by L. J. Greene
Maybe I should’ve dawdled more; maybe I should’ve hurried. I don’t know if it would’ve made any difference in the end. Cresswickham had his mind made up, and he wasn’t going to let it drop. I stopped in the parlor to pick up the bottle of rum Betts and I had made so much headway on previously, because I couldn’t stomach scotch, and I knew Cresswickham would make me pay somehow if I took the bourbon.
I didn’t want to go. As much as I’d wondered about and imagined Alice’s rooms, I didn’t want to go in there. Something terrible would happen if I did, I was sure of it. And so I took my sweet time walking up the grand staircase, before turning right at the top instead of left.
The great double doors that always blocked off Alice’s part of the mansion were still closed. I was enveloped in a familiar cloud of Cresswickham's scent when I arrived in front of them. My stomach turned over, and I leaned against the door to wait for the nausea twisting my gut to pass on. It subsided, and I had no more excuses. I wiped the back of my hand across my wet upper lip and stared at those huge doors. I didn’t like to barge through them, trained so carefully as I was, so I gave a sheepish rap with two knuckles. I had to knock twice more, loud and sharp, before I heard quick footsteps approaching.
Chapter 30
The doors flung open, and Leo stared at me, as furious as he had been that first day I turned up on the doorstep of the mansion claiming to be a reporter. I could hear music behind him. Even at a distance it sounded lavish and rich and demanding. It couldn’t possibly be Alice’s choice.
“What the devil are you playing at?” Leo hissed at me. “Reggie’s all worked up. Why’d you take so long?” He pulled me through the doors and grabbed the bottle from my hand. “Rum?”
“I could go back and—”
He cut me off with an impatient wave. “There’s no time. Just make sure you do whatever he says. Don’t antagonize him any further, for Christ’s sake.”
He gave me a little push, and I set off down the hallway with him behind me. It was just as dark and oppressive as the corridor that led to our usual wing of the house, but there was a different kind of gloom hanging around the high ceiling. Dread made my tongue go dry. One of the doors was ajar, and I heard Cresswickham’s baritone singing from behind it, “Mein Irisch kind, wo weilest du?”
“Here,” Leo said, and pushed open the door for me, ushering me through first.
What a place Alice’s boudoir was. Not as big as Cresswickham’s but getting there, and stuffed to the brim with ornaments right and left. Her bed was as massive as all the others in the mansion, but with a waterfall canopy of cream taffeta and lace from above. The room was bursting with gewgaws on all the surfaces, confusing and cluttered in their multitude. As I stared around and took it in, the music from the small record player in the corner swelled, crashed, and a soprano began shrieking in German.
I started to feel woozy again.
This was no woman’s room. This was a girl’s room, with blonde porcelain dolls dressed in white silk staring at me from a shelf over there, an open jewelry box with a miniature ballerina on the counter here, and Alice in Wonderland illustrations framed along all the walls. The wallpaper was pale pink with climbing roses winding up some panels, pansies in clusters on others, and here and there a waist-coated rabbit with a large pocket watch peered out at me from behind a clover patch.
Even the furniture would have been better suited to a nursery. The dresser was too small to hold a woman’s needs. In the corner there was a small table set up for a doll’s tea party, with tiny cups and saucers and a china teapot. A golden teddy bear sat expectantly in one miniature chair, his stitched mouth cross and downturned. Three more blonde dolls populated the remaining seats, their lips pressed together, their faces beautiful but blank.
Alice herself was kneeling with her back to me in front of a grand armchair in the corner of the room. Her hands were clasped and her elbows rested on the matching footstool, as if praying. Cresswickham sat waiting in the armchair, one knee jauntily crossed over the other and his foot tapping out an impatient time. It struck me clear as day, then, that Alice was not the one responsible for the décor here. No, not she.
“You’ve kept us waiting, Coleridge,” he said, drawling out my name like he enjoyed the taste of it. “Hasn’t he, Alice?”
She whispered something, but I couldn’t hear her over the operatics from the corner of the room.
“Louder, darling,” the Englishman said. “And it’s very rude not to look at him when you speak to him.”
She slumped back on her heels and half-turned towards me. Her face was so white I wondered she was still upright. “I said, yes, you’ve kept us waiting.”
“I’m so sorry.” I think it was the real pity I showed that got to her, because she hid her face in her hands.
“Reggie, look, he’s brought your nightcap,” Leo said quickly, and held out the bottle.
“How am I supposed to drink without a glass?”
I glanced again at the doll’s tea set. “Here,” I said roughly, and walked over to grab up one of the small cups. “Tastes the same whatever it’s in. This’ll do.”
I grabbed the bottle back from Leo and poured Cresswickham out a drop of rum in the tiny teacup. I served it with a flourish, but he only looked at me. “Perhaps in your United States they don’t care for standards,” he said, “but I am an Englishman.” With that, he slapped it out of my hand. It flew out of my fingers, mercifully away from Alice, and bounced on the thick carpet, where it spilled its contents.
“Well, gee, Reggie, I just don’t know what else to do for you,” I said, scratching the back of my neck. “Unless you want to drink it straight from the bottle.”
He sized me up, head to toe, but then Leo got himself involved. “Perhaps we should all go to bed,” he said hastily. “We’re all of us tired and—and overwrought.”
“Do I seem to you to be overwrought?” Cresswickham asked me.
“Nope,” I replied, and shrugged. If he wanted me to play the dullard American, I would, if only it would take his attention from Alice. She was chewing on her lower lip now, her eyes closed, salt tracks on her pinked-up cheeks.
Leo gave me a beseeching look from where he stood at Cresswickham’s right hand.
“But,” I continued, “it doesn’t seem right for me to be here in a lady’s chambers, even with so correct a chaperone as yourself, so I’ll see myself out—”
“Lock the door, Leo.”
“But Reggie—”
Cresswickham shot him a look that made my stomach clench. “Lock the door, Leo,” he said again, “and bring me the key.” Without another word, Leo did as he was told, and the music reached another crescendo. I winced. Cresswickham eyed me as Leo moved around, and said, “Now this is real music. Something fine and stirring. Do you know it, Cole?”
I shrugged.
“Leo. Educate your American friend.”
“It’s Wagner,” Leo said, his voice tight, and brushed by me to deposit the door key in Cresswickham’s outstretched palm. “Tristan und Isolde.”
“Two ingrates who betrayed their king, and ended up dead. But not before a lot of misery,” Cresswickham added. “Tristan waits, you see, desperate for his love to come to him from across the ocean before he dies. But: Öd und leer das Meer, Coleridge. Desolate and empty is the sea.”
“They met again before his end, Reggie,” Leo said softly.
So much for don’t antagonize him.
“I don’t think any of you appreciate what I do for you,” Cresswickham said, as he pushed the key into his waistcoat pocket. “The way I care for you and provide for you. I teach you discernment and mold your appreciation for the arts. I feed and clothe you. Alice, I’ve done nothing but embrace you as my only sister, my last remaining family, and what do I get for it? Nothing; you don’t even love me as well as you ought. You can’t wait to get away from me, can you?”
She shook her head and kept her eyes on the footstool. “It’s not like that, Reggie, I
told you. I want to marry so I can carry on the family line. I want to do that for you because I love you.”
He sprang forward so fast in the chair that she quailed. “Carry on the family line? That’s a pretty way to put it. You think I don’t know your kind? All you can think about is spreading your legs, as soon as you came of age. It’s a sickness. You’re like a bitch in heat chained up in the yard, howling for any old mongrel to mount her.”
Leo shifted nervously as my jaw dropped. “How dare you speak to Alice that way?” I demanded, so astonished I ignored Leo’s warning hand signal.
Cresswickham laughed, a drunken chortle. “Alice. Tell me. Am I wrong?”
She moved, got back to her knees, her shoulders rounded, but she raised her face. “No, Reggie. You’re not wrong.”
“Tell him,” he said, gesturing in my direction.
She turned her head until she was facing my way, but her eyes looked over my shoulder as she said dully, “Reggie is not wrong. Reggie is never wrong.”
Isolde lamented in the background, accompanied by horns.
Cresswickham said, “None of you have any idea what it’s like to live with the kind of responsibilities I have. My family’s lands, my family’s title, my family’s fortune—it is my duty to conserve these things, to watch over them. The fact that I choose to share them with you…” He tailed off, out of steam, his train of thought chugging to a slow stop. He gave an irritated flap of the hand. “Leo, fetch me that bottle.”
Leo stepped forward to take the bottle of rum from me. He fairly had to pry it out of my hand, and dug his nails into my flesh before I let go. “What did I tell you?” he said, sotto voce. “Do as he says. Don’t antagonize.” I glared at him, outraged.
“What are you whispering there?” the Englishman asked sharply.
Leo tugged the bottle free of my grasp and brought it over to the armchair. He knelt down beside the chair and leant on the arm, looking up at him. “Nothing, Reggie. Just reminding him of his place. We all need to remember our place, don’t we?”
Cresswickham traced a finger down Leo’s cheek. “You certainly do, my ever-gallant Ganymede. And now I’d like a drink.”
Leo stood, uncapped the bottle and took a swig. He bent, placing his lips on the Englishman’s, and neatly spilled out the rum into Cresswickham’s mouth. Cresswickham kept him there, sucking at his mouth, hands on either side of Leo’s face, with no more passion in him than if it really were just a glassful of rum.
I’d never seen them kiss before.
“At least you didn’t spill it,” Cresswickham said when he was done, and let Leo go without interest. He looked at Alice again. “Now, as for you—”
“Oh, but it wasn’t Alice’s fault, what happened tonight,” Leo said quickly. “I’m the one who wanted to go to the Birdhouse. It was my fault, the whole thing.” My head whirled. What imagined slight was Leo bringing up? I could only wonder.
Leo wasn’t done. He said: “You should punish me, Reggie. I disappointed you, didn’t I? I wouldn’t come when you told me to, would I? You wanted to leave, but I put myself before you tonight. It’s a bad habit of mine.”
“You’re right,” Cresswickham said. “Take off my belt.” Leo obediently unbuckled and unthreaded the leather belt from the man’s waist where he sat. Leo’s face was the kind of expressionless that told me he was calculating rapidly. He folded the belt in half and held it out to the Englishman. “Oh, I won’t be lowering myself, not tonight,” Cresswickham said, as if in surprise. “You’re not the only one who needs to remember your purpose.”
Leo’s hand, with the belt, dropped to his side.
“Well?” Cresswickham snapped. “What are you waiting for?”
Chapter 31
Leo stood, turned on his heel, and marched over to me. He grabbed my hand and slapped the belt into it. It was soft and pliable, the finest Florentine leather if the gold stamp inside was to be believed. The buckle was shining brass, understated and elegant, a slim bronze rectangle. Leo closed my fingers around the buckle carefully and looked into my eyes until he saw that I understood.
I was not to hit him with the buckle, but only the strap. But I was to hit him, that much was certain.
“No,” I said. Alice had already shrunk away, moving to sit unobtrusively on the foot of her bed, her arms wrapped around the post as though she were hanging from a fifty-foot drop.
“Yes,” Leo said, and briskly let down his suspenders before he tugged free his shirt from his pants. He stripped down until he was bare-chested; bare-backed, now, as he turned and braced himself with both hands on the other bedpost. Alice hid her face against her forearm.
I looked at Cresswickham, sprawled and slumped now in the armchair as though he were watching the most entertaining show, one finger stroking the mustache that hovered above his bitter-lipped smirk. “If you think for one second that I’m going to whip Leo for you—in front of Alice—”
“Cole,” Leo growled at me, turning his head only so he could spit my name over his shoulder. I knew his meaning. There’d be worse to come if I didn’t.
“Whip me,” I offered helplessly. “Let Leo whip me. You were right at the club, I’m the one who—I did whatever it was—”
“Cole,” Alice said, her voice muffled against her skin. “You’d better get on.”
“Please,” Leo added softly.
Cresswickham said, “I can’t think why you’re making such a fuss, Coleridge. It’s nothing you haven’t done before. Besides, he likes it. Don’t you, Leo?”
“Yes, Reggie. I like it.”
“You like being reminded of your place.”
“I like being reminded of my place.”
I wanted to turn on Cresswickham then, lash out with the belt and see how many times I could strap that smug English face before Leo tackled me. It was the thought of Alice that held me back. Hitting out at Cresswickham would have repercussions, and I didn’t mean them to fall on her.
Leo, though—he was a bird of a different feather, and I couldn’t be sure even now that his actions were entirely altruistic. My palm was sweaty, and I had to grip the belt tighter, ignore the metal of it biting into my skin. Do it, everything in me that was sensible and logical said. Do it.
I did it. I swung the belt in a half-hearted manner but was still shocked at the noise it made when it cracked against Leo’s shoulder. He barely moved, though his muscles leapt under his skin.
“Good God,” Cresswickham droned. “Put some effort into it, man.” From the record-player, the entire orchestra boomed together and then fell into a gentle woodwind lull.
I struck again with more force, and this time Leo flinched.
“Better. But this time, stand more to the left, Coleridge—that’s right—yes, you’ll get a better swing that way. Leo prefers it quite hard, don’t you Leo?”
“Yes, Reggie,” Leo said.
“Yes. He likes to really feel it. Likes to show off the evidence of it, too, and he can’t do that unless you leave your signature on him.”
I shuffled over as instructed, closer to Alice, whose hands were still clenched on the bedpost, her forehead pressed against them, her eyes closed. I didn’t dare look directly at her in case it drew Cresswickham’s ire.
I focused my mind on the task at hand. Pretend you’re beating the rug, I told myself, like you did back at home. Ma’d made me beat the dust out of the hallway runner every week because I had a mean swing, or so she said. I’d honed it playing baseball with the other kids on my street, had a dream for a while to make it to the big leagues. Get myself as famous as Babe Ruth in his heyday. Take care of my family.
I’d given up the baseball dreams after my father died, but I’d still taken out my moods on that carpet rug every Saturday morning in the back yard, thumping up a dust storm. My ma never let me back in the house until I washed off under the tap, sluicing off the gray veil all that grime bestowed on me.
That rug must’ve been the cleanest in the neighborhood.
&n
bsp; So I lashed at Leo with as much fervor as I ever gave that old rug, until he cried out, and made me falter on the next stroke. He turned fast and caught the belt mid-flight, yanking it out of my hand.
He was transformed; his lips pulled back in a snarl and his eyes glittering black and dangerous. I took a step backwards. “Sorry,” I gasped at him, and realized I was panting as heavily as he was. Both of us sweat-soaked and aroused—I could see his prick straining at his pants, and curled my lip derisively before I could stop myself.
“Well, well,” Cresswickham said with a laugh. “I say, Alice, have a look at this. Like two circling tomcats not sure who’ll come out on top.”
Cresswickham knew just how to play Leo. I guess that’s the benefit of having gone through hell with a man, like they had in the war: you know the darkest part of his soul. I didn’t even have a chance to duck before Leo grabbed me by the throat and dragged me to the bed, thrusting me up against the pole in his place. With his other hand, he took the leather belt from me and raised his arm. The buckle caught the light, swinging from the free end, and I croaked, “No!”
“Stop it!” Alice said sharply. She was looking up, just like her brother had told her to, and even rose in my defense, pulling herself up the post. “Leo, stop.”
He stopped immediately, like a well-trained attack dog, and the belt fell from his fingers.
Cresswickham laughed. “Why stop now? Isn’t this what you wanted?”
I had no idea who he meant. I was busy staring at Leo, who was panting hard as though it helped keep his turmoil at bay.
Lord Cresswickham kept on. “You seek a husband, Alice? Well, why not one of these two? Wouldn’t that be cozy, the four of us made into a family by the bonds of matrimony? Simply the perfect solution, I should have thought.”
“Reggie, please—” Leo started.
“Don’t interrupt me!” the Englishman spat. “Well, Alice? Would you like that, to take Leo as your intended?”
