Maudie: revelations of life in London

CHAPTER FIVE

The journey was to be made by motor, but there was not quite enough room, and young Phil, Tubby's undergraduate friend, had a stroke of genius. He volunteered to take Jeannie in a taxi.

They all thought him too young to be harmful, and taxi it was for Jeannie and him.

London, and such things as taxis, were revelations to Jeannie. Of course she had seen plenty of motors up north but she had never been in one. She hadn't much idea where she was going. Phil Learoyd, her young companion, explained that it was a long way, but she felt deliciously comfortable.

He wasn't quite certain what to do. There was time to do a good bit before Staines.

'Had any dinner'?' he said.

'Not yet,' the lady said, 'I expect we'll eat when we get there; where is "there", by the way?'

'Oh, it's a jolly place. You'll love it: every sort of comfort, but it's a bit hot, you know.'

'I guessed that: I'm not quite silly, though I haven't been to Lunnon before.'

He took her to Frascati's, expecting her to be wide-eyed. 'Marvellous, isn't it?' he queried.

'It isn't the Midland at Manchester,' she answered. 'Mr Osmond took us there, and we had a lovely time, such lovely bedrooms.'

So Charlie had done his little charges pretty well, Phil thought. 'Did you sleep alone?'

'Ah, that would be telling.'

But the second glass of champagne loosened her tongue.

When he repeated the question, she admitted, with a good many blushes, that she 'hadn't exactly '.

'He was an actor,' she said, 'awfully good-looking, and he sat opposite us at dinner, and Mr Osmond took us to the theatre, and he was just lovely, and I saw him again in the winter garden, and I heard him ask the waiter who we were, and I saw him give the waiter something, so I suppose he got the number of my room. At any rate, about one I heard a tapping and, well, I didn't know whether it mightn't be Mr Osmond, so I opened the door-and he shut it behind him, and locked it, and put the key in his pyjama pocket before I knew what he was doing.'

'What infernal cheek!'

'He was awfully nice about it.'

'Did he?'

'Of course he did four times.'

'You little devil!'

'Yes, and he gave me a fiver, and told me he'd take me on, at once, in his company, if I'd go. Of course I'd promised Mr Osmond, but I should have liked it. That wasn't my first time, you know.'

'What!'

'No-the first was the timekeeper at the works. He forced me, and then got me the sack because I told father. He was a beast. Then there was an old man who used to deal with father-father's a dog-stealer-I mean a dog-dealer. He took me to Blythe for the night. I think father knew-he seemed to have more money than usual just after that. I only got a new frock. He was a nasty old man, used to make me run round the room, naked, and smack my bottom.

'He was good to us, though; when father got into trouble over the prize bulldog that got lost, he kept all of us.

'Then there was a Japanese sailor officer, over for building a ship.

'And the actor in Manchester was the next and last.'

'And who's going to be the next?'

The girl sipped her champagne, looked Phil straight in the eyes, and grinned.

The taxi swung through the West End, and into the Hammersmith Road.

Jeannie was on his knees, a little excitedly intoxicated, and very loving.

She was commenting on the way the twopences jumped up on the meter, when Phil took the initiative.

He put his hand right up her clothes, and met with no opposition.

'Am I to be the next?'

'Of course, you silly.'

'Well, I've got an idea. You sit on it, and watch the meter. You sit absolutely still, with your arms round me, and every time it changes you jump up and down once, and every time you do that you get five bob; it ought to take me about five miles to fuck you at that rate, or more. That's?1 a mile: is that a bet?'

'Of course, dear; it's a lovely idea.'

He put her on, she had to sit with her back to him, and every quarter of a mile till Hounslow Heath she bobbed deliciously. It worked out at about?7.

Phil came rapturously. He had never enjoyed a fuck so much before-the flashing lights that passed them (it was getting dusk), the whole novelty of the thing, and the obvious enjoyment of the girl, coupled with her extreme prettiness, made it a thing always to be remembered.

Thus originated 'Phil's Fuck', which subsequently became almost world famous.

Throughout the big cities of the continent of Europe, of America, and even of Asia, young men and old patronised the taxi, and ran bumping races with nature. With some it came very expensive. London to Brighton costs a bit when the prices per quarter mile are not so moderate as Phil's.

They pulled up in the swelling moonlight at the little village of Bedfont for a drink, and to repair disorders-Phil's trousers were drenched. The charm of the tiny hamlet, its old church and oddly-cut, bird-shaped trees made them both absurdly romantic-Phil especially-and he nearly threw his heart, hand, very considerable fortune and chance of an earldom at the feet of a dissolute little Newcastle 'hinny'.

Jeannie, to digress a little, had in the time to come a very interesting career. She became a sort of second Otero, the toast of Europe, and married-well, you'll have to wait for subsequent volumes of Nemesis Hunt and Pleasure Bound for that. It first amazed, then scandalised, and ended up by delighting the civilised world.

But to go back. Phil kept himself under control; he thought of his mother and father- and the family solicitor.

Maudie's house, Rosedale-had I forgotten to mention the name before?-was ablaze with light when the taxi swept up the drive. Phil felt, somehow, as he paid the fare, that the jumped-up twopences were dear in comparison to Jeannie's five-bob jerks. He lied glibly to Maudie, and they found they were in time for dinner after all.

Jeannie was hurried upstairs to find a flapper evening dress; the other girls were already dressed.

The dinner company was oddly assorted. All our friends, of course. Maudie in a sumptuously dazzling evening gown, her friend Madame Rade very decollete and Parisienne, Elsie and May once more in the role of servants.

The poet and the general had stopped en route to get evening clothes-Phil was excused.

Charlie looked very distinguished and handsome, and wore an order of barbaric design. It had been conferred on him by an Asiatic potentate for swapping a Scotch girl he had acquired for a flower of the sultan's harem. Madame: Rade's niece wore a quaintly babyish frock, and talked to the poet in outrageously indelicate Parisian argot.

Maudie's beautiful dining-room was softly, delicately and eccentrically lighted. Apart from a great cluster of electric globes dependent from the carved ceiling, and very heavily shaded, little electric lights appeared from the most unexpected places. In one corner a tall statue of Venus showed pin pricks of light from the nipples. A large bronze of the Manikin Pis diffused some sweet-smelling scent into a crystal basin before him.

The waiting was very deft and quick, and the meal was not elaborate, so its course was quick. Short though dinner was, Maudie had not forgotten to see that the viands served a lust-compelling purpose, and the wines were chosen to heat the blood, leading carefully up to the ultimate aphrodisiac, champagne.

Madame Rade was the wit of the table; Maudie didn't talk much, she was thinking too much of her new charges, also of Charlie whom, she began to fear, she had rather too sneaking a regard for.

After dinner the big studio-cum-theatre was sought. The blinds rolled back from the great skylights showed the star fretted sky, and a bright half-moon competed with the green-shaded lamps of the great room. Here all was green, in contrast to the rose of the dining-room.

The guests sat about on divans, or reposed on cushions and rugs on the floor, and there was music, very soft and suggestive. Maudie did not intend tonight to go in for any very elaborate entertainment. There was to be a little dance of Charlie's, a semi-proper one, later-meanwhile the guests could get to know each other better, and enjoy themselves.

The old general paired off with one of the pretty servants, who seemed to enjoy the joint role of servant and convive. She lit his cigar for him, brought his coffee and liqueur, and reclined on the great divan by his side, boldly showing her leg well up to the frill of the drawers.

She did not stir an inch when the general passed his old hand lustfully right up her leg, and on to her cunt. She promised softly to come to his room late that night, where he might do whatever he liked.

Young Phil had been undone in his competition for Jeannie by the poet, but found consolation in the red-haired girl. They wandered from the house to the moonlit garden, and by the riverside he first kissed her, and then felt her. She told him she was a virgin, but had been sick of her quiet life in the north, and had been tempted. She didn't quite know what was going to happen to her, but could guess.

Phil found her very loving, and considered himself lucky when they found the private bathing shed, and its electric light switch. She looked very lovely, and Phil, though he had earlier been romantic with Jeannie, felt he had full room enough in his heart for two.

The night was so very warm that even in this semi-out-of doors it was pleasant to undress. Phil made her do it, made her stand in her naked beauty in the moonlight, then lifted her back on to the cushions in the shed and found she really was a virgin.

Poor Phil, a little weary after his taxi-fuck, had a painful struggle, and the girl cried for pain, but when the fatal barrier was passed and the last twisting ecstasy of painful pleasure over-it was all joy.

Phil rummaged about the shed, and found that hot water was actually laid on from the house, and that every washing convenience was available: it was indeed a beautifully complete maison de la chair. He bathed her hot little cunt-it had bled very little-and had a short swim himself. They walked back to the house happily, hand in hand. More people were in the studio when they returned. A motor had brought a little party from London-two very smart girls and two irreproachable young men about town.

The blinds were drawn, and the lights turned on full. The company was obviously expecting something.

It came in the shape of a 'semi-proper' dance.

It was called 'The Dance of Emancipation'.

First the dainty little trottin of the Boulevards-band-box on arm, tripping rather than dancing, gaily irresponsible, round the stage, all in pantomime-pursued by the elderly admirer.

Scene II- The smart horizontal in all her glory, dancing, semi-naked, to her own reflection in the cheval glass.

Scene III. The dance begins to imply, as you would expect, impending death. She is in bed. The room is not so smart. To her come dancing, grinningly, the clown, Harlequin, Pantaloon and the doctor-and Columbine. She raises herself; she fears, she stumbles from bed, her hair is awry, she dances awkwardly; Columbine pirouettes mockingly-one expects always the end but Harlequin smacks his wand across the doctor's chest. The doctor starts: he gives the girl the phial-in a moment all in her is life again. She flicks her fingers, and she is still dancing, quite her old self, as the lights fade gradually away and in utter and absolute darkness you hear the gay flutes. That was all.

The audience woke from its hush and took very resolutely a little late supper.