… The mystery of Mistress Mountshaft…
The carriage and four was painted an eye catching blue, with the window and fittings picked out in gold coach lines. The four bay horses pulling the coach had clearly been selected no only for their physique but also to match each other in the lustre of their coats. Their black tack contrasted with well polished brasses.
The coach was driven by a rugged but handsome coachman, Martin, wearing a dark blue worsted livery coat buttoned to the neck, with matching tight riding breeches and long black boots. Sitting next to the coachman was a finer featured man dressed in dark grey riding breeches, white stockings and black buckle shoes that displayed a fine calf to best effect. He wore a white shirt and silk neckerchief with a black waistcoat and matching morning coat. Resting across his lap was a shotgun which he restrained with his fine black gloved hands.
The inside of the coach was upholstered in deeply buttoned light blue West of England cloth with a plush pelt. The woodwork was painted to match the blue exterior of the coach and each of windows had matching blue blinds.
The occupant. Lady Clarissa Needham, wore a wine red velvet gown which drew the eye to the finest bosom in the west, not overlarge but complying with the accepted measure of excellence – the british standard handful. This was set off to best effecting with a tempting décolletage. Her feet were clad in elegant embroidered calf length riding boots. Over her gown she wore a long black velvet coat with a contrasting black and red velvet stole. Her face was characterised by clearly defined check bones, greeny blue eyes which sparkled with a hint of wicked intent. Her hair was drawn back and secured under slightly extravagant black hat. A tartan carriage rug lay discarded across the seat.
The impact of the whole ensemble was impressive, as indeed it was intended to be, and displayed affluence without ostentation. From Lady Clarissa’s manner she was clearly mistress of all she surveyed, she was however bored with her seemingly endless journey to Lickfold in Surrey. The motion of the coach was irregular as it made is way over the poorly maintained road through the deeply wooded countryside.
She was impatient to reach her destination, where she was expected under her nom-de-guerre of Mistress Mountshaft. She had not had anyone to talk to for the whole morning as Silas her butler had insisted on riding shotgun as the area was well known for its highwaymen. Silas took his duties as her protector with considerable seriousness, though with increasing boredom Clarissa did consider that she would have preferred his company and perhaps the execution of some of his more intimate duties. She recalled with some fondness that she had in the past always found that highwaymen demands for money and chattels could be moderated to some other more transient favour to the mutual satisfaction of all parties, even when the highwaymen operated in larger gangs.
As her reverie continued she speculated on how Silas might set about distracting her from this endless journey. Perhaps he would detect from her restlessness with conversation about the dangers of travel, or forthcoming appointments, that more direct attention was required. Silas was usually a good judge of his mistress’s mood and requirements. There was an indeed an itch that needed scratching.
“Mistress, I notice that your boot lace has come undone” he might venture.
Dropping onto his knees he would then gently lift the hem of her gown and examine her boot clad calf. His hand would gently hold her ankle as he carefully checked the laces. A particularly large jolt would cause him grasp her knee to brace himself, causing her black cloak to unbutton and the gown to ride up exposing a glimpse of stocking covered thigh
Silas would look up at his Mistress and see THAT sparkle in her eye and watch quietly as she pulled down the carriage blinds. Both of his hands would then make their way onto her knees and start a slow but inexorable journey along the smooth thigh to the point where the embroidered stocking top heralded the start of smooth bare white skin. Lady Clarissa’s feet would now be resting on the seat opposite, with her knees either side of Silas head. Silas would be now approach familiar ground as his duties as Lady Clarissa's groundsman and lawn keeper required regular visits to her bush, which he was charged with ensuring was always smooth and expertly manicured.
As his hands moved on upwards he knew that this duty today required more than a light trim, and his member would stiffen as his nostrils captured her alluring and enchanting perfume combining her own with the best that Paris could offer. This heady cocktail never failed to instantly arouse him. His fingers would begin a gentle transit of her smooth moistening cleft and……
“Mistress, Mistress..!!”
Lady Clarissa’s reverie was interrupted by a cry from onto of the coach. She open her eyes with a start and took her hands from under her cloak and sat upright.
Silas was calling down.
“ There is a man ahead walking by his horse, we must proceed carefully, please lock the carriage doors, draw down the blinds and do not say anything until I am able to ensure that all is safe”.
The carriage slowed to a gentle walking pace, and Silas called to the lone horseman. Lady Clarissa strained to hear his reply, but could not.
Presently the carriage came to a halt, her interest was aroused, perhaps it would be a highwayman, she hope that Silas had remembered her strict instruction not to place himself in danger or to start an exchange of fire. Her heart beat a little faster, partly from fear and partly from excitement. Perhaps the days journey would not be completely without excitement.
“Good morning Sir, what brings you to be walking with your horse rather than riding?” asked Silas, with suspicion clearly in his voice. Silas sat with his weapon clearly on display.
The traveller had stopped walking once he had heard the carriage approaching and was standing by his horse watching. He was a young man in his early twenties, slightly over six foot tall, with shoulder length brown curly hair, brown eyes and round spectacles. He was standing looking relaxed with an easy smile, though with slightly reddened checks from the exertion of walking. His riding coat and neckerchief were slung over the horse and he wore a white shirt open to the neck with fawn breeches, which were very tight, and calf length brown boots.
“Hello sir , I’m travelling to Box where I am engaged by Mr Brunel as an indentured engineer in the construction of a railway tunnel and my horse has thrown a shoe. I am mightily glad to see a friendly face, for these part are renown as the haunt of highwaymen”
“ What’s your name young sir?” asked Silas, much more relaxed but still on his guard
“Mark Fitzpatrick, from Stroud in the county of Gloucestershire, where are you travelling to Sir?”
Lady Clarissa had by now positioned herself so she could eye up the young man through a small gap in the blinds. As she cast her well trained eye over him she contemplated that he would serve well as a subject for her art soirees at Needham Manor. He was a handsome young buck with a taught rump and finely proportioned haunches and the delicate long fingers she always preferred. Her tutored eyed did not omit to notice that he had big feet.
“Mmmm what have here” she thought to herself.
She released the blind from the door and open the carriage window
