The Pleasure Merchant (31 page)

“You should, you really should,” she said so earnestly. “I’m very comfortable as Mr. Blythe’s apprentice. But what about you? You were thinking of getting your old apprenticeship back. You likely need the money more than me. Shouldn’t you keep it?”

“Mr. Bewit, he, ah, he left me something, as well,” Tom promised her, wondering why the room felt so damned close all of a sudden.

“
Something
doesn’t sound like much. Please, Tom, do take half—or at least
some
—”

“No!” he cried, mortified by her generosity. As she stared at him, he told himself to calm down; keep it together. After all—if he had handed over the full seven thousand pounds, she would have made the same offer, and he would have ended up with something like same amount in the end. So, everything was all right. Still, black stars danced behind his eyes. He wondered if he might faint.

“Tom?”

“It is… your money, Miss Rasa. As I said, it was meant for your independence.” He smiled, but it was an effort to move the muscles of his mouth.

“Are you quite all right, Tom?”

“The wine, I…”

“Of course,” she said, almost manically animated after her earlier reserve. “Let’s get you a cab—do you have lodgings? Goodness, I have been so selfish, asking all these questions about myself but none about you and your situation. Do you have somewhere to live? Anyone to look after you?”

“I’m fine,” he gasped, as he left a guinea on the table, far more than was needed, and let her see him to the door. “Everything is… already arranged, but I thank you.”

“Good.” She ushered him through the now-empty tavern and into the street. Fortunately it wasn’t so late that the cab-drivers had gone home, and she put him into one directly. “Tomorrow, then. You
will
come, won’t you? Oh, Tom! You’ve given me… something no one ever has.” She kissed him on the cheek, confusing him further. “You dear boy! You realize that, don’t you? You’ve told me more of myself than I have ever known—ever hoped to know!”

He could only gasp; he had not enough breath to protest either his generosity or his being ‘a dear boy.’

“And you’ll see about Mr. Blythe when you meet him, I promise. He’s a good man, very kind, and very wise. Why, it was he who convinced me to come and see you again tonight, do you know that? Oh, I have so much to tell him! I must go… he might yet be awake…”

Tom watched her go, unable to call, unable to do more than gasp his address to the cab-driver. It was fully an hour after returning home that he felt like himself again, and only with the aid of half a bottle of brandy and the promise of a hot bath.

As he waited for his bleary-eyed maid to finish filling the tub, he ruminated drunkenly upon the wide-eyed look of incredulity on Tabula’s face when he had told her who she was; the vulnerability in her expression as she’d realized her birth name was familiar; the obvious pleasure she’d felt when he’d promised to introduce her to Hallux Dryden. It made him feel… powerful. The sensation was intoxicating. Exciting.
Arousing
.

Tomorrow
. He stretched in his chair, draining his brandy, feeling rather like a lord. He would see her again tomorrow. And
she
had asked to see
him
. She had invited him to her home—to meet her strange, enigmatic master, the man that had so bewitched her that she saw no reason to leave his service, even after coming into possession of five thousand pounds.

His bath ready, Tom undressed and slipped into the warm water, remembering her face, her profile with that strange white makeup and rouge on her cheek, her bosom as it heaved while she spoke. She was so lovely—lovely and intelligent and generous. A girl like that, working for a man like Mr. Blythe! It was rather like harnessing a unicorn to an ox-cart.

Well, he would just have to free her, show her what her life could be. He understood her anxiety—it was not easy for an apprentice to leave a master. But she could do it—he had done it. Yes, he would take Miss Tabula Rasa away from her troubles… and then take her for his own.

It was late by the time I returned home. Mr. Blythe had retired, and as no light seeped from under his door I did not knock. I was disappointed—I wished to tell him all Tom had told me—but I was not surprised. Neither of us minded a late night, or several, but an evening off usually meant a dinner at home, a glass of port, a good book, and an early bedtime. If this surprises you, remember that pleasures can be quite simple.

With no confidante to confide in, I too went to bed… but sleep eluded me. I suppose it is not terribly astonishing that I tossed and turned, even after idling over my toilette. I had much on my mind.

Alula Bewit.
That had been my name. I had been a gentleman’s daughter—a happy one, to hear Tom’s account. I had been loved by my father, and by a cousin who had tried to woo me, in a romance that had led to my total loss of self. Tom had had his doubts, but I felt this part, too, was true, even if I did not remember it… but to think on it too long made my head ache.

How odd that sensation, of knowing but not remembering! It saddened me that I could make myself feel nothing over my father’s death—but I did not remember him, so I could not love him. I could only regret a lost opportunity, for we might have met. If Mangum Blythe had introduced us, how extraordinary that would have been! Surely my father would have called me by my name, and I would have known it… but not known him.

As for Hallux Dryden, when Tom had spoken of him—of his ability to entrance people, and manipulate their minds—
then
, I had felt…
something
, something almost physical, something that lurked in the bottom of my stomach, heavy like a stone and just as silent.
Dread
. What did I know about him, without remembering it?

I would uncover it all, in time—
that
, at least, I was certain of. I would never be able to ask my father why he had abandoned me, but I could talk to Hallux Dryden, and I would. When we met, I would make him tell me what he knew of my estrangement from my family—if he had had a hand in it, or if it had really been a terrible fever, and a father’s worry that he could no longer care for his child.

That night, I was curious—profoundly so—but I wasn’t angry. As I could not recall anything from before my time at the Foundling Hospital, I felt no sense of loss over those absent years. All I knew for certain was that I had been happy almost since the moment I returned to my senses.

***

I had been only a month at the Foundling Hospital when Mrs. Dolhan, the head nurse, came in to the kitchen one morning. She told me to stop washing dishes, and go wash myself instead, and to put on my Sunday dress.

“Why?” I asked, much to the surprise of the other girls.

For that, I received a slap to the mouth. Not a hard one, but sharp enough to remind me that my lot as an orphan was not to ask
why
about anything. I had been slapped before; I should have known not to ask—but I couldn’t help it. I have always been curious.

A handful of other girls had also been relieved of their duties and sent to make themselves smart, but none of them had any idea what was going on, either. Some of the girls who had been there longer said that sometimes private individuals in need of a servant came to the Foundling Hospital instead of putting an advertisement in the papers. Once I thought about it, it seemed strange that more of us weren’t snapped up by charity-minded Christians in need of a little extra help. Girls at the orphanage were trained to do all kinds of housework, from scrubbing floors to mending shirts, and the boys to do many kinds of useful tasks, too, and I said as much.

“Oh, well, they don’t want the responsibility,” whispered Rebecca, my closest friend at the Hospital. “A girl here, Sarah, she was taken in by a woman who beat her and tormented her—she came back, begging for her old place, but of course it was gone. She had to go back… or go elsewhere.”

“What did she choose?” We were walking together towards the yard.

“She went elsewhere.” Rebecca shrugged. “I haven’t heard from her… nor do I expect to. You know how it is.”

It was a grim thing for a girl of fifteen to say with such nonchalance, but that was life at the Foundling Hospital. We all knew what awaited us if we misbehaved or, Heaven forbid, ran away. Especially the girls.

“Cheer up,” advised Rebecca. “If it is someone looking for a servant, a sober face won’t help your chances. Smile, stand up straight, and look as if there’s nothing in the world you want more than to scrub out chamber pots.”

“That’s what I’ll be doing whether I’m picked or not.”

“That’s the truth of it, isn’t it?”

The boys had arrived first, a sniggering gaggle uniform in their appearance and utter lack of manners. We girls did not meet with the boys often, for they were housed in a different wing, of course. They went quiet when we came in, just as fascinated by us as we were by them. I blushed when one whistled at us, covering it by adjusting my bonnet.

“There,” said Rebecca, inclining her head to a corner of the yard. “That’s them. Look, they’re already judging us.”

I looked. In the corner of the yard stood a man and a woman, deep in conversation. From the way they were standing, I assumed they were a young married couple. They were pleasant to behold, neatly dressed and rosy-cheeked.

Mrs. Dolhan approached them, and from a distance indicated a few of us. Then they began to walk along our lines to judge for themselves.

They spoke to several of the boys before coming over to the girls. We arranged ourselves neatly in a row, squared our shoulders, and tried to look moral and hardworking.

“This is Rebecca,” said Mrs. Dolhan, before launching into a speech about the virtues of my friend. As the man and woman spoke to her, I assessed him and his lady out of the corner of my eye. He was not handsome—not exactly—but he was attractive in some way I could not quite describe. There was an appealing liveliness to his manners, and a subtle but alluring sensuality to his smile that woke something in me, made me want to know him better. His wife, too—she possessed that same spark that made me want to look at her, even if she was not particularly pretty. What struck me most, I recall, is that she and her husband seemed both perfectly at ease, so comfortable with one another and everyone else. I liked that about them, and I resolved to try to be the one they took home.

“Judith’s story is yet more tragic,” said Mrs. Dolhan. Rebecca had warned me she liked to play up our misfortunes. “A recent ward of ours, she suffered a fever and now has no memory of who she used to be. I do not mean to imply she is without any skills—no, she has lovely manners, keeps herself tidy as you can see, and cleans very well. But, as to who she might have been, we have no notion…”

“No memories,” said the man thoughtfully. “Is this true, Miss Judith?”

“I don’t remember who I was, but I remember everything else. I can tie my shoes, and read a book, and do maths. I can even read a little French, though I speak it but ill. I’m sure I could ride a horse, if I ever had one. But everything else is… missing.”

“Interesting. A fever, you say?” This was to Mrs. Dolhan.

“Terrible. She was unconscious for several days, and when she awoke…” Mrs. Dolhan shrugged.

“But before the fever… you must know something?”

“No, Mr. Eleutherios. She was left on our doorstep already afflicted. We could not turn her away—why, the girl does not even remember her old name! Judith is what we christened her.”

“I see.” Mr. Eleutherios looked me in the eye, and I made so bold as to look back. I got the sense that false modesty would not do me any favors with this man.

“She’s a forward creature,” observed the woman, though not unkindly. “She’d be quite a handful.”

“Oh no,” insisted Mrs. Dolhan, shooting me an annoyed look. “She’s very respectful, and always—”

“I didn’t mean to imply I thought she would be disrespectful,” said the woman. “I simply meant she seems intelligent. Intelligent children are always more challenging than the dull ones, are they not?”

I began to suspect this woman was not actually the man’s wife, though why I could not say. Nor could I think of a reason for two individuals who were not married, or siblings, to come to an orphanage together, to look at boys and girls. At least, not any respectable reason, but this just intrigued me further. My innate curiosity has always been paired with an unwholesome turn of mind.

Mrs. Dolhan was still frowning at me. “Well, here is Leah, and—”

“I’d like to see Judith, Billah, and Daniel in private,” said Mr. Eleutherios, interrupting her. I tried not to betray any feelings about his choices, but privately I found Billah insufferable. I knew nothing of the boy. “From those three we shall make our final decision.” He winked at me, and I wondered if he already had.

I waited in the corridor for almost an hour while they interviewed Billah and Daniel. My spirits sank the longer they took, but when I went in, in spite of my being last I got the sense that they were still interested in me.