London Life. Tales

Forum rules
Communication only in English!!!
Messages in other languages will be deleted!!!
User avatar

Topic Author
Bazil
Старожил
Posts: 512
Joined: 01 Sep 2017, 23:35
Reputation: 283
Sex: male
Has thanked: 698 times
Been thanked: 629 times
Russia

London Life. Tales

Post: # 33045Unread post Bazil
09 Sep 2018, 18:40

London Life. Tales

Here are 322 letters and 32 short stories, most of which are signed "Wallace Stort", once published in the magazine "London Life" between 1924 and 1941.
The letters almost always involved testimonies from usualy young and nice looking women who are amputees, or otherwise "crippled", in general quite happy with their condition of being "limbless", or from men who have been involved with such women. Many letters are recommendations and advises from fellow amputee women, about the wear of prosthesis or fashion for the disabled woman. Whether those testimonies are real or fake is left to the appreciation of the reader, but are nevertheless always pleasantly old-fashioned to read.
The short stories, most of them signed by Wallace Stort, are very likely to be fictions, but the author explains that they are based on true stories, that he lived personally. Whatever, they are delicious to read for the admirer of beautyful "Monopede", as they called them back in the 30's.
Many thanks to the anonymous friend who preserved all those issues of London Life, scanned and OCRed the articles (or retyped them?), for us to be able to enjoy those marvelous stories.

London Life 1926
The Scarlet Slipper
The story of a strange wooing
By Wallace Stort
I
Few, of his many acquaintances had any idea that Jack Durrant was sufficiently serious-minded to be the prey of an abiding remorse. To them, he was a young, good-looking, well-groomed man about town, with perhaps more money than was good for him, getting a good deal of pleasure out of life and little of its pain.
But then, none of them had known of that early and disastrous love affair of his; none had met the beautiful girl to whom he had become engaged after a passionate wooing and whom he failed so lamentably when, by a ghastly trick of fate, a terrible accident had ruined the beauty he had prized so highly. His remorse had been complete, when, later, after an unsuccessful effort to trace her, he discovered that death had claimed her and so deprived him of any chance of making the belated amends he had honestly intended.
He had never forgotten, nor forgiven, that early failure of his; never — though outwardly gay, debonair, care-free connoisseur of life — offered love to another woman, or tried to awaken love for himself for another. That is, until, upon that memorable day in early spring, there befell the strange adventure that was, in so queer a way, to restore his shattered self-respect and help him back to happiness.
The adventure itself opened ordinarily enough. Something similar has happened to most young men from the beginning of time. Jack was strolling, in his apparently unconcerned way, down Bond Street, no doubt sharing the delight of everyone about him in the freshness of the spring morning, when involuntarily he paused as his wandering gaze was suddenly arrested by the face of a girl sitting alone in an open two-seater car drawn up by the pavement.
It wasn't alone that the face was beautiful. He had seen as many faces as lovely and had passed them by with perhaps a second glance. There was something else, some indefinable and potent charm; something exquisite in the poise of the lovely head in its small, close-fitting hat, pulled over fair, shingled curls; something poignantly appealing in the sweet droop of the delicately curved lips. Jack could not keep himself. He stopped and, as he afterwards bluntly confessed, started like a ploughboy at a fair.
It was at that moment that the girl turned her head, and seeing him there, smiled involuntarily in his eyes; then, instantly aware of what she had done, she turned her head swiftly away, the blood, mantling in a glorious riot of colour, to her temples.
Cursing himself for his unpardonable rudeness, Jack strode on until a sudden realisation halted him in his stride and he stood, irresolutely, gazing with unseeing eyes into a shop window. The truth, the astounding, incredible truth was that he simply couldn't go on his way leaving things just as they were. In one split second something had altered the whole tenor of his life. driving from his mind the haunting memory of that first ill-starred love affair of his, and that something was the face of a girl glimpsed for a moment as he passed by.
He turned at last and slowly retraced his steps, angry with himself for his folly, and yet utterly unable to restrain the impulse which governed him. The two-seater still stood by the pavement, but as he neared it another girl came out of a nearby shop, crossed swiftly to the car and took her seat at the wheel. Before Jack had time to do or say anything — had there been anything to do or to say — the car had slid away and was careering down Bond Street.
The incident was apparently closed — and yet it wasn't! For as the car swung away from the pavement, something slid from the top of the folded hood, bounced on the closed dickey, and thence into the street. Jack did not hesitate. Within a few seconds he had picked up the object, regarded it with momentary astonishment, and then hastily hid it in a capacious pocket of his light overcoat.
The thing was a tiny, high heeled slipper of scarlet brocade, daintily and beautifully fashioned, certainly the last thing one would expect to fall from a car in broad daylight in a London street.
A little pulse of excitement beat in Jack's breast as he continued on his way, fingering the dainty slipper within the sanctuary of his pocket. There was no doubt at all in his mind as to which of the two girls the slipper belonged, for the girl who had been shopping was built on more generous lines than the divinity who had smiled at him from the car, and the slipper was obviously that of a dainty slim girl, with a small, slender foot. But the problem was how to make use of this lucky find of his? How to get in touch with slipper's exquisite owner? Jack thought for a moment of prosecuting inquiries in the shop out of which he had seen the other girl come, hut gave the idea up at once. No salesman would give a clients name and address to a stranger, no matter how discreet the inquiry.
Jack had to find another way.
The only other possible way that presented itself to him was the one he adopted the next day. For on that day there appeared in The Times' personal column the following "agony":
"SCARLET SLIPPER. — Picked up by Gentleman honoured by smile from lady in car. May he permitted to present his find in person?— Write J. D., Box — ."
II
Jack had one brief moment of delight next day, for his "agony" drew at least a reply from the lady of his dreams. But his joy was short-lived, for though the reply was couched in the most friendly terms and the writer signed herself his very sincerely, Pauline Mornay, it was uncompromisingly firm on the point. Circumstances rendered it quite impossible for her to see him.
In despair, Jack wrote to her, but without avail. Pauline's reply was still very friendly, but quite definite. She would be deeply grateful for the return of the slipper, but begged Jack not to try to see her.
Jack could only slip deeper and deeper into the horrors of his own despair. The very last thing he could do was to banish from his mind the vision of the lovely face he had seen on that fatal day in Bond Street. He must see her again; he could not resume is life without her as part of its scheme.
And then, just as he was almost at the breaking point, a possible way out of the impasse was suddenly revealed to him by, of all things, Pauline's own letters! There, in the top left hand corner of the notepaper, whence it had stared at him every time he had read the letter, was a telephone number! He had been forbidden to call — but not to telephone! And within a few minutes of his discovery he was actually engaged in talking to the girl who had imagined him utterly vanquished.
Pauline tried her best to appear really vexed, but couldn't quite keep the laughter out of her voice — a delicious voice, full of soft, clinging undertones, the very voice to match her beauty of the face Jack remembered so well.
"You know, Mr. Durrant," she said, "you are really very impertinent, very persistent. It's impossible."
"But why?"
"I can't tell you. Honestly, I can't. I'm sorry. Yes, I'm really very sorry; much more sorry than you imagine — but quite impossible."
"But Miss Mornay — it is Miss, by the way, isn't it?"
"Why, yes. What do you mean?"
"Then you are not married!" Jack shouted in his joy.
"I see," she cried, trying desperately not to reveal her amusement. "That was a little trick. However, I'm not married."
"Nor engaged?"
"Nor engaged — but that doesn't help matters in the least. Won't you please make things a little easy for me? We really must not see each other. It would only lead to great unhappiness for — for both of us."
He thrilled at the hint of regret of her voice.
"Then," he said a little exultantly, "you really would like to see me, if it were all possible?"
"I shall not answer that question," she faltered.
"You have answered it," he cried. "Pauline — I'm going to call you Pauline in spite of you — the truth is that you want to see me. Oh, yes, I know I'm being more impertinent than ever; grossly presumptuous, and all that; but my impertinence and presumption arise simply from the fact that the first moment I saw you I fell madly and hopelessly in love with you. Yes, it's the truth, Pauline, and I must see you; if only to discuss this thing that has happened to me — to us. We can't leave it. You must find a way. If you don't — then I shall!"
There was silence for a while after that outbreak. Then a quiet voice came over the wire.
"Very well, if you insist. I shall find a way. Will you be content to leave it to me?"
"More than content", Jack replied — and then with sudden penitence — "Pauline, you're not angry with me."
"No", she relied, still in the quiet tones. "I'm not angry with you — only sorry for both of us." Jack heard the click of the receiver being placed and realised that the conversation was over. Filled with a vague apprehension he replaced his own receiver. What had she meant? He could not guess. He could only wait developments with what patience he possessed.
III
Fortunately for his peace of mind, he had not to wait long, for within a couple of days he had a letter from Pauline. But with its coming the mystery deepened. It contained only a few lines, and enclosed, of all things, a theatre ticket!
The ticket was for a stall in the Imperium and was dated for that evening. The note accompanying it briefly requested Jack to use the ticket for the performance indicated, and was signed "Pauline".
For the moment Jack was at a loss. Then he smiled suddenly at his momentary lack of perspicacity. Of course, the explanation was obvious. Pauline had simply arranged a rendezvous at the theatre, and though it was just a little curious that she has chosen a variety theatre, yet that didn't really matter. What did matter that at last he was to see her again.
Ordinarily a late arrival at any theatre he patronised, Jack, on this particular evening, was occupying his stall at the Imperium before the orchestra had struck up its preliminary scraping. And with him, in a side pocket of his evening overcoat, he carried the magic slipper!
The stalls began to fill. The row in which Jack sat began to fill. But, as yet, no sign of Pauline: Jack's excitement grew with the passing of the minutes. Then the two seats of his immediate right were occupied. A spasm of apprehension thrilled through him. There remained of all the row only two seats next to his, on the left. Was Pauline never coming?
The blow fell. A youthful couple, both complete strangers to Jack, edged past him, compared the numbers of the vacant stalls with their counterfoils, and smilingly seated themselves. The row was full!
Jack sat there in consternation. What was to happen now? What had been Pauline's intention? A dull colour crept into his cheeks as the suspicion that he had been fooled flashed into his mind. But he dismissed immediately as unworthy. Whatever the explanation, that was not it.
By this time the curtain had risen and Jack sat there listening in some semi-conscious way to a syncopated melody sung by a young lady in abbreviated skirts. while his mind was really still busy with the tremendous problem of Pauline and her mysterious purpose in luring him into the theatre.
The second and then the third turns followed in succession, making little or no impression on Jack's wandering mind, especially as he had not troubled to look at the programme he had automatically bought. And then, at last, he sat up in sheer amazement. The curtain had risen on the fourth turn and revealed — standing in the middle of the stage — Pauline!
There could not be the slightest doubt. It was she — and Jack thrilled with the wonder and surprise of his discovery.
A long wrap of clinging, shimmering silk draped her, and, holding this close about her, she stood motionless and smiling, while the orchestra played its few bars of introductory music. For just a moment she turned her beautiful face in Jack's direction, and it almost seemed as if their eyes met, though she could not possibly have seen him in the darkened auditorium.
Then a pretty, neatly attired girl attendant, who had stood in waiting at the back of the stage, came swiftly forward and with one quick movement, slid the wrap from Pauline's shoulders and retired with it to the wings.
Jack's feelings at the astounding moment can hardly be described. The blood rushed at first, in boiling flood, to his face, and then drained swiftly away, leaving him icy cold. He was conscious, too, of a general quick intake of breath on the part of the whole audience.
Pauline stood there, slimly beautiful, clad only in tights of the palest pink silk, fitting her with unwrinkled perfection like a second skin, the filmy clinging bodice cut daringly low to reveal the white beauty of breast, shoulders and arms. But it was not this frank revelation of her charms that had electrified both Jack and the audience. It was something much more amazing.
Pauline stood, perfectly poised, perfectly at ease, upon a single, slim shapely leg that, as was only too plainly obvious, was the only lower limb she possessed! The left leg was almost entirely absent, there only remaining a somewhat plump, rounded, silk-clad stump just below her hip.
As he stared in utter amazement, there came to Jack the memory of gossip he had heard, among his many men friends, of an extraordinary and sensational "turn" being given at one of the variety theatres by a beautiful girl billed as the "One-legged Venus". And Pauline, his beautiful, exquisite Pauline was actually the "One-legged Venus"!
He watched as in a dream as Pauline, hopping swiftly forward, in astonishing ease, upon her single foot, began an amazing contortion routine that was a miracle of lissome and flexible grace, her slim body appearing as boneless as that of a serpent, curving and undulating with a freedom that seemed to defy all the laws of anatomy.
Standing perfectly balanced on her one tiny foot, she bent backwards and downwards until she was smiling calmly at the audience from below her arched body, her hands lightly clasping her ankle. Retaining this position, she slowly turned her face upwards, until she was able to touch lightly with her lips the round, silk-clad stump, just above her head.
Then, balancing herself on her hands, she swung her body until, at one moment, the lower part of her spine was actually resting on the top of her head, and, at another, her flexible form was wrapped round her left shoulder, while her leg swung round in front and twined itself round her right arm.
So trick followed trick, each more amazing than its predecessor, some being performed on the stage itself, others on a tall, slender pedestal, that added, if possible, to their wonderful skill.
One feat, especially, performed on this pedestal, was greeted with enthusiastic applause. Maintaining he precarious, but skillful balance on her hands, atop the pedestal, with her body arched above her, Pauline kicked off her little slipper, revealing the fact that her tights were "mittened" at the toe, thus leaving her toes bare.
Then, as deftly as if she were using her fingers, she selected, with her toes, a cigarette from a box held by the girl attendant, placed it in her mouth, struck a match, lit the cigarette, and smoked it expertly and enjoyably, still using her toes to remove and replace it in her mouth when necessary. Finally, still keeping her pose, she slowly removed her right hand from the pedestal's top, allowing her body to swing slowly over to a perfect balance, maintained solely upon her rigid left arm. And from this position, she dropped lightly to a standing position on the stage, still smoking her cigarette, as she bent to the tumultuous applause.
Throughout Pauline's amazing "turn," Jack sat only half-conscious of what he saw. His mind seemed capable of grasping only one thing. Pauline, the loveliest thing that had ever come into life, was a cripple, her beautiful body maimed and broken.
At last he understood, only too completely, why she had refused to see him, and why, when he presented his ultimatum over the 'phone, she had taken this drastic means of disillusioning him. This invitation to the theatre had been a highly courageous act on Pauline's part. He would see her exactly as she was, her one-legged condition shown only too pathetically plainly by the revealing tights, and he would then be at liberty, if he wished so, to slip quietly away from the theatre and forget that he had ever met her. Yes, she made it easy for him, no matter how her own heart might break.
The sound of loud and continued applause awakened him from his stupor. Pauline was bowing and smiling near the wings, standing poised, in that effortless manner of hers, upon her slim, beautiful, one leg, and then the great curtains swung together with a swish for the final time, and she was gone.
Jack sat there, a still, huddled figure, conscious only of the gnawing pain in his heart. He had fallen passionately in love with Pauline that very first moment in which their eyes had met. With some part of him he still loved Pauline passionately — but she was a cripple! How could a man love a cripple?
And there came to him a sudden searing memory — the memory of a girl he had once loved and whom he had failed when that dreadful accident had hopelessly crippled her. Was he to fail again — to add to the remorse that had preyed upon him ever since? Or was he strong enough to make amends?
He was astounded at the overmastering flood of joy and relief that, of a sudden, swept through him. The truth, the amazing truth was that he wanted to go on loving Pauline, despite her crippled condition! Dazed by the shock of seeing her revealed in all her maimed beauty, he had read his emotions wrongly. He realised that, subconsciously, he had been thinking of the effect of her condition upon others — his friends, his many men acquaintances. He himself only needed the strength to ignore the opinions and prejudices of such people and that strength had come to him. He knew now that he loved Pauline unreservedly, despite everything, and that, at last, he could try to make some amends for his ghastly failure of long ago.
IV
He rose suddenly, utterly unconscious of the fact that the next "turn" was already on stage, and, hurrying round behind the scenes, was, after some questioning, directed to Pauline's dressing room. Pauline's stage attendant came to the door, took the card he presented, and asked him to wait. In a moment or so, she reappeared, and motioning him to enter, she herself slipped by him into the corridor, leaving him alone with Pauline.
Pauline was seated at her dressing-table in a big, cushioned swivel chair. She had just finished removing her make-up when Jack's card was handed to her, and now, as he entered, she swung round on her chair, the card still in her hand. With a little thrill Jack saw that she was still clad only in her silk tights, just as she had left the stage, her wrap lying loosely round her shoulders, and that her slim, shapely leg and her stump were still revealed.
Her face had paled a little and a little tremulous smile quivered on her lips.
"So you came — in spite of everything," she murmured. "I thought — I thought...."
"You thought I should fail you," said Jack, only just able to keep his voice under control. Then, suddenly, he crossed the room and slipped to his knees by Pauline's chair. "It was brave of you, Pauline," he went on, as he slipped an arm about her shoulders, "it was wonderfully brave of you to give me the chance you did, in the way you did. If I failed to pass the test — well, I was free to go my way, without having to offer any poor, cowardly excuses to you. I could just drift out of the theatre and out of your life for ever."
"And yet — you came," she said softly, her eyes bright, though her lips were still tremulous. "You are sure you really wanted to come, Jack," she used the name unconsciously, and he thrilled at the sound of it on her lips — "and, that now you are here, you still want to stay?" You see me now as I am, as I shall always be. I have beauty, perhaps great beauty" — there was not a tinge of vanity about the remark; she was making a simple statement of facts — "but there will always remain this" — her eyes dropped downwards, and she extended her leg, slimly beautiful in the soft, silken sheen of the perfectly fitting tights — "and this" — her hand dropped lightly on the plump, round, silk-clad stump at her left hip — "and those" — she pointed to a corner, where stood a pair of slender black crutches. — "You will always have to reckon with all these things, Jack," she concluded. "And remembering that you still want to stay?"
Something suspiciously like tears trembled in Jack's eyes. Then with sudden passion he gathered her slim form in his arms and crushed her to him.
"I want to stay all my life," he breathed, "to take care of you, to make amends to you for all you have gone through, I loved you, Pauline, dearest, the first moment my eyes fell upon your beautiful face, and now, taking all you have said into full consideration, facing everything fairly and squarely, I love you all the more dearly and am yours with every bit of my body and soul."
With a little sob, Pauline suddenly went limp in his embrace, her head falling back into the crook of his encircling arm. Then her own arm, which had slipped softly about his neck, drew his head down until their lips met in their first passionate kiss.
So they remained for what seemed an age, tasting the delights of their new found love. Then Pauline, all rosy and smiling, her eyes shining with a new light of joy and happiness, withdrew gently from Jack's embrace and thrust him gaily away.
"Jack, dearest," she cried in mock consternation, "do you realise that you are making passionate love to me in my dressing-room, well I am — well, would anyone call me respectably dressed?" — A swift blush flamed delightfully in the lovely face and, with a quick movement, she drew her silk wrap around her. "Besides," she added. "poor Mimi is waiting all this time outside, to help me finishing my dressing. I shall have to turn you out, darling, until I'm respectably clad. As a reward you shall take me out to dinner. Run along and send Mimi in."
Gaily snatching a kiss, Jack turned to obey, and then, at a sudden recollection, swung round again. With a swift movement he drew something from his pocket and held it up. It was the scarlet slipper.
"And this?" he queried with a laugh. "What about this — the cause of everything? Am I to he permitted, after all, to present it to its beautiful owner?"
"I'll tell you when I'm dressed," laughed Pauline gaily.
"But, dearest, at least satisfy my most desperate curiosity about the slipper. How on earth did it come to fall out of the car? You didn't, by any chance, kick it off, darling?"
Pauline laughingly shook her head."Of course, I didn't, you silly," she said. "I didn't happen to be wearing it at the moment, and besides, I confine my acrobatics to the stage. No, the explanation is really very simple. I, naturally, have to have all my slippers specially made for me, as, unfortunately, I require only one of each kind.
Well, on the afternoon you saw me, I was ordering, through my sister Brenda, who does all my shopping for me whenever possible, several new evening slippers, and she had taken the scarlet slipper into the shop to serve as a model for the new ones. The shoe people, however, still had the last from which the now famous scarlet slipper had been made, and so Brenda returned with it to the car and flung it, in her usual careless manner, among the folds of the hood. The jerk of the car when starting must have flung the slipper out, and a most beneficent and kindly fate dropped it at your feet. And that's all."
"Good old Brenda!" cried Jack enthusiastically. "And three cheers for the kind fate." Then thrusting the slipper back in his pocket he turned to the door.
"I'll give you five minutes," he said. "Not a minute more. I simply couldn't stand the strain of waiting longer."
V
It was probably only five or so minutes later, though Jack was convinced it was an hour, that Mimi, smiling demurely, readmitted him to the dressing-room and went off on her way home.
Within, he found a gay and exquisite Pauline waiting for him, seated as before in her big, swivel chair. She was very lovely in a clingingly intimate frock of flame-coloured georgette, cut very low to expose the perfection of white bust and shoulders, and leaving the beautifully moulded arms bare to the shoulder.
The frock, as he could judge even while she was seated, only barely reached the knee, leaving her slim leg daringly revealed in a gossamer stocking of the palest nude silk. With an added thrill he saw that, as yet, she wore no slipper on the little foot that rested invitingly on a cushioned footstool.
She looked up as he entered, smiling with happy confidence into his eyes, and swiftly he bent down and pressed his lips to her uplifted ones.
"I'm quite ready, dearest," she said softly, after the long, clinging kiss. "That is," she added demurely, "except for a slipper — unless, of course, you are able to find a slipper somewhere or another?" And she held out her slender foot, delicately arching the instep and pointing the toe like a dancer. With an understanding smile, Jack drew out the little scarlet slipper and held it up.
"Hey presto!" cried Pauline, clapping her hands. "The very thing! It rather clashes with my colour scheme, I'm afraid, but what does a little thing like that matter on an important occasion like this. It's our lucky slipper, darling, and, on this night of nights, the only one I could possibly wear."
Jack needed no second bidding! Dropping to one knee, he took the little foot in his hand and instinctively lifted it to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss upon the warm, perfumed instep. Then, after touching lightly with his lips the fateful slipper, he placed it on the extended foot.
Pauline bent forward and took his cheeks between her cool palms. "You have no regrets my darling?" she whispered. "You will be happy with your 'One-legged Venus'?"
Jack slipped his arms about her and held her close.
"Not a single regret, dearest," he said softly. "I am happier than I ever thought it possible to be. And you must get it into your dear little head once and for all, that I am immensely proud of my lovely 'One-legged Venus,' that I do not mind in the very least the fact that she is one-legged."
Pauline pressed her lips to his in a swift, passionate kiss and then laughed happily.
"Neither do I mind — now!" she said tremulously. And together they went out to face whatever life had in store for them, Pauline swinging happily along on her crutches by his side.
________________________________________
London Life, August 28, l926 pp. 16 — 18



User avatar

Topic Author
Bazil
Старожил
Posts: 512
Joined: 01 Sep 2017, 23:35
Reputation: 283
Sex: male
Has thanked: 698 times
Been thanked: 629 times
Russia

Re: London Life. Tales

Post: # 33046Unread post Bazil
09 Sep 2018, 18:41

London Life
London Life | 1926
________________________________________
Famous Though Limbless
Further authentic stories of half ladies
by Wallace Stort
The absence of limbs need be no detriment to an artistic career. Sarah Biffin, gold medallist of the Royal Academy, the miniature painter to Queen Victoria, was born entirely without limbs and painted exquisitely with her mouth. Another limbless is artist Miss Rose Forster. She was born in Southhampton, and has been exhibited both in England and America for many years. She was, as a matter of fact, on exhibition at Olympia, London, during the annual Christmas Fair of 1921, and a year later at the Agricultural Hall, Islington. In Miss Forster's case, however, stumps of arms to the elbow are present, and with these, aided by her mouth, she is able to write and draw with a great deal of facility. Curiously enough, Cupid also came her way despite her lack of limbs, for she was married about three years ago in Southampton, her native town. The third case is perhaps the most remarkable of all, as not only is she practically a newcomer to the show world, but she challenges comparison with any example of this class of anomaly that has preceded her. She is professionally known as "Violetta", a native of Bremen, Germany, and is only seventeen years of age. She is at present on exhibition at Coney Island, this being her first visit to America.
Pretty and Plump
The girl is quite pretty, with good regular features, a fine round bust, and a small and shapely waist — but actually and without exaggeration she is merely a beautiful trunk and nothing more! The arms are completely absent from the shoulders and the legs are completely absent from the hips! Like Madam Gabrielle mentioned in a previous number, she is exhibited resting upon a pedestal, and, as far as appearances at any rate are concerned, she is quite as legless as that lady, despite her claim to be unique in that respect.
Not Married Yet
The complete absence of all four limbs is all the more apparent from the fact that while on exhibition, Violetta's costume consists of a very tight and smooth— fitting gown of black velvet, that is moulded to the rounded lines of the slightly protruding shoulders and the curves of the well-modelled trunk, and is closed at the lower end to fit closely round the hips and beneath the trunk. And yet she is apparently happy and cheerful, is very fond of reading, and is extremely intelligent. She has been trained to use her mouth, and is able to write with wonderful facility in a bold, round "hand". The descriptive booklet from which the foregoing facts have been taken concludes with the intimation, a little startling under the circumstances, the Violetta is not yet married!
La Belle Parisienne
But the most intriguing of all the personalities of this type that have appeared before the public was a lady well known as a feature of the side-shows both on the Continent and in America some years before the war, retiring from public life on her marriage to a wealthy Greek in 1911. This was Mademoiselle Defries, a Belgian girl, professionally known as "La Belle Parisienne". She was exceptionally pretty and vivacious, and was often described as the "unfinished Venus". The girl presented the curious anomaly of having been born without arms and with only one leg, the only example, at any rate among women, ever recorded. The only other case of such triple deficiency on record is that of a man, an Italian, who, however, was never exhibited and lived to the ripe age of seventy years.
No trace of arms
The only limb possessed by Mdlle. Defries was her right leg, the arms being entirely absent from the shoulders, and only a short round stump, three inches long from the hip, replacing the absent left leg. Otherwise, according to the report of the surgeons who exa— mined her, she was perfectly formed, with beautiful, satin-skinned shoulders that not only revealed no trace of arms, but also no blemish of any kind, and a leg and foot as exquisitely shapely and dainty as those of any stage beauty's. Even the stump of the absent left leg was perfectly rounded, without blemish of any kind and revealing no trace of any scar such as would have resulted from amputation.
Proud of her unfinished beauty
The girl herself gave many indications of a curious pride in her unfinished beauty — a not very uncommon thing, by the way, among abnormally formed people. She always exhibited herself in the filmiest of silk tights, the bodices of which were always cut extremely low to leave bare the armless shoulders, while the stump of the absent leg was, of course, also left very much in evidence by the adoption of such a costume.
Rings on her toes
She wore costly rings on all her toes — left bare by the "mittened" tights — and always at least one jewelled anklet round her ankle. Her references, while addressing her audiences, to the formation of her body, to her shoulders, her leg, and even to her stump — which she would lift to display while standing perfectly balanced on her only leg — were all couched in the style of one pointing out the excellences and beauties of some work of art! She even joked about her deficiencies, suggesting to the male members of her audience that she would would be an excellent bargain as a wife, as she would require no gloves and only a single stocking and a single slipper, and could never run away! And all her auditors came away quite convinced that she was perfectly satisfied with herself, and in fact rather proud of her unique body than otherwise.
A versatile show-woman
She was really a very clever and versatile "show-woman", doing all the usual stunts with her foot and toes with extraordinary ease and facility, all the while making a running and very gay commentary in her pretty broken English, on her performance. She usually concluded her performance by hopping down quite easily and expertly from her platform and mingling with the audience so that, as she put it; "they could see that she was real and not an illusion," and she would hop about and maintain her balance without difficulty for any length of required.
Married to a wealthy Greek
She was only twenty-three when she married the wealthy young Greek who had fallen a victim to her incomplete charms, and, retiring from public life, was never heard of, at any rate in the show world, again. She attracted the attention not only of surgeons and doctors, but of artists, and I understand that more than one sculptor perpetuated her figure in marble, while a painting of her in the nude that was exhibited at a Viennese academy caused a controversy that resulted in the picture being withdrawn.
Writes and draws with her mouth!
Miss Rose Forster was born in Southhampton and has been exhibited both in England and America for many years. She was, as a matter of fact, on exhibition at Olympia, London during the annual Christmas Fair of 1921, and a year later at the Agricultural Hall, Islington. In Miss Forster's case, however, stumps of arms to the elbow are present and with these, aided by her mouth, she is able to write and draw with a great deal of facility. Curiously enough, Cupid also came her way despite her lack of limbs, for she married about three years ago in Southhampton, her native town.
________________________________________
London Life, September 25, 1926 p. 18



User avatar

Topic Author
Bazil
Старожил
Posts: 512
Joined: 01 Sep 2017, 23:35
Reputation: 283
Sex: male
Has thanked: 698 times
Been thanked: 629 times
Russia

Re: London Life. Tales

Post: # 33047Unread post Bazil
09 Sep 2018, 18:42

London Life
London Life | 1927
________________________________________
The Tattooed Butterfly
Being an amazing Adventure of "La Belle Monopede"
edited by Wallace Stort
"La Belle Monopede" needs little or no introduction to our readers, at any rate to those who are at all interested in the theatre. Patrons of variety theatres all over the world are familiar with the unique acrobatic dancing act given by this beautiful girl with the perfect figure — perfect, that is, except in one startling particular. For "La Belle Monopede" performs her truly marvellous dances supported only by a single slim, shapely leg, the only lower limb she possesses! It is not surprising that such a girl, the only lady performer so handicapped on the world's variety stage, should have had many curious and and bizarre adventures, and the fact that the famous one— legged beauty has been persuaded to relate one of the most amazing in these columns, will be welcomed by our readers. This adventure, which has for its intriguing title — "The Tattooed Butterfly", will be found one of the most extraordinary ever published.
I.
I had just reached my dressing room at the Imperial, at the conclusion of my turn, one Monday evening, at the beginning of a warm London August, and, after removing my make-up, was sitting down luxuriously on my couch for a rest and a cigarette, when my maid brought me a card and a request from its owner for an interview — "on a matter", so the message went, "of extreme importance and urgency".
I was still clad only in my silk tights, just as I have left the stage (as you probably know, I never wear skirts during my dancing act — they would only hamper me, and might prove dangerous), but as the stranger seemed in somewhat of a hurry, I told Marie to admit him, wondering what exactly his important and urgent business could be. Marie smilingly obeyed, and then, at a nod from me, she discreetly withdrew.
My visitor proved to be young, tall, good-looking in a petulant sort of way, and I decided, in the quick, unreasoning way in which one makes such decisions, that I didn't altogether like him.
His dark eyes widened as they noted me, reclining amid my cushions. Then his glance, sweeping appraisingly over my leg, settled momentarily, yet quite perceptibly, on the plumb, rounded stump at my right hip, fully exposed as it was by the revealing tights.
I am, naturally, quite used to being stared at both on the stage and off, but under that direct scrutiny, I stirred a little resentfully, and my hand went down ostensibly to smooth and caress the silk-clad stump, but actually in an instinctive gesture of concealment.
However, I motioned my visitor to a chair, and puffing meditatively at my cigarette, asked him, in my politest tones, what I could do for him.
"My name", he began, in low, in fact, quite pleasant tones, as you will have gathered from my card, is Robert Grant. And I have come frankly on an extraordinary mission, to ask you — if I may be permitted to do such a thing — an extraordinary favour. May I go on?"
I was naturally somewhat astonished at this opening, but I nodded pleasantly enough.
"Please do, Mr. Grant," I said. "I hope I shall be able to help you."
His lips opened in a quick smile. Thank you, Miss — ?" he paused questioningly. "I'm afraid I only know you as 'La Belle MonopŠde", he concluded.
"My name is Merrill", I said helpfully. "Sonia Merrill".
"Thank you again, Miss Merrill," he said. "And now for my story. I shall try to tell it as briefly as possible. Close on three years ago, my sister, Valerie, a beautiful girl of about nineteen, disappeared. As a matter of fact, there was a man in the case, though we, that is, my father, mother and myself, only heard of this later. What happened to her, none of us knew. She just disappeared into the blue.
My father who was passionately fond of her, never recovered from the blow. Never a strong man, he lost interest in life, and steadily declined in health until at last he took to his bed, a dying man. His only hope was that one day Valerie might return to him.
For nearly three years we heard not a single item of news about her. And then, just about a month ago, I had a letter from a friend in America, telling me he was on his way home, and that he had news of Valerie.
Unfortunately, in our joy, mother and I rushed with the good news to my father. I say unfortunately, because the news that my friend actually brought to us was that Valerie was dead. He had not had the courage to mention the facts in his letter, for fear it happened to fall in my father's hands. He had kept his news until he saw us.
You see, Miss Merrill, the terrible dilemma of my mother and myself. My father knows nothing of the true facts. We dared not to tell him. He is still awaiting the coming of my friend with news of Valerie. If we told him the truth, it would kill him as surely as if we drove a knife into his heart. And his death would assuredly be followed by that of my mother, for she lives only for him."
I couldn't help but be moved by this poignant story, told so simply and with such quiet dignity by my visitor, and my initial and instinctive distrust of him slipped to the background of my mind. But I was quite at a loss to know why he had come to me with his story. I put the question to him, and for a moment or so he was silent, as if hesitating how to proceed. Then he bent forward, his eyes fixed on my face.
"That, Miss Merrill," he said slowly, "brings me to the most extraordinary part of my story. On Saturday last, I happened to pick up a copy of one of the illustrated weeklies, and in it I saw — a photograph of yourself. I had seen neither yourself or a photograph of you before. Well, I came up to town to-day specially to see your performance. I wanted to see if you were really like that photograph."
"But — but why?" I asked, in astonishment.
"Because," was the amazing reply, "anyone who knew her would have taken that photograph for one of my sister, Valerie. In fact, at first I felt sure it was. Only a very careful scrutiny showed me that, though it was marvellously like, it was really a photograph of another woman. And now, that I see you in flesh, well, the resemblance is more astonishing that ever. It's wonderful."
A sudden silence fell on the room, I sat there, for the moment, too startled to do anything but stare at my visitor. His purpose had in that moment become crystal clear in my mind and I realised what was to be the "extraordinary favour" that he had come to ask of me — nothing less than the impersonation of his sister for the sake of his dying father! Only, surely, there was one inseparable difficulty he had omitted to take into account. I shot a searching look at him. "But, Mr. Grant," I said, "now you have seen me, you surely must realise that I am not like your sister in every particular. For instance — I — I happen to have only one leg."
But he only smiled a little deprecatingly.
"I could hardly be unaware of that fact, Miss Merrill," he said quietly. "But that is really the most extraordinary thing about the resemblance. You see, Valerie, too, had only one leg. She lost her right leg when only a child, just about as near to the hip as yours, and just before she disappeared — if I may be permitted to make the comparison — her stump was very similar in size and contour to your own. It was this amazing combination of facts that simply forced me to see you and tell you my story."
I was silent once again, genuinely startled and a good deal intrigued by the whole astonishing situation. It was of course quite probable that Robert Grant had told me the whole truth, and that his only motive was the bringing of some consolation and happiness to his dying father before the end. But that early distrust of my visitor had come filtering back to my mind. What actually was his real motive? Was there something he was holding back?
Extraordinary as it may seem, however, I had already practically made up my mind as to my course of action. I scented adventure and I can never resist its appeal. I had to see this thing through now, even if it led me to depths as perilous as they were unforeseen.
He agreed, when I at last put the question to him, that his object in seeking the interview was to ask me to impersonate his sister and, divining my favourable interest in the scheme, he at once became excitedly eager ... Could I possibly see my way to do it? ... I should be doing an incalculable service to his parents and himself... . It would really entail very little trouble upon me — I should simply be the guest of his mother and himself at their beautiful home by the sea in Cornwall; everything would be done for my comfort and except for the interviews with his father, which would be made as brief as possible, I should really be spending a very pleasant and restful holiday ... Surely I would come to his assistance now that I realised the extreme gravity of the situation? . .
I had to smile at his exuberance, in spite of my suspicions, and at last I nodded.
"It's all wrong," I said. "The whole scheme is absolute madness — but, yes I'll come. This week is the last of my season at the Imperial, and I was, in any case, taking a few weeks holiday before taking up my contracts in America. So I shall be ready to join you in Cornwall at the end of the present week."
He sprang to his feet and grasping my somewhat unresponsive hand, gripped it firmly.
"That's splendid, Miss Merrill," he cried enthusiastically. "It's more than I dared hope for."
Then, dropping my hand, he stood by the couch and into his slightly averted face came a look of indecision.
"Miss Merrill," he said slowly at last. "There is just one other matter that I think I ought to mention. It isn't absolutely essential — but — well, let me explain -"
I waited a little curiously. What exactly was coming now?
"It's just this," he went on. "Once, some years ago, during a visit to Paris with some girl friends, Valerie was persuaded by these friends to join them in a very silly girlish freak. This was for each of them to have a tiny emblem or design tattooed on some part of the body. Valerie's design took the form of a small, exquisitely worked butterfly in scarlet and blue."
"I see," I said, very much intrigued by this newest development. "And was this design so placed that its absence — say in myself, would be noticeable. Is that what you are driving at, Mr. Grant?"
"Well, yes and no. Normally its absence would not be noted and, in fact, in this matter I'm not thinking about my father, but of others, old friends of Valerie who might possibly turn up while you are with us. You see, for instance, do you bathe, in spite of — " he broke off awkwardly.
I love bathing; in fact, in spite of my having only one leg, I am quite a good swimmer — and I told him so.
"So was Valerie," he said. "She was always in the water, and it was at such times that friends of hers noticed this tattooed design of hers."
"Then — on what part exactly was the design tattooed? — On the leg?"
"Well, in a way, yes. To be exact, on the thigh, a little to the right side, just about two inches below the right hip."
"The right hip!" I said quickly.
"Yes."
I looked at him curiously. I did not doubt for a moment that his sister had had the rather bizarre notion of having a butterfly design tattooed on her stump — for, of course, that is what, in plain words, his description meant. There seemed no earthly reason for inventing such a story. But what was his real motive in introducing it? Was it so "unessential", as he had suggested, or was it an important part of whatever plot he was hatching? And what exactly did he require of me?"
"I see," I said, after a pause. "And do you think perhaps that if I were to have a similar design tattooed -"
He made a little gesture of dissent.
"Well, hardly that, Miss Merrill," he said. "But perhaps a design may be painted and transferred skillfully enough to pass, even a close inspection, for genuine tattooing."
It was quite evident to me now that the butterfly was, for some reason, an important part of his scheme. And, determined as I was to see the whole thing through I was quite willing to humour him even this. In fact, in this connection, I have a confession to make. I was really much intrigued by the butterfly idea, quite apart from the adventure into which I was now being drawn. It appealed to something curious and bizarre in my nature.
I admitted something of this to Robert Grant, and told him I was prepared to go much further than he expected. In fact, if he could supply me with full particulars of the design, I was prepared to have a similar one actually tattooed!
"I shall go tomorrow," I said when he had described the design, "and, as I shall not be travelling to your place until Sunday, there will be nearly a week for any healing that might be necessary — What do you say?"
He could only stammer his fervent thanks, though I thought I could detect in his eyes a sudden glint of almost unholy triumph. We discussed ways and means, fixed up all arrangements for my journey to Cornwall, chattered for a while on the possibilities of my enjoying a really pleasant holiday.
At last he was gone, and I lay back on my cushions, my brain a riot of conflicting emotions. In what tangle of deceit was I about to thrust myself? What was to be the outcome of this mad venture of mine? Well — I should very soon know!
II.
Thegenra House, as the home of the Grants was called, I found to be all Robert Grant had described, and more. It was a beautiful place, expensively and tastefully furnished, perched on low lying Cornish cliffs overlooking the sea. A picturesque, winding pathway led down to a delightful stretch of sand, sheltered by encircling cliffs that made the beach practically as private as were the grounds of the house.
Robert Grant had been at his kindest and most courteous during our journey down, calling for me on the Sunday in a luxurious saloon car with chauffeur and all complete, and seeing to my comfort in every way during the delightful run down. I travelled without Marie, leaving her behind in town for obvious reasons. I was for the time being no longer Sonia Merrill — I was Valerie Grant.
The little tattooing operation had been a complete success, and though for a day or two following it my stump had been a little sore and somewhat swollen, it had now practically recovered, and was almost normal. Secretly, I was quite proud of the dainty little design that decorated my body in so novel a place!
Of my first and subsequent interviews with the older Mr. Grant, I shall say as little as possible, for in the first place they were inexpressibly painful to me, and in the second, they do not play any important part in this story. One thing was certain, however. The man was really ill, very ill, though I would hardly say he was dying. I don't know quite what subterfuge I had expected, but at any rate, in this particular my suspicions were proved wrong.
Mrs. Grant I found charming — but surely that was fear that every now and then looked out of her eyes! What part she was playing in the drama I could not guess, but I had a curious feeling that in some way that part had been forced upon her.
But whatever uneasiness I felt, the days passed uneventfully. I gloried in the pleasant, lazy days after the strenuous months of my dancing season and spend my time basking in the sun, and bathing from the little beach, after spending the whole day in my swimming costume. Robert Grant was a frequent companion, joining me on the beach and in the sea. He was very attentive — too attentive, I began to think — anxious to win and hold my good opinion, regarding me, I suspected now often, with the eyes more of a lover than of the brother he was supposed to be. And all the time I waited — waited for something to happen that I felt instinctively was coming.
A week passed in this way — and then something did happen. Robert Grant brought a friend to lunch. He was very charming, this tall, open-faced American whom Robert introduced as a friend he had met while in the States, and I liked him on sight. He evidently had never known Valerie Grant and myself as a stranger, and I wondered what exactly he was doing in this galley? But he certainly was an acquisition to the party, and extremely welcome.
We found ourselves thrown together a great deal during the day, and I noticed his eyes staying smilingly and approvingly in my direction every now and then; and somehow his obvious interest in me was extraordinarily pleasant. Then in the same magnetic way we came together after dinner and drifted out into the warm, glowing August night, gradually making our way down the winding pathway to the sea.
He did not seem at all embarrassed by my deficiency or by my crutches as I swung along beside him — in fact, he had smilingly helped to adjust my crutches beneath my arms when I rose from the table — and though I had caught his swift glance at my leg, rather frankly exposed in its filmy, flesh-coloured silk stocking, below the barely knee-length, slim-fitting and clinging georgette evening gown, I felt, somehow, that it was one of admiration rather than mere curiosity.
"Are you just a bird of passage, Mr. Carden?" I asked, as I picked my way rather gingerly on my crutches.
"Well, it all depends, Miss Grant," he replied, smiling in his attractive way, and then hesitated slightly. "I'm over on a little matter of business," he went on, "and my stay depends on how soon, or otherwise, it is completed. But Robert insists on my putting up here for a little while. I'd like to — if his sister has no objection."
The words had no hint of coquetting about them. They were just pleasant and charming, like himself. I turned to smile up at him, and at that moment, one of my crutches slipped on the sloping pathway, and I felt myself falling. The next moment a strong arm caught and held me. But in the confusion both my crutches slipped from my grasp to the path, and I found myself standing insecurely on my single foot, in its extremely high-heeled evening slipper, with Tony Carden's arm closely about me and my face looking up into his.
For a few breathless moments he held me thus, a queer, tender little smile on his lips, and I had a sudden incredible impression that he was going to kiss me. But, if the temptation came to him, he conquered it, and drawing one arm gingerly away, he bent down swiftly and picked up the crutches. Then very gently he adjusted them once more beneath my arms and we continued our journey very carefully to the beach.
That was the beginning of a very delightful companionship between Tony and myself during the days that followed. We were together most of the time, either exploring the scenic beauties of the district in his big car, or spending the days, clad only in our swimming suits, basking or frolicking on the sands or in the sea, growing gradually closer to each other, happy in each other's company.
We never forgot the episode of the slipping crutch, and at the outset, when we were bathing, I always let my crutches in the house, as he insisted, for safety's sake, upon carrying me in his arms down to the sea. It was indeed a very dangerous, if delicious experience, to lie thus in the circle of his strong arms, and for the thrill of it became more and more an ecstasy for me, and I could guess at Tony's feelings from the closeness in which he held me to him.
Curiously enough, to my very great relief and delight, he never seemed in the slightest way concerned by the very frank manner in which such charms as I possess were displayed by my very revealing swimming costumes. They were all alike, skintight, one-piece affairs of the filmiest silk that left my arms bare from the shoulders and my leg and stump bare from the hips.
Yet he never seemed repelled — rather the contrary! In fact, he was distinctly fascinated by the effortless agility with which I was able to hop about the sands without my crutches. We often romped together on the sands, and he could never get over my quickness and sure— footedness, when taking part in any game he indulged in.
Of course, he knew nothing of my long training as a dancer which had brought my powers of balance on one leg to perfection. In fact he suggested that with my extraordinary cleverness, I ought to go on the stage.
One thing, however, he did seem to notice, and that was the little tattooed butterfly that now so attractively adorned my stump. I often caught his eyes upon it, but only in momentary and often furtive glances, and I wondered, at first, if it had any significance for him, apart from his general interest in myself. But he never made any reference to it, and I soon came to take his interest for granted.
A curious thing about our friendship was that, while it was evident that Tony was becoming daily more and more fond of me, we never got any further than the intimate friendly stage. Something seemed to keep him aloof, some secret barrier seemed always erected between us. I accepted the situation in one way quite gladly, for, after all, I was playing a part, and was not the girl he imagined me to be. But at odd moments the realisation awoke a pang within my breast, and I knew I trembled periously upon the very brink of love.
III.
Meanwhile, I had practically forgotten the storm that, up till then, I had expected to break, sooner or later, about our seemingly peaceful household. And so, when it did actually break, it took me completely by surprise.
I had spent a delightful day with Tony, motoring for miles through the wonderful Cornish scenery and we had returned some little time before dinner — in fact, rather sooner than we were expected. Tony garaged the car and then with boyish zest proposed a dip before dinner. I agreed enthusiastically, and with a joyous wave of the hand swung myself rapidly upstairs on my crutches, eager, as always, to get what Tony called my "beach rags".
My room was on the first floor, and was approached from a beautiful gallery, carpeted very luxuriously in very thick pile. In consequence, my slim, rubber-padded crutches made practically no sound as I swung along — a fact that has an important bearing on what was about to happen. As I neared my room, I heard the soft footfall of someone descending from the floor above and for some reason I can't explain, I paused on the gallery and waited.
The individual I had heard continued the descent and reached the landing on the first floor — hidden from me as yet by the angle of the stairs. Here a pause was made, and I heard the door or lid opened and the sound of a bunch of keys being dropped in some receptacle. Then the footfalls continued, coming towards me. Quickly I resumed my way to my room, and thus met face to face — Robert Grant.
There would, of course, have been nothing extraordinary about such an encounter except for two very curious details. He was carrying a tray, upon which were some empty dishes, covered with a white cloth; and, at the sight of me, he had gone a sort of dirty grey. He recovered himself on the instant, however, and managed to smile at me.
"Hallo!" he said, with suspicious heartiness. "What are you up to? Got back early, haven't you?"
My own smile was of the most disarming and ingenious character.
"Yes," I trilled. "Had a ripping day — but Tony would insist on a dip. I'm going to fling on a costume and get down to the beach — I've just raced up the stairs," I added for his special benefit.
He seemed extremely relieved, and then, with a laugh, nodded towards the tray in his hand.
"Father's dinner things," he explained. "I nearly always look after him when the maids are out." And, still smiling, he went on his way.
I reached my room, and flinging aside my crutches dropped into the depths of a big easy chair. The first fact my brain registered was that Robert Grant was a liar — a deliberate and very quick-thinking liar. He had said he had come from his father's room, but his father's room was on the same floor as mine, as was that of every other member of the household, except the maids, who were on the other side of the house. He had obviously brought that tray from one of the floors above. Why, then, had he lied about it? And why, on meeting me, had he suddenly gone livid with fear?
I picked up my crutches again and crept to the door, opened it, and peeped out. There was not a soul about, and swiftly I swung along the other side of the gallery to the landing, where Robert had paused. I remembered that here, in an alcove, there was a fine old carved chest and a seat. I lifted the top, and at the bottom of the chest, half-hidden by all sorts of odds and ends, I found what I was looking for — the bunch of keys I had heard Robert drop.
I snatched them up and examined them. There were about a dozen keys on the ring, nearly all slightly rusted from disuse. But two were smooth from recent use, and these I discovered with a little thrill, were duplicates. Quickly I detached one of the latter, softly replaced the bunch, and regaining my room, hid the key in a safe place.
Within a minute or so, I had changed into my swimming things, and was down in the hall, where Tony was writing, quite unsuspicious of anything untoward having happened.
Despite the turmoil within me, I was able to greet him with a gay smile. Then, leaving my crutches in the hall as usual, I surrendered myself to his waiting arms, and was carried down, very gently and tenderly, to the beach. For the first time I did not fully enjoy a swim with Tony, though we frolicked as usual, and made a great deal of cheerful noise. My thoughts were busy with a completely new aspect that affairs had assumed since my meeting with Robert — busy with that and my plans for discovering what was behind his lying and his fear.
And after the swim, as Tony and I sat close together on the warm sands, I had fits of day-dreaming that Tony must have noticed, though he said nothing. I know now that he put them down to some other cause — not unremotely connected with himself! I was finally awakened from my reverie, as one often is, by the consciousness that I was being steadily observed and then, with a sudden intake of breath, I felt Tony's hand, which had been lying in mine, on my lap, slip softly down and rest lightly on my stump.
The thrill of the contact pulsed through me like an electric shock, but I managed to retain something of my composure, and I awaited curiously.
"Val," he said, slowly breaking the silence, at last. "That little butterfly of yours is really the cunningist thing! I — I never had the nerve to mention it before, because oh — well, it isn't a thing I could talk about, is it? But it took my fancy from the first. It's such a dainty idea. You — you won't think I'm too curious, or that I'll make you feel sensitive, if I have a real good look at it?"
"You silly boy, Tony," I said, gaily, yet a little breathlessly, since I sensed something more than than mere curiosity behind his request. "Of course you may examine the butterfly. And I'm not in the least sensitive about my stump — otherwise I wouldn't display it as I do."
I raised the plump, perfectly rounded stump slightly, and watched Tony in some amazement as he bent down and closely examined the butterfly, smoothing it now and then with light fingers. At last he sat up again, and, smiled a smile that was almost as natural as usual.
"A beautiful bit of work, Val," he said, "and a real original and ingenious idea. What — what exactly put it into your head to have it done just in that spot?"
I didn't know quite how I should have replied to that leading and very significant question — for by this time I felt sure there was a great deal more behind Tony's interest that appeared on the surface — had there not come at the moment, a very opportune, if somewhat disturbing, interruption.
Robert Grant came down the pathway to the sands, and halted hesitatingly by us.
"I say, Val," he began, after a perceptible pause, "I'm dashed sorry, old thing, but something rather unfortunate had happened. You know you left your crutches in the hall. Well, Jenkins and I were shifting that big hall cupboard — I never liked its present position — and the fool let his end slip, with the result that it fell on your crutches and smashed them both. I'm horribly sorry, really, I am. I'm afraid they're absolutely done in. What can you do?"
Fortunately remembering the role I was playing I could only stare up at him in half-amused vexation. Though actually I was not in the very least amused. I was able to carry off the situation creditably enough, managing even to laugh at the predicament I found myself in. At any rate, I had to grin and bear it, until I was able to get another pair of crutches down from London.
Meanwhile Tony solved my immediate difficulties by carrying me on to the house, and up to my room, and, preoccupied as I was with the problem of the smashed crutches, I was yet conscious of a queer feeling that Tony's arms were not so caressing nor so closely enfolding as usual. Something had happened, something that had rendered him even more aloof than ever!
Once in my room, I sat and pondered on Robert Grant's latest move — for that it was a deliberate move, I was quite certain. The breaking of my crutches was a clever trick. A less clever scoundrel might have locked my door at night to prevent any prying explorations about the house on my part — but such a move would have turned any vague suspicions I might be supposed to have into certainties. The breaking of the crutches, however, had all the appearance of an accident, and, in Robert's calculations, curtailed my activities quite as successfully as a locked door would have done.
And yet I laughed suddenly and triumphantly. Robert has shown his hand only too plainly, and yet, in all his scheming, had forgotten one very important thing. He had forgotten that my training as a dancer had made me as much at home on my one leg as other people are on two. Naturally, I used crutches off the stage. They were very necessary adjuncts to my daily life. But I could do without them with the greatest of ease, as my dancing act, in which crutches never so much as appear, should have plainly revealed to Mr. Robert Grant. I would yet show that gentleman that he had made a very great mistake when he invited me to play a part in his pretty little plot.
IV.
My chance came that night when about midnight everybody had retired and the house was silent and still. My plans were simple. My intention was to explore the floors above until I discovered a locked door which the key I had taken fitted. As I was now without crutches, and would have to carry out the whole of my expedition on one leg, I very naturally decided to dispense with the skirts altogether in fact, I could not do better than adopt the dress in which I was so much at home on he stage.
Fortunately, I had brought with me from London several complete outfits of silk tights, and now I chose a suit of filmy, black silk, selecting black so that there would be less chance of my being seen in the darkness by any chance prowler. I slipped into these swiftly, yet quietly, smoothing the skin-tight silk over shapely leg and rounded stump, as meticulously as if I were preparing for the stage, and observing in the mirror the effect of the satin trunks, and daringly low-cut sleeveless bodice, perfectly moulded to the curves of my figure.
For footwear, I selected a slim, low-cut, tight-fitting slipper in dull black satin, of the sort that acrobats wear, and made entirely without a heel. One cannot hop on a high heel, by the way, without running the risk of tripping, and thus incurring serious injury.
Finally, I took from its hiding place the key I had secured, switched off my electric light, and I was ready for my adventure.
Softly I opened my door, slipped out and listened. Nothing stirred. The house was wrapped in complete silence. I locked my door behind me, keeping the key, and, taking a firm hold of my courage, I hopped swiftly and effortlessly along the gallery and up the first flight of stairs.
Though the darkness was rather terrifying, and I was in many ways handicapped by the lack of crutches, despite my agility, I eventually succeeded in making the tour of the floor, without finding the door I was searching for. I had a similar experience on the next floor, the rooms on which were fewer, and was almost giving way to a feeling of defeat, when my groping hand came in contact with some soft, thick material, and I realised that I grasped a very heavy plush curtain swung across what I imagined was an alcove.
A sudden light flashed in my brain, and the next moment I was behind the curtain and standing close to a locked door. With infinite care, I slipped the key into the lock. It turned!
Under the cover of the heavy sound-deadening curtain, I began to knock softly, yet regularly and persistently on the door. For some time there was no result. Then, with a leap of the pulses, I heard a voice; a frightened, breathless, faraway voice -
"Whose there?"
I opened the door and slipped into the room. Then for a ghastly second I thought I was trapped, for I felt myself enveloped in a heavy thick material. But as I pulled it aside, a search of relief swept through me. I had run into another curtain, hung just inside the doorway — another device for deadening the sound that might come from the room.
I searched for the electric switch and found it almost at once. But I did not at once press it down.
"Listen," I said softly. "I'm a friend — or I hope you'll regard me as a friend. I am a stranger in this house, and certain happenings made me suspect that there was a prisoner somewhere up here. Will you trust me — and may I switch on the light?"
A little tremulous sound came from the darkness. Then a voice.
"Oh, please do!"
I depressed the switch, and the light leapt at me out of the blackness, blinding me for the moment with its intensive glare. Then, as my eyes grew accustomed to the light, I saw for the first time the occupant of the room.
A slim, dainty girl, exquisite in her fresh young beauty, was sitting up in bed, gazing at me with great eyes in which were equally mingled blank incredulity and sheer astonishment. Her blonde, shingled hair clung close, delicious little curls to her shapely head and the clinging, sleeveless night-dress of transparent crepe-de— chine, emphasised rather than concealed the delicately curving outlines of her perfectly modelled body.
I had to smile at her quite understandable bewilderment in the circumstances, and then, quietly locking he door behind me, I hopped swiftly to the bed and sat on the side, facing the girl. Her eyes travelled slowly over me, taking in every detail, and her astonishment, if possible, deepened.
"Why," she stammered at last, "Who are you? ... You might you might be — myself! ... And you have only — only one leg; ... Look — !"
She suddenly threw aside the bedclothes and swung herself out to the edge of the bed. "Look! — " she repeated.
Through the filmy, clinging silk of her night dress, the soft flesh of her lovely body blushed rosily, every outline clearly discernible, so it was only too evident that the slim leg and little bare foot she extended towards me were the only ones she possessed. And, just below the right hip, the thin silk was lifted in a round, plump oval, clearly outlining a stump about the same size, and as perfect in contour as my own.
A queer little thrill shook me at the startling revelation, though, really, it had not been entirely unexpected. I had, of course, on entering the room, become aware at once of the girl's extraordinary resemblance to myself — though she was, in my opinion, the prettier of the two — and I had already had my vague suspicions of the identity of Robert Grant's prisoner. But the actual demonstration that our uncanny likeness to each other extended even to the possession by each of us of only one leg, left me amazed at the wonder of it.
However, this was no time for the consideration of such things. As soon as I had recovered, I took the girl's two hands in my own.
"You are Valerie Grant?" I said.
She nodded, her eyes widening. "Yes," she said. "How did you know?"
In a few rapid sentences, I told her my story, and the manner in which Robert Grant had lured me into the house, while she listed spellbound.
"The question is now," I concluded, "what is the reason for this astounding plot? Can you throw any light upon it?"
But, though the excitement was already dancing in her eyes, she only shook her head.
"Very little, Miss Merrill, I'm afraid," she replied. "I can tell you why Robert imprisoned me here — but that doesn't explain the rest of his doings and why he brought you here. You see, in the first place, I am not really Robert Grant's sister at all. I don't know my real name, but I do know that my mother, who died when I was about five, left me in the care of the Grants, whose name I took, and who brought me up as their own daughter. My mother left sufficient money for my board and education, etc., and up to eight or nine month ago, I was tolerably happy, and everything went more or less smoothly.
Then, for the first time, Robert Grant began to pay me attentions, and finally pestered me to marry him. I think I showed how distasteful his proposals were, and for a time he desisted. Then, to my great relief, he went to America, on some business trip, so he said. But on his return he started all over again, and even became threatening. Eventually, some weeks ago, we all left our Surrey home and came down here to Cornwall — "
"Then this is not your home?" I interjected in surprise.
"Oh, no. This house is only rented for the season — why exactly I don't know. We had been here only a few days when Robert carried me up to this room — a kind of attic, as you see, with only a skylight for window — took away my crutches, locked the door on me — and left me. — And here I am as you found me."
I sat back, my thoughts busy with the problem, and for the moment baffled by it. Then suddenly I thought of Tony. Had he any place in the jig-saw?
"Do you know anybody named Tony Carden?" I asked Valerie. "An American, a friend, apparently, of Robert's?" But she only shook her head.
"No", she replied. "I never heard the name before. Has he anything to do with this ghastly business?"
"I don't know, Valerie," I said slowly. "I think he may have in some way — Valerie, forgive me, but I have the most serious reasons for asking the question. Do you happen to have a little butterfly design tattooed on your stump?"
Her eyes opened in astonishment for this was my first reference to the matter.
"Why, yes," she replied, "but how on earth did you know?"
I told her, and then asked if she would allow me to see the design. "I have an idea about it that may lead somewhere," I explained.
A tinge of colour crept softly into her cheeks but, after a little hesitation, she nodded, and quietly drew up her night-dress until the little bare, plump stump was fully exposed. There, on the soft white flesh, a little to the right side, was a replica of the butterfly design that adorned my own stump, and bending down, I examined it carefully.
I at once became aware of two important points. The first was that, though in outline and colour it was still quite clear, it was much more faded than mine — a very natural thing, in the circumstances. The second was that in several tiny and hardly noticeable particulars the design differed from mine!
I lifted my head slowly and thoughtfully. Had Tony examined my butterfly design for the express purpose of comparing it with an original, the details of which he already knew? And had he noticed the discrepancies in my design? And if all this was so, what was the reason for his interest in the matter?
"Valerie," I sad suddenly, "why exactly did you have tattooed this design on your stump?"
She gazed at me in sheer amazement and her reply astonished me.
"But — but I didn't have it done, and as a matter of fact, it was never tattooed on my stump. My mother had it done when I was a baby — why, I don't know — two or three years before I lost my leg, which was amputated when I was five as the result of the railway accident in which poor mother was fatally injured. The butterfly was actually tattooed on my right thigh, though now, of course, it appears to have been done on my stump."
Light — though still very dim in quality — was filtering through the darkness. It was obvious now that the tattooed butterfly was assuming greater and greater importance. It had been tattooed on Valerie for some very definite purpose, and both Robert Grant and Tony knew what its real significance was!
A sudden idea leapt unbidden into my brain.
"Valerie," I breathed excitedly, "listen! It is quite clear to me now that Robert Grant brought Tony Carden here for the express purpose of examining this butterfly design. It is also clear to me that he found something wrong with mine, and was puzzled to account for the discrepancy. Now, — here's my plan. You shall take my place tonight, and tomorrow you must so arrange things hat Tony takes you bathing, and is given an opportunity of examining your design. Then — unless he is in league in with Robert — he will talk, and perhaps we will get out the whole amazing plot".
The excitement was dancing in Valerie's eyes when I concluded, and she fell in with the plan with the greatest enthusiasm.
"You had better get downstairs at once," I said. "By the way, will you be able to manage all right without crutches? It's rather a ticklish business to negotiate the stairs."
"Oh, I shall manage splendidly," said Valerie gaily. I've often hopped about without my crutches, especially a a child."
"Capital — you had better just take your undies with you, as you will be wearing my frock for a day or to. Thank goodness you are practically my figure."
Still thrilling with excitement Valerie flung off her nightdress, exposing for a moment the nude beauties of her perfect form, and slipped into very brief cami-knickers, "stump-sock", and stoking all of the finest and filmiest silk. Then, when all was ready, we stood together outside Valerie's door and I handed her my key.
"You are a darling"! Valerie breathed and then, with a final hug, she disappeared into the darkness, hopping quite expertly upon her little stockinged foot.
I re-entered the room and locked the door. So far, everything had gone smoothly, according to plan. I had played my small part. The next move was with Valerie — and Tony.
V.
The sun was streaming through the long staircase windows, when, next morning, somewhere about eleven, I stood once again at the top of the stairs. An hour or so earlier, Robert Grant had brought me breakfast, maintaining, to my relief, a sullen silence, and departing as soon as he had set down the tray. Quite obviously he was totally unsuspecting that I was not the real Valerie.
I had chosen a charming frock of Valerie's in flowered chiffon, that fitted me to perfection, and just barely reached the knee. With it, I wore a filmy, flesh-coloured silk stocking, with very brief silk knickers and a silk "stump-sock" to match. One thing of my own I retained — my heel-less satin slipper, as I was still, of course, without crutches.
No sound came from below, and gathering my skirts well above the knee, I hopped swiftly downwards, and within a minute or so was once again back in my own room. As I had anticipated, Valerie was not there, and I sped across to the windows, from which I had an excellent view of the little beach below.
A little pulse of triumph beating my breast. On the sands, close together in very earnest conversation, were Valerie and Tony, Valerie in swimming costume and Tony in white flannels. I waited, standing patiently by the window. Then, after what seemed an interminable time, Tony stood up, and taking Valerie in his arms, he carried her slowly up the pathway into the house.
I was out on the gallery in a moment, and keeping well out of sight, I saw Tony carry Valerie into the big drawing room that opened to the right from the hall.
Almost immediately, he reappeared without Valerie, and looked about him.
"Grant!" he called at last.
I heard an answering "Hullo!" from somewhere in the house, and eventually Robert appeared, and behind him his mother.
"What's the trouble, old man?" I heard him ask amiably enough.
"Just a moment," said Tony grimly. "A little matter I think we ought to discuss inside. Mrs. Grant may as well be present also."
The trio entered the drawing-room, and I heard the door click behind them.
Softly I slipped down the stairs, and going to the drawingroom door, stood there considering what best to do. I heard a murmur of voices within, then Robert's voice suddenly raised in angry protest. Under cover of the sound I quietly opened the door and listened.
"I have not the slightest idea of what you are getting at," Robert was almost shouting. "I never heard of this Sonia Merrill you talk about. The whole thing is ridiculous — a put up job."
He stopped abruptly, as if the flow of his angry speech had been suddenly dammed, and his jaw dropped. For I had slipped into the room, and stood regarding him with an ironic smile.
"Then, I suppose you will say you are now seeing double, Mr. Grant," I said quietly. "Who do think I am — just a reflection in a mirror, or the Sonia Merrill you say you have never heard of?"
Of what happened next I have only a hazy recollection. Robert must have pulled out the revolver with lightning speed, for the bullet zipped past me almost before I had finished speaking. I saw Tony jump for the raging man, and forgetting myself and my lack of crutches, I moved forward and fell headlong. My poor little stump took the full impact of the fall, and so intense was the sudden shock of pain, that I fainted away. Something heard a long way off — something like another muffled shot came out of the distance and I remembered nothing more.
I awoke to the realisation of caressing fingers about my face, and I smiled unsteadily into the eyes of Tony, who was kneeling by the couch on which I lay. Seated by me, holding my hands was Valerie, still in her swimming costume, her silk wrap hanging loosely from her shoulders, and at the far end of the room, something draped in a white sheet lay dreadfully still.
"You are quite all right, Sonia," murmured Tony tenderly. "You only fainted. Thank God, he missed you."
"But, — "my eyes wandered fearfully to the sheeted form.
"He — he must have imagined he had hit you," explained Tony, gently. "He turned the pistol on himself ... We are now awaiting a doctor — though he can do nothing now — and the police."
* * *
"Yes the whole thing turned on the tattooed butterfly," said Tony some considerable time later, when the ghastly preliminaries in connection with Robert Grant's death were over and Valerie, Tony and I gathered together on one of the sunny lawns. "You see, Valerie, your brother was married to one of the Tempests, a very rich New York family, but as she and her husband never got on well together, she suddenly decided one day, after a more than usually fierce quarrel, to take her baby girl with her and quit. She made for England, her native land, and after a while made her home with the Grants. So sore was she with whole brood of the Tempests, that she never used the name Tempest again, and before she died she made the Grants promise to bring the girl up as one of their own.
But, curiously enough, and woman-like, she could not help leaving just one little clue to her daughter's identity. An emblem always connected with the Tempests for generations was a tiny butterfly in scarlet and blue, and in common with all the brides of the Tempests, Valerie's mother possessed a number of jewels and garments, all either inset or stamped with this butterfly design. It was a copy of this design that Mrs. Tempest had tattooed on her little daughter's thigh. One can only guess at the motive. Valerie would always carry the proof of her identity about her, and yet it would be secret enough to satisfy her mother's feeling against the Tempests.
However, a year ago, Roger Tempest, Valerie's father, died — and left a fortune of a million and a half dollars. He also left instructions that search should be made for his daughter, Valerie, to whom, if found, he left practically everything. My father's firm, for years the legal advisers of the Tempests, was entrusted with the task, and that is how I came into the affair.
You now begin to see something of Robert Grant's plot. He saw the advertisement asking for information about Valerie Tempest and though he did not recognise the name Tempest, the description of the famous butterfly design and the name Valerie, gave him all the clues needed. He came over to New York, where he interviewed me, told the story of the tattooed design, and interested me sufficiently to make me promise to sail for England as soon as I could manage it.
Meanwhile, his plan to marry Valerie, and so get hold of her money, miscarried, and it was then that he saw your photograph, Sonia, and the ingenious plot to substitute you for Valerie leapt into his mind. He rented this out of the way place in Cornwall to put his plot into execution, coercing his ailing father, and his poor, frightened mother into doing his bidding. The rest you know" — "But, Tony," I interjected. "just one point. Why didn't you tell me he story when you first met me. You imagined I was Valerie Tempest. Why didn't you mention the fact?"
"Ah!" said Tony, with a rueful smile. "That is where your friend Robert showed his cleverness. He realised that danger, so he told me a nice little cock-and-bull story. According to him, Valerie had been brought up to think she was a Grant. She worshipped Mr. and Mrs. Grant, whom she really thought were her parents. To tell her, therefore, who she really was, before I was absolutely certain of her identity would, so the ingenious Robert said, be rather cruel, specially if she turned out not to be the Valerie Tempest I was looking for. So I could say nothing until I was able to make a detailed examination of the butterfly design — and even then, according to arrangements, was to consult Robert himself before taking and other steps."
"I see," I said with a little nod of appreciation. "And supposing his plot had succeeded — how was he going to deal with me?"
"Oh, I take it he intended to frighten you into acceptance of the situation. You see, you, on the surface, were his accomplice. You had even gone to the trouble of having a very similar design tattooed. He also thought, no doubt, that you would be mercenary enough to jump at a share in a million and a half dollars. But he made two mistakes. He mistook your character, and underrated your cleverness for one thing. For another, he wasn't careful enough to supply you with the exact design of the famous butterfly. What he intended to do with Valerie — well, thank God, she is still alive to listen to this story of his plot."
A thoughtful silence fell on the group, and then came an interruption. A little two-seater car swung up the drive, a laughing faced boy at the wheel. With a swift blush, and a murmured apology, Valerie snatched up her crutches — which she had now regained — and swung eagerly across the lawn to the car.
I smiled mistily at Tony.
"It's Jack Agnew," I explained. "Valerie told me all about him. They're to be engaged now — if Valerie's millions don't scare him off. Valerie wired him to let him know where she was — there he is."
Tony suddenly bent forward and took both my hands.
"And, Sonia," he said huskily, "what about us?" I held aloof all the time because — oh, you were, so I imagined, a heiress to millions — but I loved you at the very first glance. Sonia — is there any chance for me?"
"But, Tony, dear — I am — I am a cripple."
He laughed suddenly and incredulously.
"You — a cripple;" he said. "Why, that's the very last thing I should say of you; You're more active than I am, and your loss of a leg is hardly a handicap at all. Besides, strange as it may seem, there is something curiously fascinating about your being one-legged. I didn't find it at all distasteful when I first set eyes on you, and when you nearly fell and I had to hold you in my arms — well, I just wanted to carry you about for the rest of my life. Sonia, darling, marry me, and you can then leave the stage and return with me to America."
"Leave the stage;"
"Yes, dearest. I don't want you to earn your living that way — exposing your beautiful, incomplete body before people who don't understand."
"But, Tony — I love the stage, and the public loves me. They like my pluck, and applaud my skill. Tony, dear, listen! I love you, really I do. But I don't want to marry and settle down just yet. Give me — say, a year. I have my contract to finish; America to visit for the first time, and I love my dancing. In a year, dearest, I shall be ready."
Tony took me fiercely in his arms for the first time, our lips met in a lingering, passionate kiss.
"Very well, sweetheart," he said at last, with a great shuddering sigh. "In a year, I shall come for you."
I smiled up at him.
"I shall be waiting, dearest," I said, and drew down his head to seal the pact with a kiss.
________________________________________
London Life July 30, 1927 pp. l0-11, l8-19, 22-23



User avatar

Topic Author
Bazil
Старожил
Posts: 512
Joined: 01 Sep 2017, 23:35
Reputation: 283
Sex: male
Has thanked: 698 times
Been thanked: 629 times
Russia

Re: London Life. Tales

Post: # 33209Unread post Bazil
16 Sep 2018, 14:52

London Life
London Life | 1928
________________________________________
At "The Moignon d'Or"
A Bizarre Adventure of "La Belle Monopede"
Edited by Wallace Stort
"La Belle Monopede" (Miss Sonia Merrill) the famous and beautiful one-legged dancer, already introduced to our readers in the amazing adventure of "The Tattooed Butterfly" gives in the following narrative another of her truly astonishing experiences. Lest the reader should think that the extraordinary establishment described in this story is an effort of the imagination it will interest him to know that it did actually exist, on the Continent, before the war. Undoubtedly others of a much smaller and less elaborate character are in existence in various parts of the world today. — W. S.
________________________________________
I.
This story, I must freely admit at the onset is a confession of folly, folly into which I plunged with my eyes open and for which, ultimately, I paid. I make no excuses. I asked for trouble, and I got it, and having made that clear, let me tell the story.
It all began with a very foolish quarrel with Tony Carden. You will remember Tony, the handsome young American to whom I became engaged at the end of "The Tattooed Butterfly" adventure; and you will also recall that Tony was very much against my remaining on the stage, though I managed to win from him a grudging consent to my doing so.
Very well. my next theatrical engagements were in America, whither I sailed in company of Tony, and I am gratified to record that on my first appearance in New York my act met with instantaneous and unqualified success. But Tony could not, or would not, share my delight. Though he himself unreservedly admired my incomplete charms, he could not bear the thought of my appearing in front of applauding thousands, clad only in my filmy silk tights exposing my shapely single leg, and the plump, rounded stump just below my right hip.
However, the trouble might never have come to a head had I not adopted a suggestion of my American manager, the outcome of which was that, during my second week's engagement, I introduced several daring and new dances, in which I appeared with a bare leg.
I'm afraid this drove poor Tony to the limit of his endurance; and the resulting publicity, which included the appearance in the newspapers of scores of photographs of myself in every variety of pose, didn't help matters. We quarreled bitterly, foolishly.
Tony, who was to leave New York on a business trip, went off in a tearing rage, and I — quite as much a young fool as poor, darling Tony — just shrugged my shapely shoulders, laughed a little cynically and, in my supposed disillusionment, plunged recklessly into the gaiety and hectic life of New York.
My success on the stage, and the immense publicity given to my act had very naturally, made me a very much sought after and very popular person. I was made a tremendous fuss of, and feted in a variety of ways. My slim, beautifully dressed one-legged figure was the latest and "cutest" thing in Broadway, and I became the toast or the moment or New York's guilded youth.
And I must confess that I loved it all, playing up to it with the greatest possihle zest, a fact which has its own bearing on the unnerving adventure into which I was soon to be plunged.
You will no doubt have realised by now that I am not in the least sensitive or tcoubled about my lack of a leg. I have always been of a gay, care-free disposition; and having lost my leg when quite a child I grew up to accept the fact much as I did any other characteristic that I possessed. I just didn't worry about it all. Then when later, I took the somewhat daring course of going on the stage and made a wonderful success as a dancer, I gradually came to regard my loss as something in its way oddly fortunate, and to look upon my one leg and stump as quite definite assets to my dancing career.
My leg was slim and shapely, tapering to a slender ankle and small dainty foot. My stump barely four inches in length from the hip, was a perfect oval in contour, rounded and plump, the flesh white and firm, and now after the lapse of years, quite free from blemish or scar. Added to all this, I was a beautiful blonde, with a perfectly proportioned figure. So it is perhaps not so surprising that as I attained international fame as a dancer, I began to make the most of my charms, both on and off the stage; to revel in the display of them; to get a queer delicious thrill when I knew that my slimr beauti fully-gowened one-legged figure was the object of attention.
All this will explain, to some extent my perhaps rather naive reactions to my wonderful reception by Mew York society. As I have said, I "played up" to it all with the utmost zest. When attending the various functions arranged in my honour, I consciously made myself as fascinating and alluring as possible; aqqeared in a succession of daring and stunning gowns; made every possible display of my unique, exotic and unfinished beauty.
It was all in its way, very natural, but nevertheless it was folly. And my folly had only just begun. I had still a long way to go down the perilous road upon which I had started so gaily and irresponsibly.
It was while at the height of my popularity that I met Clifford Dalroy. He was a rich clubman, or at any rate he had the appearance and style of that type, spending money lavishly and giving himself and his friends a good time generally. He was older than the usual run of gilded youth that flocked to my parties, but still young enough to be accepted by them as one of themselves. He was dangerously attractive, very handsome in a dark, foreign way, always faultlessly dressed and extremely popular, especially with women.
I was conscious of his special interest in me from the first, and I was as thrilled by the honour as any lovesick schoolgirl could be. I knew too that this interest of his was radically different from the rather boisterous camaraderie of my host of youthful admirers; there was in it something strange and exotic that I admit had its very dangerous attraction for me.
Very soon we came together, and, in an incredibly short time, were to be seen everywhere in each other's company. I tried to keep our friendship as impersonal as possible, but I could not altogether prevent him making discreet but strange love to me that thrilled me in spite of an intuitive misgiving. And I realised more and more that his outlook was not altogether normal, that I possessed for him a curious, unusual attraction that satisfied some odd kink in his mind. Unlike Tony, he was never better pleased than when I was displaying my charms, both on and off the stage, and he encouraged and delighted in all the little tricks I employed to draw attention to myself.
Our deepening and yet disturbing friendship was about five or six weeks old — I had in fact just finished my New York engagement and was due, after a short holiday, to appear on the Chicago stage, when Clifford made the first mention of the 'Moignon D'or'. We were having tea together in a tiny, very exclusive and highly expensive cafe, when, after helping himself to a perfumed cigarette from my case, he leaned a little confidentially across the table towards me.
"Sonia, darling," he said in his low-toned agreeable voice, "have you ever heard of the 'Moignon D'Or'?"
I shook my head smilingly. "No, Cliff," I replied, "Should I have done so? What exactly is it — the latest dance or a new cabaret?"
He laughed responsively. "Well, not quite," he said, "though you are a little near in one respect. But suppose we investigate? I can promise you an entirely new thrill."
"A little surprise for my last day in New York — is that it?" I asked gaily.
"Yes, that's about it," he replied, though I noticed the little smile that twisted his lips, its peculiar enigmatic quality escaped me at the time. I had spoken more truly than I knew. He had waited purposely for my last day in New York before springing on me that little surprise!
II.
A couple of hours later we were speeding along in Clifford's luxurious limousine, through the moonlit night out of New York and towards the open country. We sped smoothly along in the powerful car and, naturally, it never occurred to me to take a note of our course, even had I been able to. Neither was I conscious of the passing of the time, caught up as I was in the fascination of Clifford's company. We must have been on the road considerably over an hour, traveling at high speed before I awoke to the realization of the fact. But before I could put a sudden apprehensive question to Clifford, the car began to slow down and we were swung round, off the road and through a pair of high, shadowy gates.
Here in the dim, tree-bordered drive, we paused while Clifford held a whispered colloquy wlth a couple of gigantic negroes in rich but quite unostentatious livery. Then we continued our way along the dark, winding drive, through a well wooded park for another mile or more, and finally drew up at an imposing mansion, which I imagined at forst to be in complete darkness, but which,in fact, wasn't, its windows being merely carefully shuttered. Clifford, as he liked to do, lifted me solicitously from the car and then. as I stood upright, adjusted my crutch beneath my right arm.
"This, Sonia," he said, as we approached the great doorway, "is the 'Moignon D'0r'. I don't suppose you have ever dreamt of such a place, and you are hardly ever likely to strike anything quite like it again."
Meanwhile, the big double doors swung open, letting out a sudden stream of brilliant light and a rush of warm, perfumed air. The next moment already thrilling in anticipation, I had passed with Clifford over the mysterious threshold, and the great doors closed silently behind us. We were in a magnificently and luxuriously appointed vestibule or hall, heavily carpeted and lit by a soft, diffused, rose-red light, while all about floated the subtle, sensuous perfume that had been wafted to us through the doorway.
A tall, suave, slightly Oriental-looking man in faultless evening dress approached Clifford with a smile of welcome shook hands with him, and bowed gracefully over my fingers. Then, at a sign from him, two immense negroes, who might have been blood brothers of the pair we had encountered at the park gates, and who were clad in an exactly similar uniform, came forward noiselessly and relieved us of our outer things.
"I have reserved a table, Mr. Dalroy," said the smiling manager — for such I took it he was — and preceding us he crossed the great hall to a pair of magnificently carved doors, and with a bow ushered us through them. we passed down a shallow, but very broad and ornate, marble staircase that opened directly into a wonderful dining-room, as luxuriously appointed as was the rest of this amazing place, softly lit by cunningly hidden cornice lights adrift with the exotic perfume that seemed to be everywhere.
The smart, dainty tables, agleam with crystal and immaculately white napery, every one apparently designed for a couple of diners, were nearly all occupied, and as we passed to our table I had glimpses on every side of beautiful women, exquisitely and daringly gowned, vis-a-vis with faultlessly dressed, well-groomed male partners. A liveried negro deftly placed chairs for us as we reached our table and then quite calmly, and without any suggestion from me, he took my crutch and noiselessly disappeared with it through a doorway close by. Clifford only laughed as I looked after him in faint surprise.
"It's all right, Sonia," he said. He's only putting your crutch safely by. It will be back the very moment you need it. The service here is perfect in every particular."
The negro's action had occasioned but a momentary surprise, but the next moment I had an utterly unexpected and genuine shock. On entering the dining room, I had noted, casually, a number of unusually pretty girls, neatly attired in black georgette, dotted about all over the room, obviously, of course, waitresses, and very charming waitresses at that. Except, however, for a fleeting feeling of surprise that they should be employed in such a magnificently run place instead of waiters, I had paid no particular attention to them after my first casual glance.
But now, one of them approached our table, and I gazed at her in blank and incredulous amazement. She was extremely pretty, with blonde, closely shingled hair and small, perfect features.But it was not her dainty prettiness, nor the very daring nature of her frock, that caused my amazement. The astonishing, almost incredible, thing was that she swung gracefully and effortlessly towards us on a single, slender, black crutch, the reason for which was at once apparent; for below her brief skirt, only one shapely, black silk-clad leg was revealed.
I still gazed at her uncomprehendingly, while she calmly and efficiently took Clifford's order for food, my eyes taking in all the beauties of her gracefully poised figure and noting, with a little thrill how the thin silk of the brief skirt was disturbed, every now and then, just below the hip, by the rounded outline of a plump, well shaped stump. Then, as a startling idea suddenly flashed through my brain, I let my eyes travel swiftly round the room. Yes, astonishing as it seemed, my little half-formed suspicion proved correct. Every waitress, without exception — and they were dotted about all over the spacious dining room — was onelegged, and each was supported by a neat, black crutch, on which she swung about with a graceful skill born of long practice. For a moment or so I sat there wondering into what strange, uncharted haunt Clifford had brought me. Then, for the first time, I began to take an interest in my fellow-diners, and almost at once I got another thrill. A couple, some five or six tables away, were preparing to move as my roving glance fell on them.
The man was middle-aged, opulent, obviously a wealthy businessmen; the girl was in her early twenties, a pretty and fascinating brunette.
At the moment one of the ubiquitous liveried negroes came swiftly and noiselessly forward, in his hands a slender, beautifully fashioned, jeweled crutch. the girl now risen; the negro deftly adjusted the crutch beneath her arm, and she swung gracefully off with her partner, her slim knee-length frock revealing the fact that she too had only one leg!
Thrilled now to the very core of my being, I watched the pair, with fascinated eyes, out of the room, and then resumed my eager survey of my neighbours . At the next table to our own l had already casually noted a gay young couple, a handsome immaculately dressed boy and a very pretty blonde of not more than nineteen or so. They were seated so that l was able to see them in profile, the girl on my side of the table, a fact which gave me a very complete view of her. They seemed very happy together, and the girl's bubbling infectious laughter rose very pleasantly every now and then, above the subdued hum of general conversation that buzzed round the room.
My first very casual glance, just as we reached our table, had revealed nothing out of the ordinary; but now as I examined her more closely I had suddenly to suppress a gasp of sheer astonishment.
Her body, incredibly as it may seem, actually ended at the hips, the trunk being beautifully rounded off just by the hipjoints, not even stumps remained to mar the perfection of hercomplete leglessness!
I confess the little legless beauty completely fascinated me as I watched her resting quite comfortably in her chair on the soft, flat cushions of flesh that I guessed were all she had in the way of stumps and for a time I could not take my eyes off her. She was so charmingly gay and bright, despite the fact that she possessed only half of her beautiful body and so obviously unconcerned about her deficiency.
But my by now extremely excited interest in the rest of my fellow-diners at last reasserted itself, and I again gazedeagerly around in search of further thrills. I got several in quick succession. A number of other ladies began to leave their tables at intervals, some young and very pretty, others a little more mature but with a more striking beauty, and all I saw were supported by slender, daintily fashioned crutches and revealed shapely single legs below extremely short frocks. Then, some tables away, a good-looking man bent over a pretty little Eton-cropped girl and picked her up tenderly in his arms. And as he carried her past, I saw, with a sudden little leap of the pulses, that her brief filmy frock hung slack and empty from the hips, only a curvy outline indicating the presence of twin, rounded stumps just below the hips. Another legless girl in this strange fantastic place, in addition to the many one-legged ladies I had seen! What queer secrets were still to be revealed to me?
Once again my wandering gaze was arrested this time by a couple a little distance away. I had first of all been attracted by the gay, piquant face of the girl, who was seated directly opposite me with the table in front of her and I wondered whether her beautiful body was incomplete in any way. As I watched her I seemed to sense something odd, something not quite right and then suddenly I saw what it was.
Her beautiful white bust and shapely shoulders blossomed from the very low cut frock like some magnificent flower, no shoulderstraps marring the beauty of the satin flesh; and what I had suddenly realized was that those shapely, perfectly fashioned shoulders were actually all that she possessed in the way of upper limbs! She was entirely, most wonderfully armless; for not a single trace of arms was evident, the smooth and rounded flesh at the shoulder — ends merely undulating slightly and then merging perfectly into the gently curving bust.
I had just made this fascinating discovery when another little thrill pulsed through me. The girl's partner took a cigarette from his case and, placing it between her lips, lit it for her. Then I saw what for just a moment, I took to be a delicate and shapely hand approach her lips and remove the cigarette while she exuded the smoke. But the moment I realized the truth. It was not a hand but a foot! With an ease and grace that was delightful to watch, the girl was using her right foot in lieu of a hand, taking the cigarette between long, shapely, beautifully manicured toes, upon several of which gleamed costly jeweled rings, exactly as if she were using the fingers!
I thought at first that the small slender foot and what portion I could see of shapely ankle above the table were bare; but a closer examination showed me that the dainty limb was clad in a flesh-coloured silk stocking, delicately "mittened" to leave the toes bare.
III.
I have described my various thrilling and amazing experiences in this most astonishing of dining-rooms at such length that the reader may imagine that I sat there in my chair, staring about me for an indefinite period, while Clifford, the dinner he had ordered, and everything else, were entirely forgotten. But as a matter of fact, my survey of the room and its wonderful occupants had only taken a comparatively short time and, in fact, it was not until I was watching the beautiful armless girl smoking her cigarette, that the first course of our meal was served.
I turned to Clifford and found him looking at me with an amused smile on his face.
"Well, sweetness," he cried, "what do you think of it all? Has it given you the thrill I promised you?"
"But Clifford," I breathed excitedly, ignoring the question in my eager desire for explanations. "What is the meaning of it all? Why are so many of the ladies here one-legged or legless or armless?"
"There's really no great mystery about it, Sonia," he replied. I thought perhaps you might have guessed something when I mentioned the name of this place. You remember I told you it was the 'Moignon D'Or'. Didn't that convey anything?"
"Candidly it didn't — much. I knew, of course, that it meant the golden something, but what, exactly, I could not make out."
"Well 'Moignon' is, of course, the French for 'stump', and the name of the place, therefore in plain English, is the 'golden Stump'. It is, in one way, just a fanciful, descriptive title, just as is given to so many cabarets, clubs, etc., but it also has its own obvious reference when applied to an establishment like this. The 'Moignon D'Or', my dear Sonia, is one of the most remarkable places of its kind in the world. It is a combination of exclusive club and luxurious hotel, and was founded for the extreme purpose of providing a delightful and secluded rendezvous for beautiful women who, like your own lovely self, are — shall we say? — charmingly incomplete.
"What an extraordinary idea!" I exclaimed. "And yet, at the same time, it is in its way, rather splendid, isn't it? Is this club open to such ladies only?"
Clifford nodded smilingly.
"That's all," he said, "The right to use the club is strictly confined to ladies who have lost one or more limbs— And such ladies, by the way, must be attractive, too, with nothing in the least displeasing about their lack of limbs. The club is very fastidious about those points. It is also very strict about male visitors each of whom must be known to and approved by the management, or, if a stranger, vouched for by a recognized habitue.
The club is, naturally, not known to the general public at all, and is frequented only by men who find an interest and fascination in a rendezvous of this unique and exotic character. It is no resort for the poor man, either, as the club is run on the most luxurious and expensive lines, the charges being very much higher than those of the most exclusive and fashionable New York hotels."
"What an amazing place the world is, Cliff," I said, as he concluded his explanations. "If you had told me that a club of this kind existed, I should have suspected you were very crudely pulling my one and only leg! Even now I can hardly believe it."
I sat back in my chair and let my eyes wander once again the beautifully appointed room, still filled with animated diners. "It doesn't seem possible, and yet I suppose it must be a fact," I said, "that all these pretty girls and lovely women are, as you put it, incomplete in some way."
Clifford leaned smilingly across the table towards me.
"There isn't any doubt about it, Sonia," he said, "extraordinary as it may seem. That little flapper over there" — he indicated a pretty little bunch of mischief close by, who was busily engaged in teasing her boy friend in all sorts of ways — "she's only sixteen, and a regular little devil. You wouldn't think it possible that a jolly little kid like her could be quite legless? But it's true all the same, and she doesn't care a rap."
"That girl in pale green... that beautiful women near the big palm... that little beauty with the copped curls" — he indicated, in succession over a dozen ladies in various parts of the room — "they are all one-legged, as, of course, are the majority of the ladies here. You noticed, by the way, that all the waitresses are one-legged. So is every girl attendant in the club — all the chambermaids, lift-girls, page-girls — every single one. Amazing and rather intriguing, isn't it?"
"You see that very beautiful women," he went on, continuing his extraordinary fascinating record, "about the middle of the room, with the distinguished looking white-haired gentlemen?" I located the women immediately, a dark, striking beauty in her early thirties.
"She is the Marquise de l'Hautooise, "explained Clifford," and the gentleman is her husband. She was on exhibition in Vienna when he met her and fell violently in love with her."
"On exhibition!" I exclaimed wonderingly. "How do you mean — on exhibition?"
"Well, you can see her shoulders, for instance, very well from here. Do you notice anything unusual about them?"
My eyes were still intent on the women, and, with a thrill, I understood. The dark beauty was quite armless, very much in the same way as the girl I have already described. And, as I watched I saw the white-haired gentleman lift a glass of wine to her lip and hold it there while she drank.
"Did you notice that," asked Clifford quickly. "If you watch, you'll see him help her to food in just the same way."
"How fascinating!" I exclaimed. "She doesn't use her feet, then, like that other armless girl over there?"
"She can't," said Clifford quietly. "You see, she doesn't happen to have any. The lovely Marquise is entirely without arms and legs. She is merely a beautiful fragment of a women, a perfectly fashioned trunk, and nothing more! She is a Rumanian, born without limbs, and it was while on exhibition as the 'Limbless Venus' that the Marquis saw her, fell in love with her and married her within a month. They eventually settled in America, and have made this club their home. It is, naturally, ideally suited to a woman situated as she is, and she is a perfectly charmingly woman, and very popular with everybody."
"Amazing!" I declared. "Are — are there any others like her — entirely limbless, I mean?"
"No," replied Clifford with a shake of the head. "She happens to be the only one. There are, as a matter of fact, only three or four such women — that is, born so — in existence, in various parts of the world. But as interesting a case, and in some respects even more intriguing, is that girl sitting facing you few tables away." And he pointed out the pretty armless girl to whom l have already referred, and whose dainty, flexible toes still held a cigarette.
"I had already noticed her," I said again regarding the girl with interest. "You mean because she is so perfectly armless?"
"Not altogether that. Actually three armless ladies, irrespective of the Marquise, frequent the club and quite a number of foreign armless beauties, have visited at various times when on exhibition in around New York. But this girl is unique; probably the only living example of her kind at present living. You see, she is not only armless, but has only one leg! She, too, was born like that and yet, in its way, her body is perfect in its unfinished beauty. Her only limb is her right leg, and there is not the slightest trace of any other limb — not even a stump!"
This last revelation left me a trifle breathless. I could only stare at the girl in frank wonderment, watching her as she deftly flicked the ash from her cigarette with a slender, shapely toe of what I now realized was her only foot, and marveling at the laughing unconcern with which she accepted her condition.
A little amused chuckle from Clifford at last recalled me to myself.
"Fascinating, isn't she?" he said. "But what about a little change? We'll have our coffee and liqueurs in the Rose Lounge — what do you say? It is very charming there — and even more entertaining!"
I agreed quite readily, and we prepared to move. Almost immediately, it seemed, a tall negro was at my side bearing my crutch, which, after assisting me to rise, he placed under my arm. Then, with my disengaged hand resting lightly in the crook of Clifford's arm, I swung along at his side out of the room to whatever further adventures were in store for me.
IV.
We did not ascend the marble staircase but made our exit by another door and, crossing a wide, luxuriously carpeted corridor, we ushered by one of the ubiquitous negro attendants into the Rose Lounge.
Like everything else in this dream palace, it was exquisitely beautiful in all its appointments, the color scheme of furniture, tapestried walls, hangings, and rich, heavily piled carpet being carried out entirely of a soft, delicate rose-pink, the effect of which was further enhanced by the very subdued rose-red lighting that gave both room and its occupants a shadowy, ethereal radiance. And all about drifted the inevitable sensuous perfume that seemed to be the prevailing characteristic of the place.
Scattered in profusion about the spacious room, their outlines softened and blurred in the richly dim light, were luxurious, deep-seated and many-cushioned couches, all apparently, intended to hold just a couple comfortably and with high concave backs,cunningly designed to screen their occupants from a too impertinent scrutiny.
Exquisite little lacquer tables stood by each couch, bearing tiny fragile cups of thick Turkish coffee, or fluted, crystal, miniature glasses containing many colored liqueurs. And ensconced in the deep recesses of the couches, couples lounged and chatted idly over their cigarettes and drinks.
Threading their way silently and efficiently between the couches and tables, pretty one-legged waitresses, in their pleasingly brief black silk frocks, and swinging effortlessly about on their single black crutches, attended to the requirements of the various couples. At a sign from Clifford one of them approached and, after giving our order, we sank luxuriously into the comfortable depths of our couch, from which I noted with pleasure, we had an excellent view on the lounge an most of its occupants. l did not rebuke Clifford, though my complacence pricked my conscience a little, when he softly slid an arm about my shoulders and drew me to him.
Of course he had kissed me before, lightly, gaily, usually at greeting and parting. But this was different, it as passionate, possessive, a seal, as it were, with which he claimed me as his own. For the moment I did not know how to deal with the situation. The feeling uppermost in my mind was one of misgiving hardly fear at yet, though that was lurking somewhere at the bottom of my consciousness. Then, as my emotions stabilized, I chose, for better or worse, to treat the whole matter lightly.
"Is that the way they kiss at the 'Moignon D'Or'?" I asked him with mock severity, as I lay back in my corner, just out of reach of his arms.
"Quite frequently," he replied responsively, "as you will see if you look about you."
I was only too glad of the chance his reply offered me of avoiding a continuation of his ardent attentions, and I gazed about eagerly.
Clifford had certainly not been far wrong about the occupants of the lounge. From where I sat I could see, on every side, couples held close in each others' arm punctuating their lowtoned confidences with lingering kisses, completely unconcerned about possibly interested and prying eyes. Of course, the shrouding, subdued, rose-red light lent a sort of privacy to everything, but nevertheless to a stranger the sight was sufficiently astonishing.
A thing, too, that heightened my own interest and curiosity, was the daring displayed in so many of the girls' costumes, all the more remarkable when one took into consideration the fact that every girl was deficient of one or more limbs! I had had an instance of this daring in the skin-tight costume, to which I had already referred worn by the pretty legless girl in the dining room, and now I saw that it was by no means a solitary example. Facing me, for instance, a strikingly pretty one-legged girl lounged indolently in a corner of her couch, smoking a cigarette,while her boy, sitting sideways leaned intimately towards her. From her shoulders hung a filmy, silken wrap, which no doubt she gathered about her when walking, but which, at the moment, was flung wide open, revealing the intriguing fact that she was clad only in flesh-pink tights!
Accustomed as I was to my own one-legged form and the familiar sight of my stump in every variety of dress and undress yet this frank exposure, by the girl, of her slim leg and the short, very shapely stump just below the right hip, was, to me, unexpectedly startling. And that the revelation was not in the least distasteful to her boyfriend was also evident from the fact that,as he chatted with her, his hand lay lightly on the rounded stump, his fingers idly smoothing the taut silk over the soft flesh.
Equally frank and in its way even more startling, was the display of her charms by another lady close by. A very beautiful woman of about thirty, she lay quite happily and unashamedly in her partner's arms, lifting her lips to his every now and then intimate, clinging kisses. She wore a very low cut, close fitting frock of black ninon, the very short and clinging skirt of which was completely transparent. And through the latter, softly veiled by the merest film of silk, I could see the white very plump and perfectly rounded bulbs of twin stumps at her hips.
I could not, of course, be sure, but I imagined that the little stumps, save for the diaphanous covering afforded by the skirt, were quite bare, though possibly they were clad in the thinnest and most gossamer of nude silk 'stump socks'. But in any case, the lady's display of her leglessness could not have been more complete, and was, in its way, even more daring than if she had elected to appear only in tights.
Other costumes, of varying degrees of daring, I noted all about me, and meanwhile couples were arriving at intervals from the dining-room and other parts of the club affording one fresh insight into the manners and modes of this amazing rendezvous.
Two or three of several one-legged ladies, who entered with their partners, were, I noticed, stockingless, one wearing a heavy jeweled anklet round her bare ankle, and another wearing a gilded extremely high heeled sandal that left her pink, beautifully manicured toes bare . And all the frocks were of the briefest and skimpiest description, usually well above the knee, and in no case coming below it.
Two more legless girls were carried in the arms of their escorts— one of them being the girl in the skin-tight costume who had dined at the next table to ours — making already six completely legless women I had so far encountered. A little later one of the three armless girls, whom Clifford had mentioned as frequenting the club, entered, an unusually pretty girl of no more than seventeen or eighteen. It was strange in that odd assembly, to see her walking normally on two legs, which, by the way, were very well displayed, for she wore no skirts, only very short, close fitting satin knickers and fine meshed silk stockings.
The formation of her shoulders differed from that of the other armless ladies I had seen in the dining room, for she possessed very short, perfectly formed stumps, on each of which she wore a broad, flat bracelet of gold filigree. It was fascinating to see her throw off her little high heeled slippers as she sank into the couch beside her boy friend, select, with her bare, shapely toes, a chocolate from a box he held out, and convey it with the utmost ease to her mouth. And more than a little thrilling when, taking another chocolate, she placed it deftly in the boy's mouth, pressing the dainty white toes caressingly against his lips as she did so.
Then I had another and separate thrill, for there entered born tenderly in the arms of her escort, the beautiful armless and one-legged girl who had so intrigued me in the dining room. I followed her progress with eager eyes, and was immensely pleased when she was carried to a coach close by, where I was able to study her to my heart's content. I now saw her in detail for the first time, and I could only marvel at her wonderful body, so exquisitely proportioned and yet so startlingly incomplete.
At first sight her costume might have appeared, in the circumstances, very daring; but a moment's consideration made one only realize that it was really quite seemly, and eminently suited to her peculiar requirements. It consisted, in the first place, of a sort of tunic of the palest flesh-coloured silk, that just barely reached the hips, leaving the beautiful white swelling bust and perfect armless shoulders very fully exposed, and moulding, closely and smoothly, the small, rounded waist and curving hips.
From this tunic there emerged, on the ride side, the beautiful and only leg, fully revealed in silk tights, all of pale flesh colour. But on the left side nothing at all protruded, not even the merest stump; only when the girl, shortly after being settled among the cushions, raised her leg to use her toes, I could see, below the tunic, the pale silk of her tights smoothly molding the perfectly rounded off-end of the trunk of the left side. On the little foot, when not in use, she wore a soft, close-fitting, low-cut, silken slipper of the prevailing colour, made entirely without a heel.
In spite of everything, she was one of the gayest in the room, this little one-limbed beauty, her laughing ringing out at intervals and provoking responsive smiles from her neighbours, with whom she was obviously an immense favourite. That she was, too quite unexpectedly able to take care of herself, she revealed when, in a laughing struggle with her boy, who was too eager for kisses, she was able to hold him off with her leg and foot, and finally to administer a quite effective if playful, smack across the cheek with those skillful toes of hers.
She had lifted a cocktail to her lips, holding the glass daintily in her benigned toes, that were as slender and shapely and almost as long as the fingers of a small, delicately fashioned hand, and suddenly she raised the glass slightly and smiled gaily across at me.
With a flush of pleasure I lifted my glass and smiled back at her. She drained her glass and then with a characteristically impulsive gesture, she felt with her toes, for her little heelless slipper, which lay on the carpet, where she had thrown it off, and slipped her foot into it. Then raising, quite easily and unaided, she hoped swiftly and effortlessly towards our couch and stood smilingly down at us, perfectly poised on he slim, single leg and foot.
She exchanged greetings with Clifford, and then turned to me with charming friendliness.
"Do I intrude?" she asked laughingly.
"Not in the least," I replied, and hastened to make room for her on the couch. She sank down, with easy grace, beside me. Clifford watching us with smiling interest from the other corner.
"Only for a moment," she said in her quick, volatile way, "and then I must go. But I had to come and talk to you, my dear. Something in your face attracted me. What shall we call it — friendship at first sight, eh? But no matter. You are a stranger here, aren't you? And what do you think of the 'Moignon D'0r'?"
"Well.. it would be hard to put into words exactly what I do think." I replied laughingly. "It is all so strange, so utterly unusual, so amazing, so thrilling — "
She gave me a quick, quizzical glance, and then nodded gaily.
"Yes, isn't it?" she agreed, and then, with a little touch of charming pride, she added, "you don't often see such an extraordinary person as myself, for instance, do you? They must have had a fit of absent-mindedness when they made me, and forgot most of the parts. I'm hardly a person at all — just a fragment.
"But a very beautiful fragment," I said warmly, and it was delightful to see the pleasure my obviously sincere compliment gave her, shining in her eyes.
"And you, my dear," she responded, leaning towards me, while, with a little thrill, I felt the soft caress of her flexible, bare toes, smoothing an ankle affectionately. "You are very lovely yourself, and very charming, and I like you very much. My name is Clare, by the way."
"And mine, Sonia," I put in.
"Well, Sonia, dear," she went on, I must be going, delightful as it is to be with you. My boy will think I'm deserting him. So, for the present, good bye." And smilingly she held up her lips. My fingers closed caressingly round the beautiful, bare, armless shoulders, savouring the satiny smoothness of the soft, white skin, and pressing my lips to hers. I kissed her affectionately.
Then as she drew her lips away, with her face still close to mine, she spoke again, this time in a rapid whisper that was only just audible.
"I don't know whether you quite realize where you are," she said. "If you do, all right; nothing more to be said. If you don't, this is just a tiny word of warning. Don't say a word of this to anyone."
Then, brushing my cheek with her soft lips, she once again sought for her slipper with her toes and rising swiftly, smilingly took her leave from Clifford, hopped gaily and expertly back to her own couch.
For a moment or so, I could only stare in her direction, conscious of my utter surprise and consternation. Then, realising the necessity for immediate control, l was able to get myself in hand and to turn to Clifford with as unconcerned a smile on my lips as I could master. I thought, for just an uncertain second, that I caught a dark scowl in his face, but I wasn't at all sure as, whatever it was, it vanished like a flash and he presented to me the amiable, smiling face I knew so well.
"Made a hit with Clare, didn't you?" he remarked pleasantly. She's a charming girl, too."
He made no reference to Clare's rapid whisper, and I could not he sure whether he missed the little scene entirely, or, having noticed it, dismissed it as just a bit of whispered gossip between to girls, and therefore insignificant.
And that doubt left me in a quandary. Clare's whispered words had clearly conveyed a warning — but of what? And was Clifford included in the mysterious menace against which she had warned me? I did not know, though looking at him as he sat there smiling so openly at me I felt it somehow absurd to mistrust him, at any rate to the length of thinking he would bring me in actual danger.
What I did know, however, was that I had suddenly become very restless and ill at ease. I had a desperate desire to be speeding safely towards New York with the 'Moignon D'Or' far behind me.But still I kept my nonchalant pose, and puffed calmly at my cigarette as if I hadn't a care in the world.



User avatar

Topic Author
Bazil
Старожил
Posts: 512
Joined: 01 Sep 2017, 23:35
Reputation: 283
Sex: male
Has thanked: 698 times
Been thanked: 629 times
Russia

Re: London Life. Tales

Post: # 33210Unread post Bazil
16 Sep 2018, 14:53

V.
It was Clifford who made the next move. He stubbed his cigarette in the little gold ash-tray, and then turned to me.
"How about a little stroll about, Sonia?" he suggested. "You haven't really seen the club yet, and it's a most wonderful place. What do you say?"
I agreed eagerly. Anything was better than inaction at that I moment. Besides, it would be as well to get some idea of the club's interior plan, in case of anything untoward happening. Clare's eyes caught mine as we made our way to one of the many doors of the lounge, and we exchanged a swift, understanding glance, instantly masked by her with a gay smile of farewell.
We passed into one of the wide, spacious, richly carpeted corridors, which seemed to be a feature of this luxurious and nobly planned palace, and I at once got a vivid impression of how full of life the whole club was. Instead of being silent and more or less empty, as one would have expected, the corridor was like a busy thoroughfare. Couples proceeded leisurely on their way to various rooms... . Groups stood about laughing and gossiping... Pretty girls swinging gracefully along on neat crutches, sometimes together, but mainly with male escorts, promenaded up and down, their chatter punctuated by outthrusts of merriment... A charming legless girl, passing in the arms of her escort, was halted and gaily greeted by a couple of onelegged girl friends.
As we made our way slowly through the gay throng, I saw, approaching us an unusually high, very slender, and delicately built chair, cunning smoothly and soundlessly along on low, pneumatic-tyred wheels. The next moment I realised, with a thrill, that the chair's occupant was the beautiful limbless Marquise, whom Clifford had pointed out to me whilst at dinner, and that it was being gently propelled forward by her handsome white-haired husband.
As we drew abreast the old gentleman caught sight of Clifford, and halted with a smile of greeting. Clifford, who was apparently on quite friendly terms with the couple — as he was with most of the habitues — made the necessary introductions, and while he was, for the moment, monopolised by the old gentleman, I chatted agreeably with the Marquise undeniably thrilled by the event, in spite of my newly revived fears and my desire for escape. For, to see her thus in actual detail was certainly an amazing experience. To anyone unaware of the fact that such a women as she are occasionally born into the world, she must have appeared well-nigh incredible. Yet she rested smilingly and contentedly in her dainty, deep-cushioned chair, not merely very much alive, but an alluringly beautiful and attractive woman.
One pathetic little thing I noted brought a mist of sympathetic moisture, momentarily, in my eyes. From a short, close fitting necklace of tiny pearls, that spanned her beautiful throat, there hung a thin gold circlet — her wedding-ring! She could only wear it in some such way, and that moving little fact brought home to me, as much as anything, the devastating completeness of her lack of limbs.
For some minutes we all four chatted together, and then, with mutual expressions of regard, Clifford and I took our leave. The tall, slender chair, with its remarkable occupant, moved smoothly on its way, to be halted again almost immediately by a fresh group of friends.
We continued our interrupted stroll through the club, which certainly was a most wonderful place, the most comfortable of its kind I have ever encountered. We passed into a beautiful winter garden, a magnificent airy place, topped by a great crystal dome through which artificial sunlight poured in rich profusion.
Slender, towering palms and masses of exotic blooms were on every side. Dotting the marble floor were dainty little tables, at which couples consumed ices or delicious drinks in long cool glasses. The super-heated atmosphere, in conjunction with everything else, gave the complete illusion of tropical summer Somewhere behind bowers of roses, a hidden orchestra discoursed languid, dreamy music.
We drifted out again and were whirled to a floor above in a luxurious lift, in charge of a dainty girl attendant in a neat uniform of blue and gold tunic and silk tights. I noted, too, that in common with all other girl lift attendants, she had no crutch, but performed her duties in the lift quite expertly poised on her single leg, hopping out and in, when necessary, with an ease and grace that I myself could not better.
Arrived at the upper floor, we found ourselves in a completely equipped set of gaming salons, with central hall and smaller salons radiating from it. The rooms were crowded with both men and women, and here was evident very little of the gaiety that was so noticeable in other parts of the club. And as in the majority of gambling resorts, everything was subordinated to the serious business in hand.
Down again in a lift we shot swiftly and noiselessly this time to the basement. Here, in a great marble, brightly lit salon, occupying the whole length of the immense building, was a magnificent swimming bath, filled with warm, perfumed water, in which a laughing crowd of mixed bathers splashed out in noisy enjoyment.
A number of spectators of both sexes sat about on luxurious lounges, clad, like ourselves, in ordinary evening dress, but everybody else was in swimming costume, the ladies making a gorgeous display in hip-length, skin-tight, silk costumes of every variety of colour, with natty, close-fitting capas and dainty rubber slippers to match.
It was fascinating to watch the many slim, one-legged beauties moving skillfully about, each poised on a shapely single leg, diving and swimming expertly or standing talking to their friends, perfectly balanced on one tiny foot.
As we lingered in the pleasant and gay atmosphere, my misgivings, if not quite forgotten, at any rate dampened down. Then Clifford as agreeably as ever, suggested a move, and as we left, all my fears crowded back like so many demons. They were all the more potent for being so vague. I knew not what I feared, nor from what source of danger, if any, was to come.
We had used the swift, luxurious lifts, with their pretty one-legged attendants, many times during our tour; and now as we again entered one and shot noiselessly upwards, I had no particular qualms, apart from my general feeling of apprehension.Yet, though I did not know it, I was approaching a crisis, which was even then developing, as we made our way along yet another wide and luxurious corridor. It was, too, curious and somewhat ironical, that I myself provided Clifford with the excuse for which, as I realised later, he was at that particular moment, seeking.
VI.
We had been rambling about a good deal since leaving the Rose Lounge, and I was now beginning to feel the fatigue of swinging along for so long upon a single crutch. The corridor was quite deserted, as we were now upon one of the upper rooms, and I took the opportunity of a momentary rest. I paused, straightened up and, balancing myself on my foot, somewhat precariously, as the very slender heel of my slipper was nearly four inches high, slipped my crutch from beneath my arm, and so stood, for a short breathing space, glad of the welcome relief.
"You're tired, darling," said Clifford, with quick solicitousness. "I am a brute, for being so thoughtless. But we'll soon put that right."
He turned quickly to a door behind him and, opening it, switched on the electric light within the room. Then before I could offer any protest, he took my crutch and, picking me up in his arms, carried me into the room and deposited me gently on a soft, deep-cushioned couch. Placing my crutch in a specially made rack — ornate 'crutch-racks' were a feature of nearly all rooms — he sank down beside me and smiled at me in a manner that seemed almost paternal.
The room, I had noticed swiftly, was small and cosy, exquisitely furnished and softly lighted,r more like the dainty boudoir of a beautiful woman than anything else. But I had only given the room a passing glance, for I was at the moment more concerned with Clifford than with my own surroundings.
Incidentally — and this too, I am afraid, had its bearing upon that which followed — the fatigue of rambling about the club had resulted, as often happens when I get tired, in a dull, throbbing ache in my stump.
As I turned, with a smiling word of explanation, to Clifford, I was at once aware of that intent look of his, to which I had already referred, and upon his half-veiled gaze fixed upon my moving hand. Then, suddenly, an arm went about me drawing me to him.
"Poor darling," he murmured, his lips perilously close to mine. "Let me soothe away the pain." And I found my hand pushed gently aside by one of his, and the soft caress of his fingers.
How long I lay there I do not know, but eventually my reeling senses steadied. I came to myself and began to struggle desperately within Clifford's encircling arm.
"It's no use, Sonia," he said softly, yet with an intonation that chilled me. "You're mine, and you might as well realise the fact once and for all. You have played with me long enough, and I've stood it all like a good little boy. I've opened my mouth, shut my eyes, and swallowed the little sugar plums you tossed me now and then, and been properly grateful for your generosity. And you imagined all the time that sugar plums were quite adequate payment for all I had done for you. Didn't it ever occur to you that sugar plums are very poor nourishment for a grown man? If it didn't — well let me assure you of the fact."
"You — you brute!" I stammered, when at last I could think coherently.
"Brute!" he echoed, a cynical little smile twisting his lips. "Why brute? Surely, Sonia, you are not going to pose a little innocent at this time of the day? You haven't just come out of a convent, you know. You're a woman of the world, a famous variety star. There is not much about life or its temptations that you're ignorant of. You're surely not going to ask me to believe that you didn't fully realise exactly what you were doing?"
I could only stare at up him, the colour flooding my cheeks. Cruel as it was, his indictment was so eminently just. I had played with fire, and now I was crying out when the flames burnt my fingers.
"He laughed again in grim amusement, while I felt myself growing white. The real significance of Clare's whispered warning came to me in one devastating flash! A rendezvous, Clifford had called the 'Moignon D'Or' among other things, when giving me his roseate description of it in the dining room. Oh! yes, it was a rendezvous, all right, and one not even as normal as those of the usual type! I allowed myself to be led blithely into it without even guessing its real nature. What a blind fool I was! What a blind, childish fool!
"For just a second or so I feared that hysteria would get me in its grip, but I was able, with a mighty effort, to hold myself in check. Then I faced Clifford with, at any rate, an appearance of calm.
"Clifford," I said quietly, "this has gone far enough. You know only too well that, if I'd had the remotest notion of the kind of place this is, wild horses would never had dragged me here. Will you kindly take me back to New York at once — or am I to make a scene which I have no doubt would not he at all to the liking of the people who run this club?"
But my courage ebbed within me, even while I was speaking. for Clifford, nonchalantly taking out a cigarette, regarded me with open amusement, as he tapped the little cylinder on the flat gold case.
"Go ahead, Sonia, dear," he said mockingly. "Make a row. I assure you nobody will take the slightest notice of you."
Panic surged through me then. "Clifford," I cried. "Don't be so utterly absurd. You know I can't stay here. You can't keep me here against my will." And I half rose, with the idea of hopping, as well as I could on my little high-heeled slipper, across the room to the crutch-rack, snatching my crutch, and so attempting to escape. But Clifford stood over me and gently, yet quite firmly, pushed me back again amongst my cushions.
"Look here, Sonia," he said and the amusement had died out of his eyes, "you might as well realise, once and for all, exactly how matters stand. I'm mad about you, have been ever since I first set eyes on you. And you've known that all the time. You've led me on, played with me, taken everything I had to offer, and given me in return — sugar plums! Well, a woman can get away with that sort of thing for a time, but not all the time — at any rate not with me. I thought it time to call a halt".
"Now, listen, Sonia, and believe me, what I'm telling you is gospel. You got into the 'Moignon D'Or' mighty easily — but you'll find it very hard to get out. I have a little pull with the management, and if I want you to stay — well, you stay. No, you won't be locked in a room of anything so silly or crude as that. You'll have the full run of the club, grounds and all — but you won't be able even to bribe your way out until I say the word.
"It will be of no use appealing to any women here, not even to your new-found friend Clare, who no doubt gave you a little bit of advice when she whispered into your ear — oh yes, I noticed that. You'll find they can do nothing, or, what is more to point, I will be very unwilling to do anything."
"What utter, ridiculous nonsense!" I was able to fling at him, though my lip quivered and cold fear was in my heart.
"Very well," said Clifford, suavely, "it's all ridiculous nonsense as you say; but try to get away, and see what success you have. Think for a moment. Nobody in New York knows you are here. Nobody in New York or anywhere else, for that matter, is worrying in the slightest about you. You've finished your theatrical engagements in New York, and are now supposed to be holidaying somewhere or another. Even after your holiday, you are not returning to New York, but going to Chicago, so who's going to trouble about you? Who's going to the police to report you missing?"
"My maid," I cried, snatching at just that straw of hope.
"Your maid was engaged by you simply for your New York season. She was discharged some hours ago, shortly after we arrived here, in fact. She was paid in full, with a handsome monetary present in addition. Your hotel bill has been paid too, and all your clothes and belongings were collected and conveyed here. This room, by the way, is part of your own suite here, that door over there leads into your bedroom."
I did not doubt him. It was obviously only to terribly true. I could only stare at him, white-faced and wide-eyed.
"Now, Sonia, darling," he went on imperturbably, "it's up to you. You can, if you like, make your stay here a pleasant holiday, after which you will be perfectly free to go on to Chicago and fulfill your engagements there, or" — he spread his hands and shrugged his shoulders — "well, I hardly like to picture the alternative. But you won't care to stay here indefinitely, would you?
Just one word more. I don't want to rush you into this. I want to give you plenty of time to make up your mind. As it happens, I have to go away at once, and will he away over the week-end— So you'll have all the time I'm away to think the matter over and come to a wise decision. After all, bear in mind, if you are reasonable, not a single hair of your dear little head will come to harm. I'm only madly in love with you — and I want some return. Good night, and — au revoir."
"With a little bow, he turned, crossed lightly to the door, and was gone.
VII.
How to describe my thoughts and emotions after the extraordinary interview? I don't think I will ever fully recall what I felt during those first few moments after Clifford's departure. My body was numb, my mind blank. But gradually I came to myself and while my fears still overwhelmed me, I set myself to face the situation. Surely there was some way out of the labyrinth in which I had so needlessly allowed myself to be trapped! I could not actually be kept a prisoner in a club — even a club of so peculiar and secret a nature as that of the 'Moignon D'Or'! I kicked off my slipper, and hopping swiftly across the room, secured my crutch from the rack, then resuming my slipper, I paid a hurried visit to the bedroom — a beautiful room, daintily appointed. So far Clifford had told the truth, for all my things were there as he had said.
I passed through the sitting room again, and was relieved to find that the door was unlocked as I had feared it might be. Within a few minutes, I had reached the main floor, still full of life and jollity, as I had left it, and with breaking heart, I swung into the Rose Lounge and looked about me. With a sudden thrill I espied Clare curled up on a big couch in a far corner of the lounge and, miraculously, alone!
A waitress had just placed a cocktail on the little table at the side of the couch and was daintily lifting the fragile glass on those marvelous toes of hers, flexing her shapely leg as one would an arm, when she caught sight of me and beckoned me with uplifted glass.
"So you're got rid of your satyr, for the moment," she said in low, even tones as I sat down besides her. "How did you manage it?"
In a few words, I explained all that had happened, all my unhappiness, all my fears. Then leaned forward ingenuously.
"Oh, Clare!, I breathed, "can you help me in any way? What can I do?"
To my utter surprise and consternation, a look of uneasy embarrassment came over her expressive face and, with a little helpless shrug of her pretty armless shoulders, she looked away.
Then, as I was still in the throes of my bitter disappointment, she turned to me again, still with that half-sulky look on her face, and began to talk in low tones.
"Don't take the slightest notice of how I'm looking," I heard her say. "But listen to me carefully. We can't talk here. It is quite certain we are being watched, as Dalroy would expect you to come to me. That's why I'm acting like this."
In my sudden relief, despite my desperate straits, I very nearly spoiled everything by laughing . Clare's acting was so lifelike. To all appearances she was telling me she could do nothing to help, that I had made my bed and had better lump it.
"Listen!" she went on. "Heaven knows whether I shall be able to help you or not, but I'm willing to do all I can, especially against that beast Clifford Dalroy. Did you notice the number of your suite, by the way?"
"No. 105," I replied promptly, glad that I had noted the number when I left.
"Well, that's one thing to the good, anyway," she said.
"You're on my floor. My suite is 110. To-night, about midnight, slip over to my room and we'll talk things over. We may find a way, though you might just as well realise at once it's going to be pretty difficult. And that must be all for the moment. Don't hang round. Just get up, looking pretty sorry for yourself, and slink off."
She sank back, the sulky look still on her face, and I rose and slunk off as she had commanded. But in my heart was flowering a new bud of hope. Clare was a brick, a real, staunch pal, and it was something to have found a friend in this queer, warped world into which I had inadvertently strayed.
It was shortly after midnight that I softly opened Clare's door and slipped into her sitting room. All was silent and deserted in the corridor, though sounds of revelry ascended from below. I had, for comfort's sake, removed my frock and slipped on a dainty peignoir over my silk tights, replacing my high heeled slipper with one of my soft, heel-less slippers of flesh-coloured silk.
I found Clare deep in the recesses of a big comfortable couch, before a cosy fire. She, too, was wrapped in a filmy, clinging peignoir, and from her toes dangled a tiny, fluffy boudoir slipper, which she kicked off at my entrance, offering the tiny little foot for a welcoming "handshake". The shapely leg and foot, I noted, were bare, and I could not help marveling afresh I at the exquisite perfection of their modeling and the soft, smooth whiteness of the satiny skin.
"Everything O.K.?" she asked as I sank down beside her and helped myself to a cigarette at her invitation. "Nobody see you?
"Not a soul," I replied. "The corridor was quite empty."
"Good! Well, now, Sonia, my child. I've been thinking about this little trouble, and so far — well, there's no use blinking the fact that you're up against it."
"But surely, Clare, I can,t be kept here indefinitely against my will! You — you girls are not prisoners, are you?"
"Good heavens, no! A good many of us live here permanently, others use the place as club and rendezvous; but, of course, we are all free to come and go as we please. The girls here are recruited from all part of the world, and you couldn't keep such a crowd behind locked doors, even if you wanted to, without a most unholy row developing. But, believe me, if Dalroy wants to keep a stranger like you here, he can do so quite easily."
"But, the management!"
Dalroy is the management! He's the power behind the throne, though that's not generally known. That's where his money comes from. And, Sonia, it'g hard to have to say it, but you can't expect help — that is open help — from the girls, not even from me. This place is our life. We can't afford to give its secrets away. And we'd be surely barred if we were suspected of playing false. It's all rotten — but there it is."
"I see," I said dully. "And I quite understand, Clare. I think it fine of you to do what you are doing, under the circumstances. You are running a risk for a perfect stranger, and I'm very, very grateful."
"That's all right, dear," said Clare, her eyes suspiciously bright. "Any of the girls would do as much . But the problems remains to be solved. It's quite obvious you won't be able to get away openly. You'll have to be smuggled out in some way, and the question is, how?"
She reached out mechanically for the big, silver cigarettebox that lay open on a small Moorish table on the couch, a thoughtful frown wrinkling her pretty brow and, choosing a cigarette expertly with her long, slender toes, tapped it slowly on the table top. The filmy peignoir clung to her only very precariously and, as she raised her leg to put the cigarette in her mouth, I had a frank glimpse of the nude beauties of her of her unique figure, the perfectly moulded, armless shoulders, the firm rounded breasts, and the smooth unblemished contour of the rounded off end of the trunk on the left side, that revealed not the slightest trace not even of a stump. Anxious and worn as I was, I could not help feeling once again the strange fascination that this wonderful, onelimbed beauty was able to exercise.
Clare, however, brought me back to the business in hand by suddenly addressing me again.
"Sonia, dear," she said, "push that bell over there, will you, please? I've just thought of Lotus. She's a good sport and would do anything for anybody in the world. We might be able to think out something between us if we can get hold of her.
Obediently I leant across and pressed the little bell-push by the side of the fireplace. Within a few minutes there entered a very pretty maid in neat black silk, with a spotlessly white cap and natty little frilled apron, a slim black crutch beneath her arm, and her very brief skirt revealing the inevitable single black silk-clad leg.
"Maisie," said Clare, in her friendly tone, "do you know whether Miss Fare all about at all? Has she been upstairs recently?"
"I think she's in her room," the maid replied amiably. "If she's there shall I send her along?"
"Do, please, Maisie, and ever so many thanks."
The maid retired and after another brief interval the door again opened, and girl came in whom I immediately recognised. She was the girl who, it may be remembered, had attracted my attention in the Rose Lounge by the fact that she was clad — except for her evening wrap — only in silk tights . She now swung in with slow, lazy grace, upon a single crutch, a cigarette between her lips, and with her disengaged hand, holding a lacy negligee loosely about her. "Hello, Clare, my child, and what is all the trouble?" she
began, when she caught sight of me and, halting, looked from one to the other of us.
"Lotus, darling," began Clare at once, "sit down and put your thinking cap on, if you brought such a thing with you. There's work to be done, and something rather worse than a crossword puzzle to solve. This is Miss Sonia Merrill, whom you may have noticed earlier in the evening."
Lotus nodded cheerfully. She had in the meantime put her crutch in the rack and dropped into a big comfortable chair by the fire, facing us.
"Yes, I noticed you, Miss Merrill," she said in her easy way, "to be quite candid, I wondered who was the latest charmer that devil Dalroy had got hold of!"
Briefly Clare outlined the situation, and at the closer we all three sat in silence, free to face with what still appeared to be an utterly insoluble problem.
Now, it so happened that when Lotus sank into her chair, her thin negligee had slipped apart, and as she now lay back lazily in the chair's comfortable depths, her shapely figurer still clad only in the 'union' suit of flesh-pink silk tights, was very fully displayed, and as she puffed thoughtfully at her cigarette, with her eyes fixed on vacancy, her rounded stump, just below the right hip, seemed never to remain still, but kept up an irregular, restless movement — a frequent habit with one-legged people — in a manner that naturally drew attention to it. I watched it for some time, and then, absent-mindedly, pulled aside my peignoir, exposed my own shapely stump encased in thin, skin tight silk, and began comparing it with Lotus's. There wasn't much to choose between them. Mine was, perhaps, slightly shorter and rather more plump.
I was engaged in this abstract and rather odd occupation, when I became aware that Clare was watching me with a little amused smile on her lips. I came out of my daydream with a start, and smiled a trifle confusedly at Clare, as I slid the soft silk of the peignoir over my stump again. Clare was going to make some little joking comments, when suddenly some turn of her thoughts drove the amusement out of her face, leaving it tense. She looked across at Lotus and then again at me, and the her face lit up.
"Gee!" she breathed, "I wonder if we could do it?" Lotus drew her head down with a snap, and I watched Clare in sudden excitement.
"What's the big idea, Clare?" asked Lotus.
"It's quite good," said Clare," and d — d risky; but — well, listen."
"We listened, with gradually growing amazement, to the scheme outlined with much eager excitement, by Clare, and then, at the conclusion, looked at each other expectantly.
"It's a brain wave, Clare!" cried Lotus, now completely aroused from her usual easy nonchalance. "The only things is, can we pull it off? Anyhow you can reckon on me to do my damnedest.
And the beauty of it is that if we do bring it off, Dalroy won't get within miles how it was done."
We fell at once to discussing details, and within a short time we had the whole scheme cut and dried. The parting, when at last Lotus and I rose to go, was a little tearful, though we strove to look as gay as we could, for none of us knew whether success or disaster awaited us, and part of the plot was that I, for one, l was not to be seen with either of the others until the curtain was about to be rung down on the last act. However, we kissed affectionately and with many fervent good wishes for the success of our project, slipped off to our respective rooms to await the morning and the staging of the first act of the drama.
VIII.
The next day I felt sure was one of the longest I have ever experienced. Nothing was due to happen till the evening, though certain preparatory matters to be seen to before then. Lotus left the club shortly after breakfast, in accordance with her pact in the plot, and my only contact with Clare was confined to a curt, aggrieved little nod of recognition, which Clare received with a shrug of indifference.
At last the leaden hours crept by, and the longed-for hours of action arrived. I went down to dinner in a perfect agony of apprehension and, choosing a little table in remote corner, made a valiant attempt to eat the food I ordered.
The beautiful room gradually filled with the usual couples, the girls either swinging easily along on their crutches or being carried in in the arms of their partners. And at last, with a swift intake of breath, I saw the party for which I was waiting, descending the wide marble staircase.
It consisted of three — Clare, clad in her very becoming costume of tunic and tights, this time of delicate gold tissue; Bobby, her boy-friend, who, of course, was carrying her in his arms; and another boy, a very handsome youth, with sleek, black hair and a short clipped moustache who, curiously enough, had himself only one leg, and swung along on a pair of slender black crutches. This last fact, however, did not make him as conspicuous as might be imagined, as there were several one-legged male habitues of the club. Both the boys were, of course, in immaculate evening dress.
The party took a table not very far from mine, but, of course, made no sign of friendliness towards me. I waited for just a decent interval, and then, rising unhurriedly, left the dining room. entering one or the lifts, I gained my own floor above and, to my great relief, found the corridor deserted, I hurried along, and after a swift glance about me, sped past my own room and entered that of Lotus. And here I made myself at home and waited.
Once again I had to undergo the ordeal of sitting quiet and doing nothing. The thing could not be hurried; the whole affair had to look natural. Then at last the door of the sitting room softly opened, and in came — the one-legged boy.
He closed the door quietly after him, swung into the room, and then, throwing his crutches aside, sank into a chair and began to laugh softly, yet with intense glee.
"End of the first act, Sonia," he said, "and everything going splendidly." Then, in two swift movements, he pulled his little moustache and stripped off his black wig, disclosing the laughing face of — Lotus.
"Old Clare ought to he a movie director," she said, still enjoying the joke. "Fancy this little plot occurring to her when she noticed that not only had we two lost the right leg, but that our stumps were about the same size! But we're not out of the wood yet. We'd better get on with it."
Swiftly she began to strip, flinging the various garments at me, as she pulled them off. I had already thrown off my frock, leaving myself only in my silk tights, and as Lotus discarded each garment I hastily donned it. The whole outfit had been borrowed from Bobby, Clare's boy, in whose flat Lotus had changed, and was an excellent fit for me, as it had been for Lotus, the right trouser-leg had been looped up to provide a sort of pocket which fitted my stump snugly and neatly.
I was fully dressed at last, and then added the last touches by pulling on the dark, sleek wig over my closely shingled curls, and attaching the little clipped moustache to my upper lip. Lotus, standing effortlessly poised, in her slim silk tights, looked me over and declared me a perfect boy. She quickly slipped into evening frock and slipper, caught up my crutch, which of course, I now had to discard, and declared herself ready. I picked up the pair of crutches she had brought and adjusted them.
Then together we started off to face the next ordeal that confronted us, doing our best to hide the sick excitement that beat in our respective breasts.
We soon reached the Rose Lounge, where it had been decided we should all meet, and there in a corner we found Clare and Bobby occupying one of the cosy, high-backed couches . Nobody took more than a passing interest in us . So far everything had gone absolutely according to plan. All that had happened, getting a had any outsider been interested in the various moves of the game, was that the handsome one-legged newcomer had gone up to Lotus's room for her and brought her down with him.
That little piece of bluff had succeeded admirably, but the final test remained, and as we all four sat together, getting a little Dutch courage from the cocktails Bobby had ordered, we could really think of little else. We had, too, to allow a decent interval to elapse before we made the final move, so that not the slightest suspicion might arise. So we sat there, apparently a merry, care-free quartette, our strained nerves in reality on the very edge of complete collapse.
At last Bobby shot out his wrist and looked at his wristwatch.
"Jerusalem, Clare," he exclaimed. "just look at the time, will you? Derek, my son, — I was 'Derek', by the way — "we'll have to step on the gas if we are to make that appointment.
Sorry, Clare, darling, I'll probably be along to-morrow night."
"That's all right, old dear," said Clare evenly. Then with a little bust of that sly humour of hers, she added, "Bring Derek along with you again, if he cares to come."
"Sure," said Bobby; and the general laugh relieved all our feelings to some extent.
The good-byes were said, Clare slipped her soft little foot into my hand and drew me towards her, her eyes misty.
"Good-bye, — 'Derek'," she said softly. "And good luck. You may kiss me like a good boy."
I bent down and kissed her warmly on the lips, whispering my grateful thanks as I did so . Then I kissed Lotus with, I hope, properly loverly passion.
And so at last Bobby and I left the Rose Lounge and made our way, with beating hearts, to the great main doors, through which I had come with such happy and innocent anticipation only twentyfour hours ago.
We reached the doors. The gigantic negro attendant, in his resplendent livery, smiled and bowed as he pocketed our generous tips. Obviously he had not the slightest idea that Bobby's goodlooking one-legged companion was not the same individual he had admitted only a short time before.
The doors opened. We passed through, still, as it were, with bated breath into the darkness beyond. The doors closed behind us. Within a few minutes I was sitting beside Bobby, in his big limousine, speeding down the long, winding drive.
One more river still to cross! The two negro guardians at the gate came forward as we slowed up, and while bidding us good night and gratefully accepting our tips, eyed us both keenly. they fell back, however, with a parting salute. We had passed the last test, and the big iron gates swung open. Then, as we slid through and, turning, sped down the road, something snapped within me and I fell in a dead faint against Bobby's shoulder.
So I left the 'Moignon D'Or'!
* * *
There is very little more to tell. One of Lotus's tasks that morning had been to smuggle several of my frocks, hats, slippers etc., out of the club, and these she had taken to Bobby's flat.
It was to Bobby's flat we now drove, and there I thankfully assumed my own garments again, and after some needed refreshment was escorted by Bobby to a neighbouring hotel.
A few days later I engineered the return of my trunks and all my belongings, by the simple expedient by writing boldly to Clifford Dalroy — who, by the way, never discovered the method of my escape — and threatening complete exposure if a single thing was retained. These was however the merest bluff on my part, as I dared not carry out my threat, dearly as I would liked to do so.
In the first place, there was my loyalty to Clare and Lotus to think of; and in the second, there was Tony, who I fervently prayed would never learn of my worse than imbecilic escapade. So Dalroy went Scot free, as far as I was concerned, though it is gratifying to be able to record that Nemesis overtook him some time later, when he met his death in the hands of one of his many victims.
Clare, Lotus, Bobby and I had a very joyful, if secret reunion just before I left New York for Chicago, and I was overjoyed to hear, a few month later, that Bobby had found his love big and fine enough to enable him to scorn the conventions and marry the fascinating, armless and one-legged beauty. The wedding was, naturally, one of the red-hot sensations of New York Society. As for me, I found my darling Tony waiting for me in Chicago, as penitent as I was for myself, and my ecstasy may be imagined when I found myself safe in the haven of his dear arms.
So that was the fortunate ending of that particular adventure, one of the strangest in which I have ever been involved. But strange experiences have been my lot of life, and perhaps I may permitted to relate some of the most extraordinary of them in these pages during the coming year.
________________________________________
London Life August 4, 1928 pp. 18-23, 30-31 July 31, 1937 pp. 38-42, 5l-53, 58



User avatar

Topic Author
Bazil
Старожил
Posts: 512
Joined: 01 Sep 2017, 23:35
Reputation: 283
Sex: male
Has thanked: 698 times
Been thanked: 629 times
Russia

Re: London Life. Tales

Post: # 33211Unread post Bazil
16 Sep 2018, 14:54

London Life
London Life | 1928
________________________________________
The Fascination Of The One-Legged Girl
Strange Stories of the Lure of the Limbless
by Wallace Stort
Foreword
There is no question of doubt that, both in real life and fiction, people who have been so unfortunate as to lose their limbs, and yet become heroes and heroines despite their misfortunes, have excited the sympathy and admiration of all classes of the community.
There was never in the annals of our island's glorious story a hero so beloved as one-armed, one-eyed Nelson; or in fiction a character so admired by boys, both old and young, as Captain Hook, the one-armed pirate in Peter Pan. Who has ever read Stevenson's "Treasure Island" or beheld its stage version, with the late Arthur Bourchier playing John Silver? Who has failed to realise the strange fascination and awe that Long John Silver, the one-legged smooth spoken, murderous old pirate exercised over Jim Hawkins and Captain Flint's villainous crew of buccaneers?
Captain Cuttle is one of Dickens' most lovable characters, and the craft of the novelist induced him to portray the old retired master mariner as being deficient of his left hand, which was replaced by a serviceable iron hook fastened to the stump.
To-day we have a one-armed cricketer making centuries to the admiration and applause of all lovers of the game.
Sarah Bernhardt, the greatest actress of our generation, it will be remembered, had the misfortune to lose her leg after she had passed the allotted span. Yet she went on bravely acting, impervious of her loss, and won even more admiration from the lovers of the histrionic art through her wonderful impersonations and agility.
Love Idyll of Armless Girl.
Look a the sympathy that has recently been evinced for Mary Armstrong, a frail but sunny-faced cripple girl, who recently gave the Horncastle magistrates one of the queerest domestic problems a Bench has been asked to solve. She was born with only one arm, but a 20 year old farm labourer, named Percy Johnson, has fallen deeply in love with her and wants to marry her.
They put up the banns at Horncastle, but Percy's father saw the Vicar and forbade the marriage, as his son was not of age, and a girl with one arm was unsuited to be a working man's wife.
Percy then took advantage of the recently revised law, and asked the magistrates for permission to marry. He assured them that he was eager to make the girl his wife, so that he could stand by her in case anything happened to her father, who is seriously ill.
Mary Armstrong was called, and said that though she had only one arm, she did every bit of the housework at home, and she was sure she could make Johnson comfortable and be a good wife to him.
The Chairman! Do you love him? — Yes, I have loved him from first seeing him.
Enough to wait for him? — Yes.
The Chairman (to Percy Johnson): Do you care enough for the girl to wait for her? — Yes, I do.
The Bench then decided the boy and girl must wait until May, when they could get married.
It would be easy to multiply romances like the above. Our correspondence columns contains numerous instances even stranger than the one we have quoted above, but space forbids us to further intrude upon Mr. Wallace Stort's striking article.
One-legged Heroines
There have recently appeared in these columns (writes Mr. Stort) a number of short stories and articles, featuring pretty one-legged heroines, or dealing with "Limbless Beauties," and in connection with them, one thing must have struck the observant reader. This was the fact that, in spite of extraordinary handicaps, none of these ladies seemed to lack admirers, all apparently possessing some strange attraction of their own.
No doubt many readers questioned this aspect of the case, being quite convinced that no sane person could find a crippled girl attractive. Yes, strange as it may seem, it is an undoubted and well-attested fact that pretty girls, lacking one or more limbs, do exercise a queer, inexplicable fascination for certain types of men.
Unexplained Mysteries of Nature
Human nature remains to-day as mysterious and unknown a quantity as ever, and not all the learning and skill of philosophers and scientists have been able to plumb completely its profound depths. Even its normal workings contain many puzzles for the ordinary man. Why does such-and-such a man choose for his mate such-and-such a woman — and vice-versa? The onlooker simply cannot account for certain preferences of this kind. To him (or her) the individual chosen seems utterly lacking in attraction or charm.
Some men like big, stout women, others prefer tiny, fairylike creatures. Some gentlemen prefer blondes; quite a number brunettes.
Then certain minor defects have been considered adjuncts to beauty from the beginning of time. The absolutely perfect profile is not always attractive. The tip-tilted nose may be such more fascinating than a beautifully chiseled Roman appendage. A slight cast in the eyes of a beautiful girl lends a certain attractive piquancy to her glance; and a slight lisp has also its particular fascination.
The Cause of Strange Preferences
Coming to more abnormal preferences, we enter the field of what is technically known to the psychologists as "Fetishism." In simple and non-technical language, "Fetishism" may be defined as a sort of overmastering obsession, on the part of a lover, for some particular quality, or object, possessed by the beloved. It is a condition that has long been recognised by psychologists and psycho-therapists, and a great deal of space has been devoted to it in the work of Havelock Ellis, Kraft-Ebbeing and other famous authorities of this kind.
There are many known forms of "Fetishism" which are quite familiar to readers of "London Life," though they may not heretofore have recognised them as such. The man obsessed by the craze for seeing women in abnormally high-heeled slippers is a fetishist; so is the man who is attracted by freakishly tiny waists, or very long hair of a certain colour, or who craves to see a woman heavenly and expensively bejewelled.
Of the actual working of this strange form of "Fetishism," innumerable examples could be given. One case that came within my own experience is interesting. An intimate friend of mine and myself were some years ago invited to a dinner party at which the guests were mainly young people. We were rather late, and dinner had already started when we arrived. There were a number of pretty girls at the table; but one in particular, an extremely pretty and vivacious girl of about 22, attracted my friend at once, and they were soon laughing and talking with each other across the table.
Towards the end of the meal, the younger people got rather noisy and out of hand; and one of them, a pretty little flapper, began to tease the girl I have mentioned, throwing little pellets of bread at her, and the like. The girl laughingly threatened the flapper with all sorts of dire punishments, but the latter still carried on her bombardment.
Hop, Kick and jump.
At last the girl jumped up suddenly, and, amid the cheers of the party, made off after the flapper, but to my astonishment and that of my friend, we saw the girl was actually hopping after the flapper, and as she came fully into view it was at once obvious that only one leg, in a well fitting silk stocking, was revealed below her skirts, held well above the knee as she hopped. She had, too, kicked off her slipper before starting off after her tormentor, and was hopping on her stockinged foot.
Love at First Sight.
I turned with a laugh to my friend, and was astonished at the sudden change in him. He had gone quite white, and was watching the girl with a queer, excited look in his eyes.
I said nothing at the time, but it was significant that he was with the girl all the evening, and eventually escorted her home. They were married within a year — the local papers, by the way, making rather a splash of the wedding of a "Pretty One-Legged Bride" — and it was from his own lips that I learned later that from a youth he had been strongly attracted by one-legged girls, but until that evening had never actually made the acquaintance of one.
One curious little sequel may be worth recording. My friend always retained a most vivid and, to him, highly pleasurable memory of seeing the girl, who was to be his wife, hopping round the table after the flapper, and to this day he likes to see his wife hopping about the flat without crutches. So much so, that nowadays she usually discards her crutches in the house and hops gaily about with an ease an expertness that to a stranger must always appear quite an astonishing feat.
Perhaps I need hardly add that this charming and vivacious little lady is the original of the heroines that have already appeared in my stories in "London Life."
Admired Though Limbless.
An obvious case of this type of attraction was revealed only a short time ago in a letter contributed to the correspondence columns of "London Life" by a pretty one-legged girl who, it will be recalled, stated that, in spite of the fact that she was one-legged, she never lacked for admirers, and had, in fact, already been engaged twice. She put her success down to the fact that she was pretty and dressed attractively; but there is no doubt that she attracted a certain type of boy who found a curious fascination in her onelegged condition, and I am quite willing to wager that the man she marries will eventually confess to the possession of this peculiar "kink."
Strange Matrimonial Advertisements.
Though it may seem incredible, there have actually appeared matrimonial advertisements inserted by individuals seeking wives lacking one or more limbs! Quite a number of advertisements of this type have appeared in German papers, the advertisers being mostly desirous of meeting girls with only one leg; but in one case, at least, an armless woman was specified, and in another it was bluntly stated that the advertiser wished to meet a lady "who has lost both legs by amputation, of fair complexion and big built, not under 40, homely and pleasant rather than pretty. Adviser would prefer the lady to be completely without legs, thighs, or movable stumps." This advertiser explained his queer preference, by the way, by the fact, that his wife, who had recently died, had been quite legless, and he wanted someone to take her place
Within my own experience there have appeared at least two advertisements of a similar type in English publications. The first appeared about 1906 in a weekly periodical, now defunct, and which, for a time, ran a matrimonial column. The actual wording of this advertisement, as far as I can recall it, was as follows:
"A gentleman, 21, of independent means, would like to meet, with a view to matrimony, a young lady of about 19 or 20, pretty, fond of dress, a devotee of tight-lacing and high heels, and with only one leg, the other having been amputated, preferably at the thigh. Write, enclosing a photo and giving particulars of amputation, to — "
The other advertisement appeared in a publication entirely devoted to matrimonial advertisements as recently as 1920. It ran something like this:
"Gentleman, in good position, good-looking, attractive, would like to correspond, with a view to matrimony, a young lady lacking a limb or otherwise crippled".
In this same publication there also appeared an advertisement from a lady "whom the surgeons knife has deprived of lower limbs," and who wished to correspond with "a sympathetic member of the opposite s*ex who may, or may not be, similarly handicapped."
And from time to time there appeared several advertisements from gentlemen wishing to make the acquaintance of lame girls!
Extraordinary Marriage.
Readers of the recent articles in "London Life" on "Limbless Beauties" will have noted that quite a number of these ladies were married — Madame Gabrielle, the legless "halflady," has been married twice, by the way — a fact which goes to prove that certain types of men found them attractive. One of the cases cited, that of "Princess Anetta," the armless and legless girl who was actually stolen from the show where she was on exhibition, and married by her ardent admirer, is a remarkable instance of this peculiar "fetish". And another extraordinary example is that of Mdlle. Defries, the beautiful armless and one-legged girl, with whom a wealthy Greek, who saw her on exhibition, fell in love at sight and married amid great public ceremonial. One astonishing theory, too, about all these limbless ladies, on exhibition all over the world, is that they are the recipients of letters from numerous admirers, and proposals and marriage sent through the post quite common;
Love Letters to the Limbless.
A remarkable example of the power of this attraction came to light in the American papers of 1915 or 1916. A beauty contest was being run in one of the Southern States, and it was discovered that one of the competitors was a very beautiful girl, quite without legs, both having been lost in a street accident when a child.
She did not win one of the big prizes, as perfection of figure as well as of face was being taken into account; but a special price was awarded to her. As a result of the publicity, she received shoals of letters of congratulation, and many proposals of marriage. She eventually married one of her correspondents, and, according to the published account, was carried in full bridal attire to the altar by her father, and carried from the church, after the ceremony, in the arms of her newly-wed husband. One of the photographs taken after the ceremony showed the bride, a very radiant and beautiful girl, lying in the arms of her husband, and revealed quite clearly that she was entirely without legs, as the thin, filmy silk of her skirts hung quite slack and empty from her hips.
Pity is Akin to Love.
A somewhat similar case occurred in the North of England a few years ago. Among the victims of a bad railway smash was a girl whose injuries resulted in the amputation of both her legs at the thigh. She was the recipient of many letters of sympathy from total strangers, and a friendship developed with one of her correspondents that ultimately led to marriage.
One rather incredible aspect of this strange subject is that this fetish, in common with a large number of others, is actually catered for in certain quarters, though I must confess I have no personal experience of this.
In various continental cities, and in South America, notably in Buenos Aires and Rio de Janeiro, there exist agencies of a certain type, through which clients are introduced to suitable members of the opposite s*ex. the usual procedure is for the client to make his choice from sets of photographs amounting in all to several hundreds, one set being devoted to women lacking one or more limbs.
The majority of these women are, or course, one-legged, though one or two examples of armless or legless women have been encountered; and even, in one case at least, a young girl entirely without limbs; The informant to whom I am indebted for these facts also told me that at once, in a certain night haunt in Buenos Aires, he encountered a very attractive and voluptuous Spanish woman, sitting drinking at one of the tables. After an introduction and a chat, he asked her to dance and, we a little amused laugh she simply picked up the skirt of her thin crepe de chine frock and let it fall slackly over her knees, thus revealing the startling fact that she was quite legless from the hips; He learnt that the woman was a well known habitue of the place, and had her admirers just like any other woman.
Fetishism of any kind, including this particular form of it, is, by the way, much more common in men than in women, some psychologists being the opinion that it is extremely rare in women. But one form of it, though not, of course, a true form, does exist — namely, the keen desire in a woman to gratify the fetish or craving in the man.
Thus woman will take a keen delight in wearing abnormally high heels, or in extremely tight-lacing, in order to gratify these cravings in a lover. And, of course, as every girl knows, she very often takes a delight in these things for their own sake. In exactly the same way, strange as it may seem, cases are in record in which women have come to regard their lack of limbs with a perverse pleasure, and even pride; Often this arises, somewhat naturally, because of the admiration of the man who has fallen in love with their incomplete charms. They press themselves under his administration, and so come to regard their deficiency as something at least novel and interesting.
This curious pride, or whatever it is, is most frequently observed, however, in women born without one or more limbs, and who are exhibited as freaks before the public; and, in a way, it has merciful dispensation. In many cases they look upon themselves as unique human beings, especially if they are pretty and their forms, except for the absence of limbs, are built on pleasing lines.
A pretty armless girl, on exhibition in America, when asked if she did not miss her arms, replied characteristically:
"Why should I miss them? I never had them, and my feet and toes do everything I ask them. I guess, anyway, arms ain't anything to worry about. Here and there you should see a good looking pair, but mostly they don't amount to much; and they sure would spoil my shoulders if I had them!"
The girl in question had a perfect pair of shoulders, revealing no trace of arms and without a blemish of any kind, and surgeons and artists have commented upon their wonderful symmetry. She was therefore quite unashamedly proud of her armless shoulders, and really enjoyed exhibiting her deficiency and showing how cleverly she could do without such useless and unornamental appendages as mere arms.
At least one case is on record of a pretty girl undergoing voluntary and complete amputation of a crippled leg, as she preferred to have one pretty and shapely leg to two, and one of which was unsightly. The case attracted public notice because of an attack made on the surgeon who amputated the limb, and he defended his action as not only humane, but necessary, as the girl's health had improved enormously since her recovery from the operation.
"There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed on in your philosophy, Horatio," wrote Shakespeare, and the immortal words are as true to-day as when the great dramatist penned them, three hundred years ago.
________________________________________
London Life October 27, 1928 p. l8 — 19



User avatar

Topic Author
Bazil
Старожил
Posts: 512
Joined: 01 Sep 2017, 23:35
Reputation: 283
Sex: male
Has thanked: 698 times
Been thanked: 629 times
Russia

Re: London Life. Tales

Post: # 33212Unread post Bazil
16 Sep 2018, 14:57

London Life
London Life | 1928
________________________________________
Dr. Nicholas
Being The Further Adventures Of "La Belle Monopede"
by Wallace Stort
I.
"La Belle Monopede," the far-famed one-legged dancer, had been out of England for nearly three years, touring first the Continent and then Australia and South Africa, and, to my great joy, was now once again back on the stage of the dear old Imperial. The appearance of my slim figure in its costume of filmy silk tights seemed as unique and surprising an event as ever, and I was gratified to find my little efforts to please received with such friendly and enthusiastic applause. I had reached the last week of my season at the theatre, and it was on the Friday night that, at the end of my first dance, I became aware of very noticeable applause coming from one of the large boxes on the left of the stage. I glanced swiftly across as I bowed to the general acclaim, and with a little thrill of pleasure I saw against the background of the other applauding occupants of the box the lovely, laughing face of Lady Moira Pomeroy.
She waved vivaciously across to me as my eyes caught hers, and as I made my exit, hopping swiftly and effortlessly to the wings, I blew, in return, a little laughing kiss of greeting.
I don't think there is very much need, at this time of day, to introduce Lady Moira Pomeroy to anybody at all familiar with smart society. The newspapers have made her name, her beauty and her doings famous — one had almost written notorious — wherever newspapers are read. Favoured with extraordinary beauty, youth, and high spirits, she could always be counted upon to lead the brighter elements of the smartest set in the latest and most novel escapade. Her fads of to-day become the fashions of tomorrow. She hunted, swam, raced, danced, wrote a little, painted a little, flew her own plane, had starred in the movies and on the stage — in fact, she had done everything worth, or not worth, doing.
Even as Lady Moira Trent, before her marriage a few years ago, at the age of twenty-three, to the Hon. Ronald Pomeroy, the heir of the Earl of Dyneham, she had startled society with the number and variety of her pranks. And then had come, a few months after her twenty-first birthday, catastrophe, or what was generally regarded as such by a sympathetic public. Some mysterious malady developed in her right leg, which persisted in spite of every effort. A famous surgeon was called in, and finally the limb was amputated within a few inches of the hip.
That was the finish of poor Lady Moira Trent, was society's pitying verdict. But society reckoned without Lady Moira! Such a little thing as the loss of a leg, be it ever so dainty and shapely, wasn't going to ruin her young life! No sooner had she made her remarkably quick recovery than she proceeded to make her beautiful, one-legged figure, the best known and most conspicuous in town. It became immediately evident that the loss of a leg had made not the slightest difference to her outlook on life and, in fact, instead of trying to conceal her deficiency, she positively delighted in making the most flamboyant display of it.
She habitually wore the briefest and most daring frocks; and — always a devotee of high heels — she was now able, daintily balanced on the slimmest and most delicately fashioned of crutches, to wear on her single foot, fragile slippers, slender, stiltlike heels of an almost incredible height, six inches being, for her, quite normal. Photographs of her in all kinds of daring dress and undress were weekly features of the fashionable illustrated journals, and the society paragraphists were kept as busy as ever chronicling the bewildering variety and amazing originality of her doings.
Finally she brought off what was regarded by her young admirers as her cleverest and most spectacular coup. She became engaged to the most eligible and handsomest bachelor in London — the Hon. Ronald Pomeroy, — who fell desperately in love with her, and within a few months they were married.
As with every other vicissitude of life, marriage made not the slightest difference to Lady Moira Pomeroy, as she now was, and she continued her spectacular career as gaily as ever. And it was shortly after her marriage that I had become acquainted with her, following one of my periodic "seasons" at the Imperial. We became very friendly, especially as we shared a common handicap, and then I had started out on my world tour and had not seen her again until the moment I have described, just after the first dance that evening.
Such, then, was Lady Moira Pomeroy. I have purposely dilated upon her, as her character and outlook have a very important bearing upon the strange story I have to tell. And her attitude throughout may, perhaps, be found rather more creditable if some attempt is made to understand her.
And so to come to the first of the many shocks I was to receive during my renewal of friendly relations with that beautiful, enigmatic, wayward, yet always amazingly attractive personality.
As I had expected, when I reached my dressing-room to change for my next dance, my maid handed me a note from Lady Moira, asking me to join her party in her box after my performance. When at last the curtain was rung down on my final dance I hurried to my dressing-room and, waiting only to remove my make-up, I threw a filmy wrap over my silk tights and, snatching up a crutch, made my way round to Moira's box.
There were two other ladies besides the hostess, and three gentlemen in the box. Ronald, Moira's husband, I knew, of course, also Bruce Fanshawe and one of the ladies. The third man, whose age I charged to be about thirty, tall, dark, very distinguished looking, with the clean-cut features of an actor, I did not know; but I at once got a definite impression that he was a personage of some kind with a distinct and curiously compelling personality. He was introduced to me as Dr. Somebody — I didn't quite catch the name, though later I was to know it only too well; but I smiled amiably enough as he bowed ceremoniously, in un-English fashion, over my outstretched fingers. When Moira, who occupied a chair in the front of the box, drew me down into the vacated chair at her side and kissed me in the warm, impulsive way that was so characteristic of her. As my act had immediately preceded the somewhat lengthy interval, the curtain was now down, and we were able to chatter in comfort.
"Well, Sonia, darling," she began, "and so really have decided to honour poor old England once again with your presence! What ages you have been away — " Then suddenly her face changed, and she looked at me with wide, startled eyes. "Why, my child," she went on rapidly, "what on earth is the matter?"
There was ample reason for Moira's sudden, alarmed question. For I was sitting staring at her as if turned to stone. For the moment the shock I had received threatened to overwhelm me, so utterly unexpected had it been.
I had not observed Moira fully until she swung round on her chair to gossip with me, and it was then that I saw the thing that had so completely unnerved me. Originally, the first thing one noted about Moira, even before her exquisite beauty, was the single, slim, shapely, silk-clad leg that was always so fully displayed by her very brief frocks. And now, unless my eyes were playing me extraordinary tricks, the leg — well, it simply wasn't there!
Moira's frock was as usual, of the most daring description. It was cut to the lowest possible point in front, and behind was almost completely backless. The top, what there was of it, was of shimmery black satin, fitting almost skin-tight, and from it the beautiful white bust, shoulders and arms emerged in complete and exquisite nudity. Below the waist, the little wisp of skirt was of very delicate and priceless clinging black lace and, I should say at a venture, would normally have reached scarcely to the knee.
Now, as Moira sat, it swelled gently in a smooth, rounded curve just below the hips, and a few inches of it lay emptily on the chair seat, falling just short of the edge of the latter, and leaving it quite clear that she had lost both legs.
Swayed by sudden emotion, I bent forward, taking Moira's hand in mine. "Moira, darling," I stammered, your leg! What a terrible thing! I didn't know. When — when did it happen?"
Moira, who since her first alarmed question had been holding a cigarette in an abnormally long, jewelled holder, poised between dainty fingers, while she regarded me in a sort of puzzled wonder, now inhaled a long puff of smoke, and then laughed in relieved and genuine amusement.
"Sonia, my dear," she exclaimed in those flute-like tones of hers, "you frightened the life out of me! For the moment I thought you had gone dippy. And you mean to say you didn't know? Why, I thought everybody did. You see what happens when you go off dancing into the blue. It's the oldest stale news now. I've been a legless woman for over two years. It rather suits me, what do you think?"
"But Moira," I persisted, a little shocked, in spite of my knowledge of her, at her quite unassumed levity in what, for anybody else, would have been unutterably poignant circumstances. "It's splendidly plucky of you to take it a little that; but it must have been a terrible experience. I can hardly take it in the full significance of it now. It seems incredible that you should actually be completely legless."
"You're a darling, Sonia," she said softly, "to be so genuinely concerned about me. But, honestly, dearest, You don't understand me a little bit. I suppose I ought to shed tears over my unhappy lot, but honest to goodness, I can't, and I don't want to. I was born happy-go-lucky and devil-may-care, and I shall be so to the end. I managed, as you know, to get a devil of a lot of fun out of being one-legged, and I'm getting just as much out of being legless. I've so used to it now that leglessness seems quite a natural state. In fact, I've almost forgotten what it was like to be one-legged; while as for my two-legged days — well, they seem to go back to the ark. Gospel, my dear, I assure you."
I had to laugh. I couldn't help it. Moira's astonishing vivacity and high spirits chased gloom as naturally as the sunshine dispelled the snow.
"That's right," Moira babbled delightedly. "Dry your tears, darling, and don't ever let me see such things again. Heavens! I had expected you, when at last we met again, to go into raptures over what has been described as my 'charming leglessness'. See the daily Press society columns — and you actually cry over me. Shocking bad form! And now, dear heart, run away and fling on your things. We only came to see your show. Ronald and I are only just back from Paris, otherwise we should, of course, have shown up on your first night. We are all going on to the 'Silver Slipper' for a morsel of food and, of course, you'll join us. We'll wait for you here."
I hurried away. My feelings, as may be imagined, were rather mixed. But I was certainly now happier than I was sad. After all, if Fate had decreed that Lady Moira was to be legless, it was surely just as well that she was able to escape the blow in her dauntless, gallant way so entirely characteristic of her. That soothed me and helped me to take a very much less tragic view of the matter . Besides I had now begun to be conscious of the subtle fascination which her present condition was able to exercise, a fascination which, it may be remembered by readers who have so far followed my adventures, was so potently wielded by the many limbless beauties I had encountered in that amazing club, the "Moignon D'Or."
II.
I was back again in the box within a very few minutes, clad in a filmy evening gown almost as daring as Moira's, my little foot in a dainty slipper with a four inch heel, and a slender, beautifully fashioned crutch under my right arm.
The party was now ready to move and, despite my new feelings, I could not wholly suppress a little poignant thrill as I saw Ronald place an exquisite long-fringed shawl about Moira's shoulders, and then take her up tenderly in his arms, pressing a little surreptitious kiss upon her uplifted lips as he did so. It was quite evident, at any rate, that his wife's leglessness had not affected in any way his devotion and love.
We divided into two parties outside the theatre, and went off to London' s latest smart night club in two cars. Moira, Ronald and myself in Ronald's big Rolls-Royce limousine, and the others in my own car, which was, of course, waiting by the stage-door to pick me up.
I sank luxuriously back on the cushions, Moira on my right and Ronald facing us with his back to the chauffeur. And as we moved off, I had a sudden half-aroused thought that, had a stranger caught a glimpse of us at that moment in the car's softly lighted interior, he must have gasped in sheer astonishment. Myself, with just a single, shapely leg, very fully revealed below my very brief frock; Moira, just a beautiful halfwoman, daintily poised at my side, nothing at all showing below the cushions on which she lounged; and Ronald looking as if there was nothing in the least extraordinary riding with two beautiful women with but a single leg between them!
However, Moira engaged my attention with her pleasant chatter. "Moira, darling," I said," you never told me — how did it happen? Your leg, I mean. Was it an accident?"
Moira shot a quick little sidelong glance at me, and I had the curious feeling that for just a split second the smile had suddenly died out of her beautiful eyes. But I felt I must have been mistaken, for when she faced me fully she was just as gay and debonair as ever.
"Oh, that," she said, with a humorous little grimace. "No, it wasn't an accident. To tell you the real truth, dear heart, it wasn't altogether unexpected. Did you ever hear how I lost my right leg — that is, the first one to take its departure?"
"Some trouble — I never heard quite what — developed in the limb, wasn't it?"
"Yes. It appears I must have got hold of a germ, or something of the sort, when I was a kiddy. Anyhow, some early mischief started the trouble, which later developed in my right leg. Everything possible was done, but without success, and at last it became obvious that the only thing that remained was amputation. Well, there it was. A blow, my child, but one can always come up smiling. Now, as it happens, I had recently been reading of the remarkable work being done in Paris by the very big gun in the surgical world — a certain Dr. Nicholas, who was not only a clever surgeon in the ordinary way, but also a wonderful plastic surgeon as well. When he performed an amputation, especially on a beautiful woman — among whom, by the way, his chief practice lay — he did not just lop off a limb and leave it at that. He was too great an artist for such a thing. His ideal was to leave his patient's body as beautiful as he found it, working on it, so to speak, as a sculptor would fashion the pliant clay into a thing of loveliness.
"Here was the man for my money, I thought, and he was at once communicated with. Well, Dr. Nicholas came. He was perfectly charming and perfectly understanding. He examined me, and agreed that amputation within four or five inches of the hip-joint was imperative. The next day the operation took place, and it was entirely successful, not only from the surgical standpoint, but also from mine, or when at last I was able to judge his handiwork, I found that by some miracle of skin-grafting and fleshbuilding he had left me a stump about 5 inches long from the hip, not only a plump perfect oval, but absolutely without scar or blemish, the flesh soft and satin smooth, as beautiful as any other part of my body."
Moira paused and drew expectantly on the cigarette, one of which, in its long, slender holder, was hardly ever out of her fingers, and then went on with her story as vivaciously as if she were telling me some interesting item of gossip. Ronald looked on quietly, a little smile half tender, half sad, on his lips.
"So far, so good — or so bad, as the case may be," Moira continued. "But there was something else in store. Fate had not yet finished with me. During his examination, as he later revealed to me just before he left for Paris, Dr. Nicholas had discovered the beginnings of the malady in my remaining leg. He assured me the danger was exceedingly remote, and prescribed certain treatment for me. But I knew, that sooner or later, I was going to provide him with another little artistic success. I warned poor darling Ronald, by the way, when we became engaged,that in all probability he would have a legless wonder for his wife, but it didn't make a bit of difference to him, bless his great big heart! However, just over two years ago, Dr. Nicholas came again. He performed his miracle a second time, leaving me with a stump at my left hip the exact twin in size and perfect contour, of that of my right, just as firm-fleshed, smooth-skinned and embellished — Voila!"
"Yes," she continued, "Dr. Nicholas is certainly a great man, even though he looks just a little too like one to be quite true. did that strike you about him, Sonia?"
"Then that was Dr. Nicholas to whom I was introduced in the box at the theatre?" I asked quickly, not altogether surprised at the revelation. "But how do you mean, 'too like a great man to be quite true?'"
"I really shouldn't have said that, my child," said Moira, a little more soberly. "Trying to be clever is my besetting sin. so; all that I actually meant was that — well, he looks the great surgeon to the life, doesn't he? More like you get them in the movies or on the stage than they are in real life."
I nodded comprehendingly. That was exactly how Dr. Nicholas did strike one. And yet here was something else in him than just that — something compelling, hypnotic, and certainly decidedly enigmatic.
"Is he now living in London?" I asked.
"Oh, no. He is in London, as usual, on a big case, and I persuaded him to stay for a little while longer. Which reminds me, darling, we are having a little country house party at Greensheaves next week, and, of course, you are coming. Can you manage it?"
"After Saturday night," I said, "I shall be free for a few weeks, when I start out again on my next world tour."
"Splendid! Then you can make a nice long stay. It will be lovely to have you, darling."
"And — Dr. Nicholas — is he to be one of the party?"
Once again I caught that little sidelong glance of hers, but whether it held any significance or not, I was once again not certain.
"Oh, yes," she replied, quite steadily. "I am really having the house party to ask a few friends to meet him. He is really charming, isn't he, Ronald?"
Then Ronald made one of his few contributions to the conversation.
"Oh, yes," he cried, with his slow, pleasant smile, "he's charming all right; damned agreeable. I'm told he lops off a limb with the most charming air in the world."
We both laughed, I in somewhat surprised appreciation of the unexpected bite in Ronald's little quip, and then, for the moment, we drove on in silence. I lay back cosily, idly thinking of all that Moira had told me, and speculating on my coming meeting with the famous and intriguing doctor, fortunately unaware of the depths to which that encounter was to lead. That there was nothing in the least sinister behind Moira's very warm invitation I was never in the least doubt, though certainly she played her own strange part in the grim drama that was so soon to be staged at Greensheaves. But, thank God, she had no hand in the grave peril that came to me through that fateful invitation "to meet Dr. Nicholas."
III.
As our visit to the 'Silver Slipper' was of the most uneventful description, and, in any case, has little bearing on this story, I shall not delay upon it, but get on to more pertinent matters. The only thing of any note I have record in connection with it is that, on better acquaintance with Dr. Nicholas, I was not sure that I liked him altogether. He was quite charming, certainly very handsome, and was, in fact, rather noticeably attentive to myself. But something which I could not for the life of me define, held me aloof. The feeling was purely instinctive, and I had to let it go at that.
However, I arrived at Greensheaves shortly after ten on Sunday, after a pleasant run down in my big Hispano-Suiza, and was received by Ronald, in the absence of Moira, who, as I was not at all surprised to hear, was still in her room. She had left orders, however, that I was to be taken up to her as soon as I arrived. I delayed only to change from my traveling clothes into a filmy frock and to freshen myself up a little, and then went up to Moira's room.
I found her ensconced among the silken pillows of her gorgeous Chinese lacquer bed, like a queen upon her throne, the pink and ivory of her lovely body gleaming softly through the filmy transparency of her sleeveless black and gold pyjamas.
A lacquer tray, containing the delicate porcelain impedimenta of an already eaten breakfast, lay on a small beautifully fashioned table in gold, Chinese filigree, at the side of the bed. The inevitable cigarette, in its long jewelled holder, was held between slim fingers, and on the bed were scattered newspapers and magazines in riotous profusion.
Moira welcomed me warmly, pulling me down beside her for an affectionate kiss. Then she reached for a big cigarette-box in hammered gold, and offered me a cigarette, sinking lazily back on her pillows again. I remained perched on the bed facing her.
"Well, now the revels, such as they are, may begin," she said, a trifle cryptically, I thought, until she went on. "For, with your arrival, the party is complete. Dr. Nicholas just beat you by getting here last night. By the way, was it really fancy on my part, or were you — shall we say? — just a little bit scared of the doctor at the 'Silver Slipper' on Friday night?"
I stared at Moira in complete surprise, marvelling at the quickness of her perception. I had been quite sure I had given no hint of my feelings towards the doctor, but Moira had diagnosed them at a single glance.
"I don't remember being scared, exactly," I said defensively. "what made you think that?"
"Oh! it doesn't matter, dear heart, "said Moira lightly. "probably it was just my fancy — and certainly the doctor was not at all fearsome in his attentions to you. Only, I just thought — Do you believe in intuition, Sonia?"
"I think I do, rather," I said, still a little bit at sea.
"Why?"
"I certainly do," she went on, "and anyone I instinctively distrust, I keep at arm's length. It's a safe plan, and I recommend it to you if ever the need arises."
Then, with apparent and complete inconsequence she sat up and, with a sweep of the hand, flung aside the delicate, lace fringed bed-clothes.
"Here I am lazing the whole morning away," she cried, "and a glorious sun is bidding me up and doing. We'll have the devoted Annette in." And drawing to her the electric bell cord that hung above her pillows, she pressed the little ivory button.
But I was just a little thoughtful. What exactly had been behind Moira's remarks? Was she warning me off her preserves? Had she resented the doctor's attentions to me, and had got me up in her bedroom to give me the most delicate of hints? Or was she actually warning me against the doctor?
Knowing Moira as I did, I felt that the first theory was quite untenable. Yet why should she warn me, even in such vague terms, against the doctor? The puzzle intrigued me; but in the circumstances, I had to leave it for the moment.
Meanwhile, Moira was sitting upright like some beautiful, hip-length carved goddess that had been lifted from its pedestal and deposited there; and, now that the veiling bed-clothes had been flung aside, I could not be unconscious of the display of her charms.
"Darling, I think you look perfect," I said, quite sincerely — and I hope my readers will understand. Everything is relative, and I trust it will be obvious that in the special circumstances I am describing, matters were not altogether on a normal plane. "Certainly Dr. Nicholas has lived up to his great reputation," I went on. "For even in maiming you, he has left you as beautiful as he found you.
A little flicker of delight danced in Moira's eyes, no doubt at the obviously genuine nature of my appreciation, and, hugging me to her, she kissed me warmly.
"So you are really beginning to think that leglessness does suit me after all?" she said whimsically.
"Well," I said, "if I can't go quite so far, I can at least admire your really wonderful courage."
"Oh, as to that," she said lightly — and it was only much later that the full significance of her words was brought home to me --"it isn't altogether courage. Please, darling, do not credit me with too many of the virtues."
At that moment there came a light knock on the door, and in response to Moira's cheery "Come in," there entered a very pretty, neatly attired maid.
"Annette," said Moira," I think it is about time we rose, what you say?"
"Yes, my lady," said the maid, with a smile. "I prepared the bath when you rang, my lady."
"Excellent! I'm quite ready."
Annette bent down and gathered her mistress tenderly in her arms; and though the moment had a sudden poignancy for me, Moira was unconcerned, and waved to me cheerfully as I stood up and adjusted my crutch.
"I shall be with you very shortly," she said turning in the maid's arms as she was being carried to the dressing-room. Then, with a little mischievous grin, she added, "Go and be nice to Dr. Nicholas — unless of course, Tina is with him, when I don't think you need bother."
As I made way down to the spacious hall I puzzled over the inner meaning of Moira's cryptic little remark. Who was "Tina," and what had she do to with Dr. Nicholas? But when I had passed through the hall and reached the long verandah that overlooked the broad lawns at the rear of the house, l was able to make a shrewd guess at the solution of the little mystery.
From the verandah, a shallow flight of very broad, stone steps let to a beautiful sweep of green park-land, dotted here and there with great shady trees. Over to the left was a miniature lake with a pretty summer house, in the form of a Swiss chalet, on its shores; and to the right a couple of tennis courts had been laid down, surrounded by pretty flowered borders. One of the courts, I noted, was occupied by a quartet, which included the two beautiful twins, partnered respectively by Bruce Fanshawe and Ronald.
Directly facing the verandah was a fine stretch of open lawn, and this was strewn with deck-chairs, cane and wicker furniture, great gaudily striped sunshades — in fact, all the paraphernalia usually found on a sunny lawn in summer. Various guests, masculine and feminine, some of them known to me, others strangers, basked in the hot sun, with cooling drinks at their elbows, one or two summoning up sufficient energy, every know and then, to applaud a particularly good rally on the tennis court.
And coming slowly across the pack, from the direction of the summer house, was Dr. Nicholas, in a well-cut, tightly fitting suit of light gray flannel, chatting amiably with a very pretty girl who, as she gossiped, looked up at him every now and then, with every appearance of delighted interest.
So this, I took, was Tina, whom Moira must have taken it for granted I knew, but whom I never met before. I could see she was quite charming, just arriving at her twenties, an unusually pretty, shingled blonde. Her daintily slim figure was attractively gowned in a fashionable straight frock of shimmering, Peachcoloured crepe de chine, with a skirt that, even in these days of short frocks, was startlingly brief. Hers, however, was certainly a case in which more than usual brevity was perfectly justified; for her legs, so daintily displayed, were the prettiest and shapeliest I had ever encountered. And her small feet, in beautifully fitting, low-cut slippers, with astonishingly high, slender heels, were exquisitely dainty.
The greatest effect was enhanced by a striking splash of colour provided by a magnificent long-fringed shawl in vivid vari-coloured silk that was flung with careless grace about her shoulders. As she came swinging gracefully along at Dr. Nicholas's side I thought she looked the loveliest thing, and I was not at all surprised that the doctor had apparently fallen a victim to her charms.
I did not leave the verandah and join the others on the lawn below but sat in the grateful shade and watched with growing interest the doctor and his lovely companion as they gradually came nearer. A little to the left of the general group of people on the lawn was a somewhat isolated, gaudily coloured sunshade, beneath which were a garden table and a number of deep comfortable and inviting wicker chairs. It was for these that the pair was making, and at last they reached them and, choosing a couple of chairs, sank gracefully into them.
They were now comparatively near me; though, engrossed as they were with one another, they were unconscious of my presence on the verandah. Not that I could overhear anything they said, nor had I any wish to do so -— I was simply interested in them as a mere spectator, and was thus idly whiling away the time until Moira joined me again.
The doctor's arm, I noticed, stole almost mechanically round Tina's shoulders as they talked, and I could see his fingers smoothing the silk of the shawl over them in a gentle, caressing manner. And then I saw a thing that, by its very unexpectedness, sent a thrill pulsing through me, and immediately quickened my interest in something definitely personal.
Tina was still talking animatedly to the doctor and, responding half instinctively to his caressing touch, she slid of her right slipper and began to smooth her companion's ankle with the unslippered foot. But it was not just this intimate little caress that thrilled me; in common with many other girl, I have often employed it myself. It was the startling fact that the silk stocking encasing her dainty foot was delicately "mittened" at the toe, so that, as I could plainly see from where I sat, the slender white toes were quite bare!
IV.
I had just made this fascinating discovery when a little bubble of well-known laughter behind me made me turn, and I found Annette standing by my chair, with Moira lying in lazy comfort in her arms.
"Moira!" I said excitedly. "You didn't tell about Tina — that is Tina I suppose?" I added, indicating the doctor's companion. "Why didn't you tell me about her?"
"What a tremendous fuss," laughed Moira. "I thought you had met Tina Romney, darling — I thought everybody had! I forgot you've been away in the wilds so long. However, we can very soon remedy that."
She sent a musical call over he intervening space, and Dr. Nicholas looked up. Immediately he was on his feet, with a friendly wave of the hand. Then, after a brief word with Tina, he hurried across to us. In smiling unconcern, as if he were quite accustomed to performing the service, he took Moira from the arms of the maid, who then retired, and we all three joined Tina beneath the big sunshade, the doctor placing Moira in a chair with a tender care that was almost loverly.
Moira's costume, by the way, would surely have made everyone who did not know her well gasp with astonishment. She had changed, certainly but only from one set of pyjamas to another. This set was beautifully supple, gorgeously flowered, printed chiffon, that clung to her lovely body with revealing grace; and from the little very brief trouserette there emerged the twin stumps, just as frankly as they had in the bedroom. She had, however, made one concession to the conventions, for the stumps were now no longer bare, but were clad in smooth-fitting fleshcoloured silk.
"Tina," Moira said when we were all settled, "I thought you knew Sonia — Miss Merrill; but I find I was wrong. And you certainly ought to know each other."
"Of course, I knew Miss Merrill by sight," returned Tina with a charming smile. "I've seen your wonderful act more than once," she went on, turning to me. Do — do you mind accepting my — my foot? I'm — I'm afraid I am unable to shake hands."
With quite astonishing flexibility, she lifted the little unslippered foot, as she made her attractively halting apology, and I took it in my hands, savouring its smooth, delicate texture, I saw how beautifully fashioned were the long, slender, bare toes, the little nails like tiny shells of corals, the whole foot as dainty and well cared for as the delicate hand of a fastidious and fashionable beauty.
Beneath the filmy stocking I caught the glint of a thin, gold anklet, and on one of the toes gleamed a tiny, but costly jewelled ring. The stocking was beautifully "mittened," with a delicate lace edging where the toes appeared, and between the toes were slender strands of silk, so that each toe emerged from its own particular slot. The effect of this was that the stocking foot at this point fitted with neat perfection, and could not ride up in any circumstances, while the little lace slots formed a dainty setting for the slim bare toes.
I released the little foot at last with a gentle squeeze, and Tina returned it expertly to her slipper. Then Moira, who was sitting next to me, leant towards her. "Tina will persist in hiding her charms," she said, with a little mischievous smile. "Why do you do it, my child?" And with a swift movement she slid the shawl from Tina's shoulders.
Of course, I had expected the revelation, ever since seeing Tina caress the doctor's ankle with those pretty toes or her; but nevertheless there was a real thrill in the sudden exposure of her lovely shoulders, so entirely without arms, and yet, in themselves, so perfect and shapely. Tina's frock was quite sleeveless and the armholes were filled simply with the bare, smoothly rounded ends of the shoulders, which protruded only very slightly and revealed not the slightest trace of arms. No blemish or irregularity of line marred their exquisite symmetry. It was as if some great sculptor, having in a moment of temporary aberration, forgotten the arms, but devoted his genius to making the shoulders as perfect as possible.
Tina flushed adorably beneath our scrutiny; but, almost unconsciously, she preened herself before us, and it seemed quite obvious that she was not at all insensible to the fascination of her own unique charms.
"You know, Tina," said Moira, and despite the fantastic nature of her words, there was something oddly sincere in her tones, "your shoulders are the most lovely things, in their way. After all, arms are the merest commonplace; everybody has them, and not one pair in a thousand is worth looking at. But your shoulders — they are unique. Actually arms would spoil them!"
We all laughed at Moira's comical earnestness. Of course, she was to be expected to go further than anybody else in her worship of the unusual in beauty. But, to my surprise, I saw the doctor nod portentously two or three times, as if in agreement with Moira's fantastic contention. But he said nothing, and then the conversation became general.
In just the same important way the doctor took out his gold cigarette-case and handed it round. It was quite fascinating to watch Tina select her cigarette with her flexible toes and convey it expertly to her lips, removing it any now and then, when she had inhaled, just as naturally as if she were using a hand. And with a little secret smile I noted that in the mean time her left foot was also unslippered, and that the pretty bare toes again fondled the doctor's ankle. It seemed clear to me that the little armless beauty had fallen a very willing victim to the handsome doctor's very obvious attractions, and that he himself was not at all indifferent to her attentions.
But, at the same time he wasn't quite indifferent to myself either. I discovered him looking at me every now and then, obviously trying to catch my eye; and when, despite myself, our glances met, his lips would curl in a little friendly smile that I had perforce to return. Then, during a lull in the conversation, he turned directly to me.
"Would I seem very impertinent, Miss Merrill," he said, "if, as a medical man, I were to inquire how exactly you lost your leg?"
"Not at all, doctor," I said, inwardly taken by surprise by the direct question, "though candidly, the details are not very clear in my mind. You see, I was only seven at the time of the actual amputation. A fall from a garden swing was, I think, the actual beginning of the trouble."
"H'm!" murmured the doctor, with what I thought quite unnecessary portentousness. "A fall — yes, anything might come from a fall. . . dangerous things... Never to know to what mischief they lead. Might I — might I, purely in a professional capacity, of course — might I be permitted to see the stump, Miss Merrill?"
I am, as readers who have so far followed my adventures well know, not in the least sensitive about displaying my stump — in fact, while on stage it is always in evidence. But something, at that juncture, made me hesitate for just the fraction of a second. Then I realised that my intuitive distrust of the doctor was leading me to absurd lengths, so without more ado I allowed him to make the examination.
"Of course time has been a wonderful plastic surgeon in your case, Miss Merrill," he said when he concluded his inspection. "You see, the scar has practically disappeared. Time has been very kind to you."
"Tell me, Miss Merrill," he continued, leaning forward, "and please don't be in the least alarmed — it is merely professional curiosity on my part — but are there any other effects of childhood's fall of yours?" No hurt or pain elsewhere?"
I shook my head.
"Oh, no," I said, "at least nothing that I have ever been aware of."
"You use your remaining leg a great deal," he went on. "Much more, of course, than the ordinary one-legged woman. Never felt any trouble there?"
"No," I replied, wondering a little at his persistence. "A little fatigue, of course, very frequently, but no actual pain or anything of that sort."
The doctor nodded gravely again.
"Excellent!" he murmured. "I was just — well, curious. But — oh, excellent, quite excellent!
In some curious way, the murmured words left me with a vague sense of uneasiness; then I happened to glance across at Moira, and was more definitely disturbed by what I saw. For she was gazing at Dr. Nicholas; and on her face, usually so vivacious, was now a look that seemed curiously compounded of anger and fear. And then she caught my glance, and whatever had clouded her face lifted instantly, and she was apparently quite her old self again.
"Enough of this — this consulting-room ghoulishness," she cried gaily. "Dr. Nicholas, I forbid you to turn my lawns into a surgery. I think it high time we joined my other guests. Besides, it must be nearly lunch time. Doctor, dear, will you very kindly lend me those big, strong arms of yours, and carry me over? Come along, darling, we're getting too morbid for words!"
And so our quiet little conference broke up, and forming a sort of procession with Moira, in the doctor's arms, in the rear, we crossed leisurely to the other members of the party.
#
V.
During the pleasant, sunlit days that followed, the curiously mixed impressions that I had taken away from that odd little conference became gradually blurred. I suppose I was at first afraid of some vague something that I could not define. The doctor's curious interest in me, Moira's very uncharacteristic moment of angry fear — if that was what I had surmised on her face — had both left me disturbed and apprehensive. But these emotions gradually faded, and, if not quite forgotten, were, at any rate, hidden in the background of my mind.
Meanwhile, I was kept continually amused by the relations between the doctor, Moira and Tina. Moira, I knew, was really attached to her husband, who was extremely fond of her. But both were of very happy-go-lucky disposition, and neither minded in the least if the other indulged in a mild flirtation with some body else. Ronald was at the time deep in a little affair with one of the pretty Lane twins, and Moira seemed quite fascinated by the doctor.
He divided his favours with seeming impartiality between Moira and Tina, though I felt that the relations between himself and the pretty armless girl were much stronger than the very light ties that bound him to the hostess. The affair had, however, its extremely odd aspects, for there was a very handsome, very distinguished young man, to whom any pretty, normally formed girl would have willingly lost her heart, apparently quite content to pay court to two beautiful girls, one of whom was quite legless and the other was completely armless!
It was remarkable, however, and not unamusing, how, though the trio were frequently seen together, the doctor managed for the most part to pair off with only one at the time -— Moira one evening, and Tina another. Moira's affair was radically different from that of Tina, for while she flirted slightly with the doctor there could be no doubt that the charming armless beauty was head over heels in love with him.
I hope it will not be thought that, in all this, I was playing the eavesdropper, or that Moira left me too much to my own devices. There was nothing at all covert about anybody's doings at Greensheaves, which was in every way liberty hall, and the little flirtations I have described took place quite openly only a few yards from where I sat, or even, when I was a member of the party, in my presence. Besides, I did not lack cavaliers of my own, one or two being almost embarrassing in the assiduity of their attentions. But this is not the story of my flirtations, though those of Moira and Tina certainly have their very important place in the drama.
And that drama was even now moving inevitably to its first crisis. I had been now at Greensheaves three days, and it was on the Tuesday evening that there fell the first of the unexpected blows that were gradually to reduce me to despair and very nearly ended in complete disaster.
After dinner on that particular evening the doctor had gone into the park, this time with both Moira and Tina, and I had taken the opportunity to slip away to the writing-room to write a letter. I had covered several sheets with my spidery scrawl, when the door opened softly and, to my surprise and annoyance, Dr. Nicholas came in, closing the door quietly after him.
"I come as ambassador to their highnesses Lady Moira and Miss Romney," he said in his richest and most agreeable tones. "We happened to drift into a little discussion about theatrical matters, and I made a suggestion, which I am happy to say was carried with acclamation, that you should be asked to join us and put us right upon certain points. I hope you will do us that honour, Miss Merrill."
I was surprised at his mission, and, as usual where he was concerned, just a little suspicious of his genuineness. But I laughed, I hope naturally.
"I shall, of course, only be too delighted," I said, "to join you when I have finished this letter — if you won't mind the little delay?"
"Oh, certainly," he said, showing his teeth. Then, producing his flat gold cigarette-case, a habit with him on all occasions, he offered me one of the fat, expensive brand of cigarettes he smoked.
I took the cigarette and lit it from the match he struck. He himself lit a cigarette also, and then, with his little bow, he began to stroll up and down the room, puffing contentedly. Apparently he fully intended to wait until I had finished my letter.
I was destined, however, never to finish that letter. For quite suddenly, without any warning, I began to feel at first uncomfortably hot, and then definitely faint. I called, and saw the doctor running towards me, a look of surprise and apprehension on his face. He got me quickly to a couch, and my last recollection was of his pressing an electric-bell button with impatient thrust. Then I dropped swiftly into some black, bottomless pit.
I awoke to find an assembly of most of the house party about the couch. Moira, resting on a low pouffe, was chaffing my hands while the doctor ministered to me. My head was aching terribly, and my tongue felt like a piece of wood in my mouth.
"Drink this," said the doctor, soothingly presenting a glass to my lips. I drank thirstily, and felt better almost immediately. Then I sat up and smiled rather mistily at the company.
"What happened exactly?" asked the doctor earnestly. "Had you been feeling unwell before, or was the attack quite unexpected?"
"Quite," I murmured. "I had been feeling perfectly well. Then I-I-had that cigarette... .
"The cigarette!" cried the doctor. "I had completely forgotten that. But -— it couldn't...I wonder."
He turned swiftly and made for the desk at which I had been sitting and there, on the carpet below the desk, lying where it had obviously dropped from my lips, was the partly smoked cigarette. The doctor picked it up, sniffed it, examined it closely, and then lit it and puffed strongly.
"It couldn't have been the cigarette," he said after a while. "It's perfectly all right — unless the Turkish flavour upsets you, Miss Merrill?"
"I shook my head, as I am quite a heavy smoker of all brands of cigarettes.
He looked at me for some moments in puzzled thought. Then: "Do you think you could stand up?" he asked.
I lifted myself and stood poised for a moment on my single foot. Then a sudden shot of agony shot through my leg, and I fell back on the couch, white and frightened.
"What is it?" asked the doctor in grave concern, and I told him what had happened.
"We must get you to bed at once," he said with decision and though I weakly protested, he had his way. Within a few minutes I was lying in bed, and he was subjecting me to a thorough examination. He spent a lot of what I considered quite unnecessary time over my stump.
Then he turned his attention to my leg, which he subjected to just as careful an examination, returning every now and then to a little discolored mark like a tiny bruise that marked the smooth whiteness of my thigh, and which I never remembered seeing be fore. He questioned me about this, but I was unable to give him any information.
At last he stood up; and while his face was still grave, his voice was kind.
"Now, my dear young lady, there isn't any occasion for alarm. You mustn't distress yourself. I shall give you a little injection, and we'll hope to have you as right as ever in no time."
He performed his little operation at once, making the injection in my thigh; but he would answer none of my alarmed questions except in his soothing, "Nothing at all to worry about" formula. Then, giving me a mild soporific, he left me with an affectionate pat on the cheek, and I fell almost at once into a deep, dreamless sleep.



User avatar

Topic Author
Bazil
Старожил
Posts: 512
Joined: 01 Sep 2017, 23:35
Reputation: 283
Sex: male
Has thanked: 698 times
Been thanked: 629 times
Russia

Re: London Life. Tales

Post: # 33213Unread post Bazil
16 Sep 2018, 14:57

VI.
I was allowed to get up next morning, and I was intensely relieved to find that, though my leg was weak and shaky, there was no pain, and I was, of course, able to get about quite easily on my crutches. But, momentarily reliant though I was, my mind was not by any means easy. What had happened to me? What was the cause of that utterly unexpected breakdown? Had it been a sudden unbearable spasm of pain in my leg that has caused the faintness and, if so, how had that arisen? I was completely at a loss and as completely alarmed.
The doctor was cautiously noncommittal. It was nothing... but I had better be careful. And, my dear young lady, that's the thing. . . overwork, you know... The strain of continuous dancing on your one slender little leg... Rest no worry. And with that I had better be content.
The doctor continued his treatment, and though I had one or two further attacks they were not so pronounced, and I felt at least that the trouble, whatever it was, was gradually being combated.
And then, a few nights later, came despair, black and unrelieved.
Upon that night Moira gave a special dance which was attended in addition to the members of the house party, by a host of her smart friends from town. I had so far recovered my health and spirits by this time as to be able to enter into the festivities with all my usual abandon, and we ladies all vied with each other in the originality and daring of our costumes.
Tina was universally admired: her slim figure, clad only in cobwebby, black silk tights, through which the pink-tinted ivory of her lovely body gleamed alluringly, and from which her wonderful bare white bust and armless shoulders emerged in all their startling beauty. With this costume she wore amazing slippers with 6 inch heels; and the shapely bare toes of both feet, when revealed, gleamed with many jewelled rings. She fascinated everybody by her feats with those flexible toes of hers, and she won a little bet, in addition to delighted applause, by standing balanced only on one foot in its incredible high heeled slipper, while with the toes of the other she lifted a brimming glass of champagne to her lips and drank it off!
For myself, I had my own share of admiration. I had borrowed a pair of Moira's filmiest chiffon pyjamas, which I wore over flesh coloured silk tights, the little trouserettes permitting a full display of my leg, with an alluring glimpse of my silk-clad stump as it peeped from its filmy setting.
Moira was, of course, as spectacular as ever, and her entrance was indeed a triumph, heralded as it was by a flourish of trumpets from the band. For the occasion, Ronald had dressed as a page, in white wig, Pink silk flowered coat, tight satin breeches, silk stockings and buckled shoes complete. Supported by silkencased straps from his shoulders, after the fashion of a pedlar's tray, was a flat, cushioned seat, on which Moira rested as if she were some sculptured goddess being exhibited to a crowd of admiring connoisseurs.
Ropes of pearls, in graduated lengths, hung almost from throat to waist; jewelled bangles covered her arms; costly rings gleamed on her fingers; and on each stump was a perfectly fitting, flat gold circlet, beaten to wafer thinness and hung with loops of tiny pearls. And thus, like some barbaric, legless queen, being borne in triumph, she was carried through a laughing and applauding throng, to be placed upon a specially prepared cushion-topped pedestal, where she received her guests and declared the revels open.
I forgot my troubles for a while in the hectic gaiety of the evening, but as the night wore on I became, for me, unusually tired, and the dull ache that I now had come to dread developed in my leg. I recovered my slender, white "evening" crutch from behind the couch where I had deposited it, and, throwing a wrap about my shoulders, I slipped away unnoticed into the cool of the darkened park, gradually making my way to the little summer-house I have already mentioned, on the borders of the lake.
Here I dropped into a seat, and there came flooding back to me all the apprehensions and fears that had been occasioned by my strange, inexplicable fainting fit and the developments to which it gave rise. And while I meditated in depressed abstraction, I heard a footfall outside, and there passed -— shadow figures in the gloom — Dr. Nicholas carrying Moira in his arms.
A little to my dismay, he paused in the wide doorway and, placing Moira on a chair by the lake-side, took on at her side. I was about to get up and so make my presence known, when Moira asked a question that, as it were, rooted me to my chair, and for the life of me I couldn't help waiting for the reply.
"Doctor," she said, and there was no lightness or gaiety in her tones, "tell me, and please tell me the truth -— what is Sonia's trouble? I do not understand it at all. It developed so suddenly. What is it?"
"My dear Moira," came the cool tones of the doctor, "please don't distress yourself. Miss Merrill's trouble may be purely temporary. I am hopeful — most hopeful."
"Dr. Nicholas," Moira rapped out in staccato annoyance. "Please don't fence with me like that. I'm not quite ignorant of these matters, as you very well know. I want to know, I must know, what your opinion is."
"My child, restrain yourself. To be quite candid, I think it would be just as well if, all things considered, Miss Merrill were to place herself entirely in my care in a good nursing home. There you have my opinion -— and it is not so very terrible at all."
"I see," said Moira, in a queer, hopeless way. "I see. Then, Dr. Nicholas," she went on suddenly, and paused. I had a curious intuitive feeling that she had been on the brink of asking some direct, very pertinent, very deadly question, and felt herself unable to do it.
"It -— it doesn't matter," she finished lamely. "poor Sonia — poor darling Sonia!"
I could stand the strain no longer. I caught up my crutch and swung out to comfort them, ignoring the astonished dismay that leapt to their eyes.
"Dr. Nicholas," I stammered, "I have heard everything that was said. I couldn't help it. I was sitting here when you arrived, an4 you both arrived and you both plunged so quickly into matter so vital to myself that I couldn't help but sit still and listen."
"I quite understand, Miss Merrill," said the doctor in sympathetic tones, standing up and laying a gentle hand upon my shoulder. "And, if I may say so, it is just as well that things have happened as they have. It saves me the uncomfortable task of seeking an opportunity of telling you the truth."
"And -— and what exactly is the truth -— doctor?" I asked, keeping my tones as steady as I was able. "And please, do not buoy me up with false hopes. It was quite right of you to consider Moira's feelings -— but in this matter I am vitally concerned, and the truth is infinitely to be preferred to little untruths. I must know the worst!"
The doctor bowed gravely, but hesitated to speak.
"If this trouble is not checked," I went on, steeling myself for the ordeal, "it means -— amputation -— of my remaining leg; is that it?"
"My dear young lady," said the doctor, after a pregnant pause, "as we have gone so far, we might as well face the whole truth. I am afraid — very much afraid — that amputation is imperative -— now. My grave and well considered advice is that you make preparations at once for the operation. And please, Miss Merrill, do not look upon it as complete and irretrievable disaster. I shall place at your disposal all the skill I possess. I shall contrive a stump just as shapely and perfect as the one you have -— and, after all, as Lady Moira has proved, life can be a pleasant, even enjoyable affair, without legs. You will be surprised at the way you will settle down to the new conditions and begin to take an interest in life again."
I looked at him through hopeless, misted eyes. This, then, was the end. My dancing days were over. Never more was I to hear the plaudits of my enthusiastic audiences. I was to be reduced to Moira's helpless state without Moira's gay, careless courage. I felt Moira's hand softly creep into mine and, glancing down dully, I saw her sitting there like some figure symbolical of my future state, the little silk-clad stumps gleaming palely in the dusk. Suddenly everything grew dim and shadowy before me; the strength began to slip from my limbs; my crutch slid from beneath my arm and clattered to the ground. Then I swayed forward and was caught by Dr. Nicholas as darkness engulfed me.
I lay that night sleepless in the darkness of my room, looking down vistas that held no hope, no solace. I did not know, nor care, whether the revels were still afoot, or whether the dancers had retired. I was too busy with my own catastrophe that, with such startling suddenness, had swooped down out of the blue and enveloped me.
How long I lay there in that nerve-racking nightmare I don't know; but presently I was aware that somebody had come softly to the door, opened it, and slipped quietly through. Then the light was suddenly switched on, and I sat up blinking in some alarm. "Sorry, Sonia, darling," came the comforting tones of Moira. "Hope I didn't startle you."
I couldn't help a little start of surprise, when my eyes grew accustomed to the bright light, for Moira was seated on the carpet just inside the closed door. She was now, I saw, in pyjamas of filmy, clinging flesh-pink silk, with the usual alluring little trouserettes, so I gathered she must have been to bed and had just come from her room. I surmised that she had not bothered to call her maid, but had acted for herself, dropping from the bed and swinging from her room with the aid of her hands, and along the corridor to my room.
This way of getting about was, by the way, a frequent little trick of Moira's, employed sometimes when she wanted to get from one room to another and didn't bother to summon help, and at others merely a little "stunt" to show that she wasn't quite as helpless as she seemed. She had, in fact, attained quite astonishing agility in this respect, and rather prided herself on her skill.
Now she swung swiftly long the carpet towards me, leapt expertly to a chair by the bedside, and from that gained my bed. With her arms about me, she snuggled warmly against me and kissed me affectionately.
"Sonia, darling," she began -— and I had never seen her so serious -— "I just had to come and see you, and I wanted only our two selves to discuss this -— this dreadful affair -— so I came alone. Listen, dear heart. I know only too well what a terrible thing this is for you. You are not like me. I don't care a row of pins about having no legs. But you are different. You are quite happy with your one dainty leg; but the thought of losing another leg is just torture. Besides, it would mean the end of your dancing career — a thing too shocking to contemplate.
"Now, what I think is this: Dr. Nicholas may be the greatest surgeon in his line in the world; but like any other man, he is not infallible, and he may be mistaken. Quite honestly and candidly, I think he is. I know this malady that he is convinced is developing in your leg only too well — it was responsible for my own amputations. It is a sort of necrosis -— a rotting of the bone — and its appearance in your case has been startlingly sudden, amazingly so. Normally it is the growth of years. Now, you have never complained before --"
"Never!" I exclaimed earnestly.
"There you are!" went on Moira. "Of course, the doctor knows his job; but I think he has been too readily influenced by that childhood fall of yours, and I feel sure his conclusions have been — too hasty. Now, what I suggest is this: See Dr. Nicholas tomorrow, and tell him quite simply that you'd like a second opinion. I don't know quite how the doctor will take it, but that can't be helped. We'll get in Sir Clinton Brand, and see what he says. What do you think?"
I hugged Moira with sudden warmth and kissed her fondly on the lips. There was probably nothing to be gained by her plan. Dr. Nicholas was too clever a surgeon to have made a mistake of such magnitude. But, nevertheless, Moira's suggestion gave me new hope and courage just when I needed both. I felt curiously quite unreasonably elated. The very name of the famous surgeon, Sir Clinton Brand, seemed to promise comfort and stability.
Moira hugged me in return, and then, with a light laugh, she turned with her hands on the bed, poised ready to drop to the floor.
"Sonia, my child," she said, and there was a queer, inscrutable look in her eyes, "I think I've saved your leg. Wait and see!"
With that, she dropped lightly to the carpet and, swaying easily to the door, reached up and just managed to touch the electric light switch. The room was plunged in darkness, and I heard Moira slip softly out into the corridor and silently close the door after her.
VII.
I didn't get a chance for a discreet talk with the doctor until the evening of the next day, when, as I strolled out into the park after dinner, I found him in the summer house with Moira. I apologised for my intrusion, the doctor receiving me with that grave cordiality that was one of his charming assets.
I flashed a quick look at Moira, and plugged at once into the matter that had brought me.
"Dr. Nicholas," I said, a little shakily, "I hope you won't mind my asking such a question — only you will, I think, understand my concern, in the circumstances — but are you quite sure about — about my leg — absolutely sure?"
"Yes, quite!" replied the doctor, with decision, staring a little.
"There isn't any possibility of mistake?"
"Well — none of us are absolutely infallible, "said the doctor with a wide, magnanimous smile. "But in my opinion there cannot be a mistake in this case. The trouble has come with apparent suddenness, I admit, but it has been what we call 'masked' for years. It has been there all the time.
My hopes were falling about me like dead leaves, but I persisted, as indeed I had to persist if my sanity was to be saved.
"You -— you said just now," I urged, holding on to my courage, "that all this was, was so in your opinion. Might it — might it not he as well, in a case of this extreme gravity, to have a second opinion? Would you — would you have any objection, for instance, to calling Sir Clinton Brand in consultation?"
For the first time since I had known him, I saw all the suavity and charm fall from the doctors face, like the falling away of some impalpable mask. At the same time his whole figure stiffened, and his attitude became one of actual menace.
"I don't think you consciously intend an insult," he said coldly. "You act, of course, simply from ignorance, which, in the circumstances, is to be understood. Who is Sir Clinton Brand that I should heed what he says? It would be for him to call me in when his own feeble skill fails. But I don't call in Sir Clinton Brand or any other man. I am Dr. Nicholas; and, in my profession I am self-sufficing. When Dr. Nicholas gives an opinion, that opinion is accepted, never questioned."
I don't know what came to me then — some cold, frozen anger, that his own icy monstrous egoism had brought forth.
"All of which means," I said in clear, steady tones that amazed myself as I heard them, "that you refuse to call in another opinion?"
"Most decidedly it does!" he snapped, now perilously close to losing his temper.
"Very good," I said. "Then, naturally, my only course is to take the case completely out of your hands and put in those of somebody less skillful, no doubt, but — somewhat more reasonable."
For a moment I thought he was going to strike me, for he took a step in my direction, his hands clenched by his sides. But Moira by whose chair he now stood, stretched forth a hand and closed her fingers over his.
"Dr. Nicholas," she said very quietly, "I don't think you quite realise that you are behaving more like a spoilt child than a famous surgeon. Miss Merrill has every right to do exactly as she thinks fit in a case of this kind. If my word has any weight with her, I would advise her to seek an appointment with Sir Clinton at once."
Dr. Nicholas turned slowly, his fists still clenched, his face blank. For a palpating moment or so he stood thus gazing down a a calm-eyed Moira. Then the tension of his body relaxed. He drew himself up to his full height of over 6 feet, and then bowed stiffly with a formality that was more un-English than ever.
"I see," he said with forced calm. "I quite understand. I am dismissed. Very well. I have the honour, Lady Moira and Miss Merrill, to bid you both good-bye."
He turned swiftly on his heel, walked out of the summer-house and so to the house.
I looked at Moira, and was relieved to hear her quiet amused laughter. "And that's that," she said, as she pressed a button that would, I knew, summon Annette, her maid. "I shouldn't let it trouble you, Sonia. I rather expected what happened. And the doctor will come running back in his own good time. The main thing is that you've gained your point, and Sir Clinton will save your leg — I think you can safely reckon on that."
The arrival of Annette prevented any further questions from me, and when we reached the house, we found that the doctor had already departed and that he had left instructions for his luggage to be sent on to catch the Continental boat-train the next morning.
That same morning found me speeding to London in my car, my one anxiety being to fix an appointment with Sir Clinton Brand as soon as humanly possible.
It was with a good deal of apprehension that, a few days later, I sat in the great man's consulting room. I had decided to say nothing about Dr. Nicholas, for the simple reason that medical etiquette would certainly have forced Sir Clinton to consult the doctor about my case, and I did not want that. I wanted Sir Clinton to make a completely independent diagnosis, without being influenced in any way by Dr. Nicholas's conclusions.
I shall not weary you with a detailed description with the many exhaustive — and exhausting — tests I underwent, including the very searching X-ray examination to which both my leg and stump were subjected. The main thing, the wonderful, almost unhoped for theory — in fact, the utterly inexplicable thing — was that, in the end, Sir Clinton pronounced me completely sound, with not a suggestion of necrosis about a bone in my body.
The great surgeon was, in fact, curious to know who had put the idea of necrosis into my head, and I had to put all the blame on Moira — whom, of course, I did no mention by name.
"A great deal of mischief can be done by one's friends," was his smiling comment as we shook hands. But as I left his consulting-room with joy and relief in my heart, I could only wonder at the puzzle of Dr. Nicholas's conduct. I could account for it in just one way, and that not a particularly satisfactory one. My half-formed theory was that he had so specialised in his own particular branch of surgery that he had become absolutely obsessed by it and saw disease in every pain. The fact that I had already lost a leg, and through a fall, has simply accentuated matters in my case. Amputation was the only possible thing to be done. I had always sensed something queer about him, and this theory explained that feeling. He was queer — in a way, he was not quite sane.
This theory had its points, but it had one great weakness. It did not explain that extraordinary fainting fit of mine and the subsequent pain and weakness in my leg. Except for these two points I felt that there was something in the theory. But there were one or two other things — in connection with the events at Greensheaves, that I had omitted to take into consideration. The whole amazing, incredible truth had by no means emerged as yet, and, in fact, had not even guessed at by me.
It was, too, a very considerable time before I was to learn what that truth actually was. For when I telephoned to Greensheaves to tell Moira my wonderful news, I received a shock. Greensheaves, except for the servants, was deserted. Moira had left England with Ronald; even Tina Romney could not be located, and I discovered afterwards that she, too, had gone abroad.
A few weeks later I started on my new American tour, which was to be followed by tours in South America and South Africa, concluding with a series of appearances at the principal European capitals.
So it was not until after my return to Europe that I was destined to see Moira again. And that meeting, and the events that followed it, still hold their place among the most amazing experiences of my eventful life.
VIII.
Once again I found myself back in Europe, after a successful and happy time in the various countries I had visited; and now, after making my various appearances in the European capitals, I had at last reached Paris. I put up at the Hotel Crillon, in which magnificent caravanserai I had often stayed before, and, curiously enough, it occurred to me, that there was just a possibility of running across Moira here, as she usually made the hotel her headquarters while in Paris.
So I was not altogether surprised, though very delighted, when that evening, as I was being shown to my table for dinner, I caught sight of Moira seated with Ronald in a semisecluded little alcove directly facing me. At the same moment Ronald saw me and, with a sudden smile of welcome, he stood up and beckoned me. I was received quite excitedly by both, and arrangements were at once made for me to join them at their table during their stay.
After the waiters had taken our orders for food, I became more and more aware of the curious, enigmatic quality of Moira's smile as she looked at me, a smile that was shared by Ronald whenever their eyes met. In fact, Moira's manner had been just a little puzzling from the outset of our meeting, and I wondered at what could be at the back of it. Then I saw her make a little sign to Ronald, half a nod, half a lift of the eyebrow, and with an odd look at me he bent over and slid from Moira's shoulders a shimmering, filmy wrap that covered them.
I must have gone deadly white, and I know I shivered with the sudden shock of that astounding revelation. For I might have been looking at Tina Romney's shoulders, so completely similar were those of Moira, now fully and daringly displayed in all the beauty of complete nudity. The familiar shapely arms had gone — gone entirely, without a trace! Only the lovely, suavely moulded shoulders remained, the ends perfectly rounded and smoothfleshed, entirely without scar or blemish.
Moira armless! It seemed unthinkable, incredible. Its implications could not be grasped entirely during those first astonishing few minutes. And then I began to realise all that it meant. Moira was now nothing but a beautiful, entirely limbless trunk, utterly helpless, unable to do a single thing of herself just a living fragment of a beautiful woman! It was more than amazing — it was stupendous!
I was awakened at last from my semi-stupor by Moira's soft, clear laughter, and then her voice, coming in soothing accents.
"Poor darling Sonia," she was saying. "It was a shame to spring such a surprise upon you without warning. I forget that other people are not so irresponsible and easy-going as myself, and that they will most certainly be much more sensitive about my limblessness than I am. But do I look as — as repulsive as all that in my new guise?"
The shocked surprise faded out of my face, yielding to softened affection, and I leant forward and, with caressing fingers, smoothed the bare white armless shoulder nearest to me.
"You know, darling," I said, "you could never be repulsive to me in any guise. You are still as lovely as ever. No doubt I shall think you lovelier when I get used to the -— the new conditions. But, dearest, you must admit it is all so — well, bewildering is a mild term."
"Yes, I realise it must be," said Moira soothingly, "and if I weren't so theatrical, matters would not be so nerve-racking for my friends. But, after all, Sonia, this latest development was not unexpected. I knew from the first that there was every likelihood of losing my arms as well as my legs, though I didn't distress you by telling you that. All that was in the nature of my malady. So there you are. It was to be, and, as you know, I never worry about things that can't be helped. At any rate, I still retain a heart that can be happy, and lips that are still able to smile. Things might be worse."
My own smile was a little awry as I contemplated her gay, smiling courage, though one could never remain sad for long in her presence.
"And that's enough about myself," she went on. "Now, it's your turn, Sonia. Of course, I heard all about your wonderful recovery." Her eyelids fluttered rapidly, and for just a split second she looked away. "Sir Clinton is a wonderful man, isn't he? And then you shook the dust of England from your feet — or should I say your foot! How did the tours go?"
And so while we discussed the excellent food, I gave them a perfunctory description of my travels and triumphs, unable, however, to avoid watching, with poignant interest, how Ronald helped Moira to food and wine, she accepting the amazing situation with a devastating calmness, and he, as ever, performing his extraordinary task with all the good humour and real honest affection that, throughout all the strange vicissitudes of Moira's unique career, had never failed him.
But all the time as we talked or were silent, there wheeled and danced at the back of my mind, a maze of questions, doubts, suspicions even, that demanded explanations of some sort . And I knew that, sooner or later, Moira and I would have to face each other and thrash out the truth of all that had happened since that fateful arrival of mine at Greensheaves.
As a matter of fact, however, the opportunity presented itself sooner than I expected, and as the result of no efforts of mine. Dinner at last came to an end, and Moira turned to me.
"Ronald has an appointment, darling, with some friends," she said. "You are really an angel dropped from heaven to-night, as I was wondering what I should do with myself. We'll go up to our suite and make ourselves cosy there."
I agreed, giving no sign of the little thrill that came to me at her proposal. Ronald put Moira's voluminous wrap about her shoulders, and arranged it so that it covered her now tiny form completely. Then, taking the wonderful limbless body in his arms, he led the way out, careless of the interested stares of the other diners. Arrived at their suite, he handed Moira over to the care of Annette, who still remained her devoted attendant, and then smilingly took his leave.
Annette, carrying Moira as tenderly as a mother would a child, placed her on a big luxurious couch and, removing her wrap, piled up the cushions about her, forming a comfortable silken nest for her mistress to rest in. She placed a cigarette between Moira's lips and lit it, putting a gold ash-tray within easy reach of the head. Then with a little smiling bow, she left us to ourselves.
Once again the wonder of Moira's latest transformation filled me, as I took in all the details of the beautiful limbless trunk, now so fully outlined against the background of the massed cushions. Her frock — or rather her costume — was as usual, of the most daring and revealing description, leaving, as I have indicated, her beautiful bust and armless shoulders displayed in the frankest possible manner. Round her shapely throat was a single, short string of magnificent pearls. The effect was most strikingly bizarre, and was certainly one that would make a very definite appeal to a nature such as Moira's.
When Annette left us, I crossed to Moira's couch and sank down amid the cushions at her side. And so, for a little while, we chatted about nothing in particular, I carefully waiting my opportunity to introduce the topic that was uppermost in my mind.
"Sonia, darling," she said, eyeing me queerly, "I wonder what you really think of me deep down in that clever little brain of yours — I wonder!"
I drew a deep breath. The moment had come. I put an arm about Moira and, drawing her to me, I looked steadfastly into her eyes.
"Moira," I said, "would it be unpardonably impertinent of me if I were to ask you one or two questions about oh -, about certain affairs at Greensheaves — and certain developments later? May I -— or am I trespassing on forbidden ground?"
Those long-lashed lids of hers fluttered rapidly for a moment or so, and I thought she was going to put me off with some laughing excuse. But at last her eyes steadied, and she regarded me gravely.
"Go on, Sonia, dear," she said. "What exactly is the trouble?"
"Of course," I began, "Dr. Nicholas was the surgeon who amputated your arms?"
"Yes," replied Moira, nodding, "in Paris, here -— not long after you went abroad."
"I see. Moira, you suggested in my case that I should call in another specialist. Did you ever think that another opinion should have been obtained in your own case?"
Moira stiffened slightly in my arms and then relaxed.
"Well, no," she said. "You see, I never thought it necessary. I knew my own case thoroughly, and I knew that Dr. Nicholas understood it in every way."
"And yet," I persisted, "Dr. Nicholas, apparently, was absolutely convinced that he understood my case perfectly -— and Sir Clinton Brand pronounced me absolutely free from taint."
"Which shows," said Moira, with a return to her ordinary flippancy, "what a fortunate thing it was that you followed my suggestion!"
"But, Moira, darling," I protested, "you are hiding your real feelings. How could a surgeon of the standing and reputation of Dr. Nicholas make such a mistake! This thing is incredible!
"But," stammered Moira, "what else are we to think? If it wasn't a mistake, where — where do we stand?"
I looked steadily at her, as she lay half-shrinking in my arms.
"If you want my real opinion," I said quietly. "I think there was something monstrously wrong somewhere. Also, I am quite convinced, Moira, that you, too, knew that there was something wrong when you advised me to consult another specialist. It is to you that I really owe the fact, that I am not, at this moment, as legless as you, poor darling. Moira, what is the truth about this strange, uncanny business. I am convinced you know it. What is it?"
There fell a long pregnant silence in the room and at last Moira stirred in my arms and sighed.
"Give me another cigarette, dear heart," she said, with apparent inconsequence; but I understood her need of that unfailing solace of hers. I placed a cigarette between her lips and lit it, and for a few moments she puffed in silence.



User avatar

Topic Author
Bazil
Старожил
Posts: 512
Joined: 01 Sep 2017, 23:35
Reputation: 283
Sex: male
Has thanked: 698 times
Been thanked: 629 times
Russia

Re: London Life. Tales

Post: # 33214Unread post Bazil
16 Sep 2018, 14:58

IX.
"Sonia," she said at length, "this is a queer story you have forced from me — perhaps the queerest you have ever heard. And somehow, after all, I feel a great relief in being able at least to tell you the truth. I myself am not wholly free from some connection with the matter — though only in a way that affects myself, and myself alone. Some people would say that Dr. Nicholas is mad; but I wouldn't say that altogether. He is mentally extremely alert, with a well balanced brain, and, in his own line, probably the most skillful surgeon in the world. But he is definitely queer. There is a pronounced kink in the delicate mechanism of his brain. He does not know that I have discovered his secret — or, if he does, he had made no sign. The theory that I have evolved is that his kink is the direct result of the special branch of surgery to which he has devoted his life. You are aware, of course, that, in his case, he has raised amputation almost to the level of a fine art. He works on the bodies of his patients exactly as a great sculptor does on the marble from which he creates masterpieces of beauty. And there isn't any doubt that the doctor has come to regard the result of his labours as even more shapely and beautiful than were the complete bodies of his patients before he worked upon them — "
"I nodded more or less comprehendingly, amazed though I was, for something of all this had been floating, as it were, nebulous and shadowy through the dim recesses of my mind, ever since my meeting with Moira in the hotel-dining room.
"You mean," I cried, "that he has become so absorbed in his work that he is ready to see the necessity for amputation in every pain?" But Moira shook her head.
"No," she said, "that would not fit all the facts. It would be infinitely better if it did. That would be in a way understandable. You see, in practically every case on which Dr. Nicholas is called upon to operate, conditions are quite normal. The patients had been under the care of a competent medical man, possibly a specialist, long before Dr. Nicholas is called in, and the fact that the malady is present has been quite definitely established before he touches the case. There isn't then any question of his 'seeing the necessity for amputation in every pain', as you put it, though there isn't any doubt that he takes a strange, artistic pleasure in the job of re-fashioning a human body in as beautiful and shapely a manner as he knows how.
But every now and then a patient consults him, or he is thrown in contact with one who, he feels, is a fit subject for what he would, no doubt, call artistic experiment. And then, I'm afraid, he does not wait for a symptom -— he manufactures one!"
"Moira!" I looked at her in sudden, amazed alarm. "What exactly do you mean? How could he do a thing like that?"
"Well," said Moira with a queer little smile, "suppose we take your case. You are presented to Dr. Nicholas at Greensheaves. You are a celebrated one-legged dancer, in whom he is immediately interested. He quickly notices that you are not at all sensitive about your one-legged condition, but are, on the contrary, rather vain of your beautiful leg and marvellous dancing. I at once gathered what was in his mind when he began to question you about the loss of your leg and was so portentously solemn about that childhood fall of yours. He had already decided that, in you he had discovered an admirable piece of marble, ready for the chisel of the sculptor! Very well. He seizes the first opportunity that offers of finding you quite alone — the evening you went to the writing-room. He arrives with some little excuse about settling some dispute we were having. He offers you a cigarette. You smoke it and promptly faint — "
"But Moira, wait a bit — he actually smoked that cigarette afterwards."
"Did he? That was a very clever bit of work on his part. What was preventing him substituting another partly smoked cigarette below the writing-desk before anybody arrived on the scene? That was what he did, you can bet all you have on it! It was an undrugged cigarette he smoked so critically before the crowd! And another thing he did before help arrived. He gave you an injection in the thigh. Remember that tiny discoloured bruise about which he was so gravely alarmed? That was caused by his own hypodermic needle. The drug he administered was responsible for the sudden, inexplicable pain in your leg and the alarming weakness that followed. Your quite unexpected wish to consult another surgeons completely upset all his plans, though he tried to bluff the matter out. And he knew that another specialist would at once find nothing radically wrong — so, with becoming dignity, he took his leave and scuttled back to Paris. And that, believe me, dear Sonia, is the history of your case."
I sat there looking at Moira in stunned silence. That her explanation of what had occurred was the right one, I felt only too sure. The whole sequence of events, the secret springs of the doctor's conduct, became at once crystal clear. I drew a deep breath as I realised what a narrow escape I had had.
And then a sudden devastating thought struck a chill down my spine.
"Moira!" I cried, holding her slightly away from me, so that I could see her face. What about yourself. Where do you stand in all this hideous business? When you first met Dr. Nicholas, you were famous for the beauty of your perfect figure. Now, all that remains is just a lovely fragment, arms and legs both irretrievably gone. But — it is unthinkable!"
"What exactly is unthinkable?" asked Moira, very quietly.
"Oh -— for just a mad moment I thought -— I thought that Dr. Nicholas might have chosen you as a subject for, as you put it, 'artistic experiment'."
"Not so unthinkable as you imagine, dear heart," said Moira again, in those light tones of hers. "For extraordinary and fantastic as it may seem, that is exactly what Dr. Nicholas did!"
"But darling!" I could not keep the horrified tones out of my voice.
"Hold me tightly, Sonia, dear," said Moira as she nestled more close to me, "and do not look at me for the moment. You have heard some of the truth of this strange business; you might as well hear the whole. You remember I said that in your case he manufactured apparent symptoms by injecting a drug into your thigh, and you may have wondered how I guessed at the trick he employed. It was all very simple, because — well, that is actually what he did to me. He does not know, or professes not know, as I have already told you, that I discovered that trick his, but I did.
You see, when I first consulted him, I was an absolutely genuine patient, I already knew that amputation of my right leg was imperative. But — and now I have to make an astounding confession. You know how keen I have always been on unique experience. Well, inexplicable, as it may seem, I was actually thrilled to death at the prospect of having a leg amputated and of afterwards showing myself off as a one-legged beauty! It isn't, naturally, a common craving, but, as any big surgeon will tell you, it isn't altogether unknown. At any rate, that was I felt; and Dr. Nicholas, in the circumstances, exactly suited my purpose.
"I suppose -— in fact I am sure -— he at once sensed the type of individual I was. For one thing I was so particular about the perfection of contour and the unblemished beauty of the stump he was to provide for me, and in addition I was so intensely interested in the details of the coming amputation. At any rate, while I was convalescing after the operation he told me his little fairy story of the extreme probability of the malady eventually attacking my other leg, and he provided me with a drug, the injection of which, he said, might possibly arrest the progress of the disease.
"Now, I had already had my left leg thoroughly examined, and I knew that there was not the slightest prospect of this becoming tainted. Also, very secretly I had that drug analysed. It was simply a noxious poison without any curative powers, but with very definite harmful results. However, I said nothing, but I thought a great deal.
And now comes the most amazing part of the whole strange affair. Somehow, in a way I cannot even attempt to explain the thrill of being one-legged had got in my blood. I actually liked being one-legged! And after a while I began to play with a perfectly astounding idea. What would it be like to be quite legless, with two perfect stumps instead of one? Well, the idea got hold of me, and in the end I capitulated. I used the drug Dr. Nicholas had provided, and consulted him again. He was very solemn, very dignified; but, I could see, inwardly filled with a sort of holy triumph. He performed a most wonderful operation, giving me a stump the exact replica of the other. And so I became legless, and, Sonia, I — I revelled in it. It was tremendously thrilling. I loved to show myself off; delighted in being carried about; enjoyed all the attention I attracted.
And then even while you were staying with me at Greensheaves, I was assailed by the final and most potent temptation. You remember how perfectly lovely were Tina Romney's marvellous armless shoulders. Well, they haunted me. I used to imagine myself without arms, and the thrill was ecstasy. And I actually prepared the way during that house party by telling Dr. Nicholas that I was becoming alarmed by the frequent pains in my arms. Then came your adventure with the doctor and his flight to Paris. Ronald and I crossed to the Continent almost immediately, roamed about for awhile, and eventually arrived in Paris. And, inevitably, of course, we resumed our friendly relations with the doctor, despite my very definite, but diplomatically hidden, feeling of resentment over his attempt on you. He at once inquired about my arms, and, of course, I told him they had been giving me a great deal of trouble. And so I reached the last stage. Dr. Nicholas got a no doubt quite hectic thrill out of performing a double amputation; while I was left as you see me, just a beautiful limbless trunk. And there you have the whole weird and wonderful story."
"And -— and you don't mind?" I asked, when at length I was able to speak.
"Of course, darling, you won't understand me a little bit," said Moira, now smiling up at me with all her old vivacity. "But it is the simple truth that I am absolutely thrilled to be as I am. There is something extraordinarily attractive, at any rate to me, in being totally helpless, only able to move in somebody else's arms, dependent on somebody else for everything, I am quite foolishly fascinated by my armless shoulders, and I think my little twin stumps are just perfect. I know it all sounds fantastically incredible. I don't even try to understand it myself. I only know that other cases have been recorded in which beautiful limbless women have had exactly similar feelings about their condition. It's a strange world; the strangest things happen in it.
Once again I was silent, pondering over this most extraordinary of confessions. And then, prompted, no doubt, by the train of memories started by Moira's narration, I suddenly thought of Tina Romney.
"Moira," I said quickly, "what happened to Tina Romney after all? I never saw her again since the little contretemps at Greensheaves. I remember being told at the time that she had gone abroad. She was very sweet on Dr. Nicholas, by the way — or it appeared so."
Moira looked at me with that characteristic little, quizzical gleam in her eyes.
"Of course, you wouldn't know," she said. Then she laughed in a mischievous way. "Would you like to see her again? she's in Paris. Yes, of course you would. We'll fix it up. It will be rather fun."
And nothing more could I get out of her at the time.
X.
It was two nights later that we set out in the big car after dinner. Ronald was, of course, in attendance on Moira and I was escorted by a handsome young friend of his. Moira was radiant and was looking exceedingly beautiful in one of her scantiest and most revealing creations.
Dancing was in full swing when we entered, and for a time we watched the gay scene from our table, advantageously placed on the edge of the dancing floor. And then, during a momentary lull I caught sight of Tina at a table across the floor. Her beautiful, bare, armless shoulders, quite as perfect as Moira's, were very much in evidence, only a wisp of her fragile frock being visible above the table, and as my eyes fell upon her, she was lifting a cocktail to her lips with those dainty, flexible toes of hers. And then, with a shock of complete surprise, I saw her companion — it was Dr. Nicholas!
I turned and met the laughing eyes of Moira, who sat opposite me, her own bare, wonderful shoulders as daringly displayed as Tina's.
"So you see Tina Nicholas," she said as calmly as if she were making a purely commonplace remark.
"Tina Nicholas!" I exclaimed. "Then — "
Moira nodded, laughing outright.
"Yes. They were married in Paris shortly after our little house-party. Would you like to meet them -— or do you still feel that the doctor is outside the pale?"
I hadn't any real feelings about the doctor, one way or another. Of course, the trick he had tried to play upon me was of a particularly detestable nature, but I realised that he was not altogether normal; and, in any case, I would probably never meet him again.
"I should like to meet Tina," I said at length. "And I imagine I can tolerate the doctor for the time being."
Ronald managed to get a signal through the maze of dancers, and Dr. Nicholas seeing us waved a welcoming hand. Within a few minutes we had joined the couple at the table and Dr. Nicholas was making his apologies in his old solemnly portentous manner.
"A thousand pities, my dear Miss Merrill," he said. "A thousand pities. I confess that I was sadly in error. Your symptoms led one astray. But I am only too pleased and thankful that everything turned out so well. I make no excuse -— none. I can only hope that you have been able to forgive me after the lapse of time."
I made some perfunctory reply, hardly able to hide my disgust at his hypocrisy, and at last I was able to turn to Tina. Just as I did so, she was raising her shapely right foot to her lips to take, between her bare toes, the cigarette she was smoking. And I could only sit there and stare, conscious, too that Moira was watching me with that old enigmatic smile on her lips. For, as Tina raised her leg, the filmy skirt of her extremely brief frock naturally fell back, and there, fully exposed just below the left hip, clad in skin-tight, cobwebby silk, was a plump, rounded, perfectly shaped stump. The slender, shapely left leg had gone, leaving Tina only the single limb, the dainty right leg which she was now using so expertly.
Tina caught my glance and immediately became immensely excited.
"Oh, Miss Merrill!" she exclaimed. "of course, we haven't seen each other since my amputation. Isn't it too absolutely thrilling that I, too, should have a stump just like yours or one of Moira's! You remember how they used to fascinate me at Greensheaves. Don't you think that Ren‚ — my husband, Dr. Nicholas — has surpassed himself?"
Somewhat surprised as I was by the girls quite cheerful, in fact, enthusiastic acceptance of her new condition, I responded smilingly. There was no doubt at all that the pathetic aspect of her semi-helpless state — her beautiful body now left with that single, shapely limb — had, happily for her, hardly troubled her. She was much more concerned with the attention her unique charms attracted, and was quite frankly intrigued by her own incomplete beauty.
She talked gaily about herself, giving me details of her operation, her marriage, her life with the doctor and incidentally disclosing the fact that despite her one-legged and armless condition, she was enjoying life to the full.
"Do you know," was one of her little disclosures made quite gleefully, "I can now get about the house quite easily by myself. I learnt to balance myself and hop about on my one leg just like you do. I used to stumble at first but Ren‚ was always there to catch me and it was all tremendous fun! Now I am quite expert and enjoy hopping about the house and even on the lawns. Ren‚'s friends are all amazed at my skill."
And she went on, chatting gaily just as any other happily married bride would have done. It was really impossible to pity her and I'm sure that any attempt to do so would have been met only with surprised resentment on her part.
I looked across at Moira again, trying to read the riddle of that odd little smile that still twisted her lips. It concerned Tina, I knew, who was in her way, just as much a puzzle as Moira had been. And it was to Moira I felt I should have to apply if I wanted this last little problem explained. As it turned out Moira gave me the opportunity I sought.
* * *
"And what did you think of Tina?" she asked that night, as we sat alone in her sitting-room.
"Apparently, quite enjoying the sensation of being a ravishing, young beauty with only a single limb," I replied. "Moira, tell me -— is Tina a victim of the doctor, as I was to have been, or is she in your class -— a kind of consenting party?"
"Well," said Moira, dryly. "As a matter of fact, in a way, she is both. Sounds odd, I admit, but it's the truth. Did you ever know, by the way, that Dr. Nicholas amputated Tina's arms?"
"That's certainly news to me," I said, my eyes wide with surprise. "I always imagined that Tina was born without arms."
"Well, it's a fact. It was really through Tina that I got into touch with the doctor and it was from her that I got her story -— though, of course, not in the complete manner in which I shall tell it to you. I had to fill in a number of facts of which she had, and still has, happily, no knowledge. You see, Tina was, as far as I can gather, the very first girl upon whom Dr. Nicholas experimented. She lived in Paris with her parents and was the most beautiful thing you ever saw -— except for one thing. She had been born with both arms crippled. They were not altogether useless, but they were very badly deformed and very naturally, they completely spoiled the poor girl's life.
She was about seventeen when Dr. Nicholas first came to her parent's house and I fancy he must have fallen in love with her right away, as she did with him. He had been called in to see if anything could be done for the crippled arms and without hesitation he advised complete amputation at the shoulder joints — in my opinion, a very excellent suggestion, quite apart from my odd ideas on the subject. The parents were horrified, but Tina was absolutely delighted at the proposal. To be rid of the burden of her deformed arms would be heaven to her!
Well, eventually the operation was performed and, as you saw, the doctor worked wonders with Tina's shoulders, fashioning them into things of perfect beauty. Tina was ecstatic; even her parents were mollified. I don't know whether from that operation sprang the doctor's strange passion for remodeling the female form; no doubt the seeds, at any rate were present before. But I know that Tina, in a way that is more or less understandable, in the circumstances, from that time, really revelled in her armlessness and, as you know, was even quite fascinated by the charms of your one-legged figure and my leglessness. And I know once heard her laughingly confess in the doctor's presence, when we happened to be discussing the subject, that she wouldn't mind so much losing one leg, if it had to be, as that would still leave her with a shapely leg and foot, and it would be rather thrilling, as she put it, to have a little stump like one of mine.
"I'm afraid that little confession of hers remained docketed in one of the cells in the doctor's brain and no doubt when he thought the time was ripe, he used his little hypodermic needle; a mysterious malady developed in Tina's leg -— and now she has 'that little stump' she thought 'rather thrilling'!
"She is certainly thrilled by it," I said, "which is very fortunate, taking everything into consideration. Only. . . well, will the ingenious and highly artistic doctor stop there?"
"I fancy he will," said Moira. "At any rate, while Tina wishes to be as she is. But if she ever happens to confess in her loving husband's hearing, that she finds complete limblessness 'rather thrilling' — well, I 'm afraid that those fascinating little bare toes of hers will never lift another cocktail to her dainty lip."
"And meanwhile," I said, "the doctor goes scot-free, working his secret and sinister will with impunity."
"Meanwhile — yes," echoed Moira. "But do you know Sonia, I have a feeling that this time will come. I feel that one of these days, somebody, perhaps the husband or lover of one of his patients, who has blundered on his secrets — will visit him and — well, experiment on him! I'm afraid that though the result will not be so artistic as one of the doctor's own masterpieces, it will be dreadfully effective." An odd little silence fell on the room, and then Moira broke the tension, characteristically, with a laugh.
"How gruesome we have become all of a sudden," she said. "And, in my way, I'm quite as blameworthy as the doctor. But we are all queer in some way, Sonia — you, I, Tina, everybody. None of us is quite the same. It's a weird and wonderful world."
I nodded and, as no doubt, you are also, dear reader, I was in hearty agreement with her — yes, it's a weird and wonderful world!"
________________________________________
London Life, December 8, 1928 pp. 18-19, 22-23, 26-27, 30-31, 34



User avatar

Topic Author
Bazil
Старожил
Posts: 512
Joined: 01 Sep 2017, 23:35
Reputation: 283
Sex: male
Has thanked: 698 times
Been thanked: 629 times
Russia

Re: London Life. Tales

Post: # 33327Unread post Bazil
23 Sep 2018, 18:15

London Life
London Life | 1929
________________________________________
Limbless People I Have Met
by Wallace Stort
The article on "Freaks", and the photographs that accompanied it, which appeared in the Circus Number of "London Life", has aroused great interest in these abnormalities of Nature.
The subject has always held a peculiar fascination for me, and I have taken every opportunity that has occurred of seeing limbless ladies on exhibition in whatever part of the globe I happened to find myself. In addition, one's ordinary journeying about the streets, or visit to theatres, restaurants etc., quite frequently yield little adventures and experiences that may be worth recording.
Taking first of all limbless ladies seen on exhibition, I should mention that I have already dealt with the very large number of ladies lacking some or all of their limbs at present on exhibition all over the world, in an article I contributed to these pages some little time back, and some of the ladies I shall now refer to were included in that article. Others, seen since the article was written, are here mentioned for the first time. I propose to refer more or less briefly to the former class, and with a little more detail to the latter. Also, for the sake of clearness, I shall place all the ladies concerned in definite categories.
Charming limbless ladies
There are at present before the public, as far as my knowledge goes, four ladies in the first category — that is born completely without limbs — and of these I have seen three. These are Miss Rose Foster, an English woman, a photograph of which you published in the Circus Number; "Violetta", a German girl; and "Madame Josephine", also a German.
Miss Foster I saw at Olympia during the Christmas circus season of 1922. She is a very attractive woman, quite without legs, and with only short, shapely stumps of arms, which she is able to use in a variety of ingenious ways. She was married some years ago in her native Southampton.
"Violetta", whom I saw at Coney Island, New York, USA, during my visit to the States in the summer of 1926, is a remarkable example of this type of anomaly. About 19, extremely pretty, she is literally only a shapely trunk, the arms being completely absent from the shoulders, and the legs from the hips — not even stumps being present in either case.
She was quite cheerful and completely unconcerned when seen, and, like so many of her kind, seemed to welcome the interest she aroused in the crowds who paid to see her.
A wonderful fragment of a woman
"Madame Josephine" I saw in Berlin about eighteen months ago, and she is probably the most extraordinary "freak" now before the public. She also is completely without either arms or legs; but in her case the lower part of the trunk is dwarfed, so that by an ingenious concealment of the dwarfed lower part within the cushioned top of the pedestal on which she rests during exhibition, she appears to be only a living bust, her large prominent breasts actually resting on the pedestal top! The effect is extraordinary and until this living head and shoulders — for that is all she seems — is carried round among the audience, still resting on the pedestal top, one is completely convinced that the whole thing is an illusion. I understand that the trunk is quite perfectly formed, though reduced, below the breasts, to midget proportions. The wonderful fragment of a woman has actually been married twice, the second marriage having taken place early this year in America!
Beautiful semi-woman
In the second category — legless ladies — I have seen "Gabrielle", whose photo also embellished your Circus Number, and "Zara", both being Germans.
"Gabrielle", who has spent nearly all her life in America, I saw during an earlier visit to the States some years ago. She is about 40, and was for many years considered the most perfect example of what is known as the "half-lady" on exhibition. Down to the hips she is a beautifully proportioned woman. Below that she does not exist, the trunk finishing neatly and smoothly a little below the waist, with nothing in the way of stumps being present.
"Gabrielle" has also been married twice, her second husband being a German born.
Johanna Kamfke, whom I saw at Olympia in 1926, is a younger edition of "Gabrielle", formed on exactly similar lines, her trunk finishing at the hips without stumps being present.
Bejewelled though limbless
"Zara", a rather buxom beauty of about 30, whom I saw in the same show as "Madame Josephine", was not, I imagine, born without legs, but lost them later.
She has two short stumps, about 6 inches long from the hips, and these are fully displayed, as her costume consists of a sort of highly ornamented bathing suit.
She wears bangles on the stumps, she is loaded with bracelets, necklaces, rings, etc., and is able to "dance" on them; but I must confess that, though she moves quite easily on the stumps, and "ran" across the little stage with marvellous agility, the spectacle is not particularly attractive.
Later in the day, by the way, I had the interesting experience of meeting both "Madame Josephine" and "Zara" out together in the grounds of the "fair" in which they were on exhibition.
"Zara" propelling herself in a wheel chair, and "Madame Josephine" being wheeled by an attendant in a bath-chair. Madame was, of course, entirely enveloped in a wrap; but "Zara" was in outdoor costume, the skirt of which was gathered under her so that her leglessness was quite obvious to all passers-by.
Feats of armless ladies
In the third and by far the largest category, armless ladies, there are very many I have seen. There must be between 20 and 30 on exhibition in various parts of the world; but curiously enough, I have only seen two, and neither of these in England. These are Miss Margaret Morris, an American girl, and "Countess Anna", once again a German.
Miss Morris, a pretty brunette of about 25, is, in a way, in a category of her own, as besides being completely without arms from the shoulders, she is practically without legs — her feet, which are quite perfectly formed, appearing just below her hips.
As she cannot walk, the only purpose for which she uses her feet are as substitute for hands. She is most expert with her feet and toes which are so soft and well cared as are normal girl's hands, and she can do everything usually accomplished by the hands, except dress herself.
Shapely arms and shoulders
"Countess Anna" is a really beautiful girl of 21 or so, with most shapely armless shoulders, which she displays to the utmost advantage.
There are one or two intriguing points about the "Countess's" performance, about which, as the latter took place in a big vaudeville theatre when I saw her, I was unable to put any questions, much as I should have liked to do so.
In the first place, she remained seated throughout the whole of her act; and, secondly, while above the waist all she wore were two jewelled breast plates and a few silken straps, below she was draped in a long gown of clinging silk, from a slit on the left side of which her left leg emerged quite bare from the hip. And with this leg and foot she performed all her feats.
The right leg was never for a moment in evidence, and after careful observation I formed the opinion that the right leg had been amputated from quite close to the hip especially as I plainly saw the thin silk of her dress disturbed several times near the hip by something extremely like a rounded stump. But I could not be sure, and so the matter remains a mystery.
If the "Countess" is really one-legged as well as armless, I should imagine that she would render her performance much more sensational by revealing herself as she really is; but she does not choose to do this, and I suppose she has quite adequate reasons for her decision.
Conspicious by their absence
A few lines back I made the statement that armless ladies formed by far the largest category of limbless ladies before the public, and it might have been thought that this distinction should really have been given to the obviously very large class of one-legged ladies.
But though, of course, greatly in the majority generally, the curious thing is that on the stage, in circuses, etc., they are for the most part conspicious by their absence.
Personally, I have only seen one example — a very beautiful, magnificently formed woman contortionist whose right leg was entirely absent from the trunk, and who gave a most remarkable contortion display in a New York variety theatre.
As far as England is concerned, I have never even heard of a one-legged lady performer appearing on stage — that is, of course, as a one-legged performer.
Sarah Bernhardt appeared in London after the loss of her leg, but the absence of her leg was most carefully concealed. A very intriguing item, however, appeared only about a month ago in a American theatrical weekly.
Limbless variety artists
In the very brief notice of the vaudeville performance at the New Onpheum Theatre, Los Angeles, there appeared the following! "The Kauffner Twins (Irma and Zoe), unique one-legged equilibrists, open the show with an interesting speciality. The girls are fast workers, despite their disability, and went off rousing applause."
That was all. It was tantalisingly brief, and this is the first and only reference to this girls I have seen, so that I cannot give any particulars about them. But if they really are twins — stage "sisters" are not always what they seem, though twins, I take it, ought to be genuine — it is certainly remarkable that each has only one leg, and one wonders how exactly this came about.
Leaving the world of the stage and the side-show booth, and coming to one's ordinary, everyday experiences many interesting and often intriguing encounters can be recalled.
________________________________________
London Life February 16, 1929 pp. 26 and 35



Post Reply

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: Google Adsense [Bot] and 3 guests