Never Come to Rest, page 13
“They don’t.” Vera Mae sighs, remembering what awaits her when they return to London. “I am no longer welcome in that world.”
Nell looks from Vera Mae to Eulalie, then back to Vera Mae. “You chose love?”
“I did.” Vera Mae smiles up at her tigress. “I chose your daughter over everything, and I don’t in the least bit regret it.” She rises from the table, whisks off the filthy cook’s apron Nell put her in, and prepares to dish up dinner. “Now, who wants pie?”
Despite slightly over-boiled vegetables and a cake that comes out looking rather concave and oddly deformed, Vera Mae’s first attempt at a family dinner goes down well. Post-dinner entertainment consists of card games in the parlor, the exchange of family stories, and a quick peek through the Chase family photograph album. To conclude the evening, Nell shows off the hunger strike medals given to her by the WSPU, along with a brooch designed by Emmeline Pankhurst herself and handed out to all brave suffragettes who have been imprisoned for the crusade.
“You make out like you’ve been on the frontlines of a war,” Eulalie teases her.
“It is a war,” Nell grumbles. “A war against the tyranny of men!” She wags a finger at her daughter. “You should understand that better than anyone.”
Eulalie’s jaw tenses. “Don’t start on that with me now, Mama. Not this weekend. This weekend is about me, Vera, and Flora—not him.”
Responding to the anger in her voice, Flora gazes up from Eulalie’s lap and yawns, rubbing her eyes. “You cross, Mummy?”
“No, my love.” Eulalie softens her tone. “I think it’s your bedtime, though.” She gets ready to carry Flora up to bed, but Vera Mae keeps her on the sofa.
“Wait.” She dashes to her suitcase in the hall. “I have something for Flora.”
From its safe place tucked between two dresses, she pulls a girl’s doll. Its porcelain head is topped with ringlets of honey-colored hair, its stuffed cloth body covered with a knitted dress.
“Oh, Vera …” Eulalie watches Flora’s eyes light up. “You’re spoiling her already.”
“This doll was mine when I was your age.” Vera Mae presents the immaculately kept toy to Flora. “I knitted her a new dress just for you.”
“Oooo!” Flora clasps the doll to her chest, then throws herself at Vera Mae, flinging her clumsy arms around Vera Mae’s neck. “Thanks you!”
“You’re very welcome.” Vera Mae wraps Flora up in a hug, holding a living child in her arms for the first time. “Oh, my darling, you’re so precious.” She buries her face in Flora’s hair, her need for the love of a child so palpable it brings a tear to Nell’s eye.
“You have no children of your own?” Nell backhands the tear away.
“My child died last year.” Vera Mae reins in her emotions and turns to Eulalie. “May I help you put Flora down for the night?”
“I’m sure she would like that very much.” Eulalie helps Vera Mae off the sofa with Flora, retrieves their suitcases, and leads the way up the narrow, twisted staircase to the tiny bedrooms above.
After the mandatory brushing of teeth and a quick bedtime story by candlelight, Flora nods off with the doll in her arms, tucked up safe and sound under a quilt made by Nell.
“I am quite besotted with her,” Vera Mae whispers, watching her sleep.
“I’m glad.” Eulalie draws her out onto the landing. “I know she cannot ever replace what you have lost, but I promise you this: no child could ever love you more than she surely will.”
She closes the bedroom door softly and plants a kiss on Vera Mae’s lips, their moment of intimacy cut short when Nell hobbles up the stairs on her way to bed and catches them in the act, causing Vera Mae to withdraw like a misbehaving child fearing rebuke.
“Don’t be shy.” Nell chortles. “You aren’t the first comely thing I’ve caught her necking. She’s been wooing pretty skirts since she was old enough to know what it was all about.”
“Mama …” Eulalie rolls her eyes.
“What? Isn’t it the truth?” Nell shuffles past with her cane. “First it was that nice young flower girl, then you came home with a barmaid. You know what our postman used to call you? Olivia Mae Chase Girls.”
“Goodnight, Mother.” Eulalie pulls Vera Mae into the guest bedroom: a cramped space filled with a double bed, an armoire, a washstand, a vanity, and a side table on which an oil lamp sits, providing the room’s only source of light.
“Which one of us is to sleep here?” Vera Mae sees both of their suitcases on the floor.
“We both are.” Eulalie casts off her waistcoat, ducking to avoid smacking her head on the slanted ceiling as she fills the washbasin with steaming hot water recently brought up from the kitchen in a large ewer.
“Together?” Vera Mae keeps her voice low, as if someone disapproving might be listening. “Your mother truly won’t mind?”
“Not even a smidgen,” Eulalie assures her. “In fact, she’s the most liberal woman you’re ever likely to meet. Of a love such as ours, she once told me: ‘Feel no shame. We’ve all had a go. Some take to it more than others.’”
Vera Mae stifles a laugh, covering her face with her hands. “I really don’t want to think about your mother ‘having a go’ with anyone.”
“Nor do I.” Eulalie delves a hand inside her trousers to adjust herself. “But the point is: we’re as good as married in my mother’s eyes, and what married couple wouldn’t share a bed for the night?” She faces Vera Mae, the dildo now propped up to create a husband’s bulge. “A wife must tend to her duties after all.”
Vera Mae blushes. “Your cock does look mightily in need of release.”
“Oh, how I’ve longed to hear such crudeness from your genteel lips.” Eulalie beams. “Say more.”
“How much more?” Vera Mae’s cheeks turn a deeper shade of red as she fondles the bulge. “Arse and buggery.” She unfastens Eulalie’s trousers and pulls the dildo out. “Prick.” She fists it again. “Cunt.” She lets the tip poke at her mound. “My cunt.” She dips her hand in the basin, scoops out some water, and douses the phallus with it. “Fuck.” She gets the instrument hot and wet. “Fuck me.” She pauses. “Now.”
In the grip of lust, Eulalie tears off Vera Mae’s clothes, wrenching open her blouse and the camisole beneath it, sending buttons scattering everywhere, many lost forever between the gaps in the old floorboards. Her skirt gets trampled beneath their feet. Her petticoat suffers a rip in Eulalie’s haste to cast it off. Her knickers end up dangling from the corner of the armoire.
“I want you inside me,” Vera Mae mewls, tumbling onto the bed in her chemise and corset, her knees drawn up and spread wide, ready to receive Eulalie’s dripping priapus. “Do it to me.”
Ornamented only with the imitation appendage, Eulalie moves into position above her and eases the tapered head into her lubricious sex.
“God, it’s big.” Vera Mae groans, her body stretching to accommodate the intrusion.
Once the crown pops through, the shaft glides easily into her tight channel, filling her inch by inch, the hot glass piercing her as if it were flesh.
“Oh, my Lord …” Vera Mae gapes at the operation, watching the full length of the thing disappear inside her body. “We are united!”
“Do you like it?” Eulalie tests one gentle thrust, withdrawing only a few inches before hilting herself again.
“Give me more,” Vera Mae pleads, cupping and kneading Eulalie’s breasts, encouraging her to move harder and faster. “More!”
She matches the rhythm of Eulalie’s exertions, raising her hips to meet every plunge, her cries of pleasure muffled by kisses, her paroxysm building deep within her core and cresting with such intensity that she forgets to breathe, her entire body quivering around Eulalie, vows of love whispered on her lips.
CHAPTER 17
Sunday July 27, 1913
For the first time in her adult life, Vera Mae wakes up relaxed, knowing there’s no hurry to rise, no obligation to take breakfast at a certain time, and no need to dress especially for the occasion. And it’s a fine day. The room is drenched in sunlight, the small eastward-facing window catching all the sun’s early rays. Better yet, Eulalie is lying next to her.
Already awake and half dressed in yesterday’s shirt, Eulalie snuggles closer and sneaks a hand up her chemise, fondling one of her charms. “Good morning, my beauty.” She teases the nipple stiff. “There’s fresh water in the ewer, and my mother’s downstairs making breakfast.”
Vera Mae murmurs happily. “This feels good.” She dips one hand beneath the counterpane and explores Eulalie’s naked sex. “I like waking up with you.”
“The feeling is mutual.” Eulalie parts her legs, inviting Vera Mae deeper.
“I could lie here in this bed with you forever.” Vera Mae pushes two fingers inside her. “And I just might have to, because I fear I may have lost the ability to walk. You’ve been far too vigorous with me throughout the night.”
“Entirely at your behest.” Eulalie relinquishes Vera Mae’s breast and reciprocates her southern attentions. “Do you not recall that you begged me for it each and every time?” She mirrors Vera Mae’s probing tickles. “I’m exhausted because of you.”
“You have such stamina.” Vera Mae lets the palm of her hand repeatedly bump Eulalie’s engorged clit. “You’re a stallion with that wicked thing strapped to you.”
“I’m paying for it this morning.” Eulalie targets a special place within her, stirring up another orgasm from the depths of her sex. “My arse is killing me.”
Vera Mae strives to touch Eulalie in the same way, her slender fingers finding that spongy button of flesh for the first time and exciting it relentlessly. Though her wrist tires and aches, she persists until they’re both a bundle of trembling limbs, moaning against each other’s mouths, their hushed climaxes arriving in unison.
In the wake of it, Vera Mae rolls Eulalie onto her back and settles against her chest, using one of her breasts as a pillow. “I do believe I’ve been fully initiated into this lesbian business.”
“You’ve shown a great deal of enthusiasm for the work,” Eulalie concurs, giving Vera Mae a congratulatory pat on the derrière. “Why did you never seek the love of a woman before? A dalliance with a maid at very least.”
“I feared my father and would not shame my husband.” Vera Mae sighs. “It isn’t possible for something so scandalous to remain a secret in that world, and he was a good man. It was no fault of his own that I couldn’t love him the way a wife ought. In any case, I’m happy to have saved myself for you.” She squeezes Eulalie tighter, but recoils into her own space when the door creaks open and nightgown-clad Flora skips in, leaping straight onto the bed to cuddle her mother, her new doll clutched in her hand.
“Good morning, Florrie.” Eulalie sits up and pulls Flora onto her covered lap. “Did you sleep well? And have lots of nice dreams?”
Flora nods, but her brow furrows with concern. “Better now?” she asks Vera Mae. “You had the scares.”
“The what, love?” Vera Mae looks to Eulalie for a translation.
“You heard Vera making noises in the night?” Eulalie guesses, holding back a smirk.
Flora nods again. “Bad scares.”
“Oh, dearie me.” Vera Mae keeps the bed covers pulled up to her chin. She wants to sink under the counterpane and hide, but Eulalie tackles Flora’s innocent curiosity without awkwardness or hesitation.
“Listen, darling. Sometimes, when grownups love each other very much, they sleep together—like Vera and Mummy. It doesn’t mean Vera has the scares, so if you ever hear those sounds again, you needn’t be worried.” She kisses Flora’s wrinkled forehead. “Just know that Mummy’s taking ever such good care of Vera. All right, my sweet?”
Flora accepts that easily.
“Now, I’m afraid we must go back to London today.” Eulalie doesn’t leave pause for sadness to creep in. “But I have an idea. How would you feel about coming to live with me and Vera someday soon? There’s a bedroom waiting for you. Would you like that?”
Flora perks up, nodding vigorously. “And Gamma?”
“Of course Grandma, too! Why don’t you hurry to the kitchen and tell her?” Eulalie helps Flora off the bed. “Vera and I will be down for breakfast shortly.”
“Gamma! Gamma!” Flora runs for her grandmother, her tiny feet thudding down the staircase. “Lunnon! We go Lunnon!”
“Are you sure that was wise?” Vera Mae frets in the quiet that follows. “We don’t yet know when she’ll be able to join us safely.”
Eulalie shrugs, rising and pulling on her knickers and trousers. “It doesn’t matter. She has very little concept of time.”
“But your mother does.” Vera Mae forces herself out of the warm, cozy bed, plucks her knickers off the corner of the armoire, and looks around the floor for the rest of her under things. “Where’s my corset? Have you seen it?” She checks under the bed. “Wherever did it end up after you wrested it from my heaving bosom last night?”
“I thought you might wear this today instead.” Eulalie pulls a lingerie box from her suitcase and sets it upon the vanity. “Don’t let it give you too much of a fright.”
Expecting something naughty like the French knickers, Vera Mae opens the box with caution, bemused to find that it contains a garment of the most unusual form. “Whatever is this devilish contrivance?” She holds it up, revealing it to be two bust gores anchored to elasticated shoulder straps and supported by a wide under-bust band that clasps at the rear center.
“Oh, if I could only take a picture of your face.” Eulalie chuckles, amused by her clear distaste for the thing. “It’s a brassiere. Have you never seen one before?”
“It is French, yes?”
“Oui.” Eulalie grins.
“Those bloody French again.” Vera Mae lays it back in the box, still pondering it. “It isn’t the most attractive thing I’ve ever seen.”
“I’m not asking you to banish your corsets completely.” Eulalie lifts off her chemise and helps her put the brassiere on. “I’m merely suggesting that you reserve them for bedtime.” She drops a kiss on Vera Mae’s neck. “They’re sexful but wholly impractical. Especially when running around after a toddler.”
Vera Mae inspects her reflection in the small wall mirror. “It does keep them up rather well.” She takes a deep breath, expanding her lungs to full capacity. “And I suppose it will be nice to breathe properly for more than a few hours each day.”
“I want you to be comfortable.” Eulalie hands her a lacy camisole from the box so that she might cover the brassiere up. “And no-one will ever know you’re wearing it.”
Keeping an open mind, Vera Mae completes her dressing routine and takes another look in the mirror, wondering what to do with her tousled auburn braid. Bennett always sees to her more intricate up-dos. The most she can manage on her own is a simple bun, and she doubts Eulalie can be of any help. She watches with amazement as Eulalie scoops her windswept mane up with a ribbon, securing the dense mop on her head in a scruffy heap without ever reaching for so much as a hairpin.
“Do your tresses ever see a brush?” Vera Mae wonders, gasping when Eulalie seizes her by the waist and embraces her.
“Not often.” Eulalie nibbles on her earlobe. “I’m hungry. Are you hungry?”
Vera Mae isn’t listening. She’s too preoccupied with the sensation of Eulalie’s hands around her middle.
“I can feel the warmth of your hands on me, even through all these layers.”
“And I can feel you.” Eulalie caresses her shapely body. “I can hold you properly.” She pulls Vera Mae close. “I can fondle you at will.” She cups her hands around Vera Mae’s newly accessible breasts. “You don’t need to wear armor around me.”
“Stop that.” Vera Mae slaps her hands away. “You’ll make me lewd.” She consults her reflection in the mirror once more, making sure her nipples aren’t showing. “Now, where is the water closet? I have a need that cannot be adequately met by that repugnant Victorian device of discomfiture.” She points at the chamber pot tucked beneath the bed.
Pinching her lower lip between her teeth to prevent a laugh from escaping, Eulalie indicates for Vera Mae to look out the window. There, at the bottom of the back garden, is a tiny wooden shed: an old privy.
“Oh, my God. Are you joking?” Vera Mae stares aghast. “This is pure torture.”
She leaves with a sigh of resignation, takes care of her necessaries in record time, and returns to the bedroom at double speed, promptly declaring:
“Never again!” Her cheeks flare cherry red. “I sat on a slug!”
Once the hilarity of that dies down—Eulalie being sworn to absolute secrecy on the matter—they finish preening and arrive for breakfast as Flora’s demolishing a slice of jam-slathered toast, her fingers and face covered in more jam than likely made it into her mouth.
“Thank goodness you’re here.” Nell welcomes them to the table. “Florrie’s got it into her head that she’s going to live with you in London, bless her. She won’t take no for an answer from me, so you’ll have to put her right before she starts packing her bags.”
“But it’s true,” Eulalie confirms the offer and helps herself to some toast. “We want both of you to come and live with us … eventually.”
“Where?” Nell’s tone hardens.
“I have a house in London.” Vera Mae fills the silence when Eulalie doesn’t respond. “My brother gave it to me as a parting gift.”
Less than thrilled by this news, Nell gives Flora a light prod with her cane and sends the child off to wash her hands and face, then fixes a scowl on her daughter.
“Do not get that girl’s hopes up.” She smacks a slice of toast out of Eulalie’s hand. “You know she isn’t safe with you.”
“That won’t always be true.” Eulalie loses her toast to the cat.
“No?” Nell challenges her. “Then what are you going to do to fix it?”
Eulalie remains silent.
