She dropped her nightdress and stood naked. “Your body is beautiful, too. I could look at you forever.” He was vain enough to believe her, but also wary. Before he could end the conversation, she said, “Our bodies might fit. Really, they might. We never even tried.” She looked so beautiful and so hopeful, he felt like a cad.
Needing to end this, he dropped his nightshirt and stood naked. “My darling girl, any nice regular chap would take one look at you, grow to the size of Big Ben, and ravish you on the spot. As you can see, my tiny acorn cringes with embarrassment.” Humiliated, he turned away and pulled his nightshirt over his head. “I am so sorry, Katie. You deserve better.”
“N’ No, I’m sorry -- truly -- You’re the finest man in the entire world.” She threw her nightdress over her head and covered herself. “I’ll never mention it again. I promise.”
He sighed, and quoted the bard, “Come Kate, we’ll to bed,” snuffed the candle, and climbed under the covers. Streetlight sneaked through the drapes as she moved in next to him. He held her tight, kissed her soft lips, and suddenly found himself on top of her, kissing her deeply. He felt wonderful. Just as suddenly, his passion cooled. He lay down, turned over, and waited for her to snuggle against his back.
Instead, she leaned on her elbow, touched his shoulder, and ran a light finger down his arm. “Jerry?” Her breathing was labored. “I’m… That is…” Nervous as a cat, she forced out, “When I was with Simon, we didn’t always…” She geared up her courage and started again. “I mean, well… he taught me some… things…,”
He burst out laughing. “I’m sure he taught you a great many things.”
She laughed with him, and gently covered his face with light kisses. Slowly, she unbuttoned his nightshirt, and folded it back so that he lay naked. Her soft hands glided over his very willing flesh, as she kissed his neck and shoulders. Her golden hair draped, as her lips moved softly across his chest and down his belly. Fingertips light as dove feathers wound around his slender organ. She caressed him with absolute affection and tenderness. His eyes closed and his back arched with delight.
Hoping against hope that he had actually grown to a serviceable size, he glanced down and saw that he was still very small. He gasped when she took him into her mouth, caressing with her delicate tongue. All at once, he clutched the pillow, groaned, heaved backward, and lay still. He dozed off and, moments later, was thrilled by the sensation of a warm cloth wiping him clean. Katie returned her washcloth to the basin and snuggled against him, under the warm quilt.
Still reeling from her unexpected skill, and pure unselfish love, he held her close and kissed the top of her lovely head. Longing to pleasure her, the way she had thrilled him, he stroked her shoulder, then her small, shapely breast. She gasped happily, so he caressed her soft nipple, feeling it harden under his fingertips. Her nightdress was a single piece without buttons, so she pulled it off, over her head. They lay together, naked for the first time.
He kissed her nipples until they both stood firm and hard. She moaned and closed her eyes, just as he had done when she caressed him. His fingers wandered to her nether regions, but he felt like a voyager without a map. She had had an able tutor, but he was delving into uncharted territory.
Katherine was not a bit shy about directing his fingers. He enjoyed the tour, thinking he might discover that delectable “honey pot,” often praised by the great bards. He was amazed to find soft, curly blond hair and the silkiest flesh in the world. Her golden hairs reminded him of Simon’s, and he imagined the beautiful children they could make together. She guided his fingers until one lingered on a single spot. She held him there, gently rubbing his finger back-and-forth. He continued, and she lay back, smiling. Within seconds, the soft flesh hardened into a round marble. Her legs clamped together, and her face contorted. She cried out, relaxed, and gasped for breath. A light sheen of sweat glimmered on her smooth flesh. Tears glistened in her beautiful eyes.
“You’re crying. I’ve done something wrong.”
“No, nothing wrong, darling.” She lay back, grinning. “You were perfect.”
He rolled his eyes. “Far from ‘perfect.’ Half the men in London would give their right arm to be in my place, right now. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Other poufs have wives. Some have children. Oscar - Bloody - Wilde has two. I shall never have any.”
Katherine stared at him. “I never knew you wanted children. I certainly don’t. I spent most of my life supporting my younger sisters. That was enough mothering for a lifetime.”
He tried to smile back, but looked very sad.
She kissed him hard and fast. “You were wonderful. Please believe me. Simon and I often did what we did -- especially in the middle of my cycle, when I was likely to conceive. You pleased me so very much. Honestly.”
“I want to believe you.”
“Then do.” She pulled the covers around them both, and snuggled tight.
Chapter Seven
Prisoners in Reading Gaol were allowed visitors once every three months. A seedy acquaintance managed to bribe an official, and get Jeremy a pass after thirty-three days. Both Katherine and Jeremy irrationally feared that he could walk into the jail and never return. She begged to go with him, or even go in his place.
“Thanks love, but no. If it weren’t for Tommy’s silence, I would be in prison. I owe him this much.” Jeremy knew that Tommy never accepted responsibility for his mistakes. Since Katherine was sleeping in Jeremy’s bed, Tommy might irrationally blame her for his arrest.
Once at the prison, Jeremy was given a cursory search, then ushered into an unheated holding area with three-dozen other visitors. Most were women. Most were poor. Jeremy felt conspicuously overdressed, crammed on a rough wooden bench between smutty strangers, breathing stale air, gazing at gray stone walls.
A heavy door clanged open and a warder read a list of names. As Tommy’s name was called, Jeremy stood and nearly lost his balance. Clenching his jaw, willing his heart to slow, he treated this like any other performance. Tommy needed him to be strong. He followed the queue into a long, narrow room. A dozen men in poorly fitting prison uniforms were shackled to long tables. The other visitors raced to their husbands, sons, or fathers. Some burst into tears.
It took Jeremy a moment to make out Tommy at the end of the row. His face was gray. Eyes half-closed, elbows leaning heavily on the table, he looked exhausted, filthy, and dangerously thin. His cheeks were so hollow; his crooked tooth looked slightly sinister. His usually fluffy hair was combed back, held solid by its own grease. Razor nicks spotted his face. Jeremy did not suppose prisoners were allowed to handle razors. Someone else must have shaved him.
Jeremy forced a pleasant smile and sauntered down the row. Tommy’s smile was joyous. He tried to stand, heaved at his shackles, then jerked back onto the hard bench. Jeremy sat in a sturdy chair on the other side of the table, pretending not to notice that Tommy’s nails were chipped and filthy.
Tommy had been under the code of silence, and unable to speak for a month. His voice was a hoarse whisper. “Thanks for coming. Do I look horrible? There aren’t any mirrors.”
Jeremy lied. “You look fine.”
“They’re killing me.”
Jeremy bent forward. “You are not dying. You will be out of here and I will take care of you.”
“You can’t. You can’t be anywhere near me. You shouldn’t even visit. We were lucky with that copper, but…,”
“I’ll get you a room. Just as soon as you’re well again, we’ll see about…,”
“Damn it, Jerry. Go home to that revolting girl and leave me alone. I’m ruined. I’ll never work again.”
Jeremy’s heart skipped a beat, but he hoped his face showed nothing. “You are a fine actor. Of course you will work again.”
“Not in Victoria’s empire.”
“All right then… In someone else’s empire.” Tommy scowled, and Jeremy hesitated before whispering, “Tell me what it’s like.”
Tomm
y shook his head, rubbed his eyes, and looked at his fingers. “Filthy. Everything’s filthy and cold. For two weeks, I wore a stinking cloth hood, with holes for eyes, and marched to nowhere, round-and-round a circular yard. There were a hundred men, all in hoods. Every day, marching -- through cold -- drenching rain -- six-hours-a-day. Now, I’m on the treadmill, climbing stairs to nowhere, six-hours-a-day. If I slow, the warders beat me with a truncheon. You can’t see my legs and back, but they’re all over bruises. My shoes don’t fit, so my feet are scabbed and calloused. I used to have such pretty feet.”
He sobbed softly. “I sleep on a board with a thin blanket. Sometimes my arms and legs go numb with cold. We get watery cocoa and stale bread for breakfast, soup or a slice of fatty meat is dinner, and a spoonful of suet and potatoes is tea. They march us into chapel every morning and twice on Sundays, but we’re not allowed to speak or read anything. Some warders sneak out letters for other prisoners, but none of them like me.” He rocked pitifully. “I’m so hungry.” Tears rolled down his cheeks. “Worst is the code of silence. Some days I want to scream. If I even speak, it’ll be solitary confinement and the crank.”
Exactly twenty minutes after Jeremy’s group of visitors was allowed in, they were ushered out. Tearful calls of, “God, bless” “Don’t forget me” “Love to the kids” and “Give mum a kiss for me” echoed through the hall. Tommy cried like a frightened child. It took all of Jeremy’s acting ability to stay calm. His heart pounded as he followed other visitors from the jail.
Safely through the gate, Jeremy hurried away, down street after street, only stopping when his breath gave out. He leaned against a lamp post, gasping, blinded by tears.
He never asked how it was accomplished, but every Sunday morning he was given a pass and allowed to visit Reading Gaol. Tommy grew so thin and ill, he appeared to age before Jeremy’s eyes. Every week, Katherine waited back at the flat with dinner ready. Jeremy always returned upset, angry, full of guilt and self-loathing. She learned to keep silent and out of his way.
One Sunday, he returned early. Without a word, he hung up his coat and hat, and lit a cigarette. His hands shook. He seldom smoked, and never in the flat. Katherine prepared dinner and watched him sit in a chair, smoking cigarette after cigarette.
Finally, her nerves wore thin. “Jerry, what’s happened?”
“He fell on the treadmill, cut his leg, cried out, and broke the code of silence. He’s in solitary for a month. No visitors.” He lit one cigarette from another. “The warder told me there is a crank in his room. He has to turn it ten-thousand-times a day to earn his rations.”
Katherine was sure she had misheard. “Ten-thousand-times?”
“That is what he said.” He sucked the cigarette, blinking back tears.
All this time, The Strand Theatre enjoyed an excellent season. Henry V played to full houses and David Tyler was elated. Immediately after Tommy’s arrest, hecklers disturbed a few performances, shouting insults from the gallery. Audiences were always noisy, and those few disruptive voices stopped. Jeremy assumed Archibald Perry had stopped paying them.
Katherine and Jeremy continued living in counterfeit wedded bliss.
Enjoying their charade, Simon Camden now addressed his letters to Mr. and Mrs. Jeremy O’Connell. He even sent a new photo of himself that hung on their wall. His inscription read,
To Jerry and Kathy,
The world’s finest couple!
All my love,
Simon Camden
The letters arrived as regular as clockwork, always funny, always filled with randy adventures, always ending with pledges of eternal love for Katherine.
Winter brightened into spring, then summer, and Jeremy began counting the days until Tommy’s release. One cool Sunday morning in June, he left the flat while Katherine prepared a leg of mutton, vegetables, potatoes, and Yorkshire pudding. He returned looking tense, but smiling, and hung up his coat.
“Twelve more days and Tommy’s a free man. I’ll collect his clothes from the theatre storeroom, then move him into a boarding house. He’ll need food, towels, shaving soap... When he’s well enough to work…”
“But, you said that no theatre will hire him, that the scandal will follow him for the rest of his life.”
“He will never work as an actor. He will have to find some other employment. God knows what. He’s been on the stage since he was a boy. He’s even a rather lazy actor. He’ll hate working a regular trade.”
She looked concerned. “You haven’t funds enough to keep us all. You must allow me to pay my share.” He hesitated long enough for her to say, “Please, Jerry. My family’s doing better, their engagements are coming nicely. It seems my sister has finally learned to dance.”
He sighed and nodded. “Thank you. And that mutton smells divine.” He kissed the top of her head, noticed a pile of unopened mail, and moved to the desk.
She scowled thoughtfully. “And I’ll move Tommy’s things into the boarding house. All the ‘cuddlies,’ as you call them, refuse to admit they even know him, and you mustn’t be seen with him.”
“Unfortunately, you are correct. I shall have to let you.”
“I’ll stay as long as you need to pretend we’re married, but I can afford my own digs now.” She checked the meat, and hesitated before asking, “Do you want me to stay?”
“Good grief! Of course I do… and not just for show. I love your being here. I’m eating proper meals. My clothes have never looked better.” He put his tongue in his cheek and she laughed with relief. All at once, he lunged across the room, took her in his arms, and kissed her. When the kiss ended, he held her tight and gazed at her lovely face.
The days leading up to Tommy’s release found hecklers revisiting The Strand Theatre. Every few performances, Jeremy recited a line and was answered by a snide remark from the gallery, or now even more boldly, from the stalls. Ticket sales were still excellent. David Tyler watched the situation, but did nothing.
Tommy’s final night in prison, Jeremy was backstage dressed as King Henry. Katherine and other actors in Elizabethan costumes stood backstage listening for their cues. A newspaper lay on the prop table. The headline read: ACTOR TOMMY QUINN RELEASED TOMORROW.
One of the actors whispered through clenched teeth, “Bloody scavengers. Haven’t they sucked enough out of him?”
An old actress hissed, “It was big news when he was arrested, and it’s big news now he’s getting out.”
David Tyler walked tensely through the wings, then gazed into the stalls.
Jeremy walked on stage and spoke his first line, “Where is my gracious lord of Canterbury?”
From a box overhanging the stage, a heckler shouted, “Maybe he’s in Reading Gaol, where y’ ought t’ be!” Other hecklers laughed.
The actor playing Exeter continued, “Not here in presence.”
“Hidin’ out in yer love nest?” shouted a shrill female voice.
Jeremy turned to the actor playing Westmorland. “Send for him, good uncle.”
The actor answered, “Shall I call the ambassador, my liege?”
“Call ‘im a flamin’ pouf!” sounded from a new male voice.
Katherine peered out to see the hecklers, as Jeremy continued, “Not yet, my cousin…”
“And there’s his beard!” The first heckler pointed gleefully at Katherine. “He’s pretendin’ to be married to that bit o’ skirt.”
Tyler pulled Katherine back, shouting, “Lower the curtain. Now!” There was confusion as the curtain flew down and actors scrambled to get out of its way. Tyler was furious. “Filthy bastards. It’s gotten worse every performance.”
Jeremy stood flushed, breathing hard. “I’m sorry Mr. Tyler. I suggest you start the play again, this time with Kevin Killen. He knows the role.” Everyone stared at Jeremy, then his young understudy playing a servant. Kevin’s mouth dropped open.
Tyler knew Kevin was prepared. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
Jeremy shrugged. “It’s tha
t or refund the entire audience. I’ll get out of London for a while, tour the provinces.”
Katherine paled. “But what will I…?”
Tyler shouted instructions. “Mr. O’Connell, Miss Stewart, wait in my office -- Mr. Killen, change your costume -- Fred, reset for the top of the scene -- Now!” There was a flurry of activity as Tyler pushed the curtain aside and strode onto the apron. Katherine and Jeremy hurried off-stage as Tyler addressed the audience.
“Ladies and Gentlemen. For the remainder of tonight’s performance, the role of King Henry will be played by a brilliant young actor, Mr. Kevin Killen.” An equal number of cheers and boos came from the audience.
Half-an-hour later, Katherine looked as if her life was over. David Tyler counted out money, and Jeremy pleaded, “The season’s only another three weeks, surely Katie can stay.”
He shook his head. “I can’t trust the hecklers to leave her alone. I’m sorry.”
The next afternoon, Tommy walked out of Reading Gaol. Katherine found him a room near the docks. Every few days she brought him food, washed and mended his clothes. He and Jeremy met secretly in filthy alleyways and out-of-the-way pubs. Jeremy expected him to be ill and depressed for a while, but the days progressed, his appearance returned to near normal, and his mood remained sullen. The only thing that made him smile was money, so Jeremy gave him more than he could afford. Sure that Tommy would not find theatre work, Jeremy begged him to learn some other trade. He refused. Every day he visited theatrical casting offices, just to be turned away.
Jeremy was unemployed and at his wits’ end. The sudden offer of an open-ended tour through the North Country, Scotland, and Wales was a godsend. Not only would it take him away from the tabloids, the hecklers, and Tommy Quinn, but for the first time, he would be playing only leading roles. The wage was triple what he earned at The Strand. He was thrilled.
Katherine offered to stay as Tommy’s child-minder, but Jeremy forbad it. “Tommy’s intelligent and resourceful. He’ll do fine, as soon as you stop coddling him and I stop paying him off.”
Not From the Stars (His Majesty's Theatre Book 1) Page 4
