So, with the death of Lord B, a new chapter of my life began.
Queenie was in the rookery with Mr Crease when I arrived at the fairy house and, seeing me, they rose as one. Mr Crease bowed, the striped fabric of his coat swirling about him. He closed his eyes so that his painted ones might see me all the better.
‘What was I telling you?’ he said to Queenie. ‘And I was right.’ I could only suppose that I had been a topic of conversation. Not bothering to explain the meaning of the sentence he carried on, ‘You look remarkable, Tully: your complexion, your style, have a wit and gravitas that is much to be admired.’
All the while, Queenie was summing up my assets and, finding that they amounted to a lot more than they had done when I left, came to greet me.
‘And I told you,’ she said to Mr Crease, ‘that Tully Truegood was going to be a beauty and I was right.’ She paused a moment as if she had just seen a speck of dust in my eye that worried her. ‘You haven’t become puritanical in your grief, have you?’
There it was again: the old harsh Queenie, the voice that brokered no arguments. This was a whorehouse and I would be a fool to forget it.
‘My circumstances wouldn’t allow me to,’ I said.
She waved her hand as if brushing such unpleasant thoughts aside, and said, ‘Lord Barbeau never bothered to teach Kitty Lay anything as far as I can tell. She remains, alas, as empty-headed as a bird’s nest. You must have meant a lot to him.’
I nodded and said, ‘I loved him, too.’
Queenie put her arms about me and kissed me on the cheek. ‘A diamond in your heart, that’s what his memory will be, to give you courage whenever you need it.’
I looked over her shoulder to where Pretty Poppet stood and thought that the girl was like a shard of glass in Queenie’s heart, jagged and relentless.
Queenie returned to the safety of her chair, in fear, no doubt, that another uncontrolled emotion might inconveniently slip from her.
‘You haven’t come back a day too soon,’ she said. ‘Not a day. Bethany has as good as meddled with a hornets’ nest and now we have a swarm buzzing about our ears.’
‘Excuse me,’ I said, ‘what are you talking about?’
‘My love,’ said Mr Crease to Queenie, ‘Tully knows nothing of this scandalous contest. But used to our advantage, it could bring about a meteoric rise in the career of a certain beauty that is standing before us. I hear the jingle-jangle of coins. Money, Mrs Gibbs, the shit of life.’
‘Enough of this nonsense,’ I said. ‘Kindly explain yourselves.’
Mr Crease laughed. ‘Listen to that, madam. There is the voice of authority where before there was only the bleating of a lamb.’
‘Oh, be still,’ said Queenie and sighed. ‘Let me explain. Bethany, in what I can only suppose was misplaced wisdom, told her spark, a dull man by the name of Mr Spencer, that Mrs Coker had given you a pearl hand. Mr Spencer has a great weakness for gambling and he immediately bet Bethany five hundred pounds that Kitty’s was still the only hand in the business worth mentioning. Like a complete idiot, Bethany took him up on the gamble. She can ill afford to lose five hundred pounds and I can ill afford unwanted tittle-tattle. Nevertheless, it was agreed that the contest would be held the day after you returned, when the thing could be proven once and for all.’
I laughed. ‘And how are we to prove this?’
‘Kitty has set down that the number of strokes necessary to bring a man to that delicate point is fifteen. If you have a pearl hand, you should be able to make a man reach the same melting moment just by resting it on his truncheon. And that is all you will be allowed to do.’
‘Oh, feathers and dust,’ I said. ‘That’s near on imp – ’ I saw the look on Mr Crease’s face and stopped. ‘I have never managed such a thing. Cannot this folly be put off a little longer?’
‘I think not,’ said Mr Crease. ‘The sooner this business is out of the way the better. I suggest tomorrow night.’
It made me smile to think what Lord B would say to such idiocy.
‘Nous nageons dans un flot futile,’ I said.
‘French!’ said Queenie. ‘You speak French?’
‘Un peu,’ I said.
That first night in the fairy house, Hope and Mercy were both away and Bethany, knowing the trouble she was in, contrived to be absent when she heard I was back. I wondered how I might prepare for such foolishness and in the end decided to concentrate on my looks, for they would play the greater part in this exercise. Signor Florentini spent near the entire afternoon attending to every little hair and, when finally I was dressed, Queenie came to give her opinion on my appearance.
‘Most à la mode,’ she said. ‘Though is not the kerchief unnecessarily modest?’
‘No,’ I said.
‘Tully, we are not in Bath. This,’ said Queenie, taking it away so that my nipples were on display, ‘is far more what the occasion requires.’
My maid declared that the gentleman’s heart would melt.
‘I hope not just his heart,’ said Queenie, dismissing her.
I looked in the glass and added some powder to my neck and breasts.
‘There is, my beauty,’ said Queenie, ‘a rather special visitor here tonight for the first time. He heard of you in Bath and has a great desire to meet you.’
Sensing that I was not overjoyed at the prospect, she added, ‘He has the way, withal, to elevate you in the world.’
For the purposes of my narrative, this gentleman will be known only as the Duke of H, for he was related to the royal family and the last thing anyone would want is that they be brought into this scandalous affair.
I had a feeling that Queenie had already negotiated my services. She patted my hand. ‘Of course, Tully, you will meet him first and then make your decision. But I must remind you that without a protector you are far more vulnerable to the attentions of Captain Spiggot.’
The drawing room was to be used for the contest and a small stage had been constructed so that everyone there would be able to judge the competition for themselves.
I told Mr Pouch to call for me after Kitty had arrived.
By nine o’clock there was quite a crowd and the atmosphere was most jolly. I watched, unseen, from an anteroom as champagne flowed, much to the delight of Queenie’s regular guests and those who were there for the first time. There was a carnival atmosphere about the place – I had almost forgotten how lush and loose these soirées were. Voices rose and fell then swirled again on a wave of wit and a splash of drink. The discussion centred on who the two gentlemen should be and those who supported Bethany strongly disputed that either of the participants should ever have enjoyed Kitty’s services.
‘That doesn’t leave us much choice,’ said one gentleman. ‘Who here hasn’t known that wondrous hand of hers?’
Finally, two gentlemen stepped forth. Both swore on the Harris List that they had never had the privilege of knowing Kitty’s palm. There was a general agreement that the two libertines were good for the sport and both were more than willing for their appendages to be used to settle this most unusual of bets.
‘The one to the left,’ whispered Queenie to me, ‘is the Duke of H.’
He was about five and thirty, with babyish features that age would not be kind to. In truth, I was not taken with the Duke of H, and I doubted that I ever would be.
Kitty was already on the stage, dressed in a garish costume and with too much rouge upon her cheeks. She lifted a glass of champagne high and then drank to the company. There was no doubt that the gamblers in the room had already decided the winner was a foregone conclusion.
‘This,’ she said, waving her hand, ‘as many a gentleman here could testify, is my speciality, and any of you who are fool enough to believe that a cheap actress is able to endow a tart with a pearl hand is a real lobcock.’
There was raucous laughter and I wished that there was no need for this trite piece of theatre.
Mr Crease, who was acting as Master of Ceremonies announced, ‘The one and only Miss Tully Truegood,’ and it was then that I made my entrance. Kitty stared at me aghast. ‘You are Tully?’ she said.
Everyone had turned round and Hope, seeing me for the first time in a year, rushed up and gave me a kiss.
‘Oh, my ninny-not – look at you!’
Mercy led the clapping as I took my place on the stage.
The two volunteers came up and were greeted by whooping and cheers.
Mr Crease put a screen between the two gentlemen so neither would receive any additional stimulation. He banged a gong, the gentleman on the right undid his breeches, his weapon already hard, well inflamed by the thought of what was to come. Kitty, with a pride that had to be admired, went vigorously to work. After what I took to be fifteen strokes, there was a sigh, and Mr Crease announced, to more cheers, that the point been achieved. Kitty stood and announced herself the winner, but Mr Crease declared that I was yet to play my part.
While Kitty had been employing her overused hand, I had taken the opportunity to look my gentleman in the eye. He was no more handsome close to than he was from a distance, puffy of skin, with more than a glimmer of arrogance about him, and I could see that he did not believe in such a thing as a pearl hand. He undid his breeches, seemingly proud of the fact that his weapon had not been so easily moved. The more I looked at him, the more I knew I had him, all of him. I saw him rising, could feel his cock yearning to be touched, just once. Still I kept my eyes locked upon him until the laughter had gone from them and something more animal, more essential had taken its place, and I knew he could not hold out any longer. It was then that I rested my hand upon that quivering engine. He let out a gasp of surprise and an arc of fluid that proved more sufficiently than anything else who the outright winner was.
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.