The Morning After

 

Major Havercotte-Gore sat, tired and morose, in his study. He had had no sleep and the bright clear light of dawn had yet to lift his spirits, still numbed by the events of the previous night. It had been a bitter double blow, under which both his family pride and his property had suffered.

And yet, as he turned the incredible happenings over in his mind, it struck him that the strangest thing was how vague Arabella had been about it all. Surely it was not simple shame and embarrassment at her treatment that made her so uncertain how many intruders there had been (perhaps three or four, she could not say for sure), nor could it explain why she was so evasive about seeing anything of them taking Melanie away. For that matter, she would not explain what she had been doing out of the house against his express orders. It was as though she was hiding something from them. But she had been quite forthright in her assertion that, despite everything she had suffered, she had not actually been raped by the intruders. So what could have been worse than the humiliation they all knew she had been put through?

Perhaps, when the investigation team from the County Police Headquarters arrived in a few hours’ time, they could make something of it. Bailey, called up from the village by telephone, had taken initial statements from all concerned and had made a cursory examination of the scene, but the Major knew a crime of this scope was beyond his powers. It looked like the work of the same gang who had removed Amber Jones from the police station. Had they some special interest in outsider girls? In any case they were getting bolder. But why had they stooped to such an elaborate personal attack on Arabella?

A maid brought in his morning tea and toast, and under its soothing influence he began to see one small positive aspect to the affair.

Arabella’s public humiliation had at least won her some measure of sympathy to counteract the widespread distaste the news of her maltreatment of Melanie had generated. And with Melanie missing, no charges against her would be laid.

Spasms of remorse cut through him as he thought of Melanie. If truth be told, he would rather she was pressing charges against Arabella than have her taken from him like this. Surely her kidnappers would treat her well, knowing she was valuable? He might even expect a ransom note for her in a few days. Of course he could never submit to any such demand... or could he? He recalled Melanie’s silky strong body surging under him on the riding machine, and a frisson of delight coursed through him. Well, that hurdle would have to be crossed in due course. Meanwhile, he would do everything he could to ensure her safe return.

Picking up a pen, he began drafting an advertisement offering a substantial reward for any information as to Melanie’s whereabouts.

Nieces like Arabella were all too common, he reflected, but packgirls like Melanie were precious indeed.

 

“The girls are all eating breakfast now, Mister Platt,” Alison reported as she returned to the office.

“That’s good,” Platt said. “How are they taking the news about Melanie?”

“They’re still shocked, of course, but keeping to the routine is helping. Una seems to have taken charge again, but she’s being very careful how she treats the others.”

“Hmm, Melanie’s influence, I think. She’ll be a sad loss if we can’t get her back.”

Alison’s normally bright face crumpled. “Oh, I do hope she’ll be all right!”

“I’m sure it’ll work itself out,” Platt assured her. “The Major won’t give up on finding her, you can be certain of that. You just be ready to tell the detectives everything you saw.”

“I will, Mister Platt. But really, I didn’t see anything. They blindfolded me and took my clothes, then put me on the Sick Room bed. A little later they brought in Gillian and we just lay there until you found us.”

Platt was looking at her in concern. “You could go home if you like, Alison,” he suggested gently. “The detectives can call on you there. You’ve been through quite an ordeal.”

Alison forced a smile. “No, I’d rather keep busy, if you don’t mind. I just wish I could have done something to stop it all.”

“You said there were at least three large men,” Platt reminded her. “You couldn’t have done anything to stop them, believe me.”

Alison smiled in gratitude at his words, but then her face took on a curious expression. “Actually, Mister Platt, there was one useful thing I learnt from last night.”

“Oh, and what’s that, Alison?”

“Well... while I was tied up and blindfolded and gagged like that, I realised it must be what packgirls feel like when they’re in their restraints.”

“I suppose so,” Platt agreed. “Did that make you feel sorry for them?”

“Oh no. It wasn’t a bad feeling, exactly, not once I got over my fright and realised the men weren’t going to hurt me. It was just so unusual. But it did make me think...” she hesitated.

“Yes?”

Alison took a deep breath. “I know I’m not always firm enough with the girls, and I think it’s because I don’t really understand what it’s like to be restrained or punished...” she lowered her eyes, “...or trained like you did with Gillian over the trestle in the Harness Room.”

Platt started, an unaccustomed blush rising to his cheeks. “You saw me?”

“It was an accident!” Alison said quickly, the words pouring out of her. “I know I shouldn’t have kept looking, but you were being so kind and yet so masterful with her. You knew just how to handle her, and I thought I’d never be that good. But now I think I might learn if you treat me the same way.”

Platt thought his ears were failing him. “Sorry... what do you mean, Alison?”

“When you aren’t too busy and all the girls are out working... if you can spare the time... could you put me in harness and use the whip and do, well, everything you would to train a packgirl? Then I think I can learn to be a proper keeper one day.”

Platt felt the room spinning round him and had to take a firm grip on his desk to steady himself. He looked into Alison’s hopeful face, searching for some sign that he had misunderstood her words or that it was a huge joke. But he read only naive trust, admiration and serious intent. She was genuinely convinced this was the way for her to learn her profession.

He found his voice. “You... want to be treated just like a packgirl. You’d... be naked?”

“Oh, of course,” Alison said earnestly. “It wouldn’t be very real if I wasn’t. If you don’t mind?”

Platt looked at her wondering silence for a long time. Then he smiled. “No, Alison, I don’t mind in the least,” he said.