But Dorian drew his hand away. “No! If I could be young eternally, I would give my very soul!” He turned away, his cheeks burning and face hot.
Sage fixed Lady Helena with an angry look and crossed her arms. “This is your doing.”
Lady Helena merely shrugged and went back to her cigarette. “This is just the real Dorian Gray. But enough of this painting, let us all go to the theatre tonight!”
At that suggestion Dorian seemed to regain his composure. He loved the artistry and music of the theatre above all else. His mood lightened and he relaxed his shoulders from their rigid position. “That is a wonderful idea. I would love to go to the theatre with you Lady Helena. Sage you should come with us.”
“I can’t really. I have too much work to do here. Why don’t you stay here with me instead? Or if you must go, then promise me you will come visit tomorrow.”
Dorian nodded his head. “You have my word Sage.”
Lady Helena smiled at him meaningfully. “Well then Mr. Gray, it seems I must reschedule with my business associate. You and I shall have to go it alone.”
CHAPTER 3.
|
A
N AWAKENING
Dorian had visited many theatres before and been invited to many private boxes, but never one quite as grand and luxurious as the one Lady Helena now led him to. It was situated in the finest area of London, where the wealthy and powerful conjugated and reveled in extravagance. The playhouse itself was one of the newer constructions and was built to accommodate very large audiences. The front displayed several ornate facades and four tall stone columns with a large glazed dome set in the center of the building. The inside of the three-story building was brightened by the most decorative gas lighting and the eyes feasted on all the bright fabrics and intriguing paintings that adorned the walls. Under the dome were three elaborate balcony areas surrounding an enlarged pit which was sunken below street level.
The house was packed that night with the most influential and beautiful denizens that the city had to offer. They were greeted at an exclusive wide-oaken door and quickly passed through to the private level via the lavish grand staircase where they were met with sumptuous, thick carpets imported from all over the world, gold-tooled leather, and plush furniture.
Despite the heavy cloud of smoke that hung in the air, Dorian was easily able to distinguish several seating areas where the acquaintances and business associates of Lady Helena gathered. During intermissions, the group purposefully ignored the detailed scene the backdrops painted upon the stage, preferring to attend to their own various indulgences. Only when the actors took the stage did they give their attentions to the portrayal of Shakespeare’s “A Midsummer Night's Dream.” It seemed to Dorian, that the scenes both on the stage and between the acts in the private box played out in parallel; with multiple ladies wearing dresses of every shape and color, gentlemen both tall and fat, high-priced prostitutes, and shrewd businessmen mingling and trading affection. This was all done while smoking tangy cigars and poignant cigarettes, drinking dark-swirling liquors, and engaging in several other types of discourteous displays. When the play resumed and the audience took their seats, the actors playing Lysander, Hermia, Helena, and Demetrius capered and courted, fought and fled. And of course, true to both scenes—all loved Helena and Lady Helena alike.
Lady Helena graciously received and dismissed her enamored guests each in turn, keeping Mr. Gray at her side and making the necessary introductions. Many were business associates that sought her expertise and skill at importing or exporting various desirable items, but more still were admirers or social acquaintances looking to bask in the limelight and earn a place at the heart of the action. All were immediately enamored with him and fell over themselves to obtain his approval.
This was all quite new for Mr. Gray, but he played his part well, with a warm smile and welcoming voice. Ladies and harlots alike sought his favor and attentions as surely as Puck sought mischief in the dark forests that were his domain. Lady Helena presided over it all like royalty, as if entertaining international dignitaries at her summer court. She controlled the situation carefully, allowing Mr. Gray a brief smoke of a fine, imported cigar from Lady Weller here, a drink of single malt Scotch from Mr. Harrop there, and a few moments with a dollymop sitting on his lap—quickly shoed away after an unexpected, lingering kiss. The people and music became a blur of mixed sensations, intriguing sights, and unfamiliar sounds.
As Dorian reached for a proffered glass of fine Cognac, Lady Helena scolded him gently and laid her hand on top of his. “Have a care Mr. Gray, it would be in poor taste to dull your senses too soon to the pleasures this night holds for you. One must build their tolerance for liquor slowly and gain mastery of it for what it is: A tool to ease your mind and nerves yes, but when correctly applied—a powerful means of persuasion in both business and romance.”
Dorian nodded and found wisdom in Lady Helena’s words, as he did to every new idea she exposed his receptive mind to.
When the play concluded and the actors made their final bows, Lady Helena whisked the select few downstairs to a fleet of waiting carriages. These carried them covertly to the private and infamous club owned by Mr. Harrop. There Dorian was both shocked and intrigued to observe a provocative production of Victorian Burlesque, as it progressed through the night.
The performers were beautiful and sultry and graceful nonetheless. Misted with the most intriguing scent and adorned in deep, scarlet-red corsets, with dark opaque stockings, they were covered in sparkling stones as well as fanciful plumes of feathers which they employed to cover—or not cover, various areas of their athletic bodies as they cavorted, danced, and sang in beautiful voices.
Like a siren’s call, he was drawn to them by the harmonious melodies of their song and the undulating rhythm of their bodies, as abstruse music and swaying dance intertwined in a carnival for the senses. Dorian and Lady Helena were seated at a place of honor to enjoy the spectacle. They were plied with a steady stream of mysterious drinks and enticing female companionship, who became evermore bold and free with their hands and attentions as the evening waned on. Dorian quickly squashed any moral objections nagging restlessly at the back of his mind as he observed the other businessmen, gentlemen, and even ladies of high society engaging in the debauchery with high abandon.
The men had been joined in secret by many of the ladies from the theatre. The majority seemed to be in attendance without their husbands and arrived by separate carriages. Neither seemed to have any qualms about enjoying themselves, nor the dancer’s advances.
The dancers would approach first Lady Helena, then Dorian, one at a time. They flirted, shared a drink, and often reclined across a chair or sofa while conversing. Several seated themselves on Dorian’s lap directly and one even conducted a private display of her dancing prowess while still seated there. This kept Dorian’s interest most keenly, though Lady Helena soon became bored and began a lengthy conversation with Mr. Harrop which crossed to and fro between business, art and music.
It was most difficult to sort out the time from the jeweled pocket watch that Dorian kept under his waist coat. It ticked sluggishly and stuttered back and forth between two hands and four. Uncertain on his feet and reeling at the over-stimulation of his senses, Dorian thought it best to beg a hasty retreat.
He struggled with the amount of drink weighing on his mind. His thoughts seemed liquefied and he felt as though he were aboard a mighty ship, the room swaying from side to side with the waves of intoxication. “Lady Helena, the time being half past three, I really must retire for the evening. I thank you so much for your gracious invitation and…entertainments.”
“The pleasure was mine, Mr. Gray. It was about time you were properly introduced to society. I look forward to the next evening we shall share together. Allow me to take you home as it seems you have had a bit too much to drink.”
“No, no that is quite alright.”
“Well at least let my valet escort yo
u in the carriage, it is my duty as your hostess to see that you make it safely home.”
“Very well, perhaps that would be wise.”
Dorian made his farewells and struggled towards the carriage with the help of Lady Helena’s valet. Her man helped him into the carriage and quickly started the horses moving at a brisk walk. It seemed only moments until Dorian arrived back at his father’s house.
It had been many years since his father passed away, yet still he was unable to think of the large country house in Woodford as his own property. A great deal of expense had gone towards the rejuvenation of the garden and the revitalization of the exterior of the building, as well to refurnish and style of the interior to Dorian’s tastes.
He refused further help from the valet, making his own way up the walkway towards his father’s manor, partly so he would be unobserved as he retched in the concealing dark of the garden flowerbeds. Afterward, his mind felt greatly cleared—yet still troubled as the evening’s events replayed themselves through his memory. His dutiful valet, Henry, was not unaccustomed to late hours and had everything prepared so Dorian could be quickly abed. His last thoughts as sleep overtook him were of Lady Helena’s dangerous smile and how displeased Sage would be if she ever learned of his questionable behavior that evening.
Late the next day, Dorian was awoken by the most astounding headache and overwhelming feelings of guilt. Despite the onslaught against his psyche, he arose and began dressing with some difficulty. His eyes were sensitive to the light from the windows and his stomach churned with emptiness. He began a prolonged breakfast of delicate biscuits and butter along with a heaping of bacon and strong coffee thoughtfully brought by Henry.
After the meal he felt much improved and he slowly made his way to visit Sage and the wolf pup as promised. Sage was most pleased to see him as always and was easily steered away from any conversation about last night’s misadventures. The pup seemed greatly grown in both size and confidence as it bounded around the entire house, exploring new areas and greeting all imagined combatants, such as the Victorian reading chair, with a vigorous energy. It was good to see the two and the whole experience cleared his mind from the foggy and conflicting thoughts lurking there. The wolf pup was most loyal, barely leaving his side, and quite in tune with Dorian as they played and wrestled—for the two had forged a lasting bond.
As the days of summer quickly expired, this ritual would repeat itself frequently. Dorian continued experiencing new discoveries and delights of the night at the instructional hand of Lady Helena. Occasionally, he would accept her offers to escort him home. Those moments spent alone with his friend and mentor were most informative, with Dorian quickly mastering an understanding of the female mind and body. Lady Helena insisted that each time had been but a drunken mistake and would not be repeated again—until the next time. And in each instance, on the following morning, Dorian would rise and seek a sort of purification and atonement spent in innocence, simplicity, and playfulness with the wolf pup and Sage at her art studio. The two would converse for long hours on all manner of subjects—including Lady Helena’s past.
CHAPTER 4.
L
ADY HELENA
Helena Rivera’s mother had passed away just before her eighth birthday. She had loved her mother dearly, and the memories of their brief time spent together singing light-hearted songs and silly-dancing in the rain still caused her great pain. So much so, that she refused to be addressed as Lady Rivera. When someone did address her in that manner she would grow haughty, saying, “Lady Rivera was my mother. No other can possibly be worthy of that name, so I insist you call me Lady Helena.”
Like her mother, Helena was gifted with long, thin legs and a delicate figure. Her dark, smoldering eyes and silky onyx hair drew a great deal of attention from the boys, which only increased with time—as did her bust line and her need for that attention. Her father, Lord Rivera, had little time for his daughter as he was a very successful businessman. He was often busy forming complicated deals and frequently away from home. Helena soon discovered that the best way to spend time with him was to take an interest in his work and travel with him on his business trips.
She showed a keen mind for figures, and a natural ability to read others. This proved vital in assisting her father in his many business dealings. Helena would smile shyly and flirt to distract his gentlemen associates, while her father maneuvered the deal to his favor. She observed everything carefully and redirected their attentions expertly. It was no surprise then, when Helena announced that she would be attending school with the goal of improving her business acumen. Her father gave his blessing, and promised to arrange for her to reside in luxurious apartments near the school of her choosing.
At the age of seventeen, she began her enrollment at North London Collegiate School for Women. The school had only just recently opened, and was the first of its kind to teach the higher learning of mathematics and Latin to females.
It only took about a semester for Helena to become bored with her classes and fall into the wrong crowd of friends, bent on obtaining the affections of a group of audacious and politically motivated gentlemen who called themselves the London Ricardian Artists Society.
Joel Guyet was the brazen leader of the group, having the distinction of previously living in France, and some minor training under his father—who was also a painter. Since he likewise had the most notorious reputation as a socialist and troublemaker, he and Helena quickly became fast friends. The two attended a number of political protests together, leaving Helena greatly impressed with Joel’s ideas on social, political, and economic reform. It was only natural that Joel would suggest Helena pose for his paintings in the nude. This happened regularly, though few of the paintings were ever finished before Joel would throw aside his brushes and take Helena to his bed. She was still young and naïve and before she knew what was happening, she had fallen for the young artist. But Helena was about to learn her first lesson about love.
When not attending her classes, she spent her free time posing for his paintings, or the two discussed the upcoming forms of art and music. They regularly attended the theatre together and could often be found at some small art gallery. At night, the two stayed out late with friends, drinking wine and visiting various opium dens. Joel believed the opium opened his mind to the true meaning of life and the abstract beauty of the senses. Helena had tried the sickly-sweet smoke, but she couldn’t abide how the haze made her mind flow slowly in any direction that it pleased. She preferred to have her wits sharp and be in control of the direction that her thoughts took. She favored the effects of cocaine, particularly when added to a cup of wine known as Vin Mariani wine.
One afternoon she returned home from school early when the day’s classes were unexpectedly cancelled. She climbed the stairs to the spacious apartments that her father rented at considerable expense. Helena selected them because they overlooked a delightful little garden with a small, picturesque pond complete with tiny shimmering fish. From her window you could watch the white-cheeked Pintail ducks take flight as the golden sun rose over the water. The apartments themselves were warm and welcoming with rich, comfortable furniture and a small, convenient hearth. Joel had secretly moved in a few weeks ago while maintaining the façade of dwelling with his cousin. He claimed one of the bedrooms as his studio. The two shared the master bedroom and the small, but modern kitchen. Helena was as happy as she had ever been.
As she opened the door, she had an immediate feeling that something was wrong. Opium smoke hung heavy in the air. Joel knew he wasn’t allowed to smoke in the apartment. She smiled as she imagined giving him a very stern talking to—then making up passionately after the inevitable fight. The door to Joel’s studio was curiously closed. He usually liked to paint with all the doors and windows open to allow for as much light as possible. As Helena approached, she heard quiet sighs and a grunting that distinctly belonged to Joel. Flinging the door wide, she took in the scene. There was movement on the v
ery sofa where she had posed for him and the two had made love together countless times. Joel looked up, mid-coitus with some young harlot, their clothes were strewn around the floor.
The strumpet quickly covered herself while Joel seemed confused and slow to move. “Helena! What are you doing home so early from class? I didn’t think you’d be back this soon.”
“Joel! How could you?”
“Calm down Helena, let’s discuss this.”
“Discuss? What is there to discuss?” With that, Helena strode across the room, opened the window, and began throwing Joel’s clothing and paints outside.
The terrified girl on the sofa gathered what clothes she could and hastily retreated from the room. Joel could only offer up a wordless outrage as he struggled to dress.
“Run you tart!” Helena called after the fleeing girl, as she flung canvases and brushes out of the open window.
“Helena, it didn’t mean anything,” Joel began again in a detached tone.
“Well this should mean something. Get out! I never want to see you again you filthy bunter! Get out immediately, or ill cut off your tallywags and hang them from the roof.”
Joel left, encouraged by the easel that Helena flung at his head. Now alone in the apartment, she broke down in tears and slid down to the floor, crying. Her breath caught as she looked up at the remaining canvas in the room. Wonderfully depicted in intricate detail, was the body of the naked whore who had just run from the room. Joel had actually finished the painting. That hurt more than anything else. In a rage, she rushed over and grabbed the canvas, intending to smash it over the desk—but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. It was beautifully done, likely Joel’s best work. She could see the care and love in the brushstrokes. Sadly, she placed the canvas on the ground, where Joel could retrieve it. It would be a shame to destroy it.
Box Set: The Wolf of Dorian Gray Series: Books 1-3 Page 3