A Pretty Mouth (32 page)

“I don’t think he’s happy to hear it,” commented Godfrey. “Poor duckling. Perhaps when he sees himself in his pretty wedding clothes he’ll buck up.”

Someone sat beside Henry on the mattress. He lowered his hand, and looked into his own, concerned face.

“I am sorry to have cozened you so awfully,” said Henry. “You were far nicer than I realized when I decided on you.”

“What is happening?” Henry cried. “Where am I? Who
are
you?”

“You’re in my body,” said Henry. “You were in it enough yesterday, do you not recognize it?”

Honor
.

Henry looked down at himself again, and pulling open the neck of the
robe de chambre
, he realized he did indeed recognize those small, high breasts and pink nipples. Good Christ, he was a woman. Honor had somehow stolen his body. The bitch!

“How?” he managed. “Why?”

“As for your first question, my philosophical researches, of course,” said Honor, with his voice, his tongue, his mouth. “Do you not recall what I said about the Hebrew theory of the soul residing in the blood? For the past year I have made a study of souls here at Wadham, and transfusion, too. My researches were long and arduous, but once I managed to create my psychoscopic spectacles it was simple enough to determine the soul does indeed reside in the blood. Basing my methods on Christopher Wren’s, I theorized that since blood may be extracted, so might the soul. I even developed a method for removing the soul entirely from the blood, using spinning force—my crank-tub. Sometimes bloods do not agree with one another, for some reason I cannot determine, so it is necessary to extract and then re-introduce the soul.”

“What?”

“Do you not recall my looking at Lady Franco’s blood? I had switched her essence with Pietra Poodle’s—Godfrey’s dog—and wanted to make sure her essential biology went unchanged, since my dear plants, being vegetative, had demonstrated some … unusual reactions. A rose producing a tulip’s blossom, for example.”

“Tudors and the Rembrandt,” said Henry, finally understanding at least
that
.

“Yes, yes! But as it turns out, a flower’s blossom is a bit like … like our soul, I suppose. A beautiful thought, isn’t it?”

“Quite,” said Henry dryly.

Honor didn’t seem to notice his irony. She patted Henry’s newly-slender knee. “After I successfully exchanged Lady Franco and Pietra Poodle’s souls—their sensitive essences, as Aristotle would say—well, it was time to find an appropriate vessel for
my
soul. Which leads me to your second question, the why.”

“Honor, I—” St John looked uncomfortable.

“St John will not like me to tell you that he is infertile,” said Honor, “But he is. Sterile as a stone. We tested him quite thoroughly to make sure it wasn’t me who was the problem, and he couldn’t get so much as a country milkmaid with child. But we had to have an heir, you see.”

“You can’t marry your sister,” said Henry weakly.

“No, but you can marry your cousin,” supplied Godfrey.

“It would not have been easy to find a man willing to marry a woman in love with her own twin brother,” Honor said wistfully. “Do you recall Master Fulkerson’s lecture on Plato’s
Symposium
? I confirmed everything Aristophanes believed, looking through my spectacles. My brother and I, our souls look the same, we are … we are, as I said, more than twins.” She smiled at her brother with Henry’s lips.

“No longer,” said St John.

“
Still
.” Honor’s tone was irresistibly firm. “Godfrey was kind enough to propose to me, given that our interests could be mutually satisfied. I would not care who he took to bed, nor he me. But that did not help us with our need for an heir.”

“If I could have gotten one on St John, that would have been different,” said Godfrey, smirking.

“Not that I was ever averse to
trying
,” said St John. He sighed, and shook his head. “You can see how biology thwarted us there, too.”

“So the only thing for it was to find someone to, ah,
donate
an heir,” said Honor. “Godfrey could have done that easily enough, but then I should still be sacrificed on the altar of womanhood, and I enjoy my freedom far too much for that. Who on earth would want to be a woman? Not objectively—all things being equal and all that—but in
this
world? I had to play dress-up, live a lie, just to go to school! And there’s always the risk of death when a woman is brought to childbed, and how could I leave St John alone, should such a thing transpire?” She looked lovingly at her brother. “You are such a dear, but so helpless.”

St John shook his head. “I cannot think I could survive without my … other half.”

Henry’s head was swimming, his heart—Honor’s heart—was pounding. “So you—you stole my body?”

“No, of course not! I gave you more than an equal exchange for it, I’d say.”

“But I didn’t want to exchange it!”

“You said you’d do anything for me,” said Honor. “And it won’t be so bad. Once we pack up, we shall need to soon, I think the bell for prayers shall toll soon, you shall elope to London, with Godfrey—your future husband—and there you shall buy, with Calipash coin, the finest wardrobe a married woman could want. Then to the church, and after that, Godfrey has agreed to escort you to our home in Devon before he goes abroad. There you shall live like the noblewoman you are, and be given all possible honors when you bear our heir.
Your
heir, actually, come to think of it. How lovely.”

“We, however, shall stay here,” said St John. “Now that Honor’s a boy, there won’t be any trouble with her going to classes. I’ll stay on as Thomas, and claim the Lord Calipash abandoned me when he ran away with Godfrey over the scandal of Lucas Jones’ humiliation.”

“And since you were already taking the proper classes, I can learn lawyering, and after I graduate come to live at Calipash Manor with you, and with St John, and with Godfrey. And our child, too, I suppose. Do you see now, Henry, how all has worked out?”

Henry blinked at her.

“Henry?”

“Worked out?!” he leaped to his feet, feeling strangely light and weak. “
What
has worked out? You speak of me possibly dying in the act of bearing your heir—my own child—after subjecting me to arcane torments and nefarious schemes? You won’t get away with this!”

“We will,” said St John.

Everyone looked at him.

“Tell anyone outside this room what’s been done to you and you’ll be sent to Bedlam.” St John shrugged. “Far less comfortable accommodations than at Calipash Manor, I daresay.”

“You’re … you’re all
monsters
!” Henry began to cry, and even the tears felt alien on his face.

Honor looked surprised. “Henry, don’t weep! You’ve gotten everything you wanted!”

“When did I want a cunt?” snuffled Henry, hating how petulant he sounded.

“You certainly wanted mine,” she said reasonably. “Now it’s yours forever, I gave it to you. And did I or did I not promise you that I’d help you get your grades up enough that you could join the Natural Philosophy class in the fall?”

St John laughed.

Honor shot him a look, then turned back to Henry. “All joking aside, I promise you your teachers will see an immense improvement in your schoolwork. See you now how you’ve gotten everything you wanted? Better grades, an easy life untroubled by social class or difficult academics, and, as you’ll discover once you arrive at Calipash Manor, you’ll finally have everyone at your beck and call, paying you respect,
et cetera
.” She smiled at him. “Oh, Henry. I’m sure you’ll come to see everything in the right light—in time.”

Epilogue: Just Like Henry

John Wilmot sidled into Logic like it was no big deal, hoping no one would remark on how he hadn’t been at the Chapel for prayers that morning. He had briefly waked upon hearing the bells calling him to worship, but he’d had such a splitting headache from all the wine he’d drunk with Robert that he just couldn’t get out of bed. Five in the morning was simply too early to rise after getting in at two. He would need to be more temperate in the future.

Or less religious, one or the other.

He slid onto his accustomed bench with a groan. He still felt rotten as French cheese and like he might need to make a run for the jakes before class was finished. He rubbed his chin, feeling the sparse stubble of his beard; shaving had been beyond him. He knew he looked rough, but still, things could be worse. Idly, John wondered what had become of Henry after he’d taken that drubbing from one of the St Johns that had come to the Horse last night.

One of the St Johns
. My, it
had
been a bizarre night, hadn’t it! First he’d agreed to Robert’s proposition that John pay for the use of a private room one night a week at some public house so they could meet
sub rosa
for “poetry lessons” and then that second St John had shown up and beat the daylights out of Henry. Robert’s suggestion that they have another bottle of claret—apiece—after the unconscious Henry had been borne out of the tavern by that giggling fellow and the identical boys had seemed sound at the time, but now John wasn’t so sure … he couldn’t remember much after that. Robert had been on about something about school or—

The door to the auditorium banged open; John winced from the racket but quickly schooled his face into impassivity. It was the Blithe Company—and there was Henry, trailing behind on his fat little legs. How dare he have called Robert a toady!
He
was the toad, a squat, fat, ridiculous, warty, croaking little toad of a boy.

John shot him a nasty look, but was surprised, upon further inspection, to see that Henry looked … good. Tired, but good: For once in his life he looked like he’d gotten up in time to damp and comb his hair, his face looked clean, his robes were ironed, shoes were brushed and shined, and he was leaning against the wall of the auditorium in a casually confident manner, laughing with the rest of the boys. Maybe joining the Blithe Company really was proving to be a good influence on him?

Ah!
That
was what Robert had been saying, that John should ‘get in’ with the Company; that he would be surprised how old school ties came in useful in later life. When John had protested that the Blithe Company were rotters all, Robert had told John to trust him, and suggested that it was due to a lack of truly refined, artistic influences among them, and they were likely wanting for someone to bring that tone to their chord. Or something like.

Looking at Henry, John thought meanly that indeed the Company might want for more refined influences if
that
was the sort of trash they were allowing in these days. However Henry might have improved, he still had acne, and frankly, he looked ridiculous with that black eye. Not at all cool or roguish or dangerous or wicked, really. John congratulated himself for getting over his former crush so quickly. He simply wasn’t worth it. Not like Robert.

But a soft voice inside John teased at him, made him to look at Henry a second time—and admit that, actually, Henry did look pretty cool and roguish and dangerous and wicked with that black eye. And … wait, was he coming over to sit beside him?

“Hallo, Rochester,” said Henry, sliding onto the bench beside John and forcing him sideways across the wood with a thump from his liberal bottom. “How goes it? Have a good time with that fellow last night after I left?”

“Yes, though I wish you wouldn’t shout so,” said John acidly.

“Are you embarrassed? Or—is it that, mayhap, you had a few too many drinks?” Henry grinned, tapping the side of his nose. “I had a few in before I got to the Horse, but not many after the walloping to the face. Should never have gotten between the twins. Lesson learned—not that I’m too concerned about a repeat of that nonsense. St John’s flown the coop, along with his sibling, and given everything, I don’t think they shall ever return.”

“What? Really?” John was surprised by this information. “Why?”

“Well they’d been seen together, hadn’t they—cat’s out of the bag and whatnot about them being twins, plus Lucas Jones has some
serious
dirt on the Lord Calipash after the incident. Can’t tell you more though. Secret Blithe Company business.”

John’s head was spinning. “St John … had … a twin?”

“Yes, a
girl
. She was dressing in his clothes to go to classes for him. They’d switch off. Seems like we never knew which of them it was at any given moment, boy or girl, since they came! Well, except when St John would show his pizzle in public. Ha! But really, think of it—silly thing, to think she could hide in amongst us manly men forever, eh?” Henry chortled softly,
ho ho ho
. “Got what was coming to her, don’t you think? Run out of Oxford in the dead of night for her crimes against the order of things!”