The Erotic Memoirs of Ambrose Horne

by Chrissie Bentley

  Lady H_____ did not resent her parting; she herself had been wed for four years by then, and had sometimes despaired of Louisa ever following her into the matrimonial embrace. Too choosy, too contrary, too stubborn and strong-willed, the girl had rejected some of the most eligible men in Europe, and why? Nobody would ever have agreed with her, but Lady H_____ could not help but remember back to a birthday party years before, and a precocious eight year old seated on a growing pile of gifts, while her guests lined up before her to bow and curtsey and add to the pile. And to everyone, she had the same words. ‘That’s Happy Birthday Princess Louisa, thank you very much.’ Of course the young lady whom she grew into was never going to wed a mere Count or Marquis. It was a prince or nothing.

  Parting was harder than Lady H_____ expected; so hard that the two girls sobbed in one another’s arms for what seemed hours. Then a gentle kiss became a firmer one, soft lips opened, curious tongues snaked out. Comforting hands grew adventurous, tears of sorrow became tears of joy, and though neither could ever have said who ‘started’ it, if such a chain of events even required a definable beginning, Lady H_____ knew full well who it was who escalated it. She had even written to Ambrose the next day, to document the moment for both her own satisfaction and his boundless curiosity, and she knew, because he’d told her, how he used that information. Whenever he found himself in the arms of a woman, but with too much on his mind to respond to her charms, Horne would pull Lady H_____’s letter up from the recesses of his miraculous mind, and read her words as though for the first time. Not only did he know them by heart, he once told her, when he died, the coroner would find them engraved on his heart.

  Tonight, Lady H_____ was approaching those same heights again.

  * * *

  The floating palace that was the SS Augusta Victoria arrived in New York City on schedule, a teeming mass of humanity cramming the narrow docks to watch, first, as the mighty vessel was manoeuvred into port by the tiny, obedient tug boats, and then as it disgorged its own small city’s worth of inhabitants – first the nobs, the first class guests, for whom the journey had been nothing less than one long luxurious vacation; then the lesser lights, who had still taken their fill of the ship’s manifold pleasures; and, finally, steerage, the poor souls for whom America was less a vacation spot, and more their last chance of carving a life out of their miserable existences.

  Few of the onlookers had time for them; only the immigration officials, army recruiters and an endless stream of confidence tricksters, pickpockets and evangelical preachers watched these particular huddled masses with anything approaching interest or concern – and that concern, largely, was for what they themselves could extract from this luckless horde before it was unceremoniously dumped into the thick layer of filth that lies beneath the first rung of the ladder to success.

  Nobody, however, noticed the wild eyed, dark-haired young man who clambered from the bolt hole in which he’d spent much of the preceding ten days, dining on whichever snacks the promenading paying passengers might have left behind from their picnics and meals, drinking the rainwater that collected in the lifeboat covers, and wondering over and over how he had ever allowed himself to get into such a mess.

  Terence Wrigley was not an evil man; he would have argued if the subject had ever been broached, he wasn’t even a particularly bad one. Yes, there had been the occasional spot of unpleasantness in the past, and the odd bit of bother with the law, but nothing that he couldn’t handle, and nothing that they seemed that intent on pursuing. He went his way, they went theirs and, so far as Wrigley was concerned, that was how it would always be.

  And then he met the detective – no, not Holmes, the other one. Holmes always came through when Wrigley was around, him and his funny little doctor friend, too. No, Horne was his name, although Wrigley pronounced it Horney, because what was the point of the ‘e’ on the end, if not to make it a different word? Ambrose Horney, and what sort of name was that for a man? So Wrigley made his assumptions and Horney didn’t seem to reject them. They would meet and they would talk, and Horney would ask him about his life on the streets, taking money from strange men for a few moments of his time ... a funny boy, Horney, though, and no mistake about that.

  Most of Wrigley’s gentlemen friends couldn’t wait to get him down on his knees, a-huffing and a-puffing on their swollen little ding dongs, and if Terence had a shilling for everyone who then explained that they only needed a man because their wife wasn’t interested in doing it for them, then he’d be getting two bob a trick and that was Mayfair money.

  Well, Horney gave him his two bob a time, and sometimes he gave him more than that. But he’d never touched Wrigley and Wrigley, to what he suddenly found was a peculiar sense of mounting regret, had never touched Horney. Not once. He tried, of course; he suggested, then cajoled, then argued, then begged – he’d even offered to do it for free, and no, he didn’t understand that either. But Horney simply made some notes in one of his books, shook his head sadly and replied ‘not today, thank you,’ as though he was talking to the milkman.

  Instead they talked. Talked and talked and talked, until sometimes Wrigley went home with his throat so raw that he couldn’t even suck cock for a few hours. That was when Horney started paying him even more; ‘can’t have you losing work on my account,’ he’d said with that peculiar laugh he used, the one that you never knew quite what it was laughing about. So that was when Wrigley came up with his plan. A plan which, within three months of being set in motion, had deposited him homeless, penniless and scared half-witless in the middle of New York City, with half of Scotland Yard probably in hot pursuit.

  And he hadn’t even got the loot. Because there wasn’t any to get. Now he saw the stupidity of his scheme; a quick spot of breaking and entering, snatch up the package that he knew Horney was waiting for ... knew, because Horney had told him, and told him how valuable to his researches it was ... and then a quick bit of blackmail. Nothing nasty, nothing sinister, nothing that Horney himself wouldn’t want. Just a secret assignation between a couple of good friends; just a bit of how’s your father between two men who knew the answer to that particular question; just the chance for Terence to receive a little loving that was reserved for him alone. He’d go down on Horney, let him see how good it felt, maybe Horney would reciprocate but I daren’t even dream of that ... not yet; Wrigley would return the borrowed package, and all would be well with the world.

  Only it wasn’t Horney’s package that he grabbed. Or rather, it was, but he grabbed something else as well, because what the hell, he’d gone to all the trouble of breaking into the solicitor’s office, it’d be stupid to come out without something he could hang onto, a memento of his moment of daring, a souvenir of his greatest success. Maybe, if he’d not been startled by a sound on the street outside, he’d have kept his candle lit long enough to read the address that the other package was intended for; and maybe, if he used the newspapers for anything more than wiping his arse, he’d have recognised the name of the Ottoman ambassador. And maybe then, he’d have simply left with what he’d come for, and old Horney would soon have been coming for him. Instead ...

  ‘Instead,’ Inspector Toynbee murmured wearily to Horne when they met up later that same day. ‘Instead, your so-called associate is frittering away his or her time ...’ and he raised his eyebrow archly as he emphasised the latter ... ‘on a Virginian tobacco plantation, while our man melts into the slums of New York, never to be seen or heard of again.’

  ‘That,’ Horne reluctantly agreed, ‘would seem to be the case. My trap, I thought, was sprung well enough. Mr Wrigley would procure the item, my associate in New York would procure Mr Wrigley, and the Americans would have the documentation they required to prove whatever it is they believe is going on.’ He sighed. ‘Although why they can’t worry about their own sphere of influence without poking their long noses into everybody else’s, I can’t imagine. We should never have given them independence.’

  Toynbee opened hi
s mouth to deliver an objection, but Horne was rattling on regardless. ‘It was all that damnable Pitcher woman’s fault. Well, her and that idiot Henry Clinton. You’d have thought a Knight of the Realm, of all people, could have kept his britches buttoned for a Yankee strumpet, but oh no. And then to admit that it was he who filled her jug ...’ Horne fell silent for a moment, struck dumb, it seemed, by his apoplectic rage.

  ‘None of that was even proven, you know that Horne,’ Toynbee rebuked him slowly. ‘And even if it had been true, the Americans could never have followed through with their threat. For a start, there’s no guarantee that the process would even have worked.’ He paused as Horne’s jaw started to work, the indignant twitch that the old policeman knew preceded a fresh tirade, and then rushed on before the detective could form his first syllable.

  ‘Yes, today we can do it and yes, the force remains grateful to you for unmasking that particular scandal; the Case of the Midnight Succubus, I believe you titled it. But the Americans were merely farmers and labourers, they had neither the imagination or the know how to accomplish such an audacious plot.’

  Horne glowered at him. Perhaps it was best to leave Toynbee to his ignorance; perhaps it was best for everybody if the world remained ignorant of the madman Ben Franklin’s eugenic Utopia ... true, the word had not been coined at that time; would remain unimagined for almost a century. But Franklin had isolated the principle regardless, somewhere between flying his kite and publishing his low-grade pornography, and who knows how close the British Army came to doing battle with company after company of identical warriors, each of them the spitting image of their own esteemed Commander. It had taken some very high level bargaining to even bring the Americans to the negotiating table, and the loss of the colony was only the first of the prices that Britannia had to pay to ensure that Franklin’s experiments would never see the light of day. The stolen Ottoman documents were the latest.

  ‘But of course,’ Horne smiled slyly. ‘There is always a back-up plan on occasions like this. And I suppose now is as good a time as to let you know what it is. Another brandy, Inspector?’

  Toynbee sighed. Horne’s triumphs invariably were the Yard’s triumphs, too. But did the man have to always make him feel as though he’d just been trounced again?

  Louisa had returned to the continent now, and Lady H_____, still reclining in the luxury of the German Prince’s plantation, was wondering whether she ought to think about going back to England herself.

  Her husband, she knew, was quite content; though neither of them would ever have dreamed of admitting such things to each other, she was well aware that he was using her absence to break in a brand new mistress, a pretty young actress who had caught his eye, and whom Lady H_____ had already had vetted, even before the lecherous old man’s first bunch of roses arrived at the stage door.

  But Ambrose must be missing her, she knew; why, his last letter had seemed almost wistful in places, and the little row of kisses that he ‘x’ed at the bottom of his message actually looked like kisses this time, and not the serried rank of dicks, tits and arses with which he normally adorned every surface. No, she would return to London as soon as she could arrange a comfortable passage, and she smiled at that expression; it made her think of Louisa and their final night together, as they conjoined their bodies once again with the dildo and fucked one another beyond the realms of imaginable ecstasy. She had just one final guest to receive – the wild-eyed, dark-haired young man to whom Ambrose had entrusted something of such intrinsic value that even she, who was on intimate terms with almost every worthwhile secret in the British Empire, felt honoured to handle it.

  Wrigley awaited her in the drawing room, his clothes and flesh bedraggled and filthy, his very demeanour revealing every one of the hundreds of miles he had travelled to meet her. She wondered vaguely whether it would be asking too much of her hosts to see that the man was bathed, fed and generally pampered before being sent on his way, and then she noticed the way that her guest and one of the butler’s underlings were eyeing one another.

  She beckoned the man over. ‘See that he’s well taken care of, won’t you? I’ll only detain him a few minutes longer.’

  The man, an effeminate looking Italian boy ... Tigani, she believed his name was ... nodded eagerly, and Lady H_____ pressed a half dollar into his hand. ‘Very well taken care of.’ Then she entered the room where Wrigley awaited.

  ‘You have something belonging to me, I take it?’

  ‘I don’t know, ma’am.’ Wrigley’s already bewildered expression was replaced by one of absolute confusion; perched on the edge of the most comfortable armchair, Lady H_____ believed, that he had ever sat on in his life, as though he were afraid that the very cushion might bite his arse off, his eyes were flicking around the sumptuous room, unable to absorb even a fraction of the riches and beauty that surrounded him. His voice cracked with nervousness. ‘I have a package. I don’t know what’s in it, but this is the address that was written on it.’

  ‘No,’ Lady H_____ snapped, her voice and bearing suddenly imperious. ‘This is the address that was written on the packaging beneath the wrapper that you removed. But what is under that, can you tell me? Because if you don’t, I’m sure you’ll be able to tell the constabulary, and let me tell you this, young man. The Americans don’t take very kindly to stowaways. Particularly ones laden down with stolen goods.’

  Wrigley’s face filled with fear. ‘Honestly ma’am, I never opened it. I only ripped off the wrapping because ...’; she saw his eyes flicker, as he tried to summon up a convincing lie; and then deaden as he realised there was none. ‘I was going to open it, I started to, but then I saw this address on it and I thought, I hoped, well, if they’re friends of Mr Horney’s, then maybe they could be friends of mine as well.’

  ‘So you came here to beg for charity?’

  ‘I don’t know. I just ...’ his voice cracked and then shattered, and Wrigley was suddenly sobbing. Turning, Lady H_____ beckoned Tigani back into the room. ‘Remember what I said. It’s alright, I’ll explain to your master and mistress before I leave for England. Perhaps they can arrange for the pair of you to bunk together. They may even be able to find a job for the boy if everything works out alright?’

  She returned her attention to Wrigley. ‘Well, it doesn’t matter now. You’re here and I suppose we’ll have to take care of you. One thing, though. There was a second package as well? Some documents, perhaps?’

  ‘There was, but ... I lost them while I was at sea. They went over the side during a storm. I nearly followed them ...’ Again he was sobbing, and this time Lady H_____ stepped to his side and placed a solicitous palm on his head.

  ‘Oh really? She asked. ‘That really is too bad.’ And back in her chamber, as she wrote a quick note to Ambrose, she couldn’t help but add a jaunty PS: ‘so our American friends will just have to gather their ghastly intelligence from someplace else, and the only existing copies are on their way home with me.’

  She knew that he’d be delighted.

  The Strange Case of Her Majesty’s Secret Pleasure

  ‘So, you have no current boyfriend?’

  The girl shook her head. The little linen cap she was wearing wobbled comically as she did so, and one hand brushed aside the lock of brown hair that fell from beneath it. ‘Not at the moment, ma’am.’

  ‘A girlfriend, then?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Never? Or not at the moment?’

  The girl looked shocked, her eyes widening amid a sea of freckles. ‘I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m not sure what you mean.’

  Lady H_____ smiled reassuringly, and patted her hand. ‘I merely meant to ask, have you ever taken pleasure, physical pleasure, I mean, in the company of a close friend? Perhaps touching one another, perhaps kissing.’

  The girl blushed. ‘Oh ma’am, that would be wicked.’

  ‘Wicked?’ Lady H_____ raised her eyebrows. ‘But how can it be wicked? God did not give us these beautiful bodies for decoration
alone, you know. And don’t give me any nonsense about sin and temptation. God, in all of His infinite wisdom, would no sooner have given us a body that we were not meant to use, than a parent would hand a child a box of firelighters, then leave him alone in a room full of newspapers.’

  Blushing, the girl lowered her eyes. ‘I’ve never thought about it like that before, ma’am.’

  ‘Probably not,’ Lady H_____ said kindly. ‘But if you are to come and work for me, Rosie, you would do well to remember it. I do not keep the most conventional household in London, you see, but I would never want to disturb or upset anybody in my employ. Not even a parlour maid. Now, to repeat my question. Have you ever had a girlfriend?’

  Her eyes still fixed to the toes of her shoes, Rosie nodded. ‘I did have one friend, at the last house I worked for. One night it was so cold in our room that she crept into bed with me. At first, I thought she simply wanted to stay warm, but then she was touching me.’

  ‘And did you touch her back?’

  ‘Oh ma’am.’ It was as though the girl had been carrying this secret around with her for years, for now her words came tumbling out. ‘I did, and it was wonderful – I felt as though I had been reborn in her arms.’ She struggled for words. ‘I’ve been with boys, but they are so clumsy, so rude, so painful. Lisa was soft and gentle and loving.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Boys think they know what to do ... you know ... down there. But Lisa really did know. Oh ma’am, you must think I’m the most awful girl alive.’

  ‘No, I think you’re one of the most honest. Do you still see her?’

  ‘No ma’am. One of the other servants, she saw us kissing one day. She told the head of the household. Lisa was sent away. She wrote to me once – at least, I think she did. But I cannot read very well and, when I asked Mr River what the letter said, he threw it on the fire and told me it was nothing.’ Rosie was sobbing quietly; Lady H_____ rose and drew a kerchief from her bureau, and handed it to her.