eight
NOT FOR THE first time that night, Perry wondered why he’d agreed to come to the chaotic, noisy, and crowded Scarlet Room.
One thing had to be said about the place—no one bothered him. He’d sat in a relatively quiet corner of the club, watching people do all sorts of depravities—some more interesting than others—and not one person had tried to drag him out of his corner or asked him why he didn’t join the fun.
Oliver was playing pool with a group of rowdy gentlemen, laughing and singing so loudly Perry was sure his friend would have a sore throat the next day. Aside from playing pool and making silly jokes about the balls, Oliver’s companions didn’t do anything outrageous; they were also fully clothed. There was really something for everyone in the Scarlet Room.
He twirled his glass of whiskey. The ice had melted half an hour ago. He hadn’t drunk a single drop because alcohol and seizures weren’t a good combination. But not holding a glass at a party was usually frowned upon, although Oliver had assured him no one would care. Anyway. The glass gave him something to toy with.
He needed to keep his hands busy because staying here was a pointless exercise. And he’d signed a contract and paid seven quid for this rubbish.
If he had to be honest, years ago, when he’d sought only pleasure, he would have lost himself in a place like that, doing everything, talking with everyone, or trying that intriguing sensual game with the ropes. Now he preferred a piano concert or a gripping book. The only good thing was that, if he had a seizure here, no one would mind or say anything. There was some comfort in that.
He took a walk around the wide room; it was as wide as a cricket field. He couldn’t see the other end, so tightly it was crowded. He strolled, not caring about what people did. Half-naked people, drunk people, people stunned by the opium. Usual things. This type of excitement was overrated and had stopped exciting him a long time ago.
His wandering came to an abrupt halt upon seeing someone he hadn’t expected to see.
Not here. Not now. Not like that.
Dr. Edith Winkworth was drinking champagne and playing cards at a table, wearing only her chemise, corset, bloomers, and stockings. The dark-haired woman next to her was equally undressed. Of the two gentlemen with her, he could see only a blond one who seemed in the buff. The other was half hidden by a Grecian column.
But he didn’t give a damn about the card players. His attention focused exclusively on Edith. Sweet, beautiful, bookish Edith. The woman who had called him a hedonist and wanted her Christmas kiss.
She climbed on the chair, waving her cards as if they were a fan. Her companions beat their hands on the table, inciting her to dance. She obliged, shaking her hips while unfasteningher garter. Her hair was down, reaching her waist in a golden cascade.
A cold shock went through him. The half-naked woman dancing on that table couldn’t be Edith—the quiet, serious scholar who had sent him long letters about her efforts to become a doctor. Or maybe he was a damn prude.
She improvised a can-can dance, raising her leg up. The woman at the table clapped and whistled before whispering into her companion’s ear. The blond man grabbed Edith and carried her across the room, singing with her. She tossed her cards around with a flourishing gesture, seemingly not caring about the man holding her in a rather intimate manner.
Perry followed them in a trance. Edith hadn’t replied to his invitation for tea. He’d thought she was too busy to see him. She was busy indeed.
He mentally scolded himself for judging her. He’d done the same things she was doing, and perhaps tonight was only a temporary diversion from the stressful life of a doctor. Anyway, how Edith passed her evenings was none of his business. He didn’t deny being curious and a little worried, though.
The man headed for the swimming pool in the middle of the room, followed by the dark-haired lady.
“A dive!” the lady yelled, raising a fist.
Oh, no. Perry hitched a breath. As far as he knew, Edith hadn’t overcome her utter fear of the water, although she might be all right in a small pool.
Edith’s laughter ceased. She gripped the man tightly, her face paling and her hands like claws.
No, maybe not.
“No, not the pool,” she screamed.
“It’s shallow,” the woman said. “Not deep at all.”
“No, no, no!” Edith’s piercing scream of fear rent the air.
She struggled against the man, but he kept laughing and carrying her. Her fear took Perry out of his stupor.
He marched towards them. “The lady said no.”
The man ignored him and threw Edith into the water. Her shout of pain and fear chilled Perry’s blood. He rushed past the man and the lady as Edith sank into the water with a big splash, sinking out of view. He didn’t bother removing his clothes and dived into the pool.
It wasn’t as shallow as the woman had said. His feet barely touched the bottom, and Edith was fully submerged. He groaned when Edith stopped moving, her limbs growing stiff. She didn’t even shiver. The pool might not be deep, but in the panicked, paralysed state Edith was, she could drown.
His heart pounding in fear, he pulled her up. She was frozen in shock and so pale even her lips had lost colour.
