Anonymous - Miss High-heels:the story of a rich but girlish young gentleman under the control of his pretty step-sister and her aunt

I wept piteously when we said good-bye, for I knew I would never return to the school after I left it. We had shared so much together, and I feared that I would never find her equal. But when I met Violet, I realized that she had the potential to fill the space that leaving Nellie had created. Violet was much more the tyrant than Nellie, and this is what I had grown to need. I loved Violet almost as fiercely when I first saw her as I had loved Nellie.

The village was almost at the gates of the park, but the park itself was two miles long. We drove into the village and left the pony in charge of a boy.

"Mind your pretty shoes, Denise," said Violet as I got out. "Don't dirty them!"

"Oh yes, Miss. Violet! I will," I said, happily stepping down.

We delivered Helen's messages at the various cottages and at each one got further proof of how much I, Dennis Beryl, was detested and feared. They were all so delighted at Violet's news that he was to be kept for some time longer at the girls' school.

There was one cottage especially where the news was welcomed. A little old woman called Mrs. Pettigrew and her big buxom daughter, Lucy, kept a laundry employing six girls of the village, where all the house linen of the manor.

Sometime ago, just before I went abroad, declaring that Lucy had been insolent to me, I had persuaded my father to take our washing away from the laundry. Mrs. Pettigrew was nearly ruined in consequence, and would have been altogether, had not Helen given it back to her. Mrs. Pettigrew hated me, naturally, and when Violet told her that I was to remain at school, she laughed with vicious satisfaction, "That's a blessed message of comfort for every poor man and woman in this village," she cried. "Tis kind of Miss. Deverel to keep him in the school."

The old witch urged us inside and showed us a horrible little dark room at the back of the parlour. "That's where I would like to keep him in his girls' clothes," she exclaimed passionately. "All his life I would like to keep him there fastened to a chair, feeding him just bread and water. We could do it, too. Tell Miss. Deverel, please Missy! Me and Lucy and my laundry girls, we could keep him safe and quiet in there. He wouldn't get away with these on his legs."

With a horrid laugh she held up a cruel pair of rusty fetters with a very short and terribly heavy iron chain between them. I was terrified. Her face was so threatening, her voice so passionate. I became certain that she was in fact a crone.

I gasped in alarm as I gazed into the little dark room.

"Oh! That would be dreadful punishment," I said, my blood quickening at the idea.

"Ah, you don't know him, Missy," Mrs. Pettigrew replied. "He's your cousin I heard and he's nearly as pretty as you, and he's a boy! But he's the cruellest, most conceited young gentlemen! That's where he ought to be kept, in the dark room."

Violet had meanwhile taken the fetters in her hands and was glancing at me roguishly.

"I would like to see them on someone," she said, weighing them in her hands as she eyed me lasciviously.

"Lock them on Miss. Denise's ankles, Mrs. Pettigrew."

"Oh, no," I cried in terror. Once I had the fetters on, Violet might take it into her head to lock me in the dark room. I recoiled. Violet laughed.

"Quick, Denise!" she ordered me.

"Oh, Violet!"

"Obey me! Stand here."

With trembling hands I raised my skirt, but Mrs. Pettigrew came to my rescue.

"The fetters want cleaning, Miss. They'd dirty the young lady's pretty silk stockings. It'd be a shame to lock up such dainty feet. I am sure those little white buckled shoes have never trampled on the hearts of poor people."

The old woman came to the door with us. "Tell Miss. Deverel of my dark room, Miss. Violet!" she said warningly. "Me and Lucy and my laundry girls will keep him safe in his girls' clothes."

As we walked away, Violet burst out laughing.

"You had a narrow escape, Denise. Oh, we simply must keep you as a girl. Everybody loves you as a girl and everybody hates you as a boy."

"But, Violet," I said, "I shall be quite different now. I have had my lesson."

I looked so remorseful and penitent that Violet suddenly kissed me on the lips.

"You are delicious now at all events, Denise," she said, "and perhaps Helen will keep you in petticoats for a long while. Get in!"

I mounted into the governess cart and sat opposite Violet. She took up the reins.

"You won't want your parasol up, Denise," she said, "so put your hands behind your back and place your beautiful feet together, the smart shoe buckles level. That's right."

I blushed and smiled and obeyed. I couldn't remember being happier. Thus we drove back to luncheon, where Violet told Helen of Mrs. Pettigrew's dark room and heavy fetters. They all laughed except me. I was beginning to wonder whether, after all, I should not be happier if I remained a girl.

After luncheon Helen said to Violet and me, "I want you two girls to go into Mark's Cross and do some shopping for Denise. There is a flower show you can go to afterward and have your tea. So go and get smartly dressed and I will order the big motorcar for you. I have some arrangements to make about the new houses."

"Can't I help?" I asked. Since the estate was mine I thought regretfully that I ought to look after it.

Helen smiled, and said, "Of course not, dear! Run along and put on a pretty dress."

I went upstairs relieved by her words. I wanted nothing more than to shop with Violet. We were to have the big motorcar to ourselves, tea at the flower show. The prospect was delightful. I put on a lovely trailing dress of rose voile, tied well in below the knees with a scarf of tulle and a blue hat with a crown of pink roses. Violet was in dark grey Ninon with a gray satin hat. We drove off in the luxurious big motorcar to the neighboring town.

"Show me your feet," said Violet, as we rode along. I raised my skirt obediently.

"As I thought," she said. "You don't pay enough attention to your feet, dear."

I protested. I was wearing a very smart pair of brogue patent leather shoes, laced with black silk ribbons tied in big bows on the insteps, and black silk stockings.

"These are lovely shoes," I cried indignantly.

"For morning wear, perhaps. How high are the heels? I don't believe they are three inches."

"But, Violet, heels that are too high look improper."

"Nonsense," said Violet. "For the afternoon nothing looks so fascinating as a neat, tightly fitting pair of dainty very high-heeled boots with black leather legs that button over the ankles without a wrinkle. Look at mine!" She extended an exquisitely booted foot before my eyes. "Luckily we are going to fetch some new ones that have been made for you. I will have you buttoned into a pair before I take you to the flower show, though really I don't know that we ought to go now."

"Oh, Violet!" I pleaded.

"I don't see how I am going to find time to punish you for your carelessness about your feet, Denise," she said. "Take care that after luncheon I never see you again without exquisite boots on your feet."

Violet bought some hats for herself and for me and then we drove on to Binot, Helen's boot maker.

"You have been making some lovely black leather boots for this young lady, Miss. Denise Beryl," said Violet to the girl who came forward.

"Oh yes, Madam, some very pretty boots with high heels. This way please."

She led us into the ladies' showroom upstairs and produced some beautiful flashing boots with legs of black glace kid that would reach up to the beginning of my calves. The boots had dreadfully high and slender Louis Quinze heels, with escalloped edges around the buttonholes. The shopkeeper buttoned them onto my feet. They were exquisitely cut, fitting me very tightly but not pinching me.