values are reversed somewhere.' This time he was deliberately unkind. He wrapped a cut 'round my bottom on top of the cane stripes. It hurt like blazes, but I knew he was testing me, so I gave our small talk all I had. 'It comes from a false premise, Mr. Royden,' I pointed out innocently. 'A thousand years ago no one would have given what you are doing to me a second glance. It seems wrong or brutal now only because society has decided it's not done. A matter of fashion or changing custom actually.'
'Do you and your Yolanda chit-chat like this while she whips you, Euphemia?' I was framing my reply and tensing for his next stroke when the door opened. I was suspended at an angle which enabled me to see what then took place. It was very swift and very shocking. A man had entered. At sight of him, Royden's hand flew beneath his jacket and emerged with a pistol. But the shot from the doorway came too soon. The man who had been whipping me with such consummate finesse crumpled to the floor with a thud that, to my horrified eyes, spelled death.
'This is the place,' said the man who had fired. He was joined by two companions. All of them were foreign, not distinctively so, nor by their speech, but by their complexions and the way they wore their clothes. I thought of the Arab states to the south and the East of the Mediterranean.
'We wanted Royden alive.'
'Then he shouldn't have had a gun. It was him or me.'
'I suppose that's the girl.' All three gazed at me as though I was a piece of meat, but their eyes soon became carnal.
'Your name is Euphemia Carstairs?' I doubt it would have helped if I'd said no, I was Jennie Smith. They knew!
'Take her.' I said no word as they tied me. There was that about them which told me pleadings would be useless. If I had known fear before, I shivered with it now. They let me down so that my feet found the floor. No sooner were my wrists released from the bar than they were instantly tied behind my back. When they also tied my elbows so tight they met, I knew I was for it. My captivities were rapidly degenerating. For the first time in my life I wished I was male and unmarketable.
'Search the house and get her to the car.' Since they then tied my ankles, I was not hard to manage. A blanket tossed over my head and roped below my breasts completed my ensemble of what the kidnapped girl should wear. Somewhere along the way I passed out. I expect it was from lack of air.
'Pretty little bitch.' The voice was male.
'I suppose the lot of you will screw her arse off?' This one was female and came from London. I opened my eyes and took in the scene. It wasn't much. A rotten little cell with none of Gyorkos's 'clean sheets', just a cot and a thin mattress on which I reclined, my arms and wrists hurting like fury. The man was mediocre. His trousers were a concession to the West, the rest of him was some sort of Arab. But the girl was London. But the wrong part of London! She was pretty enough in a wrong sort of way. Her dress was East End and skimpy. I weakly voiced my most demanding need.
'Please untie me. I won't fight.' It amused them. But the man answered her, not me. 'Ordinarily, yes,' he agreed. 'She's a prize of war. But take a good look. She's worth money. The Cause can use the cash.'
'You'll spoil her with your tortures. I don't suppose she'll have the sense to talk. You'll screw her, won't you?' She looked at him accusingly.
'You're jealous, Jennie.' He laughed. 'Don't worry, screwing rarely loosens tongues.'
'I don't know a thing about anything,' I affirmed vehemently.
'See what I told you. She won't fetch much when you're through with her.' Jennie eyed me without favor. He laughed again, enjoying her concern. 'You underrate our skill. Fortunately, we have a lot of time.'
'I suppose I'll have to look after her?'
'You know you'll enjoy a small victory over the upper classes. She will help your class consciousness.'
'Have your joke,' Jennie retorted without rancour. 'I almost feel sorry for the poor little cunt. I've never seen anything more naked and helpless. Look at her!'
'Quite charming. I will leave her in your care. If you let her escape you will be killed.'
'And up your's too!' said Jennie. It wasn't encouraging, was it? I was still tied hand and foot and elbow. I hurt too much to struggle. I wished Jennie was a different type, but the vulgarity of her last rejoinder gave me hope. She had some sense of humour of her own. 'I'm sorry to be such a nuisance,' I told her submissively. 'I'll try and not give you any trouble.'
'You won't get a chance, love,' said Jennie.
'Could I just have the rope off my elbows please?' I asked tentatively. Jennie consulted her watch. 'You've been tied like that less than an hour,' she said calmly. 'You can stand it awhile yet.'
'Am I tied like this to keep me from escaping, or as some sort of punishment?' I ventured.
'Hurts that bad, eh?'
'It's beastly.'
'They whipped you at the other place, didn't they?'
'Yes.' Mr. Royden seemed a million miles away.
'Did that hurt much?' She was morbidly interested.
'Try it sometime.' Her eyes shaded in retrospective thought. 'It 'ud hurt me, love. I was thinking about you. Ain't you the gal what loves it?' Here too! It is not comforting to a girl, tied hand and foot, to realize her captors actually believe she would enjoy a dozen with the knout. I tried to touch any heart Jennie might possess.
'Look, you're a girl, you know how girls respond. From someone I love I can accept an awful whipping and feel only gorgeous eroticism. From strangers I'm scared of it, it hurts so bad I curl up inside and scream. Haven't you ever…' Her laugh was half a sneer, but it was progress. 'Sure, kid, I know. We're silly bitches just the way they say we are.' Her eyes narrowed, 'How about that rope 'round your elbows, work the same way for you?'
'Yes. Right now I'd give anything to get it off.' She nodded. 'Yes. Can't say I'm like you, but I can guess. And being naked… how's that?'
'I'm nearly always naked. I've got used to it. There's just moments when a man says something or looks at me in a certain way…'
'O.K. You're just another girl, but a damn good looking one.'
'That man told you to look after me. What… '
'Look, love, there ain't much chance of you and me liking each other, but we can try. Mostly I'll be hurting you. But it will be because I've been told to.'
'You work for them?'
'In a way. But I'm one of the believers too. Ashad and I sleep together, in case you're curious. If the other boys have a long dry spell they have a go at me as well.' It didn't sound like privilege. 'You like all this?' I asked, puzzled.
'It's better than working at Mark's amp; Spencer's, love. But you wouldn't know.'
'Don't hold it against me.' I looked up at her appealingly. 'You mentioned torture… honest, I don't know anything.'
'They won't believe it. You'd better tall 'em something. They've got nasty ways of hurting a girl.'
'But he also said something about me being saleable?'
'You are. We get a lot of our funds that way. It's the reason for this cell. You ain't the first inhabitant.'
'And they got tortured too?'
'Hell no, just whipped enough to make 'em behave.'
'Whoever buys us doesn't object to a few whipmarks?'
'Ducky, they love it. Puts the price up.' She grinned confidingly, 'If we get a group of three or four we torture one of 'em and make the others watch. You know, the hot iron or the electric shock or hanging by her thumbs. Amazing how obliging they all become: stick their hands out for the handcuffs and say 'thank you' nicely.'
'Jennie, I'll do that. I'll stick my hands out. You don't have to… to… do anything to me.'
'Poor kid.' There was unexpected compassion in her voice.
'You really are scared, aren't you? But you'd best forget about any kind of freedom of choice. Right now you and I have a job.' She chuckled at whatever expression showed on my face. 'It ain't good and it ain't bad, love. I'm going to tidy you a bit and take you to talk to Ashad. I'm going to untie your feet, but don't get ideas.' To get rid of any of those torturing ropes seemed good to me at that moment. I stretched luxuriously and kicked my legs about, but obeyed her instruction to lay still.
