By His Command. Justine Elyot

final destination was a shop that sold vintage clothing and accessories – lovely stuff with swirling 50s petticoats or flapper gowns glimmering with tiny seed pearls.

      ‘Gorgeous,’ I said, fingering a silk kimono-style wrap that came complete with a long, lacquered cigarette-holder, but Jasper whisked me away, tilting his head at the woman behind the counter.

      ‘We’re not here for this. We have an appointment upstairs.’

      ‘Go on up. She’s waiting for you,’ said the woman, whose multi-coloured bob fascinated me so much that Jasper had to drag me to the narrow stairs at the back of the room.

      ‘Who’s waiting for us? What’s happening?’

      ‘I told you I’d get you into a corset,’ said Jasper.

      ‘Oh, my God, really?’

      ‘Yes, really. Don’t you want one? Don’t worry – it won’t be the type to crush your ribs. No whalebone.’

      We had stopped on the top stair. A door stood in front of us, bland and unassuming enough, but somehow it made me shudder as if it were a portal to the underworld.

      Jasper knocked and was bade enter by a low female voice. I imagined the possessor of it in a spangled housecoat and turban, smoking a cigarette and drinking a pink gin.

      In fact she wore a sharp black suit – vintage, from the shop downstairs, I supposed – and her hair was scraped back into a bun. She looked severe, almost mannish, but also magnetically attractive. Behind her was a large bright skylit room, its walls entirely hidden by shelf after shelf and rack after rack of ravishing undergarments.

      ‘Miss Frost,’ said Jasper, and he took her hand and kissed the fingertips, which seemed to be the done thing.

      ‘Mr Jay,’ she said. ‘And your charming companion. Do come in.’

      It was all thrillingly old-school and I was captivated from the start, despite feeling a little intimidated.

      ‘This is Miss Wells,’ Jasper introduced me.

      ‘How do you do, Miss Wells?’

      ‘Very well, thank you,’ I replied, out of my depth, swimming in a sea of luxury ribboned knickers and social anxiety.

      ‘You must take a seat. Can I offer you anything? I have all the teas you can think of, or coffee, or perhaps a glass of something?’

      ‘Actually, I’d love a glass of water,’ I said, while Jasper ordered a strong black coffee.

      Miss Frost disappeared into a back kitchen, giving me an opportunity to gawp at my surroundings.

      The corsets took up an entire wall. Every colour, every pattern, every fabric was represented. Some covered the bust, some didn’t. Some had chains and straps hanging from them, and were made of PVC or leather.

      Oh, God. Was that what Jasper had in mind?

      ‘Which one were you thinking of?’ I whispered. Not sure why I whispered, but it was a bit like being in church for some reason.

      ‘Oh, you won’t get it today,’ he said. ‘This will be bespoke, my love. Made to your … to my, actually … personal specification.’

      I took in a quick breath.

      ‘You’re going to tell her what you want?’

      ‘Yes. And then she’ll make it.’

      ‘And I don’t get a say?’

      He shook his head and patted my hand.

      ‘Don’t you trust me?’

      As I tried to formulate a reply, Miss Frost interrupted me by returning to the room with a tea tray. Once drinks were dispensed, she came to business.

      ‘When you made the appointment, you mentioned having Miss Wells fitted for a corset,’ she said to Jasper.

      ‘Yes,’ he said, turning to me. ‘Miss Wells is very interested in the Victorians and I thought it might be a nice surprise for her.’

      ‘Ah, the Victorians. Tight lacing. Much tighter than a modern young lady might wish to tolerate.’ She was speaking to me now, and I appreciated her warning.

      ‘Yes, I know they were frowned upon by the medical establishment, even at the time. I’ve no desire for a twelve-inch waist, though. I don’t want an instrument of torture.’

      ‘Very sensible. Some do, of course …’ she said, trailing off and opening a desk drawer. ‘The first thing we must do is obtain measurements. If you wouldn’t mind stepping behind that screen and removing your clothes …’

      ‘Oh, there’s no need for the screen, is there?’ said Jasper.

      Damn him. I knew he would do this. Turn the whole thing into some kind of elaborate humiliation-kink foreplay. But my nipples perked up the minute he spoke and a delicious fizz of erotic anticipation frothed up inside me.

      ‘What does Miss Wells think?’ asked Miss Frost dryly, taking out a tape measure and a notepad and pencil.

      ‘Oh … well … it’s OK, I …’

      But Jasper spoke over me.

      ‘Miss Wells will do as she’s told.’

      He put a hand in the small of my back and shoved me gently, helping me to my feet. I needed the help. My legs had gone quite wrong. The way he had said that … it was shocking and it was exquisite. But what on earth must Miss Frost think of us? My face was so hot it must have matched some of the bright scarlet basques and teddies on their hangers behind me.

      When I slunk my gaze in her direction, I was surprised at what I saw, though. She was smiling broad approval, looking me up and down with a frankness bordering on the lascivious.

       Oh, I get it.

      ‘We miss you, Mr Jay, at our little gatherings,’ she said. ‘We were wondering if your tastes had changed. But I think we needn’t have worried.’

      ‘Oh, no, my tastes haven’t changed. I’ve been busy, that’s all.’

      ‘So might we hope to see you again one fine evening?’