The Pleasure Merchant (43 page)

“In love! How wonderful!” Mr. Blythe sounded amused. “It isn’t still Miss Rasa, is it? That might prove a difficult feat… she knows my business better than I, so—”

“It’s not Miss Rasa. I thought I loved her, yes, but I have realized that was but a childish infatuation. I have found the real object of my affection, my heart’s desire, and she is a woman, not a girl.”

“Good for you, Mr. Dawne!” Mr. Blythe gestured at him with his half-nibbled pastry. “Miss Rasa is a treasure, really. I think the world of her, and believe her capable of anything… save making you happy as a wife. No no, Mr. Dawne, you need the sort of girl who will—”

“Do not make light of this!” Tom exclaimed, purposefully a little louder than was polite. “This is a serious thing, Mr. Blythe. I beg you to take it—
me
—seriously.”

“I say, you’re in quite a state.” Mr. Blythe set down his tart. “All right, Mr. Dawne. Tell me all.”

“Well,” said Tom, prepared from grueling practice to spin his artificial history, “you’re right in that I never thought I should get over Miss Rasa. She… bewitched me. But I knew I should have to get over her, so I went to a ball, and…” he let out a shuddering breath, “when I saw her dancing, I knew I had to meet her. She dances most beautifully. But I assure you, her dancing is but the least of her accomplishments!”

“I see.” Mr. Blythe was grave, though there was a twinkle in his eye. “So you’ve met her? This isn’t a case of ‘she doesn’t even know I exist’?”

“She barely knows, perhaps. I contrived an introduction, and she accepted me as a partner. We danced twice… that was enough for me to know I could never be happy without her. I
must
have her, Mr. Blythe. I must! I believe I shall die if I do not.”

“Well, we can’t have that.” Mr. Blythe rubbed at his chin. “Mr. Dawne, I understand your ardor and your passion… what I don’t understand is your problem. You met the girl, you danced with the girl—”

“Woman!”

“Woman, then. You danced with the woman, you enjoyed yourselves… surely that is enough to begin a courtship? How, then, can I help you? I’m not sure what Miss Rasa told you of what I do, but helping lovebirds build a nest isn’t quite—”

“She’s married.”

“Ah.” Mr. Blythe nodded. “I see. That does complicate matters.”

You would know
, thought Tom, but what he said was: “Indeed. And she is so good—so pure! I cannot think her capable of deceit. With an ordinary woman I would assume a few meetings… a some clandestine bouquets or trinkets… but not her.”

“Well, Mr. Dawne, it is a tricky thing you propose… but not impossible.” Tom thought he saw the ghost of a smile hovering at the corners of Mr. Blythe’s voluptuous mouth, the smug bastard. Oh, this was all simply too delicious! Tom vowed to hold back the name of his lady-love for as long as possible, to produce the most possible dismay. “I suppose I must ask… how can you be sure she returns your affections?”

“I am not. But when I saw her with her husband there could be no doubt she was unhappy with him,” said Tom. “I believe her indifferent to him at best. Even so, I do not think she
intends
to stray. But, if she could be
convinced
it would increase her happiness…”

“I see…”

“Do you? Do you, Mr. Blythe?” Tom leaped from his chair, and began to pace. “I have no wish to see her dishonored, but I must have her. I love her, and I believe—she was so easy with me, so graceful and elegant. If I could have but one night with her—”

“One night!” Mr. Blythe poured himself more tea. “Mr. Dawne, forgive me, but I think in your passion you are conflating lust with love. At first you sounded as if you wished to court the lady, to earn her love in the hopes of one day having it returned. Now, I believe you are asking me to make it possible for you to simply sate your desire.”

Tom, panicking a bit, scrambled to undo his hasty language. “You interrupted me, sir. I was going to say, if I could but have one night with her I think I could make her happy enough to desire more.”

“Ladies fall in love with their rapists in novels, Mr. Dawne... in real life they are usually far more complex creatures.” He held up his hand. “I do not mean to suggest you intend to force the lady to do anything, but the scenario you suggest sounds more like something contrived by Mr. Samuel Richardson than anything I have the power of affecting.”

“Is it not what you do? Arranging such matters, I mean?” Tom pretended annoyance. “Let us speak no more of novels, sir. I was under the impression that you could procure the unprocurable; deliver the undeliverable.
This
is my greatest desire, Mr. Blythe. I will pay you whatever you ask, for I love her, and I
must
have her!”

Looking profoundly unhappy, Mr. Blythe rose and retrieved himself a short cigar from a jar on the sideboard. He offered one to Tom, which he declined. Silence descended as Mr. Blythe snipped off the end and lit it; after a few pulls, he sighed.

“My experience has taught me that gentlemen in your position often lose interest after the, ah,
consummation
of their desires.” He shrugged. “By your own admission, your love flowered quickly—what if it wilts away with similar briskness? Are you sure the risk is worth your time and your money? A girl, one who looked much the same, could be acquired to—”

“You mistake me!” Tom began to sweat. He had not expected Mr. Blythe to try and put him off. To hear Mr. Bewit tell it, Mr. Blythe was an unscrupulous money-grubber who talked no one out of his desire. Tom had been so certain the man would jump at the chance to make a few pounds; instead, he was having to talk Mr. Blythe into taking his money! “This is no passing fancy, no whim that may be absolved in a sweaty encounter with some syphilitic slut!” He took a deep breath. “I do not wish to dishonor my love. I simply believe that if we could but meet… if I could get her alone… Tell me, Mr. Blythe, could any woman be happy in a loveless marriage? I hope only to increase her joy, for if there is one woman in this world who deserves to feel loved, it is she.”

“Yes, but what of her wishes? What if I
procure
her for you, as you put it, and she is disinclined?”

“I rather thought that
inclining
her would fall under your purview.”

“I see,” murmured Mr. Blythe, grinding out the cigar in an ashtray. “Yes, I rather suppose it would.”

“So you will do this thing?”

“Mr. Dawne… what you are asking for, it is no easy thing. It is far more difficult than, theoretically speaking of course, getting a gentleman into an exclusive club. You are asking me to convince a married woman to have an affair with a man who has met her but once. It could result in much ugliness; I prefer to deal in pleasure.”

“Surely obtaining many of your clients’ desires must naturally result in the unhappiness of others. After all, as we are talking in the
theoretical
,” Tom drew out the word just to drive home the point, “getting a gentleman into a club ahead of another might ruin forever the other man’s chances at the same.”

“True… true. But it is one thing to thwart some gentleman’s chances at drinking, smoking, and playing cards with the cream of the crust, as it were. It is quite another to convince a married woman to stray even once, much less to conduct an affair that would forever ruin her reputation were it to be discovered.”

It took all of Tom’s willpower not to sneer in Mr. Blythe’s stupid face, knowing bloody well the man was conducting exactly the sort of affair he was protesting. Instead, Tom took the high road. “Forgive me, Mr. Blythe, but I’m having some difficulty ascertaining exactly where magnetic north lies on your moral compass.”

Mr. Blythe nodded. “I deserve that, of course. So be it, Mr. Dawne. I shall do this thing for you… if you agree to my terms. I warn you, the price will be high, to be paid in advance… and written into my standard contract is a clause you must agree to, regarding the unpredictability of human nature and the possibility of failure, meaning you can’t go to the courts if it doesn’t go exactly right.” He shrugged. “You are asking rather a lot of me, so I must do the same of you.”

“I’ll sign whatever you need. What is your price?”

“One thousand pounds.”

“A thousand pounds!” exclaimed Tom. He had been expecting a hefty tab, but a thousand pounds? That was fully twice what Mr. Blythe had charged Mr. Bewit, who at least appeared to the world to be far wealthier. Tom did some mental calculations—the difference for him, after the fact, would be close to forty pounds per annum, or the equivalent of after the fact, would be close to forty pounds per annum—a sum that would have been staggering to contemplate when he had been an apprentice wig-maker, and four times what he had been slated to earn had he worked an entire year for Mr. Bewit. If only. If only he could remember off the top of his head how much he had spent of his loan so far! Money had been flowing through his fingers, but surely he must have enough left to pay back the interest, when it came due. And if not, well, he could always dip further into the well… adjust his lifestyle accordingly…

Was it worth it? Was it
really
worth a thousand pounds just to get revenge on this man? Tom looked up and saw Mr. Blythe smirking at him.

“I’m sorry, but that is my price,” he said. “If it is too high, I completely understand. Over the years, many potential clients have decided their heart’s desire isn’t quite as essential as they believed once I’ve revealed how much it will cost them to obtain it…”

Tom found this insinuation of penury incredibly provoking, and it rekindled his desire to humiliate Mr. Blythe. Once he’d committed himself, only to discover Tom’s object was Mrs. Knoyll, the man wouldn’t be smirking. No, certainly not.

“Done,” said Tom, taking his chequebook from the pocket of his coat. “Do you have a pen here, or shall we repair to your office?”

“Right this way, Mr. Dawne.” Tom was gratified to see how surprised Mr. Blythe was as he bowed him through the door. “Let’s get everything settled exactly to your pleasure.”

Tom signed the cheque for a thousand pounds, pretending the sum was a mere trifle, and spent what remained of his good humor by assuring Mr. Blythe it would be no problem at all when the blackguard had the nerve to make a rather pointed remark about taking the bill that very afternoon to the Five Bells, where the bankers met in Lombard Street, to have it exchanged. The insinuation that Tom might not have enough in his account stung, but worse than that, it was also a reminder of just how tight of a spot Tom would be in, at the end of the next quarter. He pushed the thought away. He’d figure it out.
Somehow
.

Only when the cheque was in his hand did Mr. Blythe produce his complicated and lengthy contract, in order to walk Tom through it, clause by clause. The terms were almost irritatingly fair—rather more so than what he’d signed away for his loan at Merchant and Mills, come to think on it. He got the sense that Mr. Blythe enjoyed explaining it all in plain language to him; reveled in Tom’s astonishment at its decency. Well, let him. He’d be singing a different tune shortly.

“All right. If you feel satisfied with the terms and conditions, please sign here, good, good… and now, so shall I. Excellent! Mr. Dawne, we are in business!” Mr. Blythe dried the ink with an ornate blotter, and setting it aside, replaced that form with yet another. “Now that we are agreed on the terms, and you’ve paid your fee, we can get down to the details. As you can see, this form has several blanks; we’ll fill them out together. Again, this is for your protection, you understand. We wouldn’t want you to pull back the bed curtains only to find the wrong girl—I’m sorry,
woman
in there, would we?” He chuckled as if he’d told a joke.

“No indeed,” said Tom. Sweat prickled at his forehead. It was time.

“First things first. What is this woman’s name?”

“Mrs. Rosalind Knoyll.”

Mr. Blythe’s quill snapped with a loud pop, and ink sprayed across the sheet.

“How clumsy of me!” Mr. Blythe tried to laugh it off, but Tom knew he had rattled him, oh yes he had! “Forgive me, let me just clean up this mess and get another document ready. Thank goodness I always keep several on hand.”

“Take your time,” said Tom cordially. “I am in no hurry.” Oh, how he wanted to twist the knife, enquiring if Mr. Blythe knew the lady, for he seemed shocked or surprised by the name! But, he sensed it would give away his hand to do so. Better to pretend not to notice. He was, after all, a man so in love he would spend a thousand pounds to bed some poxy old bizzom.

“All right,” said Mr. Blythe, settling down again with fresh paper and pen. He had recovered his composure, but Tom could sense a tension in the room that had not been there before. “Mrs. Rosalind Knoyll, was it? Do you by chance know her address?”

“I believe she said she lived somewhere near the Temple; her husband is a barrister. I don’t know more than that. I do know she volunteers for the Anti-Sugar Society and is quite passionate about the plight of the poor women of London.” It was such fun affecting the rambling, rather soupy tone of a man in love. “Does any of that help?”

“But of course.” Tom could detect the faintest whiff of sourness about Mr. Blythe, and it delighted him. “Why, I hope I shall be able to convince her to stray. She sounds a true paragon of virtue.”

“That is your affair,” said Tom. “I say, will you tell her about me? What will you tell her?”

Mr. Blythe looked up from his note-taking. “What you have told me. That she has an admirer who ardently desires she spend one night with him, in order for him to convince her that he could make her happy.”

“That’s all?”

“Mr. Dawne, I already have an apprentice.”

“I beg your pardon. I did not mean to offend.” Tom leaned in. “I say, are you quite all right, Mr. Blythe? You seem…”

“Yes?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Tom turned to hide his smile. “Is that all? Can I be of further service? Do you require a description? She has dark straight hair, streaked through with finer silver than could be found in Gray’s…”

“I believe I have everything I need.” Mr. Blythe abruptly handed over the quill. “Sign here, please… only a formality of course, but it demonstrates you’ve read over what I’ve written, and that it’s all accurate information, to your knowledge.”