Chapter 9
Fumbling in her reticule for her handkerchief as she stood uncertainly in a dim passage at Mrs. Plumb’s the following Wednesday, Cressida mopped her eyes. These tears! Where did they come from? Soon she would be confined to the asylum if she did not find a remedy for the nervous anxiety that afflicted her.
She’d spent the previous five days with her great-aunt before returning this afternoon to find Justin not at home. She had to admit she’d been rather relieved.
If only she could control this infernal shaking. Tonight... What might it bring? It all depended so much on whether Miss Mariah was telling her the truth or not. Could she really have a remedy for Cressida’s woes? Was there really something so simple as a means of adequate protection each time she accepted her husband into her bed? Even something to lessen the risks was better than nothing. In all their years together, there’d been no talk of that, though she remembered broaching the difficult subject with Catherine after she’d discovered she was with child for the fourth time.
“My, my but you’ll bankrupt poor Justin if you insist on producing a daughter for him every year,” her cousin had said, pretending jocularity. “I’ve given James his two sons, which suits him very nicely .”
Feeling overwhelmed, Cressida had struggled not to break down in tears as she asked, “Is there some secret I’m not aware of, Catherine, that you speak like that? Of course I want to give Justin a son. It’s my duty. But you? You may well start producing daughters, too.”
“Not likely,” Catherine had answered wryly, and Cressida had longed to quiz her more. She had, in fact, obliquely charged Catherine with knowing of some practice to ensure that she didn’t produce girls, but Catherine had simply patted Cressida’s knee in that maddeningly superior way of hers and said as she always did, “Don’t ask me, Cressy, ask Justin. You stopped confiding in me long ago when you learned that your darling husband was the font of all knowledge.”
But of course Cressida could not ask Justin when she was growing bigger with the child they hoped would be the longed-for heir and which, when born, turned out to be their darling Emily. Cressida had sobbed with dismay at the time, though she’d loved Emily like the rest of their girls, and so had Justin. Ah, but then Thomas had finally arrived, and Cressida thought that finally she’d somehow find the words she needed now that Justin had his son.
Instead, she simply reverted back to the tongue-tied, country dormouse Catherine had teased since they were children, smiling and pliant on the outside, tormented by her ignorance on the inside.
“My dear girl!” Her friend greeted her warmly and led her into a small conservatory at the back of the house.
“It is such a lovely evening we can sit here, as my own sitting room is currently occupied.” Miss Mariah patted the seat beside her on the cane sofa. “I’m glad you came...and dressed for action, too, I see,” she added, referring to Cressida’s revealing black evening gown. With its deep neckline and figure-hugging cut, it was very different to her widow’s weeds of the previous week. “I promise you, a few minutes are all it will take for me to explain what would advance society’s happiness and end so much suffering.”
From the tray on the table beside them, she took two glasses of sherry and handed one to Cressida.
In the natural light, Miss Mariah looked different from the previous week. There was now no sign of the gray that had peppered her hair, her gown was of fine blue silk and her eyes sparkled. Cressida was surprised she felt no revulsion for this creature who traded her body for what she could not otherwise procure. Unlike Cousin Catherine, Cressida tried not to be so quick to judge others, yet the fact was that Cressida was about to take advice—perhaps the most important advice of her life—from a prostitute. Or, at least a retired one.
Miss Mariah leaned across the small space between them and asked with clear enthusiasm, “Now, where shall we begin? I do admire a young woman who sets out to help herself. You have been an inspiration to me, for I was a lusterless creature last week, I’ll admit it.” She raised her own glass. “You helped me see that, regardless of our trials, we must embrace the future.”
Cressida took a nervous gulp of the amber-colored liquid and looked down at her gloved hand, clenched in her lap. “My husband —” she began, feeling a surge of longing for the man she’d hurt, neglected and lied to over the past week and whose arms she could not wait to feel around her. A week with her fractious aunt had heightened her desire for the simple comfort of his company .
“Your husband is a capital place to start. I’ve no idea what kind of man he is, but, as it is clear you are deeply in love with him, I cannot imagine he’d not be completely amenable to doing his part to lessen the risk of increasing your already large brood when it comes to lovemaking.”
Heat seared Cressida’s face and throat as she spluttered on her sherry .
Her friend laughed. “How many years did you say you’d been married? Eight? Nearly as long as myself. My dear, the way we entertain our husbands is at the very core of how they regard us, and if you are too afraid even to mention what is at the root of your fear then I see you have a very great problem indeed.”
Cressida forced down her embarrassment. If this woman spoke the truth, her world was about to begin anew. She’d grown up with a maiden aunt and cousin who’d taught her nothing about the business and a domineering mother-in-law who’d made it clear that a reluctant wife was undutiful and unnatural. A knowledgeable stranger was as good as anyone to dispense the kind of advice she needed right now .
She put down her empty glass and laced her fingers in her lap, the anticipation of what she hoped to hear making her heart race. “Miss Mariah, after I left you last week, I chanced upon my husband unexpectedly in this house,” she said, quietly. “Yes, I was shocked, but we were both in masquerade,” she continued, going on to explain what had transpired, though her voice broke as she described the hurt and confusion on Justin’s face when she’d told him she had a megrim.
“A megrim? Good Lord, my dear girl, how have you managed this past week if your husband was so full of expectation upon meeting you last Wednesday?”
Cressida’s mouth trembled. “I...haven’t,” she confessed. “I was a coward, I know. Instead of confiding in him, I went to my great- aunt’s, for I couldn’t face him. I didn’t know what to do.” She raised tear-filled eyes toward Miss Mariah, her self-disgust weighing down on her as much now as it had a week ago. Poor Justin. She hadn’t seen him since that night. What must he think?
“Oh, my dear, what a terrible time you’ve had of it.” Miss Mariah leaned forward and patted Cressida’s knee, and Cressida felt the genuine concern that was so lacking when Catherine did the same. “If I’d known this would happen, I’d have got down to business straightaway. As it is, we’ve not a moment to lose. Let me assure you, you’re not the first who’s sought my advice. Mrs. Plumb’s salon attracts so many like you, women and men with hearts full of love but living in circumstances whereby acting on that love is tantamount to a death sentence.”
Cressida covered her hands. “A child born to an unmarried woman would be like a death sentence, though it is a mortal sin and should be justly punished, I suppose,” she whispered. “But I am a married woman, and my only duty is to provide my husband with a son and to manage as best I can. What I am doing—or wish to do—is a sin.”
“Nonsense!”
Cressida blinked at Miss Mariah’s robust tone.
“Perhaps it is in the eyes of the church and some members of
society but that it their problem.” The older woman spoke with extraordinary confidence and disregard for conventional wisdom. “It’s true that knowledge of methods to avoid conception is sought by many of the unmarried women who frequent Mrs. Plumb’s Salon. For some, trading on their natural charms is their only choice unless they are to starve.”
“There is always a choice. Selling one’s body is...is abhorrent,” Cressida whispered with a shiver. She’d overheard such sentim
ents discussed between Justin and Catherine’s husband, James. In fact, she still blushed to have come silently upon such a conversation when on a warm summer’s evening she’d gone into the garden in search of Justin and heard her husband speak these very words to James, “Taking one’s pleasure outside marriage is abhorrent and a mortal sin.”
It had been so shocking to hear the strength he’d injected into his declaration, not to mention such an odd thing for Justin to say to Catherine’s husband, whom Cressida had to admit she had never liked. He was distant and uncommunicative, and he barely ever looked at Catherine when he spoke to his wife, though Catherine was always gushing about his latest achievements and, more often, his gilded prospects.
Cressida had been confused by James’ response, “What if it’s the only pleasure on offer? By God, Justin, it’s a bit rich to preach from your rarefied position.”
Cressida had quickly left them to hurry back to the house, uncomfortable at having heard what she clearly should not have.
Nevertheless, Justin’s disgust for such conduct echoed the strictures with which she’d been brought up. The only good woman was a virtuous woman, otherwise she was condemned both on earth and in the afterlife.
“Surely they know they’ll go to hell?” she added, confused and embarrassed when she saw the way Miss Mariah looked at her.
Miss Mariah sighed and began in measured tones, “Suppose, if you will, you were a parson’s daughter—”
Cressida pressed her lips together and shifted uncomfortably. Surely this woman knew nothing of her origins? But Miss Mariah was talking again.
“And suppose you have every expectation of making a fine match because the squire’s son asks you to stand up with him at two dances every assembly you attend over the course of several months.” Miss Mariah shook her head. Clearly she was recounting the tale of someone she knew. “But then one day you were out riding and came off your horse, and who should come by but the handsome squire’s son, who gallantly puts you into his carriage”— Miss Mariah paused meaningfully—“and then drives you all the way to London, where he ruins you. Deprived now of your virtue, what choice has a young woman but to become this man’s mistress? For, as you know, his influence in his local area will trump the tale of the impecunious parson’s daughter who was known to have set her sights on the best catch of the county.”
“You’re talking about Minna, aren’t you?” Cressida asked quietly .
“Indeed, I am. Before she became one of the vestal virgins, she was no different from you, I’ll wager, except that fate played her a shocking hand. Now she’s here, earning what little she can by dancing in shifts that leave little to the imagination now that her seducer has tired of her. For many months she has been adamant she will not sell her body, though she is all but starving. But now her high ideals are in jeopardy if she is merely to survive and she has asked me—”
“Minna has consulted you about such things, too?” Cressida knew she should not want to know the details, and yet Miss Mariah had struck a chord. Minna’s upbringing was so similar to hers except that the young man who had courted Cressida had been her darling, loyal and honorable Justin, who had almost immediately offered marriage.
Miss Mariah nodded. “She has, yes.”
“She should stand firm,” Cressida burst out. “If she’s survived these many months then surely she will find one man who will offer her...marriage. And he’d only do that if he knew she was...virtuous.”
Miss Mariah raised one eyebrow. “Life is not always so black and white, my dear. Recently, poor Minna received news that her father has died, plunging the family into poverty. Now her sister will be forced to marry an abhorrent creature who has offered for her ad whom she will be forced to wed, for the family has no money now and she has no dowry .”
Cressida had heard of many such stories. “Women are forced to wed against their hearts’ wishes all the time. I’m sorry for it, and I’m the first to concede how lucky I am, but—”
“Is it wrong for a woman who is already ruined and believes she’s destined for hell to want to save her virtuous and innocent young sister from a life of unhappiness?”
Cressida frowned. “No,” she said dubiously, wondering on what basis Miss Mariah’s argument could be furthered. Slowly, she added as understanding dawned, “But if I were Minna’s unmarried sister, I’d rather die than know she’d sold her body to help me.”
“It’s not that simple, my dear.” Miss Mariah smiled sadly. “Indeed, it never is. You see, Minna has been made a handsome offer by a stranger who wishes for just five nights in her bed. It is an extraordinary offer, for it is generous enough to provide Minna with the means of offering her sister an avenue out of a lifetime of marital unhappiness and servitude. Yes, Minna feels it is abhorrent to sell her body...and yet what sacrifice would she not make to ensure her young sister does not endure the pain of being thrust into the hands of an uncaring man with whom she’ll have to live for the rest of her life?”
Cressida’s shoulders slumped. It was all so confusing, and the more she heard of such tales, the more her own moral code shifted on its axis. Nothing was straightforward, it seemed. “What is Minna going to do?” Of course it was nothing to do with her, but the pretty, fair-haired girl could have been any of the debutantes she’d grown up with and who’d gone on to make respectable marriages.
“She is considering accepting this offer, as I said. This man has not revealed himself, so that makes her decision difficult, but increasingly she seems to place less importance on her own life, which is ruined and unhappy, and more on securing her sister’s happiness through her own sacrifice.” Miss Mariah sent Cressida a warning look. “Nevertheless, Minna will not risk bringing an innocent child into the world to bear the shame of illegitimacy and to be forced into a life of slavery to men, so that’s why she’s consulted me on the many ways to prevent or limit the risk of conception, and indeed ways to prevent a pregnancy from proceeding.”
Cressida gasped. “From proceeding? Why, that’s murder!”
“Is it murder to drink the tea made from a common herb? Would you call a poor woman who has twelve children, no money and a drunken husband a murderer for drinking pennyroyal tea to regulate her courses?”
Cressida shrugged, unsure how to answer. All her ideas on morality had been founded using very different examples to support them.
Miss Mariah’s expression softened. “But I can help you before you need to resort to such drastic measures, for it is possible for you to enjoy marital relations without constantly fearing you’ll beget a child.”
All thoughts of poor Minna’s desperate plight receded as Cressida leaned forward, the urge to learn filling her with hope. She wanted to know everything Justin knew. Knowledge was power. Cressida could use it to conduct her life and use her body as she wished. She didn’t have to be like the women Miss Mariah described. Theirs was another world and their reasons for wanting to avoid conception very different from hers, though they all had one thing in common—the need to be in control of their bodies and fertility .
The thought was radical. What woman did she know who thought that way? There must be something wicked and wrong with her, and yet was this the secret nobody was prepared to discuss in public?
How had Catherine succeeded in giving birth to two sons only in a marriage of similar length to Cressida’s? Did she already know what Miss Mariah was about to teach Cressida?
Or had she simply denied James since the second boy was in the cradle?
Fascinated, Cressida watched Miss Mariah reach into a crimson velvet drawstring bag. Upon the inlaid table in front of them, she laid out a small sponge and a brown bottle labeled vinegar together with a small, brown paper bag. Beside this she placed a strange, oblong object made of, if Cressida didn’t know better, some animal membrane.
“Men have been using French letters for centuries, but we women have our little secrets, too. Now, my dear, I am going to give you the kind of advice and information I’d hav
e given my own daughter,” her voice hitched, “had I been able.”
Cressida didn’t miss the lapse of composure. She sympathized. A woman’s chief purpose was to beget and rear her children. Wasn’t she blessed to have had four, and all so robust, for at last Thomas appeared to be growing out of his childish maladies. This last week, for the first time, he’d run about Great-Aunt Jane’s country garden like a little colt. How she wished Justin could have seen it. She shook her head quickly to banish the thought and returned to the here and now. Poor Miss Mariah had had to forgo the joy of a family in order to support herself through the plea- sures of the flesh, making money in perhaps the only way she was able.
The sheath of sheep’s gut—for that’s what Miss Mariah now said it was—hung limply from her fingers. “Of all methods, the French letter is the most effective means of preventing conception, though not all women can persuade their husbands or lovers of the need to use them, meaning of course they must have alternative methods at their disposal.”
Cressida’s cheeks burned, and she nearly choked on her horror as Miss Mariah began to caress the object, half smiling. “Some women, however, are able to induce their men to don the French letter by turning the process of easing it over their manly organ when excitement builds into a sensual game. If you wish for a demonstration, there are those in this salon—”
“No!” Cressida squeaked. “Just...explain it to me.” Had she really gone so far even as to ask that? For an explanation? She’d never heard of such a thing, yet now she looked at it more closely she could see how it must work.
“The seed which would otherwise be spilled inside the woman, who then may go on to conceive, is contained within the French letter, which can be washed ready for future use.” Miss Mariah handed it to Cressida. “Feel it. Get used to it. Indeed, take it. It may be all you need to save you another twenty years of doubt and anguish if not the pain and danger of multiple pregnancies.”
Duchess of Seduction (Hearts in Hiding Book 3) Page 11
