House of Bliss

by T T Thomas

  “That is going to take getting to know her,” Felicity offered, “and a fair amount of time at that.”

  “There’s no rush,” Glyver said. “I also want to know her strengths, her weaknesses, her likes and dislikes. I’m prepared to retain you for three months to begin. And longer if need be.”

  He told her the monthly fee he was willing to pay, and she had to force herself to remain placid. It was a fortune. “Her name is Sabrina Blissdon.”

  “Sabrina Blissdon?” Felicity held onto the chair arm.

  “Lives in Kensington. Alone, I believe. Her deceased father was a barrister. That’s all I know.” He dipped his pen to write the check.

  Felicity turned as pale as the white of his shirt and shifted in her chair to keep from falling off it.

  Glyver looked up. “Unless…” he paused, looked at her and frowned. “I see it’s not quite enough. I’m sorry, I will increase it. I’ve no skill in these matters.” He named a new figure.

  Felicity kept her face impassive. She didn’t believe that, but she was satisfied that he mistook her look of alarm for disapproval.

  “I believe that both suitable and acceptable,” she said. She gave him a brief, stunted smile. He coughed and wrote out the check. She noticed his hand shook. I seem to make him as nervous as he makes me. If so, this will be worth every pound he pays me.

  He stood up and handed her an envelope containing the check and Sabrina’s full name, no address. “Bank is one door down. Ask for Dennis Clayton-Rice, he’ll handle it.”

  “How often would you like to receive a progress report,” she asked.

  “Well, of course, that depends on how long it takes to make first contact, I suppose. Let’s say, once every couple weeks?”

  She stood up. “Good. I shall send you a written report as to my progress, generally. When I have sufficient specific information, I will make an appointment to see you in person. I shouldn’t like to commit to paper details of a more clandestine nature.”

  “Of course. Excellent. Good day, then, Miss West.”

  She nodded but stayed silent as she left. She knew he was watching her walk across the office, but she didn’t turn around. Felicity walked next door to Glyver’s bank and cashed the cheque.

  In the transom heading back to Kensington, Felicity North sat in growing discomfort as Felicity West.

  Hugh Glyver poured a nice double brandy into the crystal snifter. Glynnis was lunching with lady friends, an event that would go on for another couple hours until right before dinner. He liked it when she availed herself of Ladies’ Day at his club. She would probably come home tipsy and decline dinner, but even that would work to his favor.

  Today was a celebration day. That morning he received Miss West’s first report by post. He wished he could put the investigator to work finding Bel, too, but questions could arise later that might preclude that. Or…He’d have to give that more thought.

  This wasn’t the first time in his life he had hired a detective, but none had been as pretty. Miss West had made the connection between House of Bliss and Sabrina Blissdon, daughter of the deceased lawyer who caused Glyver so much public humiliation. But he already knew what Miss West had confirmed. He merely wanted everything updated and verified before his next move.

  He could hear his heart pounding in his ears with excitement after he received the first report on Miss Blissdon.

  West had provided a work address, but no home address. He shrugged. He wouldn’t need that any time soon. He saw she was 34, had dark brown hair, green eyes, and Felicity described her as “above average height and thin.”

  Glyver looked over a short list of several of her social contacts. A Dr. Jeremy Wintermere, a Miss Adelaide VonHansen and a Miss Lena Thornbrook. He didn’t think he knew any of them—was that by any chance a VonHansen from the diamond import family? He had met a Ruben VonHansen in Pretoria once, a long time ago. Well, he would know about them all, soon enough, thanks to Miss West.

  Glyver hadn’t realized how tantalizing his options would be and he was relishing the mental pursuit of how to leverage the information. The venerable Mr. Blissdon would turn in his grave if he knew how Glyver’s vengeance would play out.

  One other note of intrigue in the report made Glyver smile. He re-read it.

  “Sabrina Blissdon apparently makes no secret of her bohemian life, often dressing in re-tailored men’s suits. Her business is a success. She is well spoken, well read, writes often in her diary and collects fine wines. She seems to be physically fit and avails herself of regular bicycling outings. I believe her to be of superior intelligence, however unorthodox her interests.”

  This might be easier than he thought.

  Glyver knew his plan was complicated, devious, fraught with the possibilities of defeat at every turn. That’s what thrilled him. It had taken him a long time to pry Sabrina Blissdon’s name out of Fluffy Franny. When he realized she not only seduced his wife but was the daughter of the man who ruined him in divorce court, he began to plan.

  At first it was more wishful thinking than anything, but it didn’t take long to become the grudge-born resentment that fueled revenge. He was not certain Bel had reconnected with Sabrina Bliss, but it was not impossible, and certainly, his ex-wife was involved with George Markham. The diabolical woman had cuckolded him at every turn.

  He felt it in the belly of his rage. The fury burned him, soured him and regurgitated the bile of humiliation. He would ruin them all, and no one would connect the…events. That was the brilliance of his scheme.

  Despite his distaste for George Markham, he had to keep him on the line long enough to ply the man’s ego with money. Apparently, and not surprisingly, Markham had knowledge about Bel’s whereabouts. He told Glyver she was ill and suggested Glyver resume the monthly payments. That’s all he would say, but enough for Glyver to deduce he was in contact with her.

  Glyver smirked. Old fool. Markham always coveted Bel. Probably paying double for the pleasure. Markham’s old family money was still good—too bad he didn’t have much of it left. Glyver’s face flushed the instant deep scarlet of another old anger as if it resided right under his skin waiting to be called forth.

  Loyalty was important to him, at least among his male friends. They’d gone to the same schools, joined the same club, exchanged business favors, and danced at the same social soirées. They were meant to have each other’s back.

  He had rescued Markham, more than once during those heady university days, from battery charges of beating up prostitutes. Some of the Bullingdon boys, including Glyver, liked their socializing and their sex rough, but Glyver was more careful to cover his tracks in his own dealings with women.

  Glyver had leveraged Markham’s titled social standing to enhance his own, but it seemed Markham always got the better end of the deal. And now—? Good to discover Markham was a traitor. He’d find a way to leverage Markham’s disloyalty to his advantage and avenge the betrayal, too. That kind of payback would be a special personal victory.

  Next time he met up with Markham, he’d agree to resume payments to Bel. He’d avoid naming a date, but he’d say it would be soon. He’d outsmart Markham, though, and when the time came to produce the money, maybe Glyver would tell him that the private investigator would deliver it. Bel would not decline a delivery of money from a woman. Not a bad idea.

  Two birds. Soon he’d have all the information he needed on Sabrina Blissdon and Bel, too. Stop two gaps with one bush.

  Glyver was drawing it all out in his mind…and that Felicity West was an attractive one. She didn’t seem as devious as most women. That’s probably what makes her a good private detective. No one would be likely to suspect her of anything untoward. Excellent.

  Chapter 15

  April 1906

  The more Felicity thought about Hugh Glyver, the more questions she had. For her first report, she had written out some basics about Sabrina and sent them to Glyver two weeks after their initial meeting.

  She didn�
�t think it was anything incriminating. Afterwards, though, she winced. Could giving him the names of several of Sabrina’s friends inadvertently put them in harm’s way? She began to feel guilty. Then, too, she felt guilty for other reasons she was reluctant to elucidate. Kissing Sabrina in a half-drunken stupor was probably not one of her saner ideas. Well…but it was divine. Daft though, now. She must quit flirting with the woman of splendid kisses. Immediately. Hmm…will be hard.

  But she had to give Glyver enough information to stay employed for the three-month term and make sure he was not using her to find Bel. She hoped to find out why he wanted information on Sabrina: She didn’t say as much to Bel, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of unease regarding the connection between Bel and Sabrina, however obscure and long ago it was. And then Bel, Glyver, Markham, Sabrina—the proximity of coincidence and fortuity produced a foreboding she couldn’t repel.

  Oh well, after the three months, she would disappear from his life. By then she’d have saved enough to get Bel out of the bad neighborhood and away from the unhealthy—and unsavory—people that came with it.

  On her next visit to Bel, she brought a variety of tasty foods for tea. And more oranges. As she set things out on the table, she glanced at her sister. Did Bel look a small bit better? Her cheeks were not as gaunt, eyes not as dull.

  “Darling, what is Hugh Glyver going on about? Why does he hate you so, and why do you suppose he wants information on Sabrina?”

  Bel’s head snapped up. “Why? Has he said anything about me?”

  “No, love, but he has been so mean to you. And yet he is willing to spend quite a bundle of money for my investigative services. What’s he up to, do you suppose?”

  Bel sat up straight and began buttering a scone. “Nothing good, I fear. He’s a vindictive sort, that I know.”

  “What did you ever do to him, or what does he think you did?”

  “I walked out on his abusive treatment.”

  “Did he strike you?” Felicity stopped arranging things and looked to Bel for an answer.

  “He did once, yes, at the very end. I was already planning to leave him.”

  “I see,” Felicity murmured. But she didn’t fully see, didn’t quite understand. “Well, striking you, yes, I can’t see you standing for that.”

  Bel’s shoulders slumped and her face took on a haunted look. “Fels, he doesn’t particularly like women. He was cold, distant and indifferent to me much of the time. But in front of people, he was all lovey-dovey. We’d end an evening after social dinners, and well, he, he was quite rough with me. In our marital bed.”

  Felicity frowned.

  “I told him ‘no’ many times, but I became like someone else to him in those times. Almost from the beginning, he was not gentle, loving, sharing. It was always too rough. There were times—I didn’t always feel well enough to…to have sexual congress as much as he desired. Nearly every day. I said as much, but he ignored me. He treated me like a fallen woman before I became one.”

  Felicity placed both hands on the table and leaned into her sister. “You are not a fallen woman, Bel. This life is not you. It’s something you’ve had to do to survive.”

  Bel shrugged. “I’m sorry to tell you these things,” she explained, “because I am rightly afraid of him. Should have told you all of it a long time ago.”

  Felicity struggled to speak evenly. “I didn’t know. How did you meet such a person?”

  “I was a teacher to the children of one of his society friends. They had four children, and I taught at each of their levels, in their home, five days a week. It was a reputable job, but Glyver only knew women of status who didn’t have to go out to work. Still, he met me at their house one day when he came to visit. He became instantly taken with me and over time, proposed. He seemed like a nice man if somewhat rigid in his fastidiousness. Publicly, he was the perfect gentleman.”

  Felicity groaned. “And me in Hampshire without a shred of inkling you were suffering so. I thought you’d gone back to being a governess.”

  Bel nodded. “I let you think that. We had sued one another, initially,” Bel said. “He would not give me a penny. That’s when I sold my jewels to pay for the solicitor. After I retained Mr. Blissdon, Hugh received terrible exposure in the press. He said my charge of abuse humiliated him among his friends and peers, cost him business.

  “Eventually, my lawyer arranged for the small lump sum payment and a modest monthly allotment until I remarried. I had to promise not to go after Hugh’s assets, which are considerable I might add, and to make no public statement whatsoever. I did it for a clean divorce. He was not allowed to contact me. He made the payments for about six months, as you know, then abruptly stopped.”

  “But you did not continue to teach.”

  “No, I couldn’t. I had been with the one family, friends of Glyver, for four years. He made sure they gave me no referral. Without a current referral, no one would hire me.”

  “What did you do? Where did you go?”

  “When I left Glyver, I stayed with a mutual friend for a few months. But after the divorce, he pressured her to make me leave the house. In one evening, I was literally out on the street with my satchel to hold a few belongings.”

  Felicity teared up, then dabbed at her eyes. Her voice broke. “I can’t absorb his cruelty.”

  “I spent some money to stay in a cheap hotel. Half of the hotel’s clients were prostitutes. A couple of women I met told me about a woman who ran a tolerated house. One was meant to live there and would make a percentage of the monies.”

  Felicity was slicing a scone in half, stopped for a moment, frowned.

  “I did go to a house, at first, because all the women said I wouldn’t last a minute on the street. One didn’t get as big a percentage, but it was safe. Shelter House it was called. The proprietor was kind in many ways. There were about eight of us. It was a busy place but clean. There was never any trouble.”

  Felicity added a thin slice of ham to the scone, cut it in half and bit down on it harder than she intended. Her jaw was sore from being clenched and the crease in her forehead was so deep she could feel it expanding and contracting with each new revelation from her sister. Afraid her voice would crack, she merely pointed at the teapot.

  “Yes, please.” Bel continued. “One night, as I was preparing for one of my regular clients, Glyver showed up. When I heard the doorbell, I ran downstairs thinking it was…thinking it was my regular. Glyver saw me. He had all the hatred of a kingdom on his face, and he demanded to see me privately. He paid Mrs. Tornage triple, and he threatened me, so I capitulated. Apparently when my regular client arrived, she merely said I had been called away.”

  With the mention of Tornage, Felicity blinked. “Why does that name sound familiar? Tornage?” She interrupted her own question. “But Holy Mother of God!” Felicity cried. “He was a bastard to you!”

  Her sister shrugged. “I’ve mentioned it a few times.” Bel raised her head, peered at her sister and continued. “I’m not going to tell you in detail what he said to me other than to say it was savage. He was an animal. He said things to me no human should ever have to hear. Derision and disgust formed his manner. He also threatened…he threatened to harm my other…clients. When he left, I was emotionally torn up and mentally bruised. I swear my soul had bled. I was so distraught, the other ladies called a doctor. But word got back to the owner, and the following day I had to leave Shelter House. I was broken in so many ways.”

  Thinking her sister referred only to the Glyver confrontation, Felicity was almost stuttering, her face was red with fury. “Could not—the pol—police, have been called? That was a kind of assault. Terror—Terrorizing!”

  “To any place except a house of prostitution,” Bel said. “The police tolerate the houses, but they don’t coddle them.”

  Her voice had calmed and her face relaxed after the contortions of remembering. But she seemed in another world. Absently, she took the half a scone with ham that Felicity h
anded her and ate it without speaking. Felicity stood up and paced around the small area. “I don’t understand what makes a man become so hateful.”

  Bel closed her eyes as if trying to comprehend and forget at the same time. “The power of possessing someone combined with a chink in their armor. Some men are like that,” she said. “Every wrong word is a slight. Every tone of voice a possible injury. Every refusal a personal affront. He felt I rejected our marriage, and he set out to ruin me. He felt he had brought me up to his social level by marrying me, and I was ungrateful. My supposed lack of gratitude incensed and enraged him the most.”

  Felicity stared at her sister and tried to imagine what she had been through. “Well, I’ve only ever had that one suitor,” she reminisced. “Ezra Bishop.”

  Bel smiled. “But that was a proper engagement. You didn’t—you didn’t have carnal relations.”

  Felicity blushed. She stopped pacing, sat down, primly folded her hands on her lap and looked at her sister. “Yes, I did.”

  “You did not.” Bel’s mouth hung open. “You did?”

  “That’s why I broke off the engagement. I didn’t care for such. I don’t know if it was him or me or what. Probably me. And it didn’t seem fair to rope him into a lifelong commitment. There’s been no opportunities since then to reevaluate things. But I’m quite happy being unencumbered.”

  “I admit I’m flabbergasted.” Bel held her hand over her mouth as she laughed. “Did Auntie know? She must have known.”

  “If she did, she kept her own counsel,” Felicity said. “I’d get the odd look now and then, but no words.

  Bel laughed but shook her head. “We never had a proper family after Mum passed,” Bel said. “And you were so young.”

  “But I was nearly seven. I remember her.”

  Bel nodded. “Poor Auntie never in a million years dreamed she’d be raising two young girls on her own.”