by P. N. Elrod
A quick look behind confirmed that three more followed me on this side of the street. Well-a-day, but I must have walked into a veritable nest of rowdies. I quickened my stride to a trot. Taking this as a signal to drop all pretense, they set after me like a pack of hounds on a fox. I broke into a dead run and started yelling at the driver to whip up the horses. The man turned in his seat, divined my intent and called something to the footmen. Those worthy lads, well used to the rigors of their work, started smartly away with their torches. I wasn’t worried about coming to harm, but felt a distinct a wash of relief when I tore open the door and jumped onto the carriage. It rocked from my sudden weight, but kept moving forward as I bellowed for the driver to go as fast as he dared.
“What is it?” Oliver demanded, and though astonished at this development, he helped haul me in. I sprawled upon the opposite seat, righted myself, and pulled the door shut.
For an answer I told him to look out one of the windows. He saw all six of the men running after us, waving their sticks and shouting abuse. Fortunately, none was as fit as they might want to be for such exertions and had to give up the chase after a short distance. They were soon left behind, breathlessly cursing and shaking their fists.
“Good God,” he said, drawing his head back inside again. “What on earth was that about?”
“Friends of Ridley, I suppose. He wasn’t home, by the way.”
“Just as well. If they’d charged in like that while you were trying to influence him—”
“I’d have vanished in a blink, dear Coz. Left ’em with a proper mystery.”
He laughed once at that idea, but uneasily. After another look back to make sure no one still followed, he told the driver to slow to a safer, more civilized speed. “Was Ridley in that lot?”
“I didn’t see him, and he’s too large to miss. Of course they might not be connected to him and only be up to general mischief.”
He shook his head. “I can hardly believe that. If they’re the ones that came by last night, then they must know you both.”
“True, and if so, then I’ll have a lot of work on my hands finding them one by one and warning them off. I can get their names from Ridley.”
“This is positively beastly. There’s no reason for such unpleasantness, y’know. Not one that I can see.”
“It’s bound to be just pure meanness, or revenge. Maybe they’ve noticed their leader isn’t behaving—or misbehaving that is—as usual and have determined I’m somehow responsible.”
“I hope to God Elizabeth’s all right.”
“She’s fine.”
“How are you so certain of it?”
“If Ridley’s friends are here then they won’t be anywhere near your house.”
“Oh.”
“Well, shall we pay a call on Mr. Tyne?”
“You are a one for taking chances, aren’t you?”
“Hardly, but perhaps Ridley’s with him and I can catch them both in one go.”
He acquiesced with a short laugh and called fresh directions to the driver. This time our destination was to a long crescent of identical houses in a highly fashionable area of town.
“I’d hate to have to find my way home without a guide,” Oliver commented. “Look at ’em—like a row of peas in the pod. Too much to drink and you could end up in your neighbor’s bed instead of your own.”
“I expect one gets used to it—oh, stop braying, you great fool, or you’ll have the watch down on us. I meant it in terms of finding one’s own door and you know it.”
For all their similarity, the combined effect of the houses was quite grand. Made of white stone with large windows, the wooden trims still looked freshly painted despite London’s soots. The people who lived in these palaces took pains to keep them as perfect as possible. They may even have rivalries going on amongst themselves over the fine points of how to keep everything clean.
“Is this Mr. Tyne’s place or his parents’?” I asked.
“His own. Arthur must be rather better than Ridley at keeping his carousing within his means—that or he’s confoundedly lucky at the gaming table.”
“Where are his parents, then?”
“They live in the country and generally take themselves away to Italy at the first sign of winter. Not a sociable lot, except for Arthur.”
As before, Oliver, pointed out the right door and we stopped the carriage a distance down the way so I could walk back. And, as before, the object of my quest was not at home according to the servant who answered my knock. He informed me that the master was staying over with one of his friends, but could not say who it might be. The master had a wide circle of friends. I thanked the fellow with a small vale and retracted my steps. This time the street was clear of bullies.
“There it is, then,” said Oliver as I passed the news on in turn. “Nothing for it but to enjoy the ride back home—unless you have a mind to go along to Paternoster Row? It’s not that far away.”
“If you think the bookstalls will still be open.”
“Some of ’em are bound to be. Don’t you recall there are parts of this city that never close?”
“It has been a while. . . .” The other sort of stop I had in mind I knew would most definitely be open for custom.
“Then you need to become reacquainted with things.”
My thoughts exactly.
Navigation through the sometimes cramped and nearly always crowded streets was a demanding art. Happily our coachman was a master at it. The two footmen were also skilled, shouting for people to clear the way, their calls getting more frequent the closer we came to our destination. As they labored, Oliver and I discussed the chances of hunting down some decent plays to send to Long island for our cousin Anne to read. She’d come to have a fondness for Shakespeare, but wanted to read others. Oliver understood that despite her exposure to such writing she was still not especially worldly, which meant that numbers of the more easily understood modern works would be inappropriate for her delicate character.
“A pity, really, for some of ’em are quite amusing,” he said.
“You mean quite licentious.”
“That’s what’s so amusing. Here, this place should do; I know the proprietor.” He had the driver stop and led the way to a spot that was half shop, half open stall, lighted now by several lanterns. Every horizontal surface was covered with books and manuscripts of all sizes and description. It was just the sort of place to appeal to my sense of the hunt, though in terms of knowledge, not for trophies or food. The time fled and so did a goodly quantity of coin from my purse. In a very short hour I had not only a stack of books containing plays suitable for a young lady to enjoy, but several volumes for my own amusement. The weather for the coming year promised to be vile, so I’d not be inclined to fill the early morning hours with outdoor exercise as was my habit. Better to settle before a warm fire with a book when the time came than to brave the fury of the elements.
“I think you bought the store out,” Oliver commented, eyeing my purchases.
“Not yet, but next time for sure. Good thing we have the carriage. This would be a bit much for a sedan chair.”
“It may be a bit much anyway. Where are we to sit?”
“I thought we could send the carriage home without us.”
“Did you now? To what purpose, other than leaving us stranded?”
I gestured slightly with my head in the direction of a nearby gaggle of trollops who where presently trying to attract business. Some of them were very fine looking, indeed. “Remember at the Three Brewers you suggested we treat ourselves to a real celebratory outing?”
“No, but it certainly sounds like something I’d suggest.”
“I was still recovering from the ocean trip at the time, but I gave you my word that—”
He raised a hand. “Say no more, Coz, I take your meaning exactly. N
ow that you’ve brought the subject to my attention, it seems to me that we’ve been denying ourselves a real sampling of the pleasures of life for far too long.”
“Have you also a mind to do something about it?” “More than a mind, though I think we can do a bit better than those ladies, excellent though they may be.”
“The Red Swan?”
“Oh, better than that. Since we’ve been forced to delay celebrating your arrival, I propose we avail ourselves of a place with more sophisticated forms of diversion. What do you say to a few hours at Mandy Winkle’s house?”
That surprised me. “I thought you didn’t care for Turkish bathing.”
“Indeed not. As a doctor I know that frequent indulgence in full bodily immersion in water can be dangerous to one’s health—however, this is in your honor, so we shall yield to your preferences this time. Besides, Mandy has added some dry rooms for her more sensible customers.” He jutted his long chin out to indicate himself to be a part of that select group.
“Say no more and lead on, then,” I said, laughing. A night at Mandy Winkle’s had ever been a favorite diversion during my student days. Not only did I share company with a delightful lady, but had soaked to my heart’s content in hot scented water up to my chin. Though free-running water had become a nuisance to me since my change, I had no trouble with the contained sort—especially if contained in a large tin tub with a near—naked woman standing close by to scrub my back before proceeding on to other delights.
My heart provided a slight twinge of guilt for thinking of having sport with other women when the possibility of seeing Nora again loomed so near. However, she was not near at the moment, and they were.
Having a positive horror of any form of jealousy amongst her gallants, she applied the same rules of conduct to herself, so when apart from her I’d ever been free to nourish my carnal appetites without incurring her disapproval. But I was sensible and sensitive enough not to speak of such little encounters as I had to her. That would have been extremely boorish. Certainly she knew nothing of my passage de deux with Clarinda.
Oliver instructed the driver to go home without us, that we’d find our own way back later. If the man held an opinion on the business he kept it to himself, but the young footmen exchanged knowing grins.
“Rogues,” Oliver commented to their backs as they trotted off with the carriage in their wake. “Heavens, but we should have given some message for Elizabeth so she wouldn’t worry.”
“She won’t. She understands these things.”
“Indeed? Doesn’t that make her a rare jewel? Well, come along, then.” He started off in what I first took to be the wrong direction.
“I thought Mandy’s was back that way.”
“Not anymore. One of her neighbors was a magistrate and got too demanding for his bribe money. Mandy found it cheaper to move to new digs. Wait till you see the place.”
He threaded his way across the square, down one street and up another, finally stopping before an unpretentious door. He knocked twice and was admitted by a half-grown black child. The boy was such as you might find serving in any genteel home, except for his clothes; he wore sweeping red silk robes, had a curved sword thrust through his belt, and perched on his head was a purple and green striped turban trimmed with glass jewels.
Oliver greeted him. “Hallo, Kaseem. Busy tonight?”
“Not too busy, sir,” came the reply in a London accent, giving lie to his having any possible Eastern origin despite his exotic name and costume. “We ’ave room for you and your friend.”
“More than a friend, my lad. This is my cousin from the American colonies, Mr. Barrett. If Mrs. Winkle does her job right tonight, you’ll be seeing more of him in the future. He’s fond of bathing, y’see.”
A flash of white teeth appeared in the boy’s dark face, and he bowed, indicating the way with one hand while holding his turban in place with the other. Oliver led off down a short hall, pushed aside a dark green brocaded curtain, and ushered me into a most surprising room.
The war between the Turks and the Greeks had created a vogue for all things Eastern in certain quarters, but I’d never seen so much of it gathered into one place before. My eye was so diverted by the mass of colors revealed by the light of dozens of candles that I honestly did not notice the girls at first. The floor was awash with layers of patterned rugs, low tables of intricately carved wood and mountains of pillows, and it took a bit of concentration to finally pick out the lovely houris reclining over them like so many flower petals. Once partially accustomed to the confusion, I spotted one beauty after another, each a sultan’s dream, wrapped in bright wisps of scarves, some of the fabrics so light you could see right through to the charms of the lush flesh beneath.
The only prosaic element in the whole fantastic chamber was Mandy Winkle herself, who was dressed in the normal fashion, and a rather sober version of it. In the past, I’d learned that such conservative garb served her well when dealing with the forces of morality. On those rare occasions when the law was compelled to take notice of her business, her habit of looking and behaving like any respectable, well-to-do matron was advantageous. She swore that such affectation had ever kept her out of the stocks.
“Dr. Marling, isn’t it?” she said, coming forward with a warm smile.
“It is, Mandy dear,” Oliver replied with a slight bow. “You remember my cousin, Mr. Barrett?”
“Of course I do. The girls still talk about ‘the ’andsome infidel from ’Merica.”‘ She turned her warmth on me. “Where have you been keeping yourself, sir? It’s been too long since we’ve enjoyed your company.”
“He’s here to make up for it, I’m sure, so mind you to put forward someone with a hardy constitution.”
“My little pets are quite sturdy, else they’d not handle all the traveling they’ve done,” she said with a forthright face. Mandy Winkle maintained the illusion for customers that all her girls had been liberated from the seraglios of various unnamed sultans. Since they knew no other skills than those required for the arts of lovemaking, they were more than happy to exercise that knowledge in order to earn an honest living. Some of her customers believed the story, and for the rest of us it was an innocent enough fancy to add to an evening’s pleasures.
Mandy possessed a fine eye for the exotic, and though none of her girls could have come from farther east than Dover, they yet looked as foreign as one could ask for. Instead of wigs powdered the usual white by rice powder, theirs were made by Mandy’s orders to be black as jet. It was at first a shock to the eye, and then a compelling lure to the rest of the senses, for the dark color made a striking contrast against their pale skin.
“They certainly look to be in excellent form,” Oliver said, casting about with an admiring gaze.
“I’m sure any one of them will be happy to prove herself to you. Would you gentlemen like some refreshment? We have tea or stronger if you like.”
With this gentle prompting, Oliver tore his attention from the girls and settled the business side of things with Mandy. It was expensive compared to the Red Swan—guineas instead of shillings and lots of them. I protested, but he insisted.
“Think of it as a present to welcome you back to England, Coz.”
“A night in a Turkish hareem? Not terribly English, y’know.”
He shrugged. “No matter, so long as you feel welcome.”
“No fear of that.”
Several of the girls eyed me speculatively. Playacting, perhaps, but ably done and thus tempting. My previous experiences at Mandy’s old location had ever been satisfactory, and it had not been nearly so well trimmed. This event promised to be even more memorable.
“You may recall that Mr. Barrett is fond of the full treatment,” he said to Mandy. “I hope you have room for him.”
“Him and all his cousins.”
“Ah, no, not this time. I should pref
er something a bit less aquatic for my entertainment tonight, if you don’t mind.”
“Lord bless you, sir, if I minded anything you gentlemen did, I’d lose all my custom before you could turn ’round.”
Mandy got things started with a quick double clap of her hands, and the girls came to their feet for inspection. Unfortunately for me, they all appeared to be equally enticing.
Perplexed for a choice, I appealed to Mandy. “I recall you had someone named Fatima the last time I was here. Might she still be around?”
Mandy was sympathetic. “She’s busy with another gentleman, sir, but if you’d like to wait. . . .”
Hardly, I thought, shaking my head.
“If I might make a suggestion?”
“Suggest away, dear lady.”
“Yasmin over there is enough like Fatima to be her sister.”
To be truthful, I wouldn’t know Fatima from Yasmin or vice versa, the former having been but a name dredged up from memory to help make a choice, but I promptly expressed my pleasure to become better acquainted with the celestial Yasmin. Mandy clapped her hands again and one of the girls swayed over to take my arm, smiling—as far as I could tell—through the folds of the nearly transparent veil she wore over the lower half of her face.
“Charming,” I said, bowing slightly and patting her hand. “Yes, I think we shall get along just fine.”
“If I might be so bold. . .” said Mandy.
I reluctantly paused. “Yes?”
“The specialty of the house has been paid for, sir, so if you would care to—”
Shocked, I rounded on Oliver. “You didn’t!”
He grinned and nodded. “Welcome back to England, Coz.”
Mandy, reading this as a sign to proceed, called for another girl named Samar to come forward. Like Yasmin, the lower part of her face was concealed by a veil, and neither of them wore much else, only a few scarves with some beads and bangles. Their eyes were thickly outlined in black paint; their eyelids dusted in a soft gold. The effect on me was not altogether different from the influence I used on others, the difference being that I was yet able to rule my actions. Somewhat. One of the things I could not rule was putting up any resistance to being led away by Yasmin and Samar to the inner areas of the house. The last thing I heard as we departed from the receiving room was Oliver calling after us, wishing me an excellent good time.