Pursuit: A Victorian Entertainment
Synopsis
Handsome, intelligent, street-smart, ruthlessly ambitious, and omnisexual, young Addison Grimmins has been hired by the Lord Exchequer of England to be his second and to do what Lord R. cannot do himself. After a country estate wedding, the Marchioness of R. is discovered missing. Is it a kidnapping or…a more sinister plot? Addison vows to find her and bring her back no matter what it takes. It is the 1880s and despite only letters, bribed information, and telegrams as communication; despite only horse, coach, and train service as transportation, Addison tracks Lady R. across Europe, via the strangest people and places: from Venetian palaces to opium dens. Who and what he discovers about her, and more fatefully about his own life, will lead Addison to the crisis of his life, an extraordinary decision, and a stiletto duel with his most implacable foe.
Praise for Felice Picano
“Felice Picano is a premier voice in gay letters.”—Malcolm Boyd, Contemporary Authors
Felice Picano is “a leading light in the gay literary world…his glints of flashing wit and subtle hints of dark decadence transcend clichés.”—Richard Violette, Library Journal
“The Godfather of Gay Lit.”—Richard Burnett
“Picano has always drawn his main characters as gay heroes, unashamed and unafraid of who they are and what life has to offer, whether positive or negative. This, ultimately, is the measure of Picano’s genius.”—Lambda Literary Book Report
“Felice Picano’s contribution to contemporary gay literature in his own work has been immense. His founding of one of the first gay publishing firms, SeaHorse Press, has fostered a profound growth in the gay literary genre. Over the course of the last several decades, Picano, with members of the pioneering gay literary group, the Violet Quill, is responsible for the most heralded gay literature of the 1980s and 1990s.”— Richard Canning, Gay Fiction Speaks
“Picano’s destiny has been to lead the way for a generation of gay writers.”—Robert L. Pela, The Advocate
“Felice Picano is a leader in the modern gay literary movement. Among his works are many novels—both gay and straight—poetry, plays, short stories, memoirs and other non-fiction, and service as a contributor and editor of numerous magazines and books. His active involvement in the development of gay presses and a gay literary movement is widely acknowledged.”—Michael A. Lutes, The Gay and Lesbian Literary Companion
“It is impossible to overate the influence Felice Picano has exerted over 20th Century Gay fiction. His works have shaped the Post-Stonewall landscape.”—Rainbownet.com
“[Picano]’s a word machine. Yet he approaches the page with a newcomer’s exuberance.”—New York Times
“Felice Picano occupies that rare constellation of literary talent populated by such stalwarts of queer literature as Christopher Cox, Andrew Holleran, and Edmund White.”—Rain Taxi Review of Books
“Overall, the mature writing of Felice Picano and fellow ex-Violet Quill member, Edmund White, confirms what has been long suspected: the gay writing that has emerged from America over the last three decades is as consistently brilliant as writing has got.”—George Lear, Purefiction.com
Advance Praise for Pursuit: A Victorian Entertainment
“Part mystery, part coming-of-age tale, Pursuit follows a young man in 19th-century Europe as he rises from trash-picking ruffian to sought-after lover and trusted associate of the British aristocracy. Picano writes the past with vividness, authenticity, unexpected twists, and engaging language. You’re carried along in his adventures from Covent Garden to the Stage and a male bordello to upper crust clubs, cheering for his hero amid danger at every turn.”—Jess Wells, author of A Slender Tether
The Lure
“Explosive…Picano plays out the novel’s secrets brilliantly, one deliberate card at a time. Felice Picano is one hell of a writer!”—Stephen King
“Felice Picano has taken the psychological thriller as far as it can go.”—Andrew Holleran
“Exciting and suspenseful. A strong plot with plenty of action. Builds to a solid surprise ending.”—Publishers Weekly
“With its relentless tensions, solid narrative beat, and rising psychological peril this book is a tour de force of gay writing, is one of the founding books of modern gay fiction, and rightly made Picano’s reputation. It’s got a twist ending, consistently shocks and keeps you gripped.”—Gscene Magazine
20th Century Un-limited
“Experience once again the genius of one of the LGBT community’s best authors and see for yourself where he leads you. You and the history you know will never be the same.”—Lambda Literary Book Report
Twelve O’Clock Tales
“Think of Picano as a queer literary renaissance man. He writes plays and screenplays, poetry and memoirs, sex manuals and sexy thrillers, historical novels and—this is his fourth collection—short stories. The first, “Synapse,” is a creepily science-fictional account of how an elderly man has come to inhabit a boy’s body; the last, “The Perfect Setting,” is a masterpiece of detection, wherein an obsessive narrator solves the mystery of a landscape painter’s murder. Not a one of the stories is like another, such is Picano’s wide-ranging imagination; what they have in common is their power and their polish.”—The Rainbow Times
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Pursuit: A Victorian Entertainment
© 2021 By Felice Picano. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-63555-871-5
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First Edition: May 2021
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By the Author
The Lure
Late in the Season
Looking Glass Lives
Contemporary Gay Romances
Twelve O’Clock Tales
20th Century Un-limited: Two Novellas
Pursuit: A Victorian Entertainment
For DAVE ANKERS and CHRIS ELLISON
1. Addison’s Letters
To: The Earl of R——
11 Hanover Square
London, England
15 September 188—
R—— Manor, Cumbria
My Lord,
Sir, first allow me to utter my greatest mortification and humiliation at the eventuation of events which could not have possibly been anticipated.
Second, allow me to say how your esteemed son, His Lordship’s, nuptials and the great galamawking, country estate celebration that ensued here yester-day, I tremble to write it—yet it is so—provided a most devastating commotion. A very large number of people were present from the towns, villages, and farms nearby who attended the fête, and as it lasted so far into the night, a large proportion of them remained upon the property grounds, sleeping in chairs and divans and upon card tables, as well as in several public and even unused private
chambers.
The hoi polloi easily undermined my own and my varied underlings’ usual methods of vigilance, and, if I must say so, even contributed to my men’s confusion and our misunderstanding for some hours afterward. In short, Lord Reginald’s wedding celebration, although the event of the season in these climes, appears to have been a carefully selected “cover,” allowing his mother, Her Ladyship’s, removal from R—— during the early morning hours without anyone being in the least bit the wiser.
Trithers and Sansom swear up and down they didn’t know a jot of such a scheme, and were over-occupied for at least a week past with the many details of the festivities, and they are loudly bewailing the loss of their beloved mistress. After a mid-morning reckoning of all of the servants present, it is believed that there are two missing along with Her Ladyship. One is an apparently well-bred enough lout by the name of Stevens who has been known in the manor and arrived here several days before the wedding. According to the butler, he is believed to have only recently been in the employ of Baroness Ernestine Baggis-Davies, at Hemphill Court, Yorkshire, and to have been “on loan” this past fortnight.
Neither your butler nor head gardener were able to ascertain precisely in what role Stevens was taken onto the staff, one saying he thought the fellow your own “safety man” to watch the valuables, and the other believing him to have been sent directly by Your Lordship for the express purpose of securing the grounds during the celebrations. No further explanations were provided for this unconscionable breach.
In addition, there is a lady’s maid by the name of DeBouef or deBouef gone this day who very well may have been Stevens’s confederate in the affair. According to the housekeeper, Mrs. Blange, the lass spoke little enough English, but much Italian and French. But this too may have been all of her art. She is believed to have initially been attached to the kitchen staff a month ago as some kind of under-housekeeper. How she then was raised upstairs to be so near Her Ladyship entails a general household mystification. Lady Isolda Chase, née Bouchard, from a distant neighbourhood, appears to have provided Mlle. DeBoeuf’s references, although how she actually introduced herself onto the estate remains further mystification. I must point out that both of these referred ladies are long known to be acquaintances of your own, Sir, and have been at varied times guests here. How they were manipulated or “gotten to” in this matter remains at this time quite indistinct.
Amid so much uncertainty, only to be expected so early in my investigation, I can assert that none of your own horses or coaches, My Lord, were utilised. Apparently, a Berline was witnessed very early ante meridian the day of 12 September by the gardener’s clearing-up lad. The youth asserted he was awakened early by bad cramps, his stomach unused to the rich cake of the preceding day. He first heard, and only after saw the four-horse vehicle pass by rapidly, given his restricted vision through the demi-lune of the garden jakes. He avowed that the coach moved fast, and its window blinds were fully in place, so he could see no one within.
When pressed, and I can assure Your Lordship, all in your employ have been pressed hard by myself and your men in this matter, Farnsworthy, your head gardener, at long last sputteringly opined that the lad, named Skaggs, John Donald, was probably embroiled in an “amorous encounter” during this avowed witnessing of the coach’s abscondence, and not “taking a shite,” as he’d declared to us. That sort of encounter would not have been the first time, Farnsworthy noted gloomily, and Skaggs was, he believed, to have been in company with a neighbouring tanner’s daughter of the same age.
(I hereby recommend that both young persons be inculcated more closely to Your Lordship’s cause by various pressures and stresses, physical and mental, as well as dangled rewards for the future. They might prove most useful later on within and without the manor house.)
Allow me to mention that so commodious a vehicle for only three passengers, two of them female, appears to signify that several pieces of luggage were taken during the removal. Only yourself, Sir, and perhaps some on the staff might asseverate for certain whether or not any estate valuables were pilfered, and thus choose to have extraordinary Charges preferred against All or Any of the Perpetrators. The hostelry that hired out the coach has not been identified. Men have been sent out to identify the sources, but I am already fairly certain it will not be one from any neighbouring shires. Your Lordship is held in such esteem that none would dare.
Needless to say, no note has been left, nor any demands. No, nor any missive whether note, letter, or telegram has been sent to anyone on the grounds. Lord Reginald and his new bride have, of course, already left the estate last evening on their honeymoon and you alone would know if they or anyone at the Chancellery has received anything written from the abductors or any demands connected with your wife’s return.
What is evident is that her Abductors’ plans appear to be farsighted and cleverly constructed, set into motion with great cunning and with a level of surprising resourcefulness.
Your Lordship will understand my own wish to make amends for this lapse and to ensure their ultimate failure in flight. Toward that end, the local railroad stations have been scavenged, such as they are in this out-of-the-way shire, and riders have already been dispatched with instructions to all towns serving crossings by the Irish Sea, our nearest body of water. They are instructed to enquire discreetly, using prudent amounts of coin there and then also at all of the southern Ports of Our Realm that lead abroad. Any information is to be dispatched by return rider directly to myself. Should all fail here, they are all to cross over themselves to Liverpool, Dublin, Cork, Ostend, Dunkerque, Calais, and Le Havre and again pursue their inquiries.
The greatest difficulty we may face, Sir, is the matter of incognito. Veiled women on the Continent, if that is indeed where they are headed, are more common than not. Furthermore, while images of Her Ladyship have been provided along with descriptions, none—whether illustrated, rotogravure, or photographic of any current vintage—is available for Her Ladyship to aid identification. Worse yet, no portraits of any sort might be located for her certain-to-be-more visible assailants. Only descriptive reports exist of them, and those are flimsy at best.
No local or nearby officer of the law nor county sheriff, however, has been notified or requested to step in, as of this date and time, as per your telegraphed instructions. I await Your Lordship’s instructions in that regard. I forebear to point out that Her Ladyship herself, according to everyone on staff who was queried, has no obvious enemies, but that Your Lordship certainly does, and those in some quantity, and that this criminal act may have been perpetrated out of that enmity. Aware as I am of your low opinion of the staff at Scotland Yard, they may need to be contacted eventually.
Before that, however, and upon receiving any feasible intelligence whatsoever from any quarter, I endeavour to personally undertake My Lady’s recovery and return her myself into your hands, Sir. On that you may have my Oath. I remain
Your most humble and obedient servant,
Addison Grimmins
✥ ✥ ✥
“It will take all day to be delivered,” Jenkins complained of the letter just handed to him. “I’ll need five changes of horses before I get near London. Can’t a telegram be sent?”
“Telegrams have been sent,” Grimmins said, not hiding his usual handsome sneer at his underling. “This letter must be received this evening.”
“I’ll be daft if I can understand why.”
“Your understanding is irrelevant. Have one of those tarts in the manor house put up a wallet of comestibles for your journey and get going.”
“Am I to return His Lordship’s answer here, then?”
“I will be long gone from this ill-starred place. Remain at the Chancellery until Stubbins or Seraphim gives you orders.”
He turned to leave, but the young fellow, one of his favourites, still hadn’t moved.
“Are you still here? Are you in need of a whipping?”
Jenkins sprinted off toward t
he manor kitchen door and the steed already there.
Grimmins surveyed the place briefly while watching all his orders being carried out. The very last of the invited wedding guests were now disembarking from the manor in their carriages, none of them the wiser of what had transpired. All were now greeted by one or another of the higher echelon servants, each giving the false “regrets Her Ladyship is indisposed” speech. Hear them clatter along. See the prancing horses, Addison. The rurals in their post-wedding finery.
He remained at enough of a distance from the front portcullis to be unapproachable, yet close enough to make out each of them, fêted all night, put up for the morning, awakened and fed breakfast, and now dressed and ready to go. He had noted his copy of the manor’s invitational list with his own personal comments about each. Most of the guests were, at best, unimportant. Certainly, none seemed to know what had actually occurred; old North country gentry, vicars and their families, a few doughty yeomen and their usually larger families, typical of the populace hereabouts.
Last night, at the post-wedding ball, he’d noted only two beauties. They were not nearly exceptional enough to over-show Lord Reginald and his handsome young wife, in part because neither of the two guests seemed sufficiently aware of their looks, or if so, then neither seemed able to afford the ornamentation to give them more brilliance.
Certainly, one of them, Lady Julianne, knew how to flirt. Daughter of a military OBE now retired, she did so all night long, including with Grimmins, whom she had been clever enough to discover was one of the earl’s men. She’d had two of her sisters or friends—they all seemed alike compared to her—surround him at one point during the fête and offer him various delicacies from the punch table, then managed to get them away while she sought “particulars” about his person and life. She had giggled nicely when he told her that “smart Londoners like myself have lasses like yourself for dessert and leave them without a fare-thee-well.” She even had the stomach to say, “Ah, but I don’t much care how you leave me. So long as you make yourself difficult to forget.” She gained herself a kiss and several unnoticed caresses that caused her complexion to become mottled when the next lad came to remind her that it was her name on his dance card.
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