She Lay Beneath the Lily White Sheets

From the memoir of Miss Fanny Bedworthy

Old Mr Wotherspoon looked across at me and wiped a tear from his eye with the corner of his pocket kerchief.  He had, like all men, shown a great predilection for dear departed Mama and the necessity of her will must have troubled him sorely.

"Fanny dear," he intimated in his most condescending manner, "do you feel quite strong enough to continue."

"Dear Mr Wotherspoon," I opined, "I am only too conscious of the concern for me that you always show, but fear not, I will not be overwhelmed by these so necessary procedures, and as you see I have to hand in my reticule a small bottle of sal volatile, so welcome in these trying times."

Indeed I had nought to fear as dear Mama, perhaps prescient of her unfortunate fate, had long intimated to me that I would be well cared for should she ever quit this vale of tears.

There were but three of us in the finely panelled and imposing office of Wotherspoon, Wotherspoon and Wotherspoon, Attorneys at Law and Commissioners for Oaths.

Old Mr Wotherspoon (never of course to be confused with Mr Wotherspoon or indeed Young Mr Wotherspoon), Uncle Jasper and myself.

Uncle Jasper twirled his moustachios and barked, "Come on Wotherspoon you old duffer, haven't got all day."

So like Uncle Jasper.  So conscious always of my requirements.  I had never known that I had so many uncles until my father's unfortunate demise pig-sticking up the Punjab in '42.  'Never stick a pig up the Punjab', Mama had told him repeatedly, 'they don't like it.'

But of course he had paid no attention, so Mama had been left to find succour for herself and her little daughter.

Fortunately it turned out that I had a number of rich uncles who in return for board and lodgings, and a chance to tuck into Mama's gooseberry fool, had supplied the wherewithal for us to survive until I reached the age of eighteen summers.

Uncle Jasper, Sir Jasper Murgatroyd Bart., was the last of these and the only one present when Mama had unaccountably expired during a game of Rumpy-pumpy, as Uncle Jasper had explained to the coroner.

Rumpy-pumpy was a game which I had not played before.  I considered that it must be much as Old Maid or possibly Newmarket and begged of my uncle to teach it me.  However he had but twiddled his moustachios and said, "All in good time, my dear, all in good time."

Mr Wotherspoon cleared his throat and began, "This is the last will and testament of me Maria Bedworthy, being of sound mind.." His voice droned on in that way particular to all country solicitors until he came to the bequests.

"I bequeath to my daughter Fanny," my heart gave a little leap, "my collection of French knickers."

French knickers?  I had not thought that Mama, who had always seemed to me to have been somewhat distrustful of the French since the exploits of Monsieur Bonaparte, had possessed any accoutrements of that country.  How strange that she should see fit to mention them specifically.

Old Mr Wotherspoon continued, "The rest of my estate I leave to my beloved companion Sir Jasper Murgatroyd that he may live a life commensurate with his title and standing.  Furthermore I bequeath to him the care of my only daughter Fanny; she being a ward of court until she attains her majority."

So this was the care that my mother had prepared for me!  How thoughtful of her.  I, a penniless maid of eighteen summers, possessed only of a complete wardrobe of French knickerbockers, was to live a life of ease under the care of a noble and titled baronet.

I fell at Sir Jasper's feet.

"Oh uncle, uncle!" I cried, "However can I thank you enough for this consideration."

"Oh, I'm sure we shall find away," said he, and he twiddled his moustachios till they stood firm and erect above the plethoric fullness of his lips.

"And will we play at Rumpy-pumpy?" I asked, my mind filled with delight at the thought of an evening before the fire with Uncle Jasper.

Old Mr Wotherspoon never really recovered from the seizure that took him at that moment despite the ministrations of a full bottle of sal volatile.

*****

I was much dismayed to learn that Sir Jasper had sold my mother's residence in South Kensington (so convenient for the aristocracy as she had explained) and we were to move to his baronial seat in the North Country.

"North Britain!" I gasped as Sir Jasper donned his Ulster cape and hat, "is that not the strange place where men wear skirts and make loud noises while eating disgusting food?"

"No my dear," retorted Sir Jasper, "you are thinking of the House of Lords."

Uncle Jasper was so considerate.  He was always putting me right on such matters.

We travelled by coach and four through the desolate wastelands of the north and braved with stout hearts the tempestuous vagaries of its despicable climate.

"Sir Jasper," I enquired.

"Yes my dear."

"Could we not perhaps have travelled by train?  After all it is now nigh on twenty years since the coming of the railways and I would not like to think that the labour of all those Irish gentlemen had been entirely wasted."

"Train!" blurted Uncle Jasper, "My dear, did you not realise that this is a gothic novel and as such trains are totally out of the question."

After two days and nights in the midst of a great storm we crossed a fast flowing river in flood over the arches of an ancient stone bridge and entered the town of Cold Stream where the carriage drew up at the door of the Castle Arms a forbidding grimy old coaching inn.

Battling against the elements, his Ulster drawn close against his face Uncle Jasper ushered me into the dank and dark great room of the inn where we were greeted by a little swarthy man dressed in black weskit and check pattern trowsers of the type known as tar-tan.

This gentleman grasped my uncle’s hands and uttered those words that were to become so familiar to me over the ensuing weeks, "The noo!"

"The noo!" Replied Uncle Jasper.

With a gasp a realised that we had crossed the border.  We were in North Britain, or as the habitants of that benighted country called it - Scotland!

"Fanny my dear," said my uncle, "let me introduce you.  This is Mr Strapp proprietor of this fine inn."

Although surprised by the application of the epithet 'fine' to so desolate a place I was not so ungracious as to voice such an opinion.  I took Mr Strapp by the hand.

"The noo!" I said employing the customary greeting of those parts.

"The noo lovely lassie," he retorted, "and ye may ca' me Jock if ye weel."

I warmed myself at the glowing peat of the fire while my travelling companion Elspeth essayed to unload our trunks from the coach and covey them to our rooms.

I felt it had been typically kind of my uncle to find employment for such an one as Elspeth as my travelling companion, maid and chaperone.

Elspeth, an elderly and purblind crone of some eighty years who spoke nought but the Erse tongue, would have found it difficult to eke a living had not my dear uncle employed her in this position.  He even went so far as to  give her a smile of encouragement as she strained to mount the stairs with his large travelling trunk upon her back.

Elspeth returned to the coach but seconds later reappeared in the room signalling frantically to my uncle who went straightway to investigate.  But moments later he returned.

He took my hand in his, "Fanny my dear," said he, "Bad news I'm afraid.  It appears that when we were perchance enjoindered to change carriages when last we stopped at the interchange of Heath Row, the wretched fellows entrusted with the task of transferring the baggage succeeded only in mislaying your trunk.  It appears that your clothes have failed to arrive with us.  It now transpires that this is far from unusual with these creatures."

"Oh Sir Jasper," I cried, "what am I to do, for these clothes that I wear now are filthy and wet through and cannot be worn a moment longer!"

"Fear not Fanny," said he,” for it appears that the legacy of French lingerie left you by your dear departed Mama has escaped the machinations of the Heath Row-ites and is at this very moment being brought in by Elspeth."

"Oh Sir," I rejoindered, "surely it would not be quite seemly for me to appear at supper dressed in nought but a pair of French knickers."

"Ah," said my uncle, "a delicate matter indeed, and perhaps one best put to Elspeth as your maid and chaperone, for she is much experienced in the etiquette of such things."

How fine it was of my uncle to be so delicate in such a matter and I readily acquiesced to this suggestion.  Elspeth being newly arrived my uncle, having some few words of the Erse tongue himself, put the matter directly to her.

"Ooshky bah?" Or some such words as it appeared to me, he inquired of her.

"Tappy leave," she replied enigmatically.

My uncle turned to me, "Fanny my dear," said he, "Elspeth opines that it would be perfectly respectable of you to appear at supper in such habillements."

I marvelled at the capacity of the Erse tongue to convey such complex meaning in so few words and answered straightway thankful of the great consideration shown me by my uncle.

"Oh Sir," said I, "if Elspeth is of that opinion I would be only too glad to concur."

*******

Extract from the journal of Sir Jasper Murgatroyd Bart.

Saturday October 26th 1855

My plan continues to prosper.  Having plied the egregious Wotherspoon with sufficient tin to effect the necessary, shall we say interpretation, of the dear departed's testamentary disposition I have now succeeded in enticing the innocent Fanny to the North Country.  She, simple girl, trusts me entirely and I can start straightways to effect my evil plan.  Now that we are north of the border a simple Scotch common law marriage by repute will be sufficient for me to gain control of the secret fortune amassed by Fanny's real uncle and to which unknowingly she remains heir.  ‘Tis well for the likes of I that a Scotch common-law marriage, even of a minor, is admitted by the courts of England.

Tonight for the seduction.  The foolish Elspeth, besotted by whisky will be no obstacle, and Jock has ever shown himself willing to be suborned by gold.

Fanny will dine dressed in nought but her French lingerie and then she will be mine.

Ha ha!

*************

From the memoir of Miss Fanny Bedworthy

How unfortunate it had been that my whole wardrobe, save for my late Mama's French knickers, had been lost by the Heath Row-ites.

Having divested myself of my wet garments I searched diligently within the box of ‘Allo Chatonne’ underwear for something that would be pleasing to the eye of my dear uncle, coming eventually upon a cami-knicker of the finest pale blue shot silk embroidered with delicate dentelle work.  I tried it on.  It fitted over my bosoms as if it had been specially measured for them - indeed my bosoms are of such generous proportions that I generally find that my bodices must be specially made to measure.  The legs of the cami-knicker were so designed that my shapely 'derriere' as I believe it is so named in France was well displayed.

Accoutred thus I descended to the private room where my uncle had arranged for us to dine.  Sadly dear Elspeth had been taken with some affliction of the brain, not uncommon in elder folk I do believe, for she slumped but half conscious in the corner of the room singing some strange anthem in the Erse.

*******

Extract from the journal of Sir Jasper Murgatroyd Bart.

Saturday October 26th 1855

Fanny entered the supper room at six of the clock.  She was a well appointed little craft and her selection of the blue cami-knicker could not have been bettered.  Had she but known that the translucent nature of this material gave ample proof of her hidden charms no doubt she would have blushed more than the delicate shade of pink that flushed her cheeks.  The roundness of her bosoms and the pertness of her rump could not be faulted even by such an aficionado as I.

I licked my lips.  Tonight I will share her bed and we will be married by repute.  Her fortune will be mine.

Ha ha ha!

*****

From the memoir of Miss Fanny Bedworthy

Dear uncle had been so right.  I found that to dine in nought but a French cami-knicker a perfectly delightful experience.  However I did have one concern.

"Sir Jasper," I said.

"Yes Fanny dear."

"I fear I must retire tonight to bed in this cami-knicker, for there is no nightgown among the lingerie of dear Mama's bequest."

"Dear Fanny," replied my uncle as ever solicitous for my welfare, "surely you cannot consider such a thing, for to sleep in a cami-knicker is most injurious to the health."

"Oh Sir Jasper, I did not realise such a thing - whatever am I to do?"

"The solution dear Fanny is simplicity itself.  You must sleep tonight in a state of nature."

My uncle as ever had the solution to every problem but I was yet concerned for his reputation.

"But Sir Jasper," said I, "you promised that tonight you would teach me Rumpy-pumpy."

"My dear Fanny," replied my uncle, "know you not that Rumpy-pumpy is at its most pleasurable when in a state of nature.  Ask Elspeth," and he turned towards the recumbent form.

"Ooshky bah!" he shouted in her ear.

"Tappy leave," replied the dear old soul, roused from her slumber.

It was settled.  I retired to my room to divest myself of my remaining garment.

*****

Extract from the journal of Sir Jasper Murgatroyd Bart.

Saturday October 26th 1855

Candle in hand I tapped firmly on the door of the gullible Fanny.  I opened it and entered.

Fanny lay in the bed as instructed, her cami-knicker discarded upon the floor.  I cringed for I cannot abide such untidiness, however there would be time enough to chastise her for such slovenly behaviour later.

She looked at me those bewitching blue eyes wide open.

"Is it time for Rumpy-pumpy," enquired she.

"It is indeed," said I stroking my stiff and supple riding crop, as I call it, with my hand.

"Oh Sir Jasper!" cried she, as she lay beneath the lily white sheets with nothing on at all.

Extract from the memoir of Miss Fanny Bedworthy

Rumpy-Pumpy!  Dear Uncle had taught me a lesson I would never forget!

I knew now not to be an untidy girl when dressed in nought but my birth-day suit and Uncle had his riding crop about him!

I climbed down from his knee and made my way as instructed towards my half tester.

It was at this point that disaster struck, for the unfortunate Elspeth, afflicted as she was with some strange brain fever which the liberal imbibing of whisky had failed to assuage, rose from her cot in the corner and knocked over the French chandelier.  The lighted tallows falling thus upon the crisp sheets of the bed they were soon aflame and Uncle and I were forced to flee the confines of the inn.

It was fortunate for me that the flames were so warming as the town of Cold Stream was well named and I must needs have starved of cold dressed as I was in nought but that which nature intended, were it not for the glowing embers.

Fortunate it was that Elspeth succeeded in rescuing dear Uncle’s possessions.  Sadly Mama's knickers, the only remembrance which I had of her, had perished in the flames. 

We were to part that day for the Highlands, and I accoutred in nought but dear Uncles Ulster cape to hide my embarrassment!

Extract from the journal of Sir Jasper Murgatroyd Bart.

Sunday October 27th 1855

Foiled!  And by a woman!

The wretched Elspeth has ruined my well laid plan for no repute can now be established within the burned out Inn.

We are now for the Highlands and a new plan must needs be hatched.

We set have off for Kinmuir Castle today coaching to Edinburgh with the intention of taking the Caledonian Railway to Perth, for what indeed is the worth of a Victorian Melodrama set against the labour of several thousand Irishmen.

Kinmuir Castle!  Ancient baronial residence of my ancestors!  Where once, if fickle rumour were to be believed, the noble James the Third had been murdered (weren't they all!)

Tonight ensconced within the luxury of the North British Hotel I will effect the seduction again and marriage by repute and Fanny’s fortune will be mine!

****

From the journal of Miss Fanny Bedworthy

Dear Uncle!  Having now need of the Ulster cape and fearing that I might be incommoded by the need to travel within the coach unclothed and an object of ridicule to other passengers he insisted that I travel up front alongside the coachman.  I had feared that the coachman might object to such arrangements but I need not have feared, for it appeared that he welcomed such.

The weather remained wretched with many squally showers of heavy rain.  I thought myself extremely lucky to be unclothed for surely any garments would have been ruined by such an incommodious climate!

As we entered Edinburgh town the coachman indicated that I should stand atop the coach so as to obtain the most satisfactory view of the great buildings of the city.

Surely Edinburgh must be the most friendly city of the country for no sooner did I do so than all the citizens waved and cheered as we passed.

Extract from the journal of Sir Jasper Murgatroyd Bart.

Monday October 28^th 1855

Foiled again!  And by the forces of the law!  Fanny is interred within the Tolbooth Lockup charged with lewd and lascivious behaviour - to wit cavorting in the streets naked.  Thither she was conveyed yestereve by the constables and I spent the night alone in the North British.  'Ties well that I have my riding crop to hand for Rumpy-pumpy will be the order of the day when I bail her release.  Still a few nights in clink will do her good for she will for sure get her pinkies tweaked by the inmates of that notorious thieves den.

From the memoir of Miss Fanny Bedworthy

Dear Uncle was so kind in his attentions to me for he left me but three days in the Tolbooth before finding the wherewithal to have me released.  Those days were not, I may say, the most comfortable of my life, for considered as a common whore by the constables I had been thrown unclothed into the company of fallen women.

These ladies, bereft I dare say of other amusement, delighted in passing the time before their deportation to the colonies by indulging in the pastime of ‘tweaking the pinky’ and the state of nature in which I found myself not unnaturally led to the result that it was my pinkies that were inevitably tweaked.  This was however an indulgence which was not always altogether unenjoyable.

Released and clothed now in nought but a simple prison shift I accompanied my Uncle to the North British Hotel where I was taught another lesson at Rumpy-pumpy which was I am sure most fully deserved even if it did provoke complaints of excessive noise from the Bishop of Glasgow who occupied the adjoining room.

There came then a knock upon the door and a runner entered with a message that a visitor awaited dear Uncle in the foyer of the hotel.  I accompanied him down.  Dear Uncle did not appear to be too pleased to see his new visitor, which was strange as she introduced herself to me as his sister Laetitia.

Laetitia Murgatroyd cut but a strange figure.  She was tall - perhaps as much as five foot six inches, of slim figure but possessed of bosoms which nearly matched the dimensions of my own attributes.  These were of a milky whiteness, well displayed by her deep décolletage and set off by a necklet of blackest Whitby jet.  Her face was pale in contrast to the red gash of her lips and the piercing green of her eyes.  Her hair was long and of a blackness that matched the jet upon her breast.

She smiled showing me her perfect set of pearly white teeth.  The eye teeth longer than was perhaps fashionable in that era, but striking nonetheless.

"Hi Lettie," I said but she replied with only two words.

"Oh yes!"

Thence we hied it to Haymarket station whence we were to board the Caledonian Railway for the journey to Perth.

The train steamed north amid clouds of dirt and grime.  I wiped a clear space in the filth of the glass and peered out.  Through the rain soaked mists heather covered hills populated only with sullen black faced sheep fell back on every side towards the horizon.

"Fanny darling," enquired Laetitia, "do you not wish to change out of that prison shift?"

"Indeed I do Aunt Lettie," said I but all my clothes were mislaid by the Heath Row-ites and I have nought else to wear."

"Dearest Fanny," exclaimed Aunt Laetitia, smiling and showing the white of her teeth, "do not think that I would come without bringing a garment for you."

"But Aunt Lettie," said I, "surely it would not be seemly for me to change garments within the compartment of a corridor-less train."

"I'm sure our travelling companions would not mind," replied my aunt.

Besides my aunt and myself there was only my uncle and Elspeth in the carriage.  The latter still apparently afflicted with the brain fever was snoring loudly in the corner.

I removed my shift and handed it to my aunt

"Of course dear Aunt Lettie," said I, "for I am sure Uncle Jasper will not object to a sight of my naked form."

Dear Uncle Jasper!  He did not make the slightest objection.  My kind aunt took the shift and cast it from the window.  It was only then did she remember the unfortunate flaw in her suggestion.

"Oh dear," said she my trunk is in the guard's van and this is a corridor-less train.  We won't be able to retrieve it until we reach the town of Perth."

"Oh dear Aunt," cried I flushing somewhat at my predicament, "please do not let me be incarcerated in the lockup again, my pinkies are quite red with tweaking already."

"So I see," said she glancing down, and indeed with my amply proportioned bosoms pointing straight at her the condition of my pinkies was only too plain to see.

At Perth we must needs descend from the carriage and walk the length of the plate-form to the guard's van to retrieve Aunt Laetitia's trunk.  A foray which provoked much hooting from the highland gentlemen who haunted that area in search of some mean employment.  One would think they had never seen a girl's pinkies before!

Extract from the journal of Sir Jasper Murgatroyd Bart.

Thursday October 31^st 1855

Wretched women!  By ill chance my sister returning from Transylvania encountered us at the Haymarket station and is intent upon snaring the naive Fanny herself.  Today she inveigled the gullible girl into disporting herself naked before the townsfolk of Perth, citizens well renowned for their adherence to the free church and therefore not well disposed to the sight of female flesh.  As a result of which the parish ordered that the unfortunate Fanny have her pinkies publicly tweaked in the town square, and the public tweakers in these parts are experts!

Once arrived at the castle I ordered that ice be brought from the ice house for Fanny's pinkies are in need of soothing!  After which she will receive a richly deserved lesson in Rumpy-pumpy and she will be mine!

Ha ha!

From the memoir of Miss Fanny Bedworthy

Many a time and oft had I seen women of the lower orders sentenced to the pillory for committing such heinous crimes as failing to curtsey correctly before a lady of quality.  Never however had I expected to share their fate and here was I led away from the station to be so confined still dressed in nought but a state of nature. 

Dear Uncle did his best to alleviate my distress by laughing uproariously but to no avail.  The public tweaker was summoned and my pinkies subjected to further admonishment.  Sadly my shrieks appeared to provoke the crowd to even greater cries of censure and caused the tweaker to redouble his efforts upon my pinkies and then move on to my perkies, which bared to the elements and well positioned by my posture in the pillory had already occasioned much merriment in the crowd.

Finally released from my ordeal we continued by trap to my uncle's ancient seat.  Kinmuir Castle!  A great hall originally a mediaeval tower house, later much added to in the Palladian and Gothic style.  Dear uncle wishes to build a further wing in Scots Baronial style to house a great ballroom, though I doubt that dear Mama's legacy could furnish such a thing.

Uncle's kindness in choosing the open trap for our conveyance was evidenced by the effect of the cooling wind upon my pinkies, and my perkies (still bared to the elements) as we passed through the barmkin and drew up under the awning of the porte cochere.

Here I encountered the woman who was to be my nemesis.  A stern faced redoubtable female of lowering looks and stentorious voice.

"MacDonald," cried my Uncle, addressing this female, "conduct Miss Fanny to her chamber and fetch ice.  Her pinkies are sore in need!"

I had expected perhaps that the ice be placed upon my pinkies, but in this perhaps I had been mistaken, for dear Uncle in his kindness had ascertained that total immersion in freezing water was the appropriate treatment. 

I was therefore conveyed directly to the great hall where a large wooden poss tub had been filled with water and two burly gillies were summoned to hold me down therein till I had gone quite numb.

Dear uncle!  His treatment was quite efficacious.  After thirty seconds in the poss tub I had quite forgot my pinkies.

Rescued from the tub and warmed before the fire I was leant over the table for my evening’s lesson in Rumpy-pumpy.  Dear uncle delegating this task and his riding crop to the redoubtable MacDonald as in his words she 'knew how to teach naughty girls a lesson'.

How kind of uncle to ensure I received always the very best education.

Extract from the journal of Sir Jasper Murgatroyd Bart.

Thursday October 31^st 1855

All is prepared.  Fanny has been sent to bed with no supper (and indeed no clothes)  having received the firmest instruction at the hands of Mrs MacDonald.  She will be putty in my hands!

Ha ha!

From the memoir of Miss Fanny Bedworthy

I lay naked in bed trembling.  Uncle was cross with me.  It appeared that I had not learned my lesson properly as he had enjoined Mrs MacDonald 'go at it the perkies with a will'.

But I need not have worried as I lay there the door opened and he entered the room smiling pleasantly.

"Oh Sir Jasper!" said I, as I lay beneath the lily white sheets with nothing on at all.

From the memoir of Miss Fanny Bedworthy

Dear Uncle was dressed in his nightgown and nightcap, and was carrying a lighted candle.

“Oh Sir Jasper,” says I, “You look just like Wee Willy Winkie!”

“Winkie perhaps,” says he, “but Wee Willy certainly not!” and with that he removed is nightgown in one quick movement of his hand.

“Oh Sir Jasper,” I gasped, “You should not do such a thing!”

He held up his candle so that I could survey his naked form.

I gasped again, “It is not right!”

I could not let him continue so, “You will catch your death of cold accoutred thus!” I exclaimed.  Then a thought struck me as to how I might help dear Uncle get warmer.

“You must get in the bed with me,” said I and I will warm you up.

“Just my thoughts exactly,” says he.

Then I saw it!  It stood pale, stiff, upright and unnaturally large.  A sight to strike fear into the heart of any naked girl, and yet at the same time a strange thrill passed through me.

“Oh Sir Jasper,” says I, “what is that!”…

And I swooned fast away!

Extract from the journal of Sir Jasper Murgatroyd Bart.

Friday November 1st 1855

Foiled!  And by a spectre!

My wretched plans have come to nought!  For I had forgot that today was All Hallows and that on All Hallows E’en the spectres rise to haunt the living!

Just as the gullible Fanny had invited me to share her bed.  Just as the deed was within my grasp and Fanny would be my wife by repute – for such is deemed a marriage by the ancient laws of Scotland - she rose and pointing behind me cried out, “Oh Sir Jasper!   What be that!”

I turned and saw a sight to chill the heart’s blood.

A ghostly apparition stood there large, pale and shimmering in the dark.  The figure was clothed all in white – for so do spectres oft appear – but whether of male or female kind I could tell not and before I could ascertain the wretched Fanny had swooned clean away.  By the time I turned to the spectre again it had vanished.  ‘Twas sure the ghost of James the Third (or possibly Fourth) come a-purpose to thwart my plans.

But hold!  The naked Fanny was mine, and the sight of a naked Fanny is one to stir the blood of any honest man, but hold again!  To ravish her now would avail me nought, for the ravishing of a girl in swoon constitutes no marriage by repute!  My plans were thwarted indeed.

Wretched girl!  But I would have revenge and my plans would not be thwarted.  I summoned my womanservant and bid her convey the naked girl to the oubliette.  I will have my revenge indeed!

From the memoir of Miss Fanny Bedworthy

I awoke from the swoon much troubled for I found myself no longer in my bed beneath the lilywhite sheets but…

Indeed I had not realised that the castle had contained such an thing as a dungeon.  But considering its age I should perhaps have conjectured so.  For it was within such an miserable place as I found myself – secured hands above my head to a beam in the roof and divested of my clothes.

As my eyes accustomed themselves to the gloom I saw before me my nemesis - the dreaded Mrs MacDonald.

Oh Uncle thought I!  Would that you had been there to rescue me!  For I saw that she was flexing within her strong pale hands those instruments which I had come to fear – the tweaking clamps.

With my arms secured my bare bosoms jutted forth and upon each my pinkie stood out firm, bold and pink ready for the tweaking clamps to be applied!

Letter from Miss Clarissa Bold to Mr Septimus Wotherspoon

I fly now on the Caledonian Railway to Perth.  Heaven grant that I will be in time!

Your letter concerning the fate of my sweet little cousin Fanny, who you know is the dearest dearest thing to my heart, has spurned me into action.  She must be saved.

Fearing that the evil Murgatroyd had carried her off to Scotland in order to seduce her into wedlock, for he wishes to avail himself of a Scotch marriage to lay his hands upon her fortune, I travelled with all haste to Edinburgh to seek news of her.  Fearing no man, as is my wont, I strode forth into Princes Street in search of tidings.  My efforts however met with immediate disaster, for no sooner had I set foot upon the street than I was surrounded by a hooting crowd; for it appears that such is the baleful influence of Mr Knox upon the denizens of that fair city that the sight of a young woman in britches sends them into paroxysms of rage.  I was seized immediately by the constables and thrown into the Heart of Midlothian - the prison of ill repute situate in the heart of the old town.

However 'tis an ill wind, as says the old saw, for once confined within the walls I heard news of my dear sweet Fanny, for she, my poor innocent Fanny had been likewise incarcerated there.  Word came to me that an inmate going by the no doubt nom de guerre of Big Morag had news of Fanny.  But try as I may no word could be extracted from her till I hit upon one last desperate ploy.

Some told me of the sport known as 'Tweak the Pinkie', it transpiring that my poor Fanny had been so tweaked by Big Morag as to have been unable to wear a bust support for several hours afterwards.

My way was clear.  I could seek revenge for dear Fanny and at the same time extract from Morag the information that I needed.  I hesitated not and straightway challenged Big Morag to combat!  Some might have thought this a hazardous exercise given that Big Morag stood six foot two in her stockinged feet, and I am but a poor maid of five foot three (short dark hair, steely grey eyes, limbs toned to perfection, slim but with pert little bosoms and firm buttocks).  However  I was nought disheartened being well versed in the art of graeco-roman wrestling. 

The match was hard fought for it transpired that Morag knew little of the laws of graeco-roman wrestling and grabbing hold of my hair she pulled me round and round the room ending by holding me upon all fours and disporting herself upon my back.  In such a position she availed herself of the opportunity to lower first my britches, and then my underdrawers, displaying my aforementioned firm buttocks (begging your honour's pardon for the indelicacy) to the hooting crowd who lost no time in removing these said garments completely leaving me to fight on dressed in nought but my chemise. 

Wary now to protect my hair, I put my hands up to my head only to find my chemise gripped by two sturdy hands and ripped clean off me.  Accoutred now in only my bust support I squared up once more to Big Morag and, hounded by the hoots of the inmates, I made further efforts to deploy my skills at graeco-roman.  Sadly this was to no avail as the need to protect my hair and my person led to the rapid loss of my bust support leaving me to fight on in a state of nature; a state which occasioned much hoots of derision from the onlookers.

Much dispirited by such hooting I attempted to make my escape, but being impeded by the onlookers found myself upended over the knee of Big Morag, head down and bare posterior exposed in such a way that I became the victim of a sound spanking upon my unprotected rear end (saving your honour's pardon).

Taking heart however from the fortitude of the fair Hyppolyta when so chastised by the noble Theseus I uttered not one cry of dismay however intense the stinging in my lower cheeks (well maybe one, or perhaps a few, well a lot - but not very loud, that is to say loud but not very very loud!)

"Shut your bawling lass," said Big Morag, who had developed an unfortunately effective left-right-left-right rhythm, "and take your punishment as due."

"Yes Miss Morag,” says I kicking my legs to no avail, "Thank you Miss Morag," thinking so to shorten the chastisement of my firm, but now rather pink, buttocks; but Big Morag only laughed and laid on my glowing posterior with renewed vigour.

However, fate, so often arbiter in the course of our lives, was to lend a hand, for Big Morag laughed so loud and spanked so hard that the stool on which she was seated collapsed depositing her on the floor and me on her.

In no time I had her pinned on the floor on her back and with my knees upon her shoulders I ripped off her cotton shift.  Now her mountainous bosoms (saving your honour's pardon for such an indelicacy) were exposed pointing heavenward each crowned by its own pinkie at the mercy of the tweaking irons.

Despite her size Big Morag proved no Amazon in steadfastness and at the first sight of the tweaking irons declared abjectly that she would never tell of the fate of dear sweet Fanny no matter how she were tweaked.

However I showed no mercy and prepared the irons.

"Do your worst lassie," says the cowardly wench, "my lips are sealed."

Despite this abject begging for mercy I showed none and would have applied the irons had she not, in blatant disregard for the laws of the graeco-roman sport, fetched me one across the chops (as I believe such things are called by the lower orders).

Thus by ignorant subterfuge did Morag reverse the situation, and in a trance ‘twas I who was pinned to the floor, and ‘twas my pert bosoms (begging your honour's leave) pointing to the skies, their pinkies, bared and vulnerable, at the mercy of the irons.

But remembering once more the patience with which brave Hyppolyta had withstood the mighty Theseus I determined not to follow the abject surrender of Morag.

"Prepare to be tweaked lassie," says Morag, waving the irons before my eyes.

"Please Miss Morag, no Miss Morag," says I, seeking by my tears to distract her attention.

Notwithstanding such steadfast resistance the cold hearted Morag applied the irons to my pinkies and the tweaking commenced.  Nothing however could persuade me to behave in so abject a manner as she had done.

"Please Miss Morag," I begged, merely by way of subterfuge, "don't tweak me Miss Morag, I'll do anything Miss Morag."

"Be my puppy-dog for a week!" exclaims she.

"Yes Miss Morag," says I staedfastly, "three bags full Miss Morag, woof woof Miss Morag, woof woof woof," and sorely tweaked I was released.

And my subtle ploy worked, for though my hands and knees are still roughened, and my neck chafed with the collar as I was led on all fours stark naked round and round the prison, and indeed my poor bare posterior felt the leash at her frequent displeasure at the tardiness of my progress, I at last discovered the whereabouts of poor sweet Fanny.  There are lots of rewards you can get for being a good puppy dog.

It was however perhaps fortunate for my rump that the order for my release came this morning owing to the visit of a group of reprobates known as The Hibernians.

So now I sit (somewhat uncomfortably I must admit) in the third class carriage of the Perth express bereft of britches and bound for Kinmuir castle where I will venture all to rescue dear dear Fanny.  For as you know nought is as dear to me in this world than a lovely Fanny.

Extract from the journal of Sir Jasper Murgatroyd Bart.

Saturday November 2nd 1855

Fanny will be mine.  The tweaking clamps have been secured.  One night in those and she will be putty in my hands.  If she declares marriage to me before a person of repute, and such is Mrs MacDonald of that ilk, then by the ancient laws of Scotch marriage we will be declared wed and her fortune will be mine.

I will hence to the oubliette where surely the will of Fanny will crumble at the sight of the irons!

Ha ha!

From the memoir of Miss Fanny Bedworthy

Alone and miserable I spent the night in the dungeon secured naked to the wall by the tweaking clips applied to my pinkies.

Had my dear Uncle forsaken me to the miserable MacDonald!  No!  For lo, as the first light of dawn filtered through the high barred window he appeared accompanied by the evil MacDonald.

"So Fanny," says he, "are you quite prepared to do my bidding now?"

"Certainly Sir Jasper," says I.

"What!  You will not!  Do you not know that you stand naked at my mercy, and at one word from me the tweaking clamps that bind you will be tightened one notch further."

"I'll do whatever you desire," says I.

"So wretched girl.  You defy me again.  Your naked body will feel my wroth until you submit."

"I submit.  I submit," I cried, but uncle had already stormed out.  I feared I must have caused him some displeasure.

Letter from Miss Clarissa Bold to Mr Septimus Wotherspoon

Dear Mr Wotherspoon

Tonight I assault the castle.  If you hear not from me within a sennight of today call the constables!

From the memoir of Miss Fanny Bedworthy

Held fast by the tweaking clamps I remained alone in the dungeon.  I had displeased Uncle – now he would never forgive me!

I shivered slightly – and then I heard a sound.  A sound that I had thought I would never hear again.  It was a whispered voice – a voice a remembered from the old days, from before the demise of dear Mama – my cousin Clarissa.

“Clarissa dear,” I called, “I am here!”

And there she stood before me my dear Clarissa – she who had so oft held me in her arms and comforted my pinkies in days of old.  Come to rescue me from the dreadful MacDonald!

And with those words dear Clarissa threw herself upon me.

“Clarissa dearest, I said.

“Yes my darling Fanny.”

“Delighted as I am to see you, I would be even more delighted were you to release the tweaking clamps by which I am secured from my pinkies.”

“Certainly Fanny dearest,” said Clarissa and continued to lavish me with kisses and hugs.

“Dearest Clarissa,” I said.

“Yes my dearest Fanny.”

“Perhaps you would be so kind as to release my pinkies now.”

“Certainly dearest Fanny,” but first let me kiss you and hug you again.”

“But Clarissa darling.”

“Yes dearest darling Fanny.”

“It would perhaps be propitious were my pinkies to be released forthwith.”

“Yes dearest darling dearest Fa….”

And suddenly the vision of Clarissa collapsed in a heap on the floor, standing behind her lead weighted blackjack in hand stood Mrs MacDonald.

From a Letter from Miss Clarissa Bold to Mr Septimus Wotherspoon

Of the extraordinary events that led to my present position I can scarce myself take cognizance.  For you should know that I entered the castle with ease passing myself off to the gullible servant girl as an itinerant salesperson for inexpensive cosmetics.

Once within the castle I found my way to the dungeon knowing full well that the evil Murgatroyd could have incarcerated poor dear Fanny therein.

Imagine then my joy at finding her so imprisoned held fast by pinkie clamps fastened to the wall.  She poor girl was quite naked.  I ascertained immediately the need to release her quickly and make our escape, but she so delayed me by insistent hugs and kisses that before I could effect such a thing I was rendered unconscious by a blow to the head, and when I woke I found myself also naked and tethered to the wall by pinkie clamps.  Our position was dire, but I hastened to reassure poor timid Fanny.

“Fear not Braveheart,” said I, “for I am here now and will protect you from everything, for so did the brave Perseus rescue the tethered Andromeda from the ravishing beast, so too will I rescue my poor dear Fanny!”

“Thank you, thank you,” cried dear Fanny.

At that moment the woman known to us only as old MacDonald entered the dungeon.

“I suppose you think to defy me do you!” she said sneering, little knowing the resistance that years of defiance had bred in me, “what do you have to say.”

I looked back at her with steely glare.

“Please nice Mrs MacDonald,” said I, “it wasn’t me, and even if it was me I didn’t mean to, and even if I meant to I didn’t mean any harm by it.  Please let me go, please please!”

She looked back at me taken by surprise at my effrontery, for never had she expected to see one so brave as I.

“And what about your little friend here,” said she, “what if I were to tighten the clamps upon her pinkies and spank her bottom till she shouts!”

“Oh yes, go on,” said I, “she really deserves it.  She’s been really naughty, but let me go.  I’ll do anything.  I’ll be your puppy dog and you can smack her bottom till she shouts, but let me go please,” and I patted dear Fanny’s bare bottom to tempt her with this offer.

And my defiant bravery appeared to win the day for she came over and released the pinkie clamps.

“Yes Mrs MacDonald, woof woof Mrs MacDonald,” said I going down on all fours to be her puppy dog. “Smack her bottom Mrs MacDonald, smack her bottom till she shouts, woof woof!”

I warrant that the MacDonald had never seen such defiance from a mere girl before!  It was a pity poor dear Fanny could not show such fortitude and was to get a spanked bottom in consequence.  However all cannot be as brave as I.

Imagine my horror then when in spite of all my bravery the wretched MacDonald took it upon herself to stark to smack my bottom!  Foolish woman, did she think by that to make me cringe and beg for mercy!

From the memoir of Miss Fanny Bedworthy

My dear brave Clarissa presented her rotund posterior for chastisement and the hand of the dreaded MacDonald.  I was so proud of her.  She was doing all this for me.

“Waaaaah!”

Clarissa’s yells resounded round the dungeon.

“Please Mrs MacDonald,” yelled the brave girl, “Waaaaah!  Don’t smack my bottom.  Woof woof!  Smack Fanny’s bottom – it’s much bigger than mine.  Waaaaah!  Woof, woof, woof!”

I must say that in making this latter assertion dear Clarissa was much mistaken as I am sure my posterior cannot be compared to hers for dimensional attributes.

“Waaaaaah!  Mercy, mercy, please don’t smack my bottom.  Woof, woof, wooooooooof!!!!”

I had perforce to place my hands over my ears to protect them from the noise coming from dearest bravest Clarissa so that is perhaps why I did not notice the figure appear in the doorway of the dungeon.

But when I turned there it was.  Dressed in spectral white.  The ghost of James the Third (or possibly Fourth) and I swooned once more clean away….

From the memoir of Miss Fanny Bedworthy

When I came round from my swoon I was in a dark and cold place.  Strong arms were holding me and hot wet lips were pressed hard against mine.

"Clarissa," I gasped.

"My darling Fanny," she replied, squeezing me even tighter, her naked body pressed hard against mine.

"But Clarissa," I gasped again.

"Shhh!" said she, “lest they hear us.”

"But where are we," I whispered.

"We are hid in the broom cupboard.  There is very little room in here and it is so very cold so you must hold me very tight."

"With my arms round you like this?"

"Absolutely."

"And must our bare bosoms be pressed hard against each other?"

"They absolutely must."

"And should I stroke the cheeks of your bare bottom the way you are stroking mine."

"You absolutely should."

"Oh right ho!" I said.  Dear Clarissa - she always knows exactly what to do.

I felt her hot lips on mine again, and her warm body close to mine, and her candle of Aphrodite (as my nanny used to call it) rubbing rhythmically against mine.  How good of her to keep me warm in the cold broom cupboard.

"Oh my Fanny!"

"Yes Clarissa?"

"Oh oh my Fanny!" her rhythmical movements were growing in intensity.  I feared the poor girl was about to have some sort of seizure.

"Oh! Oh! Oh!  MY FAANNNY!"

Poor Clarissa was in the throes of some seizure.  She could not control the contractions of her body or her yells of "Oooooooooh!  My Fanny - My Fanny - MY FANNY!!!!!"

Then suddenly she was limp in my arms and drenched in perspiration.

"Clarissa!  Clarissa!" I screamed, fearful of her fate.

"Oh Fanny!" said she, "That was the best..."

But her words were cut short as the cupboard door was flung open and light flooded in.  There standing in front of us was Uncle.

"What are you girls doing there?" asked he, "you're making enough noise to wake the Banshee!

"Oh Sir Jasper!" I said, "You arrive in the nick of time.  I fear poor dear Clarissa has had a fit!"

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From a Letter from Miss Clarissa Bold to Mr Septimus Wotherspoon

I had rescued dear Fanny after the apparition had saved us and the dreaded MacDonald had fled, and we had secreted ourselves within a small cupboard.

But now the dreaded Murgatroyd stood before us.  My poor dear Fanny had made so much noise within the cupboard with her fearful wailing that we were discovered.

But naked though I was he would find he had met his match in Clarissa Bold.  He would not touch a hair of dear Fanny's head (or anywhere else for that matter).

"Come out of there at once," he commanded raising his riding crop.

Straightway I was down on all fours in an act of defiance.

"Please don't punish me Sir," I said defiantly, "see Sir, I'm your puppy dog Sir, woof woof," and I defiantly started licking his leg.

"Give me one good reason why I should not," says he.

"It's all Fanny's fault," said I, "she made me do it.  She's been very naughty.  She's the one that should be punished"

"Me?" said Fanny.

"Yes," I said, "bend over Fanny, be a brave girl like me and take your punishment."

Poor dear Fanny though was not as brave as I.  She bent over with a great show of reluctance.

"There you are nice Sir Jasper.  Woof, woof," said I, "Fanny's admitted she's the naughty one.  Go on give her what she deserves!  Whack her bottom.  Whack it hard!  Woof woof!  Waaaaaaaah!"

Sadly, the wretched Murgatroyd, incensed by my defiance had landed his riding crop upon my bare posterior.

"Silence girl," he said.

"Woof woof!" he turned to Fanny.

"Do you continue your defiance?" says he.

"I'll do anything you say Sir Jasper."

"You do!  Then woe betide the pair of you!"

"Waaaaaaaah!" The riding crop found its target again!

"Whack Fanny's bottom," said I, "she's the naughty one.  I'm your puppy dog.  Woof woof!"

We were dragged back to the dungeon and once more incarcerated in that dark and miserable place!

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Extract from the journal of Sir Jasper Murgatroyd Bart.

Sunday November 3rd1855

Foiled!  And by a puppy girl!

The wretched Clarissa has put so much steel into the heart of Fanny that she defies me at every turn.  I have however another plan.

I will write her a loving note in which I beg her to be my wife.  Should she answer 'Yes' and I am sure she will, then under the ancient laws of Scotland we will be married by correspondence, and no law of England, Scotland or Berwick upon Tweed can render us asunder!

I had however just started upon the letter -

‘My dearest darling

You must know that I have long loved you with a passion as deep as the ocean

I ask you now if you will consent to be my wife.

But answer yes to this note and the deed will be done

Your ever loving Jasper.’

I folded the note carefully and placed upon it the letter 'F'.

At that moment I was interrupted by the wretched MacDonald coming asking for the instructions for Sunday dinner.  I was about to send her away - but wait.  Tonight would be a night for celebration!  I wrote out the instructions for my favourite dinner and handed folded instructions to Mrs Flora MacDonald.

From the memoir of Miss Fanny Bedworthy

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

We were alone, naked and vulnerable cast once more into the deepest dungeon.  I, secured by pinky clamps, poor brave Clarissa confined to her kennel by the chain fastened to her dog collar.

But salvation was at hand for into the gloom came once more that spectral figure that had so oft appeared at propitious moments.

"King James the Third!" quoth I.

"Not me," said the figure

'King James the Fourth then?"

"I'm not any King James.  I'm the mad woman in the attic and I've come to rescue you!"

"Why are you mad and why are you in the attic?"

"Foolish girl!  Every ancient and gloomy castle has to have a mad woman in the attic, and it pays well."

In a trice I was released from the pinkie clamps.

"Thank you thank you," I gasped, rubbing my pinkies vigorously.

"Woof woof," said Clarissa looking up, for her leash restricted her from standing and she remained on all fours, her face smeared with the dog food she had been eating from her bowl.

However the Mad Woman paid but scant attention and hurried me away to safety, Clarissa's woofs receding into the distance as we climbed the secret staircase.  I feared for dear brave Clarissa's bottom once my escape was discovered but what else could I do!

From a Letter from Miss Clarissa Bold to Mr Septimus Wotherspoon.

Fanny had been gone but ten minutes when the evil Murgatroyd arrived bearing a strange missive for her.  His anger overflowed when he discovered she had fled.

"Tell me where she is or your punishment shall know no bounds," says he.

What did he expect!  That Clarissa Bold - I the modern Hyppolyta - should betray her friend.  Never!

I looked up at him, for I was still restrained naked on all fours, and waggled my bottom.

"Woof woof," I said, "nice Sir Jasper.  Don't hurt your little puppy dog.  Naughty Fanny ran off with the mad woman in the attic.  Go and catch her and whack her bottom.  She deserves it.  Woof woof."

"I see you remain defiant to the last," says he, "you will regret your actions."

And he unties my leash and leads me to a contraption in the darkest corner of the dungeon.

Naked and defenceless I find myself strapped on my back, my arms by my side, my legs hoist up in stirrups.

"Now you will regret your defiance," says he.

"Please Sir Jasper," says I, "please.  Fanny's with the mad woman in the attic.  I'll do anything.  I'll be your puppy dog for ever!  Please don't tickle me!"

For I see at once that the fiend had strapped me onto a tickling bench.  Every inch of my naked flesh exposed and ready to be tickled.

"First under the arms I think!"

He cranked a handle and my arms were forced out and up exposing there sensitive underside.  A large tickling feather was produced.  I screamed and screamed but would not submit!

"Please nice Sir Jasper," I said, "woof woof.  Fanny went off with the mad woman in the attic.  She's been very naughty.  Whack her bare bottom as hard as you can!"

"You think you can defy me!" says he, "see how you like this!"

And with great dexterity his fingers moved to my ribs and the manual tickling started.  I shrieked and shrieked and defiantly said I would tell him everything he wanted to know!

"So!  You think you can hold out against the wicked Sir Jasper do you?"

"No!  No!  Woof woof!  I'll tell you anything you want.  I'm your nice puppy dog!"

I yelled, but to no avail.  He cranked another handle.  The stirrups holding my legs started to separate.  He was exposing my most intimate parts.  My most intimate intimate parts.  I was about to be tickled in a very interesting place!

"Gosh!   Woof woof!" I cried, but he heeded me not and as my legs widened to their utmost, my intimate lips parted to expose a girl's most sensitive spot!  The tickling feather was once more produced.

"Oh Sir Jasper!  Ooooooh!  Sir Jasper!  Oh gosh I'm not telling you anything!  Absolutely nothing!"

"So!" says he, "You yield at last!  Fanny is in the attic!". And with that he rushed out leaving me to contemplate the ceiling, with my legs wide apart.  Such is the fate of the truly brave!

From the memoir of Miss Fanny Bedworthy

Naked and trembling I found myself in the attic confronting a mad woman.  But when I looked more closely I realised that this was no mad woman.  This was uncle's sister Laetitia.

She smiled at me, her green eyes flashing, her overly long eye teeth glinting in the bright light of day.

She eyed my milky white bosoms, each topped by its cherry like pinky and her bright red mouth opened.

"I say Fanny," she said.

"Yes Laetitia."

"I've a proposition for you."

"Yes Laetitia."

"They're building some lovely new maisonettes in Dunkeld now that the railway goes through there."

"Yes Laetitia."

"How say you and I set up house together.  I've a little money put by."

It was a hard decision.  But despite my waiting ages Uncle still hadn't asked me to marry him (of course I knew he wasn't my real uncle) and I'd given up hope.

"What about Clarissa?"

"Oh don't worry about her."

So I didn't.

"Yes Laetitia," I said, and at that moment Uncle burst into the room.

"Fanny," he gasped "please read this and let me have your answer."

Yes Uncle." And I took from him a folded note and read it aloud.

"A large haggis, tatties and neeps, and sticky toffee pudding for afters.  Well Sir Jasper," I said "it sounds delicious.  Is it the dinner menu?"

Extract from the journal of Sir Jasper Murgatroyd Bart.

Sunday November 3rd 1855

Foiled!  And by a sticky toffee pudding.

I had mixed up the two notes and given Mrs MacDonald the marriage proposal.  Her name being Flora she had mistook the ‘F’ upon to note an took it to refer to her!

I rushed back to the dungeon to find Mrs MacDonald in high spirits amusing her self by tickling puppy girl's feet with one hand and fanny with the other. 

Oh Sir Jasper," she gasped, "I didn't know you cared.  Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!" And she handed me the response to my proposal in writing.

It was done!  Under the ancient laws of Scotland (enforceable in England, Wales and Berwick upon Tweed) we were irrevocably married!

Postcard from Miss Enid Somerfield to her friend Agnes

Dear Agnes, you must come and 'do' the Highlands with me some time.  I went round the delightful old castle of Kinmuir yesterday, shown round by Sir Jasper himself.  Only a shilling - the poor man looks down on his uppers.  It has a marvelous old dungeon and even a mad woman in the attic.  She thinks she's a puppy dog and runs round the room stark naked on all fours going 'woof woof'.  Well worth the extra sixpence - and for a further sixpence they'll strap her to a tickling bench in the dungeon and tickle her in some interesting places.

Love from Enid

Letter from Miss Clarissa Bold to Mr Septimus Wotherspoon

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