

  He arrived at Balfurin just as night was falling. He tapped on the ceiling and waited for the coach to stop, then dismounted and walked some distance in front of the horses just as he had more than a month ago. Nothing had changed.

  Charlotte. She was there, just minutes away.