Asking for Directions {darkangel76 & Alan23}

[Alan23]

Diplomacy is the art of telling people to go to hell in such a way that they ask for directions - Winston Churchill.

Lieutenant Lucian Pericles Wilkes Bertram, 7th Washington Colony Cavalry, could not resist a surge of pride as he entered the compound at the head of his troop. Dressed in his dark blue dress uniform, resplendent with frogging, lace and braid, mounted upon his mettlesome gray charger, and followed by the olive-clad troops, representing the best the military could offer, he knew the hand-picked escort from his regiment made a fine sight. Even the flag itself, "New Glory", with its red, white and blue horizontal stripes, that flew atop the pole just inside the fort's gates, seemed to fly a little straighter at the appearance of the proud, crack men who were pledged to defend its honor.

The Lieutenant barked out a crisp command, and as one, every man in the escort pulled their mount to an immediate halt, drew sabres, and raised them in salute. The ensign, holding the guidon high, trotted his horse to stand beside the Lieutenant.

Lieutenant Cicero Ulysses Bradley Bristow, 84th Rhode Island Rifles, tried desperately (and unsuccessfully) to hide how impressed he was. Unlike Lt Bertram, he had never served in the field and, in truth, duty as prison garrison was hardly the stuff of which dreams were made. Nonetheless, he took comfort from the fact that one of the prisoners he guarded had a certain notoriety to his name, the casual dropping of which was a certainty to gain free drinks and the approval of any maiden naive enough to be impressed by such things.

And now this one claim to fame was to be taken from him. His attempt not to show his resentment was as unsuccessful as his admiration for the discipline of the cavalry troop!

"I think you know why we're here," Lt Bertram said, an arrogant lilt to his voice. He stretched out a gauntleted hand, took the papers - signed by the President himself - and slapped them into Bristow's. "Any questions?"

Lt Bristow made a show of studying the papers, trying not to work his lips behind his tobacco-stained beard. Literacy was not one of his strengths.

"I still don't understand," he whined. "Surely the security risk - I mean, I have one of the most notorious assassins in history under my guard."

"Failed assassin," snapped Bertram. "In case the information contained in the release is beyond your comprehension, this man is a vital bargaining chip. Charles Marlowe Rennie McAuley is to be handed over, for good diplomatic reasons, to the authorities of his own country. It may well be the final feather in the balance that prevents war. In any case, that is the president's signature, in case you -"

"No, no," Bristow replied, cowed. The mention of war had unsettled him. He liked the parade aspect of military life - the prospect of having to actually fight was less appealing. He snapped his finger, and the private accompanying him snapped to a sloppy version of attention.

"Sullivan! Fetch the prisoner," he forced out, in as military tone as he could manage.

*****

"Enjoy it," laughed Corporal Wilding. "It's the last you'll get here."

Charles Marlowe Rennie McAuley, known as "Galvie" to what few friends would still acknowledge him, looked with distaste upon the mess of beans and fat pork in his tin dish.

"They say a condemned man gets a decent last meal," he growled. "It's almost worth being a victim of this crazy scheme, to get decent food, for a change."

"Pah, you got nothing to complain of," the Corporal replied. "Being a political prisoner, you've had the best this hotel can offer. Clean straw every day, eggs for breakfast once every three days, change of clothes once a week, no hard labor."

"Yeah, easy to say," Galvie replied, "if they ain't handing you over to a firing squad." His accent, the typical drawling version of British English typical of his birthplace, sounded almost courtly against the Colonel's more clipped, Northern tones. "Sacrificial lamb, me. And I don't fancy riding no horse all that way, either."

"Horse," the Colonel laughed. "Feller, you livin' in some fool's paradise. I seen what they got planned for you. Specially converted tank... with the front and rear replaced by bars, so they can keep a good eye on you. You'll be like a caged animal in a circus, my friend. And no better what you deserve."

"What? But that's - for shit's sake! I'm no animal - ain't there any rules at all, any more?"

"Shoulda thought of that before ya tried killing the Duke, shouldn't ya?" chuckled the Corporal. "Now, eat up quick - I hear the steps of the guard detail comin' for ya. Been nice knowin' ya."

Galvie deliberately lingered, making the four olive-clad infantrymen wait until he had finished every scrap and wiped the juice from his bowl with a piece of bread, before holding out his wrists for the handcuffs he'd wear until they reached New Orleans, the length of two full nations away.

 

[darkangel76]

"It's simply beautiful!" Andie exclaimed, her porcelain pale cheeks turning red as she opened the box and admired the dress within it. Her tiny hands reached for it and pulled it out so that she could hold it up against her petite, slender frame and immediately ran over to the mirror so that she could gaze upon her reflection.

Andromeda Elizabeth Schaeffer Hammond had an eye for fashion. All who knew her and her family knew of her gift and often seeking her advice and opinions anytime the topic came up. Something she was all too happy to give and rather enjoyed to flaunt.

"Your father said you'd be fond of it, miss," remarked Helen, Andie's personal maid. Her face beamed as she watched the girl ooh and ahh over the garment.

"My father is quite aware of my impeccable taste, Helen. He knows me well." A soft giggle erupted from Andie and twirled about with the dress before looking over at Helen and gesturing that the woman help her into the ravishing gown.

The dress was a bit risqué compared to Andie's usual dresses, but this one had special purpose. She was to wear it to her 'farewell party' later that evening for earlier that morning her father had informed her that she was to travel to Annesland on an important trip. She was to serve as a diplomatic representative for the peace talks in New Orleans. Her father had chosen her to be the one to represent them all. It was a great honor, one she knew she rightly deserved. The party he was hosting was just the beginning and the dress he doted upon her only sweetened everything further. Truly, her father loved her and saw her potential as his daughter and now everyone else in the great and wonderful Amerika would as well.

Andie giggled as she moved behind the drape so that she could undress and Helen, then assist her in getting into the new gown. First came the corset—so many ties and loops—which pushed and squished her smaller breasts together, giving them quite an exquisite lift. It made her already small waist even smaller. Next came the garters and stockings. The gown itself was a fine shade of cream, falling beautifully over her gentle curves, the picture of femininity and grace. Unlike most of her dresses, this one showed off a fair amount of her chest. But it was for a special purpose. It was for a 'farewell party'.

"You look a vision, miss," Helen complimented.

Andie blushed at Helen's words, the pink shade not stopping at her cheeks as it ran along her neck and down along her chest and even over the swells over her tiny breasts. She flicked her dark hair, brown eyes sparkling at the thought of the soon-to-be party. "Perhaps Harry will be there," Andie stated softly with a giggle.

"Perhaps, miss. He has been visiting a bit more lately," Helen commented with a nod, her blue eyes a bit mischievous. "But it's not my place to pry," her tone a bit suggestive.

"It most certainly is not," Andie added. "Harry and I are respectable!" Her cheeks flushed even more as a wave of worry washed over her. Helen's expression was more than disconcerting. "I'll have you know, Harry hasn't even kissed my hand!"

Helen bit down on her lip and curtsied. "I'm sorry, miss. I didn't mean to suggest..." her voice trailed. "You best get to your party. Your father and Harry will be waiting for you."

Andie scowled, her mood ruined by Helen's teasing. She looked down and lifted her skirt just a bit so that she could make a final adjustment of her stockings and then smoothed out her skirts. She looked at herself in the mirror and walked over to her vanity and picked out some jewelry to wear, something to compliment the cream color of the dress she was now donning. She settled for pearl earrings and a necklace. Heaving a heavy sigh, she fussed with her hair a bit, making sure it was just right and then reached for a pair of lace gloves.

Helen remained quiet as Andie moved about her room, figuring it best to stay out of the way for the time being until the girl found herself to be in a better mood. When finished, Andie glared at Helen and gestured that the woman open the door for her upon exiting.

As Andie made her way to the party, she found her mood slowly lifting. The irritation she'd felt as a result of Helen was ebbing away and the glorious sound of the music was taking its effect. Oh how she loved music! Already she was humming softly, her feet padding along elegantly as she made her way to the staircase that would lead her to the ballroom where the party was being held in her honor. When she reached the top of the staircase, she could see her father and Harry both below mingling with their guests as men of their status and renown were meant to do. But it didn't take long for everyone attending to take notice of her presence.

Just then, a voice sounded to announce her arrival. "And I am pleased to announce the arrival of our most honored guest, the reason why we are all here and the hope for Amerikan peace: Miss Andromeda Elizabeth Schaeffer Hammond."

At the sound of her name being announced, Andie felt her cheeks grow hot, the blush taking over every ounce of pale exposed skin. She smiled, her brown eyes glittering as she looked down upon her guests. She sought out the faces of both her father and Harry and nodded. Raising a delicate, gloved hand, she waved gracefully at everyone and began to descend down the grand staircase leading into the ballroom.

 

[Alan23]

If Lt Bristow had been impressed by Lt Bertram's military bearing, and that of his hand-picked troops... the same could not be said for Charles Marlowe Rennie "Galvie" McAuley.

Sure, there was something - small as the factor might have been - to be said for discipline, the ability to charge as one body, to obey commands instantly, to strike psychological fear into one's foes by the sheer impetus and unity of their operations. But if all that were needed to win battles were power and momentum, why a tank could do as much, and far less wastefully. He'd seen whole squadrons of elite cavalry brought down by careful Gatling fire with a two-inch tap, or even well-directed infantry fire, during his own brief military service, when the Mexicans had been misguided enough to invade Her Majesty's province of Annesland. The 7th might be useful for making a brave sight on a parade ground, or supporting infantry and tanks on the march, but their military value was, in his opinion, somewhere between rainbows and puppies on the scale of usefulness.

And get any one of them, one on one, against a man such as himself - a survivor, skilled in single combat, a crack shot and expert with a knife and kicking boots...

But, clinging to his one small chance of survival, he said nothing, simply looked as hangdog as he could (which, after more than six months in a military jail was, truth to tell, not too difficult) and stood, with head bowed, as the Lieutenant harangued him, warned him that any sign of rebellion or truculence on the journey would be the source of much regret (and not, in case he was in any doubt, to the Lieutenant,) and that as scum he should be grateful he wasn't to be taken back to his homeland trussed up like a hard-shell crab for the boiling.

It hadn't been all bad. He had, at least, been allowed to shower, had his hair trimmed, his beard shaved, and a few strategically aimed puffs of various powders guaranteed to kill, at least, most of the lice and crabs and other nasties that had been occupying the more hirsute portions of his lean body for some months, and had been plaguing him incessantly. And, he'd just learned, it was to be a long trip, conducted in secrecy. Who knew what might happen? He might, after all, have been Love, the way he was able to laugh at locksmiths. If a man with his abilities and resources could not find some way to slip the leash, escape from the sight and conjecture of this mob of mounted popinjays and get clear into the Western Badlands, then he wasn't the man he knew he was.

Landsakes and Auntie Ivy, he thought to himself, if this mob of poseurs and chocolate soldiers are truly the best the Amerikan nation can offer, then seeking peace with Her Maggoty's Colony is the wisest move they ever made.

Well, he'd see their chosen diplomat, soon. Some balding, late middle-aged, wheezy, overdressed, choleric statesman manque, no doubt, full of his own importance, and with a pot-belly standing proud before himself. Hey, with luck and a fair breeze, he might even get to hold the guy hostage, offer him his freedom in reply for use of his official seal and the contents of his strong-box. You could go a long way with a signed pass, even if it were forged!

But he kept his thoughts to himself, offering a facade of humility, whining, ingratiating co-operation and defeat. No point, after all, in tipping one's hand too early.

Not when one had a good set of lockpicks in the heel of one's left boot, and a collapsible knife tucked down the leg of the right!

 

[darkangel76]

The night had been glorious! Andie had dared to dance twice with, Harry—her intended—and he was ever the perfect gentleman. He'd bowed and smiled, not once touching her accept for the two times they'd danced and only then it was to lightly touch her fingertips. Only one time had she caught him staring and it was when she was being bold and taking two consecutive sips of her white wine rather than relishing the contents of the first. But... she couldn't help herself. The decadent sweetness of the Riesling was too much and her penchant for such delightful confections overwhelmed her so she succumbed to the temptation. She knew it was sinful and perhaps a small part of her found that to be thrilling—a very small part of her, maybe... or was that just rationalization—but she regained her composure, remembered her place and daintily sipped at her white wine for the remainder of while she'd held onto the crystal glass.

The music had been extraordinary, the most wonderful to be heard in awhile. Then again, it was because this was her 'farewell party'. Andie knew that the musicians were giving it their all just for her, their hope for true peace with their neighbors in the south. And she would most certain see that they got it. After all, who couldn't resist the charms of one such as herself? She was Andromeda Hammond, daughter of William Hammond, president of Amerika. Her beauty and charm and impeccable connections would help them to see the error in their current views and just how admirable their sister to the north truly was. Truly, Annesland couldn't ask for a better ally and friend.

As the night wore on, Andie knew she would soon have to excuse herself. She had an early start the next morning and the trip she was to take from Chicago to New Orleans would be long and no doubt treacherous! But then, that was why she had an entourage accompanying her. They would see to it that she had all the comforts and protections she would need along the way. She'd overheard her father say that the journey was to be secret and that meant extra protection indeed! Of course, the secrecy was probably to stave off any imbecilic fool who felt the need to interfere with the good deeds of her family for the benefit of Amerika!

So foolish! But then, not everyone can see the big picture like those of the Hammond family, not everyone was born into such privilege—a sad fact.

Bidding her father and Harry 'good evening', Andie began to make her exit for the evening. As she headed toward the staircase and began to make her way up it, she could feel her stockings begin to sag. She bit down on her lower lip and tilted her head so as to peek around her cream-colored skirts. But it was no use. The gown was heavy and long and covered up everything from the waist down. As she continued to walk, she tried to shimmy her legs a bit to try, in vain, to move the stockings a bit. In the end... snap! She heard the garter unfasten and felt the one stocking sag more.

"Oh dear," Andie muttered under her breath. Immediately, she could feel her heart begin to pound beneath her chest, her cheeks getting hotter by the second. She quickened her pace, but with each step, the stocking begin to droop even more. Brown eyes pricked with tears as she walked, her embarrassment growing as she flushed, though thankful that no one could see her face, especially her father and Harry.

Once at the top of the stairs, Andie dashed behind the corner and into the darkened hall where she knew she was alone for the moment. Tears rolled down her face as she hoisted up her skirt and looked at the stocking that had dropped to mid-calf, the garter strap dangling against her milky thigh. Swallowing hard, she frantically pulled on her stocking and began to fumble trying to quickly reattach it to the garter strap before anyone could possibly see what she was doing. If anyone saw... oh she'd be mortified!

Finally, Andie got the stocking and strap adjusted and just in time before a servant walked by. She smiled and curtsied so that he wouldn't notice her tears or blush. Letting out a slow exhale, she smoothed out her skirts and quickly rushed back to her room where she knew Helen would be waiting to help her undress and ready herself for bed. Yes, it would be an early start in the morning and a long day and trip ahead of her. But she was ready for it. After all, she was a Hammond and the president's daughter.

 

[Alan23]

The dawn of the last day Charles Marlowe Rennie "Galvie" McAuley would spend in the Republic of Amerika was not especially beautiful. There was no poetic, glorious burst of redgold color, no dramatic explosion from darkness. Simply a filtering in of muted, ambient light through the dusty, reinforced and barred glass of the holding cell, and some spasmodic and far from enthusiastic sqwarking of some nameless species of crow. Galvie's life had never been a romance. A tragedy, perhaps - but, more likely, a farce.

The rising of the sun that day coincided with the changing of the guard. Private Trenchard, a taciturn, bespectacled sad-sack who wore his uniform with the charm and elegance of a squashed candy bar heaved himself up from the pallet where he had been sitting with loaded carbine, and surrendered his reluctant charge to a fat, wheezing corporal who introduced himself with the surname "Maher." Corporal Maher was accompanied by an army cook, name not revealed, who carried a tin plate of bacon, beans, hash browns, scrambled eggs and pone bread, and a battered pannikin containing coffee.

Galvie rummaged in the empty pockets of his newly supplied pants, pretending consternation. "Kind of embarrassin,' " he said, sarcastically. "Left my wallet at home. I'd have liked to have tipped you, but..."

Maher, to his credit, managed a smirk, though the cook was unamused. The corporal checked that the door was securely locked, cocked his carbine, and sat on the pallet previously graced by Private Trenchard, the weapon pointed foursquare at Galvie's eyes. "I don't deny," he admitted, "that you have a certain style, Brit. What I'd have called chutzpah, almost, were I better disposed towards you. You owe me, though."

"And how so?" asked Galvie, scooping up beans with the spoon - the only utensil they'd permitted him.

"Cookie craved ter spit on your breakfast," Maher explained. "I stopped him." He grinned, showing uneven teeth. "Mebbe I craved your last memory of our fair nation to be a pleasant one."

"I thank you for that," replied Galvie, and meant it. For a man taken as an assassin, a killer, any kindness was appreciated. "You might have got me some salt, though." A thought struck him. "Or did you think there was enough in the coffee, your cook, no doubt, having pissed in it?"

The corporal, taking neither his eyes nor the aim of the gun from Galvie approached, picked up the pannikin, took three swallows. "Trust me now?" he asked, unhurriedly retreating to the pallet.

*****

(Twenty minutes later)

It was good to see a morning. They hadn't let him shower nor shave, nor comb his newly-hacked locks, but a sun was a sun was a sun. Warming, caressing. Well, he'd get no more caresses, he guessed. Just a chauffeur-driven ride South, a sham trial, (or perhaps not so sham, for he was, after all, guilty) and a final walk. A blindfold, a final cigar, the crack of bullets. No, scratch that last. The shot you hear is never the one that kills you. He could already picture the scene, ten men, white-faced, looking slightly guilty. Nine loaded guns (there is always one blank, in one of the guns, so those detailed for execution squad duty can never know for total absolute surety they've killed bound, defenseless man in cold blood,) a crisp order... If he'd have slept last night (which he hadn't) that's what he'd have dreamed of.

So now he stood, handcuffed, fettered, surrounded by ten unmounted men of the 7th Washington Colony Cavalry, waiting for the off. His transport for the trip was just to his left, about the length of a football field away. He'd already drunk his fill of its exterior, the tracked lozenge, olive drab like the mens' uniforms, his transport until the border, when he'd be handed over to the dubious custody of whatever elite Annesland regiment had been charged with the duty. Probably the Eastern Virginian Marines, or the Carolina Fusiliers, he guessed, or maybe another cavalry regiment, possibly the Alabama Lancers.

They were only waiting, he had been told, for the arrival of the ambassador and his entourage. Soon, the litter carrying the pompous windbag would be in sight, and the ambassador and selected members of his entourage - his aide, his body servant, his stenographer - would take their places in the padded, oversprung Tesla-powered coach, which already stood in place near the rear of the crocodile of vehicles. A squad of cavalry, standing by their horses, would provide an advance guard, followed by the supply vehicles (lots of these, for an ambassador can't be expected to go short on the journey and an army marches on its stomach - good grief and auntie fanny, whoever coined that phrase had no idea of a soldier's anatomy!) and then would come the ammunition truck, a second detachment of the 7th, "his" own vehicle, the converted tank, more horsemen, the ambassador's carriage, and then four tanks to bring up the rearguard. He'd taken careful notice of the order of march - knowing such details without having to search his memory might just give him the chance he needed.

And, now, here was the litter coming in sight, toted by four stalwart men, their faces red with effort.

Any second now, Galvie would catch a glimpse of the man who was taking him to his doom. And, just possibly, preventing the doom of countless others.

 

[darkangel76]

Morning came all too early, though with it came the excitement of Andie's trip. Her pink lips quirked up into a smile as she pushed herself up into a sitting position and then moved to let her slender legs dangle over the edge of her bed. The first warm rays of golden sunlight had already begun to filter their way into her luxurious room, filling it with its happy and welcome light. It was as if it was beckoning her to get started on her day, a special 'hello and thank you' all for her for what she was about to do for her country.

At that, Andie giggled and then heard the knock on her door. Her brown eyes darted over to the large antique-style wooden door with its crystal knob, the sun's light dancing off the facets and creating the prettiest little rainbows on the wall adjacent to where it was. She knew it was Helen coming to help her dress.

"It's me, miss," came Helen's muffled voice from the other side of the door.

Andie's smile broadened. Ah, how she could predict such things. As her hand moved to play with her tousled dark tresses, she nodded and lazily answered her maid. "Yes, you may enter."

Without further hesitation, Helen entered and quickly set to work about Andie's room. She drew the drape and handed her yet another box she was carrying in her hands. Andie's face lit up at the sight of the box. Clearly, she hadn't expected this present.

"Oh, daddy," Andie sighed happily as she slipped off her bed and moved to open the box. Inside was a beautiful gown made of pale blue satin material. She pulled it out and gasped slightly at the sheer exquisiteness of what she was beholding. "Oh, he's outdone himself this time. He truly has," she whispered. "Perhaps I've rubbed off on him." She smiled a little at her own little joke.

Helen remained quiet, still feeling a bit badly for her behavior the night prior just before Andie's 'farewell party'. Her small hands wringing themselves in front of her, she nodded quietly and she moved to take it and help Andie dress.

Andie allowed Helen to take the gown from her hands knowing that she needed to get ready, though as she did, she admired it in all its beauty. Like her gown from the night before, this one also had purpose. It was the gown everyone in Chicago would be seeing her off in. It was to make a final impression, a bold statement. Therefore, like her gown from the 'farewell party', this gown was a bit more daring than most of her usual dresses. But, no matter, she'd have time enough to change later on during their trip if she felt the need. Besides, Harry wasn't going to be coming along, so she had nothing to fear not that he wouldn't be anything but a gentleman anyway.

As Andie thought about how her trip would go, she let Helen dress her. Like the night before, first came the corset, followed by the garter and stockings. When it came time for the dress, it fit her like a perfect glove. It truly was the most breathtaking thing she'd ever donned, not to mention the most daring. But then, this trip was in and of itself was daring... dangerous, treacherous... but, she was a Hammond! The hope of Amerika! Thus, she was up for the challenge and the only one worthy enough for the honor. She knew those of Annesland would appreciate the gesture of her coming all the way to New Orleans. How could they not?

Once dressed, Andie let Helen fix up her dark hair and help her with some jewelry so that her chest didn't feel so bare. She then picked out a lacey shawl to help cover up her bared arms and she was ready. Ready to face her father, her entourage... the world!

~~~

Andie already felt a bit homesick as she rode in the coach that was taking her to her first 'stop' along the way to her final destination to New Orleans. It was a penitentiary of sorts and she and her entourage were to take someone—a dangerous someone—to New Orleans with them. Or, so her father had said. It was their insurance, he'd claimed. Not that they really needed it, but he'd said it was always best to be prepared and have a gift in waiting since all good guests bring a gift to their hosts. Andie couldn't fault her father with that logic.

As they neared the holding area, Andie tried to peer outside and get a peek of who it was they'd be taking along with them. She wanted to know who it was and what they'd done since she'd been given very little information in that regard. Her father had said that was for her own good and protection, though she'd tried to sweet talk him into telling. Unfortunately, it had gotten her nowhere except a new bracelet that had been added to her jewelry box—a very pretty one at that.

Finally, Andie's coach stopped and she felt her heart begin to pound with anticipation. She was about to meet someone who was supposedly notorious, though she had no idea who they were. She bit down on her lower lip and leaned over the adjust her one stocking that had been giving her troubles. The garter had come unfastened much like the night before and she needed to reattach it. Scowling, she made a mental note to never wear that particular garter belt ever again. After fixing the stocking, she smoothed out her skirt and got out of her coach. She looked over to where a crowd had gathered; surely they were securing the one they were to be escorting on the way to New Orleans. Sucking in a sharp breath, she began to walk over to the group so that she could greet them and see to it that the one they were holding was secured with her people. The sooner they left, the sooner they could get to New Orleans.

With each step that Andie took, she could feel the one stocking begin to sag. Silently she cursed at herself. The garter she was wearing truly was the worst! Trying to hold back the tears, she continued on her way until she reached the group. A tiny fist clutching at her lacey shawl, she looked up at one of the men and smiled.

"Hello good sir," Andie began with a curtsy. "Andromeda Elizabeth Schaeffer Hammond, President Hammond's daughter," she added with a smile. Her brown eyes glittered as the sun glinted off the blue satin of her dress. "We're here to pick up our... guest." She said the word 'guest' with a slight tone of contempt knowing that the one they'd be escorting was a criminal at the very least. "I trust that everything is set so that we may leave as soon as possible?" She smiled and let her eyes roam the group, finally resting upon the one she knew was the criminal seeing as he wore cuffs on his wrists and did not don a uniform.

 

[Alan23]

Morning came all too early, though with it came the excitement of Andie's trip. Her pink lips quirked up into a smile as she pushed herself up into a sitting position and then moved to let her slender legs dangle over the edge of her bed. The first warm rays of golden sunlight had already begun to filter their way into her luxurious room, filling it with its happy and welcome light. It was as if it was beckoning her to get started on her day, a special 'hello and thank you' all for her for what she was about to do for her country.

At that, Andie giggled and then heard the knock on her door. Her brown eyes darted over to the large antique-style wooden door with its crystal knob, the sun's light dancing off the facets and creating the prettiest little rainbows on the wall adjacent to where it was. She knew it was Helen coming to help her dress.

"It's me, miss," came Helen's muffled voice from the other side of the door.

Andie's smile broadened. Ah, how she could predict such things. As her hand moved to play with her tousled dark tresses, she nodded and lazily answered her maid. "Yes, you may enter."

Without further hesitation, Helen entered and quickly set to work about Andie's room. She drew the drape and handed her yet another box she was carrying in her hands. Andie's face lit up at the sight of the box. Clearly, she hadn't expected this present.

"Oh, daddy," Andie sighed happily as she slipped off her bed and moved to open the box. Inside was a beautiful gown made of pale blue satin material. She pulled it out and gasped slightly at the sheer exquisiteness of what she was beholding. "Oh, he's outdone himself this time. He truly has," she whispered. "Perhaps I've rubbed off on him." She smiled a little at her own little joke.

Helen remained quiet, still feeling a bit badly for her behavior the night prior just before Andie's 'farewell party'. Her small hands wringing themselves in front of her, she nodded quietly and she moved to take it and help Andie dress.

Andie allowed Helen to take the gown from her hands knowing that she needed to get ready, though as she did, she admired it in all its beauty. Like her gown from the night before, this one also had purpose. It was the gown everyone in Chicago would be seeing her off in. It was to make a final impression, a bold statement. Therefore, like her gown from the 'farewell party', this gown was a bit more daring than most of her usual dresses. But, no matter, she'd have time enough to change later on during their trip if she felt the need. Besides, Harry wasn't going to be coming along, so she had nothing to fear not that he wouldn't be anything but a gentleman anyway.

As Andie thought about how her trip would go, she let Helen dress her. Like the night before, first came the corset, followed by the garter and stockings. When it came time for the dress, it fit her like a perfect glove. It truly was the most breathtaking thing she'd ever donned, not to mention the most daring. But then, this trip was in and of itself was daring... dangerous, treacherous... but, she was a Hammond! The hope of Amerika! Thus, she was up for the challenge and the only one worthy enough for the honor. She knew those of Annesland would appreciate the gesture of her coming all the way to New Orleans. How could they not?

Once dressed, Andie let Helen fix up her dark hair and help her with some jewelry so that her chest didn't feel so bare. She then picked out a lacey shawl to help cover up her bared arms and she was ready. Ready to face her father, her entourage... the world!

~~~

Andie already felt a bit homesick as she rode in the coach that was taking her to her first 'stop' along the way to her final destination to New Orleans. It was a penitentiary of sorts and she and her entourage were to take someone—a dangerous someone—to New Orleans with them. Or, so her father had said. It was their insurance, he'd claimed. Not that they really needed it, but he'd said it was always best to be prepared and have a gift in waiting since all good guests bring a gift to their hosts. Andie couldn't fault her father with that logic.

As they neared the holding area, Andie tried to peer outside and get a peek of who it was they'd be taking along with them. She wanted to know who it was and what they'd done since she'd been given very little information in that regard. Her father had said that was for her own good and protection, though she'd tried to sweet talk him into telling. Unfortunately, it had gotten her nowhere except a new bracelet that had been added to her jewelry box—a very pretty one at that.

Finally, Andie's coach stopped and she felt her heart begin to pound with anticipation. She was about to meet someone who was supposedly notorious, though she had no idea who they were. She bit down on her lower lip and leaned over the adjust her one stocking that had been giving her troubles. The garter had come unfastened much like the night before and she needed to reattach it. Scowling, she made a mental note to never wear that particular garter belt ever again. After fixing the stocking, she smoothed out her skirt and got out of her coach. She looked over to where a crowd had gathered; surely they were securing the one they were to be escorting on the way to New Orleans. Sucking in a sharp breath, she began to walk over to the group so that she could greet them and see to it that the one they were holding was secured with her people. The sooner they left, the sooner they could get to New Orleans.

With each step that Andie took, she could feel the one stocking begin to sag. Silently she cursed at herself. The garter she was wearing truly was the worst! Trying to hold back the tears, she continued on her way until she reached the group. A tiny fist clutching at her lacey shawl, she looked up at one of the men and smiled.

"Hello good sir," Andie began with a curtsy. "Andromeda Elizabeth Schaeffer Hammond, President Hammond's daughter," she added with a smile. Her brown eyes glittered as the sun glinted off the blue satin of her dress. "We're here to pick up our... guest." She said the word 'guest' with a slight tone of contempt knowing that the one they'd be escorting was a criminal at the very least. "I trust that everything is set so that we may leave as soon as possible?" She smiled and let her eyes roam the group, finally resting upon the one she knew was the criminal seeing as he wore cuffs on his wrists and did not don a uniform.

"Well, they're certainly doing it in style," Galvie remarked, from the corner of his mouth, to the soldier closest to him - a muscular young private who carried the surname Dawson. "So who's that, then? The ambassador's daughter? His mistress? Not his wife, surely. I'd have thought - "

"Hush!" snapped Dawson, with an aggressive look. It wasn't so much that he had taken offense at the Anneslandian's impertinence, so much as wanting to spare his charge getting into any more trouble than he had to. Seeing that the woman who had emerged from the litter was deep in conversation with Lieutenant Bertram, he hastened to bring Galvie up to speed.

"That, for your information," he said, without moving his lips, showing that he might well have made it as a ventriloquist had such things still been popular on stage and screen, "is the ambassador herself. Andromeda Elizabeth Schaeffer Hammond."

"Hammond?" replied Galvie, adopting the same stiff-lipped mien. "You mean like - ?"

"Yes, like the president. She's President Hammond's daughter." He whacked Galvie with the flat of his sword. "And stop staring at her. She can make things even worse for you than they are, if she doesn't like you. And given what you are, she dislikes you enough already!"

*****

"Your 'guest,' Ma'am, is ready for collection," Lieutenant Bertram replied, giving her a crisp military bow. "Lieutenant Bertram at your service. I, and these members of the 7th... and a squadron of the 12th Amerikan Motorised Cavalry (he added the last as an afterthought, rather like you'd mention tea and coffee at the end of a sumptuous menu) are to provide your escort to the border. We shall be traveling through somewhat wild country, you see, Ma'am. But you can count on us to see that no harm comes to you. At the border, we shall be joined by the 23rd Light Hussars and a gaggle of tanks from Her Majesty's Anneslandian Tank Corps. You will have quite a guard of honor for your entry to New Orleans. As befits, of course, a lady of your importance and charm."

He beckoned to Dawson.

"Bring the prisoner forward, Private!"

Dawson marched Galvie towards the imaginary line, exactly six feet from where the ambassador stood, as he had been instructed. Galvie stood to attention (as he had been instructed,) then gave her a small, theatrical bow, like something from the long-ago Elizabethan era (which was not in the script), after which he met her eyes, letting his gaze flicker just for a second down to her mouth, and back up again. This, too, was not in his instructions, and he had the satisfaction of seeing Lt Bertram's face go white and puce by turns!

Seeing that the ambassador did not offer her hand for a shake, Galvie stuck out his own. He saw that she, for some reason, was holding on to her skirt at thigh level - some good luck charm, he guessed, or perhaps she was paranoid enough to have brought some kind of concealable weapon, just in case. It was, he reflected, somewhat flattering that she felt that, even cuffed and fettered as he was, even the best the 7th Cavalry could offer were not enough for safety!

Or perhaps, he thought with a grin that he only just managed to hide, her level of military sophistication was greater than other women of her age and station, and she had no illusions about the efficiency of the horsemen!

"I, who am about to die, salute you, Ma'am," he said, in his soft Anneslandian accent. He wondered if she'd recognize the reference to the greetings given by gladiators in the arena, to their emperor. "I could wish we might have met in better circumstances. But then, given your beauty, meeting you at all is a privilege beyond the desserts of a humble frontiersman such as myself."

He ignored the kick from Pte Dawson, and continued.

"Well, we should have quite a pleasant jaunt, I'm calculating. It's to be the scenic route, I understand. They tell me the Ozark mountains are quite pleasant, at this time of year. I'd go as far as to say - "

But he went so far as to say nothing more intelligible, for the flat of Lt Bertram's sword caught him square in his broad back and, weakened as he was by months of confinement and starvation, he went sprawling, face down, in the dust.

An incident that he filed away, carefully, in the deepest recesses of his brain, for possible future avengement.

 

[darkangel76]

For a brief moment, Andie almost forgot that her stocking was giving her troubles while she spoke and began making the quick arrangements to get their 'guest' situated so that they all could be on their way. But the moment she shifted her feet, she could feel the material sliding along the smoothness of her skin and then... snap!

Andie bit down on her lower lip, her cheeks growing hot as she felt the fastener give way and the strap come loose along her thigh. Her first reaction was to bring her hand casually down along her gown, to grab and the hem of her stocking through her skirt since there was no way she'd be able lift it. Not with so many men present and her coach so far away she'd be unable to conceal herself for any adjustments. Yes, she'd be burning this garter and never wearing it again! Thankfully, she had others and she most certainly would be wearing them!

Swallowing hard and doing her best to remain calm, Andie smiled, "Thank you, sir. It's wonderful to know that we have such fine men defending our country." She took a deep breath to hold back the tears and then allowed her smile to broaden. "Men of honor and impeccable tastes. My father will hear of how well you've treated me," she added, her thoughts drifting as she watched their 'guest' approach.

The man was simply ghastly! Though handsome in face, his clothes were a disaster. She wondered how lowly his class was before he'd managed to get caught and placed in a prison. Prison! Just what had he done? Oh, if only her father had told her such things. She was big enough girl to handle it, but then he did say it was for her protection, not for any other reason. Just then, her tiny hand clutched a bit more fervently at her stocking threatening to slip down her thigh.

Andie's dark eyes suddenly widened as the man bowed, his eyes finding her own and beginning to gaze just a bit lower causing her to let out the softest of gasps. Just what was he doing? At that, she took a step back... and the stocking she desperately clutched shifted. Her eyes fluttered shut as her pale skin grew warm, a blush sweeping across her cheeks and down along her neck and chest. Upon opening her eyes, the man dared to speak, which only caused her blush to deepen, to sweep further over her exposed milky white flesh.

The prisoner was certainly bold and the guards certainly let him know their disapproval. Perhaps they could read her distaste and disgust? Andie felt the tiniest bit of satisfaction when the man received his just reward for addressing her in such a manner. And to think he let his eyes linger! Of all the scandalous and inappropriate...! Didn't he know who she was? Didn't he know that she was intended? Well, he certainly would soon enough. She would see to that.

"Sir," Andie began. "I am Andromeda Elizabeth Schaeffer Hammond, daughter of the president, intended to Harry Smythe. And, my jaunt through the Ozarks would hardly be pleasant if you were to be my company." Her blush deepened and her grip on the sagging stocking tightened. "Fortunately, you will be traveling in a car more suitable to your needs and I will have company more suitable to my station."

At that, Andie turned her nose in the air and made a gesture that she was ready to head back to her coach. After all, she'd been mocked and insulted and... she had a stocking to fix.

 

[Alan23]

Galvie had been face down in the dirt many times in his native land. It was, in am ironic sense, reassuring that the dirt of Amerika did not taste any different. Lieutenant Bertram's foot in the small of his back, holding him down, was by no means a totally familiar situation, yet not quite as alien as might be supposed. He'd had a long and chequered life, after all. And to be scorned by an attractive woman (for attractive she certainly was,) was the lot of all men at some time, even one as handsome and glib as himself. "Our jaunt would hardly be pleasant if you were to be my company," indeed!

On the other hand, Galvie was not entirely naive about the effect of a "moral," meaning "psychological," advantage. Sure, his enemies outnumbered him by many to one and were armed and unrestrained, with the power of the Amerikan nation behind them. Therefore, it behooved him to fight back with what weapons he had. Miss... what was it... some constellation of stars? Crab Nebula? No, surely not. Andromeda, that was it. Andromeda something something Hammond. And engaged to some creature called Smythe. Confident and sure in her position of authority...

Or was she?

For one thing, he had gained a distinct impression that Miss Andromeda Elizabeth Schaeffer Hammond did not, inwardly, share the confidence she had tried to convey. She had seemed nervous, jumpy. And somewhat disconcerted when he'd stolen a glance at her lips. A girl, then, sure neither of her sexuality nor her abilities. And the blush that had flared up during their brief conversation also spoke volumes. A person in control of a situation, secure of their advantage, does not blush. Nor does her lip flutter as if, for a brief second, she is trying to fight back tears. Perhaps this Harry Smythe creature, her intended, was not as ardent as she might have liked. Or even, her feelings for Harry were not as enthusiastic as she had tried to convey. Or perhaps, even, she was not sure of her own womanhood, and viewed the aftermath of the engagement and marriage with trepidation. Could it even have been something far more mundane, almost comical - that the dress she wore, as well as being far from suitable for travel in the wilds, was also revealing in the extreme, and it was causing her disquiet, being as she was, surrounded by such large numbers of males?

Well, there was a weakness there, and he'd find it and use it.

He deliberately made his body go limp, forcing the two troopers who hauled him to his feet to exert more strength than they would otherwise have needed, and kept a slightly cynical grin on his lean features as they frogmarched him to the special converted tank that would be his own personal chariot for the journey. During the remaining time of waiting for the off, he sat calmly, a vision of the fields and scrub of his native East Texas before him, not even bothering to peer out through the bars of the prison.

There were a million and one things to do before the convey moved. The horses to be watered, provisions to be checked, a horse that needed to be shod at the last moment, fussing around the ambassador to ensure she had receptacle, fan, enough to eat and drink. She was a hothouse flower indeed, and this gave him cause for another inward smile. When facing large odds, it does no harm at all to see a weakness in their leadership. Even an army of lions is easily defeated when lead by a sheep.

In fact, it was nearly an hour before the bugles sounded to get started, and the long trail of vehicles and horses moved slowly forward, the hooves of the horses clip-clopping on the hard ground, the tanks' tracks grinding and squealing, the shouts of orders dancing in the aether. The tank, like all such beasts, was not designed for comfort, having little or no springing, but he'd sat and slept on harder surfaces, in less comfortable places, and he gave that little thought. He managed to avoid shedding the slightest tear as the military prison faded into the distance, as they passed through the outskirts of the town and onto the main pike.

He wondered what cover-story they'd given, to explain such a large concentration of horses and tanks, and such an ornate carriage. Then he remembered that, cleverly, they'd arranged the big football match, New Britain against Maryland, for two days hence, and the presence of a dignitary and two crack army regiments could be explained in the light of that. The few spectators they passed, some dressed in the green and blue favors of the Nova Bretonians and the far smaller group in the blue and yellow of the visitors, applauded, as the convey passed. Galvie wondered what they'd make of seeing a prison-vehicle with a rough-clad assassin inside, but he noted that the troopers of the 7th were careful to form their horses into a screen around his vehicle whenever they went through a populated area.

Well, there was the one small advantage he had, and he'd use it. He knew that, during the halt, it would be the ambassador's personal responsibility to check on his security and (though this was a sham) well-being. They could not, after all, risk him impugning their treatment of him and thus damage the negotiations. He and Andromeda Elizabeth Schaeffer Hammond would meet again when the entourage halted for the evening. He wondered if he could make her blush again.

 

[darkangel76]

Suddenly Andie felt as if her spacious coach wasn't spacious enough. She longed for the comforts of her room, for her mirrors, even for Helen her maid. What she wouldn't have given for the woman's company right then and there. True, she could prattle on about the most ridiculous and outlandish of things, but she had her uses and she'd grown accustomed to having her around to assist when things went wrong. Especially when those things dealt with her attire.

Andie peered out the window of her coach and drew the curtains closed so as to dot out any bit of visibility from the outside. Already she found herself loathing that it would have to be enough. How she missed her drapes and her Helen! She hoisted up her blue satin skirt, leaning over so that she could pull on her slips beneath. The corset she wore was unforgiving, however, making it difficult for her to move freely and peer at the offending stocking that was annoying her as it was. After much trial and tribulation, she managed to peek at thing as it slid down along her leg, already dropped down to mid-calf. She scowled, her dark eyes welling with tears at the horrible sight. The one garter strap lay loosely along her thigh, waiting for her hand to reattach it the stock so that it could mock and ridicule as it came undone later on.

Oh how she knew it would only come undone once more! It would just be her luck. She somehow knew this. And more than likely at the worst of times too.

After Andie refastened the garter, she heaved a heavy sigh, her skin pink from the embarrassment of what she'd just had to do in secret. She could only hope that no one noticed she'd had to do anything at all. Thankfully, she was surrounded by gentlemen and not riff-raff, well only one was riff-raff. For a moment her thoughts lingered on the prisoner and the way his eyes had stared. Of all the bold and rude... Certainly, the Lieutenant would keep him in his place and she would see to it that he knew it as well. She was the president's daughter after all and that meant she wasn't someone to be taken lightly. She deserved respect!

As the day wore on, Andie found herself growing bored. The sights of the land were hardly anything to speak about as far as she was concerned. Nothing compared to the wonders of the city of Chicago or any of the other great cities one of her station had the privilege of visiting—she wondered how New Orleans would compare. Though it was of Annesland, perhaps it could be a decent contender. Soon enough the peace between the two neighboring nations would be sealed and solidified, no need to bicker and compare any longer when they could play nice at civility. Regardless, she was bored and longing for their party to stop for the night. The sky was darkening as it was, so it made sense to her that they should rest, tend to their 'guest' and retire for the night before heading out once more in the morning.

Drawing open her curtains a bit further, Andie pushed open her window and gestured that she wished to stop. When her coach came to a halt, she waited for her door to be opened so that she could be escorted out. She smiled and nodded, her dark eyes peering over the trail of their group as it gathered. She clutched at her shawl with one delicate hand while the other smoothed the blue satin of her more than daring gown. For the moment, she could feel that her garter was secure and a tiny smile crept over her red lips—a small victory and one she would relish!

As Andie made her way to where the prisoner was held, she sucked in a sharp breath and held it for a moment. She needed to find her bearings out in these wilds, in this backwoods country that was much to her disliking and discomfort. Fortunately, she would be able to rest soon and eat something both decadent and delightful. No doubt she'd feel much more refreshed after a delicious repast. Nearing the 'cage' that housed the impudent man who thought himself above what he was, she finally dared to exhale. Her dark eyes narrowed and she set her jaw, ready for whatever cheeky remark he prepared to hurl at her person. He'd suffer for his insolence even if she had to see to it personally.

"Good eve, sir," Andie began haughtily as she approached the prisoner, her nose upturned slightly as she looked at him. "Are you finding your mode of transport to your liking?" she asked. "I would think it should suit someone such as you." She moved to walk along the 'cage'. As she moved, she could feel her one garter begin to ride, the fastener giving way and causing her stocking to slide along her leg. Immediately, she stopped mid-stride, her breath catching as she stopped where she stood. Her face paled before it turned scarlet and she swallowed trying to remain calm. Slowly, she reached down in hopes to carefully and inconspicuously grab a hold of her stocking before it began to sag further, but... snap!

The moment Andie felt the garter loose itself entirely, she thought she was going to faint. If she didn't have the worst luck, she didn't know who did!

 

[Alan23]

"No, Ma'am," Galvie replied, matter-of-factly. "I am by no means finding this means of transport to my liking. Nor the destination. Mind you, I'm not disappointed, for I expected little better." He stared at her, insolently, his gaze once again flickering to her eyes, her red lips, back to her eyes. "Having fled to your supposedly civilized, freedom-loving country for political asylum, I've now had a taste of true Amerikan freedom and fairness. You might say that I've developed a certain cynicism about the phrase "bring me your huddled masses."

He leaned against the wall of his mobile prison, still sitting, and lighting a cheroot - a gift from the humane Trooper Dawson, who had developed a certain pity for the prisoner.

"And you, Ma'am? I trust you, at least, are enjoying the trip? Surrounded as you are by men who dare deny you no comfort, nor do anything but tiptoe demurely and hush their voices in your august presence? Not got travel stains on your fine, taxpayer-funded gown, nor suffered the indignity of windblown tresses or scuffed shoes? Secure in the pride you take in your humane treatment of captives, and sleeping securely, one trusts? And not run out of mascara nor lipstick, perish the monstrous thought?"

As he had been speaking (in truth, deliberately goading her, for he had expected little better, giving his situation and his past) he noticed her check her forward stride slightly, and pull up. Her fine patrician features took on a look of consternation which, surely, could not (Galvie knew immediately) be from sympathy at his plight. Had she suddenly been bitten by a copperhead? Surely, not this far North. Stood upon a sharp stone? Suffered a sudden pang of indigestion? Whatever her reasons, it must have been an acutely distressing situation for her, for she had come to a dead stop, and her look was one of a panicked deer caught in the headlights of a Teslamobile.

"So what's wrong, your excellency?" he asked. "Did you suddenly learn that the expedition has run out of caviar? Or does the brocade in your own luxurious chariot clash with your shawl?"

He could see, though, exactly the cause of her consternation. A brief glance down at her slim leg told him everything as the bunched mass of Nylon ("the new wonder material, like silk, but lasts ten times as long," as their slogan put it) gathered around the lower part of her calf. The troopers that were escorting her (at a respectful distance, of course) both had to suppress chortles, one of them hastily clapping his hand over his mouth. Despite his resentment at his position, Galvie did have a certain sympathy. He knew the occasional propensity of garters - what, in his own country were called "suspenders" - to, occasionally, let their wearer down at awkward moments, usually at the most elect of social gatherings. Though he'd suspected a woman of her status, who, presumably, could afford the best Amerika's dressmakers could provide, to be above such indignities. Obviously not.

This too, then, explained the clutching at her thigh on their previous meeting. It appeared that poor Andromeda Elizabeth Schaeffer Hammond was experiencing the traumatic situation of having garter trouble. Awkward, he was sure, at the best of times. And here, surrounded by rough men who hadn't seen a woman for some time, separated from their wives, sweethearts and haeteras... why, correcting the situation would be, he knew, somewhat damaging to her poise, here in public. And yet, given that it was her duty to at least make some pretense of attending to him, she could hardly run back to her coach - even if those shoes permitted such acrobatics.

His first thought, and perhaps an unworthy one, was to tease her about it, make some lewd or demeaning remark, thereby ramping up her already obvious embarrassment. What stopped him was the remembrance that, in the psychological game he was playing, subtlety sometimes pays greater dividends than excess. Why use a meat cleaver when a scalpel cut deeper?

Therefore, rather than remark upon her dishabille, or even stare openly at her leg with its forlornly sagging hosiery, he politely looked away, pretending to discover something of extreme fascination in the rivets on the inside of the tank's metal wall, though still regarding her through the peripheral vision of his keen eyes, for a lady in such discomfort was, somehow, endearing. He noticed that other troopers (including others that had been milling around generally, performing the various tasks necessary in setting up camp) had ceased their activity and were staring openly, nudging each other, and he even heard an anonymous whistle or two, which, he was sure, would do little to improve poor Ambassador Hammond's already deflated social poise.

"If you'd do me the honor of informing when I might again turn and hold discourse with you, Ma'am," he said, softly, as if they were in a drawing room in Houston or Chicago, "I should be grateful."

He knew damn well that flinging up her skirts and performing the complex task of reattaching the errant fastening - not to mention the unladylike (though, paradoxically, highly feminine) task of smoothing the stocking back into a snug fit, was not one that a person of her status could perform in public. Only a whore would do such a thing, and even then might have some delicacy about it. Against this, she was trapped where she was, in a state of semi-undress, a target for ridicule. She couldn't run, couldn't hide, couldn't repair the situation. He guessed that right at that moment, she hated the manufacturer of that garter more than she hated the entire nation of Annesland, himself included!

"Hey, you," he snapped at one of the troopers who were escorting her. "Where on earth are your manners? Can't you see that there's a lady suffering an awkward situation? Well, for heaven's sake don't just stand there, gaping at her like a fish chewing gum! Take off your jacket and hold it before her, and save her the mortification of making a spectacle of herself before the whole camp. Honestly, if this is an example of the manners of an elite Amerikan cavalryman, I don't think much of it."

At first, the trooper demurred - taking orders from an Anneslandian assassin was not what he'd signed up for! Realizing, however, that a refusal would be taken as an insult by the ambassador - the daughter of the president, no less - and that such opprobrium would not be calculated to advance either his military career nor, even, his prospects of staying out of the glasshouse - he whipped off his jacket and held it before the unfortunate Miss Hammond, ignoring the cries of anger that echoed from the less well-bred of his comrades.

Galvie, meanwhile, kept his eyes (overtly, at least) firmly in another direction.

 

[darkangel76]

Clutching desperately to her stocking through her shimmery blue satin dress, Andie felt as if the entire world was suddenly staring at her. She became aware of the officers' eyes, their laughter as they ceased to conceal it even in her presence! Why... how could they do that? They knew who she was! She was the president's daughter and the ambassador of hope, the only one able to ensure peace between Amerika and Annesland! How in the name of Providence could they suddenly turn on her and mock her as they were? She expected such lowly attempts from the prisoner, his disrespect noted the moment he'd begun to open his mouth. But the others! Oh, her father would hear about this and she'd be sure to spare no detail.

Andie could feel her dark eyes pricking with tears as she bit down on her lower lip. Looking over at the prisoner, she felt the urge to scream, to snap back at his cruel and teasing words. But. a lump had already formed in her throat and any attempt to speak let alone shout would immediately give away her predicament and that was the last thing she wanted to do. However, she was at a loss.

"Sir, I..." Andie stammered, her voice soft, nearly faltering as she almost broke down into tears. At that, she could feel her skin growing warm, a blush sweeping over her porcelain-pale flesh and turning a deep shade of scarlet. She wanted to touch her cheeks, to cover chest. She longed to hide her embarrassment, which was becoming more and more apparent by the moment, or so she was certain.

Just as Andie wasn't sure she could take much more, her pride nearly ruined, she heard the prisoner speak up once more. His words took her by surprise, causing her dark eyes to widen, her head to tilt just a bit in shock and wonder. Even still, her tiny hand continued to clutch at the garter as she watched the peculiar man, her thoughts now a bit muddled as an officer rushed to her aid to conceal her with his jacket so that she could make the adjustments she needed given where she was and the situation she'd found herself to be in.

Andie blinked rapidly, her eyes fixed on the prisoner for a moment before she looked away and began tending to what needed to be done. Just why had he done that? A moment ago his words had been mocking and cruel. Teasing. Perhaps there was some semblance of hope residing deep within? Or perhaps he just knew aristocracy when he saw it and suddenly realized his place? Or perhaps her charm had truly won him over at the last second—a reason that her father had thought her perfect for the peace talks, no doubt? But, whatever the case, he'd done the honorable thing and it had struck a chord.

Funny that a prisoner thought of such a thing and not an officer himself...

Slowly, Andie hoisted up the blue satin—only as far up as she needed, which unfortunately was too far as far as she was concerned. Cursed garters fastened at mid-thigh and that was much too far given she was surrounded by so many men. Inhaling shakily, she held her breath and quickly went to work as she fumbled to fasten the garter back to her stocking. It seemed to take ages to get it adjusted in the manner she wanted, but she eventually got it just right and finally lowered her skirts and began to smooth them out. She looked at the officer who'd held up his jacket for her, thanks to the prisoner more or less ordering him to do so, and nodded—a gesture indicating that she was finished.

Andie turned back toward the peculiar prisoner who'd just spewed venom only to help her out of an awkward situation. As she looked at him, her normally pale skin still reddened from her earlier embarrassment, she dared to take a step forward. "Might I get your name, sir," she then said. "I should like to know the name of the one I must address each day." Her eyes were still glistening slightly from the tears she'd shed due to her earlier predicament. "And I shall check on you at each meal and each night before we retire," she then said.

 

[Alan23]

Galvie stood, and gave her a small inclination of his head. "The name, Ma'am, is Charles Marlowe Rennie McAuley, GC, formerly Lance Corporal, 12th Texas Rifles. I won't trouble to give my lineage - I doubt you'll have heard of 'em. In fact - " he spread his hands, in comical apology "As you obviously know, my status and social reputation are better left undiscussed, save to say that right now, unlike even the lowliest beggar or jailbird, I don't even have a country."

He stood in the military "at ease" position, his honeyed Anneslandian tones giving an almost musical lilt to his words. "But I'd take it right kindly, Ma'am, if you'd visit me as you suggested, now and again. Delivering me up to a firing squad is fair enough, given the circumstances and the gains to be had, but leaving a man alone with no conversation for twenty four hours per diem - well, that might well be considered cruel and unusual punishment, even for s snake as low as myself, Ma'am, if you take my meaning. And I do hope - "

He'd meant to add "and I do hope your stockings don't give you any more trouble," but the instinct that had so far served him well made him swallow the words. Much as this woman despised him, she was as near as he had to an ally. And, in any case, soft words and respect to women came far more naturally to him than mockery and opprobrium.

"...I do hope," he substituted, "That you don't judge me too harshly. Attempted murderer as I may be, it was for an ideal, Ma'am, not filthy lucre, and I'm attempting to go and take my whupping with as much dignity as I can muster, small as it is."

*****

Miss Hammond's promise to visit him at mealtimes and evenings had come as something of a surprise to Galvie. True, he had known that it was part of her duty to make a daily visit to check upon his situation - it was the task of the 7th to protect the ambassador and her entourage and ensure he didn't escape, not to add to his punishment. He had been apprehensive they might have spat on his food, denied him water, or otherwise used him for sport, and Miss Hammond thus represented his only court of appeal. In truth, so far, they had been decent enough to him, but there was always a risk this might change.

But besides the obvious advantages of receiving regular visits, there was another, less tangible benefit. It had been some months since he'd conversed with a member of the distaff side, particularly one as well-bred and... he was forced to admit it to himself, after fighting the tendency for some hours after she'd left - beautiful. To his shame, she had haunted his dreams to some extent. Admittedly, her well-shaped legs (of which, thanks to her rebellious garter, he had been able to take his visual fill) were part of the attraction, but there were certain stirrings of thoughts that were less shameful. He found himself wondering if, instead of taking violent action towards the cause of an Anneslandian republic, he should have simply scooted over the border and applied for asylum with no political sin upon his conscience. By now he might have been a free, respectable citizen, perhaps even with a lady such as Miss Andromeda Hammond upon his arm. Well, perhaps not her specifically, he reminded himself, he'd be unlikely to have moved in the same social circles as the president's daughter. She was for the likes of this "Harry Smythe" character...

But his dreams of an alternate life, in which he was, by turns, a respectable tradesman, a high-ranking military officer in the Amerikan Army, and the bridegroom of a well-bred society girl who, unsurprisingly, bore a disconcerting resemblance to Andromeda Hammond, were enough to soothe him to sleep on his first night, and to consume his military-issue breakfast (oatmeal, ham and eggs,) with some relish the following morning, feeling that no matter how wreteched one's circumstances, there were always dreams.

But the dreams did not divert him from his greater business - which was, given a tenth of a sniff of a chance, to be elsewhere than under chain and behind bars in the custody of the Amerikan armed forces. He gazed towards the West, which, though hidden from view by thick woods, was out there somewhere. And reachable by a man who could ride like the wind, and still had a set of lockpicks hidden in his boot.

 

[darkangel76]

Unable to help it, Andie felt her cheeks go red once again the moment Charles began to speak. She wasn't sure if it was because he'd merely given his name or because he'd actually taken the time to explain himself and his past deeds. Though a part of her figured it had more to do with the fact that one of his class and predicament had dared to do what the others had not and nothing at all to do with the words he was actually uttering. And then there was the manner in which he addressed her—like a proper gentleman, not like a prisoner locked in a 'cage'. It was all rather unnerving and, as much as she hated to admit it, intriguing.

"Well, Mr. McAuley, I am glad you see the error of your past and plan to face your future as a gentleman should." Andie smiled a little, her blush deepening just a bit. "With that, I bid you good night. I shall return in the morning." At that, she gave Charles a demure curtsy and made her way back to her coach, her hand discreetly at the ready in case the garter decided to loose itself once again.

Andie's thoughts were swimming as she entered her spacious coach—her new traveling 'home' as she journeyed to New Orleans. She sat alone for several long moments as she pondered her conversation with Charles. It had been interesting and most odd, definitely different compared to any sort of conversation she'd ever had with anyone of the opposite sex. Furrowing her brow, she peered outside and noticed a tent had been set up for her, a grand tent that no doubt had a bed and some of her luggage set up for her as well. With a reluctant sigh, she pushed herself up and made her way to her tent and entered it. The bed was indeed set up and more comfortable than she'd expected, but it paled in comparison to the one in her room back home in Chicago.

Looking about her tent, Andie suddenly felt so alone. Though she had a few gripes when it came to Helen, she missed her personal maid and longed to have the woman with her. What she wouldn't give to have someone who could properly help her dress and undress each day. Her gowns were so cumbersome to put on and take off. Without Helen, it was so much... harder...

Andie's dark eyes welled with tears as she wished both for Helen and extra drapes to conceal herself. She made sure her tent entrance was as secure as it could be and then reached around her back and unzipped herself, loosing her gown so that it could fall off her slim body into a puddle of satin about her ankles. She then shimmied off the slips as her mind began to wander to difficulties of the corset that she donned. There was a trick to tightening and loosening the undergarment by one's self, but it wasn't easy and Helen had only been able to show her a handful of times how to do it.

Just then, Andie felt a stray tear roll down her pale cheek and she sniffled. Unfortunately, crying wouldn't help her out in her current situation though she felt a bit of release in allowing herself a bit of a cry. Heaving a heavy sigh, she worked on her corset and the garment fell free from her petite body, her small breasts no longer squished and confined by the thing. Though she was alone, her arms immediately moved to conceal herself and she reached for her nightgown, pulling the filmy white frock over her head. Sitting down on her bed, she hoisted up her nightgown and unfastened her garter belt and then unattached it from the stockings she wore. She scowled at the wretched thing, the thing that had caused her troubles on more than one occasion and threw it. As she looked down at her legs, she slowly began to slide the stockings off until... rip...

"Oh no..." Andie mumbled, a trace of panic in her voice. She held the stocking up and saw the rip, which had led to run. "Ruined!" More tears began to streak down her cheeks. Dropping her stockings she just couldn't hold back any longer. Burying her face in her hands she cried for several minutes before she finally picked up her clothes—something she wished she had a servant to do for her—and situated herself in her bed.

The night was long and uncomfortable and Andie found herself having a difficult time finding sleep. Her evening after speaking with Charles had been dreadful and now there were too many strange sounds out in the wilds that were filling her ears making it near impossible for her to calm down. The sounds were loud and terrifying and more than making her mind run rampant with fear while filling it with frightful images of untamed beasts lurking about that were ready to pounce and eat a girl alive! Oh the thought made her blood run cold, her muscles tense as she shivered and shook, wishing she were back home in her bed where it was safe and secure, where there were servants and little luxuries like hot running water. Her hands ran furiously through her dark tresses as she tried desperately to find sleep, that black state of consciousness that would allow her some semblance of refreshment once the sun rose overhead.

When the sun finally did rise, Andie still felt rather tired and as a result had a difficult time getting herself dressed. The only thing that kept her motivated was knowing that she had a duty to visit Charles at breakfast time. As the Amerikan ambassador, she'd see it done. Donning pale pink lace, she made her way from her tent and back to where she knew his 'cage' had been set up for the night. She wondered what his disposition would be like now that the sun was rising.

 

[Alan23]

Galvie had finished his ham and eggs when the guard appointed for the day, one Corporal Gregory, approached him, accompanied by three privates, all with loaded and leveled carbines. Galvie tensed, expecting that he was to be punished, perhaps suspecting that Miss Hammond had taken some slight in response to his levity of the day before, and had ordered something he'd dislike. He knew they couldn't whip him, for that would leave fresh scars that would be difficult to explain, but there were plenty of things that four strapping troopers might do to an unarmed man that hurt, and yet left no mark.

Therefore it came as a huge relief to him that the soldiers simply escorted him to a small, rectangular and roofless, canvas tent, in which a kind of eccentric shower-unit had been set up. He was not to be allowed a razor - for reasons that he could well understand - but soap, shampoo and deodorant were provided. He was, of course, forced to make his ablutions with the troopers looking on, though even then they had the decency to keep stone-faced and not make any insulting remarks. In truth, their credibility would have suffered if they had since Galvie, in all truth, was not the sort of man that others laugh at when naked. In fact, he almost fancied he caught a gleam of envy in their eyes!

After a shower and shampoo, his belly full, he felt that life as a traveling prisoner of the Amerikan nation could well have been worse. This was, in fact, a situation that very much confirmed the veracity of the old proverb that it was better to travel than to arrive!

There was, however, a slight logistical issue that made itself felt. Namely that the shower-head, which was none too accurate, had caused the "walls" of the canvas erection and its dirt "floor" to become saturated, which meant that he could not really dress without getting his own clothing wet. Corporal Gregory, almost apologetically, explained that it was not possible, given the resources available, to provide him with a dressing room, whereupon Galvie, realizing that they were doing their best to treat him with dignity and kindness pointed out that having served in the military himself he was by no means over-modest or shy, and was quite happy to dress in the open air.

After a vigorous toweling, he donned his pants and boots, and began cleaning his teeth at a basin perched on a tree-stump. This duty performed, he was just reaching for his shirt when the soldiers around him snapped to attention. Galvie's eyes shot up at this - had the Colonel suddenly ordered a snap inspection? Was he so insistent on pointless "discipline" that he conducted regular inspections even when on active service? Yet he had heard no bugle call, nor were the soldiers saluting, as was mandatory when a senior officer passed. Then what -

Following the direction of Corporal Gregory's eyes solved the mystery.

At a snapped command from the Corporal, Galvie too snapped to attention, though considering that he was in civilian garb there was no actual requirement to. He stood there, with his flat stomach and highly ripped, well defined chest muscles, his strong arms clasped firmly to his side, and a single trickle of water running down from his hair, making a small creek along his chest, seeking his navel as a reservoir.

No, it was not the Colonel at all. Instead, he saw approaching an unmistakeable figure. A vision in lacy pink, picking her way carefully and fastidiously through the horse-dung that littered the temporary bivouac, her nose held proudly in the air, the tightness of her attire forcing her to walk as if she were on a fashionable street in Chicago or Boston rather than a patch of scrub land in the middle of who-knew-where. A figure that had haunted his dreams the night before. And whom, now seen again in reality, he registered as being even more haughtily beautiful than even his Morpheic imaginations had credited her.

For, making her way towards him, accompanied by two guards, was the unmistakeable figure of Miss Andromeda Elizabeth Schaeffer Hammond, Ambassador to the Nation of Annesland. And here he was (he was amused to notice) only half dressed. Still, he mused, it might have been worse.

She could have come along a few minutes earlier!

 

[darkangel76]

The walk seemed endless as Andie made her way to over to where she was certain Charles would be held captive in his new 'home'. But as she approached, she noticed that he was not in his 'cage', but out in the open. Narrowing her dark eyes slightly, she could see that he'd just finished... showering. A small gasp rolled off her lips when the moment of realization struck her, however, she'd begun the procession and could not turn back now. Besides, she'd not only made the promise of making an appearance at around each meal time every day, but she had her duty as a result of her position in this entourage as they headed toward New Orleans.

Biting down on her lower lip, Andie could feel her heart begin to pound, her breath begin to quicken as Charles' bared flesh came into view. It was scandalous that he donned practically... nothing! How in Providence could the man remain so calm? Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him standing at attention just as the other soldiers were. Only, he was no soldier. She hardly knew what to make of him at all as he stood there.

When Andie finally approached them all, she felt her mouth suddenly go dry. In a vain attempt to moisten her reddened lips, she licked at her lips, her pink tongue darting out ever so slightly and as discreetly as she was able. Clearing her throat, she heaved a sigh and shifted her stance. Suddenly, it was feeling much warmer and more uncomfortable than it had moments ago. Slowly, she dared to take a few more steps, her confining clothes rubbing against her tiny body in ways that made her face almost start to contort, though she did her best to stifle such expressions.

Andie politely curtsied for the officers, "Good morning, gentlemen," she said. Her dark eyes then turned toward Charles', however, the moment she did, she couldn't help but swallow. It was hard not to look away from his eyes, his bared chest daring and beckoning her to look lower. Blinking rapidly and sucking in a sharp breath, she curtsied once again, "Mr. McAuley."

Andie closed her eyes, clamping them shut as she lowered herself in another curtsy. Parting her lips, she let out a slow yet forced exhale. Upon rising, she found Charles' eyes once again, doing her best to muster up her resolve.

"I trust your night in the wilds of this land were to your liking?" Andie then asked addressing Charles. Her own night had been horrible and she was still suffering from both lack of sleep and the annoyance of lacking both creature comforts and assistance when it came to several everyday things.

Waiting for a reply from Charles, Andie took another step, her clothes rubbing causing an itch along her ribs. Discreetly, she brought her elbows close to her body and tried to scratch the irritated area by rubbing an elbow along the rib, but it only served to worsen things. As she tried to alleviate the irritation, she suddenly felt her corset move causing her eyes to widen, her breath to catch as she gasped. In her sudden embarrassment of the moment, in her sudden fear, her eyes flicked of their own accord from his eyes to his chest. Gasping louder, she immediately looked back up to his eyes, her cheeks turning a bright shade of red. If she could run away right then, she would have.

Curse Helen for not being present right then and there! The woman should have come along! Had she been there the corset would not have irritated her thus she wouldn't have needed to scratch it, which caused it to move! The sudden movement was what caused her eyes to stray... it had nothing to do with interest or curiosity... nothing at all! She was the president's daughter, ambassador of hope, intended to Harry Smythe!

 

[Alan23]

Galvie was surprised to realize that he was experiencing a certain sympathy for Miss Hammond. For himself, he was suffering no embarrassment whatsoever - plenty of females had seen him bare-chested (or worse) and he was not a person overburdened with modesty. For her, however, he guessed the situation must have been excruciatingly awkward. He doubted she had even seen Harry Smythe in such a state of undress, never mind a stranger! The shiftiness of her eyes, the involuntary licking of her lips, her look of obvious discomfort - all of this seemed to confirm this opinion.

And the way that various members of the 7th were nudging each other and stifling laughter told him that her discomfiture had not gone unnoticed.

It was all he could do not to look at her too hard when she curtsied. He did, in fact, appreciate the gesture - haughty and proud as she was, it was the sign of a true aristocrat to show respect to all, even to a known murderer and prisoner. The inclination of his head that he made in return contained no irony, which was rare for him.

At her inquiry as to how he had enjoyed his night, he decided immediately (and for obvious reasons) against telling the truth. The problem was, coming up with a lie was not as easy as he usually found it. For her behavior was distracting in the extreme. She seemed to be wriggling and shuffling, as if suffering an itch in a place not polite to scratch, trying to discreetly comfort herself without relapsing into an attitude unbecoming to a lady. She was gyrating with her elbows at her side, as if performing some new kind of dance. He had, truth be told, to stifle a laugh.

The problem was, how should he respond? He could hardly mention it. "Got a bit of an itch there, Ma'am?" seemed gauche in the extreme. On the other hand, since (despite her efforts) her scratching and groping were so noticeable, to not notice it was obviously a wholly artificial oversight, making it patent that he was being deliberately gentlemanly. To turn away, too, was so obviously a reaction to her plight that it could only bring home to her more stringently that he had noticed! Should he pretend to scratch himself, so as to at least lessen her mortification by appearing to share her plight? Or would that make things worse?

He decided upon simply answering her question as dead-pan as he could, while stifling both his amusement and his sympathy.

"Thank you for asking, Ma'am," he replied. "I spent as pleasant a night as could be arranged for me, and I'm grateful for the civilized treatment I'm receiving. I apologize for my state of dishabille, but trust you understand it's the needs of hygiene and not prurience that cause you to find me thus."

While he was speaking, he saw her eyes suddenly widen, and her lips open as if to draw in a sharp intake of breath. At first, he wondered if he had left the fly of his pants unzipped, but he specifically recalled fastening them when he'd put them on. In any case, if he had been in such a state, she'd have noticed before now. Yet she suddenly looked extremely disconcerted, suggesting that whatever had caused her panic was a thing that had just manifested itself. Her pale face had suddenly reddened, and thre was a look of consternation in her beautiful eyes.

Without meaning to, he found his gaze flickering down to her calves, suspecting that her stocking issue of the say before had not been resolved, but the hosiery was still fitting snugly on both of her slim legs. As his eyes returned to their normal position, he noticed a subtle change in her form. She was still slim and lithe, yet something was...

...different.

And then it struck him just what had happened. It was not the first time he's noticed this phenomenon. Her small, though perky breasts were... perhaps slightly smaller, and subtly less perky. As if - and he had to repress a smile at the thought - her corsetry had suddenly ceased to perform its intended duty. Had it, he wondered, managed to somehow slip down, causing her to, as it were, pop out of it? Well, all a gentleman might do, in such circumstances, was to simply continue with the conversation as if nothing had happened.

"And you, Ma'am," he went on, without, apparently, missing a beat, "I trust you have enjoyed the scenery through which we have passed. I understand it flattens out as we go further South..." (perhaps, he thought, "flattened out" was an unfortunate phrase, since Miss Hammond seemed, to some extent, to have flattened out herself!) "I must own that despite my circumstances, I'm certainly enjoying some beautiful scenery." (Damn it, would she take that as a double-entendre too, the thought struck him)... "And I do appreciate you popping out to see me." (Damn, damn, damn. Worse choice of words possible!)

And then, a thought struck him as how he might bring some succor to her plight.

He pointed to the small canvas shower that had been set up for him.

"But I realize I mustn't delay you, Ma'am. I am told it is part of your duty to inspect the shower arrangement that has been made for me, to ensure I am being properly treated. Perhaps you wish to perform that act now, while I continue dressing?"

He hoped she'd take the hint and insist on going right inside the shower - where she would have the blessed privacy to adjust herself, under cover of making a thorough inspection of the facility!

 

[darkangel76]

So much snickering! So much laughter! And all those eyes were drawn directly to her person as if taking pleasure in her discomfort! Andie had never felt so completely and utterly mortified, so completely and utterly humiliated! To take joy in such things was the lowest form of despicable as far as she was concerned and now every man that surrounded her had made it upon her list! When she finally made it back to the comforts of Chicago and had the means of sleeping in a proper bed once more, she'd see them all pay!

All of them! Each and every one who ridiculed and made her feel like a fool! The very idea! They all knew who she was!

Trying to tune out the nonsensical and very unappreciated mannerisms of the soldiers, Andie decided to try her fortune on focusing her attention on Charles. Though why the man had to be half dressed made the task that much more difficult. As he spoke, she felt her face go pale before it reddened further, no doubt the color clashing with the lace of her dress. Oh the humiliation! She hoped his words were merely coincidental and not a result of him truly having noticed something he shouldn't. No, he couldn't. Could he?

As tears pricked her eyes, Andie knew full well that Charles probably could tell just as everyone else in the camp probably could tell. The shame of it all! She could feel her nose on the verge of swelling as she was about to burst into tears, but she held them back when he swiftly gestured toward the shower facility that oh so needed her inspection.

Biting down on her lower lip, Andie decided that perhaps one man in the area could be kept off her 'list'. But only one. For now. Interesting that the one was still not a soldier, not even a gentleman. It was quite peculiar that an attempted murderer would go out of his way to help the one holding him prisoner, the one who would be handing him over to his betters who, no doubt, would see him get his just reward for his crimes—certain death. Then again, this man did seem to have an understanding of refinement about him and she could not fault him for having an eye for such things. After all, she too had the ability to notice such things and was sought out by many in her own social circles for advice on the matter. Perhaps if he'd been born of better lineage...

Just then, Andie shook her head a bit. She curtsied and nodded. "Indeed," she began. "An inspection is most definitely needed. I shall go do that and return posthaste."

Quickly, Andie made her way toward the shower that Charles had pointed to. The drapes were a heavenly sight to behold as she approached and excused herself inside. She drew them closed about herself, shifting where she stood. Immediately, she let out a gasp and looked down. The ground was saturated, totally wet and soiling her shoes as well as the bottom hem of her pale pink gown, which only barely brushed the surface. A tiny sob bubbled up and she buried her face in her hands for a moment as she took in the realization of what had just occurred, but she was committed now. Better a dirty hem than a corset that had gone astray.

At first, Andie tried to pull the corset up through the material of her pink lace gown. But with the bodice zippered up tightly, it was just too difficult. Her breasts wouldn't comply. Frustrated, she pushed her dark curls out of the way and finally reached behind herself so as to unzip her gown and allow for better freedom of movement. It did the trick. She was able to adjust the corset, shifting the garment back into place so that her breasts were exactly where she'd meant them to be. Once satisfied, she re-zipped her gown with great difficulty, unsure if she'd gotten it all the way back up, but hoping for the best given the situation. Taking a tiny step, she could hear the squelching sounds of mud beneath her feet and she knew full well her shoes would be ruined, as would the hem of her gown. Oh, she'd have to change by lunchtime!

Opening the drape, cheeks red, Andie walked out of the shower and back over to Charles and the others. "The shower facility is quite satisfactory, Mr. McAuley. You are in fact being treated very well."

As Andie walked, her thoughts drifted to her back zipper and the worry that she might not have gotten it all the way up. The shower area had been so small and she'd been so worried about the mud and the time that she'd neglected to check it thoroughly. Oh how she feared it might not have been done up properly. Given the way her morning was going, it would be just her luck.

"As for me, sir? This is my first time in the Ozarks. I suppose it has its charm. Though I can think of a few places better suited to my liking." Andie took a few steps, her eyes flicking to her dirty hemline. She scowled at the sight of it, cursing the wretched place they all found themselves in and more than longing for a proper bath, preferably one with luxurious hot water rather than tepid.

 

[Alan23]

"Yes, Ma'am," agreed Galvie. "I repeat, I have no complaints about my treatment." He noticed that she'd obviously taken his hint, and did whatever needed doing to her bothersome corset, for her breasts (at which he only just managed not to stare) were again standing out defiantly. He noticed too that she was blushing. Obviously it must have been difficult for her, to have to rely upon her prisoner - who was supposedly in her power - to save her from such an awkward social situation. And the fact that she knew that he knew was hardly calculated to increase her poise, either!

"It happens with women with small tits," he heard a voice say, anonymously from the ranks of the soldiers milling around. "My wife had the same trouble, once. Corsets kinda creep down, an' everything pops out." The voice was too much of a murmur to attribute a source, yet Galvie had heard it - ad the chuckle that accompanied the remark - quite plainly. He found himself half-hoping that Miss Hammond hadn't heard it, too. Really, these troopers were not the most respectable of attendants, he thought, considering this was the daughter of their president! Not for the first time he was glad he'd been born a man, and didn't have to deal with the trials of corsets, stockings, dresses, make up, petticoats... for a male, dressing could be done in less than a minute (as he'd proven to himself many times)...

He found his eyes flickering down to the hem of Miss Hammond's dress. The previously pristine material was now stained with mud, showing that she'd actually gone right into the center of the shower, so that she couldn't be seen from outside. Further proof, if such were needed, that she'd taken his hint and made use of the privacy.

By now, he'd donned the cotton tee-shirt that they'd given him, so at least she'd be spared the embarrassment of looking at his bare torso. He couldn't resist, however, flexing his arms just subtly, guessing it might have an effect upon her. He doubted if Harry Smythe was built as athletically as he was... and anyway, that gentleman was far away.

"I thank you again, Ma'am, for ensuring such comforts as I enjoy," he continued, somehow wishing her to linger. Well, after all, it wasn't as if he had a full social calendar! "My admiration for you and your family is confirmed." Cleverly, he'd pretended to be complimenting her generosity and sense of fairness, and (by implication) that of the president, yet... and here, he was being even more subtle... he managed to meet her eyes, just for a split second, as he said the word "admiration"... implying that she could, if she wished, accept his words as an attempt at mild flirtation.

As he spoke, his long-ingrained habit of watching those around him (a tactic used by any soldier who wishes to stay alive) caused him to notice that the eyes of the attendant troopers were fixed upon Miss Hammond. Not, though, the careful watch of guards charged with ensuring the safety of an important personage, nor even (and, here, he wouldn't have entirely blamed them) scrutinizing her breasts, now that they were again molded into such charming perfection by her newly adjusted corset. Instead, for some reason, they were smirking, and looking at her back.

Since she was facing him, whatever had attracted their attention (and obviously causing them some amusement) was hidden to him. Perhaps, he mused, the muddying of the previously perfect dress was worse at the rear. As she continued speaking, discussing the beauty (or otherwise) of the Ozark region, the Northern edge of which they had now approached, he found his mind speculating as to exactly what was wrong. Miss Hammond had been fortunate in many aspects of her birth, he mused, being born into riches and social prestige, and with stunning good looks to complete the package. But, almost as if fate wished to mitigate her otherwise unimpaired luck, she seemed to experience more than the average run of bad luck as far as her attire was concerned. Yesterday it had been a slipping garter, today her hem had become muddied and her corset had broken out in open rebellion. Still, she'd got everything sorted, at least. He hoped she was grateful.

And then she turned, looking at the distant mountains, as if to illustrate what she was saying, and Galvie had to force himself not to react. He saw now the cause of the troopers' hilarity.

Obviously poor Miss Hammond had found it necessary to unzip the rear fastening of her dress in order to bring her corset to heel... and had been unable to zip it back up to its fullest reach. She had obviously done her best, but it was still a good nine inches shy of being totally done up. A faux pas, he knew, enough to damn her in any gathering of polite society, and guaranteed to attract catty remarks along the lines of "Oops, left the blinds down have we, Andromeda," or "Dressed in a hurry, did we?"

And, furthermore, her movement, and the tightness of the dress was causing gravity to add to the problem, for the handle of the zipper appeared slowly, almost imperceptibly, to be moving slowly downward. In fact, like their entourage, it was heading South!

In the few seconds that he watched, the zip began to gape more. By now, it was at least twelve inches shy of where it should have been, and the top of the corset, that had already caused her such anguish, was again visible. None of the troopers seemed inclined to discreetly let her know. They were too busy enjoying the sight.

And then an idea struck Galvie, daring in its intensity. It would mean he risked a whipping - but what the fuck, he was going to a date with a firing squad anyway. How could things get any worse?

Swiftly, before the troopers set as his guard could react, he moved forward, taking everyone - even Miss Hammond - by surprise.

"Do excuse me, Ma'am," he said, in his soft, Anneslandian drawl, so polite that, even given the circumstances, she would have been hard-pushed to find in any way threatening. He reached out and zipped up the fastening to its fullest extent, and then hastily stepped back before he could be accused of anything more dramatic. So quick had he moved that he was back in his position before any of the troopers could react, or Miss Hammond could turn around. She'd know what he'd done, though.

He tensed himself, bracing his body for what he assumed would be some kind of retribution for his lese-majesty, from the guards. Still, he mused, somehow it had been worth it.

 

[darkangel76]

As Andie stood there, her dark eyes fixed themselves upon the wretched scenery that seemed to engulf them all—how she loathed the Ozarks! If she never saw mud and dirty trails again, she'd be more than happy. Plus, this journey through backwoods trails was not bringing out the best in her. Luck, it had seemed, had decided to leave her entirely the moment she'd agreed to go on this horrendous trip. And now that she was in the wilds of no man's land, things were only getting worse... steadily worse.

Andie had heard the crude and callous comments made by the soldiers. How dare they even look at her breasts let alone comment on them! Not even her intended had gotten a peek! Honestly, it was more than she could bear to hear such whispers, knowing she was the center of gossip and the prattling of men that she looked after. These were her men, her soldiers! Such disrespect was unheard of! Wasn't it? Frowning, she wanted to stomp her foot, but unfortunately her shoes were ruined. Doing so would only call attention to how muddied they'd become. It was a disaster, a nightmare, a...

While her thoughts ran wild, her temper flaring at the boorish manners of the men she was traveling with on her way to New Orleans, Andie suddenly realized that her zipper on the back of her gown indeed hadn't been zipped properly, the thing ever so slowly making its way downward along her back the more she moved.

As if the day could get any worse! She'd been certain the incident with her corset was the worst it could get, but oh she'd been wrong! So very wrong! For as humiliating as it had been when it had shifted, the fact that her zipper had come undone was far worse. Andie knew her back was becoming exposed—corset, flesh and all. What would Harry say if he could see her now? Surely he'd never touch her again. Not that he ever had to begin with. Not really...

Eyes beginning to dampen with tears, Andie averted them and suddenly found herself staring at the ground. She knew more teasing and mockery would be well on its way. After all, these men were now on her 'list'. Well, nearly all of them since one had managed to stay off of it. But with this new onset of shame, she was certain that Charles would be added to that 'list' within the hour. After all, the man was a prisoner, beneath the soldiers—for the most part—so naturally, he'd be laughing along with them soon enough. She had no doubt about it. As her cheeks reddened and a tear threatened to fall, she suddenly heard a voice interrupt her thoughts while a pair of warm hands went to quick work on her zipper.

Andie's dark eyes widened, but her body shifted out of its own accord so that Charles would be able to do what was needed. It was almost as if it knew it was suddenly getting the assistance it both needed and craved and how that reminded her of being home. When the zipper was in place, she watched Charles go back in line to where he'd been standing, her eyes lingering on him for a moment as he stood there. She had to fight the urge to look at the rest of his body though much to her luck, he was at least fully clothed now unlike earlier when he'd been half naked. Even still, it was disconcerting as to how difficult it was to keep her eyes fixed upon his. Though fortunately, she managed. Barely.

At that, Andie curtsied for Charles, her dark eyes narrowing as she eyed the rest of the men surrounding them all. Looking back at the only one who'd taken pity on her, she let out a soft yet haughty sigh. "I accept your apology, Mr. McAuley," she said, her words in reference to Charles' excusal. "No harm was done and your intentions were gentlemanly."

Andie tilted her head slightly, a curious expression crossing her angelic features. Truly this man was unlike any she'd ever come across before—so different from Harry and nothing like the criminal she'd expected him to be. As she looked down at her soiled hemline, she let out another audible sigh knowing full well she needed to change before her next meeting with him, a task that would take her quite some time seeing as she'd have no one to help her given the state of everything. And they needed to get moving soon, break camp and get back on the road and make more headway if they wanted to arrive in New Orleans on time.

"Though, I must take my leave for the moment and tend to other things," Andie said as she turned to head back toward her tent. "But I will be back around the lunch hour to see how things are faring. It..." she continued. "Is my duty to do so," her cheeks reddened as she spoke her final words, though she tried to hide her blush by turning away, her body facing the opposite direction of where Charles stood.

 

[Alan23]

Galvie was pleasantly surprised at the reaction - or lack thereof - by the guards to his daring action. It was almost as if his good manners had shamed them, for they simply escorted him back to his "mobile cage" with a gentle warning not to touch Her Excellency again unless (and in the unlikely event) invited! He also felt somewhat happily shocked at his own reaction. After all, Miss Hammond quite patently had been unable to fasten the zipper herself, or she would have done so. He felt a little like a white knight of old, rather than the despised criminal and assassin he in fact was!

It was as well that he had something nice on which to think, for he had nothing else to divert him. It seemed that apart from Miss Hammond's visits, henceforth the highlight of his day was to be his shower! All they left him was a plastic bottle (so it couldn't be used as a weapon) of water. They gave him nothing to eat, and no tobacco (both of which, as an old soldier, he could go without if he had to,) no-one to talk to (unpleasant, but just bearable) and - and here was the true torture - nothing to read! To be fair, the latter was unavoidable rather than from deliberate malice, for apart from Miss Hammond's elaborate supplies, the expedition was traveling light!

Thus it was that the truth of the recent discovery at Harvard University in 1970 that time was, in fact, relative, was proved to his satisfaction. For the (objective) six hours journey between breakfast and lunch took, for the prisoner in the barred tank, over a week!

During this time, he invented certain amusements, which at least saved him from going totally mad. He played a game where he would play out imaginary sporting contests in his head, such as the all-star soccer match between the best players he had seen live and the pick of those that had played before his birth (the oldies won 3-2.) Then he amused himself by planning imaginary menus, or holding (in his head) imaginary conversations between his favorite literary characters. The best of these was when Mister Bumble from "Oliver Twist" got into a heated argument about the joys of older woman with Romeo Montague from Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet."

When even these amusements palled, he went through all the women he had ever slept with, starting with Miss Medusa Debra Featherstone Bromelton, one of the young working girls at the place where he had been brought up, to Mrs Venus Lettis Haveringay Nye, whose bed he had been in when the troopers had burst in and arrested him, thus ending his days of liberty in the fair nation of Amerika. He guessed that, unless he found some way to escape soon, the plump, willing blond would go down in the ledger as his final conquest!

During the intervals between these games, he carefully calculated just how and when he would make his bid for escape. Picking the lock of the mobile jail would be easy enough, since though he was guarded, the guards did not spend their entire shift of duty looking at him. And at night, it would be hard to see, anyway. But, once out, escaping from the soldiers presented a more pressing problem. It was an entire troop against just him, and he had neither arms nor horse. He might make it in the confusion, but preferred to wait until later in the journey, when the soldiers had become bored with routine and might be slacker in their duties. And in which the territory was less carefully mapped, always a consideration when on the run!

But there was another reason, too, which he had tried desperately to repress, but which insisted on forcing a way into his consciousness. he had, against his finer judgement (and somewhat ridiculously) become - intrigued was the word he used to himself - with Miss Andromeda Hammond! Her mix of haughtiness and helplessness, her obvious need for someone to protect and cherish her, her kindness (as much as she was able) and intelligence, her naivete - all these things combined to make her more desirable than any woman he had encountered for many years.

So, after he had eaten his lunch, he found himself eagerly waiting to see if she would keep her promise and visit him again.

 

[darkangel76]

The long walk back to her tent was torturous to say the least. Andie could feel a dozen eyes or more staring at her back as she made her way back and once she entered her tent, she was glad to be rid of the burden. For once she found herself hating to be the center of attention, the sole focus of so many whispers. But she couldn't help it. Out here in the backwoods wilds of the horrific Ozarks these men were crude and lacking taste, they didn't know how to treat the fairer sex, let alone one of such dignity and grace as herself. It was shameful. Then again, she supposed that was why most of them were in the position that they were.

And may they never crawl out of it either! May the trench at the bottom of their deep ravine only grow deeper as they make fun of what they truly do not understand and never will! Hmph! Tease the president's daughter indeed! The very idea! It takes a true gentleman to know aristocracy, not these poor halfwits of low station!

Andie's eyes filled with tears as she moved to undress herself, her beautiful lacy gown completely ruined around the hem. If only Helen had been there... the woman had her faults, but she'd have been able to clean the thing. She knew it full well. But without her, the dress was good for nothing now except the trash. The muddy stains would set in and never be able to be removed, not ever! Oh, it was so unfair! At that, she scowled and stamped a muddied foot upon the ground. But the sight of what had been perfect footwear and were now soiled and disgusting only furthered her frustrations. How she wanted to scream, to wash the grime of the Ozarks off her skin.

Without further delay, Andie shimmied the pink lace off her body and slipped out of her shoes. She left the things in a soiled heap upon the ground for several long minutes before she finally just discarded them into a corner. What to do with them? She'd have to call for someone to remove them fully. She couldn't just dispose of them outside her tent like she wished since she either had to be dressed to do so in which she'd only ruin yet another gown or have to be indecently exposed which just wasn't an option. So no. She'd have no choice but to ask for help... more embarrassment! Truly this trip was cursed and it made her begin to worry slightly, long for father to be there to reassure her that things were all right. The man had a way of letting her know such things any time she got nervous or her emotions faltered. However, he wasn't there and all she had to rely on was the fact that he trusted in her abilities. It would have to be enough.

Finally, Andie regained her composure and chose a new frock to wear—mint green satin with a creamy lace shawl. It was one of her more favorite afternoon dresses and the color complemented her complexion quite nicely. Though one of her simpler dresses, like her others, it flattered her form. Once fully dressed, she reluctantly asked for her pink lacy gown to be removed from her tent and disposed of. What was done with it, she had no idea. She refused to ask and had no intentions on ever bringing up the subject ever again since the very topic only brought humiliation and shame. And who wanted to be reminded of such things? Surely not her!

As the hours rolled on, they had broken camp and set back on the road once more—destination to New Orleans. Andie was glad to have left whatever piece of nowhere they'd been settled at for the night even if she didn't like traveling the twisting roads of the untamed world between Chicago and New Orleans. Truly the more unruly parts between Amerika and Annesland were frightening in a way and it made her wonder what it was like once they reached the borders. She'd heard that customs was rather tight between the nations and for good reason. Though given the strange sounds and terrible way of the roads, she wondered if there might be more to that than merely the shaky peace between 'neighbors'.

Time went slowly and Andie found herself growing rather bored. Her mind wandered and drifted and all too often she found herself wondering about the 'guest' they were escorting, the only man among the others who dared to show any gentility at all. It was so peculiar that one such as him would have such manner being an attempted murderer and all. How he was able to carry himself as such, she didn't quite understand. But his actions definitely were making an impression of sorts.

Yawning, Andie decided it was close enough to lunchtime that she wished for everyone to stop. She peeked out her window, shivering slightly at the scenery. Once she caught sight of one of the soldiers, she gestured that they all stop. Drawing back the curtains of the window of her coach, she inspected her skirts to make sure her slips weren't showing and then thought to check her garters. Just in case. She hoisted up her dress and made sure everything was in place, that her stockings were snuggly fit against her legs and smooth as silk. She caught sight of her tiny birthmark on her inner thigh and heaved a heavy sigh.

The very sight of the birthmark was abhorrent to her even though it wasn't overly dark and its shape not unsightly nor very large. It was the shape of an upside down and lopsided heart. When little, Andie's mother had found the birthmark to be sweet, an enchanting little touch—especially on a little girl. But, as Andie grew into a young lady... Andie only grew to detest the tiny mark.

Frowning, Andie pushed down her mint green skirts and readjusted them. Once again, she checked them to make sure her slips weren't showing. Wanting to take extra precautions, she made sure her slips were pulled up a bit higher. She wouldn't be made a fool of this time! When everything had come to its stop, she carefully got out of her coach and began to make her way over to where Charles 'cage' was set up. She kept her head up as she walked and was escorted, refusing to acknowledge any of the soldiers given their rude behaviors from before.

 

[Alan23]

Galvie was not dissapointed. Ten minutes or so after lunch, he heard the sharp click of boot-heels as the soldiers on guard outside his mobile prison stand to attention, and, looking out of the bars of the tank, saw the unmistakeable figure of Andromeda Hammond approaching. Today she was clad in mint green, and (unlike last time) immaculate. There was not a hint of a mud-stain or crease anywhere. She again looked exactly what she was - a society belle!

As usual, Galvie saw the heads of various troopers turn and look appreciatively at her. It might have been, he mused, simply appreciation of her appearance, for she certainly looked stunning in the green dress. Alternatively, it could have been a hope that something else would go awry in her clothing, and provide them some amusement. He'd already overheard the guards outside discussing the poor girl's corset mishap of the day before, and it seemed they'd already all guessed that she hadn't gone into the shower to inspect it, but to adjust her underwear!

He had to give her points, though, for sang froid. Despite her humiliation of the day before she showed no sign of shyness or residual embarrassment. She was walking as haughtily as ever, as if the rude and foul-mouthed troopers did not exist, her head held up. Somehow, she seemed able to reduce them to mere cyphers, mere pond life so down in the food chain that she did not even have to consider their existence. Obviously being brought up as the daughter of the president gave you a certain confidence that could not be bought!

He stood up, politely, continuing his already established strategy of always acting like a gentleman in her presence. It was almost like scoring a victory, proving that even imprisoned and surrounded as he was, his identity was still strong enough to maintain urbanity. Like Drake, finishing off his game of bowls before the Armada were lined up ready for battle, or Henry V refusing to cow before the French at Agincourt, and instead saying he wished their own numbers were fewer, so they could gain more glory from the upcoming victory. The fact that after the disaster of three hundred years ago neither France or Spain could ever be a threat to England again was irrelevant - at the time, their chutzpah had meant something, and he flattered himself he was continuing that spirit!

He stood, with his hands behind his back. Ostensibly, this was the military "at ease" position that denoted respect without subservience, but he was also aware of the fact that standing like this made his chest and shoulders appear even broader. Even chained and unarmed, he was, he knew, somehow far more formidable looking than the troopers of the 7th.

He carefully scanned her pretty, even features as she approached. Looking carefully for clues as to her mood. Would she be shy, after the events of the day before? Grateful for his help when her corset, and then her zipper, had conspired to embarrass her? Or offended that by fixing said zipper, he'd drawn even more attention to it. Had another night in the wilds made her even more contemptuous or afraid of him, or was there even a chance that she felt, if only slightly, some kind of fondness for his chivalry?

"Greetings. Ma'am," he said, in his soft Anneslandian drawl, a dialect of English more like the mother country than that spoken by Amerikans, yet with its own unique softness and drawl, carrying an undertone of magnolia blossoms and mangroves, and the languor of his homeland. "Once again, it is truly a pleasure to see you. Let me assure you again, my gratitude at your solicitousness is unbounded."

He could see the mouths of his guard tighten. Most of them would not even know what some of the words he used meant, never mind be able to use them in casual conversation without sounding pretentious. It was all part of the psychological warfare he was utilizing. In many ways they had him at a disadvantage, but as far as psychology went, he had already taken many of the tricks in this mental poker game - and he had it in mind to take many more.

"May I ask if you spent a pleasant night," he continued, again looking into her eyes. "Or is that enquiry superfluous? For, given how fresh and charming you look, it's patently obvious that you spent an excellent night's sleep. Indeed, if your current appearance is caused by 'beauty sleep,' then surely, like the princess in the fairy tale, you must have slumbered for many decades!"

 

[darkangel76]

Andie ignored her escorts and the remaining soldiers who stood guard over Charles 'home' and mobile prison. After their distasteful behavior, she wished to have as little interaction with such men as possible. Such sorts weren't worth her time and didn't deserve so much as a nod or glance let alone a curtsy. Defending the honor of Amerika and its ideals indeed! Why she'd speak to her father about them all—each and every one of them—once she returned to the safe havens of Chicago. They all deserved to be reprimanded, publicly humiliated for their lack of respect towards those who, by birthright, already had it. They needed to earn theirs and from what she could see they weren't doing much to earn anything!

What puzzled Andie greatly, however, was that the only one who did anything to earn something was, in fact, the one she'd least likely to expect to do so. An Anneslandian! A murderer! One of such low station and, no doubt shameful breeding if she dared ask deeper, more personal questions about his lineage! He was the one who showed decency, morality and, dare she say it, a manner of chivalry finer than any she'd ever met among her own circles. Even finer than Harry!

Oh... Harry...

At that, Andie scowled. How perfectly it would figure that such a man as Charles McAuley would be the sort to be as he was... so wrong, yet so very right. It was beyond horrid in all ways, such a pity for such fine traits to wasted as they were. And... so unfair!

As Andie approached Charles, she instantly let her face relax, her angelic features softening as she let out what sounded like a bored sigh. But she was hardly bored, at least not with her visits to her 'guest'. At least he had the decency to treat her in the manner in which she deserved! He understood aristocracy!

"Good day, Mr. McAuley," Andie began, her body deliberately turned away from the soldiers in defiance. She took a step, her slip shifting a little beneath her skirts. "You flatter me with your words," she added as she thought about her night. She truly hadn't slept overly well since the trip had begun. She longed for the warmth of her bed, for the softness of her mattress and blankets, to have Helen nearby to assist whenever she needed her around. Most of all, she longed to hear the sounds of the city. The strange sounds of the Ozark were eerie and conjured up images in her mind that she rather she didn't have at all. "Though thank you."

Andie smiled at Charles and gave him a curtsy, one purposefully lower than usual. Perhaps this would show the soldiers of the convoy that she approved of Charles' manner, that they could all take a lesson in watching and learning from his lead! Oh the irony that soldiers needed to learn from a lower class murderer!

Peering up from where she was, Andie just smiled, her cheeks flushing slightly as she shifted and moved to stand back up once again. "My night was pleasant enough and I got the rest I needed." She chose her words carefully so as not to lie. "However, I'm not sure if the sounds of this land agree with me entirely." She bit down on her lip for a moment as she hesitated her admission. "I fear I miss the sounds of the city." Again, she took another step, her slips moving beneath her skirt, riding up slightly as it began to bunch a little. Wrinkling her nose, though trying to hide it, she just continued to speak. "Might I inquire about your evening then, Mr. McAuley? I trust you are sleeping well and finding your treatment is continuing to be suitable?"

Andie gestured toward the soldiers, though a small look of disgust washed over her features as she regarded them all. Fluttering her dark eyes for a moment, she returned her attentions back to Charles. She glanced about his 'cage' and frowned.

"Perhaps you need a moment of fresh air," Andie then suggested as an idea came to mind, one that might drive home a point to these foolish soldiers who had no idea how to treat a lady let alone one who demanded her due respect such as she did. "A jaunt, perhaps?" She chose the word on purpose, remembering how on the first day of their meeting Charles had mentioned such a thing. Interesting that such a moment was actually arising much to his benefit. He had the soldiers and their idiocy to thank—that and his natural born chivalry.

 

[Alan23]

"Ah, the sounds of the city, indeed," Galvie replied. "I perceive exactly your views, Ma'am. The mournful cry of distant avians, or nameless fauna - no substitute at all for the cacophony of civilizations' beautiful symphony of activity." This phrase was, in fact, far more prolix and poetic than even he was habitually accustomed to using - he might equally well have said "Yeah, I prefer Teslas and hordes and carts to birds and animals too," - and in fact he'd deliberately chosen the words as a subtle insult to the guards. Miss Hammond, with her greater education, would understand exactly what he was saying. The puzzled looks on the faces of the guards revealed that they were still a few words behind!

As she inquired, most charmingly, about how he had sent the night before, he caught just a single twitch of her pretty, retrousse nose. Either one of the nearby horses (or, equally likely, their riders) had farted, or she had either recalled or noticed something not to her liking. Yet her glance showed that it was nothing he'd done. Strangely, it had happened just after she had curtsied. Had she noticed mud on her shoes again - no. Impractical as they were for the purpose on which the entourage was engaged, they were at least pristine and unmuddied.

"My evening, Ma'am, was spent comfortably enough - if any time without conversation, books nor even tobacco may be so described. In truth, I can't complain. In fact - as far as I am concerned - I'd be happy for this trip to last forever."

It was, in fact, a triple entendre, again beyond the conjecture of the guards. At face value, it could simply have meant he found the going perfectly pleasant and comfortable, though the brighter and more aware of them might also have gleaned that he was making a humorous allusion to what was to happen at the end of it. Only Miss Hammond, he guessed, would also discern the subtle compliment towards her that made the third interpretation of his statement.

As he spoke, without being too obvious about it, he scrutinized her form carefully. She looked, as ever, exquisitely beautiful in the lime-green dress, though he was puzzled about one thing. Though not translucent as such - for no-one of her class would ever be so daring - it was, yet, of a thinner and clingier material than average, the kind of garment that needed (as even he, who knew little of feminine fashions was aware) at least one slip beneath it. And, furthermore, a slip or slips that sat perfectly smoothly, to avoid any wrinkles or furrows showing through the material of the dress. Indeed, the proper look demanded that the dress resembled a painted sheathe.

And yet, under the dress, he could discern some highly obvious furrows and waves. Perhaps, he mused, current fashion dictated that underskirts should deliberately look this way, a kind of statement against obsessive formality. After all, he had been out of the mainstream for some months, and nothing (except, perhaps, morality) changed so quickly as feminine fashion. But, somehow, he doubted this. After all, Miss Hammond had not sported this look of deliberate dishabille on the previous times he'd seen her. He knew that cheap slips could, and did, ride up at times, to the exasperation of their wearer, but surely the daughter of the president could afford the very best, and would never need to suffer such an indignity.

And yet, the creases and rucks could not be denied. Perhaps, in performing her curtsey, she had killed two buffalo with one bullet and taken the opportunity to check the sit of her attire - and not liked what she'd seen! Well, if this was the case, the poor girl could do little about it. She could hardly hike up the skirts of her gown and shimmy her slip down in front of an entire detachment of cavalry... even in the Ozarks!

And then, since his mind was not entirely focused upon the conversation, her next words took him aback indeed. At first, he took her suggestion that he might relish fresh air as a sarcastic statement that he was to be taken out and beaten, in return for his impertinence at fixing her wayward zipper during their last meeting. Yet the sudden look of shock on the face of the Corporal who was commanding the guard, followed immediately by his opening his mouth to protest at how dangerous such a course of action was, dissuaded Galvie of this suggestion. And when she continued, describing her plan as a "jaunt," it was all he could do not to let his jaw drop.

"I am sure, Ma'am, that you jest," he smiled. "Dangerous assassins may not count upon jaunts, not under circumstances such as this. Ah, though if your offer were true, be assured I would jump at the chance with alacrity, and give my parole to return into confinement when required."