A. Verse: The Violation of Marcia Thomaston

Hence, when the morning of the event dawned, Mrs. Thomaston was more fluttering than ever, solicitous in her concern to learn whether her “lovely baby” had spent a comfortable night and whether she, pining mother, might aid Marcia in dressing for the festivities. Quite unconcerned was the lovely girl; she preened herself and, glorying in the reflection of her mirror, said, “Mamma, I’ll have Marie help me dress. You needn’t bother.”

“Well, if you’re sure-”

“I’m very sure… it would only annoy me to have you around, Mamma,” said Marcia, with a touch of impatience in her cool voice.’

Helplessly, her mother paused, then, seeing how set her daughter was, sighed and left the room.

Marcia rang the inlaid mother-of-pearl button at the: side of her dressing table for her lovely blond young maid, Marie.

It was a few moments before the pretty girl, daintily dressed in the traditional black shirtwaist and white apron of a French soubrette, her slim legs molded deliciously in black sheer mesh, her feet thrust into dainty black pumps with two-inch-heels of an extreme narrowness, made her entry into the apartment of the languid Marcia, who sat before her beautifully ornamented boudoir table, whose vast oval mirror imaged her disdainful loveliness with fastidious purity.

Marcia turned her head and her lips curled with scorn, for she found the young girl-a year younger than she-much too meek and servile in her dutiful attentions.

“Well, it took you long enough, I must say! Don’t you realize I’ve an important day ahead of me?” she exclaimed resentfully.

“Pardon, Mademoiselle Marcia, but your mother stopped me to ask me something,” murmured the blond girl placatingly.

Marcia sniffed in open suspicion.

“Well, then, suppose you do my hair first, then we’ll see about the clothes, Marie. And be very careful. I’m in a bad temper today!”

When was she not, this pampered daughter of the rich, this shallow-psyched snobbish beauty? Marie had frequently been the innocent victim of Marcia’s “bad temper.”

Marie gently moved in back of her mistress and, taking a comb and brush, first undoing the pins that temporarily set Marcia’s raven tresses, began to brush and comb them, exercising diligent care.

Marcia regarded herself in the mirror meanwhile, pleased with the reflection of he? cool beauty,. veiling her eyes with her long lashes, attempting coquettish moues, so that her technique of stirring the male to denied fulfillment of admiration and desire might be kept alert and apt.

The pretty maid was extremely cautious, fearing to vex her mistress; but it occurred that, during her slow combing of the raven locks, a snag appeared in the teeth of the comb and a grimace of anger crossed Marcia’s disdainful face.

She turned quickly and, grasping Marie’s offending hand with her left, viciously slapped the lovely blond girl across her cheek with her right palm, leaving a bright pink splotch upon the carnation texture of that gentle skin.

“Ohh, Miss Marcia!” gasped the pretty maid, tears coming to her delicious blue eyes.

“You little slut, I believe you did that on purpose!” said Marcia, her mouth twisted with anger. And the mirror showed a beautiful harpy-not an exquisite young girl.

“No, no, mademoiselle, I assure you-”

“Be silent, you little fool! Oh, how I wish we were in tsarist Russia… do you know what I’d do then, Marie?”

“N-no, mademoiselle…“

“Simply have you sent out to the overseer to be given a sound whipping for what you’ve just done, you clumsy fool!” said Marcia.

Tears of humiliation brimmed in Marie’s blue eyes.

“Stop that whimpering and get busy!” commanded her mistress.

And the toilette was completed without further ado; but that episode was significant-as we shall see.

Marcia chose a stunning black evening gown of lush velvet, enticingly low cut to the valley of her bosom and with dйcolletй almost to her waist; the gown was sleeveless and had a split skirt, with a long train bordered with ermine. Her arms were sheathed by Marie in wine-hued half gloves, which ended at her rounded elbows; three-inch-heeled black suede pumps with rhinestone buckles and flesh-colored exquisite silk hose, gossamer and fragile as the sensuous imagination could conceive, adorned her dainty feet and svelte, provocative legs.

As evening approached, Marcia grew more and more out of temper and caused her mother to have a fit of hysterical tears-fatigued by her labors in preparing this spoiled daughter for her elaborate coming-out party, Mrs. Thomaston was chagrined by Marcia’s rudeness and utter contempt for the trouble she had taken.

At last the hour came for the party to leave. Mr. and Mrs. Thomaston and Marcia, stunningly attired, left their apartment and descended in the elevator to the street, where their two town cars awaited them.

Marie also followed, for she had been given the evening off and, bidding them a cordial au revoir, got into a taxi waiting nearby and was soon driven off.

The parents got into the black limousine ahead, the younger chauffeur bowing them in politely, Marcia entered the Cadillac behind.

The limousine started and drove off in the direction of the Waldorf-Astoria; but Marcia noted that her chauffeur, who had his coat collar turned up in the shadows-for he had neglected to put on his partition lights-did not follow the lead.

Taking the speaking tube in her gloved hand, she impatiently said, “What are you waiting for, Henry?”

“Nothing, miss… just a moment…

“Well, be quick about it!”

“Yes, miss-we’re off now.”

Strange-his voice, coming back to her over the apparatus, did not quite ring true-Oh well, it must be her nerves; she was irritated at the whole affair;

Another little bother like this and she’d call off the debut; that would make good copy in the papers-”Wealthy Debutante Spurns Own Debut!”

At last the Cadillac drove off, following the route of the limousine.

But hardly had it come onto Second Avenue when, instead of taking the turn at Bellevue Drive, it swung off to the right, gathering speed.

Marcia’s irritation grew. Picking up the tube, she exclaimed, “This isn’t the way to the Waldorf, you fool! I’ll be late!”

“Not at all, Miss Marcia… the party won’t start without you” came back a suave voice but… was that Henry’s voice she heard? She could not be certain.

Presently the Cadillac swung off a side street, then to the highway en route to New Jersey.

By now Marcia was not so annoyed as uneasy; again she picked up the tube and exclaimed, “Where the devil are you going, Henry? I command you to take me to the Waldorf!”

A click-the chauffeur had turned off the mechanism controlling the tube so that she could neither speak nor hear.

And, pressing his, foot on the accelerator, he drove on down the highway, steadfast, not deigning to look back.

She grasped the handle of the door-to her consternation, she found it locked!

She was trapped-and where was this maniac taking her?

Now she was no longer disdainful or bored, but afraid and that emotion she had never before experienced; it struck at her perfect aloofness and aplomb with tenuous fingers of chilling portent.

She began to hammer on, the glass partition that separated her from the chauffeur; he did not notice her in the slightest, but, if anything, quickened his speed.

And so, she, tense, watching the.road, pounding against the glass, futilely trying to turn the handle, was being carried off-a prisoner in her own car, abducted by her own chauffeur.

The car sped on… night fell, adding to her anxiety, for now the driver turned the car off at a juncture of the highway and pursued a one way road hidden by great trees and bushes and, the darkness and mysterious quality of the unknown that lay ahead made her more and more apprehensive.