THE PERFECT DISGUISE

                           by

                         Watcher


Part 1
 
At the sight of the soldiers ahead, Julie felt a cold fist grip  
her vitals.  Once the sight of those soldiers would have filled 
her heart with pride and a sense of reassurance.  Those days 
were gone now.  They might wear the uniform and call themselves 
soldiers of France, but she knew them for the scum they were. 
 
It was not fair.  She was so close, and now the soldiers blocked 
her path.  She could smell the tangy salt air, and, in the 
distance, nestled between the forts of St. Jean and St. Nicholas, 
was a forest of masts, countless ships any one of which could take 
her to safety.  From her vantage point, she could see to the left 
the familiar walls of the arsenal des galères.  She could still 
remember the last time she had been there and seen the wretches 
who had been condemned to the galleys of the royal fleet.  There 
had been the usual long line of men, barefoot and safely shackled, 
as they were led to the whipping post and then to the branding 
iron before they were taken aboard ship and chained to their oars.
 
Like the soldiers, the port of Marseille was no longer a welcoming 
place.  In truth her world had turned upside down since the 
Revolution and the death of the King.  Idly she patted the neck 
of her horse as she considered her options, few as they were.  The 
animal was spent, a heavy coat of sweat testament to the long 
gallop that had taken her from her estate to the edge of the old 
port.  Even if the horse had any stamina left to give there was 
nowhere she could run to.
 
A return to her estate was out of the question.  It had been mere 
chance that she had been out riding when the agents of the 
Committee of Public Safety had arrived with a warrant for her 
arrest and immediate transportation to Paris.  With her title of 
baroness, there would be only one outcome to such a journey.  Death 
at the hands of the guillotine, or as some had taken to calling it, 
the "National Razor."  Were it not for a dutiful servant bringing 
word to her before she could return, she would be in chains and 
already on the road to Paris. 
 
Her only option was to flee.  She had estates in Spain.  They were 
small, but they could support her.  First, however, she had to get 
there.  The frontier was too distant and too well-guarded, but she 
had been certain that, if she were quick, she could make it to 
Marseille ahead of her pursuers.  She had succeeded at the cost of 
nearly running her stallion into the ground.
 
Her reprieve may yet be short-lived.  Soldiers guarded every 
entrance to the docks.  Trash they might be, but they were 
diligent dogs, searching every man or woman who approached.  And 
all carts and wagons were inspected.  She could not pass that way.
 
"What am I do to?" she whispered to herself.  She could not stay 
in the streets either.  There were patrols, and a woman of obvious 
rank would attract attention.  Most of her aristocratic neighbours 
had either fled or been taken.  The few that remained were as 
likely to turn her over to the Committee (in the hopes of currying 
favour) as to help her.
 
"My lady?"
 
Panic gripped her, and she almost kicked her tired mount into one 
last gallop.  Then she saw the man who had called to her.  She 
recognised him.  It had been five years since Lucien Morrel had 
left to seek his fortune.  From the cut and quality of his coat 
and waistcoat, he had found success. 
 
"Is all well?" he asked, frowning as he peered up at her -- as well 
he might with her all alone, without a single servant or attendant 
and dressed in a riding habit dusty from the road.
 
"Lucien, is that you?"  Perhaps her fortune was finally turning.  
She was about to speak further, but, before any words could form, 
she froze as she heard the cadence of marching boots.  A patrol!
 
Something of her sudden fear must have registered on her face, for 
Lucien looked towards the sound of the approaching soldiers and 
then back to her and nodded.  "Follow me, my lady.  I know a place 
where you will be safe."
 
Another time she would have reprimanded any commoner for taking the 
bridle of her horse without her consent, but today she said nothing 
as she clung to the frail hope that he might, just might, be able 
to see her to safety.  If those soldiers came upon her she would 
be finished.  No one survived the guillotine.
 
		******************************
 
The house was small but well furnished, with stables at the rear 
where her mount could enjoy oats and water, while she finally was 
able to take her ease in a comfortable drawing room.  When Lucien 
placed a glass of wine before her, Julie downed it faster than was 
proper and was glad when he poured more.  While it was inferior to 
what she was accustomed to, it helped steady her nerves and soothe 
her dry throat.
 
"I must find a way to take ship to Spain," she finished after 
explaining her predicament. 
 
It had been nearly five years since she had last seen Lucien, when 
he had set off to make his own way in the world.  For three 
generations, his family had served hers faithfully.  Growing up, 
she had felt certain that he was smitten with her.  A relationship 
with a commoner had been out of the question, but, if he really 
felt any affection toward her, it could be useful now. 
 
And he was in her debt, after all.  She had chosen not to mention 
it yet, but rather to hold it in reserve should the need arise.  
Before he had left, Lucian had splashed mud on her new gown.  It 
had come from Paris and had been ruined.  He had claimed it was an 
accident, but for such an assault upon her person she could have 
had him imprisoned.  Instead she had shown him considerable mercy 
and kindness.  He had merely received a flogging.  When it was 
over, she had told him that she forgave him his offense.  Were it 
not for her mercy, he might have found himself dragged away in 
chains to the horror of the Château d'If.

As she recounted her tale to Lucian, she began, not to relax, but 
to be more optimistic of her survival.  From what he had revealed, 
it was clear that Lucian was a man of means, and he appeared 
sympathetic to her plight.
 
"The Committee for Public Safety," he mused as he sat back in his 
chair and nursed a glass of fine crystal.  He had barely touched 
his own wine.
 
There were few in the country that opposed the Committee.  To do so 
was usually to sign one's own death warrant.  A sudden fear gripped 
her.  What if he too feared to bring down the wrath of the baying 
mob?  As many had died at their hands as by the guillotine.
 
"Oh, please, Lucien, say you will help me.  You are my only hope." 
 
He replaced his glass on the table and gave her a reassuring smile. 
"Oh, I have no great love for Citizen Robespierre, my lady, of that 
I assure you, and I have no desire to see the guillotine take you." 
 
He shook his head.  "You will be safe once you get on board ship, 
the trick will be in getting you there."
 
"You said you run a shipping house," Julie stated.  It was almost 
beyond belief that he had climbed so high in such a short time, 
but these last few years had been tumultuous and seen many fall. 
It was only to be expected that some would also make their fortunes 
amid the chaos.
 
"Surely you can smuggle me past the guards...in a crate or wagon 
or...."
 
"All are searched.  No, we must find another way."  Lucien turned 
away and his gaze became distant as he considered what might be 
done.  As he thought, Julie hardly dared to breath.  Finally, he 
turned back towards her with an unreadable expression. 
 
"There is a way, but I doubt you will like it...," he began 
hesitantly.
 
"Anything!" Julie cried, seizing at any chance. 
 
He held up his hand to forestall her.  "A noble woman will never 
be allowed to pass without the proper permits, but there are 
others who would pass without any difficulty."
 
Julie began to smile.  Fortune indeed was smiling on her when she 
had stumbled on Lucien.  "Then let us make preparations.  What am 
I to be, a merchant's wife, a nun perhaps...?"
 
"A peasant émigré," he told her.
 
Julie's mouth dropped open in shock.  What?  Impossible.  They 
were the poorest of the poor, peasants of the lowest order.  
They bartered years of service for passage to the new world.
 
"There are quite a few coming through the port," Lucian explained. 
"Plantation owners in the Americas and in the Caribbean are 
offering great bounties to those who can recruit indentured 
servants for them.  Many shipping companies are gathering up 
peasants eager to escape these troubled times, and, when they 
arrive in the new world their contracts are sold to the highest 
bidder."
 
"Surely there is another role that I could assume," she protested. 
"I am a baroness.  I could never pass for such a...a creature."  
Try as she might she could not conceal the disgust she felt at the 
very idea.
 
Lucian did not seem phased by her lack of enthusiasm.  "There is 
hardly a day that passes without a score of them arriving in port.  
If you were to join such a group, once you are properly attired of 
course, none of the guards would give you a second look."
 
He looked closely at her face, judging her reaction, then he 
shrugged as if her decision was of no real concern to him.  "Of 
course, if you prefer you can return to the streets and search 
out some other way to get past the guards.  I am sure that you 
will be able to avoid the patrols for a time.  I regret I cannot 
shelter you beyond a day or so.  It would be more that my life 
is worth to hide an aristocrat."
 
Julie swallowed hard, and it took all of her will not to begin 
to cry.  Then slowly she nodded her consent.  She had no choice.  
Whatever indignity she must suffer, it was better than the 
alternative.  Ever since the king had been murdered, at night 
she would wake screaming after dreaming of being hauled from the 
tumbrel with the mob baying for blood.  With wrists bound behind 
her back, she would be dragged up to the scaffold and strapped in 
place to wait for the hiss of the blade descending, and then, 
nothing.  To dream of it was bad; the reality would be worse.
 
"I will do it," she said softly.
 
		******************************
 
Julie never realised how hard it was to undress.  All her life a 
veritable army of servants attended to her every need.  At night 
her personal maid would carefully remove one layer after another 
until she was ready for bed.  Doing it herself was far more 
tiresome than she could have imagined.
 
Finally, though, she was down to her chemise.  Looking at the 
discarded riding habit, she shuddered when she realised what 
would come next.  For any man to see her in such a state went 
beyond outrageous.  "Better than the blade," she whispered to 
herself as she strove to gather her courage.  Better indeed.
 
From behind the flimsy screen, all that preserved her modesty, 
Lucian's voice called out.  "Are you ready, my lady?"
 
"Nearly," she answered, and then, with shaking hands, she drew 
the chemise over her head and dropped it to the floor with the 
rest of her finery. 
 
The room was warm, but Julie was certain she could feel a breeze 
brushing against her naked flesh.  It seemed to stroke her breasts,
caress her bottom.  She shivered with embarrassment...and something 
else.  All her life she had presented an image to the world, one 
expected from someone of her station.  Now it was oddly liberating 
to stand naked as the day she was born.  Looking down, she raised 
her hands to her breasts.  Her nipples were stiff and rigid.
 
"If you require any assistance my lady...," Lucian said, and she 
gave a start.  It sounded as if he were going to come in to help 
her.  He could not see her, not like this, standing bare and wanton 
like some harlot.  Yet the idea that he might catch a glimpse of 
her sent a tantalising, tingling sensation coursing up from between 
her legs.  Courtesans had ruled kings with the mere hint of a 
shapely thigh, a well-rounded bosom.  What might he do for a brief 
view of her bare flank?
 
"Julie, have you no shame?" she muttered, but a part of her was 
sorry not to see Lucian's face peering around the screen.  Would 
he think her beautiful?  She was twenty-four, true, but she liked 
to think herself beautiful still.  With a comely smile, a firm 
but pert bosom, and a plump bottom, she could drive any man mad 
with lust should she reveal herself. 
 
Her smile faltered when she beheld the garment she was to wear.  
It was a drab grey, thin but rough to the touch.  Accustomed to 
the softest silks and finest lace, the mere touch of the hemp 
cloth repelled her.  She had seen grain sacks made from finer 
material.  Then slowly, grudgingly, she lifted the dress and 
pulled it over her head.
 
"How do I look?" she asked, and, trembling, she stepped out from 
behind the screen.
 
There were no words to describe his expression as he beheld her.  
A tall mirror caught her attention, and she scrambled forward past 
Lucian to look at her reflection.  She gasped in amazement, for 
she hardly recognised herself.  The dress, if it could be called 
that, was very short, leaving her bare feet and calves exposed.  
The skirt itself was torn in several places, with a ragged hemline 
ending just below the knee, but one tear along the side concerned 
her most.  Julie shifted her stance slightly, putting her left leg 
forward, and the skirt parted along the length of the tear, leaving 
her bare leg exposed up to the thigh. 
 
The sleeves of the bodice, on the other hand, left most of her arms 
bare, and the bodice itself was low-cut, far too large, and 
torn vertically from the neck far down her back.  She took a deep 
breath and immediately felt the rough hemp begin to slide off her 
shoulders.  She let out a yelp and quickly reached up to grasp the 
material, but not before it fell half way down her chest, exposing 
her breasts.  Even when she tugged it back up, it felt as if it 
might fall down again without notice. 
 
When she turned, her fear was confirmed as she saw that the v-like 
rip at the rear left most of her back exposed, and, as soon as her 
arms were by her sides again, the bodice began to slide down her 
shoulders, baring her breasts once more.
 
"Surely there is a more modest, more...substantial dress that I 
might have."  In the mirror, she could see open hunger in Lucian's 
eyes, and it was only with effort that he shook himself and 
replied.
 
"But it is prefect," he told her.  "You are the very image of a 
poor peasant girl seeking a new life in the Caribbean, except...."
 
"A chemise then," she countered.  The coarse hemp was scouring her 
skin with every movement.
 
Lucian snorted.  "And where would a poor girl like you find the 
money for such extravagance as a chemise?" 
 
He frowned as he studied her, and Julie felt her own humour darken 
even more.  Was something amiss?  

Then he snapped his fingers.  "I knew something was missing.  You 
are far too clean, you stand far too proudly, and I cannot see a 
single sign of the whip or switch upon your skin."
 
"Lucian," she cried out in shock and indignation and was forced 
again to grab the front of the dress to keep it in place.  That 
would have to be seen to.  She could not go outside flashing her 
breasts like some streetwalker.  It was beyond indecent.
 
Ignoring her protests, he cast about for a moment, and then his 
eye fell on the riding crop she had left to one side when she had 
sat down to explain her predicament.  Julie found herself backing 
away from him as he hefted the crop with a houghtful expression. 
 
"You forget yourself," she snarled at him with all the imperious 
outrage she could muster.  Deprived of her finery, her attendants, 
and her servants, her own voice sounded hollow to her own ears, 
without its usual authority.
 
"You see," he accused her pointing at her chest with the crop.  
"Despite your dress you are acting the baroness.  You must be 
the peasant girl in look and manner or you will die."
 
Acting the baroness?  She was a baroness whatever rags she was 
wearing.  Julie scowled, then the rest of what he had said reached 
past wounded pride.  She would have to fool the soldiers to reach 
the safety of the ship.  If she misspoke or did the wrong thing, 
it might attract attention, suspicion.  That would be fatal.
 
"I will have no insolence from you, girl," Lucian snapped.  "You 
will be whipped for such impertinence, and then you can spend the 
morning working in my garden.  That should dirty you up.  We want 
some nice soil beneath your nails, in your hair, and between your 
toes.  When your dress is rank with your own sweat, when you have 
learned humility, and when you shudder at the mere sight of the 
whip, then you can pass as a peasant."
 
For a long moment she considered snatching up her riding dress and 
fleeing.  For any man to speak to her so was an outrage, and it was 
all the more insulting that it came from a bourgeois.  Despite all 
his apparent wealth, Lucian was not her equal.  Beneath his fine 
coat, he was but one step away from a peasant himself. 
 
A small voice told her it would be better to die as the noble she 
was that to accept such a debasement, but she wanted to live.  And 
he was correct.  If she were seen dirty and smelly with the sign of 
the whip upon her, no one who saw her would take her for a member 
of the second estate.  Her disguise would be prefect, and, when she 
was safely in Spain, restored to her proper station, she need never 
speak of this again.
 
With a flick of the crop he gestured towards an armchair and 
ordered that she bend over the back.  The padded leather of the 
chair was soft beneath her navel, but she nearly bolted when she 
felt him take hold of the skirt and draw it up over her back, 
baring her from the waist down.
 
"Such lily white skin," he remarked, sounding almost out of breath. 
"We must attend to that."
 
CRACK! 

Her howl could have lifted the roof as the crop descended sharply 
on her bare bottom, but nothing could ease the pain.  Then it came, 
again and again and again.  Over and over the whip fell.  From the 
centre of her arse and down the backs of her legs, the whip ranged 
at will, stopping only just above her knees.
 
Never in her life had she known such pain or such humiliation.  
She was being whipped, beaten like some lazy peasant.  That it 
was her own crop only added to the indignity.  When the third 
stroke landed, she could endure no more and tried to escape.  
Even death would be welcome compared to this, but Lucian would 
have none of it.  The moment she tried to rise from the chair, 
he gripped her arm and twisted it painfully behind her back.  
Using his hold as leverage, he forced her back into place as 
the crop resumed laying welt after welt on her bare skin.
 
"Let that be a lesson to you," he growled when it was finally done. 
"I'll have no more insolence from you."
 
With her vision blurred from the tears, Julie straightened stiffly, 
grateful for the covering of the dress as the skirt fell back into 
place.  Bent over like that he would have seen everything....  
Then she felt the rough cloth brush against her stripes, and she 
uttered a fresh gasp of pain.  
 
"Now let's be getting some honest labour from you," Lucian ordered. 
Without so much as a "by your leave" he grabbed her arm and all 
but yanked her off her feet and out into the corridor.

		******************************
 
At the sight of the garden Julie rebelled.  It was one thing to be 
dressed like this indoors with none to see but Lucian.  Outside, 
however, there was no telling who might come upon her.  With that 
tear in her dress, her leg kept emerging into view, and now anyone 
who saw her thighs would know she had been freshly whipped.  It 
was intolerable. 
 
"I want those weeds pulled by the time I return," Lucian ordered, 
using the crop to point to an area of soil that was looked as if 
it was being made ready for planting.  It had been raining last 
night, and the soil was still wet and muddy. 
 
"If I am not satisfied it will be the whip again," he warned.
 
"What if someone sees me like-like this?" Julie protested, pointing 
to her rags.  Even walking was painful, with her shift scraping 
against her stripes, and she had no idea how she was to be expected 
to work.  (To keep the bodice of her dress from falling to her 
waist, she had to use her hands to hold it up.)
 
"I fully expect that they will," Lucian said.  "I have servants, 
but they will think you are only a humble émigré being put to work 
before you board the ship."  His expression brightened.  "Think of 
it as a test, to see if you can pass as a peasant girl before you 
face the more suspicious and alert soldiers."
 
"This dress...I cannot...."  Almost to emphasise the point, the 
hemp began to slide down the bare skin of her arms, and she barely 
caught it before her breasts were bared.
 
"Many a county girl has less and is grateful for it.  And a girl of 
your standing does not argue with her employer; she obeys."  At the 
sight of the raised crop, Julie stumbled out into the garden and 
began for the first time in her life to perform manual labour.

		****************************** 

 
 
                  THE PERFECT DISGUISE

                           by

                         Watcher


Part 2
 
Everything hurt now.  She had grown almost accustomed to the 
constant throbbing of her bottom and the backs of her legs.  
She was certain she would not sit comfortably for days, but 
now other pains and aches had sprung up all over her body, 
and the longer she laboured, the more intense they grew.
 
Unaccustomed to being bent over so long, her back ached.  Her arms 
screamed, as muscles seldom used now protested.  The soil was damp, 
and, looking down at her once-fine hands, Julie shuddered.  Her 
nails were ruined, and her skin felt coarse and filthy.  Dirt was 
ground into her knuckles....  But her feet were worse.  Nothing she 
could do would remove the dreadful feel of mud trapped between her 
toes.  She was dirty and bedraggled and her sweat had begun to soak 
into the sackcloth dress.
 
The sun had reached its zenith, but still Lucian did not come.  
There were others.  She had seen them coming and going as she 
plucked weeds from the earth with dainty hands that were were 
meant for finer things.  Most paid her little heed, which was a 
small mercy.  If any of them knew that they were witnessing a 
baroness being worked like a rebellious slave, she would have 
died of shame.  A few men did tarry in their duties long enough 
to admire the tantalising glimpses of female flesh shown off by 
the rags.  All Julie could do was to bow her head to hide her 
humiliation. 
 
"Passable."
 
Julie looked up from the boots that had appeared before her and saw 
Lucian looking down at her.  He was still carrying her crop, but he 
looked pleased -- either at how she looked or at the work she had 
done.  She was not sure which.
 
"You are probably hungry," he said, and Julie felt her stomach 
rumble.  It was past time for a midday meal.  Just yesterday her 
cooks would have prepared a delicacy for her by now, perhaps some 
quail eggs.  Before she could reply, he reached into his pocket 
and took out a lump of bread...and, a moment later, let it drop 
onto the soil in front of her. 
 
Julie stared at the bread lying in the dirt in disbelief and then 
looked up at Lucian.  Surely he could not intend for her to eat 
that.  It looked dry and several days old, suitable for scraps for 
the animals.  Worse, it was resting in the dirt.
 
"A poor, starving peasant girl would have that eaten by now," he 
pointed out.  "And she would be kissing my hand for the kindness."  
A grimace darkened his expression.  "I fear there is no cake to 
eat on most farms."
 
Her own hands were filthy, and all she could do was to brush them 
against the rough hemp of her dress.  Even then they were still 
left brown with ingrained dirt as she took his hand and kissed it, 
muttering thanks for his kindness.  She lifted the bread and 
cleaned it as best she couldand put it in her mouth.  It was hard 
and dry, but she forced herself to eat it and did her best to spit 
out any pebbles or grains of dirt that clung to it.
 
"Please, Lucian," she begged after the loaf was devoured.  "I must 
wash, and I am sore, tired...."
 
Astonishingly he began to laugh.  "Tired?  Why, you have hardly 
worked at all.  Most girls like you would have been up before 
sunrise and done a day's work by now.  There are the stables to 
be mucked out.  You can put the horse manure into a bucket and 
spread it out over the ground.  Good fertiliser, horse manure."
 
Julie shuddered.  Earlier, he had shown her the proper deference, 
seeing to her needs with due respect.  Now it sounded as if he was 
speaking to some lowly servant, one in disgrace.  What had changed?
 
"But I am thirsty," she protested,  "I need to rest, to bathe...."
 
The thin fabric of her shift offered her some protection from the 
crop, but still it stung and evoked a howl of pain from her when 
he brought it down on the backs of her legs.
 
"If I don't see this garden properly fertilised within the hour, 
I'll have the skin off your back.  If you're thirsty, you can 
drink from the horse trough like the other animals.  Now, get to 
work."
 
There was such fury in his eyes that Julie scrambled to her feet 
and all but ran across the cobbled yard to the stables.  Accustomed 
to silk stockings and slippers or fine leather boots, the soles of 
her feet were agony itself from being barefoot so long on the hard 
ground.  For the first time, Julie began to regret leaving the 
garden.  At least the dirt was not so hard underfoot as the 
cobbles.
 
With Lucian watching from a distance, she spotted the tools she was 
to use.  There were two buckets, linked together with a length of 
wood like a yoke, and a shovel to clear away the horse droppings.  
She began to shovel the droppings into the bucket, but almost 
immediately the front of her dress began to slide down again.  In 
the garden picking weeds she had been able to use one hand to work 
while holding the bodice in place with the other.  The shovel, on 
the contrary, required both her hands.
 
"I'll have no idling or false modesty," Lucien told her with 
obvious annoyance in his voice.  Eyeing the whip and trying to 
ignore the surrounding stench and the fact that both her breasts 
were now peeking out over the neckline of her dress, Julie began 
to shovel the manure. 
 
As soon as the two buckets were filled, she had to bend to lift 
the wooden yoke around her neck, and, using both hands to hold 
the buckets and the yoke steady, she staggered back to the garden 
trying not to retch.
 
Whistles of appreciation sounded out from some of the passing 
servants as they saw her trying to walk under the heavy weight 
of the filled buckets.  There was no way she could cover her 
bosom or pull up the dress, not while holding the yoke.  All 
she could do was move forward with her head bowed so that she 
did not have to look too closely at any of the servants who 
were witnessing her humiliation.
 
Over and over, she repeated the process.  Fill the buckets, stagger 
under their weight to the garden, empty the buckets, spread the 
manure, then take the empty buckets back to the stables and start 
again.  Tears of humiliation began to run freely down her cheeks 
clearing away some of the dirt that now marred her once white skin. 
 
After what seemed an eternity, she had to stop and bend over the 
trough to scoop up some water.  With the sun beating down, she 
felt light-headed.  Common water never tasted so good, even if it 
came from the same trough where Lucien's horses drank. 
 
Seeing Lucien staring at her, Julie felt her bottom checks clench 
in fear that she would receive another whipping for stopping, but 
instead he gave her a curt nod of approval, then with the crop 
pointed back to the pile of manure that remained to be shifted. 
Head bowed like any good peasant, she shuffled back to work.
 
		******************************

The streets were crowded as they made their way from Lucien's house 
to the pier.  Julie tried not to wince with every step, but she 
had never before realised how hard the streets were if one were 
barefoot.  She could not wait to be on the ship and resting in her 
cabin with her feet up.  She would be limping for days, and she 
silently made a promise to herself that she would never walk 
anywhere that she could not ride or go in a carriage.  The sooner 
she was restored to her proper station, the better.
 
For now though, she kept her head down and tried to ignore the 
stares or calls from some of the passersby who slowed to let 
their eyes linger on her or some of the other women in her group.  
She felt the next thing to naked in this dress, but that was no 
excuse for some of what the citizens called out to her. 
 
One or two had even asked Lucien how much for a few minutes with 
her.  She knew that he was only playing along, but her face had 
burned as brightly as her whipped bottom when he made a show of 
considering the matter.  As he looked back at her and the other 
women, Julie felt her heart skip a beat.  He had been most thorough 
in crafting her disguise, so thorough she did not even recognise 
herself anymore....  But what if he were carried away? 
 
The idea of one of those fellows with rotting teeth and breath that 
stank of cheap rum hauling her away down some back alley made her 
feel sick.  Labourers and sailors...she could almost feel how rough 
their calloused hands would be against her skin.  Yet, strangely, 
part of her was almost sad when Lucien made his apologies; the ship 
and the tide would not wait on them to have a quick tumble.
 
Then she saw the soldiers.  There were two blocking the entrance to 
the pier, with another group nearby.  They looked to be playing at 
dice; she could their hear shouts of victory and disappointment 
from time to time.  But, however distracted they appeared, their 
muskets were stacked near at hand.
 
When she had first joined the other women being taken to the ship, 
Julie had wrinkled her nose in disgust.  None was quite as ragged 
as her, but all were barefoot, and, from the ease with which they 
walked on the cobbles, it was a condition they were well-accustomed 
to.  As for the smell, if she had come on any of them like that at 
home, she would have had her steward duck them in the lake before 
letting them anywhere near her chateau.
 
Now she was glad of their company.  She was just one poorly-dressed 
young woman among others.  Julie shuddered to think that she was 
just as dirty and ragged-looking as they, but, for the moment, 
that was to her benefit.  Soon they would be on their way to the 
Americas, while she would be enjoying the comforts of Spain.
 
Lucian rode ahead of the group and she saw him dismount to converse 
with the soldiers.  A small purse was exchanged, and then Lucian 
ordered that the women form up in a single line.  Third in line,  
Julie shuffled forward as each was studied by the soldiers before 
being waved past.
 
When it came her turn, her dress was soaked with sweat, and her 
heart was beating fast.  Broad grins spread across the faces of 
the two soldiers when her dress chose the most inopportune time 
to slide down again, and, though her skin crawled in revulsion 
at what she was doing, Julie deliberately did not move to pull 
it up until both louts had a good eyeful of her bared and sweaty 
breasts. 
 
Then they waved her on, and she moved forward onto the pier itself.  
She had to wait, of course, until the others were inspected and 
passed on.  The ship was close, and, as it was readied to sail, it 
was a hive of activity with cargo and passengers being taken on 
board. 
 
At the sight of some of the men and women dressed modestly enough 
compared to what she was accustomed to, Julie sighed.  Successful 
merchants by the cut of their garb, but it seemed heavenly compared 
to the rags she wore.  One of the women glanced her direction, and 
a look of scornful disgust flashed across her face before she 
quickly brought out a scented handkerchief to cover her nose. 
 
It was almost as if someone had stabbed Julie through the heart. 
When the king ruled, that woman would have been overwhelmed if 
Julie had given her a few moments of her time, and now she was 
looking at her like some stray, unwanted dog that was trailing 
dirt into the parlour.  At that moment Julie felt the degradation 
she had been forced to endure cut deep.
 
"Soon I will be in a nice cabin," she told herself under her breath.  
"A cabin, with a bed and water to wash with and as much food as I 
care to eat and proper clothing."
 
Once the last of the soon-to-be-indentured-servants were past the 
soldiers, they were ushered onto the deck of the ship and just as 
quickly were sent below decks.  A frown began to creep across 
Julie's face with each level they descended.  She knew little of 
ships, but it appeared that this must be where the cargo was kept, 
not the passengers.
 
Then it struck her; the sailor guided them as though she was one of 
the servants.  Of course, they would be making the voyage with the 
cargo, for that was what they were after all.  The cabins would be 
reserved for those with the means to pay.
 
"I am to have a cabin," she told the sailor as she quickly looked 
around for Lucian.  There was no sign of the man.  "It has been 
arranged by Lucian Morrel."
 
"Step lively, wench," the sailor growled, and, to Julie's shock, 
he plucked a short length of heavy rope from his belt, doubled it 
over, and then brought it down smartly against the centre of her 
bottom.
 
It was not a particularly hard blow, but Julie let out a loud yelp 
as it re ignited the fire left there by her earlier whipping.  She 
opened her mouth to protest, but he was having none of that.  
Already pressed for time, this sailor had no mind to begin a 
discussion.  The improvised whip was raised again, and Julie 
shuddered before quickly running to re-join the others.
 
I will have him flogged, she vowed, but then at the entrance to the 
cargo hold, she felt the blood drain from her face.  Another sailor 
was there, seated on a small stool, fitting shackles to each of the 
women ahead of her.  None of them protested this indignity, and 
Julie could see no reason why they should be chained.  Perhaps once 
they reached the distant shores of America, yes, for it would not 
do for them to dive overboard in sight of land to avoid having to 
serve their terms, but why here in port?
 
"What a pretty little thing you are," the man murmured when it was 
her turn.  Almost frantic now, Julie looked over her shoulder, 
searching for any hint of Lucian.  Where was he?  He should be here 
to escort her to her cabin, to explain to the captain that she was 
not a peasant girl.  She was a baroness, one of the blood.  Only 
there was no sight of the man.
 
Then she felt the cold touch of iron close around her right ankle 
as the shackle was locked in place, and, a moment later, another 
was put around her left.  Ahead she could see the women who had 
already been chained shuffle forward awkwardly to what looked like 
animal cages.  To Julie's horror, she saw woman after woman ordered 
into the cages.  Surely they could not expect so many to fit in 
those small spaces?  Wide eyed she felt a strong hand close around 
her arm and urge her forward.
 
"A moment, if you will," Lucian's voice cried out. 
 
The sailor holding her turned scowling, then he saw the speaker, 
and he dipped his head respectfully.  Julie could almost have 
collapsed with relief.  There were so many women being forced 
into the cages, there was hardly any room to sit.  To have to 
spend hours cooped up, with her body pressed against theirs,  
would have been intolerable.  
 
As soon as she was in her cabin, Lucian would hear the rough side 
of her tongue.  What had the man been thinking, taking so long to 
find her? 
 
The sailor pointed at her leg irons, and then, to her shock, Lucian 
shook his head.  "What is the meaning of this?" she demanded as she 
shook off the sailor's hand and strode over to confront Lucian.  He 
had his fun, treating her as a servant girl, but that time was 
passed.  She was a baroness, and it was time he remembered that.
 
"Why am I chained like some convict?  Release me at...."  Her 
tirade was cut off as she misjudged her step, and the short 
length of chain linking her fetters snapped taut.  The bands of 
iron dug painfully into her ankles, and she quickly lost her 
balance and fell to the deck.  She rubbed her ankles for a moment 
then slowly and carefully climbed to her feet.  How could anyone 
be expected to walk in these things?  She had only been wearing 
them a few minutes and already they were paining her.  If she was 
not lucky, she might even develop sores. 
 
"Lucian, I demand that you...."
 
"You are in a position to demand nothing," he told her, cutting her 
off forcibly.  "Such arrogance!  But that was the downfall of your 
class was it not?  When last we parted you had me flogged.  Did you 
think I had forgotten?  I had known you all my life, I grew up on 
your estate, my father and grandfather served your family loyally 
and without complaint all their lives...and for the sake of an 
accident to a dress no different from countless others you 
possessed you had me whipped."
 
His voice climbed higher and higher as he spoke and barely 
controlled fury was etched across his face.  Were she not 
chained, Julie would have ran in fear, he looked so angry.  
With some effort he gathered himself, and then, in a softer 
tone of voice, added, "And you called it a kindness that I 
was not imprisoned."
 
"Lucian, I...," she began, but a raised finger from him silenced 
her.
 
"Well, now the wheel of fate has turned.  Now it is I who has the 
power, and you are at my mercy.  I could denounce you, hand you 
over to the soldiers, and we both know what would happen then.  
Fear not.   I will show you the same kindness you showed me.  This 
ship will sail within the hour, and it will not be stopping in 
Spain.  It will make landfall first in the Caribbean."
 
Landfall in the Caribbean....  Julie could scarcely credit what she 
was hearing.  How was she to reach her estates in Spain if the ship 
did not land in Cadiz or one of the other ports?  

Lucian was not finished, however.  "I will leave it to the captain 
to see where the best price can be got for your contract, the 
cotton plantations of America or the sugar fields of the Caribbean.  
Of course you are pretty, and you might be chosen as a house 
servant.  It is of no matter.  Wherever you go, you will be bound 
to labour for seven years."
 
He saw the news slowly sink in and nodded slowly.  "Seven years of 
the life you were so happy to have others suffer so that you could 
live in luxury.  At the end you will have to make your way in the 
world as best you can, earning your bread like I did, by the sweat 
of your brow."
 
Julie felt her legs give out and her knees hit the deck hard.  She 
could only stare up at Lucian, the man she had thought was her 
savour with horror and shock.  Her mouth refused to form words.  
Seven years as an indentured servant treated little better that a 
slave.  Seven years as a servant bound to labour and toil for her 
master's gain.  She was a baroness, but who would believe that?  
Not dressed in these rags, filthy and freshly whipped!  Her 
disguise was so prefect it trapped her.
 
"I do hope that your new accommodations are up to your standards," 
he said, nodding to one of the cages which by now was full to 
bursting with the other peasants.  "Of course there is a way that 
you might improve your lot.  Perhaps a nicer berth and better 
rations...."
 
Julie could not credit that she was actually listening to him.  He 
had ruined her!  Without her clothes, her jewellery, anyone to 
vouch for her, there was no way she could prove that she was not 
the peasant she appeared.  Yet, like a woman drowning and offered a 
hand by the person who had tipped her into the water, she clung to 
any hope of salvation.
 
"How?" she croaked and barely recognised that broken whimper as her 
own voice.
 
"Peasant girls are plentiful, but an eager and skilled whore on the 
other hand...," he said suggestively.
 
Wide eyed in horror, Julie could only stare up at Lucian as he 
opened his breeches, and she saw his prick emerge.  He was hard 
already; the victory he had achieved over her had set his blood 
on fire with lust.  She looked over her shoulder at the cages.  
She knew she could not endure the voyage locked in there.  She 
would go mad first, but the alternative?  What choice did she 
have?  Lucian had destroyed her.  All that remained was for her 
to salvage what scraps that she could from the ruins.  Shuddering, 
she found her hands lifting to take hold of him as she tried to 
rise from her knees.
 
"Where do you think you are going, you stupid girl," he snapped. 
"Put that sassy mouth of yours to use."
 
Trying not to throw up, Julie sank back to her knees and then 
leaned forward to swallow him.  She kept her eyes closed as 
she wrapped her tongue and lips around his shaft and began 
clumsily to suck, caress and play with it.  In no time at all, 
she could feel it begin to throb as tears streamed down her cheeks. 
Then at the last moment he pulled back, and Julie opened her eyes 
to see his milky white seed spray over her face and then down over 
the slopes of her exposed breasts.
 
Lucian quickly covered himself, but the moment Julie tried to wipe 
her face, he seized her wrist in a painful grip.  "Leave it to dry 
there," he ordered.  "Otherwise how will the crew know you're a 
whore?"
 
Silently Julie formed the word, "whore," and a fresh shudder 
wracked her body.  How could she have fallen so far? 
 
"You will need practice, girl," Lucian said as he gazed down at 
her.  "But I am sure that the sailors here will be more than happy 
to help you with your education.  If you are lucky you might even 
attract the attention of one of the officers." 
 
Julie looked over her shoulder and saw that the sailor who had been 
ready to throw her into the cage was looking at her much like a cat 
might regard a trapped mouse. 
 
"Practice well, for, when you get to the new world, you will be 
stripped on the pier with the other girls.  But if you are skilled 
and pleasing, perhaps it will not be the cane fields or tobacco 
plantations for you.  Instead, you can spend your seven years flat 
on your back in a good whore house.  You can even tell them about 
your nobility.  I hear men love to ride a noble filly."
 
Lucian smiled at her as he began to turn.  Instinctively, she 
reached out to him.  Once he was gone, her last hope of getting 
to her estates in Spain would go with him.  "Am I not merciful?" 
he asked, then, without waiting for an answer, he strode off, 
never looking back.
 
"Well, what's it to be?" the grinning sailor asked. 
 
Julie twisted around to look at him, almost numb with shock.  The 
sailor's breeches were around his ankles, and he held his own 
prick in one hand as he nodded to the cage.  

Barely holding tears back, Julie made her choice.
 
 
 
Edited by C. Lakewood