But a wife was still a wife. Unless she knew they’d both abandoned their marriage vows, she was wrong to fantasize about him.
“I wonder why they haven’t spoken in so long,” Della mused.
“Maybe she got tired of sitting at home alone while he sampled every amusement in the country, including the disreputable kind.”
“What do you mean, the ‘disreputable kind’?”
“Haven’t you read his book? There’s a part about where to find prostitutes.”
“There isnot.” Della rummaged through her reticule, where she’d been keeping her brother’s copy permanently at the ready. She’d read it, of course, but her attention may have wandered during some of the longer chapters. There were thirty whole pages on the House of Lords, which she simply couldnotmake herself care about, though not for lack of trying. Her eyes must have darted over certain sections a dozen times without committing anything to memory. “Show me.”
Annabelle flipped through the pages at a snail’s pace, no doubt enjoying the chance to have her older sister at her mercy. Finally, she turned the volume back toward Della, index finger poised on theoffending passage. It was in the section on “Nocturnal Amusements,” which covered music halls, dancing rooms, and casinos.
Where it was once the custom for those seeking fast company in London to attend the Theatre Royal and stroll the houses of ill fame in the neighboring slums between acts, the fashion is now for casinos and dancing halls. Laurent’s Casino is the most recent addition, where licentiousness and other entertainments beyond the musical variety reign unchecked from half past eight until midnight for the entrance fee of a shilling. These vices, to rival anything found in Paris, exist within full sight of the law, which does nothing at all to stop them.
“He did say he hadpersonalexperience with everything in the guide,” Annabelle reminded her.
“That…might be about something else.” Della wasn’t entirely convinced by her own theory.
Goodness. She couldn’t imagine the straitlaced Lord Ashton in the embrace of a lady of pleasure. The very idea of pleasure seemed antithetical to him. Besides which, he’d condemned her for gambling. Surely adultery was worse, in the eyes of a moralist?
She read the passage again. She’d heard of the places he’d listed, but ladies didn’t go there, and the few gentlemen who spoke of them in her company only talked of seeing plays and listening to music. Even their brother, Peter, frequented Laurent’s Casino. Was this what he’d really been doing when he went out with his friends?
It was disgusting, really. Not the indulgence in carnal pleasure, of course. She could forgive that, for who among them had never been tempted?
But thelying. Behaving as though she engaged in the worst kind of depravity by allowing the ladies at her club to drink a littlechampagne and play games of chance in the company of their friends, when half the gentlemen in London were doing much worse every night of the week!
If there was one thing Della abhorred more than uselessness, it was hypocrisy.
“Why must men prove so disappointing when I wish them to be admirable?” she lamented. They always started off well. One could enjoy a new lover’s looks, his wit, his kind attentions as the connection was forged. But they rarely measured up to her ideals as time wore on.
At least Jane found her storybook ending. That proved there must be at least a few decent ones left.
“As I’ve been telling you for years, women are superior in every respect,” replied Annabelle smugly.
Five
Unlike Lyman, who had plummeted to his current situation from loftier heights, the two men who rented out the other rooms above the Hirsches’ house were of modest birth, looking to climb up. They were both apprenticed to Mr. Hirsch, the solicitor who lived downstairs.
Joseph Clarkson was the son of a tradesman. Though he was a decade younger than Lyman, he had a good head on his shoulders and the two had become fast friends.
James Wood was the son of a tenant farmer, come to London to pursue a career he hoped would advance his station. He took a sour view on nearly everything about life in town and resented having to live under the same roof as two men whom he considered beneath the sort of society he aspired to, Lyman’s title notwithstanding. As he prided himself on his good manners, he never said this directly, but let it be known in a thousand veiled comments.
“I noticed one of you finished the last of the tobacco the other day,” Wood mentioned offhandedly as they sat down to the breakfast of kippers and toast Mrs. Hirsch had prepared for them. “I don’tmind, of course, but perhaps it would be a good idea if whoever keeps using it so quickly could buy the next bag.”
The person who used it up so quickly was, without any doubt, Mr. Wood himself. He could rarely be found without a lit pipe in his hand.
“I don’t smoke,” Lyman reminded him. He’d given the habit up years ago to save money.
“I took a pinch,” Clarkson admitted, “but I believe I bought it last time.”
“Did you?” Wood’s tone betrayed some doubt, though Clarkson had never given them reason to suspect him of dishonesty. “Well, if youinsistit’s my turn, I suppose I’ll have to find time to get to the tobacconist today. We have that lecture on estates at the Law Society this afternoon and I can’t stand to miss it. Do you think I should run over there now, before work? It will be such a bother.” He looked at the clock, then back to Clarkson, as if expecting him to give way.
Clarkson kept his eyes pointedly on his meal. The ticking of the seconds counted off their silent battle.
Mrs. Hirsch broke the tension by bringing in tea, something she only did when in a good mood. Lyman’s rent payment yesterday had probably put him back in her good graces. She even offered him cream, which he graciously accepted.
“I almost forgot that some mail came for you, my lord. I’ll go and fetch it, shall I?”
