Prisoner
of the Seraglio
A
Cordelia Delacourt Adventure
Chapter
I
Cordelia
Cordelia Viola Katherine Delacourt lifted her skirts and moved closer to the exhibit. She had never seen such a fine collection of firearms. Delicately, she moved through the crowd of onlookers, taking care not to brush up against anyone, a major accomplishment in her somewhat voluminous skirts. She looked back over her shoulder searching for her father. Surely he would be interested in such an impressive display. She caught sight of him a few yards distant. He had been waylaid by one of his fellow justices and was engaged in an animated discussion.
She turned back to the exhibit. “Interested in firearms, Miss?”
She turned her head to view the speaker. He was a man of medium height, which meant his eyes were on a level with hers. She flushed at the unaccustomed proximity to a member of the opposite sex. Self-conscious about her height she wished her father had accompanied her into the crowd.
“I am sorry, Miss. I did not mean to intrude. I was just making conversation.”
Cordelia did not reply. As a young lady of good breeding she understood that it was most improper to speak to anyone to whom she had not been introduced. She studied the man who had accosted her. He did not appear menacing and was well dressed in a proper morning coat and top hat. He carried a black cane filigreed with gold. His beard and mustache were both neatly trimmed and a handkerchief poked tastefully from his front pocket.
“Sir,” she replied quietly, “I do not know you. We should not be speaking.”
The man bowed, answering with a smile. “I apologize, Miss. I will trouble you no more.”
To Cordelia’s great relief the man backed away and disappeared into the crowd. A few seconds later her father joined her. “Who was that, my dear?”
Cordelia shook her head, sending her auburn ringlets bobbing. “I don’t know, father. He did not introduce himself.”
“I should have stayed closer. This is not the place for a young woman to be alone.”
“I do not think he meant any harm, father. He was not impolite.”
High Justice William Delacourt looked at his sixteen-year-old daughter. There was much of her mother in her, reflected especially in her flashing green eyes and thick auburn hair. She was now of an age to be attractive to men and he had no doubt that soon he would be receiving suitors. It was something he would have to discuss with her sooner rather than later. “Come,” he said. “Mr. Colt’s exhibit might not be the best place for a young lady. I understand that there is a fine exhibition of electrical apparatus father on. There is to be a demonstration in just a few minutes.”
“I thought perhaps you might be interested in the display of Mr. Colt’s firearms,” Cordelia replied.
“They are most interesting,” Justice Delacourt admitted. He glanced around the huge exhibition hall. “This is an amazing place there is so much to see.”
“Yes,” Cordelia agreed.
“His majesty was wise to choose such a
design.” She stared up at
the vast glass enclosure. It
was so well named. It truly was
a
“Come,” said her father. “Let’s look at your revolvers and then go to the electrical demonstration.” He took her arm and ushered her through the crowd.
“Is the little lady interested in shooting irons?” The speaker was a tall, lean, man working behind the gun exhibit counter. He had doffed his coat and was working with his shirt rolled up to the elbows. His accent was unmistakably American.
Cordelia hid both her irritation at being referred to as a “little
lady,” and her surprise at seeing him so casually
dressed. The exhibition was after
all an event partly organized by the Prince Consort and had been visited
frequently by the queen. However,
she recovered enough to nod politely.
Guns were not a complete mystery to
her. She had been taught the
basics of using a fowling piece by her father, and had frequently hunted
with him on their estate in
Without missing a beat the exhibitor picked up one of the firearms and held
it out to her. “The
‘
Cordelia laughed, astounded at the American’s boldness, but supposing it was just part of his national character. She hefted the firearm, noting that there were no percussion caps on the nipples of the revolver, and judged that it was not loaded. “It’s quite heavy,” she said.
“Yes,” the salesman replied.
“Might be a bit much for a
woman.” He reached into
the display case behind him and brought out a smaller
model. “This might be more
to your liking.” He produced
a much smaller firearm, and taking the heavy
“Much more ladylike,” the salesman enthused, “Just .28 calibre. Perfect for carrying in a purse.”
“My thanks, sir,” Cordelia’s father
interrupted. “But I hardly
think my daughter needs to arm herself.
This is
“As you like,” replied the salesman, seemingly not offended, “but my wife carries one. Offers her a sure sense of security. You never know what the world might throw your way.”
Cordelia flashed the salesman a smile. She rather liked him in spite of his crude manners. “Thank you, sir. But I think I shall get on with the rest of the exhibition.”
The salesman tipped his hat. “Good day to you, Miss. And to you also, Sir,” Cordelia and her father turned away, moving through the crowd.
Thirty feet away two men watched father and daughter with more than usual interest. “She’s a pretty one,” Ivan Janessic said, fingering the gold inlay on his cane. “I wouldn’t mind having her for myself.”
“Touch her and I’ll have your eyes on a plate,” the man beside him growled. “I want her intact.” He was much older although slightly taller than Janessic, but that was not what gave him his menacing aspect. In spite of the fact that it was a summer day, he was wearing a hat pulled low over his eyes, and had most of his face covered by a white silk scarf. He turned and glared at Janessic, his body language clearly hostile. “You understand?”
Janessic took a step backward and raised a hand. “Alright,” he answered. “It just seems strange to me that you don’t want her for yourself.”
“I’m not paying for your idle speculations,” the mysterious figure answered. “Just make sure that it is done and that there are no slip-ups.”
“My contacts are in place. We will move tonight. Tomorrow she will be well on her way to her new life.”
“I want a clean operation,” the other man cautioned. “She is to disappear without a trace.”
Janessic shrugged. The motives of his employer were not his concern. It did seem strange to him that the man would seek revenge by having the daughter of the man he hated kidnapped, and then not keep her for himself, but he was being well-paid for his actions and that was enough for him. “It will be done as you ask,” he said. “No one will be able to trace her.”
The older man nodded. “I look forward to your success. If I am not satisfied you will not receive the second half of your payment.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Bishop. You will be more than satisfied.”
Bishop did not reply. He was already mentally composing the letter he would send to Mr. Justice Delacourt when his beloved daughter disappeared. Revenge would be so delicious.
Cordelia sighed in relief as her maidservant helped remove her layers of clothing. It had been almost insufferably hot in the great exhibition hall. How unfortunate it was that well dressed women were forced to go forth swaddled in layers of clothing. First the dress, with its row of twelve buttons down the back; then the first petticoat, followed by the second. Next there was the metal cage with collapsible series of metal hoops. She let her breath out, almost gasping as the stays of her corset were loosened and the confining garment was removed. Finally there were two underskirts and her loose fitting drawers. She stopped the girl helping her before she go to the end. “Thank you, Elsie,” she said. “I can do the rest. Please draw my bath.”
As the maid moved off to do her bidding she arched her back to work out the kinks. She was standing in front of the wardrobe mirror. She studied her image critically as all women are wont to do. Except for her height, about which she was very self-conscious, she seemed attractive enough. Auburn hair, released from the confines of her bonnet and freed of its ringlets, tumbled to her shoulders. Her green eyes, straight nose, finely arched eyebrows, full lips and determined chin were arranged in a combination that was strikingly beautiful. Her shoulders were delicately rounded, but strong, flowing into full breasts barely concealed by the sheer fabric of her chemise. Her waist would have been fashionably narrow even without the corset and emphasized the womanly flare of her hips. Hiking her chemise, she surveyed her long legs. They were both a blessing and a curse, being slender and shapely but adding inches to her height.
“Miss Cordelia.” Elsie’s call awoke her from her narcissistic study. She turned in the direction of the girl. “Your bath is ready, mistress.”
Cordelia nodded and moved into the
bathroom. Shedding the remainder
of her clothing she eased herself into the steaming water and let the heat
flow into her. It was so good
to be out of those clothes. Why
did women’s clothing always have to be so confining and
uncomfortable? She often wished
that she were a man and able to dress more
sensibly. The heat in the
Elsie was busy in the bedroom, arranging the bedclothes. Her maidservant was well aware of the fact that her mistress preferred to bath alone. Cordelia cupped the bathwater in her hands and left it dribble over her breasts, watching the small rivulets flow across the rounded contours and drip like tiny waterfalls from her nipples.
She lay back, wondering what it would be like to be with a man. There was that handsome Mr. Adams who often called on her father. He was a little older than she was, being in his early thirties, but he had a good figure and was judged a good catch. And then there was Mr. Wells. She had only seen him three times while taking her early morning ride with her father. But he was undoubtedly handsome and held his saddle well. He was not as financially secure as Mr. Adams, but love did not always seek those who held the financial advantage.
Thinking these pleasant thoughts, she finished her bath, toweled herself dry and pulling on a clean nightgown waited for Elsie to comb out her hair. Half an hour later she crawled beneath the bed sheets. Tomorrow was a special day. She and her father had an appointment with Mr. Wells for their morning ride.
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