Fallen, page 22
Grace.
The grieving widow had lost most of her clothes, somehow, and was being presented to them in a corset, chemise, and garters. She’d managed to keep both of her shoes, but one of her stockings was missing. Except who cared about a stocking, her entire dress was also missing. She was also, unmistakably, what her late husband would’ve referred to as blind, pissing drunk.
Ani folded her hands, stared, and wondered what to do.
“I hope,” the man managed, as he gasped for air, “that I’ve got the right house.”
Jefferson turned to Ani. “Ma’am?”
“I’ll see them in the sitting room.”
Jefferson, who wasn’t a small man, took one of Grace’s arms and helped to propel her in the right direction. She was singing, or at least making a nose that she clearly imagined to be singing, and she wouldn’t stop. “Moose, moose, I want a moose! I’ve never had anything quite like a moose!”
Mrs. Buchannan crossed herself. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph.”
“I’ve had lots of others, my life has been loose!”
This was a song considered, generally, too dirty for most taverns.
Most dockside taverns.
“But I’ve never had anything quite like a moose!”
Ani blinked. “She’s really putting her heart into it, I’ll give her that.”
Grace, meanwhile, had begun on the next verse. Thankfully, only bits and pieces of which drifted in to them. “With my arms ‘round his barrel, my feet by his tail…I hanged and we banged and….”
“Please,” Ani said, “alert the master to the fact that we have company.”
“…I came with a roar….”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I never had had such a great lay before!”
And then, steeling herself, Ani turned toward the sitting room.
She found Grace lolling in one chair and her companion perched on the edge of another, looking like he might bolt at any moment. Seeing her, he shot upright. “Ma’am. I wasn’t—I didn’t think I’d have the pleasure of addressing the lady of the house. I—it’s late and ma’am, I am so very sorry.” He glanced toward Grace and for a horrible second Ani thought he might burst into tears.
“And who,” she asked, “do I have the pleasure of addressing?”
“Chapman. Ted—Theodore Dwight Chapman. I’m a foreman at Grant Textiles.”
Which Ani recognized as being one of Dane’s holdings.
No wonder he was so upset.
Grace, for her part, only smiled. “Hello, dear.”
What color had remained in the man’s face abruptly drained from it.
“Please,” Ani said. “Sit down.”
He hesitated, and then sat.
“Would you like tea?”
“Yes, please I mean—no thank you.” He glanced toward Grace again. “I didn’t know.”
“Alright.”
As if on cue, Mrs. Buchannan appeared with tea.
Grace burped. “Being balled by a moose,” she announced, no longer singing, “is really the best.”
Then, abruptly, her head lolled back and she began to snore.
“I think,” Ani said carefully, “that we should start at the beginning.”
“Mrs. Asquith-Long.”
Ani fixed her guest a cup of tea, and passed it over. Then she fixed one for herself. She wasn’t even a tea drinker, but by this point she had a vested interest in accepting its restorative properties.
“Mr. Chapman.”
“I didn’t—we didn’t—know that she was your mother.”
Ani nodded.
“She came to visit us at the Order of the Stick. Which is an, ah. A house of ill repute. Where women…and men…. It isn’t…for the aristocracy, you understand. Not for your kind. Not that your husband would ever….” And then Mr. Chapman just sat there, poleaxed.
“Please,” Ani said. “Go on.”
“But it’s not terrible, either. It’s…for middle class men, such as myself.”
And here he was trying to defend the honor of the bordello wherein Grace had evidently spent a good part of the night. Because apparently the idea of her having visited an establishment appropriate to a man of Dane’s class would be less offensive? Or maybe he merely wanted Ani to know that he, himself, probably hadn’t given Grace a disease. Probably.
“She arrived and…well. She was quite large but, ah, expressed uncommon enthusiasm for the rite of love, ah…according to the equestrian order. She also….” He gestured helplessly. “From the rear. With two men. We didn’t…. We thought her arrival quite a boon.”
“I’m sure.”
“She was so experienced.”
Ani shut her eyes briefly.
“We never…it never occurred to us that she might be a gentlewoman.” He looked around. “And she lives here?”
“For the time being.”
“She knew so many songs.”
“How did you…?”
“Someone mentioned Mr. Asquith-Long as he’s our…he’s our employer. Many of us from the mills, us foremen that is, we like….” He trailed off, having mercifully thought better of ending that sentence. “And she said, well. She said she’d like to bugger him up the…ah. She was taking all comers at that point, so we all heard her. Someone shouted out that she was at the wrong brothel and she, well, she replied that she lived in the same house with him. Because her daughter was….”
“I see.”
“She might,” Mr. Chapman said carefully, “have impugned your virtue.”
“Undoubtedly.”
“Not that anyone would believe….”
Grace emitted a particularly wet snore.
“How many men?”
Mr. Chapman seemed surprised at the question. “All of them.”
“I see.”
“But you’ll have your—your personal physician see her?”
“Yes,” Dane said.
Ani had no idea how long he’d been standing there. She wasn’t surprised that he’d been listening in. He’d probably understood, as she had, that their guest would be more likely to give a full and truthful accounting in front of a smaller audience. Their guest, however, was beyond shocked. Indeed, upon seeing Dane, he appeared to suffer some sort of apoplectic event. “Sir! I swear, I—I swear I won’t tell anybody. We won’t.”
Dane studied him. “Chapman, is it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“A man can’t be held responsible for what he doesn’t know.”
“I—thank you, sir.” The words came out in a rush of relief.
“And my understanding is that you were acting within the bounds of the law. The Order of the Stick is a reputable establishment, or reputable enough. And she was willing.”
“She was more than—yes, sir.”
“You, none of you, have need to fear for your employment. The fault, if it lies with anyone, lies with me.”
“I—thank you, sir. Thank you. Thank you! And your wife was—very gracious, sir.”
“Then if you must tell your friends something, tell them that.”
“I will, sir.”
And then Mr. Chapman, looking like every demon in the pit was chasing him, ran from the house.
Grace, still asleep, snorted.
“Wife.” Dane favored Ani with a small smile.
“I didn’t correct him. Should I have?”
“I feel quite hopeful that you didn’t.”
“I don’t….” Ani stared down at her aunt.
“I know,” Dane said. And then, changing the subject, “if you can’t be a good example, as the great leader once said, then be a horrible warning. And really…all the men?”
“So you heard that.”
“She’s apparently quite adventurous.”
“Have you ever been to a brothel?”
“Yes,” Dane said. “But not since I was younger.”
“Are you…would you, now?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“I was quite clear, earlier, that I expected this blight on the face of the earth gone after the funeral.”
Ani felt her heart lurch.
“But, I’ve reconsidered. She has, after all, just publicly declared herself my mother in law and I believe that with that connection comes certain obligations. Besides, I’ll never convince you to become Mrs. Asquith-Long in truth if I treat this woman as I’d like. So instead, I’d like to treat her as you’d like.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“I…thank you.”
“Now you sound like our penitent, Mr. Chapman.” But Dane’s words held no sting. “A secondary consideration, and an entirely selfish one is that so long as she’s here we can keep an eye on her. Ensure she doesn’t get up to anything. Although, given the popularity of the Order of the Stick, I doubt she’ll be going anywhere but her bed for a few days.”
Ani found herself wondering if anyone else who’d ever lived had ever experienced such a night.
“Things, however, are going to start to change around here.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Talk
“I can’t!”
Dane, she could see, was fighting down his annoyance. “Why not?”
“Because—it’s embarrassing!” There. The truth was out. Ani crossed her arms and waited for Dane to tell her that she was an idiot. That there was nothing embarrassing about his life and thus nothing embarrassing about being involved in any part of it and besides, he was in charge so he could do what he wanted and she’d better just accept the reality of that fact.
Instead, he surprised her.
“What, precisely, is so embarrassing?” His gaze darkened. “Me?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Not you.” She sat down on the armrest of a chair, and stared at the floor. She couldn’t bear to look at Dane, although she still felt the weight of his gaze on her. “My aunt.”
Her aunt, who’d been dosed with a tonic by Dr. Carter and who was thus dead to the world. She wouldn’t even begin to rouse for some time, Dr. Carter had counseled. And when she did, someone was to dose her again. He’d left a bottle of the evil smelling liquid by her bedside, which according to its label contained a host of frightening ingredients. All of this was, ostensibly at least, to help Grace’s body heal. And her nerves. She’d had quite a night out and only in gentlemen’s magazines could one accomplish so much without injury.
“Everyone knows.”
Dane took a seat nearby. “Yes,” he said. “They do.”
His matter of fact tone was, strangely, like a balm. He didn’t argue, he didn’t quibble. He didn’t try to minimize the situation, in what would only be a misguided attempt to make her feel better.
She looked up.
“Antoinette. Her failures are her own.”
“But.” Ani swallowed. “There’s another problem, too.”
“Oh?”
If she could mention her aunt, she told herself, she could mention this. “Your uncle.”
“Yes?”
“He frightens me.”
There. It was out. Jasper had been nothing but gracious at the funeral, but even on his best behavior he couldn’t disguise the fact that he was even more predatory than Dane. His eyes gave him away, mostly; they missed nothing. Indeed, standing before him, Ani had felt like he could see inside of her. But there was more, too: in how he moved, and in what he did and didn’t say.
Dane had been raised by this man since he was Daniel’s age; no wonder, Ani thought, Dane was so strange.
“Jasper?”
As though there could be any other uncle. “Yes.”
“He can be a bit different,” Dane conceded. “But he’s family. And there’s no reason to be so missish about things; he’s invited us to dinner, not an orgy.” And then, at Ani’s expression, he burst out laughing. “Yes, dinner. Just dinner. Darling, we’re awful but we’re not that awful.”
“Well….” Ani shrugged.
“If, at some future point, you’re really keen to try, I mean. I suppose I could be persuaded. I wouldn’t want to deny you your natural inclinations. But not with my uncle, please. Moreover,” he added, his tone growing more serious, “all things being equal, I’d prefer not to share you.”
“I’d prefer not to be shared.”
“Good, then.” Dane stood up. “Antoinette, you don’t realize how hard it is for me not to kill any man who looks at you. Even perfectly innocently. I’m like a dragon, defending his hoard of gold.”
“I think I do,” she said, remembering the chicken.
They were in Dane’s downstairs office. There was a knock on the door and then, without waiting for a response, Daniel pushed it open. “How come,” he asked, his annoyance plain, “you get to go to dinner and I don’t? I never,” he continued, without waiting for an answer, “get to go anywhere.”
“Daniel, sweetheart, this isn’t going to be fun.”
“Yes it is,” Dane and Daniel replied at the same time.
Ani couldn’t help but smile.
“But you’re not going,” Dane said, “because you’re not old enough.”
Daniel made a face.
“You have several years left, to spend your free time as you’d like. I suggest you enjoy them, before gorging yourself on sweets while you watch inappropriate programming matures into defending your future prospects to women you don’t like. Most of the dinners I attend have to do with business, and even the ones that ostensibly don’t involve carefully saying nothing offensive about the prince’s latest doings over tired chicken. Until your sister so graciously allowed me to worship the ground at her feet, they also usually doubled as matchmaking sessions.”
Daniel’s eyes widened.
“One woman, in particular, has attempted to force me to propose marriage to her daughter over a dozen times.”
“What did you do?”
“I informed her that I was otherwise engaged.”
Suddenly remembering that he needed to be elsewhere, Daniel disappeared.
Dane turned to Ani. “And now, our chariot awaits.”
Ten minutes later, she found herself outside if no less ready. Dane’s car had been brought around, and was idling at the curb. He loved to drive, and only made use of a chauffeur when he absolutely had to. She turned to him. “Over a dozen times? Really?”
“Really.” He offered her his arm. She accepted it, and he led her down the steps. “I told you the truth, before. I’ve only ever passed the time with women who wanted no entanglements. One of my more recent partners was engaged to an officer stationed overseas. She loved him and was devoted to him, after her own fashion, but she also tended to grow bored. She wanted someone who’d be discreet.”
“Just someone?”
Dane seemed surprised. “If she’d wanted to talk to the man, she would’ve waited for her fiancé.”
He opened the passenger side door, and Ani got in.
Dane joined her a few seconds later. He put the car into gear, and they moved away from the curb. Ani knew she shouldn’t ask, knew she shouldn’t be curious to begin with, but she couldn’t help herself. “What did you…do with all of them?” She knew, partly from gossip and partly from Dane’s own admissions, that he was into things she’d barely even heard of.
“Imagined they were you.”
“I…oh.”
Dane glanced over at her. “Are you really interested?”
“Strangely enough, I am.”
They were still crawling through the city. The strong late afternoon laid bare its squalor. Dusk would begin to fall and, with it, some measure of forgiveness while they were still en route. The drive to the estate wasn’t a short one. Ani hoped that dinner wouldn’t be too frightening.
“You have to understand,” Dane began, “that most of us louche, overbred aristocratic types experienced our first sexual awakening at school. Some of us, with our classmates; the less fortunate of us while being birched.”
Ani had never been birched. No one had ever raised a hand to her at all. Although this was only partly due to her parents having been—either permissive or disinterested, depending on one’s point of view. It was also because she was a girl. Boys were, from birth, treated differently. But she knew what a birch was: a sheaf of between half and a dozen switches, bound at one end and left to splay out at the other. Usually between two and three feet long, a fresh birch was extremely pliable. Which meant, or so she’d heard, that it acted much like a whip.
Or could, in the right hand.
“At my alma mater, like at most, the birch was always applied to the bared rump of the penitent. Both because a good birch is too light to penetrate clothing and because clothing, even a scrap of it, might allow him to preserve some dignity. Everyone came, of course, to watch, out of interest and to bask in the relief that it wasn’t them. Not that time, at least.
“The genius of the birch is that no one stroke produces overmuch distress; rather, together they produce a cumulative effect. With each stroke,” he explained, “building on the pain produced by those that came before. Until the last few strokes aren’t even recognizable as such, but merely as blasts of agony.”
Ani could detect a certain relish, in this recital.
“But the really gruesome part is that, in an effort to escape the pain, one’s hips thrust forward of their own accord. To rub against whatever one’s been propped up against, to endure one’s punishment or, if the birching is being delivered by a proctor instead of a master, into the hands of a classmate.”
Ani’s eyes widened.
“Eventually, the concepts of pain and pleasure grow linked. For some, in a passing fashion and for some, forever.”
“But that’s….”
“There was a man at my club, who paid a woman thousands to birch him because his wife wouldn’t. He claimed that, in his old age, the increased blood flow was all that allowed him to, ah. Rise to the occasion. After which he and the woman would make passionate love. He died this year, and left her a substantial fortune.”
“And you…?”
“Yes, sometimes. I think most men do.”
Ani digested this.
