The Corset of Dara O'Shay (Complete)

[missile]

My take on the Portrait Of Dorian Gray. A slow-shrink SW story. Graphic sex scenes included. Hope you enjoy.

"But you don't look Irish, Miss," the girl said questioningly.

"Dark Irish," Dara replied automatically. Growing up in the States or visiting family in Dublin, no one questioned her hair. But every third person in London, it seemed, didn't believe that anyone from the green Isle could have anything but red hair.

"An' you don't sound Irish," the girl continued, gathering up the laces at the back of the corset. Dara braced herself for the tightening.

"I was raised in Philadelphia," she replied. "Father was a trades rep, selling armorclads to the Union during their recent civil war." And spent quite a tidy sum on tutors to get any trace of brogue out of his daughters' voices.

Londoners might be amused at her American accent, but the only thing worse than appearing as an uppity Irish lass being introduced to society would have been to try to adopt a fake English accent.

The air wheezed out at the end of her sentence as the lass took a double handful of ribbon and yanked. The effort of donning a corset resembled torture, she thought, but my, how her mirror image improved. She admired the result for a second while the girl tied it off.

"Make sure it's comfortable," Aunt Sally advised, from her own spot where three girls tried to tighten her own foundation garment. "After a few parties, it'll be the only thing keeping you in your girlish figure."

Aunt Sally knew what she was on about, Dara thought. The woman was famous for drinking, eating and roistering men under the table. Her fetes were the scandal of the upper class, but no one refused an invitation. Dara watched the waves cross her aunt's generous flesh as the girls tugged, tugged, tugged. Dara was reminded of the sailors on her recent Crossing, trying to make a small boat fast in rising winds.

"Too bad it works that way," she replied. "I could wish vice would only make the corset fit better."

"Oh, you don't want to be saying that," her attendant lectured, moving to stand in the young woman's view. "Especially not in front of a mirror. Mirrors are windows to the devil, don't you know. 'At's why there's so much vanity and vice done with them."

Dara moved the girl back with a single figure. If anything, her reflection looked even better than it had. "I can see vanity, perhaps. But what sort of vice could be associated with reflecting glass?"

"I can think of a few," Sally rejoined. Dara raised an eyebrow, but the older woman shook her head. "Not yet. We'll introduce you to the right people, before you get to know the wrong ones."

"Well, whatever they might be, I still think it would be divine if the consequences such behavior could be directed to the corset, not my belly or hips. If only vice worked to make the corset bigger, or me smaller, i'd consider my soul a worthwhile payment."

As usual, one might understand the desires of a young person unwittingly offering an open contract to whatever agencies inhabit the universe. But more importantly, one should remember that the powers that be are not human. While her import may be clear to a human observer, the actual wording is what guides the response of 'the wee gifties.' A contract is based on the language used, not the ideas behind it. However we may regret such miscommunication later, it's often too late to effect worthwhile change.

[missile]

Sally worked Dara into society by steps. Before her first full-fledged party, they attended plays, teas and smaller socials. Today, after returning to the house and changing, they welcomed a small group to tea. Most were lady friends of Sally?s, with their own daughters and nieces being trained up in social interaction. A few brought male friends, relatives and guests. Two particularly caught Dara?s eye.

Foster Williams was an industrialist, about six years older than Dara, and heir to a fortune based on supplying materiel to the military. O?Shay was surprised that he only spoke slightly about his business. She was used to businessmen talking about their business until the boredom started to peel paint.

Opposite him, Lieutenant Godfrey Peters was a third son of a shipping magnate, two years older than Dara, and was well into a career in the Royal Army. He looked quite dashing in his uniform, and showed a similar restraint in boring the women with details about military actions in Europe.

After a stimulating discussion of the works of the recently deceased Dickens, she revealed her greatest pleasure in their company.

?It surprises me, gentlemen, that though both of you are aware of my upbringing, neither of you is spending time pointing out the flaws in America.?

?But you?re not American,? Peters pointed out. ?Are you??

?Well, no, I consider myself Irish, actually,? she replied, ?but ever since landing at Portsmouth, any man that?s heard me speak has taken me to task for the government there.?

?Bah,? Williams spat, dismissing the topic and, as near as she could tell, the entire continent of America. ?I would not care to bore delightful ladies with such discussions.? ?Then what,? Sally asked, ?would you prefer to bore us with?? Dara looked askance at her aunt. For some reason, the woman had emphasized the verb. Was she accusing these men of being wearisome?

?I would try to pierce,? he replied, with similar, disconcerting emphasis, ?to the heart of a topic you would enjoy.?

?Darling,? she assured him, ?any such penetrating discussion has been performed time and again on this?subject. Why should I believe you could bring anything new to the argument??

Dara didn?t quite understand what was going on, but was beginning to feel distinctly uncomfortable as a witness to it. A glance at the officer found him squirming slightly in his seat, too.

?Did you bring a horse?? she asked him suddenly.

?Huh? Oh, yes. I rode Inflict. He?s an Arabian.?

?Oh, I do love that breed. I haven?t seen a horse since I left America. Not up close anyway. Aunt,? she turned to their host who was leaning almost dangerously far forward, judging from the amount of cleavage she was showing. ?May I go and see the Lieutenant?s mount??

?Yes, dear,? Sally said graciously. ?Take your time.?

In the stalls behind the house, Dara fed sugar to the stallion.

?Made fast friends there,? Peters judged.

?Oh, anyone can do it,? she demurred, scratching behind the stallion?s ears.

?But not everyone would try,? he said. She looked over to where he leaned on the wall of another stall.

?You know, Lieutenant, any time I asked to see a boy?s horse in America, they made sure to stand up close to me. Right at my elbow. Just in case I need rescue from such a large beast.?

?I doubt,? he said with a smile, ?you?re in any danger. Inflict?s a good judge of character, and you strike me as well able to take care of yourself.?

Dara gave a sigh.

?You know, Lieutenant, any time I asked to see a boy?s horse in America, they made sure to stand up close to me. Right at my elbow. Just in case I need rescue from such a large beast.?

?Are you?? he paused, ?actually asking me to lean over you?? She winked. He walked. Standing at her side, he stroked Inflict?s chin while she continued to scratch behind the ears. After a moment he cleared his throat.

?Yes?? she asked.

?Well, um, well, it seemed to me that you were uncomfortable when Williams and your Aunt started flirting.?

?Yes. I was.?

?But you seem quite forward out here.?

?Well, we?re alone,? she said. ?I wasn?t uncomfortable with the idea of my aunt flirting, but with having to sit through it.?

?Ah. I understand,? he said. After another moment, he asked: ?Miss O?Shay, is that your hand on my fly??

?Yes.?

?You appear to be trying to open it.?

?I am afraid that I am.?

?Are you having difficulty??

?It appears that the Royal Army purchased fly buttons slightly different than used by the average Philadelphia College student.? Within moments, though, she managed to free his member from the confining clothing.

An instant later, she knelt before him. A few gentle licks to the end of his already throbbing member brought him to a heroic hardness. She took the end into her mouth and stroked the length gently back and forth.

In a matter of seconds, he bucked and heaved and came. She tucked him back inside with a smile and accepted his offered handkerchief.

He did the fly buttons as she wiped her mouth. Just before they stepped away from the horse, he leaned forward, lips pursed for a gentle kiss. She recoiled.

?Lieutenant! We?ve only just met!?

Bemused, he bent his elbow to her and led her back to the house.

[missile]

That night, when she dressed for the opera, she asked the maid to tighten her corset.

?Tighten? Mistress, there?s no slack left in the laces. The material?s pulled together as tight as a chimney sweep?s thighs in a stovepipe!?

?Really? It seemed to fit better in the store. Oh, well,? Dara remarked. Privately, she decided to see the woman in the lingerie shop the next day. Perhaps someone could train this incompetent slut to work a decent lacing.

Foster Williams sent his carriage for Dara the next day.

He stood waiting for her beside the road on the western side of the city. A number of carriages were depositing people who moved across the grass. Colored ribbons on sticks indicated a direction for travel.

She offered her hand to be assisted to the ground, but he reached past it. Taking her hips in his strong hands, he lifted her to the ground.

?Is that a corset?? he asked.

She pretended to strike him with her fan. ?Sir! My garments are none of your business, neither is speculation about those that are not able to be viewed.?

?At least, not yet,? he said with a winning smile, turning to lead her to whatever the ribbons were inviting them to.

This time, she struck him with the fan, right across that smile.

?Mister Williams. You take liberties.?

He rubbed at his lips and eyed her speculatively. ?It?s hard to believe you?re related to Sally O?Shay.?

?My aunt has established a reputation that was largely of her own design,? she said, turning to walk ahead of him. ?And what she tolerates in her own parlor is her affair. What you say to me, in public, is a different one.?

Dara was several steps along before Williams managed to catch up to her and step past. Turning to face her, he blocked her forward movement.

?You are right. I wronged you. I apologize, and promise it?ll never happen again.?

?Very well,? she allowed magnanimously, raising her hand to accept his elbow. ?You may begin making it up to me.?

?I hope to,? he promised.

Beyond a thin copse of trees, bleachers were raised at the edge of a large grassy field. A number of cannons were set up on one side.

?What are we doing here, Mr. Williams??

?My company is competing to answer the call of the New Ordnance Department for a new muzzle loading cannon. If we?re successful, we?ll be in a good position to fill Army orders well into the next century.?

?Muzzle loaders?? she asked.

?Yes, the guns that get loaded from the hole at the end, that?s the muzzle, those are muzzle loaders. If they?re loaded from the end the soldiers stand at??

?Didn?t the breech loaders sold to the Americans perform admirably during their recent war?? she asked, innocently. He blinked.

?Especially for naval units, it?s unwieldy to have to retract them fully, to swab and reload.? He blinked again. She smiled sweetly. ?At least, that?s what Daddy always says.?

?Ah, yes. The ironclads.? He held her hand as they climbed the steps. During the demonstration, she watched the weaponry closely.

Beyond pointing out that the third gun in the line was ?his,? Williams spent all his time glad-handing officers and other contractors in the stands. He was talking up the finer qualities of the five pounder offered by his company the whole time. At least he stopped talking long enough to watch the firing.

Having seen the soldier touch the burning rope to the fuse, Dara wasn?t surprised in the slightest, but she did notice a number of women in the crowd jumped at the first blast. The men escorting them were glad to offer support and comforting to their delicate sensibilities.

Out of the corner of her eye, she also noticed the long steady arm of her own escort hanging in the air between them.

?Sorry to disappoint you, sir, but I am no delicate flower to jump at things that go bump in the field.?

?I?m not disappointed in the slightest,? he lied smoothly. ?I merely readied myself if you were in need of support.?

The second gun fired. Dara was not exactly surprised that a number of women made certain to jump in terror at that one, too. She was a little critical of those that jumped before the actual blast, though.

?It?s possible to overdo it,? she muttered. Then she realized Mr. Williams thought she was talking to him.

?I should think that grabbing you was overdoing it, offering my hand for you to take-?

?Yes, yes, I?m sorry, you?re alright. But I?m afraid I don?t see too much difference between the guns.?

?Ah, well, at this distance-? he began.

?You are familiar with your field piece??

?Yes, well, it?s my job to-?

?So, perhaps you can tell me how many bags of gunpowder one loads after the shell itself?? She saw him trying to remember watching the loading process. She was already quite aware that he was speaking to a colonel behind them at that time.

?Well, it?s a five pound gun, so-?

?Are you suggesting that five pounds of powder will impell that shell??

?Um, no, actually, I meant that one bag of powder is loaded after the shell. One specially premade, premeasured bag of powder, mathematically calculated for precisely the weight of the precision ball supplied with the weapon.?

?I don?t think so,? she said, blinking her eyes coquettishly.

?What do you mean??

?I asked how many bags one stuffs down your cannon?s ?muzzle? after the shell.?

?Yes, and I said-?

?The shell goes down the barrel the last. The powder burns to force it out the muzzle. It couldn?t do that if it were between the muzzle and the shell.?

He stared at her, mouth agape.

?Mister Williams. I have loaded and fired a gun from inside an ironclad. I do not think you any less of a man for not having done so yourself. Your advantages, in social position, financial footing, and the great strength of your arms are quite admirable.

?But I caution you, sir, if you continue to underestimate me, you will have only two chances at seeing my corset: slim and none.

?And even the nun will say you haven?t got a prayer.? He laughed at her little American witticism. Then he good-naturedly escorted her out to the gun itself that she might speak with the crew.

By the time they returned to his carriage, all the others were gone.

?It was good of you to allow me to indulge my curiosity, sir,? she thanked him.

?Now, you underestimate me, dear. All I did,? he said, gesturing at the road around them with his hand, ?was make sure no one would be here to witness you climbing into my carriage without an escort.?

?My, you do take your liberties,? she observed, but quickly climbed up into the vehicle.

They sat across from each other as the coachmen drove off. ?So, sir, you have me at your mercy. What ever will you do??

?I should like to see your corset,? he replied. ?I do hope that in this less public setting, one might be more direct without fear of reprisal.?

In response, she lifted her dress hem.

?I?m afraid that the limited space and heaving of the coach prevent undressing.? She sighed. ?However, perhaps we might amuse ourselves on the journey.?

He moved to the seat beside her, practically ripping his pants open as he did. She reached in and grasped his manhood.

Williams? hands stroked across her blouse and petticoat, but the explorer found no route to the treasure buried within. Mostly, his imagination at the maddeningly close, but still barricaded flesh worked itself upon him while she brought him to his moment in her hand. Spent and gasping, he slid to the floor of the coach.

?I swear,? he gasped, ?I will never underestimate you again. That was miraculous.?

She smiled down at him as she wiped her hands on a cloth she?d secreted in her reticule. Dara then made shift to replace all her own clothing properly. Something was wrong, though. The corset seemed to be slipping loose. Without that foundation, all the rest of her clothes seemed loose as well.

?Good heavens,? she said, ?I?m going to look disheveled when I alight from the carriage!?

Williams helped as well as he could, which was not at all, then cowered as far back on the bench as possible when they reached Sally?s home. To all appearances, she was alone when she returned, just as when she?d left.

She scurried swiftly to the house, then up to her room. Calling for her maid, she began removing clothes to change for afternoon tea.

[missile]

The Lieutenant escorted Dara to the wedding of an officer he was related to. The man was a Lieutenant Colonel in the Black Watch, so the pomp and costuming of the ceremony resembled that of an Italian opera.

Dara?s eyes swept across the altar as they waited for the bride to be piped in, taking in the outrageous uniforms, what with the beaver hats extending far above and the kilts extending no where near far enough below. She took her escort?s hand.

?Tell me, Peters, how long will it take you to make Colonel??

?That depends on how many wars there are in the next few years,? he said softly. ?Why? Are you jealous??

?No, no, it?s not that. I firmly believe there?s a spouse for all of us, and begrudge her not for finding hers. I was just curious when one such as you might afford a ceremony such as this.?

?Ah, you want bagpipes at your wedding??

She shook her head, but did notice he was not so presumptuous as to refer to ?their? wedding. ?Not these, anyway. I?m Irish. The bagpipes are Gaelic, but the wrong Gaelic. Have you heard Irish bagpipes, Lieutenant?? He shook his head in negation. She shrugged. ?They?re fun in taverns, I suppose, but I never thought of them as appropriate for a wedding, personally.?

The bride passed their pew just then. Dara squeezed Peters? hand and leaned over to whisper: ?But I will admit, I envy her that dress ? Oh!?

?Are you alright?? he asked, as people around them glanced towards them at her outburst. Her hands flew around her dress.

?I?.I believe so. I thought I felt a strap or pin give way, but my underclothes seem to be in order.?

She shrugged, and they sat silently through the wedding.

At the reception, they danced for one song. She was disconcerted to find that her head only reached the ribbons on his chest. Dancing was awkward with the height difference between them.

Dara was certain he wasn?t that tall in the horse stalls.

?I wonder,? he mused.

?What??

?Well, I purchased new boots for this occasion. Perhaps the heel is higher than I normally wear.?

?That must be it. Can we sit down?? He gallantly led her to a table and left her seated while he sought refreshments. She shifted and squirmed, trying to get comfortable.

They passed the time at the table quite pleasantly. Dara marked the officer?s willingness to listen to her opinions and even seemed to consider her ideas.

He took care to introduce her to both male and female aquaintences as they strode past or sat nearby.

He did take exception to the amount of alcohol she consumed, though.

?Phaugh!? she dismissed his concerns. ?An Irishman, or woman, is never drunk as long as they can grasp a blade of grass and not slide off the face of the earth.?

?But there is no grass in the pavillion, Miss O?Shay,? he pointed out. She tossed her head towards the band.

?Well, I also, historically, get deaf when I?m drunk. When the bagpipes no longer sound, to me, like a pregnant cat being forcibly ejected from a piano by means of a baboon-operated bellows, I will know that I am drunk. Not before. Now be a good chap and refill this.? He smiled, nodded, and obediently marched towards the refreshments.

?Miss O?Shay! What a pleasant surprise!?

Williams was walking up to the table from the direction of the band. He made a grotesque pantomime of searching the immediate area for witnesses, then leaned close to her.

?And may I say, where no one can hear, how voluptuous you look today.? She smiled at the compliment, with a glance downwards at her own endowments.

?Christ?s bloody arms and legs!? she swore. Her breasts were pushing against the fabric of her blouse, as a market vendor offering overripe fruit. Even as she watched, the corset seemed to heave upwards, forcing the rounded masses even higher.

?I couldn?t disagree,? Williams replied. Over his shoulder, Peters coughed politely. ?So, Lieutenant, this is how you escort a charge? Plying her with drink between leaving her alone at a table??

?I believe you?re the only threat to show himself so far, sir.? He lowered the drinks to the next table over and offered his elbow to Dara.

?I believe it?s time to leave, dear.?

?Uh, yes, thanks,? she said, latching onto his arm as a lifeline.

Williams watched with a superior smile as they made their retreat, thinking himself the cause, she was sure.

Peters made no comment on the state of her dress, just sat beside her on the ride, a comforting presence. She barely thanked him at the door and fled to her rooms.

Behind the closed door of her room, Dara began to shuck her garments. Though she'd needed help donning them, she was able to undo most everything herself.

Finally she stood before her mirror, clad in stockings, garter belt and corset. She found herself shocked at the image. Though never exactly a waif, she was now the very image of pulchritude. Her bodily curves were exaggerated as if in the dreams of a Mediterranean slave merchant.

She could not determine what had happened, or why she looked that way now, instead of how she'd looked at the lingerie shop. She resolved to ask her aunt on the morrow and moved to finish undressing.

Her mortification at the sight she presented prevented her summoning the maid. Luckily, the shoe button hook was sufficient to reach the knot on the laces that she might remove the confining piece.

Just as it slipped off her hips, though, the room began to swim around her. She recognized that she was drunk, but in a rush, rather than the usual rising tide she'd experienced before. She staggered to the bed and barely climbed into it.

She woke briefly, some time later, to see the maid tiptoeing around the room, lifting up her clothes to put them away. The woman tucked her in with a smile, then deftly jumped back to avoid the spray of vomit.

The next morning, the bells of Saint Marks woke Dara and her hangover up together. She groaned at the thought of attending church in her condition. Well, she'd learned in Philly that if one skipped a service, there was some talk, but if you showed up with the bloodshot eyes, the breath, the sensitivity to light, there was far more talk, and it was far more accurate. She'd skip it, today.

Then she recalled that her letters home always included the subject of the minister's sermons, that her mother might be comforted at Dara's spiritual guidance. Well, she could always make up a standard sermon about the seven deadly sins, that'd satisfy her mother.

A loud thump from beyond the foot of the bed sounded. She sat carefully up to see that her wardrobe was open, with a few clothes strewn out as if pushed from within.

Nothing further moved, though, and she sank back down into the bed.

She was moving slowly around the room in her dressing gown, later, when Sally strode in.

"Well, what are you waiting for, girl!? We have to be at the reception in half an hour!"

"Aunt Sally, I can't! None of my clothes fit!" she wailed.

"WHAT?!" Sally swiftly crossed the room and yanked the gown up. Naked before the woman's gaze, Dara tried to discern the cause of her aunt's upset. "Well, you don't LOOK pregnant," she finally said, dropping the hem. "What, exactly, do you mean by 'they don't fit????

[missile]

?Your spine is fatigued, probably from travel and a change in diet. Perfectly natural. A common occurrence.? The doctor turned away from Dara to put away his stethoscope. Exactly what he?d been listening to along her spine, she wasn?t sure. But Aunt Sally had great trust in this doctor, so she refrained from asking. But?

?How common?? she did ask. Sally?s eyebrows rose at the question, but she sat quietly to the side of the bedroom.

?Oh, increasingly common, these days, as more and more women take up travels.? Instrument stowed, he collected his bag and turned to kiss Sally?s hand.

?Well, I?ve never heard of it.?

?And are you a licensed medical professional, miss??

?That?s enough of that, Dara,? Sally said, standing to interrupt. ?We asked the doctor here to see why you seemed so small. Don?t go questioning his medicinal expertise. What can we do for the girl, Doctor??

?Oh, that?s easy enough. She needs some physical support for a while, some beef-based foods, and rather a lot of alcohol.?

?Physical support?.would her corset qualify??

?Oh, perfectly.?

?But it doesn?t fit me anymore!?

?Well, you?ll have to make do, somehow.? And he was gone.

Dara and her maid spent some time relacing the undergarment. Parts that were supposed to meet were made to overlap. The change made up for all the slack she?d been noticing over the week. More, in fact.

Dara actually heard her ribs pop when the maid was finally through tightening it to Sally?s satisfaction. They dressed quickly, meeting again in the parlor.

?I can?t breathe!?

?It?s a corset! You?re not supposed to! Besides, it?s for your health, dear.?

?Fine. Shall we go? Where are we going, tonight, anyway??

?You?ll see.? Sally assured her, turning to go.

?What is THAT?? Dara exclaimed. With a knowing smile, Sally waggled her behind.

?It?s a bustle.?

?What is a bustle??

?The newest thing, child. Draws attention to one?s posterior, and makes the motion rather clear to interested viewers.? She waggled some more.

?Clear is certainly not wrong,? Dara observed. ?Neither is exaggerated, heroic, or ?good lord, it?s coming right at us!? for that matter. Dear Aunt, a woman of your healthy physique does not need such an accessory. It?s like putting a poop deck on a dory!?

?Well, you?re one to talk,? Sally said with a pout, leaving the room and calling for her driver.

Dara turned slowly to the mirror, trying to divine her aunt?s meaning. Her reflection shocked her.

She?d always been rather fond of her figure. Now she looked like a wax figure of a fertility goddess left in the sun.

Her fatigued spine had cost her a foot of her natural height, easily. The dress, designed and tailored towards the height of fashion, slumped. Sally?s best maids had done a stalwart job making it wearable, but it was still a fright. Her sleeves bunched on her upper arms, her bust resembled a ship?s prow, and her swollen hips were as panniers without the saddle.

Her rear, visible way too early in her turn, more than made up for lacking a bustle in its protruding mass.

She swallowed any remaining pride and went off to apologize to her aunt.

[missile]

A warehouse near the docks was a swarming island of life and light in the dark streets. Dara looked out of the carriage door, fearful of the empty neighborhood. Though sounds of merriment issued from the structure, it did not encourage her. Any activity in such a place could not be a healthy one.

By the time they were inside, she was not entirely surprised to find it was a rat pit. The smell of man, rat, beer and tobacco hit the two women like a solid wall at the door. Beyond, concentric bleachers surrounded a circular arena, looking like a small model of a Roman forum. Small breaks in the circle of stands gave areas for stacks and stacks of cages of rats to be piled.

In a corner near the door, a number of dogs were being held and calmed by their owner, but viewed by several gamblers.

Mr. Williams waved to draw Sally?s attention to a spot he?d saved for them on the bleachers. Sally produced two voluminous scarves to cover the stained seats that they might sit on either side of the man.

He welcomed Sally, and began explaining the process of rat baiting to her. She sighed and asked how wagers were placed.

Williams beckoned to the side and a servant stepped over.

?Tell me which dog grabs your fancy, and Bolton here will place a wager for you.? She smiled at the man, who smiled back in clear surprise at even being noticed.

?Pity, then, that I haven?t brought any money. Sally cautioned me against bringing a purse.?

?And a good thing,? he agreed with a nod. ?But fear not, I?ll stand you a fiver.? He turned to her aunt. ?And I believe, Sally, I owe you a few quid already. Would you like the cash, or should I wager it for you??

Dara ignored their conversation, looking at the assorted crowd around the room. Rat baiting! It was an illicit act just to be IN such a place. The queen was putting her foot down on all such blood sports, but the going was rough.

No one really understood a desire to save vermin from a well-deserved death, and if it provided entertainment at the same time, what was the harm?

Finally, the showing stopped and young boys started emptying cages of rodents into the pit. As they did, Sally watched the dogs lined up.

?I believe the black one will do well,? she told Williams. ?I wish to wager my fiver on the second dog from the left.?

?The Scottish Terrier?? he said with a laugh. ?No, no, no. You want a terrier, true, but something more like a Jack Russell. That third dog?ll do you fine. Quick and deadly. Scottish terriers are too slow.? He turned to Bolton. ?Place five pounds on Jackson?s dog for Miss O?Shay, my man. And twenty for me. Mistress O?Shay would like to place ten each on Jackson?s and on MacLean?s.?

Williams turned to continue talking to Sally as Bolton turned to go. Dara caught his eye and held up two fingers. He winked back at her and strode away.

Betting went against the Scottie. Lean dogs were favorites in the pit. But this one reminded Dara of a neighbor?s pet. The fur was thicker than the other dogs sported, and the jaw stronger.

Other dogs were quick to run to and snap up a rat, shake it twice, and drop the dead weight. A mongrel with some sheep dog in it did well by herding the rats together and biting the ones that tried to leave the mass.

Dara?s Scottie had its own technique. Rather than shaking a rat back and forth until dead, it jerked once, like a hangman?s noose, breaking the rat in half. In the same motion, it didn?t drop but THREW the corpse away.

Williams was speechless at the final tally. ?My heavens. I should have let you make your bet, shouldn?t I??

He was speechless in a different way when his man returned with Dara?s winnings. Relief at being able to hand money over to her warred on his face with outrage that his own servant had disobeyed him.

?Oh, it?s not his fault,? Sally enlightened him. ?I?m sure my niece bat her eyes or smiled or otherwise twisted him around her finger. Just tip the man and be done with it.?

?Gracious in defeat, I am,? Williams assured her, handing the wad of cash over to Dara. She returned five pounds to him, thanking him for the loan, and tipped Bolton a pound for his efforts on her behalf. She took delicious amusement from Williams? facial expressions at every transaction.

?I thought,? she said sweetly, ?that you were not going to underestimate me again.?

?Would that I could,? he said gallantly, ?but it seems that there is nothing you are incapable of. Well. It is time to be off to my little party.? He stood and offered a hand to Sally, then Dara.

When she stood, though, her ankle twisted and she tipped over. Bolton and Williams each grabbed an arm and saved her from a nasty spill in the dirt.

As she tried to stand, her boots kept twisting. ?My SHOES don?t fit,? she cried. ?Just what is going ON!!???

?Perhaps you should just let us go home, tonight,? Sally said worriedly.