'Playing with yourselves,' said Rosamund, finishing his sentence for him. 'Oh, don't blush, Mr. FitzAllen, I've heard all these fairy stories before. Sometimes, the schools tell the boys they'll get spots, sometimes that they'll go blind, sometimes that they'll catch deadly diseases or worse if they don't stop tossing off. Well, all I can say is that if that were the case, the hospitals would be bloody crowded because there wouldn't be more than a handful of healthy men who could expect to reach the age of twenty-five!' 'I'll do what you say, Rosamund,' said Maurice humbly. 'And I'll tell my friends not to interrupt Dr Barnes's next lecture. We were going to rag him, but I'll stop any trouble.' 'And what about Henry Dashwood?' she demanded. Maurice gave her a smile and said: 'Well, after this morning, I don't feel so jealous of Dashwood. Actually, I rather like him and his chum Charles Farleigh-Windsor. Perhaps if I apologised for being so beastly to him and the others, we could still be friends.'
'I'm sure you could,' agreed Rosamund. When they had finished dressing they left Maurice's room and Joshua came out from behind the curtains and gave me a hand down from my perch. 'Did you get any good shots of Maurice on the job?' he asked eagerly. 'I think I'll have two or three corkers.' I scratched my head and said hesitantly: 'Yes, there are probably some saucy snaps on my film, but I don't think we should develop them just yet.' 'Ah, because of what he said to Rosamund about making up with us,' he said thoughtfully. 'Fair enough, Henry, I suppose we should give him a chance to make amends. But if we don't send any photographs to the rude magazines, I'll have to give Rosamund a fiver myself because it wouldn't be right to put her out of pocket.' When we told Charles about what had happened he readily agreed to suspend judgement on Maurice FitzAllen. 'Now the yoke of unwanted virginity has been lifted from his shoulders, I believe that Maurice will be a far nicer person,' I said. 'Now he has had his first taste of pussy, he won't be so aggressive as he'll have shaken off that dreadful inferiority complex.'
PART III. Rural Rides
Brasenose College, Oxford, October 24th, 1901 (study hour) Diary, it is now two weeks since I was precariously perched on the top of Maurice FitzAllen's wardrobe. Happily, I am able to report that it proved unnecessary to develop the shot, for Maurice did undergo a change of heart and it is now possible to debate issues of the day with him in a sensible, civilised manner. Frankly, I doubt if he will ever become close friends with political opponents but thanks to Maurice's influence, those who support the Boer War no longer snarl like animals at those in the opposite camp in the dining hall. As we had no photographs to send to The Cremorne, Joshua, Charles and myself each insisted on giving Rosamund a guinea, for her part in the lascivious affair. But, for my part, I am very pleased that we did not have to resort to threatening Maurice as we had planned. For I was uneasy from the very start about the scheme which I knew was only a hair's breadth away from blackmail. Still, all's well that ends well, although as a precautionary measure, Joshua has insisted keeping the negatives from the photographs he took with his Gewirtz Waistcoat camera in case Maurice is ever tempted to revert to his bad old ways. Now on to fresh and exciting news. Charles came into the library this morning and passed me a letter he had received from his cousin Cassandra Morley. 'You'll find her letter far more interesting than that boring tome on political economy you've had in front of you since ten o'clock.' 'Nothing can be more tedious than marginal demand and the law of diminishing returns,' I grunted.
I took the letter out of the envelope which I noticed bore a postmark from South Devon, one of my favourite areas of England.
'Charles, this letter is marked Private and Confidential. Are you quite sure that you don't mind my reading it?' 'Not in the slightest,' he rejoined quietly. 'Before you begin, let me explain that my pretty cousin Cassandra is only eighteen, and though educated in a quiet girls' school on the outskirts of Torquay, has a far from demure disposition. The family gossips say that her wildness comes from her mother who is of Italian extraction, and she certainly possesses the physical attributes of my Aunt Elena, whose striking looks attracted His Majesty the King when he visited Morley Hall eighteen months ago. 'He was Prince of Wales then, of course,' added Charles and he lowered his voice still further and said: “There was talk amongst the servants that not only did he share Aunt Elena's bed, but that he also wanted to fuck Cassandra as well, but my aunt refused, saying that Cassie was only just sixteen-years-old and far too young for him.' 'I can quite believe it,' I murmured softly.
'The King really is an old devil, and I wouldn't put it past him to try and romp with both mother and daughter at the same time.'
'Quite so, old boy,' agreed Charles. “There can't be many monarchs who would have the nerve to fuck their hostess whilst her husband was snoring away next door – and before you ask, no, my poor Uncle Roger is not a man complaisant.' 'Actually, being only a distant relative of my father, Roger Morley is only an honorary uncle, although my brothers and I have always accorded him this title.
However, our families have always been very friendly and I've always been especially fond of Cassandra who was an enchantingly pretty child and is now a ravishingly beautiful eighteen-year-old girl, who is lusted after by all the young gentry of Devonshire. 'Anyhow, to return to my anecdote, according to his valet, either the Prince or my aunt slipped a small phial of chloral hydrate into Uncle Roger's final glass of port before they were due to retire. So after he staggered upstairs, he fell into bed and slept like a top whilst Aunt Elena rushed into the Prince's bedroom and stayed there for the best part of two hours. Anyhow, why don't you read Cassandra's letter and then meet me for a coffee in the common room in about fifteen minutes time?'
He hurried off and I unfolded the sheaves of paper and read the following:
Dear Charlie, I do hope you have settled in well at Brasenose and that you are enjoying yourself in Oxford. I must confess that J often wish I had studied harder. I might have been able to persuade Papa to let me leave Morley Hall and see something of the great wide world outside. Oh, I know he means well, Charlie, but life down here can be so crushingly dull! Do you remember how you described the boys you met at the Hunt Ball in June? You called them 'chinless wonders' and that perfectly fits most of the local young men who come weekly to Morley Hall at Mama's invitation as potential suitors. More of this later, but first let me tell you of a marvellous adventure Fanny Braithwaite and I had some three weeks ago. I'm sure you haven't forgotten Fanny, I know she made a great impression upon you at the Hunt Ball! You gave her a nickname as well, you naughty boy – what was it now? Oh yes, I remember, it was 'the firecracker'!
Well, if anything, Fanny looks even more gorgeous than ever, Charlie, and she says I should tell you that if you come down here for a weekend, she would let you see more than her titties which you so enjoyed fondling in the carriage which took you both back here after the ball. Don't even attempt to deny it, Fanny and I have no secrets from one another! Now I don't know what the weather has been like in Oxford, but we've been enjoying an Indian Summer down here in sunny Devon. Even though we are already into the last week of September, the thermometer has shot up to more than seventy degrees. Fanny and I decided to take our swimsuits and go bathing on Mudstone Sands, which you know is usually completely deserted. So we arranged for Polgrave to take us down to St Mary's Bay in the dog-cart and indeed the beach seemed deserted as we went into the bathing-machines to change. I instructed Polgrave to set up two deck-chairs and leave the hamper which Mrs. Hobart had packed for our tea by the chairs. 'You may leave now, Polgrave,' I said. 'Come back at half past four, but naturally if the weather changes for the worse, return here as soon as possible.' Fanny seemed to be in a very subdued mood, which is most unlike her for she is usually such a cheerful soul. When she undressed I admired her firm uptilted breasts and flat white belly which was decorated at the base with a fluffy moss of flaxen curls through which I could see the rolled pink pussey lips when she lifted one leg up on the bench to brush some dirt off her feet. I said nothing until we went outside again. Perhaps a suitor was giving her problems, I thought to myself. But once we had made ourselves comfortable in our chairs, I demanded to know what was troubling my dear friend, for she appeared to be in a very thoughtful mood.