The Pleasure Merchant

by Molly Tanzer

  “Please, calm yourselves,” said Hallux, totally unconcerned by the ill will his entertainment had generated. “Let me make it up to you. ’Twas an oversight on my part, I allow, not to give more delicate instructions to the boy when I told him to imagine a happy memory. Sit, I beg you. My next demonstration will give everyone nothing but pleasure, I promise it.”

  Reluctantly, the Jepps returned to their seats, though Mr. Jepp was whispering to his son as they complied.

  “Onarprotrepsis has great potential for nerve therapy,” said Hallux, tactfully ignoring the snorts with which his now-skeptical audience expressed their disbelief. “The therapeutic potential of putting someone back in a happy memory, or encouraging them to examine one less agreeable, is undeniable. But the past is not the only place onarprotrepsis may take us. It can help a man cultivate his future—rather as one would cultivate a garden.”

  “How is that?” asked Reverend Tucker.

  Hallux bowed. “Reverend, I beg you to think of planting seeds in such a way that the finished design is pleasing to the senses. Onarprotrepsis, similarly, can help us to experience, by the process of visualization, what we hope to one day achieve or see come about. I will show you, if you would all bear with me a few minutes more?” He turned politely to his cousin, but Tom knew without looking that of course Mr. Bewit would give his permission.

  “Please, all of you take a seat,” said Hallux. “Make yourselves at ease. Yes, that’s right… fear not, Lady Charlotte, I shall induce nothing so shocking as what Master Jepp allowed me the liberty to do. Merely a pleasant thought experiment, of harm to no one—and, I flatter myself, of use to all.”

  Once Hallux was sufficiently convinced of his audience’s participation, however grudging it might be, he picked up the bone pipe Tom had brought down. Hallux blew into it once, tinkered with it, then blew again and seemed satisfied.

  “I shall play a sequence of notes,” he said. “Listen closely, and as you listen, I want you to think of something you wish for—something you would like to see happen, or like to obtain… something within the realm of the possible.”

  Tom tried his best to conjure up some vision of his future hopes and dreams. It was difficult, but eventually a dream of Hizzy in her bridal clothes came to him, standing in front of a wig shop. It occurred to him that he had never written to her, had not even thought of her for months. As he contemplated how his inconstancy must plague her, her image faded… only to be replaced by one of himself, dressed not as a tradesman, but as a gentleman, in yet finer clothes than he already owned, and with a different woman on his arm.

  He heard Hallux playing on his pipe, but it seemed very far away. In Tom’s mind, he was standing on the front step of his own London residence, straightening his fine hat and leading his golden-haired bride down to a carriage that waited for them in the street.

  “Oh Tom,” said the beauty beside him, “you are, I’m sure, the best husband anyone in the world could want. So intelligent—so discerning—so confident! It is so kind of you to take me to Bath for the next few months, when all our acquaintance have gone there.”

  Tom handed her up into the coach, sneaking a look at the clocked stockings that did little to conceal her slender ankles and calves from his view, and felt the beginnings of a cockstand in his breeches. Good thing his lady was always so amenable; he guessed she would consent to letting him have her in the carriage during the drive. It could be managed if they pulled down the shades and kept their raptures in check.

  How lucky he was, to have such a wife! And such a living! And all because he had served Mr. Bewit so steadfastly that the man had remembered him in his will. Yes indeed, Tom had been well-favored, much to the dismay of Mr. Bewit’s too-absent son and not-absent-enough cousin. But when had they ever once humored the man, much less made a life of it? Callow was an ass; Hallux, a brute. That was why Sabina was now sitting beside him, after all…

  A shrill scream drew Tom from these pleasant fantasies. He awoke with a start to find a dismayed Hallux Dryden trying and failing to restrain his wife. Sabina was writhing on the floor, convulsing, specks of white froth bedewing her perfect ruby lips.

  “Mrs. Dryden!”

  Though it would not be unfair to describe Hallux’s usual attitude toward his bride as callous, he was clearly distraught over her fit. He did not at all seem his usual self as he ran his magnet all over the limbs of her body; his motions were hasty, and his expression, wracked, especially as it became obvious that Sabina was not responding to his attentions. Eventually she ceased to cry out, but even then, her wide eyes stared at nothing, and she would not stop shaking.

  “Leave us, I beg you,” cried Hallux. Mr. Bewit, whose nerves were also of concern to Tom, stammered and blushed as he herded everyone out of the parlor. Tom only obeyed for his master’s sake… he wanted to see what happened, and managed to dawdle long enough that he saw Hallux retrieve a candle and withdraw his pocket watch. He dangled the latter before his wife’s unseeing eyes, doing something with the face as it glinted in the candlelight.

  It made Tom feel queer, watching this go on, and on… it was almost as if something half-remembered and long-buried was rising to the surface of his mind. But Tom could not for the life of him think of what on earth it might be, for he could not imagine what Hallux was doing to the woman, or why it should remind him of anything. And yet, this was the… yes, the third time Tom had seen him do this.

  “Mrs. Dryden,” he muttered, as he did whatever he was doing. “Sabina. Come back to me. You hear my voice, I know you do. See this, and…”

  Hallux noticed Tom watching. His expression went from concerned to furious in an instant.

  “You little sneak!” he cried, jumping to his feet. “How dare you spy on me!”

  Tom stood his ground. He would not be cowed by a blackguard who had not only recklessly distressed guests at a party, but also sent his wife into a highly embarrassing public fit.

  “What were you doing?” he asked boldly, though his question only seemed too make Hallux angrier. “Why do you show her that watch when she is distraught? Three times now I have seen you at it, and—”

  “Hallux?”

  Sabina was sensible once again, distracting Hallux from whatever he would have done next, either answering Tom or—more likely—boxing his ears.

  “Sabina!” He knelt beside her. “You have had a shock, dear wife. You fell from your chair.”

  “I do not recall,” said Sabina vaguely.

  “I believe you drifted off, and had a nightmare,” said Hallux, looking at Tom when he said this, as if challenging him to deny his account. Tom said nothing, for Sabina’s sake.

  “Of course,” she said, pushing herself into a seated position with her husband’s assistance. “I’m so very sorry. Please… will you make my excuses? I should… I should go to bed. It’s dreadfully rude of me, I know, but lest I fall asleep again… I am so very tired… and I have a headache.”

  “Yes, of course,” said Hallux. “I will help you to your rooms.”

  “No, let me go on my own,” said Sabina. “Please, go back… go and reassure our guests that I am well, merely… overtaxed. They will understand.”

  Hallux seemed disinclined to allow his wife to go anywhere on her own, so Tom, seeing an opportunity, butted in.

  “Let me see Mrs. Dryden upstairs,” he volunteered. “My society will be missed far less than yours, Mr. Dryden, and likewise, my report on Mrs. Dryden’s health will be given less credit than your own. I promise I shall see her safely to her chambers, and send her maid up directly.”

  “Absolutely not,” he declared.

  “Please, Mr. Dryden,” she begged, “I should be much easier, I assure you, if I knew your night was not ruined because of my indisposition. Do this for me, my darling? Please? Our guests would be sorry to lose you for a moment more, I’m certain of it.”

  Tom saw Hallux’s resolve crumbling, and secretly rejoiced. “It is a husband’s fate to always be overruled by h
is servants and his spouse,” he said, looking from Tom to his wife. “Go then. Tom—upon Sabina’s vanity you shall find an opaque green bottle with a cork stopper. See her settled, but be sure tell the maid to give her three drops of that tincture in a glass of wine before letting her lie down.”

  “I don’t need any medicine,” Sabina protested. “It was just a nightmare, dearest, please—”

  “You have suffered a shock,” insisted Hallux. “As your husband and your physician, I insist on it.”

  “Of course, Mr. Dryden.”

  It had not occurred to Tom that Sabina might be receiving treatments for her nerves from her husband. He could not fathom why he had not intuited this part of their relationship, especially with Sabina’s delicacy of mind and body. Just the same, he had never heard it mentioned by anybody, not even the servants—and she never saw any other doctors, Mr. Fitzwilliam or otherwise. His realization did not sit easily with him… what business did the man have to be always fucking her when she was prone to fits; treating her for nerves when he seemed to enjoy nothing better than hassling her, and denying her pleasures?

  “Thank you for helping me,” said Sabina, as Tom helped her from the room, one hand on the small of her back, and the other under her elbow. She smiled up at him. “It is very gracious of you, to leave behind a party to walk with such a dullard as myself.”

  “You are mistaken, my lady,” said Tom. “It is not gracious of me at all. It is entirely selfish.” He left her to open the door to the gallery, then took her back into his arms. “Your company—and the privilege of ensuring your complete comfort—is more satisfying than any assembly.”

  “It is kind of you to say. But I cannot help feeling like the selfish one.”

  They had reached the stairs, and began progressing slowly up them, resting at the landings to let Sabina recover from the exercise. Tom kept an eye on her as she breathed slowly in and out through her nose, mentally comparing her to the vivacious likeness in her portrait. She might look no paler, nor weaker, than her painted twin… but something was different. She was still the picture of beauty and health; she merely seemed ill, and most of all, she believed herself to be. It was very strange. Tom wondered if her portrait below had been painted before or after she married Hallux Dryden; if her current state was the fault of marriage—or something else.

  He decided to ask.

  “Mrs. Dryden…”

  “Yes?”

  “I hope it is not an impertinence to ask, but I happened to notice the portrait of you in the gallery. You were playing the harp, and it occurred to me that not once have I ever had the pleasure of hearing you.”

  “Oh.” Sabina revived a little. “Yes… it’s been a long time since I played… or even wished to play. I used to practice, for hours every day… how I loved it…” Sabina smiled wanly. “But you must understand, an unmarried girl and a married woman occupy themselves very differently. I am so busy… I can simply never find the time.”

  Tom had never before heard Sabina claim to want more time to herself, or be too busy for anything. To the contrary, she often expressed a want of intelligent employment.

  Then again, any time she did step forward to occupy herself in some useful manner typically incurred disastrous result—like the time she burned her hand in the kitchens.

  As Tom opened the door of Sabina’s private sitting-room he feared that now even parties at home would become forbidden entertainments, for the sake of the lady’s poor nerves. Poor Sabina!

  “Thank you, Tom,” she said, and stepped inside her room—only to trip on the edge of the Turkish carpet. Before Tom could catch her, Sabina windmilled her arms and fell, crying out as she caught the edge of the sofa in the small of her back before collapsing onto it.

  “Mrs. Dryden!” Tom was beside her in an instant, horrified. Her eyes were closed, and she was panting rapidly and shallowly. “Are you hurt?”

  “I can’t,” she gasped, “please, my dress…”

  For the first time, Tom was glad of Hallux’s insistence that his wife dress plainly—there were relatively few buttons, ribbons, and other fasteners on her gown. It was but the work of a moment to loosen her garments, and rather than stays or a corset, she wore a soft jump that was also quickly undone.

  Only when he saw Sabina’s white shift, and the sliver of her exposed neck at the top did Tom realize what liberties he had taken. Drawing back after letting her lie down, he apologized, blushing.

  “No,” she said, breathing much more easily than before, “your presence of mind saved me, I’m certain of it. Had you shown more propriety, you should have done me more mischief.” She sighed. “Oh, but I am so clumsy! I was not always so, but illness has marked me for sorrow.”

  “What—” Tom stopped himself; it was not his place to enquire what on earth could have precipitated such a shift from vivacious musician to drowsy invalid. But Sabina anticipated his question.

  “Mr. Dryden calls it a result of shock.” She winced as she shifted into a more upright position. “Several years ago, my dearest friend and I were out riding… her father had bought a new horse, and she would ride it though we did not know its temperament. Lysandra had high spirits and a strong will; she and the horse were… much alike. She was an excellent rider, but the beast threw her. She fell—her neck was broken. She was gone and growing cold before I could dismount.”

  “By Jove!” cried Tom, so shocked he forgot himself and pulled up a chair to sit closer to her.

  “When at last our servant caught up to us, I was insensate with grief. Her loss… it affected me deeply, and for many months I had no interest in much of anything, least of all company.” A tear ran down her perfect cheek, and Tom’s handkerchief was gratefully received to dry it. “Music was my only solace… until my father arranged for me to meet a young doctor. Mr. Dryden was, he said, a man learned in the art of treating nervous complaints. He believed he could help me—and he did. We spent much time together, naturally, and became very attached to one another. He has cared for me ever since, and I am grateful he was able to love someone as frail as I.”

  Tom was doubtful. “He treats you for nerves, you mean?”

  “Yes… with many revolutionary techniques not known to men of science or the lay public,” she said evenly, sounding as usual like a pamphlet or advertisement when she spoke of her husband.

  Perhaps whatever Hallux did with his pocket watch was one of these ‘techniques.’ “Does he think you will recover? Fully recover, I mean?”

  She shook her head. “He says I must be grateful for the health he has restored to me, and not hope for miracles.”

  It was more of a history than Tom had expected to receive. Sabina’s frankness explained her trust in her husband, as well as her dependence on him. Perhaps he had misjudged Hallux… then again, perhaps not. Not only did her story not quite match up with other accounts he had heard of her—like that she had been more vivacious when she first married Hallux—it could not be right for a woman as young as Sabina to give up hope of ever being truly well again. She could not be more than five and twenty; she had her whole life ahead of her! In Tom’s opinion, Hallux ought to be more eager for his wife to return to society—ought to encourage her to mingle more, rather than less. Right here, with just the two of them, she was conversing almost normally; surely her nervousness in company was as much the result of lack of practice as anything else. So much for his revolutionary techniques!

  “Tom,” she said, “would you… would it be too much to ask for you to help get my gown off and get me to bed? I am so uncomfortable—I fear my back shall be sore, and I’m certain if I could only lie down it would be better much sooner. By the time you go downstairs and rouse Maritte, I’m sure to have a cramp.”

  He was as eager to help as she was mad to suggest it. The very thought of it made his blood quicken in his veins—he had never dreamed to hope that Sabina might admire him from afar, as he admired her. She had never betrayed a sign of anything of the sort, but surely a
woman would not ask a man for such a favor unless she felt a deep regard for him—felt certain of her safety in his hands.

  And all of those sentiments, of course, were likely precursors to… something.

  “My lady, while I know you would never suggest anything indecorous,” he said, a bit hoarsely, “I fear it would be seen by others as… inappropriate.” It was the understatement of the season if not the whole bloody year. “Think of the questions Maritte would ask if she found you in such a state. Just to have loosened your clothes is to have violated many… rules.” He was sweating. He could not imagine what Hallux would say or do if found out things had progressed this far, much less… “Let me fetch your maid—I shall ensure she comes to you with all possible haste.”

  “See you that metal hook on my dresser? I have used it to undress myself in the past. I shall tell her that is what I did. Please, Tom. We are such friends, are we not? Do me this favor—if not for me, for my health?”

  What could Tom do in the face of such a request? It must be owned that with more than can be called friendly inclination to see Sabina Dryden at her ease, Tom helped her rise, walk to the bed, and shed her remaining garments in a haze of joy. Such friends! That is how she described what they were to one another. Not servant and mistress—friends.

  He unbuttoned the rest of her grey wool dress, and after her arms were out it fell heavily to the floor in a pile, revealing her jump, petticoat, and the sleeves of her shift. The remaining hooks of the former were easily undone and the fascinatingly intimate garment came away in his hands. When she began to untie her petticoat he took a moment to inhale the smell of it, Sabina’s smell, before putting it aside.

  “Just leave them there,” she said, and he turned guiltily around to find her sitting on the edge of the turned-down bed in just her shift. “Thank you, Tom. Now I shall be able to get into bed and wait very comfortably indeed.”