Cassandra

This is the first chapter of a new story, about a girl named Cassie who grew up in war time Britain and enters into a rather unconventional arrangement with a man named Sir Peter Grey. Grey falls in love with her for her innocence and naivety but Cassie has no interest, however her childhood home, a children's home in Balham, London, is in desperate need of funding and so she agrees to enter into a trial engagement, on the understanding that Sir Peter will fund the rent and refurbishment of the Children's Home. However Sir Peter has some rather unconventional means of discipline, and means to have Cassie whipped into shape, sometimes literally. No kink in this chapter, but I promise there will be next time, this is all much needed exposition on the story. I also want to say thank you for all of the reviews on Rebecca, I will be writing a oneshot about the wedding, and all comments about story lines, grammar and spelling have been taken into consideration. ( A bit..) You know the drill, please do leave a review. Evie. x

Standing in the shabby, dark hall way, I feel sad.
Sad doesn't really begin to describe it, I feel. Well I don't know quite what I feel. There is something ridiculous momental about saying goodbye to the scuffed brown linolium of the floor, knowing that this might be the last time that I ever take a deep breath and breathe in that fresh laundry, baking bread, shoe polish smell. The last time that I hear Maudie bustling around the kitchen singing along to Nat King Cole on the wireless.

This is my home, or at least it has been for the last eight years. My father died in the war. I hate saying that, it always draws out a sympathtic sigh, and yes, it is very sad. But I was eight years old, and it was a long time ago now. Perhaps I'm wicked for feeling like this, but he was a very distant man, and so I never really experinced much of a sence of regret.
That's how I came to be here, I remember the first day I arrived, a shy skinny freckled redhead child, silent and grave, carrying a battered brown suitcase. Maudie took one look at me, swept her up in her arms and gathered me to her huge bosom and pinched my cheek.
“She'll be right as rain with us here, won't you chick?” She said cheerily. I was by no means convinced at the time, but it turned out that she was right in the end. I blossemd in the chaous of the war. War Flower they used to call me. Not that it was much of a picnic, growing up darting in and out of shelters, praying for my life all night, kept awake my shrieking sirens and living in fear or losing one of my new family, and that's what Maudie's place was like, a family. It was Maudie, a large lady who was perpetually covered in flour or dough. She had a meek, silent husband who never dared to contradict her and the seven of us.

So, If I'm so happy, why am I leaving? Well not by choice I can assure you. If I had a choice I would stay here, in Balham, London and finish my nurses training, perhaps work as a private nurse for one of the war wounded. Get married one day, have children. Nothing fancy and nothing out of the ordinary. I'd just like to be happy and in control of my own destiny, but that just didn't seem to be what the fates had in store for me. And so I stand in the hall way, clutching at that very same battered brown suitcase, still redheaded, though less freckled and with the figure of a woman, not a girl. The only real change is the thick gold band that constricts both my finger and my freedom. The glittering diamond sitting on said band is a bizarre contrast to the megare surroundings of the house.
Most slaves have chains, I have this ring.

I hear a motor car pull up outside and call to Maudie.
“Maudie, it's him, he's here”
“Don't you go moving a muscle pet!” Cries Maudie who comes running out of the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron, she is followed by Christina, Angelica, Sally, Evett and Cathy, the last four girls left here. Once again, for the last time she scoops me up to her bosom and cuddles me tightly, making me feel so safe, like nothing can hurt me. The girls cover me in hugs and kisses, the tears flow freely and I'm ashamed to say that I also wept a little.
There is a curt knock at the door and Maudie opens it. We are all squashed together in the small, dark hall, standing in the door way is Him. Sir Peter Grey. My Fiancé. Only fiancé is euphemism for benefactor. With his statuesque height and broad shoulders he seems to fill the whole door.
I am strongly reminded of the first time I saw him, nearly sixth month ago now. I was attending a Nurse's dance at the local assembly halls, and I was feeling fast, dressed in a very pale pink slip of a dress, low cut on the bust with a drop waist, stockings with seams down the back and high heels. My red hair was in gentle waves and I was wearing power and lipstick for the first time in my life. I was standing by the piano, talking to the pianist when he came up behind me and laid a cold hand on my shoulder. He cleared his throat and spoke, he had the poshest voice that I'd ever heard.
“Dance with me.” I laughed.
“No thank you.” He looked perplexed.

“Why ever not?”

“Because I'm talking to Charlie” I gestured at the pianist.

“I see” he replied shortly and walked off. I don't think I've ever been so perplexed, men are very strange creatures. Later that evening he approached me again.

“May I walk you home?” I laughed again.

“I'm not going home yet!”

“Won't your Father wonder what you're doing out so late?” I smiled again.

“My father died nearly ten years ago, Sir. I live at Maudie Sinclair's children's home, and Maudie won't be expecting me home for an hour yet”
With that I walked off. I knew that this was rude, but I really did not have any intention to spend anymore time with this strange, stoic man who was so cold and mature, he could only have been ten years my senior and yet he acted like an old man.

I thought that I had seen the last of him, but the next day there was a letter for me at Maudie's, asking me to have supper with him.
This persistence continued for a few months, sometimes I would humor him, seeing him for a short period of time, and sometimes I would catch a glimmer of a smile or a laugh, when he was at his most relaxed his company was almost enjoyable.
I learnt that his name was Sir Peter Grey and he was an ex military man. He had only been old enough to join the army right at the end of the war, but what he had seem had had a great effect on him. He didn't like to talk about it.
He was a stickler for rules and regulations, and not a fan of my modern behavior.
I remember once we were in a restaurant and lots of the men were smoking, I look a packet of cigarettes out of my purse and light one, he grabbed my arm so roughly that he left a bruise, and grabbed the cigarette out of my hand.
“That is no habit for a lady!” he almost shouted.

“And I, Sir Peter, Am no lady. My mother was a seamstress in the theater and I was raised in an orphanage.”
He did not reply, but gave me such a look that I never smoked in front of him again.

Looking at me now he does not smile, but simply runs his steel colored eyes coldly over my shabby appearance. I'm wearing a home knitted, somewhat lumpy cardigan and brown corduroy skirt. Maudie looks embarrased as he looks at me critically, I feel a flush of anger. Poor Maudie has scrimped and saved every penny to dress us and feed us. What would this elitist pig know about struggle?

“Are you ready Cassandra?” He asks, clearly and coldly. I nod shortly.

“She'll be out in a minuet Sir Peter, We're just saying our goodbyes.”
Maudie says, with measured politeness. Sir Peter turns on his heel and goes to wait beside the car. Maudie turns to me and cups my face in her plump hands,

“Cassie, my love you don't have to do this, we'll find the money somewhere, we can't give this responsibility to you pet.”

“Maudie?”

“Yes pet?”

“How much money is left in the jar?” Maudie couldn't quite meet my gaze. “enough pet.”

“Eight years you fed and clothed me, you were like a Mother to me, and I won't see this place closed down. This is all I can do to stop it.” I lean up, kiss her cheek and pick up my suitcase.

“Smile darlings, you look as if I were going to the hang man's noose! I'm going traveling with a Sir!”
I kiss each of them good by and step outside, closing the door firmly behind me.

So, This is my life now.

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