The Strange Adventures of H

by Sarah Burton

  At last I would give him to understand that he should have all he desired if he would but give me the freedom of his purse.

  53

  The day that Kat and I went to Tyburn to see Fricker hang drew a line finally under the awful events which had brought our life at Clerkenwell to a close. We did not even tell Janey where we were going, for though all the girls knew we had taken Mother Cresswell’s fortune, we had told no one of the hand we suspected we had had in her death. As I have already described Fricker’s end in detail, I shall not rehearse it here, but suffice it to say that knowing Fricker was out of the picture brought us both a great sense of relief.

  However there remained a particular bond between me and Kat, which could not be dissolved, and though on the night that we had divided Mother Cresswell’s fortune between her girls we had all agreed to meet up on that date once a year, I knew I would continue to see Kat in the interim. Unlike our Clerkenwell sisters, neither she nor I had seen fit to quit the profession, though we were both now well provided for financially. I was determined not to touch my capital which I had pooled with Janey’s, and she was happy to entrust me with all money matters. We lived well, though without ostentation, on the money I earned, and we even put a little of that aside each week. We were happy enough just to carry on as we were, but Kat’s plans had not worked out so straightforwardly.

  Her keeper Gerald’s new wife had not proven the goldmine Kat had been led to believe. That she was indeed an heiress to a substantial fortune was in no doubt, but her father still lived, and while he had paid a hefty dowry, much of it was tied up in property, and worse, in Kat’s eyes, the parents of the bride had gone to the unusual trouble of settling on their daughter money to which Gerald could lay no claim while she lived.

  “It is an outrage!” Kat complained. “What is the world coming to when a wife may keep her own money? If this fashion takes, it will be the death of keeping.”

  “Is it such an awful thing?” asked Godfrey. (For Kat had come to pass a Sunday with us.) “Perhaps if wives could keep their own money their husbands would treat them better.”

  “What is that to me?” exclaimed Kat. “You know, I am beginning to see that a Miss has full as painful a life as a wife in any case. Gerald comes home, with his friends, at all hours of the night, expecting I will keep open house at their convenience – and spare them a kind word and an easy face. He drinks, games and whores like any husband. It is insupportable! In fact, I’m in no small danger of getting the foul disease by his lewdness.”

  At this Godfrey, Janey and I could not help laughing, but Kat was in no mood to join in our mirth.

  “I tolerated that easy fool for months in expectations of him snaring a rich wife whose fortune I was to lavish! But now I discover things go not forwards with me, but backwards! I find I am paying my own bills! Were it left to him my coach would have vanished, my servants gone, and I should be running about in last year’s gowns! The mere thought of it is enough to give one a fever.” Kat shuddered. “I was to have a settlement and twenty guineas a week. What did he give me this week? Forty shillings! He should be put in the stocks for so deluding me. I, who gave him my virginity—”

  “Kat!” Janey exclaimed.

  “Oh he doesn’t know any different,” continued Kat. “I told him that all his wife’s fortune was never worth the jewel I offered up to him. I may one day get my money, but my name is lost for ever.” And here Kat pretended to weep most theatrically and pathetically, until even Mary clapped her little hands in appreciation.

  “So what you going to do?” demanded Janey.

  “I’ve taken another gentleman of course,” said Kat, “and I’ve another in my sights. Now I believe I am with child and I shall fleece all three for its upkeep as well as my own.”

  “Kat!” Janey exclaimed again.

  “Come, come, Janey,” said Kat irritably. “Where would you be now if you had had to depend solely on your William? Has he given you a penny for the child?”

  Janey blushed, which I guessed had a deeper meaning, for I had reason to believe that William was back on the scene again, much to my unease.

  “No, he has not,” Kat continued. “How many times must you be told to consider only your own interest? No one else will, you may be assured of that, a man least of all.”

  “But to make a man believe a child is his own – it ain’t right, Kat,” maintained Janey.

  “It ain’t right?” Kat repeated in disbelief. “It ain’t right? When did right ever come into it? The worst of us are not so bad as the best of them! Learn this of me: they that first debauch us do it for their own pleasure, without any consideration of our ruin, so we that are debauched ought to value no merit equal to our own interest. Yes, we may cheat and lie and lay traps, for all legitimate ways are shut to us. And besides, we were deceived before. It would not be so painful, I will admit, did men not have such high conceits of their sex: they say theirs is the stronger sex, and the wiser sex, and the wittier sex, and such a sex – well, they may be a notable sex among themselves, but, compared with us…! It is a foolish woman indeed who will not outdo them in their own ways when she has the opportunity: out-lie them, out-flatter them, out-dissemble them. But don’t bleat to me of what is right. It was all wrong from the beginning. It was all wrong from the moment some hot gallant poured treacle in your ear, while sliding his—”

  “Kat!” exclaimed Godfrey, clapping his hands over Mary’s ears, which, startling her, made her howl.

  While Godfrey mollified Mary, I suggested a bottle of Canary and a game of cards, which altered the tone of conversation for the better, and soon we were all at ease again.

  Later, when Mary and Janey had lain down for a rest and Godfrey was reading and dozing, and Kat and I were sitting contentedly warming our stockinged toes by the fire, I suggested to Kat that since she now had her own fortune she might be better to cast off Gerald altogether and retire.

  “I have thought of it,” she said. “But somehow I can’t trust even that. Life has betrayed me too many times. As long as I can make money, I shall. It’s the only thing I can depend upon. You of all people should understand that.”

  I did, indeed, understand that.

  “But you can at least afford to turn off Gerald and cast about for a better prospect. After all,” I observed, “one wealthy keeper is infinitely less troublesome than three of indifferent and uncertain fortune.”

  “Like yours?” she said and winked.

  “Not quite like mine,” I said, and winked.

  She sighed.

  “I have considered it. There are one or two I could work on easily. But it seems this one’s wife, the poor bitch, is sickly and like to die. And a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.”

  We both fixed our gaze on the sea-coal burning in the hearth and I could not pretend to guess at Kat’s thoughts, but I considered how strange it was that the unhappy demise of one young woman would inevitably produce a wonderful transformation in the fortunes of another, without either of them having ever known or even seen the other.

  “Then again,” Kat said, “it may not be true. He may just be flamming me off with high hopes.”

  54

  I have said that each of my gentlemen was blissfully deceived – or chose to turn a blind eye to the existence of my other lovers – except for Lord A, my favourite, who also knew my principal keeper was a mere fiction. He was a plain dealer: he treated me right and did not tell untruths. He would never say he would marry me, nor say he would advance my prospects, nor hint he would introduce me into Court, nor make promises of future riches, and such nonsense, as others were wont to. Now a whore must lie to live, but it was a mark of my respect for Lord A that I returned the compliment, and never lied to him – at the least, not in great matters.

  He never dressed up the transaction between us in gifts as other men did, but always paid me hard cash. Lord A did not deceive himself in this and besides he knew that at first I needed, and now I valued, the money.
When he left I would always find two sovereigns on the table, never more, never less. And even if he were unable to keep the appointment, which admittedly, was a rare event, he still sent the money. So, in his own way, he kept me, if only a fifth of me.

  On the day I am to tell you about, where this part of my story begins, as he was dressing I noticed he had left double the usual amount.

  “Are we to have another bout, fubbs?” I asked. “You know you need not pay twice.”

  “It’s not for me,” he said. “I need to talk to you.”

  This was a bad sign. When a man begins to pass his Miss about amongst his friends it is an invariable omen he is about to cast her off. And it was not merely that Lord A was a steady source of income, but I must admit my pride was piqued that he would do such a thing.

  “This is not like you,” I said, careful not to sound as peeved as I felt, for many Misses make the mistake of being angry with their gentlemen, forgetting that their gentlemen can get that at home, and why pay for a Miss who is as much trouble as a wife?

  But his explanation was not what I feared. He hoped to save the family’s fortunes by making a good marriage for his nephew. (When his brother died, Lord A had inherited not only his brother’s considerable debts but also his son.) Lord A had found a widow, rich as Croesus, young and not ill-favoured, and persuaded her into a match with his nephew. Her fortune would be more than enough to keep her and his nephew in great comfort and her dowry would considerably relieve Lord A’s financial difficulties. As matters stood, Lord A had mortgaged himself to the hilt to send the boy to the university at Cambridge, which, whatever they say, is never cheap, and could now barely afford to get him a suit of new clothes, let alone a living.

  This was all most interesting, but still I did not understand the extra sovereigns, unless they were by way of sharing his anticipated good fortune.

  “Charles is a good boy,” he explained, “honest, well-mannered, obedient and loyal. He has consented to the match as much out of a sense of indebtedness to me as for affection for the young lady – if not more. But he is innocent as snow.”

  Aha, thought I.

  “You are very dear to me, H, and a good friend. I ask you a favour: to show him what is required of a husband.”

  “Are you sure he does not know?” I asked. Sometimes this world seemed one great bawdy house to me where the merest child knew what went on between the sheets. “Was he not brought up in the country? Has he not seen the animals?”

  Lord A laughed.

  “I am sure he has an idea of what goes where,” he said.

  “And is his bride not a widow? She will hardly prove your blushing virgin.”

  “You will barely believe it, but her first husband fell ill on the very day they were wed. He died within a week. The marriage was never consummated.”

  By the expression on my face I could not check, Lord A understood that I thought this a likely tale.

  “I have made enquiries. I assure you it is the case. Listen, H.” The manner in which he took my face in his hands confirmed the seriousness of the matter. “This marriage must not fail. Even your fortunes are tied to its success. Charles must not make a hash of things straight off.” He could perhaps read from my expression that I did not follow his reasoning. He said, with a little, bitter, laugh, “You don’t know about women at all, do you, H? She will exploit any weakness, do you see? He must start as he means to go on. In control. In charge.” He let go of me and sighed. “Of course, you may refuse.”

  “Well,” said I. “I will help the poor boy. After all, it is a terrible onerous thing for a man to be a virgin on his wedding night.”

  We smiled and drank to our compact and Lord A went off whistling, which was always a good sign. I rather dreaded the coming encounter, but resolved to keep up my spirits and think on the money.

  55

  I was looking forward to making the acquaintance of Lord A’s nephew with all the anticipated pleasure one might expect from bedding a country booby. He would not be the first I had initiated, but was certainly the first by such an invitation and so well paid. While not relishing the job, I had resolved to do my best by the boy for dear Lord A’s sake. I only hoped he was tolerably clean in his habits and, though by Lord A’s account I suspected he might not be the sharpest young man, I hoped he was not a mere idiot. I have serviced idiots in my time and the best that can be said of them is that, like very elderly gentlemen, and old soldiers with parts missing, they are grateful. I should have guessed something was amiss by Janey’s saucy wink as she put her head round the door and announced, “Gentleman to see you, Mistress.”

  I supposed I had a minute or so before he climbed the stairs and checked the glass quickly. I intended not to frighten the poor child, so was dressed simply, demurely even, and wore no paint. I did not aim to play the coy virgin, however, but to seem respectable yet approachable. I had selected a pale pink gown, modest yet most becoming. And easy to remove. I had intended to arrange myself prettily on the sofa, but the gentleman was already at the door as I turned from the glass and you cannot imagine my great surprise.

  Far from the grinning bumpkin I expected, here was an exceptionally well-made young man, dressed smartly but without affectation, with much curly brown hair, the face of an angel and the most killing blue eyes framed by long curling eye-lashes like a girl’s. Yet this was no proof he was all there in the head. He bowed stiffly and said, in an uncertain voice, “Madam? I understood… my uncle said… you were expecting me?”

  I realised my mouth had dropped open and shut it quick.

  “Of course,” I said. “Please sit down.” I had got to the couch with indecent haste and was patting the cushion beside me rather hard.

  He looked at the dust rising from the cushion and then at me and finally came and sat down.

  “May I offer you some wine?” I asked, rising and going to the decanter on the table.

  “Thank you, no,” he said and appeared to study the pattern on the carpet.

  “You need not be shy, sir,” I said gently. “I know why you are here. I mean to help you.”

  He raised the killing eyes to mine with a strange uncomprehending expression. His face was so open I felt I might fall in.

  “I mean to be your friend,” I said, sitting down again.

  “Why… thank you,” he said, and returned his attention to the floor, his face almost as red as the rug.

  Suddenly an awful thought struck me. The old devil had not told him!

  “You do know why Lord A sent you to see me, I hope?” I asked.

  “No. It is all most mysterious. I hoped you would enlighten me,” he said.

  Damn the old bugger! This was going to be twice as difficult as I thought. I took the young man’s hand gently in mine. I felt he instinctively wished to snatch it back, but courtesy prevented him. He withdrew it carefully, saying, also carefully, “Madam, you should know I am to be married soon.”

  Now it was my turn to blush – I! I who had been one of the most shameless sluts in the city!

  “I know that. Your uncle told me. It is why he sent you here.” His face told me he was utterly ignorant of my intention. There was nothing for it but to jump in with both feet or I should never be done with it. “Your uncle thinks that before you are married, for your own sake and your wife’s… ” but I found I could not say it! This boy’s innocence was a stranger to me. I did not know how to begin to explain.

  “Yes?” he said.

  I got up and poured myself a glass of wine.

  “Have you ever had ado with a lady?”

  I knocked the wine back in one draught.

  “Ado? What lady?”

  “Have you ever been to bed with a woman?”

  He looked thunderstruck. I poured a second glass and passed it to him. He held it for a long time before he drank it.

  “I do not mean to offend you, madam,” he addressed the Persian rug, “but am I to understand that my uncle sent me to you to… to… ”

>   “Yes!” I cried. “I am to put you on the right road. I am to show you the way. I am to be your friend.”

  “Good God,” he said and put his head in his hand.

  After a long moment he stood up. He placed the glass on the table. He took my hand and kissed it.

  “Thank you,” he said. “But that will not be necessary.”

  And he was gone. No sooner did I hear the front door shut than I heard Janey running up the stairs.

  “Blind me, that was quick,” she said. “First time and all that I suppose. What’s the matter with you? You want to shut your trap before something flies in.”

  “Nothing,” I said.

  “Lovely-looking lad, or what?” she said and collected the glasses and took them downstairs.

  I was aggrieved. Damn Lord A!

  Now I should have to return the money.

  56

  “The bridegroom’s back,” said Janey. “Shall I let him come up?”

  “Yes,” said I, though dressed, not entirely awake, having had a rowdy boozy night with Jasper and a number of his hangers-on. I could not think who the bridegroom was until he appeared at the door.

  It was Lord A’s nephew. My heart gave a jolt such as it was not used to, though I covered it to him, and to myself. Memory, for once, had played no tricks. He was a fine figure of a young man. His eyes, if anything, looked bluer and more lashy. He stood in the doorway apparently trying not to smile.