Death by Ploot Ploot

by Dara Joy

  “Mabel, go peek over the stair railing and let me know when Lord Devon goes into the library.”

  “Wot makes ye think he’ll go inta the library?”

  “I’ve noticed this past week he’s made it a habit to get a book to bring up to his room before retiring. He must read in bed before he goes to sleep.”

  “It’s not as if the poor bloke has got anything better ta do,” Mabel muttered.

  “What was that?”

  “I said he don’t strike me as a man wot keeps ta habit.”

  “Mabel, you do not have a clue to Tyler Devon.

  Believe me when I say he will get the book. Now go!”

  She shushed her out of the bedroom.

  A few moments later Mabel’s righteous voice floated down the hall in a harsh whisper. “He ain’t going inta the library.”

  “Well, what’s he doing?” Ginny whispered back, annoyed.

  “He’s going inta the parlor.”

  “Why?”

  “How the devil should I know!”

  “Mabel!”

  “He’s– he’s getting a drink, he is. Poor bloke probably needs it.”

  Ginny’s irate voice hissed down the corridor. “Since when did you become his stalwart defender?”

  “Ye could a done a mite worse than the likes o’ him, miss. There’s somethin’ considerable about that one, and I don’t be referin’ ta his looks. Although thems enough to take yer breath–”

  Ginny had heard enough. “Mabel Dooley, will you kindly tell me whether I can sneak down the hallway or not?”

  “Aye, if yer quick about it. Ye’ll have ta skulk real careful by the parlor door– he’s left it open.”

  “All right. Don’t worry Mabel, I’ll be fine. By the time I return this evening, Tyler will be fast asleep in his bed.”

  Mabel wasn’t so sure about that either.

  * * *

  “That poor, poor woman!”

  Henley dabbed at teary eyes with a lacy handkerchief.

  They were sitting in his coach, just two fops about town.

  Ginny, or rather Reggie, had just related to him the terrible story of Mabel’s daughter.

  “I knew you would feel the same.” Ginny squeezed his hand. “We must do something, Henley. To think those horrible men were being entertained in my father’s study–

  it makes me ill!”

  “I agree, dearheart. But what can we do? You said yourself that the authorities never pressed charges, although I dare say such men know how to cover their tracks with a well-placed bribe. Be that as it may, we cannot take the law into our own hands.”

  “No, but we can mete out some justice. If only we knew what establishments they frequented...”

  “Oh, well, Smiter and Snead are at Frock’s almost every night but I don’t see what–”

  “Frocks? I didn’t see them there last time. Are you sure?”

  Henley couldn’t quite meet her earnest stare. “Um, do you remember those stairs?”

  Ginny nodded. “The ones that lead to the second floor trysting rooms?”

  “Ginny!” The fop squealed aghast. “How did you find out about those?”

  She waved his outrage away. “Well, what else would they be? Stap me, Henley, when I asked where the stairs led you turned crimson right through your rouge.”

  Lord Henry flushed. Right through his rouge. “Really Ginny, sometimes you go beyond the pall! Here I am trying my best to–”

  “Never mind that my good fellow; don’t you see how grand this information is?”

  “Not really, no.”

  “Well, the thing is, we know where they are. We simply need to figure out how to mete out the justice.”

  Henley sank back into the coach’s sumptuous rose-colored cushions. ”A pox on those two; I’m not good with plans. I wake up each day and tell myself to be surprised at whatever comes my way, and you know the funny part is, it often does out of the clear–”

  “That’s it!” Ginny snapped her fingers.

  “What’s it?” Henley peered at her, muddled.

  “We shall give them a pox!” Her brow furrowed.

  “How does one get the pox anyway?”

  Lord Henley Henry blushed through his rouge once again.

  “Really, Henley, you must stop doing that. Now tell me.”

  “Um... You see... Oh dear...” The lace handkerchief twisted this way and that in his grip.

  Ginny’s brow furrowed. “It has something to do with kissing, doesn’t it?”

  Lord Henry cleared his throat, embarrassed to his teeth. “Quite.”

  “A particular kind of kissing?”

  He cleared his throat again. “Quite.”

  Ginny bit her lip. “Hmmm. Can anyone do it?”

  “Good Gawd, Ginny, have a heart!” He mopped his brow.

  “I should not even be telling you about women of ill repute, it is not a ladylike–”

  Ginny grinned much like Charles when he bagged her wig.

  “How perfect! The punishment shall fit the crime.

  We shall acquire a gift for our lordly friends.”

  Ginny banged the coach walls. “Driver, take us to Covent Garden at once!” She turned to her cousin. “We shall procure two of the most foul, disease-laden doxies in all of London. We’ll clean and dress them, bring them along to Frock’s and gift them to Smiter and Snead for the evening. And when they kiss them– a pox shall be theirs!”

  With her proclamation, the coach lurched forward.

  Poor Lord Henry’s sputters were lost in the clackety dash of the wheels.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Hey, dearie, ain’t you a looker.”

  The doxy leered at Lord Henry as she scratched her crotch.

  Horrified, Henley veered back from the frowzy whore.

  “Trying to play hard to get, are ya?” The woman standing next to her in a natty, once white wig, sidled next to the fop’s other side.

  Henley gave her a look of pure horror then turned to Ginny with a silent plea for help. Well, she had practiced fencing with Henley and his instructor when she was a child. “Fear not for your safety, I can fence.

  Somewhat.”

  Henley snorted. "Ginny, you are almost as bad as I."

  "Almost is the key word. I can improve. With the right training. Perhaps."

  “You are not armed.” He crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently. “How do you propose to defend me?”

  Ginny rubbed her chin. “You do have a point.”

  The doxy turned to her companion. “Wot are they on about?” She jerked her thumb in their direction.

  Ginny had to suppress her guffaws. The two women they had found on this street corner were the lowest sort imaginable. Perfect for what they had in mind. With some new clothes, new wigs, and a good cleaning, they would be just the thing.

  She addressed them in Reggie’s dramatic tones.

  “Stand down, my beauties. You are not for us this eve.”

  “Coo, what is this then? Lili and I would be up for anything with gentlemens such as yerselves.” She offered Reggie a salacious grin that cunningly displayed her lack of five bottom front teeth.

  Ginny put her hands up. “Not necessary; but we will pay you handsomely for a special task we have in mind.”

  With the words pay and handsomely, the whores were all ears. They leaned forward. “Tells us more then, dearies.”

  Ginny explained the situation leaving nothing out except her true identity. Smiter and Snead were well-

  known in Frock’s and wouldn’t dare harm them; still, she needed to be honest with these women just the same.

  The doxies were outraged at what had happened to poor Mabel’s daughter. “Bloody toffs! Think they can get away with anything! Why, we’d do it for nothing, we would!”

  “No need for that,” Henley chimed in. “You will be rewarded handsomely for your ‘work,’ and you may keep any clothing that we shall give you as well.”

  The two women look
ed at each other and grinned.

  “Come along, then.” Reggie led them to the coach.

  “Are you sure we couldn’t make you feel a mite better as well, yer lordship?”

  Henley turned his nose up disapprovingly. “Heaven forefend!”

  “Beg pardon, but we was speaking to him, sir.” She pointed to Ginny. “He’s a right fine-looking bloke, he is.

  Wouldn’t mind diddlin’ him a turn; right, Lili?”

  “Oooo, all elegant looking he is.” Lili batted her lashes in what she perceived as a coquettish expression.

  Ginny’s mouth dropped open.

  * * *

  Frock’s was especially crowded that evening.

  A certain segment of the ton was well-represented; the downstairs rooms were thick with people, smoke, foods, perfumes, and the thrill-seeking sweat of the gambler.

  Ginny, Henley and their two ‘lady friends’ had a hard time arming their way through the throng.

  The street women had been powdered, perfumed (liberally), and dressed in new gowns. During that brief interval Ginny was able to ascertain that poor Lili suffered from some kind of body sores and Gertie confided to her that she had a ‘touch of the pox’. Feeling sorry for them, Ginny promised them a handsome sum for their night’s work– enough for them to leave London and start anew somewhere else, if they chose to do so.

  “Coo, ain’t this a fancy place! Gertie, give a look see at that table.” Lili clutched her friend’s arm in awe. “Almost falling down from all the tasties.”

  “Good thing I brought me sack with me. They won’t be missing none of that.” Gertie grinned her toothless grin as she held up a moldy cloth bag.

  Lord Henry paled. “Good Heavens, put that filthy sack down before someone sees it!” He grabbed her arm and lowered it. “You cannot steal the food– we will all get tossed out of here. Reggie?” He beseeched Ginny to help him out.

  Ginny crossed her arms over her bound chest and faced the women. “He’s right. No stealing and no other customers.

  We brought you here for one purpose, and you agreed. Now I must have your word, or we shall leave now.”

  The whores blinked stupidly at her. “You’d take our word fer it?” Lili asked amazed.

  “Yes,” Ginny nodded.

  Both women flushed. “Well, then, that’s different. Ain’t no one asked fer my word before. Gertie and I will behave right for ya.”

  “Good.”

  Gertie eyeballed the spread of food. “D’ you mind if we at least take a bit o’ a nibble? I ne’er seen this kind of food a’ fore and we are a mite hungry, yer lordships.”

  Henley and Ginny’s eyes met. What did they know of how these women got on day by day or what hardships they had to endure.

  “By all means,” Lord Henry smiled kindly. “Eat your fill while we hunt out our quarry.”

  The doxies beamed as Henley and Ginny scanned the room like predators looking for their prey. Which they were, in a sense.

  To her left, the crowd parted, and Ginny spotted a side view of Snead’s nose.

  Once seen, such a nose was never to be forgotten.

  It was as if a crenelated tower had been stuck sideways on an oblong face. Ginny had never seen such a bumpy, tubular appendage before and was utterly transfixed by the unique protuberance.

  “What are you staring at– oh!” Henley caught sight of THE NOSE. He gasped as he choked to her, “Methinks it is alive!”

  “Perhaps it is the nose which controls him?” Ginny whispered back, awestruck. “Commands him to do its dastardly bidding?”

  As they watched, the enormous, fluttery nostrils flared outward as if catching the scent of a new victim.

  They both took a step back. Just to be safe.

  Ginny took a deep breath to steady herself. “Courage.

  We must approach as if we are great friends with them and wish to impart a special gift. We should also pretend we are well in our cups.”

  Henley viewed THE NOSE apprehensively. “I’m not sure I want to get closer to that proboscis. It might well attack us. It certainly looks as if it could.”

  “Be brave, my dear Henley. We shall see this through together. For Mabel!”

  Henley stood up straighter. “For Mabel!”

  Together they approached two of the vilest lords in all of London. By the sheer number of vices prancing about on two feet at Frock’s, the superlative comparison was indeed saying a lot.

  * * *

  “Met where?” Lord Smiter coldly viewed Ginny through his lorgnette.

  “At young Habersham’s, don’t your remember, old fellow?” Ginny hiccupped noisily as she bowed low in front of Smiter, her breech-clad backside briefly greeting several patrons entering Frock’s.

  Henley did a fine act of swaying on his feet. “No one supplies the kind of special entertainment Habersham’s does, what?” He winked lewdly.

  Smiter flushed but not in embarrassment. These two men partook of so many base revelries that they could barely remember one from the other. “Say, Snead, I do think I recall these chaps.”

  THE NOSE came forward into their immediate circle.

  “Eek!” Henley jumped back.

  Ginny stepped on his foot to keep him put. “Sink me, is that you, Snead, good fellow?” She fluttered her perfumed handkerchief in the air. “I say, you are looking fit as a fiddle!

  How do you do it? What’s your secret, eh?”

  THE NOSE inhaled the compliments with a sucking whoosh!

  Henley clutched Ginny’s arm in alarm.

  “Must be the ladies, eh?” Ginny elbowed Snead in the side. “Seen those fetching bits of baggage looking at you all evening!” She pointed out the two doxies, who paused in the act of stuffing their mouths with apple tartlets to wiggle their fingers at the two lords.

  “My word!” Smiter viewed them through his lorgnette.

  “Bewitching little items.”

  Henley leaned forward to gurgle confidentially, “I hear they are gloriously tiring– if you get my drift. One or the other or both.” He winked in such an obvious way that it could only be interpreted as lascivious fun right over there, boys.

  Smiter swallowed but began to stare at the women with fixated interest.

  “They look like a couple of whores to me,” Snead grouched.

  Ginny bit her lip and gave her cousin a pleading look to do something. Fast.

  Smiling jovially, Henley put his arm around Snead’s shoulder while pointedly avoiding his proboscis. “My dear fellow, if one is lucky, they are all whores in the dark–

  especially if they are given the proper inducement...” Over Snead’s shoulder Henley made a moue with his mouth.

  Ginny tried not to laugh.

  Lili took the perfect opportunity to wink at Snead, who finally grumbled in agreement. “So true.” The corners of his lips moistened in a disgusting way.

  Ginny’s tongue dropped out of her mouth in sheer revulsion.

  “Come, my good gents,” Henley snagged Smiter’s shoulders with his other arm. “I believe I can arrange an introduction for you.” He led them to the women who were oohing and ahhhing over the creative, risqué

  display of the vegetables.

  Gertie pointed at a tiny gherkin pickle. “Looks just like Mickey O’Shea’s pizzle, it does. Wee, bumpy, and on the sour side!”

  The doxies laughed uproariously.

  Henley loudly cleared his throat to get their attention away from vegetables that resembled body parts. “My dear ladies, may I present Lords Smiter and Snead?”

  Lili took the lead by batting her lashes. “Charmed, I’m sure.”

  Gertie sidled up to Snead, wrapping her arm around his meaty forearm. “Ain’t you a looker?”

  Henley signaled to them by nodding in the direction of the stairs. The doxies took their cues admirably and soon had the men spirited halfway up the stairs.

  When they reached the landing, Ginny took the opportunity to offer them another low sweeping bow, her handkerchief
brushing the floor in an arc. “With our compliments, gentlemen. And may you get as good as you give!”

  The men laughed at her play on words, never realizing that Ginny meant them at face value. These men deserved whatever they got and more. It wasn’t nearly enough for what they had done, but this was all she could do.

  At least Mabel might take some comfort from it.

  PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP

  My opinion of societies mores? Regarding certain members of Frock's and the ton, I think Reggie Moore said it best:

  “Methinks on the Bad Smell of Good Taste”

  For all of you out there who follow my escapades, you will be well-aware of my invitation from a certain (salt) pillar of society last week for tea and crumpets and the unseemly back and forth exchange of bodily jeu de mots... Which brings to mind the basic tenet upon which most of my meetings with the ton have been rationalized i.e. credo quia absurdum: I believe because it is absurd. Wine, anyone?

  -Sir R. Moore

  PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP

  Chapter Fifteen

  When Tyler made his way to Frock’s that night he was still vaguely unsettled.

  For one thing, he did not want to be in a smoky gambling hell, he wanted to be exploring the finer aspects of life with his wife.

  The page he had placed in his jacket rustled against his chest. The verses felt like lead in his pocket.

  He had never seen this complication coming.

  Somehow, Ginny’s entrance into his life had undermined his focus. He was not sure why, but her presence shifted his attentions away and more often than not he was thinking about her rather than the business at hand.

  So why had he been moved to write about the chit?

  He had to admit that his desire for her had started hot and burned hotter in him every day that passed.

  ‘Twas peculiar.

  Tyler had always been a very physical man. He enjoyed (nay, worshipped) the touch, feel, and scent of a woman’s body. Many women had told him that when he made love, he was like a wild storm.