"I've done nothing!"
"Don't talk nonsense. I came into the room a moment ago but you were so full of your dirt that you didn't see me. Isn't one woman enough for you? You ought to be so glad to have a girl like me for your own, that no other woman could possibly attract you."
He made lame excuses, far the best being that he took it as a form of revenge for what happened to me at the beginning of the week.
It was not till after supper, when I had my ankle bandaged and was resting more comfortably and was more, kindly disposed towards the world, that he made candid confessions. It was the old story-that attraction of virginity-"not even the priest had crossed her" and there was a flood of blood on the bed to prove it; Jean had the pluck to slice his arm with a razor to account for that.
Under the influence of several drinks and a good deal of affectionate fumbling, I listened to the beast's proud story of how he made the girl consent.
It was simply a question of money and only a promise at that; which he probably would never have fulfilled if I had not kept him to it-she had her new dress.
I suppose I ought not to have blamed him, the girl was too beautiful to have been left alone near any man.
In the morning she made an opportunity to speak to me alone and confessed (of course she guessed that I knew) begging me not to tell. She kissed my hands when I promised not to, and somehow or other I felt sorry for her. She was so very pretty.
I was glad to leave Ireland, the week had been a trying one. We slipped into a regular routine of touring life, a little monotonous but always enjoyable to me. I loved my work at the theatre and of course I loved my intercourse with Jean. We got on smoothly enough, save when he got drunk, and he had not a very strong head. But I forgave him a lot because he was so true to me, and I was always true to him.
"Always, Nemmy?" interrupts the irrepressible typewriter.
Well-all but once. This is a very serious confession, but it has to come out, and my readers must take it and say no more about it, for it concerns people who must not be chatted frivolously about.
We were playing at Liverpool and in the audience was a very august personage, who of course, must be nameless. The party came to the theatre late. As luck would have it, I was playing a principal part that night and I was rattling through in particularly good form. The theatre was crammed, everything merry and bright, and everyone complimented me on my appearance.
I noticed that I came in for a lot of attention from the box whose occupants were supposed to be incognito-it was quite a fusillade of opera glasses, and when the curtain fell for the last time I saw two of the said occupants standing in the wings. Restall touched my shoulder as I was leaving the stage. "I want you to come out to supper with me tonight, child," he said, "with…" and he whispered, "but of course you must forget it afterwards."
I was a little doubtful and told Jean. "Go! I should think you ought to go," was his decision, "you don't get a chance of hobnobbing with folk like that every day. Put on your nicest things, I'll wait up." 12
Restall fetched me from my room. "You haven't told any of the girls?" he queried.
"Not one."
"That's a good little girl. Now this is a great compliment. He thinks a lot of you, and has sent some very complimentary messages."
The august party occupied a suite of rooms in a big hotel, entrance to which was gained through a private door in a side street. Restall and I were met in an anteroom by two young-old men, who were more or less 'hail fellow well met' with Restall, and very polite to me.
We had sherry and in a moment or two a door opened and the august personage appeared, and made himself promptly very pleasant. He spoke English with a great deal of difficulty and seemed very pleased that I spoke French. I was very nervous and frankly glad when a lady joined us.
Who she was, I did not know, but she was English and pleasant and pretty, though obviously verging on middle age. Her complexion was still fresh and the extreme decolletage of her dress showed to their fullest advantage a pair of breasts, firm, round, and upstanding…The nipples were barely concealed, and she wore no shoulder straps. It was one of those dresses which kept up with 'tact and luck', and necessitated shaving under the armpits. She soon made me feel at home.
Supper was bright and decorous; Restall was amusing and I was content to look nice. I suppose I succeeded for the Hereditary Grand Duke of… (you see readers, it was quite whom you expected) never took his eyes off me, and if I know anything about glances, those eyes were in telegraphic communication with a stiffly standing prick underneath to the table cloth.
Supper over, Madame took me into an adjoining room, a cosy sort of room with subdued lights and delicate perfumes. She sank with a swish of her skirts into a corner of a luxurious divan, and lay there, showing her stockings to the garters, while she lazily lit a cigarette. I tumbled to the game in a minute when she began to pump me about my morals.
From "I suppose actresses have a great many admirers?" came a delicately graded series of questions, and more than one hint that there was expensive jewellery in the air of this particular room, for any pretty, if improper little girl, who chose to go the right way about earning it. At last I surprised her by my bluntness.
"I quite understand," I said. "His Highness wants me, and your job is to find out whether I'll let him…well…I will."
"You are a little angel to save me so much trouble," she cooed, delightedly rising to her feet and crossing to me. "His Highness is mad for you and my life has been a burden I can tell you. Thank Heaven, this party is arranged at last. No one will ever know, and His Highness you may be sure, will not be mean."
"It isn't that…" I began.
"No, no, I dare say not, my dear; but valuable presents of jewellery are always acceptable to the most moral of us, and especially when they come from Royal Dukes…"
"But I mustn't say…" I interrupted.
"Oh, yes, you may…If I know Serge, you will find some little inscription about your art, etc., that will make the display of your present quite all right. Serge is no novice…but seriously, he is a great deal in love with you…and…stop me if I anger you…if I were you, I would let him get me with child. If the result is anything like its royal father, you may find yourself mother of a Duke…things like that still happen in South-eastern Europe."
I laughed and blushed but the idea commended itself to me.
"Well, dear, don't think of me only as procuress," whispered Madame, kissing me lovingly, "you won't regret this, and Serge is no mean performer either…I can vouch for that"…and with a laugh, "You'll find the bedroom through these curtains;" she slipped from the room.
In the bedroom I found everything the most fastidious woman might want. I came into the sitting room. Whether I was expected to undress and wait in bed, I do not know, but at any rate I did not, Royal Highness or not, he must make some kind of a bluff at love-making before he got me.
A huge mirror confronted the corner of the divan that Madame had just vacated and there I arranged myself. Not too suggestively but with an air of comfortable naughtiness which should tell a man that his evening was not going to be wasted.
The divan was covered with an immense bear skin and my flesh showed very white against the dead black of the fur. I drank two glasses of creme de menthe and lit a perfumed cigarette. When in the bedroom I had withdrawn most of the pins from my head, so that very little disarrangement would allow my hair to fall in all its glory. Thus I waited.
He was a long time and my cunt moistened with anticipation. That I did not wish and I had only finished wiping it dry again, when the door opened to admit His Highness.