To Charm a Bluestocking

by Renée Dahlia

  Josephine’s legs lost their strength. Her knees sagged as his tongue probed the depths of her mouth. Bliss. The masculine spicy taste of him drugged her. His hands roamed over her back and she sighed as his fingers worked to untie her laces. Her dress loosened and his hands were hot against her skin. Branding her with his touch. She copied his movements, sliding her hands down to the waist of his pants, then up underneath his shirt. His hot skin against her fingers. She explored his back, the tense muscle groups either side of his spine, then around and down his sides. Even after all the anatomical books she had read, and all the sick patients she had tended, this surpassed her greatest imaginings. He was a warm, living creature, completely healthy. Every muscle on his back alive. She played her fingers across him, counting his spine and ribs, whispering the names of each muscle as she traced them. His muscles twitched under her touch.

  She wanted to explore his chest, but it was pressed hard up against hers. Again, it seemed like he could read her thoughts. Together they drifted down to the carpet and he lay her on her back. The fabric of the rug grazed her back as he tugged her dress down to expose her breasts to him. He stretched out next to her, half across her but with most of his weight on the floor. The new position gave her space to explore the rest of his torso. Male anatomy brought to life before her eyes. He broke the kiss between them and nibbled his way down her jaw and neck towards his goal, her breasts, now nude and offered up for his attentions.

  She grabbed at his shirt to remove it and he lifted his head to help her. He pulled it over his head and off in such a rush that she was surprised he didn’t just rip it to shreds. A giggle escaped and she covered her mouth with one hand in embarrassment.

  ‘Oh, gosh,’ she said. ‘Look at us.’

  ‘I am,’ he replied, his voice full of gravel. His eyes stayed focused on her breasts. She felt herself flush all over as she realised that she had lost all sense of decorum. Her skin tingled as her eyes roamed over Nicholas’s naked torso.

  ‘We must stop,’ she said—unconvincingly. He grinned at her and bent his head to her breast. Sucked. She gasped in response. He looked up at her.

  ‘Must we?’

  ‘No. I mean, yes. No. What do I mean?’ Flustered, she wanted to continue. But she couldn’t. Logic tried to fight through her desire. There were reasons why this was a bad idea. Weren’t there?

  He shifted his weight, straddling her. The hard length of his erection pressed low against her stomach. A fresh dampness welled between her legs. He brought his face down to hers. His spicy breath hovered on her lips.

  ‘This feels just right to me. But I will stop if you want me to.’

  She closed her eyes and tried to compose her thoughts. The weight of him was just right. And his skin against hers distracting. Closing her eyes didn’t help, it just made all her other senses keener. She shook her head. Concentrate. She opened her eyes to see his face above hers, an amused look in his eye.

  ‘Can you please get off? I need to think.’

  ‘You do enough thinking for the both of us,’ he quipped, grinning at her. She frowned.

  ‘How can you joke while you are lying on me like this?’

  ‘How can you form the thoughts to ask me all these questions?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Is this normal?’ she asked.

  ‘Do you mean, in my experience with other women, do I chat to them whilst deciding whether to complete the … ahhh?’ He sounded amused. She puffed out a little sigh and gave him a half-hearted shove in the chest.

  ‘No,’ he continued. ‘Typically, they knew what they wanted from me and stayed focused. Talking like this is better. More fun, actually.’

  She growled under her breath. His hands roamed up her sides, sliding past the edge of her breasts, and up into her hair. With her face framed, he leant down and gave her a gentle kiss on the lips. Then he pushed himself up to standing and held out his arm so she also could stand.

  Josephine lay there watching the muscles on his torso, chest and arms ripple as he pushed himself upwards. She devoured the sight of him. She might not be granted another look. She sighed and let him pull her up. She tugged up her dress and tried to put herself to rights. Her fingers slipped on the fabric with a slight tremor. A remnant of the desire still coursing in her veins.

  ‘Another time, perhaps?’ he asked, making the formal question sound slightly lewd as he found his shirt and slipped it back on.

  ‘Perhaps.’ Now that they were dressed with physical space between them, Josephine began to find her mental faculties.

  ‘It must be time for lunch,’ she said. Perhaps she could distract him with food. He looked at her hungrily. Not the food type of hunger either. He bowed slightly in response.

  ‘By all means, let’s eat.’

  Chapter 13

  Three days later and Nicholas arrived back in Amsterdam. The salty air and the harsh scent of coal from the steam ships at the docks filled his nostrils. He’d spent too long in Rotterdam piecing together the Van Percy puzzle. He longed to see Josephine. Unfortunately, work had to take precedence. The information he had unearthed needed to be presented to the right people as quickly as possible. He had to act. As the train pulled into the station, he stood at the door tapping it with his knuckles. The train slowed, almost to a halt. He wrenched open the doors and jumped onto the platform. Behind him, he heard the train come to a proper stop. The shuffle as the other passengers disembarked in a more correct fashion. Nicholas didn’t look back. He raced down the platform, and ran along the street towards the main police administrative building.

  He arrived at the large whitewashed building, his chest heaving with effort. He leant over the front counter, resting on his forearms.

  ‘I must see … Chief Superintendent Koekje.’ He stared at the clerk with his most foreboding expression. His breath rapid. ‘It is a matter … of some urgency … I hope to God he is here.’

  ‘Ahh, yes,’ stammered the clerk, ‘he is here.’ Nicholas raced down the corridor. While waiting for the train back to Amsterdam, he had paced at the station with nervous impatience. Even the train ride, the fastest possible, was too slow. The clerk called down the corridor after him.

  ‘Sir, sir, he is in a meeting. You can’t go in.’

  A guard stood to attention outside Koekje’s office and moved to place himself in front of the door as he saw Nicholas running towards him. Nicholas wasn’t going to stop for any guard and used his strength to gain access to the office.

  ‘St. George. What?’ Koekje said.

  ‘No time,’ he blurted out. ‘I’ve just come from Rotterdam. The New Unions are planning a protest at the port to coincide with the arrival of …’

  A portly gentleman with a giant moustache cleared his throat in a pretentious fashion and sneered at Nicholas.

  ‘Who exactly are you? You can’t just barge in here with your dreadful clothing.’

  ‘Sir Bruno,’ Koekje said in his typical measured tone. ‘Allow me to present Lord St. George, son of England’s Duke of Tulloch. He has infiltrated the socialist movement, hence his appalling attire. I expect we ought to listen carefully to him. He is not typically prone to grandiose statements.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Nicholas said, bowing slightly to give him time to catch his breath. For God’s sake, the unions planned a riot for today or tomorrow and this old boffin wanted his credentials. The cynical side of him rather enjoyed the effect that the mention of His Grace made. He spoke with the precision that he had been trained, highlighting his professionalism in the face of Sir Bruno’s derision.

  ‘As Koekje states, for some time I have followed several socialist leaders across England and Europe and have created dossiers on each of them. The majority are academics or philosophers who would rather talk about their own cleverness than to act on their ideology. One leader has more low-brow aims. Over the last few weeks, he has gathered quite a solid following among the various foremen at the port,’ he said. Sir Bruno nodded at the mention of the port.

&n
bsp; ‘Ahh, Sir Bruno, I see that you now comprehend the situation. This morning, I gained the intelligence that a protest is planned at the port when The Tetrarch arrives either today or tomorrow.’

  ‘Mine!’ stated Sir Bruno.

  ‘Perhaps you understand why I feel some impatience in bringing this information to Chief Superintendent Koekje,’ Nicholas said, letting his frustrations out with a cynical overtone.

  ‘Who did you say was going to lead this outrage?’ asked Sir Bruno.

  ‘A Mr Van Percy,’ replied Nicholas.

  ‘No,’ Sir Bruno said in a dismissive tone with a wave of his hand. ‘He is one of my best and most loyal employees. Your information is incorrect.’

  Nicholas just raised his eyebrows in response.

  ‘Lord St. George has rather impressive credentials,’ said Koekje.

  ‘That doesn’t mean he’s not misinformed,’ growled Sir Bruno.

  ‘I doubt it,’ said Nicholas. ‘My source is your peer in Rotterdam. He has put considerable effort into placing people within the New Union Movement. It was his men who connected the Eel Riots to the New Unions, and the two Van Percy brothers are leading the pack.’

  ‘The Eel Riots? That was just a slum fight. Besides, Van Percy is solid,’ said Sir Bruno, frowning. ‘I would be very surprised if he was at all involved in such a thing. He is a solid company man. Reliable.’

  Nicholas shrugged slightly. He gritted his teeth at the vain belligerence of the man.

  ‘Be prepared to be surprised then.’ Sir Bruno puffed up his cheeks at Nicholas’s words.

  ‘Now, young man, I don’t appreciate—’

  ‘Perhaps if you leave us now, St. George?’ interrupted Koekje before Sir Bruno could make any statement he might regret. ‘Thank you for your information, and I will be sure to give it my full consideration.’

  Nicholas stood and bowed slightly, happy to be dismissed from the company of the boorish and self-styled Sir Bruno. He knew Koekje would take his information seriously. At the very least, he would believe his statements. Hopefully Koekje would be able to rally his troops in time for a useful response.

  ‘My apologies, good man, I had some rather important information to pass on,’ said Nicholas to the guard as he left the room.

  ‘You could have just said so,’ said the guard. Nicholas nodded in response, feeling a vague sense of guilt at his presumptuous actions. When had he gone from being the charming cautious spy to this man of action? Even as he asked himself the question, he knew the answer. Josephine. Knowing her had put him slightly off balance and in moments of stress, that unbalancing had him acting without the self-discipline he had built up over the years.

  He strode back down the hallway. His heart still raced as he contemplated his next action. He needed more information and he needed it fast. The Van Percy brothers had covered their public association with the anarchist arm of New Unions carefully. The professor was more open, in that he preached at the Ship and Anchor, but it had taken much more digging to unearth his older brother. That his employer, Sir Bruno, didn’t believe him only added to Nicholas’s certainty that the two Van Percy brothers were a force to be reckoned with. Not to be underestimated. For Van Percy Senior to be well respected by Sir Bruno opened the possibility that Van Percy had access to all manner of Sir Bruno’s company plans.

  His next stop would have to be the port to see if The Tetrarch had come in yet. From there, he could determine what to do next. Nicholas had a strong gut feeling that things were about to move beyond the utter tedium of the professor’s speeches into an explosive mix of frustrated humanity. Fuelled by the words of one brother and incited into action by the other. He walked down to the station’s stables and asked to borrow a horse. It was quite a distance to the port, and a horse would provide a quicker means of transport than his own feet.

  It had been snowing lightly all day. It looked like the snow would force the early closure of the port and the key shipping line owners were pushing to get everything unloaded and stored before their ships would be stuck here for the winter. Nicholas watched from the edge of the port as the men worked in difficult and unsafe conditions. They were ripe for protest. Nicholas could see that it wasn’t going to take much for this to turn ugly. He growled under his breath as he saw Van Percy Senior sidle towards the foreman overseeing work at The Tetrarch. He recognised the foreman from the meetings at the Ship and Anchor. Nicholas shook out his gloved hands and his breath came out quickly in cold misty puffs.

  Koekje and Sir Bruno refusing to take the immediate threat seriously made him frown. Koekje’s face had betrayed that he thought of Nicholas as a trumped up Englishman, regardless of his connections. Perhaps he had been impetuous going directly to the offices, rather than coming here to see if the ship had docked yet. He stomped his cold feet on the sodden ground. They didn’t seem to understand the depth of the New Union militant ambitions. His bosses back in England dealt with unionist leaders promptly. But then, in England there had already been several decades of worker uprises.

  Nicholas wondered, as he watched, how the Van Percy brothers had become part of the New Union Movement. The professor had given a hint that he held a grudge against the wealthy class at the dinner. It explained his motivation in part. So many questions still needed answers. How did his brother fit in? Why was he pursuing Josephine? Nicholas could understand an attraction to her. She fascinated him and he felt a twinge of cold jealousy squeeze his heart. Was he wrong to think that Van Percy might have an ulterior motive for wanting Josephine? Was it as simple as the attraction that he himself felt for her? Or was there another reason? Van Percy struck him as someone who made only deliberate choices. Had he learnt about her connection to Walstone? If he had, that knowledge would be incredibly useful to a leader of a group that wanted to undermine and alter society’s higher classes.

  A huge crash shocked him out of his thoughts. A rope holding a container slipped and the container went crashing to the ground with goods spilling everywhere. Workers leapt out of the way and curses filled the air. And then Van Percy Senior’s voice boomed over the top.

  ‘Now. Now is the time to act. We want better conditions. The owners don’t care if you die. They get rich from our suffering. They get rich while they pay us nothing and we live in poverty. It is time to force them to change.’

  At Van Percy’s command, the crowd of workers started to surge towards the port offices where the owners kept their records. Nicholas watched, his mouth hanging open in horror as the angry collection of humanity forced their way into the office building. Under Van Percy’s urgings, they yelled out for the blood of the owners.

  Security forces were quickly mobilised by the management of the shipping lines and the rioting crowd was forced back out of the port office building onto the street. Van Percy Senior climbed up the port gateway. He yelled at the crowd, guiding them towards Amsterdam city and the shipping owners’ mansions.

  The crowd quickly gained in size, with workers from other ships joining in as they retreated from the port buildings. The mob screamed, fuelled by their initial success. Nicholas hesitated, waiting to see if he could determine their intended destination. As soon as Van Percy gave an indication, Nicholas leapt on his borrowed horse. He kicked him into a gallop back towards the police headquarters.

  The light snow on the cobblestoned roadway made the going slippery. Nicholas sat up on his horse to slow him. He guided him safely along the edge of the roadway. It wouldn’t help anyone if the horse slipped or broke down in the difficult conditions. Together they clattered into the courtyard of the headquarters. Nicholas jumped from the saddle. He threw his reins at a stable lad and raced through the back door.

  ‘Riot. Port. Mobilise your men,’ he yelled as he struggled for breath. ‘Riot. Port.’

  He couldn’t wait to watch the action. He bounded up the stairs, two at a time. He threw open Koekje’s door.

  ‘So soon,’ said Koekje. Nicholas gave him a wild stare as the Superindendent sat calmly b
ehind his desk.

  ‘Riot … Port. Send … Men … Quick.’ He rested his hands on his knees. Breathing. Chief Superintendent Koekje stood and put on his hat.

  ‘Follow.’ He strode out of his office. Nicholas straightened himself and did as commanded. Chaos reigned in the courtyard. Koekje stood in the doorway and boomed commands to the rabble of officers.

  ‘We have a riot situation at the port. Get your best men. Utilise procedure 207.’

  Nicholas peered over Koekje’s shoulder. The commanding voice worked wonders. With only a few words, the commotion altered into an organised fashion. Police officers formed into neat lines and marched out into the street.

  ‘Tell me,’ Koekje said to Nicholas in a firm, yet quiet, voice. The forces strode into action. Koekje walked to the stable block. Nicholas marched beside him. He summarised what he’d seen at the port. Koekje asked efficient questions that led to more details about his findings in Rotterdam. Now that he wasn’t in meeting mode with Sir Bruno, Koekje showed his true leadership and intelligence. Even as adrenaline surged in his body, Nicholas could appreciate why the older man held his position of authority.

  ‘I will confront this Van Percy character and shut down this nonsense. Mindless thuggery won’t be tolerated in my city.’

  Nicholas reached his horse. Although the hack belonged to the station, he ran his hands down his cannon bones. Then lifted each hoof in turn to check that the solid gelding hadn’t suffered from his mad dash. Satisfied with the gelding’s soundness, he mounted and trotted out to the street. The horse moved evenly underneath him. Koekje commanded his troops while mounted on a bay gelding. Nicholas nudged his horse forward to stand alongside Koekje. From their vantage point on horseback they could see the crowd of rioters surging up the street. The group had grown into several hundred men. They brandished temporary weaponry fashioned from sticks, bludgeons and other items appropriated along their journey. As they approached the line of police, they hurled stones and abuse. The crowd had a head of steam. The participants seemingly insensible. Getting a source of exhilaration from the destruction that flowed around them. Bottles filled with kerosene-soaked rags created fire streaks. Glass smashed. The noise was extraordinary. All those voices, on both sides, raised in violence.