Nero's Fiddle (9 page)

ummer warmth filled the study and the elderly tutor at last succumbed and slumped over his desk, fast asleep. The soft snores rose and mingled with the drone of the bumblebees surrounding the lavender outside the window.

Nan set down her pen and crept out the room. Free at last from her lessons, she escaped and went in search of her best friend. She dashed down the servant’s stairway to avoid meeting her mother on the main stairs. Her feet ached to run across the meadow, not mince in the ballroom to the latest dance. She burst into the sunlight and paused to take a deep breath of fresh air after so long in the stuffy nursery. Rounding the side of the house, she heard Nessy’s laughter ring out in the courtyard.

Curiosity aroused, she sneaked toward the stables and peered around the side of the old stone barn. Her constant companion stood chatting with the stable boy, Roger. Tall, lanky, and handsome, the stable lad was nearly eighteen. Nan had decided he would be the one, her first kiss, if she could only work up the courage to broach the subject. He never showed any interest in her, despite her persistence and constant presence in the stables.
Such a gentleman, worried about my reputation
.

He displayed no such reservations with Nessy. The two stood so close their arms brushed as they talked. His skin darkened by the sun, Nessy as pale as moonlight. The intimacy kept Nan hidden in the shadow, even as it grated that flirting came naturally to her friend. It wasn’t fair, no one worried if the common girl talked with the stable boys or gardening lads. She even practiced on the tinker pedalling his clockwork devices. Nan was wrapped in protective layers and barely allowed to say a word to anyone. Some days, she was convinced she lived in a glass bell jar and, scream as loud as she might, no one ever heard a whisper from her lips.

Roger couldn’t tear his eyes from his buxom companion. With the arrival of spring, her figure blossomed in all the right places, giving her petite frame curves and enticingly rounded parts.

Nan glanced down at her own body. Tall and slender, the advance of puberty gave her only straight lines and awkward angles. Even her corset failed at its job, making her torso more rectangular, like the books she carried everywhere.

Nessy tapped his forearm as she said something. He laughed aloud. Then his head lowered, one hand resting on Nessy’s hip, large fingers pulling her smaller body even closer.

A cold lump settled in Nan’s stomach. She liked Roger, Nessy knew that, why was her friend flirting with him? They had spent countless afternoons talking about him, especially when the warmer weather meant he removed his shirt to muck out the stalls and strap the horses. They both hid in the hay loft, peering down as he worked. They watched the movement of muscles under his taut brown skin. They traded whispers about what it would be like to run a finger along sweat-slick flesh.

Nan watched as Nessy tilted her head to stare up at Roger, the two youths lost in their own world. Nan bit back a squeal as he placed a finger under Nessy’s chin.

He’s going to kiss her. How could she! The trollop.

Nan had declared her intent for Roger to bestow her first kiss and now she couldn’t believe what played out before her. Right there, in the yard, that little blonde hussy with the bosom was about to be kissed first.

His head dropped lower and his sun-roughened lips covered small pink ones. Large arms wrapped around Nessy and pressed her to his chest. One hand ran up her back to tangle in long locks, holding her head in place.

With a sob, Nan picked up the corner of her skirt and ran all the way to the orchard. She threw herself on the grass. Tears welled up in her eyes and she blinked them away. She liked Roger. It wasn’t fair. Nessy was supposed to be her friend, but she had thrown herself at him. How could he refuse when she thrust herself at him?

Betrayal wound through her heart, squeezing the delicate organ. One cry after another built in her chest. She pulled at the front busks of her corset, trying to loosen the grip around her torso but gave up, the lacing too tight at the back and beyond the reach of her fingers. Sobs came in shallow gasps and tears rolled down her face. She tore up frustrated handfuls of grass and threw them away.

Through narrowed eyes, she watched fluffy clouds drift overhead as sparrows flitted in and out of the foliage, feasting on the ripe fruit. Nature ignored her pain and the glorious day continued unmarred. It wasn’t fair, life hated her.

It should rain. I am broken. Why does the sky not cry with me?

“There you are!” a breathless voice exclaimed. Nessy dropped on the grass and leaned against the trunk of the apple tree. “I have something to tell you.”

“Let me guess, you are madly in love with Liam and the two of you are going to marry and move into the pig sty?” Nan muttered, without bothering to sit up. She wiped a hand over her cheek, swiping away the tears.

Nessy frowned. “I thought you had your sights set on Liam. Or have you changed your mind?”

Nan pushed up on her elbows, to find an easier pose to glare at her friend. “What hope do I have now? I saw you kissing him.” Another tear dangled from the edge of her lashes, waiting for a chance to roll away.

“I did no such thing!” Nessy punched her in the arm. “He grabbed my hair, slobbered all over me, and when I wriggled free, I slapped him. Anyway, he’s not interested in me. His eyes never met mine once, he just kept staring at my titties.” She looked down at her emerging bosom, as though wondering what about the new appendages generated such rampant interest in boys. She placed a hand under each and stared at them.

“They are hard to miss,” Nan said and then burst into giggles. Her friend resembled the succulent apples, while she looked more like the branch they hung off.

“I would give them to you if I could, honest.” Nessy’s lower lip drooped and then quivered a little. “Please don’t be mad at me. I didn’t ask for them, I pray nightly that your chest will erupt. Maybe it’s all that scrubbing they make me do while you have lessons? I think using my arms so much made my dumplings grow, like extra muscle.”

Nan considered her friend’s words. She knew her mother set Nessy to help the maids while she was trapped learning French, history, and mathematics. Her attention fell on Nessy’s chipped nails, red fingers, and emerging calluses.

Was a bigger bosom worth ruining her hands? She held up her long tapered fingers and white nails. Would she trade her silken skin for something rounded and soft to press into Roger’s palm?
Perhaps, for a chance to touch his lips?

She needed more information before she traded dance lessons for scrubbing the hallway. “Did you like it when he kissed you?”

Nessy looked thoughtful for a moment. “It was kind of nice, but his lips are quite rough. Like they are sunburnt from being outside all the time and they were scratchy. Then he stuck his tongue down my throat, and I swear I tasted horse manure.”

A giggle burst from Nan, her decision made. “Eww!” She had no desire to learn what horse manure tasted like. She would stick to dance class and hope nature woke up and did something about her lack of a figure.

“I bet he licks the horses.” Nessy stuck a finger in her mouth and ran it along her tongue. She pulled it out and frowned at the digit. “Look, horse hair.” She held up the finger to show the coarse hair lying over the tip.

Nan shuddered; Nessy had sacrificed herself, saving her from that horror. Perhaps she should stick with noble boys, who wouldn’t taste of their beasts or shed in her mouth. “Do you like him? I promise I won’t mind if you do, you can have him.” It was the least she could offer as her friend picked another hair from the corner of her lip.

“Oh, no! Not after the way he treated me. He tried to put his hand down my dress and squeeze my boob. I told him that wasn’t appropriate; I am her ladyship’s companion after all, not some common trollop.” She gave a wink.

Nan laughed; there was no betrayal to break her heart. Nessy had shown Roger for what he was, a boy trying to get his hand under a girl’s skirt. Reaching up, she pulled a tortoise shell comb from her hair. With her thumbs in the middle, she snapped it into two pieces and then placed one in Nessy’s hand. “Let’s make a promise, that we will always be friends. No matter what. No boy will ever come between us. We are two halves, like this comb, complete only when they are together.”

Nessy stared at the delicate comb and then nestled it within her pale tresses. “I will keep it as a constant reminder of our friendship. Pinky swear?” She held up her little finger.

The girls linked fingers. “Friends, forever, no matter what,” they said in unison.

London, Saturday 4
^th
January, 1862

nspector Fraser worked through Christmas, preferring to spend his time buried in his case files rather than eating turkey. Connor invited him to his family’s festive dinner, but he declined. Those who are blessed during the holidays are unable to see how their offer of inclusivity only highlights the outsider’s separation. Being alone amongst others was like lying on the bottom of a frozen lake and staring up at events through thick ice. He could watch the touches between husband and wife, hear the laughter of happy children, but he would never be a part of it. Far better to be alone on your own than have each second in company carve a reminder into your skin.

He heaved a sigh and stared at his nemesis sitting to one side on his desk. Fate decreed the mug of tea would forever stand undrunk. Or so it seemed as every time he stretched out his hand in the mug’s direction, someone barged through his door and demanded a slice of his precious attention. Reports needed signing, criminals needed his casual approach, and his Super wanted his opinion on what to wear for his reunion mess dinner.

All I want is a cup of tea and a biscuit.
A ripple through his body reminded him of other, more primal needs and he remembered Lilith calling his name from the darkened alley.
Perhaps slightly more than a cup of tea.

Sergeant Connor’s heavy boots shook the landing and caused ripples on the fluid in the cup moments before his body squeezed into the crowded office. Papers, reports, and photographs fought for space and attention. A large board covered one wall and held scribblings of names, places, and dates connected with arrows and question marks as Fraser worked visually on a number of cases.