Bad Prophecies (draft 1)

XIII

It had been a particularly gruelling and lonesome night, the night I met Euphemia Penelope Elizabeth Morris-Baxter-Abbott. Effie, or Effie Morris for short. November first.
I had come into the bar, having barely bothered to dress myself for a night out. I was wearing a knitted brown jumper, over a white collar blouse, with a simple, black cotton circle skirt that went to my calves, with the Mary Janes I'd been torturing for the past six or seven years. My black overcoat was folded neatly in my lap.
I'd sat down at the bar, one of the small bottles of wine to keep me company.
"Hello, there. Mind if I join you?"
I turned to face the woman who'd said this and saw the most magnificent human I'd laid eyes on since meeting my husband. Her short, golden-brown curls, her stunning watercolour-like eyes, her elegance. It was like I'd stumbled into my strangest dreams, having them made into reality.
"Um- uh- sure." I managed to utter, after a few seconds of staring at her dark cherry lipstick.
She sat down on my right and ordered a neat sherry.
"What's a girl like yourself doing here?"
"Oh, you know..." I muttered, trying to dodge the question. I was a little dazed by her beauty.
"My name's Effie, by the way. Euphemia Penelope Elizabeth Morris-Baxter-
Abbott. Stupid isn't it? What's yours?"
"Kohl," I replied flatly.
"Have you any extravagance to your full name?"
"I don't suppose."
"Well, it's nice meeting you, Kohl."
She shook my hand. My pale fingers seemed so little compared to hers.
"You have such beautiful nails," she said.
"Oh, thank you."
"You a friend of Dorothy?"
"Sorry?"
"I suppose not then. Are you a queer, it means."
"Uh, I suppose so."
"What's that to mean?"
"I've- I've never kissed a woman or anything."
She giggled, "You're adorable, aren't you?" She wasn't mocking or rude, more as if it was her general opinion. "Do you want to kiss a woman?"
I shrugged. She leaned forward and pecked me on the lips.
"There. Now you have."
I was a little surprised. At that point, Effie was doing most of the talking.
"How old are you?"
"Nineteen," I lied.
"Twenty-one. Finally independent of my parents." She took a swig. "Lord knows they don't approve of my 'lifestyle'."
"Your family name seems familiar."
"My father was knighted for his contributions to literature or something. Family fortune, also. They're disappointed in me for allegedly choosing to end the bloodline. Why do the hets assume we choose to be this way?"
"I'm not sure."
"What do your parents think of you?"
"Oh, they're pansies themselves."
"Really? How so?"
"They don't live in the same home anymore, they've been together so long it's a little ridiculous."
"Huh. Pardon me for being intrusive, but how were you born?"
"They never did tell me. All a big mystery."
"Must be fun. Having parents who are decent people, believing in the 'live and let live' gospel."
"It is, most of the time."
We spoke for hours, it seemed. She told me all about her world of women, opium and parties. I told her about mine, books, loneliness and concerned family members. I never did mention my husband, thinking she would leave the conversation if I did.
Speaking to Effie Morris was the best time I'd had since Alex was drafted. She was so kind, so compassionate. She was the only new person I'd interacted with in a long time who didn't infantilise me for my young appearance or child-like structure. I found out she lived in this Inn, and that her friend was the owner.
Her world seemed so glamorous compared to my own, and I wanted to be part of it.
We went to her room that night. We made love. I never did like that term.
'Making love' is such a stupid thing to say. You can't make love, love makes itself. Men who solicited prostitutes, couples forced into marriage, those people weren't making love. To love is not synonymous with making love, not even close. But with Effie, it did feel like we were making love, in a literal sense. Creating a bond that would be there forever.
We had walked quietly to her room, but as soon as I was past her doorframe, she pushed me up against the door, locking it with a small key that was already in the doorknob. She was a considerable amount taller than me, and leaned into me in a way that made my senses go wild.
"God, you're so pretty, aren't you?" She whispered, her face close to mine.
I swallowed, hard. She tilted my chin up with her finger.
"You're so pure. Never kissed a girl before tonight. Probably never kissed anyone. Have you?"
I shook my head. Another white lie.
"So are you sure you want this?"
I swallowed again, butterflies in my stomach. She had an air of enchantment  about her.
"Yes. I want this, Efiie."
"Oh- I'm going to have so much fun breaking you in."
She moved her hand from where it was on my shoulder, down, letting it linger on each of my ribs, to my hip.
"Can I touch you?" She asked.
I nodded, feeling myself getting a little lightheaded.
"Use your words, baby girl."
I stuttered, "Yes."
"Good."
She let her hand go even lower, lifting up the fabric of my skirt and

When I woke in the morning, she was already up and getting dressed.
"Do you have a job of your own to get to?"
I shook my head no.
"Want to come with me?"
"Where do you work?"
"At the auxiliary corps."
"I thought women weren't allowed to work there."
She shrugged, "Father pulled a few strings for me. He'll do anything if he thinks it'll make me have more traditional values."

The auxiliary unit Effie worked at was filled to the brim with men. Male workers, male soldiers, their superiors, etc. And everyone there seemed to know Effie.
I was a little frightened, but all was well.
Most of the soldiers based there were leaving soon, along with all the blokes working in the auxiliary. Effie wasn't allowed to leave, though. Women didn't start working in the WAAC (Women's Army Auxiliary Corps) until nineteen-sixteen, meaning even she wasn't technically supposed to be there.
She left the auxiliary once WAAC was formed. That, however, is a topic for later.

/

This became a ritual of ours, working at the auxiliary during the day, the bar (which was called 'The Petunia') in the evenings, and staying in her room at night. I ended up moving a lot of my things and clothes to her place.
On November twenty-eighth, I received a letter from Alex.

My dearest, Angel,
How is Effie? I believe I received a drunken letter from her about a very strange topic- I rather thought it was quite amusing. Tell her I said hello.
I'm not angry about it, I'm rather quite proud of you for stepping outside of your zone of comfort.
All my love,
alex

I immediately went to The Petunia and upstairs to ask Effie what sort of letter she had sent to my husband- especially considering the fact I didn't know that she knew I was married.
"Oh, that letter. I thought it was rather obvious you were married, Pumpkin."
She had taken to this pet name for me, though I wasn't completely assured it wasn't because of my ginger hair.
"I'm sorry, obvious?"
"Yes. I'm sorry I never told you, but I've courted a god awful amount of women, married and unmarried and after a while, you sort of learn the mannerisms."
"Effie, love, but what did you write to my husband?"
"He sent me a letter back, he wasn't offended, he thought it was rather amusing." She ruffled my hair. "Nothing to worry about."

Much later on, after the Great War, I asked Alex for the letter she'd sent him, he had waxed it and kept it in his breast pocket for morale.
It read:

To my mistress' husband,
Do you love her? I love her, I love her very much. I hope you were good to her, and I hope you were chosen for more than a rushed courtship to satisfy parental powers. I sincerely hope for her sake, that you are both well in doubt and good at country matters because, in my experience as a sapphic sodomite, I don't think I've ever seen a woman melt under my touch so, nor be so pleased from a drunken encounter. It is an incredible thing, so I wish to start a conversation, with my mistress' paramour.
Perhaps I will give you advice, as you clearly cannot coordinate how to please a woman.
Sincerely, Effie Morris

And immediately when I asked her for it, Effie gave me the response.

Dear Miss Morris,
I'm just going to assume that you were drunken while writing the letter I received, and completely skip over it. While I appreciate your offering of advice on... (pleasing my wife?) I would also like to have a face-to-face meeting once the war is over. Legend has it, that I foolishly decided to enlist at the beginning of the war, which is why my wife is seeing you in the first place.
Sincerely, Alexander Black

I thought them both to be idiots for quite some time afterwards. I forgave them for their idiocy, I always did. I had a knack for attracting the stupid ones. More on this later.
On my next date with Effie, I asked her flatly,
"Why are you just... unphased by the fact I'm married?"
"I'm just not?"
"Surely, you must be suspicious that I'm just doing this for a fling or something."
"Nope."
"Why not?"
"Well, for one, you're far too soft and polite to be like that. I have never courted a woman who sits in our room and folds my clothes and socks while I'm out."
I blushed.
"You smell like cherries, for Mary's sake. Besides, I'm fine with sharing a lady like you. I'm lucky to have a piece of your love at all, Pumpkin."