The Pleasure Merchant (32 page)

“Sit down, Judith,” he said. “We just want to talk to you for a little while.”

“About what, sir?” I asked.

“Whether you would like to work for me.”

“I suppose that depends on what I’d be doing.”

“She certainly has more spirit than the others,” murmured the woman. “But as for malleability…”

“She’s practically a blank slate,” protested Mr. Eleutherios. “Imagine it—manners, intelligence, education, but no upbringing to muddy the waters.”

“I’m still here, you know,” I said. They both looked at me in surprise. “Please, sir—and madam—be frank with me.” They exchanged a significant glance, but I would be myself or no one at all. “I may not know who I am, nor from whence I came, but I know a bit about the world. This is an orphanage, not a convent.”

“So it would seem,” said the woman. “Miss Judith, my apologies. I did not mean to be so rude.”

“I’m less concerned with manners than whatever it is that you think you know about the world?” Mr. Eleutherios leaned forward in his chair. I liked him more every moment. He wasn’t appalled by my candor, nor was he angry with me—he seemed inclined to like me more rather than less for speaking my mind. “Out with it, girl.”

“Well, for one, you are not a married couple.” He laughed out loud, but bid me continue. “I suppose I’m not so wise as to know
why
the two of you would come here together, looking for a servant, but I’d very much like to. Why don’t you tell me, and then I can tell you whether I’d like to work for you?” Something else occurred to me. “And I’d like to know for which of you I would end up working, too.”

The air felt brittle in my lungs. Then Mr. Eleutherios laughed again.

“Oh, she’ll do just fine,” he said to the woman. “You were right, Mrs. Knoyll.” He looked back to me. “I was all set to take the boy, but she told me not to make up my mind. She was right—you’re much sharper.”

“So I would be working for you?”

“Will be, if you like. I haven’t the time to explain the whole of your duties now, but I promise they will be light and enjoyable. Pleasurable, even. You mentioned you could read—well, reading will be a very large part of your work, and fencing words with clever people, just as we three have been doing. You will learn to fence with a sword, as well, and perform other physical feats, depending on your preferences. Does that sound interesting? If so, I’ll have Mrs. Dolhan draw up the necessary paperwork. But, my dear girl, please… during everything, don’t mention your suspicion that Mrs. Knoyll and I are not married, if you would be so kind? It would cause quite the uproar, and likely result in my—
our
—being unable to take you home. I’d also prefer you not mention my name was Mangum Blythe, and not Peter Eleutherios.” He smiled at me, for I was gawping at him, astonished. “I’ll trust you with my real name, as well as our secret, as a show of good faith. That seems like a good beginning, doesn’t it?”

“A good beginning doesn’t always mean a happy ending,” I countered. “What if I don’t like working for you?” As tempting as the offer was, I wanted to know exactly what I was getting myself into—Rebecca’s story had made an impression on me.

“Give me a year. That’s all I ask. I will let you leave after one year’s time, with enough money that you could go anywhere in England you liked and live respectably. If you wanted to work, you could, but you would not need to. I’ll have my lawyer write up a contract saying just that, if you like.”

I looked to Mrs. Knoyll. She really was an elegant creature. Her posture was perfect, I remember noticing at that particular moment, and her taste in clothing was exceptional. For some reason this orderliness about her person reassured me—I did not think anyone so impeccably composed could be wicked.

I was wrong, of course—but not in this particular instance.

“All right,” I said. “One year.”

My initiation was instantaneous. In the carriage ride back to his Sackville Street residence Mr. Blythe explained to me what I would be doing for him.

I would be learning.
Everything
.

“First the Classics. Do you have any Greek or Latin?” When I shook my head, he sighed. “I’ll do what I can, but you’re making a late start of it. You’ll just have to read in translation, for a time, along with many popular works of modern fiction. The
Iliad
and
Pamela
sit side by side in the souls of men today, and inform just as many of their desires.”

“I don’t understand,” I said, looking once again to Mrs. Knoyll.

“A woman—a gentlewoman—she desires a footman,” said Mr. Blythe, bringing my attention back to him. “Her husband is suspicious and jealous. He’s always watching. How would you arrange for them to meet?”

“Does
he
want to meet
her?
The footman, I mean?”

“Nearly always,” said Mr. Blythe, casting another appreciative glance at Mrs. Knoyll.

“Well then… while the husband is away, I suppose. He must belong to a club.”

“Won’t the servants notice if she just rings for him, specifically, and he walks boldly up the front stairs?” asked Mrs. Knoyll.

I saw her point. “It’s more complicated than it seems.”

“It’s always more complicated than it seems,” said Mr. Blythe. “Let’s add that he’s the favored footman of her archrival? If they are discovered, word is sure to get out—meaning, back to her husband—and all for the sake of an afternoon’s pleasure with a servant!”

“You’ve just made it impossible,” I argued.

“No, no. Not impossible. And imminently more plausible, for people desire most ardently that which is forbidden. Nothing’s ever easy, learn that first. Regardless, a situation like that… it could be arranged. But of course, that’s not the hardest part.”

“How so?”

“Not only would you need to come up with a workable solution to our gentlewoman’s problem, you would have to make the solving of it—the eventual union of Mrs. Gentlewoman and Master Footman—
feel
right. And for that, you would need to know everything about the gentlewoman. When did she first notice her passion? How did it come upon her? What was she reading at the time? That’s always a good one. If it’s the
Decameron
, well, you know she’ll want something lavish and continental. If it’s
Fanny Hill
, she’ll want something more English—naughtier,
bawdier
, I should say. And if it’s nothing like that—if it’s true love… well, having read the
Decameron
,
Fanny Hill
, and everything before it, in between, and after, will have given you a deeper understanding and appreciation of human nature… and
that
will be your guide.”

“Guide? I…” It struck me what he was saying. “You do this for people.”

“I do this for people,” he agreed. “And you will too, if you like it, which I very much hope you do.
I
like it, it’s loads of fun. But it’s not just reading books and arranging trysts. There’s an art to it—which is why you shall be my apprentice. I’ll train you, and if and when I’m satisfied you’re good enough to start out on your own, so you shall.”

“Are you finished, then?” I asked Mrs. Knoyll.

“Finished what?”

“Are you his apprentice now? Are you about to start out… on your own?”

“No, nothing like that,” she said. “Mr. Blythe and I are simply good friends.”

“Good friends, yes. And as I trust her judgment, I took her along with me to help select
you
. For very sensible reasons it is entirely illegal for a bachelor like me to adopt a girl-child, hence the charade. You, Judith, will be my first apprentice, and—I say, do you like that name?”

“It’s horrible,” I said.

“If you don’t like it, then you shall have a new one. How grand! What shall I call my new pet, Mrs. Knoyll? Fluffy simply won’t do.”

“Do you have a name you like, dear?”

“That’s very considerate of you,” I said primly, as Mr. Blythe laughed, “but no, not really.”

“So your memory… problem. That’s all true is it?” asked Mr. Blythe. I nodded. “Then—oh, Mrs. Knoyll, earlier I said she was a blank slate… let’s call her
Tabula
. Tabula Rasa, don’t you see?”

“That’s not really a name, Mr. Blythe…”

“I like it,” I said. “It’s beautiful. It sounds romantic and foreign.”

“It is foreign, it’s Latin,” said Mrs. Knoyll. “You should know, it’s a… phrase. It only sounds like a name. Tabula Rasa means
blank slate
, or near enough.”

“I see.” I thought this over. “Well… if you call me that, there’s no way it would have been my name before. And that suits me just fine.”

“Why, she’s a treasure, Mrs. Knoyll,” said Mr. Blythe.

We both beamed.

***

The morning after my meeting with Tom I awoke with a start, positive I had overslept. But no—my clock said it was early yet. I was relieved, but I still hurried through my morning ablutions. I wanted to see Mr. Blythe as early as possible.

He was there, just settling in with his paper when I burst into the room.

“Miss Rasa,” he said evenly, turning a page without looking up. “You’ve been so excitable this week. Well, I suppose I must have been like that when I was your age.”

“You’ll be home for dinner?” I asked. “I mean, rather,
please
be home for dinner. I’ve invited Tom, and—”

“I’m dining with Mrs. Knoyll tonight, my dear girl. We’ve been planning it for ages.”

I felt a pang. I liked Mrs. Knoyll—very much—but as I’d realized my feelings for Mr. Blythe I’d also realized what she was to him. What they were to one another… and it was not an easy thing for me.

My head knew they never had much time together, given their mutual schedules, but even so, my heart resented her intrusion.
I
needed Mr. Blythe tonight.

“Please,” I begged. “Mr. Blythe, you don’t understand. He…”

“Swept you off your feet? Are you in love? Well, that can certainly wait until a night when I don’t already have plans.”

“Mr. Blythe, he knows who my father is—
was
—and he’s coming over to give me five thousand pounds.”

Mr. Blythe put down his paper. “That certainly changes things,” he allowed, pouring himself more coffee. He motioned to ask if I wanted any—I did. “Well, who was your father?” he asked, adding precisely as much cream as I wanted without needing to be told. “Your use of
was
I assume to mean he has passed?”

“You mean you don’t know?” The possibility had crossed my mind, of course—that Mr. Blythe had been aware of our connection the whole time—but I didn’t think it likely. Hiding his knowledge would have been a betrayal, destructive to the trust that was an essential part of our working relationship. That, and it would have been cruel, and he was not a cruel man, unless paid to be.

“Of course I don’t. I’d have told you,” he answered.

“It’s—it
was
—Mr. Bewit. The man whose son I impersonated.”

“Impossible.”

“It’s not—it’s true, I mean. His daughter, who died… it was
me
. Except, I didn’t die. I lost my memory, and they left me at the Foundling Hospital, and made up a story about a fever, to cover it all up. I’m not sure why, yet.” Mr. Blythe looked astounded by all of this, as well he might. “He—Tom—told me all that, and more—he asked Mr. Bewit all about it, and the man confessed. It was my pocket watch, that was what helped him make the connection. It belonged to my mother, Tom recognized it, it’s in a family portrait or something.”

“There could be two of a kind out there,” said Mr. Blythe doubtfully.

“I thought of that, but… it
felt
right. When Tom told me my old name, it was like I’d known it this whole time. Not that I remember ever being called it, but I know it was mine.”

Mr. Blythe frowned as he took a sip of coffee. “And what, pray, is your name?”

“Alula Bewit. But I don’t wish to be called by it… I have no idea who Alula was. I know who I am, however.”

“I see.” He sat back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “Well, all this is extraordinary—simply extraordinary. Then again, I always suspected you were a gentleman’s daughter. Don’t look pleased, it’s because of your cheek, not your manners.” He sobered. “So Mr. Bewit died, did he? I’m sorry to hear it. Didn’t have much time to enjoy his membership at Brooks’s, but that’s the way of it sometimes. I did wonder if that had truly been his heart’s desire—likely it just made him more miserable. But, we can only do what our clients ask.”

“Apparently he was of a nervous disposition.”

“You’re telling me? Regardless, I’m sorry to hear about his death. It doesn’t seem like it’s affected you too much?”

“I never knew the man, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Extraordinary!” Mr. Blythe looked thoughtful. “So,
in re
this Tom Dawne…”

“Yes?”

“You’re telling me that before his death, your father gave this wig-shop boy five thousand pounds to give to you… and not only that, he’s actually giving it to you, instead of pocketing it, no one the wiser?”

“I’m sorry to say it, but my father wasn’t too pleased to hear I was working for you, and meant for me to use it to, I don’t know, escape your foul clutches, I suppose.” I did not add that if Mr. Blythe wished to clutch me; I would not consider it foul. “But of course I won’t,” I said quickly, “actually, I’d like it if
you
took it, you’ve spent an awful lot of money on me over the years. But if you won’t use it, save it for me,” I said over his sputtered objections.

“
That
I will do, but nothing more,” he agreed. “The money, when you receive it, is yours. I shan’t ever touch a cent of it.” He chuckled. “I say, Miss Rasa, this is all rather a lot to digest. Let me… let me just send word to Mrs. Knoyll that I’ll be late. She’ll understand, this is important enough. I’ll go ‘round and see her after dinner.”

“Thank you, Mr. Blythe. It’s awfully kind of you.”

“It is, isn’t it?” He rose, looking thoughtful. “My dear Miss Rasa, I congratulate you. I never in my life made five thousand pounds so easily. This Tom Dawne… revealing girls’ shadowed pasts, handing out fortunes… why, he must be the nicest boy in London.”