How could I respond to another man’s touch so soon – too soon – after Avery’s? If it was expected of me then I was bound to fail for I needed time to learn to breathe again in this less exalted atmosphere. I wished that I might conjure a magic spell to take away the leaden numbness that had crept through my body as if every part of my flesh knew my lover to be lost.
The one ray of golden light was the thought that now I could be called an adulteress, already on the path to ruin, Captain Spiggot might agree to end the marriage contract. Why would he wish to claim a whore for a wife? I was not rich, and every way I looked at the matter, there was nothing that would benefit him.
I lay in my chamber, listening to the bells of London and wondering where Avery was. By five o’clock I’d had enough of the tumult in my head and went in search of company. The house had undergone a transformation and the chaos of the night had been brushed, dusted, swept and badgered into order.
When I reached the hall I heard Bethany with Queenie and Flora in the drawing room. Bethany’s voice was loud and angry. The door being open, I was about to go in when I realised that I was the cause of her fury. I stood in the shadows in the hall from where I could see the three of them. Queenie’s expression was serene, but it was the serenity that saints wear in paintings and is not to be trusted.
‘He belongs to Kitty,’ said Bethany. ‘You know that, I know that, the whole of London society knows that. And now, after a conversation of three sentences, Lord Barbeau throws her over in favour of Miss Whimsical. Tully knows nothing about the game – she’s not educated – not in the art of pleasure, the art of conversation, or etiquette.’
Queenie’s voice was as clear as the blade of a sharp knife and each word left its mark.
‘Kitty’s best years are behind her. She has let herself run to fat and is drunk more often than she is sober. I cannot abide drunks, they give a house a bad name and let in the wrong sort of company – dangerous company. Talking of which, tell me, Flora, why on earth did you invite Victor Wrattan?’
‘Oh, tish tosh – he’s an old friend,’ said Flora, oblivious to what was building in Queenie, word by inevitable word. ‘I didn’t think he would cause any harm, after all…’
Bethany looked at her askance, her rage somewhat defeated by the realisation of what Flora had done. ‘You invited him?’ asked Bethany.
‘There’s no need to make such a fuss,’ said Flora.
Bethany and Flora seemed quite unaware of how violent Queenie’s icy rage could be. The air around her froze. I didn’t have to be a seer to know what was coming.
‘You are a guest in my house, Flora, and you pay very little for the privilege. I didn’t see the Earl of Wellborne last night. Why didn’t he come to the ball?’
‘I’ve finished with him,’ said Flora. ‘He’s so stingy. There are rumours that he’s going bankrupt.’
‘I will not have a spiteful whore in my house. I want you to leave.’
Flora looked stunned. ‘Leave?’ she said. ‘Tish tosh! You don’t mean it.’
‘I was told,’ said Queenie, ‘that the Earl of Wellborne has found himself a younger courtesan, one who doesn’t ridicule him and spend his money on frippery and presents for her other lovers.’
‘You know I will take my clients with me,’ said Flora.
‘You will leave today,’ said Queenie.
Flora gathered her words together and spat them out with force. ‘You old bitch!’
Queenie stood. An unreadable smile crossed her lips, one that belied what came next. She went to Flora and slapped her across the face.
‘You should have more care to the company you keep. You near put the whole of my enterprise in jeopardy last night by inviting Victor Wrattan. What your game is I don’t know, but it’s fortunate for you that Ned and Mr Fitzjohn intervened. Mr Pouch has your bill ready. Good day.’
Flora stormed out of the drawing room, knocking over a small table and shattering a figurine.
‘That goes on your bill,’ called Queenie, coming out to the hall as Flora flounced up the stairs. ‘Ah, Tully, there you are. Come in, my dear.’
I followed her into the drawing room and stood as far from Bethany as I could.
‘I didn’t know,’ said Bethany. ‘Honestly, I didn’t know she had invited Victor Wrattan or I would have said something.’
‘Lord Barbeau,’ said Queenie, not taking her eyes off her, ‘is a man I respect. He has stood by Kitty but has been publicly humiliated by her once too often.’
‘According to Kitty, he can no longer keep his maypole up,’ said Bethany. ‘It dances at half-cock and it’s not her fault if she needs more satisfaction.’
‘If every man in England could rise to the occasion,’ said Queenie, ‘and every women was pleased to greet him, then our profession would be redundant. Watch your step, my gal, you’ve already tripped once. Do it again and you’re out.’
I moved to let Bethany pass.
‘You are a witch,’ she hissed at me. ‘And you can go to the devil.’
‘Sit down, Tully,’ said Queenie when Bethany had gone. ‘I’m very pleased with you, my dear. It seems you enchanted Lord Barbeau and he has quite set his mind on you. It may feel sudden, but this is the way the world of pleasure turns. He has asked that, if his garden is to your liking, he might take you to Bath.’
‘Bath?’ I said. ‘You mean, leave the fairy house?’
‘After what happened here last night, Tully, I realise I cannot guarantee your safety. It would be better for you to be under the protection of a man who Mr Wrattan and Captain Spiggot would never have the gall to cross.’
The small table was spinning and all the pieces of broken china floated before me an unresolved puzzle.
‘The table, Tully,’ said Mr Crease, limping into the drawing room.
I became aware of what I was doing and righted the table.
‘And the figurine?’’
I closed my eyes and willed it to be one. When I opened them again the unbroken figurine was in its place on the table.
Mr Crease had his painted eyelids on me. ‘I wonder who your father was,’ he said, with a rare smile.
Queenie examined the figurine. ‘Not a chip on it,’ she said. ‘I will miss you, Tully.’
‘Bethany won’t,’ I said, and immediately regretted how childish it sounded.
‘You are just starting out on your journey. The others, they know how the circle goes. They also know that as time passes the circle becomes smaller and smaller.’
‘That’s what I adore about you, my love,’ said Mr Crease. ‘You are a philosopher, as well as the best bawdy-house keeper in the metropolis.’
The next morning, dressed in the finest gown that the fairy house had to offer, with silk stockings and silk shoes upon her feet and the prettiest of hats perched upon her head, this reluctant whore set out to see a garden.