Well it's been quite a while since I published anything here and so I have thought it about time to finally start writing and post the third and possibly final part of my Victorian Catfight saga. I had always thought it to be a trilogy although putting this together has already suggested plenty more opportunities- further maids battling, rematches between nobles or even new duels BUT I get way too much ahead of myself. Unlike previous stories I have not completed before publication. In fact I am hoping that maybe suggestions from members might have an influence as to where it goes. At the very least I have left the decision as to whether the forthcoming catfight is public or private to public taste and will either insert a poll here or stick in the polls section.
Anyway, apologies for the long delay but hope those of you who enjoy the more drawn out and literary catfight get as much of a kick out of this one as the other two parts. Thanks for reading and enjoy,
M
And with no further ado let me introduce:
CATFIGHT VICTORIANA PART III
THE ANGLO-PRUSSIAN WAR
A light drizzle streakd the windows, hissing across the broad expanse of fields and woodlands of Lady Margaret Farningham's manor as she stared across the landscape in anticpatory mood. Her red nailed fingers lightly toyed with an elegant Chinese fan as she looked from her bedroom across the grounds of her country house along the road that snaked beyond its walls so she might see her guest's arrival when finally she came. She was late but that was not unexpected of this German noble lady. The brunette haired Margaret had to acknowledge things had been a blur in the ladt five weeks. She had barely recovered from her vicious and hard-won catduel with the redheaded Lady Jayne Thompson when the letter had arrived from France.The minute her maid Mary had let in the androgynous messnger she knew what to expect, Margaret was more than familiar with the name of Lady Analise Bismark, it was her defeat at the hands of her recent enemy that had first drawn her into the still extant feud with the flamehaired noble. Yet it was well know that she could not return to England following that battle and this made Margaret curious, she knew that she wanted to regain her honour and return to the circle of fighting ladies she had been exiled from. Thus she had in a strange way expected this message for some time, the result of her muddy and bloody battle with Lady Thompson had no doubt spurred on its coming.
'The Lady Bismark extends her salutations, greetings and congratulations on your recent victory,' he had announced with a rasping German accent, 'She was much taken with your prowess and seeks to meet you herself to discuss a future proposition'
What could Margaret do? She could refuse but the feline that was so much part of her would not allow her, in fact she wanted to meet this German harlot who had fought so nastily with her enemy and indeed, yes, she wanted to fight her, woman to woman. The pain in her scalp, her face and her breasts had long gone although faint scars remained- terrible as that had been though it was nothing in comparison to the desire Margaret had to fight and to fight an arrogant German hussy from across the water was a desire more overwhelming. And thus she had responded, 'You may tell your mistress I will be hapy to receive her BUT she must come here. If she is so desirous to meet then any half imposed decree of exile should be a mere aside' She liked the fact that she already had an advantage to press here and wanted to test how desirous this cat was to battle. The messenger had looked surprised for but an instant though no doubt had half expected this and with barely a pause bowed low, 'I will inform my mistress accordingly. I am certain that she will happily make the journey to meet such an assured woman as youself my Lady'
And those words led to the hurried series of events that followed. Not long after a letter arrived stating that Lady Analise would be taking passage forthwith and now, on this drab Friday afternoon she was set to arrive. Margaret was under no illusions, she knew she would be clawfighting before this weekend was out and she had spent the interim in practice with Mary, herself now fully recovered from her struggle with Lady Thompson's maid Audrey, and lacquering and sharpening her nails to fine points. She was ready, after all this woman had lost to the redhead, and she was looking forward to whatever may come. Still, it did not stop her heart missing a beat when, emerging from the forest, she saw the coach that had been sent to Dover to bring the German to her. Instantly she dropped the fan, breasts rising and falling against her purple corset and laced gown. For a moment she watched as the coach drew more fully into view, the rain had stopped almost as if on cue and thin wisps of hazy sunlight pierced the grey sky now, and then trying to control her nervous excitement she took up her long black gloves and swept out of the room calling for Mary as she went.
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The rest of the staff knew they were to remain behind closed doors on this occasion and so it was only Mary and Lady Margaret who stood on the steps as the driver pulled the horses to a halt in the gravelled drive. The curtains had been pulled to obscure the occupants which built Margaret's anticipation all the more. She had met the Lady Analise but once three years ago at a ball which had been held in honour of the victory of one Lady Sarah Grey over some little known Belgian harlot, but besides a mutual exchange of glares which suggested that neither cared for the other, had not interacted with her, and yet here she was. The driver nodded briefly to his mistress, he clearly had memories of taking his mudsoaked, bloody lady from the morass of her previous battle and Margaret knew full well he had carried away plenty of trophies from that fight, and then he opened the door, lowering the footplate as Lady Analise Mismark appeared. Margaret had to admit she was a striking rival, either her corset was strung up to new levels or she had shed some weight since that party three years ago, her emerald green dress clung to her curves deliciously, her laced high boots and stockings obscured under her crinolines, her hands veiled in white expensive gloves, ringlets of elegant golden curls about her healthy made up face, blue eyes sparkling.
'Greetings Lady Bismark you are welcome here to Farningham Manor,' the brunette extended her black gloved hand which was firmly taken by the Prussian noble, eyes instantly meeting and locking.
'I thank you my dear Lady Margaret' the slightly older and larger woman offered her own brightly gloved hand, her accent gentle and not at all as coarse or harsh as the English woman had imagined. There was a frimness in that grip however although not enough pressure to suggest an overt challenge. Nonetheless it was obvious from the mutual piercing stares that there was an immediate and palpable feline tension between the two.
'You and your staff are welcome here for as long as you choose to stay,' Margaret still had Analise's hand and her eyes barely acknowledged the maid and that self same androgynous fellow that had exited through the opposite door and were now rounding the side of the carriage. 'Would you like my maidservant to show you to your chambers?'
The German smirked a catty, red lipped smile slowly withdrawing her hand and beginning to tug off the fingers of her right glove. 'You may show my man Michael and Edith here theirs but after such a long journey I am eager to speak my dear. I trust you might indulge me.' She plucked her glove off to reveal a pale, ring covered hand with nails a deep crimson, lacquered and clearly sharpened; now
this was an obvious challenge and not lost on Margaret. 'Why Lady Bismark,' she was already beginning to slowly remove her glove which obviously caught the blonde wildcat's eye, 'it would be my pleasure. Mary...' The Irish maid stepped forwards, her narrowed eyes clearly indicating she had no love for any of the German entourage, '...take our guests to their rooms and have tea brough to the drawing room.'
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And that was how the two nobles found themselves alone in the well appointed salon staring at one another across a table taking tea in slender fingered, sharp nailed hands.
'Your maid is quite the hellcat is she not?' the German woman's words had diverted the tense silences and smalltalk which immediately fired Margaret up.
'Yes, that is true. Have you heard of her exploits?'
'No' Bismark sniffed dismissively, 'But I could see the minute I laid eyes upon her that, had she the chance, she would have scratched my eyes out.'
'Oh,' Margaret prickled at this witch's derisive attitude but tried to maintain cinility as was expected. 'She is a proper hellcat, that has been proven many times,' she briefly remembered the epic and inconclusive struggle between her and Audrey all those weeks ago.
'Quite,' the German breathed out, 'Maybe she and Edith would prove interesting rivals.' She smiled, Margaret ventured a response but was instantly cut short by the blonde's glacial words, 'But,' she smiled leaning forwards offering a challengng hint of pale cleavage as she took the teapot up again and poured, 'we are not here to discuss them. It is you my dear lady who interests me,' her blue, piercing eyes peered up, a clear delight in them as she saw the English woman's eyes flickering almost imperceptibly between her breasts and her own gaze. She wondered if they were looking with some hidden lust, it was not unknown for catfighting ladies to have Sapphic passions, or whether she was merely imagining them as lush targets for her hard nails. Margaret's mind was clear on THAT matter, she already detested this German bitch and was feeling knots in her stomach at the thought of scratching her face or mercilessly clawing the whore's tits. 'And you,' the brunette's voice was hard and controlled though she had put her cup down for fear of the tension causing her fingers to tremble and the cup to rattle, 'You interest me Fraulein Bismark.'
The two stared silently at one another for a moment as Analise straightened and took a sip of her tea. She placed it down, eyes never leaving the English woman, 'I will not beat about the bush my dear Ms Farningham. As you know my recent humiliating defeat saw my expulsion from these shores, indeed my presence here is strictly forbidden by our code but I am willing to defy it in order to regain my honour. I am familiar with your skill as a fighter, your battle with our mutual enemy is well documented on the continent. You are seen as quite the feline by many who pursue our....interest'
'Why thankyou,' smirked Margaret, 'It was not an honour I sought but I appreciate that such praise has been bestowed upon me.'
'Yes, well,' another dismissive, breathy reply, 'I do not doubt that you have earnt such praise but as you know I myself am esteemed as a catfighter, though my honour has been besmirched' Despite her make up it was quite clear that there was a redness rising to the blonde's cheeks and a sense of clear agitation in her eyes.
'Oh?' Margaret lied, faux surprise on her face, 'I am sorry I did not realise you had such status' a girlishly sardonic smirk breaking across her own made up features.
Unfazed by this Analise offered but a flash of a smirk back, 'Quite. Whatever you may or may not know it is inevitable that we must fight.'
The words impacted upon Margaret although she had been anticipating them but it did not deter the speed of her response; 'Although I see no reason ostensibly for it you have a point. I assume you think that by challenging and beating me in a catfight you will be able to regain the honour lost from your previous battle. By beating the cat that defeated that whore Thompson you will once again have your esteem back, am I correct?' sarcasm rang from her cut glass voice.
'Precisely.' Lady Bismark paused and then slowly lowered her cup, a nasty smile that quite clearly indicated that the time for false politeness had passed. 'I am glad I don't like you Lady Farningham,' she pulled a lace handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at the side of her rubious lips, 'If I did it would have made the challenge more...difficult.'
'Well,' smiled the brunette back, 'if it is any consolation, based on our meeting thus far the feeling is mutual, although we both expected that did we not.'
'Indeed.' The blonde stood with a rustle of expensive green fabrics and crinolines, 'It is so much better to fight a rival when there is a mutual dislike is it not?'
'Oh I agree.' Margaret stood to face her new opponent across the table, 'And dare I suggest that, despite our but brief encounter so far, it is not simply a matter if dislike but utter loathing.'
Analise smiled knowingly, 'Oh you are quite right my dear. So,' she took two steps around the table drawing towards the English lady, 'let us get straight to the business of the challenge Lady Farningham.'
'Yes let's, Lady Bismark' Margaret moved herself, taking two steps towards the German woman.
'We could easily battle here, this very weekend in your abode and settle matters as is customary. Or...' she paused, eyes locked with her new enemy,'might I propose another suggestion for a catfight of this magnitude. This battle would have quite some significance would it not, for such a rolling, ripping, biting, clawing struggle to be private would deny aspiring shecats the opportunity to see how it should be done..'
'And,' Margaret now interrupted sarcastically, 'Deny you the prestige of showing how much the caty harlot you are and how you deserve your reputation back by pulling my hair out and scracthing my face'
Analise smiled knowingly but carried on, 'I offer you an invitation, to come to the Salon des Chats in Paris and there to fight it out amongst the assembled gathering of catfighers, a discrete but public duel between us where no one will be in any doubt who the better woman was. What do you say?'
Margaret paused, she had not expected this. She had anticipated a fight that very night, this was a wholly new development. She had seldom fought in public and nothing of this magnitude, the consequences if she lost could be awful for her reputation. Yet would she lose, really, to this German trollop? She had to admit that the thought of besting this upstart in front of a congregation of European hellcats and shebitches had an appeal all of its own. Such a fight would however take a while to arrange and carry with it high stakes and she was keen to battle now. The English lady weighed up the possibilities, the choice she made now could have a bearing on her future honour and reputation as a catfighter but then Margaret smiled and moved forwards one more step.
'I have made my decision....'
To be continued...
