by Dray Wray
The odds against me winning had been high.
Bethany came up to me. ‘I knew you could do it. You see, I had faith.’ And then she said, ‘You have turned into one hell of a beauty, witchy woman.’
Kitty Lay bristled with rage and without another word marched out of the fairy house with her supporters.
Refreshments were served while musicians played, then the activities of the night began in earnest.
Queenie introduced me to the Duke of H, the gentleman with whom I had already become so intimately acquainted.
I curtsied.
‘I have heard that a great courtesan can make a man explode just by looking into their eyes. And I can tell you that I would have shot my arrow even if you hadn’t touched me.’
I thanked him for his compliment.
‘I would like to have the honour of exploring your talents further,’ he said, quite seriously.
I said nothing that would encourage him and nothing that would discourage him, and went to play cards. For the first time, I found that many young dandies wanted to partner me.
A little later, Queenie asked if she might have a talk. I followed her into the rookery.
‘What do you think of the Duke of H?’ she said.
In truth I thought little. He appeared to be a forceful bore, though I was wise enough not to say so.
Queenie saw immediately that I was not as enthusiastic as she thought I should be and said sharply, ‘Perhaps you should see what else is on offer before you refuse him. Your husband has assured me that he will forgive your past if you return to him as a dutiful wife. He came here the minute he heard of Lord B’s death.’
‘Feathers and dust!’ I said in disbelief. ‘And you let him in?’
I felt an uncontrollable rage rise in me, a potent mixture of grief, hurt and the sense of betrayal.
‘I run a whorehouse,’ said Queenie, ‘and…’ Her hands went to her mouth, her eyes opened wide. ‘Tully, don’t… please don’t.’
Only then did I realise what I had unconsciously done: every ornament, every piece of paper, every book – anything that couldn’t claim the weight of gravity to hold it in place – hovered precariously in the air.
‘I am merely trying to point out the merits of having the duke as a protector,’ she said feebly.
‘No, you aren’t,’ I said. ‘You have already sold me to the duke for a handsome figure, haven’t you? And now you are worried that you are about to lose face. I’d wager that it was at your invitation my husband came here.’
I was so furious that I would willingly have let everything crash to the floor.
‘You are one of my gals,’ she said, her voice querulous. ‘Tully, don’t go!’
I left her with her possessions hanging in the air. Why, I thought, should she lightly be forgiven?
At the card table I contemplated the options open to me. I could leave the next day, set up in my own rooms and wait for a gallant more to my liking. Or, find another madam to take me on.
I won well at Faro and when Hope leaned over to kiss me, it struck me that I would not leave the fairy house. It was home, the place where Hope and Mercy were, and Mr Crease and Ned Bird. Home was a word that I had never been able to use of Milk Street, and Queenie, for all her faults, was the only mother I had ever known. With a sigh, my anger vanished. Spiggot could go to hell – I would never be his. It was then that I knew that everything in the rookery had returned to its rightful place. Whether Queenie would forgive me was another matter.
It was around two o’clock in the morning when at last I retired to my chamber. I wondered if I could bear the attentions of the Duke of H and for the first time in a long while I remembered the nights I had spent with Avery, when I was innocent, when the world was so very wide, before it came to be no more than the reflection of the moon in a dirty puddle.
Chapter Forty-One
My maid had undressed me and I was in bed, pleased to be alone, the distant chatter from below a lullaby soothing me to sleep, when my maid knocked upon the door.
‘I’m sorry, Miss Tully,’ she said, ‘there is gentleman here wanting to see you. He’s very persistent.’
I told her to send the Duke of H away, for I was in no doubt as to who was pursuing me. ‘Ask him to return tomorrow,’ I said.
Hardly had I spoken when he pushed into my chamber and flung himself upon my bed. ‘Why make me wait when I already adore you and have such longings that cannot be satisfied by your hand or eye?’
‘Come now, sir,’ I said, ‘waiting surely adds to the delight of what is in store.’
‘But I cannot wait, you have stirred the fire in me and I’m ablaze with a want of you.’
‘Your flattery, sir, will not change my mind. Now, please, leave me in peace.’
My maid was still standing in the doorway, regarding the situation with interest. ‘What shall I do?’ she asked.
‘Leave us,’ said his grace.
‘Please, sir, less haste, I beg of you!’ I said, for the duke had already undone his breeches.
I could see quite clearly that there was no cooling of his ardour.
My maid returned, carrying champagne and glasses. ‘With the compliments of Mrs Gibbs,’ she said, and left again.
I smiled. I was forgiven, and more than Queenie’s ornaments were back in place. The duke took my smile for encouragement.
‘I am most sincere in my feelings, most sincere indeed,’ said the Duke of H. ‘I will be the tenderest of lovers.’
One look at him made me doubt that.
‘I prostrate myself at your feet,’ he said, his hand finding its way to my breasts. Then, hoping for no more resistance, he started to kiss my neck. ‘Can you not tell I am in love?’
I doubted that too, for what he said had little sincerity to it.
He kissed me upon the lips with such force that his tongue near choked me. When at last he pulled away I was gasping for breath.
‘Why such false modesty?’ he said. ‘Come, you are no blushing virgin.’
And before the inconvenience of any more words passed my lips, he kissed me again. I struggled to free myself.
‘Your grace, please,’ I said. ‘Not tonight.’
‘Yes, tonight it must be… it has to be… it will be… for tomorrow all could be ashes.’
A truer word he had not spoken, for no spark of desire ignited in me.
He stood up, abruptly, and took off the remainder of his clothes. I say took off, more he tore at them and revealed a prodigiously large weapon, the like of which I had not seen except on a donkey. It quite terrified me. I could only suppose that it must have previously remained half hidden and one touch had by no means allowed me to become fully acquainted with its size.
‘Sir, will you not first have a drink?’
‘No, no,’ he said, hoarsely, and lay down beside me. ‘This is the only nectar I need.’ He slipped his hands between my legs.
‘Sir,’ I said, ‘I would like to take a glass even if you will not.’
‘This is torture,’ he said, standing up again and going to the table.
He poured a glass of champagne. His pole stuck out alarmingly, but at least I had a chance to appraise him. He had a not altogether displeasing figure; he was well made in the quarters that mattered – perhaps too well made, for I was not certain that he would fit me at all.
He handed me a glass, I took a sip and that was all.
‘I cannot wait any longer,’ he said.
His weapon was fully loaded and desperately in need of being fired. He bunched up my shift over my thighs so that my Venus mound was well within his aim. There was little finesse in his manner. Having given me all that he felt was necessary to warm me to his desires, he thrust his point home far too soon, which immediately had the effect of cooling all passion on my part for he was not a good fit. Yet having once achieved the passage he cared little as to the pain given in the wielding of such an inappropriate weapon as his. I felt it tear through me and, all too soon, h
e released himself of his pent-up desire. He was not content with that. I had been used to Lord Barbeau whose strength in lovemaking had been much diminished by illness. This was, alas, not the case with the Duke of H and it was only in the light of a weary dawn that he did at last cease his assault on me and leave.
That morning, Queenie arrived with a tray of chocolate, full of smiles and fuss, to tell me that I had been greatly admired last night. Our wrangling forgotten, she was full of praise for my ingenuity at having captured the duke so quickly. I sighed. For the first time, I knew what being a whore meant, and I was disgusted with myself.
I never liked him, he never suited me. I tolerated him, that was all. It was his smell that I couldn’t stand. He was a fussy man in everything pertaining to personal matters but it was the odour he released when aroused – sweet, sickly – that, by degrees, I came to loathe.
In the beginning I told myself that the old ache would return but it never did. When you love without love, you lose all joy. This was work that owed nothing to pleasure. Never once, when I was with him, did I melt away in ecstasy or find myself in that most extraordinary part of my being where all of me and all of my lover were one.
He paid handsomely for my services. My duties were listed: I was to be an adoring mistress, to be available for him at all times. I was to be immaculately turned out. I was forbidden from reading novels, which he stated were the ruination of women. If I became with child he would pay for me to have it abroad but would not recognise it as his. I was to have no other gallants while I was with him. This contract could be terminated by him at any time without obligation.
I never thought about being with child, or that it might be the natural consequence of these unnatural games. Yet in that I was very lucky, unlike Bethany, who shortly after winning the bet found she was pregnant with her third child.
Up to then I’d had no idea she had a child at all, let alone two. One, a boy, was farmed out to a family in Kent and Bethany paid for his upkeep. The daughter she’d had by a Mr Fable, he had adopted, as his wife was unable to bear children. The price Bethany paid was her agreement never to see or contact her daughter. This time she would go to the country and come back once the baby had been weaned and found a home.
‘I have beautiful babies,’ she said.
The fairy house felt empty without her. Mercy was hardly ever there in those days; Hope told me that she’d rented chambers with Mofty and no longer had any interest in the game.
For the next three months I spent most of my days with Hope and my nights with the duke, while he pushed and shoved, pulled and gasped his way ever forward to the climax of his desire which always came a thrust too early.
Part of the agreement was that I had a carriage and four-in-hand for my sole use. Hope, and sometimes Queenie, would accompany me shopping or to the dressmaker’s. I had a good eye, and, enjoying being ahead of the beau monde, I took to designing my gowns. I found that I could occupy myself for hours with nothing more than the frivolity of trimmings. How fluffy and foolish my mind became. My clothes and fashions were often the subject of the gossip columns, my fame all the greater through my reputation of having a mysterious pearl hand. By small degrees I became used to such indulgence, though not, alas, to the gentleman who paid for it.
Lord Barbeau had told me that salmon garner strength by swimming upriver. It is hard to imagine what good comes of being so excessively spoiled and not wanting for anything. To counterbalance the boredom that was an inevitable outcome of this way of life, I fed my mind with the buying and reading of the forbidden novels and, when I wasn’t at the duke’s beck and call or concerning myself with frippery, I spent my time lost in other people’s imaginings.
I had confided in Hope that I had found myself pretending satisfaction with his grace when there was none.
‘We all do,’ said Hope.
He had no interest in me other than my body. Some conversation might have been enough to bring on some fondness for him, but there was none. He once told me it was better for a man to be in the wilderness than with a woman who had opinions and whose tongue was never still in the saying of them. He considered that a man was held in greater esteem if he had a beautiful woman at his side and delighted in the envious looks of his friends when we were together.
I find it hard to put flesh on the bones of such an engraving of a man as was the Duke of H. He appeared to me as nothing more than a plucked goose, all flesh and no feathers worth a mention. A caricature of ambition with little intellect to recommend him, he might as well have been drawn by the great Hogarth himself.
I knew that I meant no more to him than any other of his possessions, all of which he owned so that he might be shown in a favourable light. In the past my spirits would have risen on this hot air of folly, but they didn’t, and I began to feel more and more like my parrot: dead, stuffed and still.
Chapter Forty-Two
Newgate Prison, the Governor’s House
I had a visitor today – Lord B’s solicitor, Mr Attaway. He came into my small chamber in the governor’s house wearing the same yellow unpleasant wig and on his very thin nose a pair of spectacles that gave him a quizzical look, as if he could not quite remember the reason for his visit to this unholy place. He was accompanied by his clerk, Tubbs. Tubbs reminded me of a bee buzzing round a buttercup. The first thing he did was take hold of the chair on which the solicitor was about to place his learned bottom, and dust it vigorously before replacing it in position. Then he buzzed round the solicitor, bringing out sheaves of legal documents, tied with pink ribbon. It appeared that he was only able to stop buzzing if he could catch hold of his own arms and fold them under himself, with his legs twisted round each other. I was most entertained. If the pair had been on stage they would have received a round of applause for such a farcical performance.
‘To what do I owe the honour of your visit?’ I asked Mr Attaway.
The solicitor took off his glasses and handed them to Tubbs, who unwound himself sufficiently to clean them and give them back. Mr Attaway concentrated on the papers in front of him.
He cleared his throat and, keeping one finger on the relevant passage, said, ‘Miss Truegood, as I am sure you are aware, I was retained as solicitor to the late Lord Barbeau. As you may not be aware, his lordship’s wish was that the bulk of his estate should be left to you on his death. It is a most uncommon practice and not one I encouraged, yet on this one issue he refused to take sound legal advice. Furthermore, he instructed me to take care of your interests at the appropriate time.’
I looked at Mr Attaway, astonished, and tried to say something but I could see that once he had started he would not countenance interruptions until he had finished. He cleared his throat again.
‘Due to your clandestine marriage,’ he said, unnecessarily shuffling the papers, ‘certain stipulations were put in place that had to be fulfilled before you came into your inheritance.’
‘I think there is a misunderstanding,’ I said. ‘Lord Barbeau gave me gifts of jewellery and some money, but nothing more. I thought Mr Ainsley had inherited the estate.’
‘Mr Ainsley?’
‘Yes,’ I said, somewhat impatiently. ‘Mr Ainsley, Lord Barbeau’s nephew.’
The clerk leapt to his feet and buzzed in the solicitor’s ear. He rustled his papers.
‘Ah, yes. You refer to the Reverend Jonathan Ainsley.’ He sniffed as if there was an unpleasant smell coming from the ink itself. ‘Yes, I have it here. Mr Ainsley was left two thousand pounds. He tried and failed to dispute the will. That is by the by. Back to the matter in hand. Your inheritance has been held in trust and the three trustees are myself, Mr Little of Coutts Bank, and Mr Merritt. They will continue to manage the estate until you…’
He ran out of words for there was little to say.
‘…become the wealthiest whore ever to swing at the gallows.’ I couldn’t help it. I laughed out loud. ‘Are you sure there is no mistake?’
Mr Attaway looked like a man wh
o had never made a mistake in his life.
‘As you are now unencumbered by a husband, you are the legal beneficiary of five hundred thousand pounds, in addition to his lordship’s house in Highgate, his estate in Chippenham and the contents thereof.’
I was completely stunned. How ironic that, finally, I was my own mistress and richer than I could ever have imagined. There in all this gloom, a little crack of hope.
‘It would seem, sir, that there is more than enough money for me to fight my case.’
‘Indeed there is, madam,’ said Mr Attaway. ‘This murder is anything but straightforward. It is becoming increasingly necessary, especially in cases of felony, to instruct a defence lawyer on behalf of the accused. If you will allow me, madam, I will give the brief to Mr Gately, who is one of London’s foremost barristers.’
‘Please do, sir,’ I said.
‘Very good. I will make sure Mr Gately calls on you tomorrow.’ He turned to his clerk. ‘Have you written that down, Tubbs?’
I would imagine every word Mr Attaway had ever uttered was engraved on the clerk’s heart.
‘One moment, sir,’ I said. ‘If I have access to the money, then my dear friend, Mercy, must see the best doctor there is.’
‘Is there anything else?’
‘Yes, there is a woman by the name of Bethany Goodere. I want to help her…’
‘Furnish Tubbs with the details and it will be done.’ He paused.
‘Would it be out of place if I made a suggestion?’ asked Mr Attaway.
‘Not in the slightest, sir.’
‘Victor Wrattan should be investigated.’
‘I agree, sir.’
He stood up. ‘A man will be hired for the purpose. I will do my very best for you, Miss Truegood,’ said Mr Attaway, taking off his glasses and handing them to Tubbs, who was already buzzing round in anticipation of being gone. ‘Madam, my advice is two-fold: do not gamble, and…’ he glanced at my belly ‘. . . do make a will.’