were tarts and nothing else. As far as they were concerned, there was precious little wickedness performed on the premises; but Madame gave them a free hand on their off evenings, just as all the swagger dressmaker's establishment in London and Paris do.
“They all have their latch keys at Gay's, and at Madame Marie's, too,” says Gladys, “I was at the latter for a bit myself and I know.”
Nelly was the youngest of Madame Karl's assistants, a little older than myself, and only just promoted to the dignity of long skirts. She was a pretty blonde, very well favored by nature, with a deliciously plump arm and shoulder, and very well developed breasts. Her legs were perfect; she was one of those few girls who could stand upright in an ordinary position, close her legs and keep a three penny bit between her thighs. She was proud of this and often used to show us the trick.
She was delighted when I said I could come, and insisted on lending me a dress. “Your own evening frock is delightful, my dear,” she explained, “but it isn't quite what we want for this evening.”
She put me into a three quarter length gown, extremely decolette, but filled in about the shoulders with lace (which, as a matter of fact, rather added to the suggestiveness of the confection). It was so low at the back that I had to wear a corset which was little more than a band round the waist, and my nipples almost escaped in front. She, too, put on a three quarter dress, I began to see that this looked like a flapper party.
To cut a long story short, Nelly took me to a house in Cadogan Gardens, a swagger enough place to look at, and explained that it was kept by a woman of good family who added to her own rather diminished income by running it as a meeting place for men and girls. “She's quite the best and nicest procuress in London,” Nelly explained, “She's delightful to all the girls who go there, and you can be perfectly certain of your money.”
That there was money in the air, had never occurred to me when I accepted Nelly's invitation, but I didn't shrink on that account, I could do with a little of the root of all evil just then. Then Nelly told me that the parties varied. On one evening, for instance, our hostess would collect a few married women who were prepared to go astray from their titular lords and masters; sometimes quite young married women, and sometimes ladies who had attained the prime of life without losing their good looks-(these were for men who desired a lot of experience from their bedfellows)-and sometimes young girls.
“That'll be us, this evening,” I said.
“Well, not exactly; we come into the kids party. We are for the men who want very young girls.”
I gathered from Nelly also that our hostess was prepared to find anything. She organized coster girl parties, bringing up pretty little East-enders; and even parties at which very depraved young men could exercise their desire on quite elderly women. “These parties,” said Nelly,” are the most paying of all, for she gets money from both sides, since the old women are under the impression that she has to pay the young men-oh, she's very very clever.”
We were taken to Mrs. Cowper in a large room which was a cross between a very elaborate boudoir and a hot house. That is to say, it was lighted by skylights like a studio, carpeted with some soft material into which one's feet sank almost to the ankles-I found out later that a thin mattress lay underneath the carpet-and was full of flowers and ferns of every kind. From the roof of an alcove depended a vine covered with luscious grapes. A table bearing a glittering tea equipment stood in one corner, various small tables bore wine and spirit decanters. We were ushered in by a large page boy, a dark boy, an octoroon I thought, and exquisitely beautiful, with a kind of girlish loveliness. “Surely it's a girl,” I whispered to Nelly, nodding towards the boy.
“Oh, is he,” said our hostess, rising, “Come here, Claude.”
When the boy came to her, she laid her hand on the front of his trousers, slipped down her fingers and showed us a dear little standing prick. The boy laughed and made his escape.
Then Mrs. Cowper noticed me: “Good Heavens, Nelly,” she cried, “I had no idea you'd brought a stranger; whatever must she think of me, my dear?”
I could not do anything but blush, and Mrs. Cowper continued: “After all, I daresay Nelly has told you we're not very proper here,” and she laid her arms on my shoulders, kissing me lovingly on the lips.
Mrs. Cowper was I suppose about thirty-five, and uncommonly beautiful. Her figure was perfection, and the dress she wore showed off all of its delights. The dress was carried out in a design of ferns. Ferns, quite small at the waist, but gathering size as they fell lower, made the skirt; the bodice was one large bunch of ferns, out of which grew her ivory neck and shoulders; she had ferns in her hair, and two little pearl and diamond ferns for earrings.
I sat by her side sipping a liquor while Nelly briefly told her who and what I was.
“You'll do for me very nicely, dear little girl,” she said, “I think you will just suit a man I've got coming this evening; let me see, are you a virgin?”
I had half framed the word yes, when she suddenly ran her hand up my clothes, and felt my trembling little cunt-“Oh no, you're not,” she said, with a laugh, “and you must not pretend to be. I never deceive my patrons HERE.”
“I've only been wrong with two men,” I said, pouting.
“Well, your third will be young Mr. Robinson, of the Stock Exchange. I shall charge him ten pounds for you, and give you five of it; whatever you get out of him on the top of that is of course your own affair. Here is the fiver,” and she handed me a note.
“And me?” said Nelly.
“A Mr. Reichardt, likewise of the Stock Exchange, a friend of his, they will be here in a moment.”
But before those worthies arrived, a number of other girls were shown in. Some arrived singly, but more often they came in twos or threes. I reckoned there were about fifteen present before a single trousered animal put in an appearance. They were pretty and beautiful though I knew myself to be, I felt I had plenty of rivals on this occasion. Some were very young-wicked as I was I could not help feeling it rather a shame when I saw girls who could not have been more than fourteen-and I don't suppose one there was more than nineteen. All were pretty, often very extravagantly dressed, and I have never since, despite all the varied experience of my life seen such a delightful assemblage of dainty childish shoulders, plump little girlish arms, well moulded calves, generally displayed to the knee, and slim attractive little waists.
About a dozen men arrived, and we had music-and a good many drinks. Everything was very decorous; Nelly told me that no impropriety went on coram populo, and I flirted in an amiable manner with my Mr. Robinson. An occasional touch of his hand gave me naughty shivers, to say nothing of the frequent discreet comminglings of his trousers with my stockings, and I had begun to wonder when there was going to be any serious by play, when Nelly took me aside “Mrs. Cowper wants me to ask you a favor, Blanche dear,” she said, “It seems there are not quite enough men to go around.
“Shocking mismanagement-!” interrupts Gladys.
“And she doesn't want any of the girls left over.”
“Prudent woman.” the irrepressible typewriter again.
“Wherefore she wants to know whether you and I will go with the same man-it's that old gentleman over there-(pointing to a lean and lanky old sportsman who was doing prodigies with the spirit decanters in a secluded corner, feasting his eyes on the girls at intervals) it'll be another fiver each, she concluded.
I was rather glad. I liked Nelly, and I hadn't much modesty even then. I felt that I should be much less nervous, with her to aid, than alone, so the bargain was struck.
Mrs. Cowper, first giving me the extra fiver, she was extremely business like-sidled us up to our fare; we went with him into another room and had a little stand up supper against a buffet. Then Mrs. Cowper led the conversation round to art, told our old friend that we were art students, said that we were dying to see the Correggio in the pink boudoir, and left him to take us there-it was so tactful and nice.
“But T doubt me not, we shall hear the old buffer got there just the same, as if it had been a farmer's daughter blocked by a country lout in a barn,” said Gladys, “Continue, most elegant and tactful one.”
But the word “barn” puts me off. It reminds me of a story; the story of the couple who were enjoying each other in a loft, when suddenly the loft gave way. Heavily they fell to earth. “Bill” said the fair one below, “Bill, are you hurt?”
“Hurt,” was the reply, “why those is my cock and balls hanging on that nail!”
Our old friend got us into the boudoir in due course, and all the time I was wondering where I had seen his face before. Then I tumbled to the fact that his beard and mustache were false-(I noted that while he was kissing me)-and got it. He was the senior classical master at Rocton, my father's school. At first, came terror that he was likely to recognize me, but I soon saw that he was quite oblivious to my identity-in fact I had changed a bit since he
