Avalon Revamped (6 page)

This man spoke nonsense. “Indeed.”

“But even now, sir. The view of Sacre Coeur et Notre Dame along The Seine, all gaslit for the holidays. It will be quite lovely, indeed. I understand we shall be landing on L’esplanade des Invalides for an overnight stay. Perhaps we could land on Champ de Mars while it’s still possible.”

“Oh, Baron. Do you think we will see Champs Elysees from the air?”

“No doubt, my dear. No doubt! Yes, Le Champs-Elysees, another sight to see in the future. Another beautiful sight. Not to mention the scandalous Moulin Rouge. All yet to be seen, my dears.”

“Perhaps the good Mr. Blackwolf would make a special stop at Bedlum upon our return to London, Baron. Good evening, all. Please excuse us. Emily. Mrs. Rosengarten.” My voice softened for the last, of course, and not by mistake. “We shall see you all over Paris.”

“How rude.” Avalon chided when we had left earshot.

“Please, Avalon, time travel? The man was quite obviously daft.”

“There was still no need to be so impolite, Arthur. Really, what has gotten into you lately?”

The problem was the other way around, I hadn’t gotten into enough ladies lately. That would change quite soon. “Apologies, my dear. I’m quite sure I don’t know. Ah! Here is more wine, let us toast us. Always, my love. You and me together, forever.”

In the meantime, I looked forward to cornering Mrs. Rosengarten in some dark shadows on the dirigible. Yes, indeed.

CONSTANCE

“Not here,” he said, disguising the words as a harsh cough belched from the side of his mouth as I approached him standing near the sculpted marble fireplace, talking with a group of men. The great W. D. McFerret, too good, or too afraid, rather, to be seen with me at this opulent gala, turned from me and laughed heartily, clamping his black cigarette holder between his teeth, which only served to accentuate his unfortunate jaw. The great coward squeezed his eye around his monocle and said, “Excuse me, gentlemen,” then joined in with a new group of revelers standing near the three tiered Christmas trees, each a perfect height to complement the other two, decorated with gold bows and red berries. Their opulence added to the overall splendor of the Pearson’s parlour. Teal walls with golden trim framed frescoes of frolicking cherubs which, in turn, echoed the ornate carvings in the marble mantle, topped with poinsettias and winter foliage.

As I made pleasantries with a few people standing near the great grandfather clock set in an alcove, William Daniel McFerret shot a petty glare in my direction for the slightest moment for daring to be in the same room as he before masking his face again in revelry and charm.

Yes. Fear. Since his wife was amongst the partygoers, somewhere. Poor woman, likely had no idea.

They rarely did.

I held my head up high, excused myself from the conversation, and returned to the ballroom, curtsying to the first kind-looking gentleman I saw. He promptly asked me to dance, and I accepted. After all, this was a ball, and I was in such a pretty green gown. The beads of my black choker matched the handiwork down the front, and my supposed lover couldn’t even look at me out of his cowardice. Nothing improper had happened with Willie yet, nothing like that, but he was certainly laying the groundwork with the intention of taking the title of lover soon enough. Absurd that he wouldn’t speak to me here. It only made him look more guilty, but then, he wasn’t as smart as he pretended to be.

They rarely were.

“Baron Vincent Von Rictus Baine,” the man with whom I danced introduced himself as he turned me with the music. Beethoven, I believed. My favorite.

“Miss Charlotte Sopha,” I said, introducing my current persona.

“Miss Sopha, thank you for doing me the honor of this dance.”

“It is my pleasure, Baron.” We spoke little as he spun me around the dance floor. A perfect gentleman. Not a single one of my internal warnings went off while dancing with him, for after so much experience, I could smell a scoundrel. Sense him deep inside. I had no doubt that this Baron was one of the very few good ones, as they say. And it was, indeed, a pleasure to dance with him. Once the song was over, the gentleman bowed and bid me a good night, just as a proper gentleman should.

On the other hand, there was that braggart.

William D. McFerret belched a boisterous laugh as he entered the ballroom, causing others to turn around and stare. Americans.

He had instructed me to meet him at a pub after the ball. A dark and dank one, no doubt. I was almost certain I knew what he would have to say. One could predict such things after all. There were types, and after so many centuries, I could tell with near certainty on the first meeting. In five hundred years, I’d only been mistaken once, as I said. It was in the early days, when I hadn’t yet honed my empathic abilities, nor the supernatural gifts afforded me. No, I didn’t make such mistakes anymore.

Willie was a coward, through and through, but one that was so very full of himself that he saw near nothing else besides his overly large head, or, in this one’s case, jaw. He was broken inside, fractured into nothingness, which was likely what he feared the most: that others would see into this void. Still, it didn’t excuse hurting others. None whatsoever.

Just as I was about to make my way into the library for a rest, a tall, lanky man tripped and spilled his wine all over the front of my gown. It was none other than Doctor Nesbitt.

“My dress!”

“So sorry,” he slurred from beneath his black mustache, pointing straight out on either side. The amount of wax necessary for such a comical display had left flakes of yellow here and there from where it had cracked apart. His sunken black-rimmed, tea-colored eyes molested me as they took in every curve of my body and fold of my gown. He switched his pipe from one side of his mouth to the other. Grabbing the brim, he tipped his blackened helmet and nearly dropped it on the floor. Stringy black hair slipped from its single black ribbon and dangled in front of his sallow face, clinging to his bushy jaw. After fumbling with the hat for a few seconds, he plopped it back onto his head. “Do let me get that for you.” Dragging his hands down the front of my dress, he wiped away the wine, more than grazing my breasts. He fondled me then and there, unapologetically, in front of all of London’s elite.

“I beg your pardon, sir!” I tried to move away, but he held me in place with one hand and continued the pretense of wiping off my dress, slowly, with the other. Fortunately, my recent dance partner, the Baron, saved me by taking the offensive man away.

The doctor didn’t go with grace. He spat and cursed and demanded to be left alone to attend to his most unfortunate blunder, but the soft-spoken and kind Baron whispered something about promising opium. The doctor’s eyes lit up, and he said, “Well go get it, man! I’ll wait over there. Chop! Chop!”

Such revolting behavior. Still, intrigued at these drunken public displays, I kept just outside of this bizarre man’s peripheral view to see what I could. I was rather amazed to see the number of women who approached him, but none of them stayed too long.

Understandably.

§

"I so enjoyed your lecture the other night on big game hunting on the continent, Doctor. Such a delight, as usual,” the first one said.

"It is you who are the delight, my lovely.”

"Oh, my. Can we expect more tales from the continent this weekend?”

“And more dancing, too, Doctor? Perhaps you would dance with me?” the second asked.

“Yes. Yes, of course, my sweet dumpling. My, aren’t you delicious.” His salacious glare trailed from her head down to the bottom ruffle of her dress, and then back up again. He licked his lips and stroked his mustache on either side.

“Well. I'm about to join my husband for a cup of tea, so..."

“Yes! Murky delight! Deep and intense, just the way I like it. Deep. With sugar, so there is a touch of sweetness as well. It is rather grand. Yes, indeed! And I like you, madam. I do, I do. Would you fancy a romp, dear lady?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Now. Don't act so surprised. I've seen the way you look at me. Besides, you wanted to dance,” the doctor adjusted himself and licked his lips again, not even hiding the fact that his lustful eyes focused on the lady's bosom. "Let's not play charades, shall we? We could steal away for half an hour. Behind the bushes, perhaps? I'll be quick. Quick and deep. Deep!” He thrust his hips toward the woman in the most lewd and scandalous manner.

"Well!" She fanned herself wildly and turned away, walking quickly toward her husband, who gave a rather cross look back in the professor’s direction.

Doctor Nesbitt downed a new drink with one hand while trading his empty glass for another full one as the waiter passed. "It's not the best wine, but it will do," he said to himself, then slammed that one back, too. His step faltered as he walked toward the next passing waiter, but a group of young women stopped him.

"Excuse me, Doctor. I found your lecture last evening simply brilliant. You, sir, are brilliant. A professor, doctor, and an explorer. How exciting! Not to mention your gift of laughter to us all. Impressive, sir. On top of your travels and scholarly work. Quite impressive, indeed."

"Thank you, dear ladies," he replied bowing to them, stumbling. "Have you come all on your own?" 

"Are you suggesting impropriety?" The boldest one of the group crossed her arms ready for a fight but was presently hushed by the other two.

"Forgive my cousin, Doctor. She has had a rather unfortunate experience that has left her suspicious of all men. I assured her that you were nothing like that, so charming and witty. So intelligent and worldly.”

“Yes, indeed! I am a gentleman, after all. I should never do anything to be considered improper. Certainly not! Never, my dear ladies.”

"That is quite a relief, but I thought nothing else."

"So, are you ladies here all alone? There will be an exclusive gathering later this evening, and I'd like to invite you to join me there."

"Oh! Exclusive, sir! With you, sir? We should be honored to attend. Where is this gathering?"

"It is private and very hush-hush, you see. Mustn't step on any toes, as there are only room for so many. Only a very privileged few will be able to join me in the celebration, and I would be so very delighted to have you ladies join me. Certainly, you three must be the prettiest lovelies at this entire gathering." He moved off to the side out of earshot of those standing near, except for me, and motioned for the three young women to join him. Two of them giggled and bounced over near him, but the third remained wary. Still, she didn't lag far behind her cousins.

"Where is this celebration, sir? Do tell, and we shan't tell a soul."

"Shhhh," he whispered, looking around conspiratorially, "It's getting fuller by the second, ladies."

"Getting fuller, sir?"

"Yes, there will soon only be room for two of you."

His rank breath filled the air around them, not only for the sour looks on their faces as they tried to politely back away, but I could smell it from my position as well. He bent low, forcing the girls to bend over to hear him. Their mounding breasts peeked over their bodices, supple and sweet, ready for the picking, or the licking, as he'd have it. 

"Come closer and give me your hand. I'll show you."

A look of disgust overcame the bolder cousin; she turned and strode away, but the other two eagerly put out their hands, no doubt thinking he would lead them to the festivities. Instead, he grabbed their proffered hands and placed them over the growing bulge in his trousers. They chirped a stifled scream and snatched their hands back before chasing after their wiser cousin.

He straightened up, nonchalant, as if they had all just finished with pleasantries and joined a group of people laughing and talking loudly.
 

I had heard such rumors of him, but now I was sure. Ripe for a lesson, this one was, but not tonight. Another venture for another time.

My dance card was getting rather full.

§

After the ball, I caught a hansom in Brompton and instructed the driver to take me to the address scribbled on the piece of paper Willie had slipped me in passing at the ball. He thought he was so clever and stealthy, but I found the entire thing ridiculous. Although, he did have it down, these surreptitious dalliances of his. No, this was not the first time he’d done this, but it shall be the last.

The Mitre Tavern, across town near Hatton Garden, turned out. It would take no less than half an hour to get there by carriage, but it was a nice evening after all, albeit cold. I sat back and let the clattering of the wheels over the cobblestones lull me into a kind of peace. It gave me time to think about Doctor Nesbitt. Truly a revolting specimen, was he not? I had heard tales of impropriety with his students and, well, obviously any other woman who admired him, or not. Really, any woman within his reach. He used his position of moderate celebrity and position in society to do what he would. He had a wife and three young children over in Oxford, but he spent much time away from the university, frequenting London for additional lectures and the like. He was reportedly here so much, he had set up a residence and laboratory for himself. It allowed him to keep things from his wife, and she none the wiser. I thought of the poor woman, at home alone with three youngsters while he was out doing what he did. She was much younger than he was, no doubt. They usually were. So young, and her life now set, trapped with this salacious man, unable to escape under the rules of society, not without being shunned and ridiculed and labeled a harlot. Women ended up in Bedlam for less. So, yes, she was a prisoner with no hope of escape.

Well, none before now.

I would set her free.

But how best to get close to the Doctor? Student, perhaps. Indeed, a student from abroad. Although that would take so much time for preparation. Plus, how tiresome to go through all the bureaucracy of university. A maid, perhaps. Hmmmm. I should think on it some more before committing to a plan. After all, there was still Mr. McFerret to attend to. Another who used his position and growing celebrity to exploit and destroy.

Not for long.

I had made it quite clear to him that I was not, or rather, Charlotte was not, in the least bit interested in impropriety. Our relationship was strictly professional. His pretense was that he wanted to help promising women writers break into journalism in an altogether male-dominated society. It was scandalous, and so, he had said, we must keep it under wraps for the time being. I would pass him articles written under a male pseudonym. When the editor loved my work, we would reveal my gender, in secret, so as not to cause an outrage. Then, only
The Times
would learn the truth.