Sherwood Pt I – Thailand
By
Karen Anne Summerfield
Copyright July 2005
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“You’ve all been told the problem, now let me hear some suggested solutions,” Mark Lancet asked his staff. The twelve people gathered in the secure conference formed the top command of the super secret, US government agency known only as ‘Unit 17’. As far as the Congress knew, they were part of the NSA; as far as the media and American people knew … well, they didn’t. Certainly, only a very few at the very top of the US Government knew of their true mission and it was almost never discussed, even among them.
“May I ask a question, Sir?”
“Certainly, Jon, go ahead even though I’ll probably give you bull shit for an answer,” the Director permitted along with some muffled chuckles.
Jon Witworth, one of the least senior department heads, plunged forward, “Just why does The Oval Office care about what is happening, twelve thousand miles away, to these faggots? He’s a devout Christian, after all.”
Director Lancet’s eyes cut into his subordinate with a fierce edge that matched his name. “I thought that I had made it perfectly clear that your personal political and religious views have no place in this organization and especially in this room!” He did not share the right-wing nut-case’s religious and political views, nor were they shared by others in the room.
“Mark, if I may review for my own understanding?” He nodded to Olga Petronski, one of his most trusted advisors, to proceed.
“T girls from all over the world, but mostly those in our country, Canada, the UK and a few in northern Europe use these Thai clinics to complete their transitions with SRS…”
“T girls, SRS, Olga?” George Warren, Sr. Director of Operations, sought clarification.
“Transsexuals and sexual reassignment surgery, George.” He nodded and wrote the terms into his notes.
Jon rolled his eyes and silently prayed for deliverance. Many in the room would like his corpse delivered with numerous nine millimeter holes in it; a few would have considered that fate too soft.
“That’s correct, Olga,” Mark answered.
“Many of the clinics vanished without a trace during the tsunami of 2004, but some have reopened. One, formerly of the highest repute, is now being questioned because of an unprecedented loss rate?”
“No one has openly questioned this, Olga. It’s doubtful that many have the data to realize that any one of the girls except those who knew them have questioned anything.”
“Girls? What girls? We’ve been talking about perverts that want their dicks cut off! Just turn them over to the Marines and our men will be more than happy to oblige these freaks.”
Jon had crossed the boundary once too often with his own misperception of right. In response to the button Mark had depressed, two burly, armed guards entered the room and sought direction. Mark pointed to son of the late Senator from the Bible Belt and signaled to the men that he was to be put in strict solitary. Few in the room had seen the movement of Mark’s fingers, only one understood the meaning. Renee Ashley averted her beautiful eyes and grinned. She’d have loved to have jumped up and given high-fives around the room.
Mark looked to his trusted secretary, Joan Wethersfield, she looked back. Joan had the unnerving ability to read her boss’s mind. “You were discussing the clinics in Thailand resorts, sir, before Bill had that terrible fit of coughing.
“Are you all right now, Mr Crowley?” she coyly asked.
He sipped some water then answered with a hack, “Much. Thank you, Joan.”
*****
“Mark, let me introduce, Erica Constantine.” Mark stood and grinned broadly as Renee urged the very nervous, attractive brunette forward.
“Erica, this is Mark Lancet, The Director of Unit 17.”
“Pleased to meet you, sir.” Not knowing why Renee had come to carefully groom her that morning in her Arlington apartment, Erica was even more apprehensive than previously. She could think only the worst when she saw her personnel file on his desk; confirming these fears.
Having been in transition for two years and only just having outed herself to her boss, Renee, four weeks previously, she very apprehensive and feared the worst. “Am I being terminated?” she nervously asked. She summoned her courage and choked back her tears, “Just get right to it, if that’s why I’m here.”
“Miss Constantine, please sit and try to relax?” Mark patiently invited. “You are here to discuss a new assignment, not to be fired.”
“Huh? You aren’t firing me because of what I am?”
“Despite the misguided attempts underway by a portion of our country to return us to the seventeenth century, our laws protect women from being discrimination because of their sex, gender or orientation,” Mark sought to set her at ease. He walked behind his desk and sat. Before speaking again, he quickly reviewed a summary page in her file then closed it.
“Just prior to your recent … announcement, you requested to be relieved from field operations and asked to be reassigned to an open position as a data analyst, Miss Constantine, with a substantial reduction in pay. Please explain why you did that?”
She fidgeted a moment and straightened her short black skirt. “The … changes I’m undergoing have started to become such that they are difficult to continue to hide, sir.”
“More?” he pressed.
“I’d rather not say, sir. I took the necessary steps to remove myself as an obstacle to mission accomplishment.”
“I see.” He paused to place a note in her file.
“Perhaps if I outline the substance of the report that was filed by your most recent field partner…”
“Sir, I requested my removal from a mission where, in my judgment my continued presence was an obstacle to mission accomplishment,” she repeated. “…I could no longer do my job…”
“Just be quiet, Miss Constantine,” Mark, while firm, was also soft. He let the paper he’d been holding float to the desk.
“The report basically states that your conduct was, at all times professional and your partner confessed to forcing his undesired and unsolicited attentions towards you, etc.
“Let us look a bit at the matter we are faced with, shall we? Then let us focus on how your participation might also advance your personal goals?” he smiled warmly.
“My personal goals, sir?”
He grinned, “Alright then, we can examine those first, if you’d prefer.
“Let’s start with a passport, driver’s license, birth certificate and social security card,” he’d dealt those like playing cards on the table as he’d mentioned them, “and a wildcard.” (The latter was a large manila envelope).
“Those all say, Erica Louise Constantine, twenty-eight years old and female. Regardless of your decision, they are yours. Our next move, will be based on what your decision is, Erica.”
“What is in the envelope, sir?” she asked.
“First class ticket to Thailand, luxury suite at one of their finest resort hotels in Bangkok, ticket to Phuket, hotel there and all expense paid procedures for facial feminization reconstruction, breast augmentation, laser assisted voice augmentation and vaginoplasty at one of their top-rated plastic surgery clinics.”
Erica smiled, “Do you think I need facial reconstruction, sir?”
“Honestly, no. You are quite attractive as you are, Miss Constantine.
“We’ve provided for it still; the details of that are up to you … a button nose perhaps?” She returned his smile at his suggestion.
“Thanks, I’ll think about that.” Erica paused to first look at Renee then returned her attention to the Director.
“I believe I heard you state that all those are mine, regardless of my decision, sir. Now, please tell me what you’d like for the rest of my compensation?
“What I did not hear you state was how I get home.”
Mark chuckled, “Well, Renee, you did say she was sharp.” He returned his attention to the attractive girl seated across from him.
“Not included is a return ticket, as you’ve already guessed.
“Our good friends across the pond have requested our help,” he began. “One of their Royals has disappeared… We’d like you to learn what happened to him, find him then provide enough data to get him out.”
“Him, sir?”
“The Viscount Annersley, grandson to the Duke of Sherwood.”
“Go on?” Erica urged.
Mark cleared his throat, “Timothy, Viscount Annersley, is eighteen years old. He arranged for transportation from Brisbane, where he was on vacation, to Bangkok then to Phuket; apparently for gender reassignment surgeries. The Brits came up cold after tracing him there, at the request of his grandfather who had attempted to inform him of his father’s unfortunate death in the Iraqi War. That was just two weeks, ago, Erica.”
“What evidence leads to the conclusion that he went there for SRS?” the analyst questioned.
“Renee, please?” Mark, his own past securely locked in his closet, was not comfortable with the question.
“Apparently, it had not been a closely held family secret. Timothy was raised as Tina on the family estate…”
“That’s enough.” Erica raised her hand to cut off her boss and turned to the Director.
“Now you want me to follow Tina inside and learn what happened. Suppose Tina doesn’t want to be the Viscount or Viscountess of wherever and really doesn’t want to go home to play in the castle?”
“Miss Constantine…”
“Let me continue, please?” she interrupted the Director.
“You can give me the details later. Timothy or Tina, I’m guessing, snuck away from Oz to go to this place all on her own without having the concurrence of her family; you did say that the British double oh seven types had to trace her there. Under those circumstances, I might not want to be found until I was ready to return home either.
“Wait…” Erica thought a moment. “You said this all started when her father was killed… I’m no expert on English peerage, titles or anything, but when her daddy passed; she moved up the ladder a rung making her a Countess now, doesn’t it?” Renee and Mark were both ignorant of the correct title.
*****
“There is more, Erica,” Mark resumed when they had covered Tina’s history to Erica’s satisfaction. “More … girls than just Tina are missing; at least fourteen others, by our count, since the tsunami.
“One, an Irish girl, was lucky to escape from a brothel where she had been forced to work as a sex slave.” He went on to detail her ordeal.
Erica wrinkled her glossed, beige lips. “You have dealt me a hand on the table worth at least fifty grand, maybe double … even if I couldn’t buy legal documentation like you’ve offered. If I use it, I might lose it. There is no ticket home.
“I sit in for a new hand in an unknown game with players I know nothing about…” Renee was about to offer words to encourage the desired results, but her boss motioned for her to remain silent.
No one said a thing for several minutes. Erica startled both of them when they saw her glance at her watch then open her maroon shoulder purse. The young brunette carefully removed, one by one, her old identity and refilled the pockets in her wallet with their replacements; leaving the old ones on the broad expanse of oak. With the new passport in the bag, she smiled at the Director.
“It’s past noon; a scotch on the rocks with a twist, please? Make it a double.” Mark contained his satisfied smile; Renee grinned as she went to the bar to pour.
Though she had moved the envelope to the edge of the desk, Erica hadn’t otherwise touched it.
“I’ll need new clothes and spending money along with credit cards, sir.” Erica knew, in the current game, she held the winning cards. Mark sipped then motioned Renee from the office with his head.
“When do I start training?” her question caught him completely off guard.
“Training for what? You were a field agent for over four years!” the Director blurted.
“To speak Thai for a start.” The Director’s face was blank. “Look, do you want me to fail? Teach me a minimum of how to speak Thai for a start!”
*****
“Welcome to Thailand, Miss Constantine. Please enjoy your holiday in our country.” The pretty female Immigration Agent returned her passport after stamping it.
Her hotel was more luxurious than any she’d ever previously occupied though Erica hadn’t been booked into any of its ‘better’ suites.
“Can you arrange for a massage in my room?” she requested of the desk clerk.
“Certainly, Miss Constantine. The long flight can be most tiring. At what time, please?”
“Right now, please?”
Erica had only time to use the toilet and wash her hands when there was a soft knock on the door. She welcomed in not one, but two, pretty and petite masseuses.
“We to massaging,” one said as they both grinned.
It was pure heaven she drifted into. Erica had them undress her completely; neither seemed to pay any attention to the unseemly appendages in her thong. They bathed her then, over two hours, her body was turned into a soft rubber band.
As they tucked her between the silk sheets, the American had barely enough presence to tip them before falling into a very deep and satisfying sleep.
In the morning while Erica had breakfast, the hotel concierge arranged for the American to locate the shops she wanted to find. Though she projected all the wealth of an American, she won over the hotel staff, taxi drivers and shop clerks with her ability, however limited, to speak their language and not demonstrate the stereotypical ‘ugly American’ tourist.
In the evening of her first full day, accompanied by an escort/bodyguard that the efficient concierge had arranged for, Erica made the rounds of the clubs, bars and cabarets that featured katoey staff and performers. Very few of the ladyboys were western, almost all seemed happily contented Thai and they are an integral part of society there. She knew her error long before she returned to her hotel room that night. Any who were post-op, weren’t going to be found in a club with ladyboys! Erica needed to look in the brothels!
*****
“Joey, tonight I would like to visit places where I can see real sex slaves,” she stated outright when Erica greeted her escort. He had already carefully observed her selected attire: black, raw silk cheongsam, fishnet stockings, high-heeled thigh boots and especially, the three-foot whip in her gloved hand. Erica’s makeup enhanced the dominatrix image.
They were in the second club that evening; Erica found the plight of their working girls disturbing; heavy SM was an understatement, but she’d a ‘feeling’, call it intuition, that she was on the right track.
“How much do these girls cost?” she asked her escort after watching one put into bondage then savagely whipped on the stage.
“Two hundred, three hundred Bhat,” he answered.
“Not for just a night, but to take home with me? That blonde, chained to kneel by the wall, for example?” Erica had chosen to inquire about the price of an obvious Occidental.
Joey acted nervous, but calmed. “American and European most expensive. Their rate much higher.”
“Yes, I can understand. Just curious,” she shrugged. “How much? Surely, they have a price.”
“Thai girls much cheaper, million, two million Bhat. Katoey, much less.”
“That girl,” she pointed to the blonde with her whip, “how much?”
“Ten maybe twenty million Bhat,” he shrugged.
“Thank you. I’ve seen enough. Take us to my hotel please, Joey?”
In the privacy of her hotel room, Erica took out the pictures of Tina she’d been given. There were only three originals of her close-up; the others were Photoshop® manipulations of how Tina might look after FFS. There was a definite resemblance in one picture to the slave kneeling in the club.
It had been only six weeks since Tina had left Australia. If she had undergone facial reconstruction that recently, there was no way that even makeup could have concealed all the bruises and swelling the trauma that would have caused; it couldn’t have healed by that evening. Erica’s hunt would have to wait until after she had, herself healed from similar procedures.
*****
“You can’t do this to me!” Jonathan Witworth vehemently screamed and tried to retain his expensive suit when Kelly and Tara were instructed to strip him in the basement chamber of Unit 17’s building.
“Shut the fuck up, girl!” Tara slapped him hard with her gloved hand. Kelly hit the other side of his face with equal intensity when Jon stumbled.
“How dare you swear at a man?” Kelly hit him again; knocking him to the floor with her blow.
“String her up, Tara!” Quickly they cuffed his hands behind then attached the connecting links to the hook on the cable of the ceiling mounted hoist.
“Let me go!” The women used carpet knives to start cutting off his suit.
“Stop! This cost two thousand dollars!”
Tara kicked his legs from under him so his arms wrenched with a jerk to suddenly support his one hundred fifty pounds and caused a pain-induced scream. She used her leg to keep their victim off balance and continued to cut off his garments.
Just to be naked and fully exposed before two women battered Jonathan’s religion-corrupted brain. He started to pray as the tears dripped from his eyes.
“Father in heaven, forgive them for they know not what they do…”
“Listen to her, just who the fuck does this whore think she is?” Kelly joked.
When the two began to spread shaving cream over his pale body to shave off the fuzz, he couldn’t stop his body from responding.
“Ooooooh look Kelly,” Tara giggled. “His little weenie can actually get hard!”
“Vienna sausages are bigger than that.” Kelly flicked her finger against the tip of the barely three inch protrusion.”
“Please, God, delivery me from this den of iniquity?” he prayed.
“You’ll be delivered, little girl; don’t you fret about that. You’ll pray you were in Hell sucking off the Devil after you learn where you are going,”
“I’m not a girl!” Jon didn’t have the energy or strength to put much conviction into his denial.
*****
“Well doesn’t she look like a regular Peter Czernich fetish model?” Mark commented upon seeing Jonathan’s distorted, rubber clad figure with tubes protruding from every orifice. It was more than obvious that Kelly and Tara had laced him extremely tightly into the stringent corset they’d been provided.
“Crate her up and inform shipping, ladies. Thank you.”
“Sir?” Kelly felt no harm in asking. “Just who is this?”
“An enemy to the freedom of the American people,” the Director responded. That was sufficient to quell Kelly’s curiosity.
“I never thought the ole fart had any clue about Marquis® let alone know the name of its publisher,” Tara commented as they guided their sightless charge back to their basement playroom.
“Just because they are our parents’ age has nothing to do with how kinky they are, Tara.”
*****
Erica spoke Thai to greet the receptionist at the Phuket Clinic for Surgical Transformation, “Good morning.” She’d had a comfortable one-hour flight to the island resort from Bangkok the previous afternoon then a delightful dinner and evening touring the cabarets.
“A pleasant good morning,” the young lady greeted. “You must be Miss Constantine.” An summoned one of the girls with a touch to the button on her desk.
“May I see your documents, please?
“Miss Constantine, this is Poo. She has been assigned to attend you during your visit with us.
“Poo will show you to your room and help you get settled. When you are refreshed, please return here and the doctor will consult with you.”
While not the luxury rooms that Erica had occupied in Bangkok or the previous night on Phuket, her room and accommodations at the clinic were well above those found in a typical American hotel/motel. Poo unpacked the one case that held the things Erica felt she might need during her stay while she used the bathroom to wash then fix her hair and refresh her makeup.
“We to go to lobby again, Miss Constantine,” Poo instructed.
“Poo, escort Miss Constantine to visit Doctor Luange, please?” The receptionist had returned Erica’s documents after copying them and entering all the information that she needed. She handed Erica’s file to the escort.
Dr Vahe Luange stood to greet his new patient when Poo had introduced them. “May I address you as Erica?”
“Certainly, please?” He motioned her to sit then sat nearby.
“Erica, your application indicates that you would like breast augmentation. How large would you like them to be?”
“Yes, doctor. D or perhaps double D.”
“I would think that with your frame, double D would look perfect.” Dr Luange made that notation in Erica’s file.
“Now please discuss, facial reconstruction?” he asked.
“I played a bit with my photographs on my computer.” She removed the printouts of the manipulations she was satisfied with. He studied each carefully.
“Many of our women want their eyes and cheeks reshaped to give them a more Western appearance. Some girls from the States and Europe fantasize that they would like the opposite.,” he smiled.
“May I touch your face, Erica?” Dr Luange used his soft fingers to pull her eyes out and push the corners up. He also manipulated her nose and lips for a few moments then returned to his seat.
“Few American can achieve the effects that they think they want. Your bones and muscle structure, however will.
“We will take some photographs then use our computer to show you what we believe might be possible.
“I would like to talk about your vagina, Erica.”
She couldn’t help but giggle, “I don’t have one yet.”
“And that is the main purpose of your visit,” he smiled in return.
For about an hour, they discussed her options, which weren’t many, and what Erica could expect and not expect after that surgery.
“Erica let us drawn blood samples and one of urine then we can proceed with a physical examination.”
“Doctor, I did eat breakfast this morning; I’d no instructions to fast.”
“That is fine. Tomorrow we will starve you and take another sample,” he grinned, but Erica knew she wouldn’t be permitted food prior to general anesthesia and major surgery.
*****
“Welcome back, Erica. How do you feel?” Gigi, the recovery room nurse asked when Erica regained consciousness.
“Verth sore. Lithe Ithe been run ove by thanks,” she slurred through swollen lips.
“The procedures were a complete success.” Erica had been on the operating table for over twelve hours. They had reconstructed her face, enlarged her breasts and created a vagina, all in the same day.
She tried to move her hand to rub her bandaged-covered, very sore face and couldn’t. Dr Luange had told her that her hands and ankles would be restrained for several days after the procedures.
Erica went to sleep.
“Hello Miss Constantine. You feel better today?”
“Hello, Poo. A little better. May I have water, please?” Her eyes still covered with bandages, Erica responded to the familiar voice; she would not be able to see for another two days.
*****
The leather cuffs were unstrapped from her bed rails after three days, but only when the patient was awake. It was a week before they freed Erica completely and Poo helped her to walk to the toilet.
“I look horrible,” she stated before the bathroom mirror. Much of the facial swelling had subsided, but deep blotches of purple surrounded her eyes with lesser spots around her mouth and nose.
“Poo, may I take a shower, please?”
“We go to sit on the bed and I will ask the doctor, Miss Constantine.” Dr Luange and a nurse returned with Erica’s attendant in a short time.
“Hello, Erica. How are you feeling?”
“Still sore and very dirty, doctor. I would like to take a shower, please?”
“I will examine you first.
“Poo, remove her gown,” he instructed.
Carefully he peeled away all of the remaining bandages.
“Yuki, get the kit to remove the sutures, please?” The nurse left and returned with the requested equipment.
“You are healing very nicely,” he told his patient.
“Yes, you may shower, however I would like Poo to assist you. I do not yet want you to stretch much. It would be too soon.” The attendant began to remove her own clothing as he spoke and they continued to remove the sutures.
“Poo, give Miss Constantine a good shower, but no playing. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, doctor.”
He returned his attention to his patient. “You are free to move about. Please have Poo beside you whenever you do so? She is here to help you, Erica.”
“Yes, doctor.”
*****
“How is our problem this evening, nurse?” Dr Luange asked as he donned surgical gloves?
“One sixty-two is still fighting everything in every way that she can, doctor.”
The former Jonathan Witworth had undergone all of the same procedures that the patient lying comfortably in her bed on the level above and watching television with Poo had submitted to willingly. Jon had willed none of this.
After being air freighted to Thailand in a wooden crate labeled ‘Medical Supplies’, Jon was kept in his rubber attire and fully tubed until the operations to make him irreversibly a female had been completed. The tape recordings, all that she could hear, were designed to strengthen her perverted and distorted right-wing, nut-case, conservative beliefs and, in total contrast, cause her to intensely crave all that she had so vehemently opposed and condemned. By the time she was fully healed and auctioned off to a Bangkok brothel, Jonni’s mind was going to be in constant turmoil and one, literally, totally f***ed up mess.
“These are stretching nicely,” Dr Luange stated after fondling and kneading Jonni’s sore breasts. “I believe that we can insert larger implants within two weeks.” Satisfied with the subject’s condition, he returned to the first level of the clinic and his quarters for the night.
*****
“Poo?”
“Yes, Miss Constantine?” She looked up from arranging the blankets on the rice straw mat she slept on each night before the door.
“Poo, if I invite you to share my bed with me, is that permitted?”
Quickly, the attendant rolled the mat and kicked it aside then scrambled to climb under the covers. It was too soon since Erica’s surgeries had been performed for them to play with each other, but they fell asleep in a warm, tight embrace.
*****
A team of beauticians was brought in three and a half weeks after she’d been under the knife. Erica was given a full make-over from acrylic nails to new hairdo – deep auburn with copper highlights and to makeup to enhance her still sore and slightly swollen face. She was very pleased with her total look and that the foundation they’d used concealed all the residual discolorations from the reconstructions.
But for her chosen hair color and enlarged breasts, Erica would unquestionably pass anywhere in the world as a female with Oriental ancestors. The most likely guesses might be that her heritage was Southeast Asian, possibly Chinese or even Korean; she did not look to be Japanese.
The LAVA procedure had been carried out by one of Dr Luange’s associates to raise Erica’s voice two octaves at her request. No longer did she have to concentrate and use her voice training. She spoke in a soft high soprano.
She had not just idled her time away during her recuperation, but had undertaken a diligent study to speak, read and write in Thai and greatly expand her preliminary training before she’d departed the United States. As her friendly assistant, Poo, accompanied Erica constantly, she became her main practice teacher and sounding board. Other girls on the staff, once they learned that an American was actually trying to learn their language, frequently joined them and gathered to add their inputs. Mostly they assembled in a lounge after the evening meal and they had completed their assigned tasks for the day.
Once Erica had felt well enough, she’d made a few attempts to learn more about past patients of the clinic, specifically, Viscount Timothy Annersley. With Poo almost constantly beside her, these furtive attempts had failed and, unless she dared to risk probably ending with a similar fate, Erica abandoned them. She did however confirm that Dr Luange and all of the staff arrived there only after the December 2004 tsunami.
*****
Because of her newly enlarged DD breasts; none of Erica’s clothing any longer fit her on top. While recuperating, she had several dressmakers come to the clinic from whom she commissioned a few new blouses and dresses. Traditional Thai fashions, to her, were largely unattractive. Instead she opted for Chinese-styled fashions; Western clothing could be more easily obtained upon her return to the States.
Wearing a short green, Thai silk cheongsam, Erica said her ‘good-byes’ and ‘thank you’s’ to all of the staff and Dr Luange. The taxi ride to the airport was short and she arrived in Bangkok with time to check-in to the same hotel, well before lunchtime.
“Hello, Miss Constantine, I did not recognize you,” her friend, the concierge, said after Erica had reintroduced herself to him speaking only Thai. “You are even more beautiful.”
“Thank you, Mr Liu,” she returned with a nice smile.
“How was your holiday?”
“Phuket is a wonderful resort. It is a place I could recommend highly to anyone.
“I plan to stay here and visit your beautiful city for perhaps a week. I would like you to arrange for Joey to again escort me, please, Mr Liu?”
“I will do my best to accommodate you, Miss Constantine.”
Erica filled her afternoons shopping, though she did not buy much. In the late evenings and nights, she made the rounds of the brothels and sex clubs. She had found only two girls that came close to matching Tina’s height and weight, though there were more who possessed a facial appearance close to what Tina might have after her reconstructive surgery. While extensive surgery could change outward appearances, none was going to turn a five foot five inch tall body into a five foot seven or eight one.
Of the two whom Ericka hired for a half hour of service each, one spoke with a Scandinavian accent and the other a thick southern drawl. Clearly their origins were not in the remnants of the once great forest that Robin Hood had called home.
“Joey, I want to use her.” Erica pointed out yet another girl, this one in a tiny steel cage parked in the vestibule of still another brothel. It was late on the last planned night of Erica’s stay in Bangkok. Though she had not given up, she was ready to admit defeat and return home using her own money.
“Caged girls are not for hire, Tine.” Erica, in an attempt to conceal her own origins, had told her bodyguard to address her that way and only spoke Thai with him and strangers. “They are in punishment.”
“Is it permitted to talk to her?” He laughed.
“You do have a fascination for pretty blondes, Tine,” he grinned. “Yes, it is permitted.”
“Wait inside for me.” Joey, did as he was told. He was well paid and did not question Erica’s unexplained tastes; after all, she hated Thai food.
Crouched next to the cage, she reached through the closely spaced bars to turn the girl’s head until her sad blue eyes looked at Erica’s heavily made up, dark ones.
“I am a friend,” the American whispered in Thai.
“All you want to do is torture me. Go away,” she returned, barely audibly, in properly accented English. She pulled her head and turned away.
“Viscountess Tina Annersley, I am a friend.”
Tina gasped and her naked body flinched. Erica had hit pay dirt.
“I am a friend,” that time she whispered in English.
“Joey, we will go!” she called for her escort. “Get me a cab!” she sharply instructed then rushed outside.
“My hotel.” Erica’s heart was pounding, but she projected calm.
“Wait!” She addressed neither the cabbie nor her bodyguard, but made it emphatic that both were to stay outside the hotel until she had returned.
Erica found the proper suitcase and opened the lining to retrieve her needed credentials then disassembled the spare ‘battery’ for her laptop computer. Its lead outer sheath had hid the components of a semi-automatic pistol from airport security. With it assembled in working order and fully loaded, Erica turned her attention to what appeared to be a leather garter belt. It became a holster for the gun and, once strapped high inside her left thigh, she inserted the weapon. She smoothed her black cheongsam before the mirror and, projecting complete calm, returned to the cab.
“My last night in Bangkok, I’d like some fun, pick one of the nicer katoey clubs, Joey. I think I want to go there, please?”
They were at the Kitten Club, but after fifteen minutes when Erica went to the ladies room, she easily slipped away from her bodyguard and hailed a cab outside.
“1031 Wireless Road,” she directed her driver in Thai. He stared for a long moment in question at his attractive Thai passenger then set the meter and put the taxi in gear.
At the entrance to the British Embassy, Erica paid the fare and dismissed her driver.
A Thai guard stepped from his box. He seemed to Erica about as impressive for security as the hired ‘children’ who police American shopping malls, but the sub-machinegun he pointed at her was enough to gain her attention and respect; he was not a rent-a-cop.
“Sergeant Major, ‘ave a look ‘ere, sir.”
James MacDougal ambled over with a fresh cuppa to peer past the corporal’s shoulder at the CCTV VDU. He let out a low whistle.
“I’d not mind shagging that bird!
“What is it she’s saying there, lad?” Erica was, of course, speaking to the guard in his language.
“She is trying to tell San that she is American and that one of our Royals is in grave danger, Sergeant Major sir.
“She looks like a bloody ‘ooker!” Corporal Donahue observed.
“I’ll take her for five hundred Bhat.” Bored from doing nothing, James shrugged into his armored vest and covered it with a camouflage jacket despite the heat. His Heckler-Koch® MP5 SP3 sub-machinegun was slung to rest across his belly.
“What’s going on, San?” he questioned the guard as he walked closer.
Erica faced the SAS Sergeant and switched to English, “I’m Erica Constantine. I’m an American. One of your Royals is in grave danger, Sergeant.”
“One of our Royals?” he questioned skeptically. He was ignorant of any VIP visitors to Thailand. “What do you know of our Royals, girl?”
“That is what I said. Is there someplace more private that we may talk, Sergeant?” Dressed in her form fitting cheongsam, black hose and five-inch heels, James detected no threat from the five foot four inch tall Thai prostitute addressing him in perfect English, albeit of the American variety. He grossly underestimated just what Erica was capable of. If she wanted to, he’d be dead before could even think to unlock the safety on his weapon.
Sergeant Major MacDougal led Erica deep inside the high wall after examining her passport. “Which Royal, ma’am?”
“Viscount Timothy Annersley, Sergeant,” Erica answered.
His head snapped up upon hearing the name. MI-6 had enlisted the help of the SAS when they’d conducted a search after he had disappeared from Brisbane.
“Come with me,” he grabbed her arm in a tight grip and led her into the building. Inside the embassy, he pressed Erica into a chair then crossed to the telephone.
“Sergeant Major MacDougal, we have a matter requiring the Ambassador’s attention.
“…Now, you imbecile!” he shouted.
“Bloody bureaucrats.”
The sleepy Ambassador Sir Roger Crowell entered the spacious room some fifteen minutes later in his robe and slippers.
“My good Sergeant, what can possibly be of such great importance…” At that moment he spotted Erica.
“What the bloody hell?”
“Sir, I respectfully suggest that you listen very closely to what Miss Constantine has to tell you.”
By nine o’clock in the morning, Erica had briefed the embassy staff and its commando contingent. Many messages had passed between England, Washington and Bangkok. All of her things had been retrieved from the hotel and she was asleep in an embassy guestroom. That armed guards stood watch outside her room didn’t bother her in the least.
Well rested and having been fed, Erica dressed in her black, domme Thai-bitch outfit and carrying her whip, participated in one final briefing conducted by Captain Smyth of the SAS.
At midnight, Lan, one of the Thai embassy guards, escorted her into the brothel. Tina was not in the vestibule as on the previous night.
The situation inside was not good. It took some time for Erica to notice the tiny cage suspended high above the stage.
“I need a cigarette and some air, Lan,” she told her bodyguard. Erica did not smoke, but needed the excuse to go outside.
With her right foot pressed back against the wall exposing most of her shapely leg in a classic pose, Erica lit a Virginia Slim 120® and managed a smoke ring. Corporal Wally Gordon sauntered down the street from his corner watch post.
“ ‘Ollo duckie.”
“Ullo mate, want some fun?”
“Wot ya ‘ave in mind, pet?” he returned. He moved close and pressed his arms to the wall and moved his head for a kiss.
“Lady Annersley is in a cage suspended about seven meters above center stage.” The Brit’s had instructed her on the appropriate title. “They are doing a heavy whipping scene below her now.
“Bouncers, guards or whatever you want, surround the stage. I counted eleven,” Erica conveyed.
“A thousand Bhat!” Wally slapped Eric hard enough for it to be heard. “Two hundred Bhat is all a whore like you is worth.” He roughly shoved her aside. Erica constrained her mirth.
“At least eleven, Captain. The target in still in that cage, but it is hoisted above the stage.”
Captain Smyth turned to Suguon Phan, head of the Bangkok special police forces. “The objective is Lady Annersley, alive and unharmed. What you do with the thugs is your business, my friend.”
“Let all who come out go freely, Captain. Most will be just customers.”
Instant panic erupted in the club/brothel when the thirty-two, Thai special police charged inside, whistles blowing and announcing a raid. The crowd nearly trampled each other in their stampede to quickly exit and avoid any encounters with the police. Prominent citizens: businessmen, bankers, legal and medical professionals, even a judge, did not want their names on a police blotter.
Captain Smyth ordered his men in after most of the clientele had exited.
“My good friend, Suguon, what brings you and your men to my fine establishment at this hour?” ‘Big Man’ Fatoon Pyang emerged straightening his suit.
“Big Man,” Suguon bowed to him. “We apologize for the interruption to your business,” the policeman said with another bow.
“They why have you?” They spoke English.
“My British friends have come to take custody of one of their citizens.”
Big man laughed and reached into his jacket, “Oh, that thing,” he glanced at Tina above the stage.
At the first glimpse of the black grip of his semi-automatic emerging from under the silk lapel, Erica dropped to one knee and a small muffled explosion broke the silence. A few milliseconds later, a red circle appeared between Fatoon’s eyes and he fell back with his pistol clattering to the floor. When those in the room turned to look for the source, Erica was fixing her garter tab. No one in the building had witnessed anything but Big Man’s demise.
Two of the SAS men lowered the hoist cable to set the cage on the stage. “It’s over Lady Annersley,” Erica said when she’d knelt before the cage.
“Please get me out of this?” Tina sobbed. Fully shrouded, the high security lock was not going to be opened easily without its key.
“Sergeant Major,” Erica called for his attention. His examination of the cage reached the same conclusion as Erica had.
“Four lads, step lively here!” They positioned themselves, one at each corner. “Right! One, two, hup! To the lorry,” Sergeant Major MacDougal ordered. Erica followed them out and scrambled in back after the men had placed it.
“Please get me out,” Tina repeated her previous plea.
“They will get you out as soon as we reach the embassy, Lady Annersley.” It was too dark for Tina to see her savior.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“My name is Erica Constantine.”
“I don’t know you.” Tina had not seen Erica that night.
“No, you do not.”
“You are a Yank, why are you here?”
“Your grandfather asked for help. I was sent here to find you and rescue you, if I could.” The commandos seated in the lorry as it was driven back to the embassy were as confused as Tina. As highly disciplined soldiers, they followed orders without questioning them. They had all heard Erica address the captive girl as ‘Lady Annersley’. Some had also been involved when Viscount Annersley had been searched for.
“Right lads, inside,” Sergeant Major MacDougal ordered once the lorry had stopped. They carried the cage into an anteroom off of the lobby.
Without hesitation, Erica tore a drape from a window and covered all but the front of the cage.
When she saw a commando approach with an electric grinder, Erica placed her hand into the cage and covered Tina’s eyes to protect them from the sparks, grit and bits of steel. “Keep your head turned this way until he’s finished, m’ lady.”
Because of the way the lock was guarded, it was fifteen minutes before the door was opened. Erica pulled Tina from her tight confinement and slid the drape over her as she did, covering the girl’s nakedness.
“I’ll take her up to my room and clean her up,” she stated to no one in particular.
As she guided the young girl up the stairs, Erica could sense that all was not well. Tina could barely walk.
“Do you need my help in the bathroom, m’ lady?”
“Yes.” Tina started to cry. “They have kept me in that bloody cage for a week!”
In the tiled room, the American placed her charge on the toilet and started to draw a hot bath. They didn’t speak until after Erica had wiped then helped her to lie in the tub.
“You said … my grandfather sent you to find me?”
“That isn’t exactly what I said, m’ lady.”
“Please, just call me Tina?
“What is your name?”
“I’m Erica.
“If my grandfather didn’t send you then who did … Erica?”
“My government sent me. The Duke of Sherwood sought help from your government and when your MI-6 came up empty handed, they requested help from us. I was picked to do the job.”
Tina stared intently for a moment, “You are the one who spoke to me in the club before. You addressed me as Viscountess…”
“No one told me before that the daughter of a Marquess wasn’t a Viscountess, but just a Lady.”
“I must send a message to daddy. He must be so worried.” Erica did not feel the time was right to tell her bad news.
“I’m sure the Embassy can handle that for you.”
“Yes, I must communicate with the Embassy too.” Erica’s laugh caused Tina to stare in question.
“You are in the British Embassy and safe, Tina. Just where did you think you were?”
She smiled for the first time in weeks. “I did not think.
“Did I say thank you yet?”
“You are very welcome.
“You’re all clean now. Come, I’ll help you out.” It was obvious that the hot bath and small massage Erica had given had restored Tina somewhat.
As Tina was just an inch taller than the redhead, she fit Erica’s older clothing well. Her breasts weren’t as large as Erica’s either. The blonde picked a bright yellow blouse to wear with gray skirt.
“Use my makeup to do yours while I change, Tina.”
“Do you always wear a firearm, Erica?” she questioned when the American had removed her cheongsam.
“Only when I’m rescuing pretty blonde English girls who’ve been locked in cages.”
“That was positively horrid!”
“What did you do to cause them to punish you that way?”
“I bit a customer who was choking me with his manhood rammed down my throat. I think I shall do it again if anyone tries that on me in the future.
“Erica, do you think we might get something to eat; I’m famished.”
“I’m sure we can, Tina.”
A maid was about to knock on the door when Erica opened it, startling the three of them.
“Good morning,” Erica greeted in the woman’s language.
“Good news, Tina, we’ll not have to do carry-away at McDonald’s® after all. The Ambassador has invited us to breakfast.” They followed the maid to the dinning room where Ambassador Crowell and his wife asked them to sit.
After the Ambassador had introduced her as Lady Tina Annersley, his wife asked, “Have you come to look for your missing brother, Lady Annersley?”
“Excuse me, my lady, ‘look for my missing brother’?”
“Yes, Viscount Timothy Annersley. Several chaps were here from the foreign office approximately seven or eight weeks ago looking for him after he had gone missing whilst on holiday in Brisbane Australia.” Tina’s pale skin turned several shades whiter.
Sir Rodger cleared his throat. “Yes, Lady Crowell,” despite the diplomat’s inability to quickly step up to the plate, Erica seized control of the delicate situation. “Lady Annersley had only just arrived in Thailand when she herself was kidnapped by, how shall I say … white slavers. Please understand that Lady Annersley has been through a rather arduous ordeal during that time?”
“Oh, most certainly. I must apologize for raising such a delicate issue,” Lady Crowell reached to pat Tina’s hand. “I am sorry, my dear.”
“For a Siamese, your English is quite good,” she’d addressed Erica, “even though you have a peculiar accent.”
“Ethel, Miss Constantine is from the States,” the Ambassador informed.
“And what brings a girl from the States here?” she asked.
“Your government requested that I assist in searching for Lady Annersley’s brother, m’ lady.”
“Humph! And why is it that you believe you might succeed while our best men are on the case?”
“I can only do my best, m’ lady.”
“Yes, I suppose. Stubborn Yankee spunk and bravado.”
The breakfast was strained for the two girls and they excused themselves as quickly as they could.
“Are you still wearing your pistol?” Tina asked when she thought they had privacy in the hallway. “I think I want to use it. Never have I had to listen to such insults!
“The old biddy must be a shining example of my country at a diplomatic cocktail party with a few fingers of gin in her girdle.”
“Shooting my wife will not resolve any problems, Lady Annersley?” Erica and Tina spun about to face the Ambassador in the hallway.
“Let me escort you to my office, please?”
Tina’s upset was still evident when they seated on the leather wingchairs in the huge office.
“Sir Rodger, would it be possible to send messages to my father and grandfather informing them that I am alright?” Tina requested.
“Certainly, my dear. Am I to dispatch the communiqué as one from Lady Annersley or Viscount Annersley?” he asked with aplomb.
Tina took a breath; she did not want to answer the question, Erica spoke, “Tina, I could not get you out alone, I needed the help from the men here last night. The Ambassador knows the truth.”
The young blonde breathed her relief. “Send it from Lady Tina Annersley, please?” she answered with a small smile.
“Growing up, I hated that I couldn’t have a real title like Viscountess; it has such a nice sound to it.”
“Yes, it does.” Sir Rodger comforted.
*****
As neither had slept, the two women retired to the room assigned to Erica and used the separate beds there until late afternoon when a maid awakened them.
“The Ambassador requests that Lady Annersley and Miss Constantine join him for cocktails in the library at six o’clock please?”
“If I spend the evening with that magpie, I’ll strangle her,” Tina muttered.
Erica thanked the maid and was about to close the door when the maid grinned. “If your companion wishes to be spared the evening with the Ambassador’s wife, Lady Crowell has gone out for the evening.” Erica laughed and thanked the woman again then explained in English what had been said once they were alone.
“Sir Rodger, have you heard anything from my father or grandfather?” Tina asked.
“The Duke of Sherwood is greatly looking forward to your speedy and safe return, Lady Annersley.”
“I’m sure that communications to and from the Iraqi desert are not as speeded as they are between Nottingham and Bangkok, Sir Rodger.” Erica had interjected and was staring hard into his gray eyes in the hope that he would allow her to inform her new friend.
“Obviously not, Miss Constantine.
“I’m sure your father will communicate as quickly as possible,” he had understood and felt relieved that he would not have to deal with such a delicate matter.
“I can’t wait to return to return to England,” Tina enthused.
“Lady Annersley, there is a British Airways flight departing in the morning. It will land early afternoon at Heathrow, would you like to be on it?”
“Very much, but I no longer have a passport.”
Sir Rodger, grinned, reached into his breast pocket and showed one to her. We need only add your photograph which we can do straight off, if you’d like?”
“How is this possible?”
He chuckled, “My dear young lady, this is a British embassy, after all.” As promised, the matter was quickly dealt with and a visa stamped in Erica’s too.”
“But I must return to the United States?”
“My dear, Miss Constantine, one, even one from the former colonies such as yourself, does not refuse a Royal invitation,” he grinned. “You have been summoned by the Duke of Sherwood to Sherwood Castle. Your superiors have been properly informed.” As Tina was not carrying a purse, Erica moved to place both passports in hers when she was handed them.
She took a peak in Tina’s and knew that she would have to break the bad news before they checked in at the airport in the morning. It said, ‘Marchioness of Kegworth, Lady Tina Marie Annersley’.
“Ah, my good Captain Smyth and Lieutenant Hattersby,” the Ambassador greeted, I’m pleased that you both could join us for cocktails and dinner.” He introduced the ladies.
“I thought perhaps you girls might like the company of these gentlemen at dinner rather than just this old bastard.”
Erica could handle a ‘date’ for a few hours though she’d no interest in men for such. Tina showed her aristocratic upbringing by accepting the situation easily.
“I’m most curious, Erica,” Derek (Capt. Smyth) began as they sat with after dinner cocktails. “Upon return to our barracks, Sergeant Major checked the weapons of all who participated last evening and our good friends with Bangkok special police forces report the same – none of the chaps discharged their weapons during the raid.”
Knowing just where he was headed, the pretty redhead lifted her cheongsam, took out her pistol, removed the clip then slid it across the table after opening its receiver. She just grinned.
Paul picked it up first, smelled the barrel then looked inside. He nodded to his commander.
“You not only rescued me, you saved my life too, Erica!” Tina screeched. From her high vantage, Tina had witnessed much of the scene below her. Erica calmly reinserted the magazine in her pistol and made it disappear again.
*****
“Tina, we need to talk,” Erica began as the limousine whisked them to airport in the morning. Lady Annersley again had asked the Ambassador if they had heard from her father while they had breakfast.
“Your grandfather was the one to initiate the search for you that got me involved. He had something important to tell you.”
“Gramps knew what I was going to do; at least I’d given him enough hints.
“Erica, I’m worried about daddy.” Before speaking, her friend took the young blonde, in a hug.
“Marchioness of Kegworth, along with everything else, I was also sent to deliver that news.”
Tina pushed her back, but held her hands on Erica’s shoulders. The young girl held back her tears and stared for a few minutes.
“Your boys really gave you a barrow of manure to push, didn’t they?
“Gramps was a tad bit too young to fight in Europe, but he met a few of the Yank bombers crews when they came back from dealing Jerry the dirt. He and my great grandma ran a little shop in the town near their base and he has nothing but respect. Many of my generation, know Yanks as a bunch of party going junk heads, same as they are or ugly tourists that think you own the world.”
Tina pulled her back and they kissed deeply.
*****
“Gramps, Gran! Over here!” Tina sped up and Erica hurried to follow.
“Erica, this way!” Two men in black suits, white shirts and bow ties took their luggage.
The Duke was seventy-five, but didn’t appear over fifty and easily swept his new granddaughter from her feet with strong hugs and kisses. Erica, feeling a bit out of place witnessing the strongly emotional family reunion, just stood back. Tina turned her affections to her grandmother once the Duke had set her down.
“Gramps, gran, this is my friend, Erica Constantine.
“Erica, my grandparents, the Duke and Duchess of Sherwood.”
The American surprised them all with deep curtseys and greeting them each as, ‘Your grace’.
They welcomed her warmly, but in no way comparable to how they had greeted Tina, which was perfectly understandable to Erica.
Though the car was a big Rolls-Royce®, Tina and Erica had only jump seats for the nearly three hour ride.
Erica was at a complete loss as to how to say anything regarding Sherwood Castle. It was as if, ‘you have a lovely home,’ simply wasn’t what one says when entering an edifice twice as large as The White House.
“Thank you for inviting me to share your home, your grace,” she did manage with a curtsey in the huge entrance hall.
“You are most welcome I’m sure,” the Duchess said.
“Cecile, escort Miss Constantine to her apartment. I’ll send Celeste and Marie up with her luggage.
“We shall expect you to join us for dinner at seven o’clock. Please dress?”
“As you wish, your grace.”
“Gran, I don’t believe that my friend has anything…”
“M’ lady,” she curtseyed to Tina, “I will be dressed appropriately.”
“May we assist you, m’ lady?” the young maid, Cecile, asked.
Erica was in a bit of awe by the large apartment she found herself in and, more so, by the house. She pushed a bit, to see if she could, “Cecile, I would like to be bathed, please?”
“Certainly, mum.” If her request had been out of line, the pretty young maid didn’t indicate so.
While she was being undressed, the American directed Celeste to lay out her long black and silver brocade cheongsam and the accessories to accompany it.
She thoroughly enjoyed the attentions that the two maids bestowed upon her and felt great when they escorted her down to the great hall where Tina was talking quietly with her grandfather.
“You have outdone my expectations, Erica,” Tina giggled seeing her with her hair done high and lacquered chopsticks pushed through, the gorgeous floor length cheongsam and high-heeled pumps. Erica held a pretty black silk fan before her face and curtseyed.
“M’ lady, your grace.”
“Next to you, I feel like a little girl in this gown,” she fluffed her full, pink chiffon skirt.
“Our stuffy formalities must seem quite odd and a bit old fashioned to an American, Erica,” the Duke began, “and I’m sure you think us rather silly.”
Erica giggled and replied in Thai then giggled again while fluttering her fan.
The Duke laughed heartily. “Right then girl! Enough! I’m George. Welcome to my home.” He thrust his hand forward.
Erica took it lightly, curtseyed and kissed it. “Thank you, your grace.”
She then straightened, moved close and just kissed the tip of his nose.
“Now, I shall hear no more of titles from you, young lady. My name is George, this is your friend, Tina, and my wife is Mary. Please make yourself at home?”
“That, George, will be more than a tad bit difficult.”
“And why is that?” he asked.
“Gramps, no one in the States has a home quite like this,” Tina answered.
He laughed, “Well … no, I suppose not.
“Still, Erica, manage the best that you can, which I am sure will be fine.
“Good evening, Erica,” the Duchess greeted when she entered then turned to greet her husband and granddaughter.
Though they shared a pleasant hour having cocktails before dinner, Erica found it more than a bit strange and strained to have six-course dinner served while seated opposite her friend at the middle of a huge table designed to seat forty, with her host and hostess, each twenty feet away and seated at its ends.
“Thank you for dinner,” Erica curtseyed when the Duke stood at the conclusion of the meal. “With your kind permission, I shall retire and allow you to enjoy the remainder of your evening together.”
The Duchess moved beside her and had her full attention when she lightly touched the sleeve of Erica’s dress. “What is troubling you, my child?”
Before responding, Erica curtseyed. “Thank you for the elegant meal, your … Mary. Please excuse me? I would like to retire to the rooms you have permitted me to use during my brief stay and not intrude further this evening.”
“Nonsense, you have not intruded, my dear. Come, sit and talk with us.”
Seated before a blazing fire, they coaxed Erica into stating her thoughts. She was unsuccessful in being politically correct and concealing her beliefs.
“When is the last time you sat together for a meal … one at which you could actually converse?”
“There are certain standards…”
“I cannot, but disagree … George. Who is going to be impressed by those standards, your butler, the maids, this uncultured waif from the Colonies? Perhaps if the Queen visited, she might be, but…
“Thank you again for an elegant meal. Please excuse me for the evening?”
“Gramps, Erica, makes a very…”
“Quiet, Tina,” her grandmother ordered.
“I apologize to you, our guest, for making you uncomfortable. It was my silly thought to treat you as we do our formal guests.
“Do you ride, Erica?” Tina sought to change the subject.
“As in ride a horse? Yes, I can,” she answered. “I’ve nothing to wear though, just pretty cheongsams like you’ve seen, Tina.”
“I’m certain that Cecile can provide you with something suitable. Discuss it with her when she attends you tonight.”
“I will, Mary.”
“My riding britches should fit you fine, though my jackets will be too small,” Tina added.
*****
“Are you sure you want to wear all of this, Miss?” Cecile questioned as she hooked the maroon wool bodice in the morning.
“I think his grace will see your joke, but the Duchess…” Celeste commented while pinning the black silk top hat.
“Joke, what joke?” Erica teased. “Is this not what proper h’nglish gels wear whilst riding to the ‘ounds?” She had taken a liking to the two girls who had been assigned to attend her and they both enjoyed the American’s easy and unpretentious manner.
They adjusted her veil under Erica’s chin and Cecile placed the elegant leather and ivory riding whip in her tightly gloved hand when Erica had stood.
“I’ll escort you, Miss,” the maid offered.”
“Roight. We’ll show my host and hostess propa.”
“Top o’ the mornin’,” the America cheerily greeted as she entered the small, private dining room.
The Duke of Sherwood’s jaw dropped as Erica strode in. Tina turned about to see why and started to giggle.
With a big grin, Erica modeled then moved where a maid had pulled back a chair for her. “I h’instructed my maid to locate propa riding attire for me,” using her affected accent. “I trust that Cecile has selected something that is h’appropriate.” In contrast, they wore riding britches, white tops and jackets, the Duke’s red and Tina’s Hunter green.
George chuckled, “You will never be able to ride dressed in that habit, Erica.”
“And just why is it that you state that, my good man?”
At that time, Tina’s grandmother entered also dressed like the others. She briefly glanced at Erica, but made no comment then, more than to bid, ‘good morning’, though a small smile was on her lips.
Their conversation was light and directed to the weather and their coming ride. “I thought we would just circle the estate on some of the bridle paths,” the Duke said. “I thought too, perhaps we could have a luncheon at the cottage.”
“That sounds splendid, Gramps.”
“We’ll need to pick a suitable mount for Erica,” the Duchess offered.
“If I may … Mary?”
“Go on, please?” she instructed Erica.
“I have been informed that there is a black gelding in your mews, named, Gentle Ben. The steed has been highly recommended to me, if I may be permitted.” The all laughed hearing the accent their guest had adopted. Erica was unaware that she had picked one of the Duchess’ favorite mounts; the maids had told her only that few of the horses had been trained to carry their rider sidesaddle.
“Properly, we have stables, Erica,” the Duke stated. “Mews are stables in town that today we would think of as garages though they were used for the horses and carriages in times past.”
“Ratha,” Erica sipped her tea. “How positively quaint.” No one took offense and all laughed with their guest. The more they were together, the more all started to feel more relaxed.
“How did you ever fit in that habit, Erica?” Tina asked as they walked to the stables. “Are you corseted?”
“But of course…” Erica grinned and reduced her phony accent a bit. “I had asked Cecile to dress me propaly and the gel jokingly suggested a habit like this.”
“You look beautiful wearing it,” Tina complimented. “I’m sure my mum would be happy for you to wear her clothing. No one else wants to wear a corset these days. I certainly do not.”
“Cecile and Celeste are delightful gels and told me you’d say something like that. Thank you, Tina.” Her maids had also informed the guest that her friend’s mother had passed away three years previously.
“Did they also tell you that Gentle Ben was my mum’s horse? Only Gram rides him today.”
“No. I’m sorry if I offended. Is there another that I can ride then?”
“You have offended no one. You will ride that horse. Since mum and now daddy are deceased, technically, I own him. You may ride him as much as you wish.
“You realize that you’ll have to ride sidesaddle dressed like that, Erica?”
“Is there any other way, with all I’ve on?” Erica smiled. Yes, Cecile told me.”
Their horses were tethered outside the stable waiting. There was no doubt which mount was intended for the American. Erica walked straight to the huge steed and quickly made friends. While she had not ridden very much and never sidesaddle before, she had enough experience and confidence to easily be comfortable with to him. Gentle Ben nuzzled her affectionately. Erica took the time to inspect all the tack.
“Henry, a leg up for our guest?” the Duke directed. The stable master came over, cupped his hands and Erica mounted the unfamiliar saddle. Tina helped to arrange her skirts and petticoats.
“Thank you, Henry.” He offered the reins.
“You be welcome, my lady.”
They had ridden about a half-mile from the stables when the Duke left the path to guide his horse across the field. Sensing what her grandfather was to do, Tina spurred Regent’s Princess to follow as he gathered speed.
‘Do I dare?’ Erica questioned.
Tina and her grandfather easily cleared the low wall and had turned to see their guest guiding her horse towards it too. Erica’s form on landing would not have earned her points in competition, but she didn’t fault either. Quickly, she turned and spurred Gentle Ben to clear going the opposite way.
“I think I’ll need to practice before I do more today,” she smiled from behind her veil. “It’s been years since I’ve done anything like that.”
“You did quite well,” Tina’s grandmother complimented. “Anne loved to ride.”
Stable hands and maids were at the cottage and moved to help their masters and guest when they rode up.
‘Cottage?’ Erica questioned in her mind. She had toured the ‘cottages’ of the very wealthy in Newport Rhode Island. It was nothing like those, but still a mansion by American standards.
After refreshing herself, Erica rejoined her host and hostess on the verandah overlooking a lake surrounded by mature forest.
They were served a pleasant lunch with wine by two maids.
“I think that I could become accustomed to living here,” Erica commented to no one in particular.
“Do you think that could be possible, Gramps?”
Before he could answer, Erica stated, “I’m employed by my government. It was just a silly idea.” No one commented further, but the seed had been planted. Tina had decided before they’d left Thailand what she wanted.
Upon their return to the castle late that afternoon, the young English girl followed Erica to her apartment. “Cecile, Celeste,” she summoned the sisters.
“The Duke wishes our guest be properly attired from hence forth. My late mother’s dresses and gowns should fit. See that Miss Erica is so for dinner; once you have her properly prepared,” she ordered, “brooke no arguments.”
“Yes, my lady,” Cecile, being one year older, answered for both. Tina grinned at Erica and left for her own rooms.
“Lord Barnet, George Annersley, Duke of Sherwood…”
“How are you, my good man?
“…I am quite well, thank you.
“Walter, I would like you to make some inquiries with our friends and good allies in Washington on behalf of the Marchioness of Kegworth…
“Yes, that is correct, the Marchioness of Kegworth, my granddaughter…
“Thank you, my good man. I shall look forward to positive communications regarding my request.” George retired to his rooms to prepare for dinner.
“George, what did you conclude observing our lovely granddaughter and her American friend today?” Mary asked from her dressing table where she was selected from her jewels.
“What I saw was two young ladies demonstrating early indications that something more, besides just a close friendship might be starting to develop there, my dear.
“Whilst Tina and I observed Erica approach to jump the wall, Tina was standing in the saddle with her fists clenched and only once the horse had landed did she sit with a very satisfied smile and her fist pumped the air with satisfaction.”
“George, do what you can and contact Buckingham or even … God forgive me … Ten Downing Street, to see that Tina’s friend does not have to ever return to the States.
“That woman is right for my Tina.”
“Yes, my dear, I shall see what I can do.”
Tina smiled as she watched Erica enter the great hall. But for the servants, they were alone for the moment. “You look resplendent, Erica!” Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms about her friend’s tight red bodice and pulled her into an intimate kiss.
“I love you,” she whispered.
“I don’t want to leave, Tina,” Erica felt like crying at the thought that soon she would have to, but held her display in check.
Charles, the butler, within his station had helped raise Tina as a father. He thought they made a beautiful couple. Charles was there for her whilst the Marquess had been away serving their county in the Army.
“Will you continue to wear my late mother’s clothes; they do truly become you, Erica?”
“For as long as I can, I promise.” Erica initiated a kiss. “Be patient with my corsets. They will require some adaptation, Tina.”
“I will … for a day or two longer,” the blonde giggled.
*****
Erica had been at Sherwood Castle two weeks and feared only the worst when Margaret, the housekeeper, told her early one morning that the Duke wanted to see her in his study then escorted the American there.
“Thank you, Mrs Henderson, that will be all.
“Be seated, please, Erica?”
Erica gasped when she saw her host lift a paper bearing the Seal of the United States. “I do not want to go home! How do I appeal for asylum, your grace?”
She misinterpreted his smile. She believed it was condescending. In frustration, she rose and moved to the window to conceal her tears, which had started to flow freely.
“I won’t go.” Though she wanted to sound forceful, her high voice combined with the tightly laced corset, would not permit that.
“My dear, Erica,” the Duke had taken her by her shoulders and turned her to face him, “you are not leaving.”
“Sir, you do not know my government!” He pulled her head to his chest.
“And you do not know mine.” He allowed her tears, mascara and other makeup to soil his white shirt until Erica could cry no more and just stayed still as he held her.
Gently he pushed her back enough that they faced, “I’m not going home,” Erica managed.
“Of course not … you are home.” Her tear strained eyes raised to look in question.
“Sherwood Castle is your home and this is where you will stay.”
“I … don’t … understand … your grace,” she stammered.
“Your past is shrouded in your government’s secrecy. That is, as I said, the past. You have been discharged from whatever it is that you were there.
“By order of Her Majesty Elizabeth Regina the Second, you are now also a citizen of the British Empire.”
“Huh?” was all Erica could manage.
*****
“Celeste, go slower … please?” Erica gasped as her maid tightened the corset. Cecile uncapped the small vial and waved it under her nose.
“You, little bitch,” Erica swore as she tried to shake off the effect of the smelling salts. “You are going to get a propa caning when I get out of this.” Their exchange had become a game, despite what she was feeling, Erica had no intention of ever caning her lady’s maid.
“Only another inch,” Celeste announced in jest. In fact, the gap between the laces of her long corset was nearly closed.
Once Celeste had tied off, Cecile released the soft silk ribbon she had used to hold Erica’s wrists to the heavy bedpost above her head. It hadn’t been real bondage and Erica could have easily freed her hands, but had gone along with her maids’ game. When measured and then fitted for her wedding gown, she had decided how tightly her new corset would be to achieve the look she desired to project.
“Step into your petticoats and skirts,” Cecile had knelt and gripped her white booted ankle to guide it into the openings. Erica, unaccustomed to six-inch heels still held the bedpost for balance as her maid placed her other foot then stood to raise the silk up her white-stockinged legs. The maids arranged the petticoats around her bustle then tied their drawstrings. Her plain underskirt and elaborate overskirt followed.
Very tight, white kid gloves were slowly worked up her arms to her shoulders and strapped to the high, stiffly-boned collar.
“Place your arms in the sleeves, Miss Erica.” The girls helped thread her arms into the bodice, smoothed it in place and arranged the low décolletage to display her deep cleavage and much of Erica’s prominent breasts then fastened all of the tiny buttons to close its back.
Her maids allowed Erica to rest while they quickly changed into the pink and white gowns that Erica had chosen for them to wear to her ‘wedding’ and they had both helped to select. Cecile was to be Maid of Honour and Celeste her bride’s maid.
A religious ‘marriage’ wasn’t permitted under British law at the time, but the civil union ceremony was still to be performed in the private chapel on the grounds of the family estate by a Vicar, after all, if such was good enough for the Prince of Wales and his long-time consort, the recently elevated Duchess of Cornwall…
“You look truly beautiful, Miss Erica,” Celeste complimented as her sister arranged the bridal veils. She pressed the huge bouquet of white roses into Erica’s hands while the organist played.
“That is our music. Wait until the Wedding March starts then come out and walk down the aisle, Miss Erica.”
Karen Anne Summerfield's Writings 
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