by Rod Rees
Maria had no such reservations. ‘You look marvellous, Dean,’ and with that she led him out of the room, and downstairs to the steamer that was parked waiting for them outside their hotel.
As they chugged their way through the streets of London en route to Mrs Jeffries’ brothel, Maria continued her assessment. ‘But whilst in appearance you are the epitome of a ForthRight gentleman, your demeanour still leaves much to be desired.’
‘My demeanour?’ queried Moynahan. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘For you to be accepted as a gentleman, you must act as a gentleman. It is my experience that those who occupy the upper echelons of the ForthRight disport themselves in the manner of arrogant swine, which is something you must ape … ape being a most apposite description of these individuals.’
‘So, let me get this straight. If I want to be accepted as a gentleman, I have to act as a pig.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Then don’t worry about it, Maria. During my time in the army I’ve met a load of guys who will make excellent role models.’
‘Good. And I would also suggest, given your great size and broad shoulders, that you announce yourself as a pugilist, which will go some way to explaining your somewhat … unorthodox manners.’
Their conversation was interrupted by the steamer driver announcing ‘We’re ’ere,’ and he turned the vehicle into a street criss-crossed by excavations, the great heaps of wet earth dug from the trenches making the pavements nigh on impassable to pedestrians, especially for a woman wearing such dainty boots as Maria.
‘Sorry, guv’nor,’ apologised the driver as he brought the cab to a halt, ‘but thems that does is still sortin’ out Mr Faraday’s galvanicEnergy cables. These will transmit the power to the new streetlamps the Great Leader ’as determined is necessary to alleviate the gloom ov the Rookeries. Mrs Jeffries’ establishment is on the ovver side ov the road, the ’ouse wiv the red door.’
Moynahan thrust too many guineas into the cabby’s hand then helped Maria from the cab. ‘Now, Maria, we have the problem of crossing the road without ruining those kid boots of yours.’
Inspiration dawned. He walked up to what looked for all the world to be a bundle of rags heaped in a doorway and prodded it with the chiselled toe of his immaculately shone boot. Time, he decided, to get into character, so adopting his haughtiest accent, he announced, ‘You there, shit-sweeper, I’ll give you sixpence if you’ll sweep a path across the road.’
The heap of rags stirred into life, slowly uncoiling to reveal the shape of a small boy, emaciated and alarmingly dirty. The boy’s eyes blinked awake and he rubbed himself to bring some feeling into his numb body. ‘A tanner, yer ’ighness? A flash cove like you wiv such a beamy bride in ’arness must be willing to run to a deaner.’
‘What does this urchin say?’ asked a bemused Maria.
Moynahan laughed, he had never thought his expertise as a linguist would mean him acting as an interpreter in the Demi-Monde. ‘He’s wondering if a fashionably and expensively dressed man such as myself, accompanied by such a beautiful woman, might, perhaps, be inclined to pay a shilling to have the road swept rather than the sixpence offered. And I, for my part, am moved to pay this exorbitant price; cheek and impudence must be rewarded.’ He tossed the boy a silver sixpenny piece. ‘If my lady can walk across to Mrs Jeffries’ house without soiling her shoes or her dress, then there’ll be a second tanner waiting for you on the other side.’
The boy beamed; a shilling was a week’s wage in the Rookeries and more than enough to keep him soused with Solution. He pulled at his quiff of hair. ‘Rely on me, yer ’ighness.’ And with that he raced into the road and, using his decrepit broom, began to brush a channel through the muck.
As they crossed the road, Moynahan had to admit that he was enjoying himself. After ten months of being holed up in the men-only enclave that was the Portal it was a blast to be out and about in the company of a lovely woman. And Maria was beautiful. He just loved the way she tripped along, one hand holding up the train of her dress and the other clutching a pomander to her nose as protection against the stench. Dupe or not, this girl, he decided, had style, though unfortunately the boy’s imprecations to ‘avoid the turds’ and ‘don’t step in the ’orse-shit’ did add a somewhat surreal aspect to their journey.
Finally, the pair of them managed, with the minimum of soiling, to arrive at the entrance to the grand house that was their destination. Moynahan flipped the second sixpence to the boy, who gave another appreciative tug of his forelock.
‘Much obliged, guv’nor, an’ as you’ve been straight wiv me, let me give yous sum advice. There’s a Checkya Black Maria parked around the corner so the chances are them bastards are gonna be raidin’ Mrs Jeffries’ knockin’-shop later in the evenin’, so it’d be best to keep a straight ’ead an’ be light on your toes.’
Once the urchin had disappeared into the darkness, Maria handed Moynahan a black leather mask. ‘The final part of your ensemble,’ she said with a smile.
Moynahan shrugged, then followed her lead and strapped it on. This done, he rapped on the door with the knob of his cane, the sharp sound echoing into the building. A few moments later a steel grille set into the door flicked open and a pair of hooded eyes peered out at them.
‘Yus?’ came the muffled enquiry. ‘And ’oo might you be, sir?’
‘Dean Moynahan, heavyweight champion of NoirVille, and my guest, the Lady Maria Steele,’ he answered, putting a swagger into his voice.
‘Never ’eard ov you.’
‘Nor I of you,’ retorted Moynahan uncaringly, as he pushed a folded five-guinea note through the grille, ‘but here is my calling card.’
The grille snapped shut and they heard heavy bolts being thrown behind the door. Then, almost begrudgingly, the door opened to reveal a somewhat decrepit butler dressed in a morning suit that had obviously been made for someone considerably larger. ‘Come in, sir, but I would warn you that Mrs Jeffries is very particular about ’er clientele.’
‘Just so, just so,’ nodded Moynahan as he swept Maria into the galleried hallway of the house, swinging his cape from his shoulders and plucking his hat from his head, then tossing them both to the doorman. Maria opted to retain her cloak.
‘If you would be so kind as to announce us,’ ordered Moynahan, ‘I would be immeasurably grateful.’
‘First, may I arsk, sir, iffn you is ’eeled?’
For a moment Moynahan considered lying but then realised that the butler would already have seen the Colt he had holstered under his armpit. ‘I am. What of it?’
‘Mrs Jeffries has an aversion to firearms and insists that any gentleman seeking admission must leave ’is ironware safe in my custody.’
With considerable reluctance Moynahan unholstered the pistol and handed it over. Satisfied, the butler ushered them up a long and very grand staircase to the first floor of the impressively opulent house. Whoever this Mrs Jeffries was, her business was obviously a tremendously lucrative one. At the top of the stairs they were met by two liveried footmen, broad-shouldered, tall and possessed of an attitude that was politely hostile.
‘Good evening, sir … miss, would you be so kind as to let us have your names? Do you have an invitation?’
With a lackadaisical insouciance, Moynahan took a silver cigarette case from the pocket of his jacket, removed a cigarette and tapped it nonchalantly on a fingernail. He lit the cigarette and blew a wistful stream of smoke into the air. ‘My name is Dean Moynahan, and I am accompanied by Lady Maria Steele. I am here to avail myself of this establishment’s services.’
The two footmen glanced at one another, smiled and then the dark-haired one addressed Moynahan again. ‘My apologies, sir, but it is a rule of the house that no stranger is admitted unless previously sanctioned by Mrs Jeffries. In this way the house seeks to protect the identities and the privacy of its patrons from unwarranted intrusions.’
Moynahan ignored the rebuff. ‘Perhaps if I were to speak to Mrs J
effries, this misunderstanding might be resolved?’
‘That is impossible, sir, without a prior appointment.’
‘Nothing is impossible,’ stated Moynahan quietly.
‘This is,’ retorted the footman, shifting his sizeable bulk better to block Moynahan’s route to the landing.
‘Please, call Mrs Jeffries, or I will become annoyed.’
The footman gave a dismissive laugh. His confidence was easy enough to understand: big though Moynahan was, they did, after all, outnumber him two to one. ‘Annoyed, you say, sir?’ He winked theatrically to his colleague. ‘Well, sir, I find that gentlemen such as yourself are best advised not to become annoyed in the presence of me and John.’
Moynahan smiled an easy smile. ‘Are you threatening me?’
‘As you wish, sir.’
‘Then know that I don’t take lightly to being threatened by the likes of you. Make a move against me and I will damage you.’
Now that gave the muscle some pause and, thinking that it might be a good idea to put the frighteners on Moynahan, the footman made a serious mistake. Pulling back the tail of his heavily embroidered frock-coat, he revealed a long piece of iron pipe hanging from a leather strap. ‘I think you’ll find that my life preserver is the one that will be inflicting damage—’
Moynahan hated being threatened and he communicated his distaste by slamming a balled fist into the man’s crotch. The man’s cheeks blew out and he sank groaning to his knees. Such was the suddenness of the attack that John, the second doorman, was slow to react, which was his undoing. There was a loud click and Moynahan prodded the point of a switchblade he’d conjured from his sleeve into John’s groin. ‘Make one sudden move, my merry man, and I’ll slit you from scrotum to sternum. Now I want you to go and tell your mistress that Dean Moynahan and Lady Maria Steele are here and they’d like to see her pronto.’
‘You’re mad—’
‘That’s as may be but I’m a madman with a blade in my hand.’
The footman scuttled off to reappear a moment later accompanied by a tall, thin woman of about Maria’s age, well-dressed, though the make-up she was wearing announced her to be a woman of less than respectable inclinations. She was handsome in a nondescript sort of way, her fishy eyes preventing her ever being considered truly attractive, especially as these fishy eyes were flashing with anger.
‘So wot’s to do ’ere then? Oo’s this Mister Moynahan ’oo’s bin creating such a fuss an’ a flummox?’
‘I am,’ admitted Moynahan.
‘John ’ere says you ’ave assaulted Henry by bashin’ ’im in the bollocks, an’ ’ave threatened John wiv a shiv.’
‘That’s correct,’ said Moynahan as he moved up a step to stand on the landing.
A frown creased the woman’s brow and she paused to study Moynahan more carefully. ‘It’s not proper for a nice gentleman like wot you appear to be to make a disturbance. So, Mr Moynahan, what’s all the kerfuffle about? We don’t want any ’urly-burly in an ’ouse run by Mary Jeffries. It gets my guests all aquiver.’
‘I wish to attend your entertainments.’
‘Indeed! Well, I’ve ’alf a mind to send you off wiv a flea in your ear. It don’t do for gentlemen guests ov mine to be causing a fracas an’ such.’
Moynahan bowed and then gave his most disarming smile. ‘I can assure you that my purpose in visiting your marvellous institution is to be enlightened and entertained. I have no intention of repeating this deplorable scene. I understand that the fee for newcomers is fifty guineas’ – he took out his wallet and casually removed five ten-guinea notes – ‘payable in advance.’
For a moment Mary Jeffries stood as though uncertain, eyeing first the notes in Moynahan’s hand and then the groaning footman on the floor. Finally she came to a decision and plucked the notes from his hand. ‘Very well, Mr Moynahan. You can come in but not your dollymop. Only my own lasses are runners ’ere; them an’ a few of the choicer grandes horizontales.’
‘She’s no doxy,’ laughed Moynahan. ‘I’ve brought her here to be educated in the finer points of Cupid’s Dance.’
‘A demi-rep, eh? Well, it still don’t signify; the bucks and blades in my ’ouse are pipin’ ’ot an’ urgent and in my experience amateurs like ’er are likely to call for the rozzers if they are so much as looked at askance.’ She studied Maria carefully. ‘Yus, there’s a mite too much pepper and hauteur about ’er for my taste, though she’s comely enough and, from what I can see under ’er cloak, ’er bubbies are fine and pouting. But that counts as nowt. Send ’er back to the nunnery, Mr Moynahan, and let me find you a ride that is truly ’ot to trot.’
Moynahan tried again. ‘You misunderstand, Mrs Jeffries, Maria here is no demi-rep, no amateur playing the whore for devilment and delight. Rather, she has a thirst for knowledge … forbidden knowledge.’
‘So you say, Mr Moynahan, but it would be better to ’ear it from ’er own lips.’
Moynahan turned to Maria and stared at her in a meaningful way. ‘Well, Maria?’
Maria’s mouth drew into a tight line. ‘I wish to enter your establishment, Mrs Jeffries, and to see every vice and debauchery—’
‘It’s the seeing that I object to, Miss Steele,’ sneered Mary Jeffries. ‘You come to my ’ouse as a voyeur rather than a participant. All the girls in that room’ – she nodded towards the double doors – ‘are working girls, not toffs looking for a thrill. Pass through them doors an’ you’re in play, Miss Steele.’ She sniffed dismissively. ‘The only way to educate a tart, Mr Moynahan, is through involvement and involvement is not sumfink I fink Miss Steele ’ere is set upon.’ She glanced up at the landing’s clock. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ve spent too long a time chit-chatting. I’ve me ovver gentlemen to be attending to.’
Now Maria took matters into her own hands. She unclasped the buckle that tethered her cloak about her shoulders and let it fall to the ground. In Moynahan’s opinion, the gown she was wearing was the most erotic dress he had ever seen and it achieved this not by flashing huge quantities of naked flesh but by hints and suggestions. Made from the most ephemeral of tulle, the white, full-length Grecian robe flowed over her body like a bleached shadow, allowing her glorious figure to slide in and out of view every time she moved. Moynahan had once read that a dress should whisper a woman’s intent but this dress didn’t whisper – it screamed.
A sultry smile dressed Maria’s lips, she placed the one hand artfully on a cocked hip, and then turned her smoky eyes to Mary Jeffries. ‘I am ready to do much more than just look, Mrs Jeffries. If you allow me through those doors your patrons may use my body without let or hindrance.’
Mary Jeffries took a few moments to study Maria, her gaze taking in the provocative cut of her dress and the curves of her body. Obviously she was as susceptible to the arts of fiduciary sex as anyone. ‘Spunky filly, ain’t you. And you’ll need to be. You ain’t any idea wot you’ll be letting yerself in for.’ She thought for a moment. ‘But if you’re in earnest it can be arranged … for a price.’
Without a moment’s hesitation, Moynahan drew his billfold from his jacket and handed Mary Jeffries a further fifty guineas. He had a feeling that what he was about to see would be cheap at twice the price.
1:07
London, the Rookeries
The Demi-Monde: 88th Day of Summer, 1005
5/16/2018. Su Xiaoxiao my Dupe guide in the DM explained that there are some historical personages recreated in the DM. Shelley?
5/16/2018. Su Xiaoxiao has promised 2 introduce me 2 Shelley. Far out. I’m so excited.
5/17/2018. Went 2 pub called the Prancing Pig 2 meet Shelley. Whatta dish. I can’t believe he’s not real. I’m in love with a Dupe!
5/19/2018. I interviewed Shelley 4 my next assignment. Got his views on non-violence. If that don’t get me an ‘A’ what will?
5/19/2018. Went dancing with Su Xiaoxiao & Shelley. Lots of fun tho I don’t like Burlesque Bandstand: he gives me the creeps.
Zip
messages posted by Norma Williams prior to her entry into the Demi-Monde
Mary Jeffries signalled to a slim girl dressed as an inmate of a Turkish seraglio and sporting a really quite comical turban to escort Maria and Moynahan through the double doors and into the salon proper. Accustomed as she was to the splendour of the Doge’s Palace in Venice, Maria prepared herself to be disappointed, but she wasn’t. The huge, high-ceilinged room was sumptuously decorated in crimson and gilt and the wall panels – brilliantly lit by gaslights and candle-bedecked chandeliers – showed pictures of a distinctly erotic cast, with nymphs and satyrs locked in fervent and very blatant union.
‘This is the best sporting ’ouse in the ’ole of the Rookeries,’ crooned their guide, the girl obviously bursting with pride. ‘All ov the bon tons is ’ere, and the tail on parade is wivout equal.’ Maria could see that what the girl said was accurate: the clientele crowding the room were very elegantly and expensively dressed. ‘Would you care for a drink, sir? The Mistress said I ’ad to look after you tonight, to make sure you enjoy yourselves an’ all.’
‘What’s your name, girl?’ asked Moynahan.
‘Rosie, sir.’
Moynahan smiled and pressed a five-guinea note into Rosie’s palm. ‘Well, Rosie, I shall have a neat whisky, and for Miss Steele, a glass of champagne au gore. And make sure it is the good stuff and not the adulterated poison you serve to the other mugs. Try to gull me and I’ll have the SAE off your arse but play me straight and I’ll see you all right.’
As the giggling girl scuttled off to get the drinks, Maria glanced at Moynahan and gave a nod of appreciation. She was impressed: Daemon he might be but he was playing the toff to perfection. A thought struck her. ‘You’re not drinking blood?’ she enquired.
‘No. We Daemons have an aversion to blood.’
How peculiar these Daemons are, thought Maria, peculiar but very handsome.
When their drinks had been delivered Moynahan raised his glass in salute to Maria. ‘To Miss Maria Steele, the most beautiful woman in this … or any other world.’