He lifted the latch on the great door that protected the shop from thieves when the shopkeeper’s family retired to their home on the floor above at night.
Immediately, Bonnie swooped in on Molly and began kissing her until she had no choice but to loop her arms around his neck to stay upright.
“What is this?” said a voice from the doorway.
They broke apart as if surprised by the intrusion.
“Sir, this is a private shop and we are closed for business,” said Molly.
“This is the man we seek for the crime of sodomy,” said the Watchman. “He’ll need to come with us.” The Watchman gestured to two other shifty-looking men looming nearby.
“This man? The man who has been comforting me all evening? I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed,” said Molly, feigning a laugh while actually terrified that one mistake would result in the loss of Bonnie’s life.
The Night Watchman turned to her. “You are recently a widow, are you not?”
“Aye,” she said, wary about the direction of the conversation.
“And you have no children?” he asked skeptically.
“My husband and I were not so blessed,” she said.
“Hmm,” said the Watchman, turning to look at the fine horse tied up outside before looking back at Molly’s disarranged bodice.
Molly broke away from Bonnie’s arms and trailed after the Watchman. “That’s not to say that my husband didn’t plant his seed in me before he died. I have every reason to suspect that his line will be continuing posthumously,” she said, cradling her flat stomach.
“Sir, I’ll thank you not to upset Mrs. Trenchard. She’s been grieving greatly, which can’t be good in her condition,” said Bonnie, placing his hand over her belly. “Casting aspersions upon her character by suggesting that a friend offering comfort is lascivious is uncalled for.”
“I hardly think grief is assuaged through a three-penny upright!” said the Watchman.
Bonnie rose to his full, considerable height. “I’ll thank you not to suggest that Mrs. Trenchard is engaged in the flesh trade,” he said with surprising menace. “Her name might be Molly, but she’s a skilled tailoress, the best in the city, and I will not hear such slander against her.”
The Watchman started.
“I’ll thank you to leave,” said Bonnie, opening the door with a stony expression.
“Know that I’ll be watching you,LordLascelles. And you, Molly Trenchard. Something about this story doesn’t add up, and a man condemned to the gallows doesn’t get to take his horse with him,” said the Watchman, eyeing Bonnie’s stallion covetously.
Bonnie closed the door firmly behind him, stepping aside so that Molly could set the locks.
He placed a trembling hand on her arm and moved his fingers as though to pet her goosepimpled skin.
“Thank you,” he said.
“It was exactly as serious as you made it out to be,” she said softly, in case the Watchman listened outside.
She collapsed back on the seat near the door, unable to keep her knees engaged. Bonnie followed her down.
“By the by, what was the favor you needed in return for your aid tonight?” he asked.
“I need you to put a baby in me,” she said. “Fast.”
Chapter 2
After ten years inthe trade, one could say that Molly Trenchard was a specialist in men’s pantaloons. Her notoriety started when she was but a bride working alongside her husband. At the tender age of nineteen, she pioneered the “five cock check” to tailor falls so that they’d tent appealingly no matter the direction in which an errant pikestaff might erect itself. Later in the decade, she turned her attention to the back, where Molly cut the abundantly gathered seat resembling a baby’s clout down to a smooth backside that allowed men’s coats to become scandalously short. She was the countess of the codpiece, the high abbess of the hamcases, and known for her inexpressibles from Richmond to Romford.
A sign over the shop displayed the standard outline of a stag head and pair of short men’s pants, but the sign had something extra, a certain hint of fullness around the crotch to denote the house’s speciality. The stylish fops knew that if they wantednature’s bounty displayed to its best advantage, they should direct their coach and four to the sign of the Buckskin Breechess.
Eight days after burying her elderly spouse of a decade, she was preparing to reopen the shop, but had discovered a problem.
