Keeper of Pleas

by A. Wendeberg

  ‘I calculated how long I’d have to stay, how much money I would need to buy my freedom.’ She laughed at herself. ‘But women are never free. Not entirely, anyway. Now, I need to work one more year at Madame Rousseau’s or two to three years as your assistant, depending on the bonuses I might receive. The pay may be lower, but so is the risk of being slit open by a madman. I will accept your offer under three conditions. The first you heard already. The second is this: You must change the law. Enable parents to get their abducted children back at once.’

  Sévère looked confused. He held up a hand. ‘Are you aware that changing a law might take years?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Very well, then, I’ll do my utmost.’

  She huffed.

  ‘You must understand that I’m in no position to change a law. I must convince the men who can. It’s like winning a long and difficult trial. And I will do my utmost.’

  She lowered her head in assent, inhaled deeply, and said, ‘I will not quit my current situation before the contract is signed.’

  ‘You will quit it at once. This is one of my conditions,’ he growled.

  ‘You can’t make conditions. You are asking me for help. Besides, I would show poor judgement if I trusted you to provide for me before our contract is legally binding. Entering a business agreement without securities is bound to result in catastrophe.’

  ‘How long?’ he asked through his teeth.

  ‘Approximately two weeks. You might wish to arrange for the parson and the witnesses while I consult my attorney.’

  Sévère nodded once.

  Mary tapped her fingers against her wine glass. ‘How much do you pay your officer, Stripling?’

  ‘One hundred and fifty pounds annually.’

  ‘Well, in that case you’ll pay me one hundred and eighty, because I’m more capable than he is. And I need to clarify one more thing. You touched upon the issue earlier, but it was not to my satisfaction. You will refrain from courting me, from treating me like your whore, from any attempts of bedding me. Use other prostitutes for that. From this day forward, you will refrain from calling me Miss Mary. My name is Maria Olivia Kovalchuk. I prefer Olivia.’

  ‘That’s the third condition?’

  ‘Yes.’ Then she shook her head. ‘Why in God’s name did you not offer this position to a man?’

  ‘I have an assistant. Stripling. You’ve met him. There is also the occasional runner boy. Neither is suitable for what I need. Miss Mary… Olivia. My apologies. You seem to have no idea how unusually full and sharp your mind is, do you?’

  ‘I do have an idea.’

  A smile curved his lips. He waved at an imaginary dust mote and continued. ‘I must warn you: we will clash frequently, I am certain. But once you have entered our agreement, signed the contract, and the marriage contract and papers, you are bound for three years. Although I would prefer a longer period, five years at the least. After the initial three years, we will file a divorce or renegotiate the terms of our agreement.’

  ‘Acceptable,’ she said and her brow crinkled. ‘Won’t you lose your position as a coroner?’

  ‘Because of my leg? No, the office of coroner is an appointment for life. The Home Office can only replace me should I be struck by mental illness or commit a crime.’

  ‘And you ascertained that Home Office will not interpret your marriage to a whore as either?’

  ‘Indeed I did.’ He gazed at her hand that lay flat on the table. He looked at his own, then held it out to her. ‘Do we have an agreement?’

  ‘We will probably regret it,’ she said.

  ‘Most likely.’

  She took his hand into hers and squeezed it.

  ‘Agreed,’ they said in unison.

  —The Fourth Condition—

  Maria Olivia Kovalchuk pulled a case from beneath her bed, brushed the dust off its cracked leather surface, and packed her money, her papers, her undergarments, and two dresses — one simple, one fine. The lid refused to close, even when she sat on it. She pulled the dresses back out and looked around the room for something to wrap them in. Her gaze fell on the velvet curtains. One of those would do. She searched for her knife and remembered that Sévère had taken it when she’d been arrested.

  She rubbed her brow and gazed out the window. The bells struck seven o’clock. Gas lamps spit yellow light into the fog. Dark silhouettes moved about, hunched against the evening chill. She turned and scanned her room, told herself not to grow sentimental, and made for the door.

  Bobbie sat in his usual spot — the green armchair in the entrance hall — awaiting the clientele. He raised both eyebrows at her. ‘Anything the matter?’

  ‘No,’ she said with innocence, entered the kitchen, and returned with a long knife in her hand.

  ‘And what do you need that for?’ Bobbie said, eyeing the weapon.

  ‘You wouldn’t want to know.’

  ‘Um?’ The large man was torn between arguing with her and snatching the knife from her hand directly, but Olivia was already half-way up the stairs before he could make up his mind.

  She shut her door, and sliced a curtain clean off the rod.

  When her things were packed and wrapped up, she poured wine into two glasses, and settled down on her bed.

  Her client ascended the stairs, wheezing and heavy footfalls announcing his arrival. Olivia opened the door before he’d had time to knock.

  ‘Good evening, William.’

  He caught his breath, tipped his hat at her, and entered. Once the door was safely shut behind him, he mopped his brow, and said in a low voice. ‘Olivia. Such a beautiful name.’

  ‘Wine?’ she asked, and he signalled assent.

  She handed him his glass and retreated to lean against the wall, her own wine glass clasped between both hands.

  He looked around her room as though he’d never seen it before. When his gaze got stuck at the sawed-off curtain, he grinned.

  She scanned his face, took a sip of her wine, and approached him, reaching out to help him undress.

  He patted her hand. A grandfatherly gesture. ‘Come, sit with me. Let’s talk business.’

  She sat on the armchair opposite him. He shed his coat, disrespectfully threw it behind him, and extracted a folder from his briefcase.

  ‘This one…’ he tapped his knuckles against the thick paper. ‘I’ve never seen its like, as I’ve already said. I’ll probably say that every time we talk of this thing. There are several potential pitfalls — all stemming from the conditions you’ve set — which I couldn’t entirely smooth out. The paragraph that regulates your own finances is more than three pages long, and I doubt anyone will understand it fully. But it’s binding. Everything is. And your future employer has accepted all my edits and addenda without protest.’

  He looked up at her, and shrugged. ‘Not that I can be entirely certain, of course. The man might have wept, for all that I know, but his letters to my office hinted at no qualms on his side.’

  William held up a threatening finger. ‘I made sure he didn’t modify either of the two copies before signing them. However, if that man ever tries to trick you or break your agreement, call me, and I’ll turn him into pulp.’

  ‘I doubt that will be necessary. May I?’

  He handed the contracts to her. She opened the folder. Her head snapped up as she remembered something. ‘Perhaps, I should do this on the bed?’

  He blushed. ‘Mary…I mean, Olivia. I’m here as your attorney, not as your client.’

  ‘You can be both, if you wish.’

  He shook his head. ‘No, you have been very kind to me in the past… What has it been? Two, three years? I owe you this.’ He nodded at the papers.

  ‘I meant to pay you.’

  ‘There is no need. You’ve made me feel young and appreciated. Or at least remember being so. This was more than you had to do.’

  ‘You have always been appreciated, William,’ she said. ‘I’ve enjoyed your company.’

  He
laughed nervously. ‘Come, now. Don’t lie to me. It insults me.’

  ‘You underestimate yourself. You were one of the few men who kindly asked before taking what he believed to be his. In fact, you never took anything by force or coercion. You are a very charming man. I would have preferred all my clients to be like you.’

  He blushed, coughed, and muttered, ‘Now, now.’

  She dropped her gaze to the papers in her lap. Sévère’s initials were at the bottom of every single page, except the very last one, where his sweeping signature and the seal of the Coroner of Eastern Middlesex decorated the paper. Both copies were identical. One was for him to keep, one was hers.

  William handed her a fountain pen and witnessed her signatures. Her fingers trembled as she handed back his pen.

  ‘Satisfied?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. Very much. Thank you.’

  He nodded, and his expression turned somber. ‘There is something I must caution you against. You told me that one of your verbal agreements was that he never beds you and refrains from all attempts of doing so. All this might do well for a normal business agreement. The partners not bedding each other, that is.’ He chuckled. ‘But, my dear Olivia, much of your contract hinges upon you being married to Gavriel Sévère. Your husband might choose to annul the marriage due to non-consummation any time he wishes.’

  ‘We can draft a statement on the successful consummation of the marriage. Both parties sign after the wedding night,’ she said.

  ‘Well…I’ve thought about that, too. You see, legislation is a piece of text on paper. Judges, attorneys, and lay people may interpret it any which way. If, as you say, you two fashion such a statement, and a time comes when you need to prove your marriage legal, then I, as an attorney, would wonder why you’ve made this statement in the first place. I would grow suspicious as to the nature of this marriage, and heavily doubt it was based on mutual attraction. I would likely arrive at the conclusion that the marriage is, indeed, not based on anything physical. And since the marriage was also clearly not to ensure a lineage, my verdict would likely be to the annulment of the marriage due to non-consummation.’

  ‘Hum.’ Olivia grabbed her wine glass and emptied it.

  ‘Is the man so repulsive?’

  ‘No. No, he isn’t. Quite the opposite.’

  ‘Why is the thought of bedding him so difficult for you? You’ve had many men.’

  ‘I have indeed,’ she answered. ‘If I allowed him to bed me, he might see this as an invitation to treat me as his property.’

  ‘I doubt that. The man who doesn’t see what a force you are must be blind. This was one of the reasons I asked politely every time I wanted something from you. You should seriously consider adding the consummation of your marriage to your list of conditions. A verbal agreement, of course. And then make sure the servants hear your moans.’

  ‘You wicked attorney!’

  His grin widened. ‘I am well aware of my qualities.’

  ‘I will consider it.’

  ‘Now, I see that you have packed. Do you require the protection of a gentleman?’

  ‘I might. But my escape should be rather unspectacular.’

  ‘Should it?’

  ‘I’ve blackmailed the madam.’

  His reddened face glowed like a lantern. ‘Please do tell me the dirty details.’

  ‘Well…’ She paused for effect, the corners of her mouth quirking.

  William bent forward, eyebrows travelling higher and higher in excitement and expectation.

  ‘I told her that I had proof she and Bobbie had unlawfully disposed of a body. And if she didn’t let me go, I would pay a visit to Division H and they’d be locked up for two years at the least.’

  ‘How lovely! Might this even be a case of murder, do you think?’

  ‘No. The man died of a heart attack.’ She flicked her gaze at the bed. ‘Beneath me.’

  William huffed, and leant back. ‘What an epic end! I regret I’m unable to die like that man. Was he a good lover?’

  ‘William, we can either attempt to make you die like this, or we leave now. It is getting late for fine ladies to be roaming the streets.’

  ‘Ah, well, yes. Do you have a room?’

  ‘I do. In a boarding house not far from here.’

  With some difficulty, William pushed himself from the armchair. He pulled on his coat, and reached out to her. A card was pinched between index and middle finger. ‘Call for me should your husband give you trouble.’

  ‘You are too kind,’ she said, pocketed his card, grabbed her case, her bonnet, and her wrapped-up dresses.

  They descended the stairs. The madam was nowhere to be seen. Bobbie narrowed his eyes at the pair. She winked at him, and stepped through the brothel door.

  They walked a few yards along New Road and onto Whitechapel Road, and hailed a cab. William held her hand to his lips and kissed her gloved knuckles. Before she climbed in, she tipped her head up at the sky, smiled, and inhaled deeply.

  ‘It is done,’ she whispered.

  ❧

  ‘Your attorney suggested this? The one whose law books reek of cunt?’

  ‘My cunt.’

  ‘Olivia, you may do what you wish. If you believe the marriage needs to be consummated, we’ll consummate it. I don’t see a problem here, considering that I’ve had a multitude of women in my life, and you’ve had a multitude of men in yours. So why the bloody hell are you fidgeting?’

  She cleared her throat, and looked Sévère square in the eyes. ‘This is my fourth condition: I want a proper wedding night. I don’t wish this to be a mere client-whore transaction. I want a night where the man gives his best to please his woman. I will not ask for this again, and it will be only this once we share a bed. It is…an experiment, perhaps. I want to know how it feels — the respect paid by a husband to his wife. Lie to me, Sévère, you excel at that.’

  He swallowed. Perhaps, this was the first time he’d seen her clearly. Perhaps, he wondered, he might even know what she was talking about. He decided to steer into shallower waters. ‘What if I get you with child?’

  ‘Unlikely. I take precautions. Very few clients got me pregnant in the past seven years.’

  ‘Very few? You have children?’ He was aghast.

  ‘Of course not. An abortion was performed. Three, to be precise.’

  He frowned and looked down at his folded hands, his desk, his ashtray with the cigar that smouldered away peacefully. He thought of the women he’d had, many of them paid for their services — not because he was so unbecoming, but because he preferred bedding them without the complications of attraction. The young, naïve ladies of high social standing, whose parents sought a good match for them, and kept them in complete darkness as to human mating behaviour, those women bored him to death. Few knew how to kiss; they knew only how to peck with pursed, dry lips, as if the exchange of any kinds of liquids would spoil their so-called purity.

  He groaned. Not once had he been asked to make an effort. The couplings he’d been involved in had been sweaty, noisy affairs that required little but stamina, the urge to mate, and a few coins.

  Dammit! What was so complicated about asking a woman how she wished to be rogered?

  Nothing. It was all in the technique.

  Sévère looked up at Olivia and said, ‘Agreed.’

  —A Partnership Begins—

  Sévère stared down at his shiny patent leather boots, his sharply pressed trousers, his impeccably crisp cuffs. He flexed his fingers, commanding them to not compact into fists. As he did so, he followed a rather chaotic discussion of several different personae inside his head. So far he’d failed to exert the least degree of control over what was being said.

  His internal ramblings proved to be extraordinarily ridiculous, and, if the situation hadn’t been so serious, he’d probably have laughed at himself. Or perhaps he would have got drunk. But as neither humour nor drink were forthcoming, his mind went on and on:

  I have never
seen her naked. Not from the waist up. What if her breasts sag down to her navel as soon as she takes off her corset? She’s had a hundred men. Or more? Oh God. Certainly more. What if she’s all worn out? Don’t be ridiculous! She’s young. Besides, women can give birth to six, seven, eight children and still look like women. Somewhat. But what if… Surely, she will compare me to all the men she’s had. How could she not?

  Inside of Sévère’s mind, carnage ruled. Men with overlarge phalluses mounted his soon-to-be wife. She moaned and screamed with pleasure. Then he came limping along. And she laughed and laughed.

  He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. His gaze strayed down along the aisle. Again.

  The aisle was empty.

  Still.

  He pulled at a gold chain and the watch slipped out of his waistcoat pocket, and dangled back and forth. Back and forth. It felt heavier than usual. He flicked his wrist and caught the small instrument. He opened it. Eleven o’clock. Sharp. She should be here now. They had agreed on eleven o’clock, hadn’t they?

  The aisle was still empty.

  Why was she not here?

  She’d had second thoughts. Yes, that must be it. She must have lied to him when she’d insisted on buying her wedding dress with her own money. She’d outright refused his pleas to let him pay for the gown. Why would a woman do that to her future husband if not to demean him or to lie to him? She must have planned her escape days ago. No woman in her right mind would wish to part with her meagre funds just to…

  No. Her funds must have been sufficient. When they’d visited the bank the previous day, and he retreated a few steps to give her privacy to deposit her money, the accountant had thrown him a nervous glance as if to say, ‘All this?’

  This made no sense whatsoever.