Keeper of Pleas

by A. Wendeberg

‘Might we continue our negotiations inside? I find it rather chilly here, and I’m hungry.’

  She stared at the pavement and, after a long moment, nodded. ‘For now.’

  She handed her coat, bonnet, and gloves back to the bewildered waiter, and sat down at their table. ‘You were saying?’

  Sévère picked an invisible crumb off the tablecloth. ‘I have several reasons for offering this position to you. For one, I need an assistant with a brain. Stripling has none whatsoever, but he is useful in his own ways. You, Miss Mary, are brilliant, ruthless, and, when the need arises, coldly analytical. You have no mercy with me. I offer this to you because I need help, not pity. Do not believe for a moment I’m offering this out of charity. I do not function that way, and I do see that you are doing rather well in your profession. But I have to warn you. I would have been more of a gentleman had I let you run away just now, because it is you who will hold the wrong end of the stick. I am twice your age, I might be bound to a chair before the end of this year, and I’m neither well-mannered nor patient in my own home. View my behaviour tonight as a reference point.’

  ‘Bound to a chair?’ Her gaze slid to where the tablecloth shielded a view of his legs.

  ‘We will discuss it once you’ve signed the contract.’

  ‘Nonsense! We will discuss it now.’

  He leant back, arms crossed, and shook his head.

  ‘For the moment, let us pretend I’m considering your proposition. I will not be your housekeeper,’ she said.

  ‘I have a housekeeper.’

  ‘I won’t be your cook, either.’

  ‘You can cook, Miss Mary? Never mind. I have a cook.’

  ‘Maid?’

  ‘Yes. I mean, I employ a maid. You will have your own, if you wish. I don’t need you to wait on me. I need your wits and your legs.’ He groaned and rubbed his brow. ‘I will say this only once: I am still the same man you came to know.’

  ‘Sévère,’ she bent forward and whispered, ‘I am not quite sure what you mean by “still the same man,” but I must tell you this: you cannot marry a whore. My presence in your house will utterly ruin your reputation. Among my clients are men who will know you. The Chief Magistrate of Bow Street Office, to name but one.’

  Blood rushed to his cheeks; his eyes flickered. A wicked grin spread across his face. He scanned the restaurant. They were alone in a secluded corner; the next occupied table was at a great enough distance to grant them privacy. He wondered, for the first time, if he’d invited a witch into a business partnership.

  He shook his head, irritated and amused with himself, pulled up the chair next to him and beckoned her closer. She abandoned her chair and settled down on the one he offered.

  He leant toward her until his shoulder brushed hers, and said softly, ‘Is that so? How very interesting. Are you aware that this might provide me with a certain amount of leverage? He will believe I know all his dirty secrets.’

  ‘You presuppose that he’s told me all his dirty secrets.’

  ‘Did he not?’ Sévère asked.

  ‘No. But I know them anyway. They are very dirty. The question is, do you require me to reveal them to you?’

  ‘Hum… Perhaps. The question is, do I really want to know?’

  ‘You might,’ she said softly.

  ‘Anything unlawful?’

  She smiled. ‘How much time do you have?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  She nodded toward his legs. ‘How long—’

  ‘You think I’m dying? Don’t get your hopes up, Miss Mary. I’m not dying. Although I might be perishing from hunger if that wretched waiter doesn’t bring our food in the next two minutes.’

  ‘It takes more than one missed meal to die of hunger, Sévère. Drink a sip of water. As long as you don’t feel compelled to eat your expensive boots, you don’t know what hunger means.’

  ‘You believe me spoiled.’

  ‘I believe you always fell on the soft side, if you ever fell at all.’

  ‘That might be true.’ He searched her face.

  Distraction arrived in the shape of the waiter, laden with two large plates.

  ‘Ah, the famine has ended.’

  Mary looked down at her food. ‘Oh no.’

  ‘What is it?’ Sévère’s knife was half stuck in his steak, blood oozed from the cut.

  ‘Little ballerinas.’ She pointed at what appeared to be a dozen pairs of very small, very muscular legs attached to a dozen flat and muscular buttocks.

  Sévère choked on his food. She slapped him between his shoulder blades.

  ‘Frogs’ legs,’ he explained and nodded encouragingly. ‘They are delicious. Taste them.’

  She picked up the fork and impaled one of the small ballerina-halves through its behind. She held it up to her mouth, unsure how to proceed. ‘Well, dammit,’ she grumbled, salvaged the morsel from her fork, and pulled meat off bones with her fingers.

  ‘The ladies will surely faint,’ Sévère commented dryly on her inappropriate eating style.

  ‘They can toughen up. This tastes like very young chick. Is this an appetiser?’

  ‘No, this is a full meal for ladies whose intestines have been constricted by too-tight garments. Very fashionable. Will you consider my offer, Miss Mary?’

  She took her time to answer, calculating the offered income into the time she would need to spend with a man she had entirely misjudged, until she could finally leave London.

  ‘It’s not my real name,’ she said after a moment, dismembering another of her ballerinas.

  ‘What a surprise.’

  She chewed and frowned, and abruptly emptied her wine. The waiter appeared from nowhere and refilled her drink. Once he’d disappeared, she wiped her hands on the napkin and said, ‘I will enter your proposed agreement under three conditions.’

  Sévère coughed. ‘You will enter it? I thought you’d think about it for days, if not weeks.’

  ‘I am generally disinclined to wonder for days whether or not I should consider an option. If I ever feel undecided, it’s usually because it’s not a good idea to do it at all, whatever it is. Besides, this proposition of yours requires good planning, which can only be accomplished by first taking the endeavour seriously. I will, however, retain the right to reject your proposition, should we find ourselves unable to draft a contract agreeable for both parties.’

  ‘Go on.’ Sévère, rather surprised by the quick turn of events, hastily washed down his food with his wine. His fingers pinched the slender crystal stem, and slowly turned the glass, the chandelier light reflecting off it and throwing small rainbows across the skin of his hand.

  ‘I agree that a marriage would be the most practical solution. But as your wife, I am your property and I can’t possibly accept that.’

  He grinned widely, and she hissed an irritated, ‘What’s so funny?’ at him.

  ‘Oh, Miss Mary, you cannot imagine how endearing you appeared just now, despite your violent tendencies. I flinch in horror every time I recall you flogging the living daylights out of me. You must know that I’ve met a number of young women who have wished nothing more than to be my property. The prospect bored me to death. Now, what do you suggest? Revolution? Funding all suffragettes in the country?’

  ‘You may continue to make an ass of yourself, Sévère, but you will gain little with such behaviour. If you want this negotiation to proceed, you will learn to behave yourself.’ She emptied her wine in three unladylike gulps and set the glass down with too much vigour. Lightheadedness crept in.

  Gavriel Sévère produced a smirk that made her wish she could slap the arrogance off his face.

  ‘You will draft a marriage contract which clearly states that I am free to go wherever I may choose, that I am not to be locked in your house or in any other property you own, that I am entitled to manage my own finances in a bank account which you will set up under my name, but which you cannot touch without my consent. That you own nothing of me. Should there be any children—’<
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  He paled. ‘Children? I told you this marriage will exist only on paper.’

  She shook her head. ‘You are a man. I am a woman. You may choose to take me against my will, and I could do little to prevent it. The law is on your side. Should a marriage contract, an assistant agreement, or any other written statement contain any mention of us agreeing to an unconsummated marriage, any marriage that we may have entered into is void, as would be this proposed assistant agreement.’ She tapped at the paper before her.

  ‘Why do I get the impression a law student is hidden in this dress of yours?’

  ‘I am a business woman. I sell my body for profit, and I make sure my assets and services remain in the best possible shape, before, during, and after the business transaction.’

  While she spoke, a blush spread from Sévère’s throat to his ears and his cheeks. ‘I’ve never heard a woman speak about these matters so…unabashedly.’

  She shrugged. ‘Should a shoeblack feel ashamed for scraping dog shit off his client’s boots? Of course not. Why should he? He’s an integral part of this society. Now tell me, why should I feel ashamed for cleaning cocks and dirty minds? Perhaps you believe that what I do is humiliating for a woman?’

  She dipped her index finger against his sleeve. ‘Now tell me this: if one person humiliates another, who is to bear the shame?’

  ‘I see your point,’ he answered.

  ‘I am glad you are not one of those men who believe that little girls wake up one sunny morning and dream of making a living as a prostitute. I will tell you about one of my regular clients. He is a barrister and visits me quite frequently. He is in his sixties and one of the few friendly and humble men I’ve come to know in my profession. He is incapable of obtaining an erection. He can’t perform, so instead, he watches me. I lie on my stomach, sometimes my skirts are bunched up around my waist; at other times I’m completely naked. My legs are spread. Wide. My left hand is tracing down the page of a statute book as I read it to him. My right hand is fingering my cunt. And then I switch hands. He’s the happiest man when he leaves my rooms with his code of law reeking of my sex. One cannot read statute books on a regular basis without learning something.’

  She leant back, still smiling, and knowing from Sévère’s expression that his trousers must be somewhat constricting at the moment.

  ‘This barrister will serve as my attorney and make sure our marriage contract is to my best advantage. No, you cannot meet him, and yes, I will pay him the way he wishes to be paid. To finish what I was saying before: should there be children, they will, independent of their sex, inherit equal parts of your money and property.’

  Sévère slowly recovered. ‘That barrister will get apoplectic when he reads the contract. But that’s none of my concern. Your other conditions?’

  ‘First, do tell me why you believe you won’t be able to walk by the end of this year. As long as you whisper, no one but I will hear.’

  Sévère took a sip of wine, collected his thoughts, and decided to take a plunge, despite a feeling of undressing himself emotionally before this woman. But the sheer number of words that had been spoken so freely that night made him care less about the danger of being pitied. He threw a sideways glance at Mary who, he told himself, didn’t seem to have the faintest streak of pity in her.

  ‘At the age of ten, I succumbed to infantile paralysis. My left leg was completely paralysed, my right leg only slightly and only from the knee downward. I recovered after a few months and learnt to walk again. The symptoms completely disappeared with time. A year ago, my left leg began to weaken. A surgeon I trust told me that the paralysis is returning. The symptoms will worsen gradually. There will be days I won’t be able to leave my bed. These days will become more frequent. Hence, I need an assistant with brains, and a talent to find and interrogate informants who would rather have remained anonymous, someone who can track down suspects when I can’t leave my house. Someone who can run for me and use her brain while doing so. As I’ve said already, your services to me can be described as those of a private detective.’

  She leant away from him, and looked him straight in his eyes. ‘I’ve made it worse by beating you.’

  His gaze softened. ‘I wish I could say that. What a wonderful revenge that would be. But no, you did not. The weather has not been very kind to me these past months.’

  ‘Is it life-threatening?’

  ‘The death question again. Why are you so fascinated by impending death?’

  ‘If you die before I’ve collected enough funds for an independent life, I’ve made the wrong decision. If there’s a great chance of you dying in the ensuing two or three years, the contract must state that I’m entitled to a dower.’

  Ah! No pity at all. He felt strangely refreshed and delighted by her response. ‘The law entitles you to a dower no matter what. And my condition is not life-threatening, not to me, not as far as I know. People whose breathing was affected by infantile paralysis — those who survived the disease — do experience breathing difficulties when or if the paralysis returns. It seems the disease remembers where it hit the first time. As I’ve said, my left leg was affected and the right calf, not my ribcage.’

  ‘I am sorry,’ she whispered.

  Displeased, he huffed and gazed up at the chandelier. ‘Don’t worry yourself. I had not expected you would be in favour of this…idea.’

  ‘I didn’t say I’m in favour of your proposition. It’s a stupid plan you’ve brewed up. What I meant to say was that I am sorry I hit you. It was excessive. Ten strokes would have sufficed.’

  His nostrils flared. ‘Ten, you say? How disappointing. Ah! I see our dessert is approaching.’

  They ate in silence. Every once in a while, Mary stopped chewing, pointed her spoon at Sévère, swallowed, and shook her head. After a few more moments of this, she finally said, ‘The other two conditions will need a bit of explaining.’

  He lowered his head, inviting her to continue.

  ‘When I was little…’ She stopped herself, frowned, collected her thoughts and began anew. ‘Every afternoon I took my brother in the pram to the park just in front of my parent’s house. My mother walked with me often, other times she watched from the house, or from the small front yard. I loved how my brother’s little button nose stuck out of all the frills. In fact, this is all I remember of him…’

  Mary put the spoon aside and drew circles with her fingertip on the tablecloth, trying to remember her family better. But her mind seemed unaccommodating. ‘One day, a nice lady said hello as she walked past us. We’d never seen her before, but from that day forward, we saw her frequently. She introduced herself as Mrs Gretchen. She gave me little chocolates, sometimes an apple, a piece of candy. I liked her very much, and mother liked her, too. Then came the day father fell ill. A simple cold, I believe. Mother wasn’t feeling well, either. She asked me to take my brother out for a quick stroll in the fresh air; he and I had been inside the house the whole day. It was a Sunday. I remember it because we didn’t go to church that day, for mother and father were unwell. Mrs Gretchen said hello and I said hello, and… She offered a piece of candy and asked where my mother was. I told her I was alone… I should have lied.’

  Mary picked up her spoon and scooped the last of what tasted like vanilla ice cream from the finely crafted porcelain bowl, let it melt on her tongue, and swallowed. ‘Mrs Gretchen told me she could get medicine for my parents, but that I must come with her. “Why don’t you leave the pram in front of your parent’s house?” she said. “It will certainly take only a few moments; the baby won’t even wake up before you return.” She called a cab and helped me in. We went to a house and she told me to go up to a room and warm myself in the bed. She would fetch the medicine for my parents. And so I did. I was nervous, because I thought of my brother. Would the maid or the housekeeper find him quickly? I kept thinking that I shouldn’t have left him there without notifying anyone. I kept thinking of his small nose turning red from the cold.’
<
br />   She cleared her throat. ‘Is there more wine in the bottle?’

  Sévère refilled her glass and then his own.

  With a hoarse voice, Mary continued. ‘A man entered the room and locked it from the inside. I screamed, “There’s a man in the room!” and he said, “Yes, of course there is.”’

  She looked up from the tablecloth. ‘Mrs Gretchen delivered maidens when and where they were requested. She earned five to ten pounds for each maidenhead, depending on age and prettiness of the girl. Most of these girls never returned to their parents, either because they were kept prisoners, or because they believed themselves to be soiled goods, that no man would offer for them in marriage for they’d already seen a man. Mrs Gretchen made twenty pounds selling me to a rich man who had asked for a very pretty, very young girl. I was nine.’

  Sévère opened his mouth to say something, anything, but Mary held up her hand. ‘Over the years, I’ve learnt. I’ve learnt that a man can call the police if something has been stolen from him and taken into a stranger’s house. The police will help him enter that house and retrieve whatever is his. Not so with abducted children. The madam only has to keep the door safely locked to defy the father. Why is that?’

  Sévère replied in his typical, professionally detached tone, ‘The father would have to obtain habeas corpus. The process is costly — thirty to fifty pounds sterling or more. Not everyone can afford it. Before the case would be heard, a week might pass, sometimes two. In that time, the girl will have been abused ten times over. By law, abduction is no offence unless the child is in the custody of the father at the time of her abduction. You spoke about a house, a front yard, and servants. Your parents must have had the funds necessary to obtain habeas corpus.’

  Mary looked down at her dessert bowl and absentmindedly stuck a finger into it, swirled it around, and put it into her mouth. ‘They did not know where I was, I believe. And the police did not investigate what was not considered a crime. During my first three, four years as a prostitute, I changed owners several times. I learnt that the more knowledgeable a man is, the more power he wields. So I thought: why can’t a woman? I could read and write well; my mother had taught me. So I read whatever I could put my hands on. Books were like a world far away from my own. But I also needed to educate myself about my own rights and opportunities. I learnt they were very limited.