'I couldn't resist the temptation to find out whether it felt like the real thing,' said Becky. 'And does it?' I asked, a little worried in case I was about to be replaced in her affections by my replica. 'The fit is perfect,' she answered. 'It is always ready, does exactly what I want and can be kept handy at all times,' she said. 'Also it doesn't talk.' I was a little taken aback by this and I suppose something must have shown on my face. 'I'm sorry, Andrew. I was just teasing. Of course I'd rather have a whole, live body to hold me and undress me and do things to me rather than a china Thing. Still, it does come in useful. See, here we are about to stop at a station and I am the only one in the compartment in a fit state to face the outside world.' 'Not if you leave it lying beside you on the seat,' I pointed out. 'Silly me!' said Becky, picking it up and sticking it in her picnic basket. 'Oh! Let me see,' said Rosie, reaching out for it. 'Do yourself up and make yourself decent first,' said Becky. 'We may be joined by more people at the station.' 'I hardly think there's room for anyone else,' said the cleric. None the less, he had uncoupled himself from Cecily and produced what at first sight appeared to be a prayer book, but on closer inspection turned out to be a privately printed volume of erotic poems. As for the others, Donald was sucking an injured finger while trying to strap down the wicker basket with his other hand. I deduced that he had been bitten by George the mongoose.
The unknown, nearly naked woman who had been so comprehensively rogered by someone who I now realised was Donald's brother, Ian, was the only one who had made no attempt to make herself presentable. She was still perched up on the seat at the far end of the compartment, her hands clutching at her updrawn knees so that her still gaping quim was displayed to all and sundry. She was trembling and completely unaware of her surroundings. I raised a questioning eyebrow at Ian who shook his head. Obviously now was not the time for introductions. As the train drew to a halt, both Ian and I had the same idea at the same time. We grabbed a couple of travelling rugs and threw them over her, completely covering her so that at a casual glance she appeared to be a pile of luggage in the corner. Ian sat down beside her, making soothing noises to her plaid-shrouded form. The station signs flashed by. Not Tring but Bletchley. We had travelled further than we had realised during our impromptu bout. I hoped that the missing members of our party must be in the adjoining compartment but, frankly, still had no clear idea as to whether everyone had caught the train or indeed who everyone was. 'Change for the Oxford and Cambridge lines,' called out the porter. 'Any passengers for Rugby, Birmingham and the North change also. Northampton only. Northampton train.' Becky looked out on to the platform. 'There's a bishop,' she said. 'In fact the whole station is alive with clergymen.
Something must be going on.' 'They'll be going to Oxford,' said our own cleric, the surprising Mr. Willowherb. 'There's a gathering of Anglo Catholics at Keble to discuss a riposte to some evangelical initiative at Convocation. I really should be there.'' 'Why aren't you?' asked Rosie. 'Well, my child,' he said with a beatific smile. 'There are two reasons. The first is that as soon as my friend George told me of your bicycling holiday, I felt it incumbent upon myself to offer my services in case any of your party was in need of spiritual guidance. The second reason is that I am not in fact a clergyman.' 'What?' I said. 'I merely adopt the dress of a clergyman,' he said. 'I like dressing up. High Church of course. Lots of frills, flounces and embroidered vestments, the smell of incense and bags of ritual.' 'Isn't, um, isn't dressing up as a clergyman illegal?' I asked. 'Without a doubt, dear boy,' he answered sonorously. 'But then so many of the pleasures of life are, if not actually illegal, at least frowned upon by society today. Ours is a drab, conformist world for the most part, is it not?' Such a philosophy of life had a familiar ring to it. I knew that my old headmaster would have endorsed such sentiments heartily. His only objection to complete freedom of expression was that no harm should be occasioned to anyone by one's behaviour. 'It is a harmless habit,' he went on as though he had read my thoughts. 'I steer clear of offering any form of moral leadership. Indeed I suspect that I do far less damage than many in Holy Orders. Besides, it is often useful.' 'Useful?' I asked. 'Take, for instance, railway travel. I find that many people will go to great lengths to avoid sharing a compartment with a cleric. Thus more often than not, I can stretch out at my ease, uninterrupted.' 'He was certainly useful to me,' said Cecily. 'As soon as I realised what you and Rosie were doing in the tunnel, I felt a great need to feel a male member penetrating my inner recesses.' 'As soon as I felt your absolutely splendid bum pressed up against me as you crouched down in front of your friend, I knew also that here was a fellow spirit in need of help.' 'So you lifted up her skirt and forced your way between her cheeks,' said Rosie, a trifle crudely I thought. 'Not forced,' said our fake reverend. 'Eased would be my preferred choice of words. I merely placed my hands lightly on her buttocks and felt her open gently under my pressure.' 'Like the Red Sea parting before Moses,' said Rosie, who had an instinctive feel for biblical metaphor. 'How well put,' he said. 'That was very perceptive of you,' said Cecily. 'Since I had my mouth full, I could hardly say “Yes, please”.' 'You seem something of a connoisseur of the Sins of the Flesh,' I said.
'Humani nil a me alienum puto,' he replied.
'What?' I said. 'Latin,' said Rosie. 'I count nothing that is human indifferent to me,' he said. 'How can it be a sin to slip into such a welcoming cunney.' 'It occurs to me,' I said, 'that we have not all introduced ourselves. I am Andrew Scott.'
'Cecily Cardew,' said Cecily. 'Donald Ferguson,' said Donald who by now had succeeded in strapping George the mongoose back into his basket. 'And Ian Ferguson his brother,' said Ian who was still sitting beside the bundled up stranger. 'Montmorency Willowherb,' repeated the exquisite young dissembler. 'Rosalind Murphy,' said Rosie. 'Spinster of this and every other parish.'
'Which parish do you think we're in now,' I asked, since we had now set off again from Bletchley. 'The Northampton line branches off shortly,' said Rosie. 'We shall in fact pass very close to Blisworth but the train does not stop there.' 'Who is left to be introduced?' said Becky. 'You,' I said. 'I'm Becky,' said Becky. 'My sister is of the party also.' 'Is that her under the rugs?' asked Monty. 'No,' said Becky. 'Who else is with us?'
'Your cousin Charlotte. The one who invented that unusual version of Musical Chairs that you told us of some time ago.' 'No, it's not her, although they have certain habits in common.' 'They fuck a lot?' said Rosie. 'They enjoy it,' conceded Becky. 'I know that there was a friend of Hannah's coming with us but I don't know her name.' 'Must be her,' said Donald. 'She's certainly been coming with my brother. Ask her her name, Ian.' Ian bent solicitously over the rug bundle. 'Can you hear me?' he said. 'It's all right.
You can come out. We've left the station but you'd better get dressed as we'll be coming into Northampton soon.' There was a movement under the rugs. A hand appeared, then a head. It was indeed the dark-haired creature that I had spotted on the platform at Euston.
'We've worked out that you must be Hannah's friend,' said Becky.
The unknown woman's eyes widened. 'We've just been introducing ourselves,' Becky went on. 'You probably heard us. We had to keep you hidden at the station since you were a little lacking in clothing.' 'Who's Hannah?' she asked in a low but melodious voice. 'My sister,' said Becky. 'She's in the next compartment.
At least I assume she is,' she added, looking at me questioningly.
'I hope so,' I said. 'But I wasn't able to check in the hurry.'
'I don't know anyone called Hannah,' said the unknown woman. A look of alarm spread over her face. 'Where-where are my clothes?'
'Under your bum,' said Rosie. 'You must have taken them off in a great hurry.' 'Well, it's a short tunnel,' she said. 'I knew there wasn't much time.' She was looking round the compartment with growing alarm. 'I'm sorry, but-but I don't seem to recognise anyone here. This is the Glasgow train?' 'Oh dear,' said Monty. 'No, it stops at Northampton. Are you not coming to Blisworth on the bicycling expedition?' 'No! I am en route to the Scottish Highlands. I didn't know my travelling companions very well but I thought you were they. We were to be met by two Scottish friends in Glasgow. We have this sort of holiday every summer.' 'What sort of holiday?' I asked. 'We all, er, fuck a lot,' she said, blushing most becomingly. 'Oh dear! What shall I do. As soon as I realised what you and your friends were doing,' she said looking at Rosie, 'I simply assumed that I must be in the right party. And when we went into the tunnel at Watford, this gentleman here,' she looked at Ian, 'was so attentive and I was in so much need that I just let him in without more ado. This is awful!' 'It was not awful,' said Ian gallantly.
'It was the most generous, most open-hearted fuck that I have enjoyed in a long time.' She blushed again. 'Thank you,' she said.
'I didn't mean that the fuck was awful. It was wonderful and just what I wanted. It is just the whole situation that is so awful. Whatever shall I do?' 'For the time being, you must come with us,' said Ian. 'We can send a message to your friends in Glasgow as soon as we arrive at Northampton. But now you really must get dressed.' 'All my luggage must be on the Glasgow train. I had a porter put it all aboard in the van,' she said. 'I have nothing except the clothes I'm standing up in.' 'Sitting down on,' corrected Rosie, ever the realist. 'I will hold one of the rugs up so that you can get dressed in some privacy,' said Monty. 'Oh, Father!' she said in a startled voice. 'No,' said Monty. 'You missed all the explanations.' 'I would prefer it if this gentleman here held the rug,' she said. 'We are already acquainted but I still do not know your name.' 'Ian Ferguson,' said Ian. 'Ferguson-Ferguson-Are you any kin
