An Almond for a Parrot

by Dray Wray

  I was somewhat puzzled and longed to ask Hope the meaning of his sudden departure. Had I done something to displease him? But she sat so far away at the other end of the card table that unless I had shouted she would not have heard me.

  Queenie dealt the cards and, in all honesty, I was not paying much attention to the game, but I won the first hand while all round the table the other players were obliged to part with one item of clothing. When the clock struck ten I was the only one still dressed with a modicum of decency. Hope, on the other hand, was quite undone and Flora had on just her stockings. Bethany was enjoying the effect of her nakedness on the three gentlemen. Only their breeches remained to them.

  ‘Enough,’ said the Earl, kissing Flora. ‘I have a need to be inside your pretty garden, my love. Miss Tully, as you are the least indecent of us all, this is your winnings.’

  He handed me the twenty-pound note and left the drawing room, his arm round Flora’s waist.

  Bethany and her gallant were next, followed by Hope and her young stallion, who looked impatient to mount his ride.

  Queenie glanced at the clock.

  ‘Perhaps I should return to my chamber,’ I said, gathering my clothes. ‘I seem to have failed.’

  ‘You’re not thinking that Sir Henry was the gallant I had in mind for you?’ she said. ‘Why, my dear, he has no interest in the ladies unless they’re dressed up like mollies. Come here.’ She undid my stays, for which I was most grateful, and helped me back into my gown, tying it loosely and lowering my shift so that the two apples were well in view. ‘Crease assured me he would be here,’ she said, pouring more champagne. ‘I can only think he has been detained.’

  ‘Who?’ I asked.

  But before she could say another word, the footman announced Mr Avery Fitzjohn.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I hardly dared breathe, less by doing so the apparition would vanish. Was this my gallant? Could fate have dealt me such a winning card?

  Queenie greeted him. ‘Mr Fitzjohn, what a pleasure.’

  He bowed most elegantly. ‘Madam, I am sorry to be so unfashionably late. I have been dining with my brother, Lord Fitzjohn.’

  ‘No matter, sir. It is a delight to see you. Let me introduce you to Miss Tully.’

  I curtsied.

  He studied me and then after a pause said, ‘How very beautiful. Your taste, Queenie, is, as always, impeccable.’

  ‘I’m glad Tully meets with your approval, Mr Fitzjohn.’

  Shyness near overwhelmed me, for he was more handsome than when I had first seen him in the coffee house. His face in the candlelight was without fault as to its openness and kindness. For a moment we stood in awkward silence, more awkward on my part for he was taking me in and a quizzical look came over his features.

  ‘I will leave you,’ said Queenie. She wished him a goodnight and closed the door behind her.

  ‘Have we met before?’ Mr Fizjohn asked.

  ‘No, sir,’ I said.

  ‘You remind me of someone, but it matters not.’

  I didn’t feel I could stay any longer being so scrutinised by him and, not knowing how to proceed, said, ‘Shall I show you my chamber, sir?’

  ‘After you,’ he said, and with such a delicious smile curling across his lower lip, he picked up the bottle of champagne and two glasses.

  Once in my chamber his eyes fell on Boozey.

  ‘A very realistic, very dead parrot,’ he said at last.

  ‘Mercy gave him to me,’ I said. ‘He’s stuffed – a new process, so I believe.’

  I was regretting we hadn’t stayed downstairs. At least in the drawing room there was music to divert us.

  He poured the champagne and, sitting on the edge of the bed, handed me a glass and asked, ‘Where were you born?’

  ‘London,’ I said, having no desire to tell him of Milk Street and Mr Truegood.

  ‘Can you read?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ I said.

  ‘Are you a virgin?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ I said again.

  My hand was shaking and I dare not lift the glass to my lips less I spilt the champagne.

  He gently took it from me and held it to my lips. I took a sip and he kissed me. Oh, such a tantalising kiss.

  ‘More?’ he said. I took another sip and he kissed me again, and I drank him in, amazed to feel my ache return with such uncontrollable force that my legs felt weak. He put his arms around me. ‘I will be gentle,’ he said, for I was shivering though it wasn’t cold.

  ‘I am just…’ I said, and could not think what I was. ‘I want this very much.’

  His eyes danced as he took off my gown and undid my stays. I stood before him naked. He stroked my breasts, my stomach.

  ‘You are exquisite,’ he said and kissed my nipples. ‘Skin as soft as peaches and just edible.’

  He lay me down on the bed then stood and slowly undressed. I watched as each piece of his clothing came off. My, oh my, I swore that I never need eat again if I could feast my eyes upon him, for he seemed made to be the perfection of his sex. His chest was sun-kissed, his arms strong, his hands shaped like almonds. At last, he unbuttoned his breeches and the moment that had been the stuff of my fantasies had arrived. Before me, in an abundance of dark hair, stood a noble machine, upright and erect, the tip of it rose-red. I had indeed only ever seen poor specimens, for his was perfection.

  He lay down beside me and, as he kissed me, my hand went tentatively to that pole of pleasure and found it velvet to the touch. He groaned and rolled me onto my back.

  He sweetly caressed me, kissing every part until his hand found its way between my thighs, into my soft, wet purse. His fingers touched my quim then the fever by degrees overtook us. He parted my legs and, opening my purse, eased his way into the folds. Placing his machine on my tight slit, he made his entrance.

  The pain was astonishing and I cried out.

  Having gained a little headway, he said, ‘Madam, it will hurt but with practice it will grow easier.’

  ‘Don’t stop,’ I said. ‘Please don’t stop.’

  Taken by a passion he advanced further, breaking all barriers that nature had put there against just such a glorious onslaught as this. Involuntarily, I cried out again and he pulled back a little and filled my mouth with his kisses. Such was the fire, so hard was his machine, that he was beyond the point of retreat and seemed resolved to conquer me completely. He gained the passage and I found myself battling with the oddest of sensations for, although it hurt prodigiously, there was much pleasure in his ownership of me. His majestic machine, stiff and hard, drove deeper and my body ached to receive more until I knew he had reached that moment in pleasure when all is a little death. Still inside me, and moving carefully so as not to lose his throne in these new-found places, he held me tightly.

  ‘Forgive me for hurting you,’ he said.

  I, not realising it, had tears in my eyes. I assured him they were tears of joy.

  ‘But I had all the pleasure,’ he said, ‘while you had only pain.’

  I said it mattered not and kissed him, running my hands over his chest, kissing his neck, his cheek… and found, to my surprise, that he had again grown hard.

  Without becoming separate, he moved me on top of him. Instinctively, I knew what my body needed and acted accordingly. Mercy had taught me well and I forgot all modesty. Regardless of the pain, I pressed down hard until I felt he was in my very womb. His hands returned to my hips and just when I thought I could take no more and would go wild, whatever was me, whatever was he, was lost in that perfect moment of rapture.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I woke in the morning to find Mr Fitzjohn had gone and on the pillow beside me was a small jewellery box. Inside were rose gold earrings set with red gems. I giggled, relishing the memories of the night. I had a lover, and the thought sent a delicious sensation through me. I was blessed indeed, for if Mr Truegood had had his way my virginity would have been long lost to the wine merchant and I would never ha
ve known such a tender, loving lord as my Mr Fitzjohn. Oh, what small steps can walk you into a different life. Avery. I said his name over and over again, even letting my imagination gallop ahead into forbidden places.

  ‘Tully Fitzjohn,’ I said to Boozey, laughing. He flew out of his cage and sat on the end of my bed, his head to one side.

  I could smell Avery on my skin – such a delicious perfume – could feel where last night he had reigned in me. I sat up abruptly, wondering what hour it could be for it occurred to me that perhaps I had slept the whole morning, missing my appointment with Mr Crease. I dreaded to think what mood he would be in if that was the case.

  Hope came in. Sweet Hope.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said, drawing back the shutters and letting in the lazy September light. ‘Wasn’t he the most handsome gallant?’

  ‘Oh my, oh my,’ I said. ‘Do you know, I think I could live with him inside me for ever.’

  Hope laughed. ‘Then you weren’t disappointed?’

  ‘No, he was perfect.’

  I pulled back the bedclothes. The sheets were an unholy mess and standing felt peculiar for I was very sore. Hope said she had a remedy – which I was pleased to hear – and I quickly sat down again.

  ‘You need to eat,’ she said. ‘All that lovemaking has worn you out.’

  She ordered a breakfast of chocolate. We drank it and, while my maid bathed and dressed me, Hope told me about her gallant.

  ‘Mr Fitzjohn left me these,’ I said, showing her the earrings. With the eye of an expert she lifted them up to the light. I felt sure she was going to tell me they were paste and paint. ‘I do not care a jot if they are made of papier mâché, they are most precious to me.’

  ‘These, my love,’ she said, holding the earrings out to me, ‘are not fake. They are rubies and they look as if they cost a pretty penny.’

  That they were real delighted me.

  ‘I didn’t think it was possible ever to feel as happy as this,’ I said.

  ‘Tully,’ said Hope, ‘don’t fall in love with him.’

  What could I say to that? Tell her the truth? That the kindling was laid the first time I saw you in the coffee house? That all you had to do was strike the flint?

  ‘Remember, he is paying for your services and, in truth, is most probably married, or has a mistress, or just enjoys deflowering young virgins. Perhaps he is like Captain Spiggot and considers a girl over twenty worthless.’

  I refused to give any thought to what Hope said. All those probabilities were distant clouds that had no right to be in such a blue sky as mine.

  In the long gallery, Mr Crease stood looking out of the window. I said good morning, and without the bother of turning round he said, ‘Did your groom speak to you at your wedding?’

  ‘Yes. He said, “Marriage is murder.”’

  ‘Those are the precise words?’

  ‘As far as I can remember.’

  Still he stood with his back to me. ‘Did you see his face?’

  ‘No, we were both masked.’

  I thought I would say more, and told him about the parson’s wife. Mr Crease had the ability to be absent even though he was present and I wouldn’t have been surprised to find that I had been talking to the wall. When I’d finished, he turned round.

  ‘Interesting,’ he said.

  ‘What has happened to Mr Truegood?’ I asked. ‘I mean, has he been buried?’

  ‘In a debtor’s grave at the Fleet,’ said Mr Crease. ‘And with him is the truth of your marriage.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean that there appears to be no record of it.’

  ‘Then without a record Spiggot has no right to claim me as his wife.’

  ‘Quite. Shall we start?’

  That morning, everything Mr Crease asked of me I managed with ease. I rose off the ground again and again, not very high but enough to make an impression and, by degrees, I could hold it and stay there. At three o’clock, when we finished, Mr Crease said Queenie wanted to talk to me.

  I remember wondering, as I went down the stairs, if she would tell me that tonight I would be expected to entertain another gentleman. The thought concerned me much but I needn’t have worried – not at that time, at least.

  Queenie informed me that I would be dining with Mr Fitzjohn in my chamber that night and my heart gave a skip of delight.

  I curtsied, and was on the point of leaving when she said, ‘Tully, you should congratulate yourself, for you have proved a great success with the young gentleman.’

  I passed the rest of the day in the most glorious anticipation which, in itself, is an hors d’oeuvre to the main dish of love. I was quite unprepared when Avery arrived early. After locking my chamber door behind him, he took me in his arms and kissed me with unadulterated passion. I think he must have been dining all day on the same dish of longing as me. My petticoat and shift were pushed aside and, finding that I was moist, he dispensed with the inconvenience of undressing me, only unpinning my kerchief and gown, and swiftly loosening my stays so that my breasts were his to ravish. He kissed them until I started to tremble. He, too, was now overcome with agitation. His breeches were readily undone and I could soon feel the pole of him urgently burrow deep into the soft folds of me. He lifted me and I wrapped my legs around his thighs against his losing possession of me, then he pressed me against the wall and such was the force of him and such was my desire to own him once more that we both exploded together and tumbled onto the floor in a quantity of unwanted fabric. I burst out laughing at the swiftness of an act that had brought such pleasure.

  I tried to make myself decent when our supper was brought to us, but Avery insisted that he would serve it himself.

  Once more locking the chamber door, he said, ‘We will eat, but I would prefer to look at you naked rather than in your gown, which detracts from your beauty.’

  I stood and felt the liquor of him run down my thighs while he disentangled me from my clothes.

  ‘Sir,’ I said, ‘it is surely only correct that you do the same.’

  He took off his shirt, breeches, stockings and shoes, and stood before me. The sight of him made my body melt. I sighed, for never had a dish been more to my liking. He was so finely made, I was enchanted with my good fortune and like an unguarded fool said so. He ate with a good appetite and drank to my health. I was too full of longing to taste much and pushed away my plate.

  ‘I think I could feast on you alone,’ I said.

  ‘Then, now, madam,’ he said, ‘I will be the dessert.’

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  At the beginning, we made love every night and let our bodies speak for us. Your caresses were love poems enough, my kisses sonnets to keep you satisfied. The truth of who I was, who you were, was lost in the flattery of lovers’ words. My lie was that I never told you the truth. Did I believe you would not be interested? Or that it might devalue the mystery of me? It would have wounded my pride to call Ralph Spiggot my husband, but I was as certain as Bow Bells that I would soon be free of him. Whores are paid to be vessels filled with false promises and flowering lies. Truth was the last thing you needed to take to bed with you.

  What little you told me seemed unrelated to the man who held me firm in his arms. Perhaps I was a coward not to question you further when you told me about your life in Paris, but I was a shallow fool who didn’t want to hear your truth. I asked about frippery and fashion, only wanting to hear a fairy tale.

  Avery had come to an arrangement with Queenie whereby I would be his particular while he was in London. In short, he paid handsomely for me to be his alone for the duration of his stay. I didn’t think about the implications of this, only relished the notion that Avery wanted no one else to have me. For my part, I was all too eager to kneel at Venus’s altar and I told myself that if I had Avery’s love – for three weeks, two weeks or even one – it would be enough and I could live the rest of my life on it. I see now I knew little of life’s cruel blade.

  It h
ad been a week since we first met. Avery had not spent one night away from me, and I was as lovesick as any fool could be. I remember we lay on the floor by the fire, both of us naked, both of us unable to say what was truly in our hearts.

  That day, Mr Crease had told me Captain Spiggot was bringing his lawyer to the fairy house, determined to claim me as his wife. I couldn’t tell Avery. I didn’t want anything so dirty to destroy the innocence we had. It sounds foolish but in all that we did, all that we enjoyed, there was a purity to it. To me, at least, it was simple: I loved him.

  He suddenly said, ‘You know, it is a heavy burden to carry a great name, one that you feel honour-bound to defend from stain.’

  Having no name, great or otherwise to defend, I knew not how to respond and filled the silence with kisses. Then, quite unexpectedly, for he had never taken me out, he asked if I would accompany him to the theatre.

  Such was my excitement the next day, it took all my willpower to concentrate on Mr Crease’s instruction.

  ‘Great seers…’ He clicked his fingers. ‘Are you listening?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I am.’

  ‘Great seers, and by that I mean mighty ones, can borrow the sight, but not the hearing, of an animal. There are advantages to this, for the animal can see what the seer should not.’

  He said it so emphatically that I had no problem accepting it to be true and I agreed that would be a useful gift. It occurred to me that with the help of an obliging animal, I would be able to see Captain Spiggot, for that day he and his lawyer were to call on Queenie.

  ‘But alas,’ I said, ‘my gifts are more humble.’

  I was pleased with my reply for I hadn’t used the word ‘impossible’, which more accurately described what I thought.

  ‘Do you really believe it?’ said Mr Crease, his painted eyes peering at me.

  ‘Yes.’ I hesitated. ‘How is such a feat brought about?’ I asked.

  ‘Call Shadow,’ said Mr Crease.

  I did, and the little dog trotted in.