“Then he has taken you to bed with him, my daughter?”
“B-but it was not a sin, as he has no wife and is a man of nature, which has its needs as even a lowly bound girl has hers, Y-Your Reverence!”
“Spoken with a tolerance that shows the essentially free spirit which motivates you, my daughter! Now, I am desirous to talking more privately with you after your duties are done this night. Will that be possible, my daughter?”
“Y-yes s-sir. I – I mean, Y-your Reverence. I – I am off at ten, I am, and I have my own room, the master's very nice about such things, not making me sleep on a pile of straw in the cellar as he did the servant who was here before I came.”
“And where is your room, dear Emily?”
“At the top of the stairs, just off the broom closet, Y-Your Reverence. It is a little room, but then, as the master says, all a body needs a room for is to sleep in.”
“Eminent wisdom, my daughter. Then, I look forward to our resumed discussion somewhat after ten this night. Thank you, my daughter, for your graciousness, and I will not occupy you further.”
“Thank you, Y-Your Reverence!” And with a stifled little giggle – why must females emit that sound so resembling the muted bray of a jackass when under the stress of perfectly basic emotions? Emily scurried off for I heard a door bang to and assumed she must have gone back into the kitchen to see to the roast beef and all the other condiments of the forthcoming repast.
I heard Father Lawrence sigh, “What a charming creature, that one!” and then, after a pause, say in louder voice, “And now to look in upon my lovely little wards to make sure they are cozily quartered.”
And with this, he strode up the stairway to the rooms he had engaged, the locket and myself bouncing up and down in his cassock pocket every energetic step of the way.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A scant half hour later, having doubtless freshened their sweet persons from the rigor of the journey by coach from Dover, Marisia, Louisette and Denise, accompanied by my unwitting jailer, came down to a table in the main dining hall of the inn to consume the viands prepared for them. Good Thomas regaled the three fair damsels with extravagant and flowery phrases, most of which they of course did not understand but for the prompt translations which Father Lawrence made from the English into French. Emily served the table at which the English ecclesiastic sat with his virginal wards, and from time to time, as she came to replenish the flagon of ale – or of milk for the damsels, to be sure – or to bring another loaf of crusty brown bread and to slice another generous portion of the rare roast beef, I heard Father Lawrence commend her in terms as flowery as those his host was using to attract the attention of these nymphets.
Finally the feast was done with, and Thomas and my jailer drank a last toast in ale, and then Thomas yawned loudly and said he must be early to his bed, for on the morrow he was to provide lodging and victuals for a dozen gallants and their servants off to Dover to cross to France for the social season at the King's court.
“You are excused, my good brother,” Father Lawrence genially exclaimed, “but I marvel that with so small a household staff you can provide for all your guests without failing in some measure of service. How is it that you did not take unto yourself a wife these many years, who might even now be readying herself to share the burdens with you?”
“One need not own a cow to have milk, as you yourself well know,” replied that worthy, “and I have never felt the urge to fetter myself and submit to nagging day and night. I am happier with servants to direct, like that baggage Emily, who is humble, knows her place and, so far as female charms are concerned, is pleasant enough to gaze upon so that my guests do justice to my kitchen and my ale. Aye, if I had a wife, she would drive custom forth by ranting at them should one of the worthy gentry seek to pinch her bottom. But Emily is not so disposed, and, indeed, the baggage simpers and bridles when a worthy guest so favors her with such a posteriori attentions, considering them flattery to her station. No, give me a bound servant over a wife! Hey ho, I am yawning, and that is discourteous.”
“It is the ale and your advancing years, my brother.”
“Advancing years, do you say! You black-robed hellion, you are not so much younger that I cannot still best you at any sport, whether it be wenching or ale-quaffing!”
“I cannot accept your challenge for the very reason of my black robe. But I warrant you, if you make inquiry at some future date, you will hear good reports of my manliness. Come, my daughters, say a sweet good night to Thomas here, your good host, and wish him the most enchanting of dreams for his lonely bed this night!” This last, in French, to his wards, caused once again a chorus of sounds I could by now dispense with, but it amused good Thomas, for he commended Father Lawrence on his excellent good taste and wished him a kind of envious joy in his charge of them. And so at last he left the table, and Father Lawrence, hearing the clock chime nine hours, urged his wards to bed.
“Do you, Marisia,” he whispered into that young raven-haired siren's ear, “help Denise and Louisette be comfortable in their room, and ascertain they have the larger quarters and the wider bed. To this purpose, that you are to urge them to procure that accurate count which was essayed last sight, for it is vital that before they enter the doors of St. Thaddeus, they know to a follicle the exact number of pussyhairs which grace their virgin thighs. Go now, with my blessing, and do not let them – or yourself either, my dear child – tarry without sleep once they have completed this obligation.”
“I will see to it for you, mon Pere,” the delightful young brunette exclaimed, and then there was the sound of a fervent kiss, followed by a girlish sigh. It was plain that Marisia's infatuation with the virile English ecclesiastic was growing by leaps and bounds and that he would have ere long far more temptations than ever St. Anthony was credited with shunning.
After Marisia had left the room, Father Lawrence sighed contentedly and seated himself in a comfortable chair, to while away the time, I had no doubt, till the indentured servant girl should be free of occupation, whereupon he assuredly meant to furnish that to her. Presently he began to hum, and it was the bawdy tune he had picked up in Languecuisse and which he had so melodiously declaimed prior to his rendezvous with Georgette in the inn at Calais. But this time, after several false starts, he devised new verses pertaining to the moment soon to be at hand – or rather, to be more literal about the matter, at prick. These, to the best of my recollections, went somewhat as follows:
In the inn at Somerset, tra-la-la,
There's a bound girl who's a pet, tra-la-la.
Sweet and shy, she will not fret, tra-la-la,
Knowing my appetites she doth whet, tra-la-la.
Master Thomas, to whom she owes, tra-la-la,
Labor for her food and clothes, tra-la-la,
Tells me she's his English rose, tra-la-la,
And plucking buds is what he knows, tra-la-la.
In our boyhood long ago, tra-la-la,
Wenching ever we would go, tra-la-la.
He and I the fairest sought, tra-la-la,
Over many a cunt we fought, tra-la-la.
Twenty years and more have passed, tra-la-la,
Since we fucked the same girl last, tra-la-la.
But methinks my cock's still the stronger, tra-la-la.
Just as it is surely the longer, tra-la-la.
So to Emily's room I go, tra-la-la,
Seeking to prove that this is so, tra-la-la.
Convincing doubting Thomases is now my trade, tra-la-la,
And that's why I shall fuck his jade, tra-la-la.
I had once again to marvel at his versatility and imagination. Improvised on the spur of the moment as it was (and also, doubtless, by the spur of his aching and cunt-eager prick), it could stand critical comparison with many a ballad hawked on London streetcorners for a few pence, just as, metaphorically speaking, Father Lawrence himself could assuredly stand in comparison with any lusty man who ever proffered prodding, palpable prick to quivering, expectant female cunt.