The Taker (43 page)

I went back to the door, addressing the servant. “Please tell Mrs. St. Andrew that we would be happy to accept the invitation, and that there will be four for dinner.”

Dinner that evening was surreal to me, to be surrounded by both our families. It had never happened in the whole time Jonathan and I had been friends as children, and I would have been happy that evening for dinner to have been limited to just the two of us at a table before the fire in his study. That would not have been proper, though, now that Jonathan had a wife and child.

His sisters had already slipped into early spinsterhood and had developed owlish airs, observing my more lively sisters as though they were monkeys set loose in the house. Poor slow-witted Benjamin sat by his mother, eyes fixed on his plate, lips pursed, willing himself to remain still. Occasionally, his mother took Benjamin’s hand and petted it, which seemed to have a calming effect on the poor boy.

And, to Jonathan’s left was Evangeline, looking like a child who’d been allowed to sit at the adults’ table. Her pink fingers touched each piece of her place setting as though not familiar with the uses of all the pieces of the fine silverware service. And every so often, her gaze would flit to her husband’s face, like a dog reassuring itself of its master’s presence.

Seeing Jonathan surrounded this way, by the family who would always depend on him, made me feel sorry for him.

After the meal—a rack of venison and a dozen roasted quails, resulting in plates ghoulishly heaped with deer ribs and tiny birds’ bones, picked clean—Jonathan looked around the table, nearly all women, and invited me to withdraw to his father’s old study, which he’d now claimed for himself. When his mother opened her mouth to object, he said, “There’s no man here to join me for a pipe, and I would like
to speak to Lanny alone if I may. Besides, I’m sure she would be quite bored otherwise.” Ruth’s eyebrows shot up, though his sisters did not seem to take offense. Perhaps he was trying to spare them the awkwardness of my company—I’m sure they presumed I was a whore, too, and Jonathan had probably wangled my invitation over their protests.

Once he closed the doors, he poured us whiskeys and packed two pipes with tobacco, and we settled in chairs drawn close to the fire. First, he wanted to know how I’d come to disappear in Boston. I told him a more detailed version of the story I’d given my family, that I was in the employ of a wealthy European, hired to act as his American interlocutor. Jonathan listened skeptically, debating whether to question my account or simply enjoy the story.

“You should consider moving to Boston. Life is so much easier,” I said, holding a flame to the pipe. “You’re a wealthy man. If you lived in a big city, you could avail yourself of the pleasures in life.”

He shook his head. “We can’t move. There’s the timber to harvest, it’s our lifeblood. Who would run the logging operations?”

“Mr. Sweet, as he does now. Or another foreman. That’s how wealthy men handle their properties. No reason for you and your family to suffer through the deprivation of the terrible winters here.”

Jonathan stared into the fire, drawing on his pipe. “You might think my mother would be eager to return to her own family, but we’ll never get her out of St. Andrew. She’d not admit it, but she’s gotten used to her social position. In Boston, she’d be just another well-off widow. She might even suffer socially for having spent so long in ‘the wilderness.’ Besides, Lanny, have you thought what would happen to the town if we left?”

“Your business would still be here. You’d still need to pay the townspeople to do whatever it is you pay them for now. The only difference is that you and your family would have the type of life you deserve. There would be physicians to see to Benjamin. You could enjoy Sunday socials with the neighbors, go to parties and card games every night as one of the city’s social elite.”

Jonathan gave me an incredulous look, dubious enough for me to think that what he’d said about his mother might be an excuse. Perhaps
he
was the one afraid to give up St. Andrew, to leave the only place he’d ever known, and become a small fish in a large, well-stocked pond.

I leaned toward him. “Shouldn’t that be your reward, Jonathan? You’ve worked with your father to build this fortune. You have no idea what is waiting for you outside these woods, these woods as thick as prison walls.”

He seemed hurt. “It’s not as though I’ve never left St. Andrew. I’ve been to Fredericton.”

The St. Andrews had business associates in Fredericton as part of the timber trade. Logs were floated down the Allagash to the St. John River and were processed in Fredericton, sawed into boards or burned into charcoal. Charles had taken Jonathan on a trip when Jonathan was still in his teens, but I’d heard little of it. Now that I thought about it, Jonathan seemed to have no curiosity about the world outside our tiny town.

“Fredericton is hardly Boston,” I chided. “And besides, if you come to Boston, you would have the opportunity to meet my employer. He is European royalty, practically a prince. But more to the point, he is a true connoisseur of pleasure. A man after your own heart.” I tried to smile cunningly. “I guarantee he will change your life forever.”

He eyed me. “‘A connoisseur of pleasure’? And how do you know about this, Lanny? I thought you were his interlocutor.”

“One can act as an intermediary on another’s behalf for many things.”

“I admit, you’ve made me curious,” he said, and yet his tone was that of complacence. Part of me mourned Jonathan having been brought to heel by his new responsibilities and not being in the least curious about the temptations I offered him. I was sure, however, that the old Jonathan was in there; I had only to roust him.

Jonathan and I spent most evenings together after that. I quickly saw that he had not cultivated any other friends. I wasn’t sure why, since
there couldn’t have been any shortage of men willing to enjoy the social status and possible financial benefits that would come with being Jonathan’s closest ally. Still, Jonathan wasn’t stupid. These were the same men who, as boys, had resented his good looks, his position, and his wealth. Resented that their fathers were beholden to the captain for wages or rent.

“I shall miss you when you leave,” Jonathan said to me on one of those evenings spent locked behind the study doors, burning good tobacco. “Would you consider remaining? You don’t have to return to Boston, not if the issue is money. I could give you a job, and then you would be here to help your family now that your father is gone.”

I wondered if Jonathan had given any thought to his offer or if it had come to him spontaneously. Even if he found some kind of position for me, his mother would object to having a fallen woman working for her son. He was right about this being an opportunity to do right by my family, though, and inwardly I squirmed. But I was also riddled with a nameless fear at the prospect of not obeying Adair’s orders.

“I couldn’t give up the city now that I know it. You’d feel the same.”

“I’ve already explained to you—”

“You needn’t make a decision on the spur of the moment. After all, to move your entire household to Boston is no small thing. Come back with me for a visit. Tell your family that you’re making a business trip. See if the city suits your taste.” I had deftly cleaned the pipe stem with a wire—a skill picked up from maintaining Adair’s water pipe—and tapped the bowl against a little salver to clear the ash. “It could be advantageous to you from a business position, as well. Adair will show you around, introduce you to the men who own the timber mills and such. He’ll take you out in society, too. There’s no culture here in St. Andrew! You have no idea of the things you’re missing, plays, concerts. What I think you’ll really find fascinating”—I leaned forward, our heads bowed close for the utmost secrecy—“is that Adair is much like you when it comes to a gentleman’s pleasure.”

“You say.” His expression begged me to go on.

“Women throw themselves at him. All types of women. Society women, common women, and, when he tires of such company, there are always the does.”

“Does?”

“Prostitutes. Boston teems with prostitutes of all kinds. Fancy brothels. Streetwalkers. Actresses and singers who would gladly be your mistress for the price of handsome rooms and spending money.”

“Are you saying I have to go to an actress or a singer to find a woman who would abide my company?” he asked, then glanced aside. “Do all men in Boston pay for a woman’s company?”

“If he wants her affections exclusively. These women tend to be better versed in the arts of love than most,” I said, hoping to whet his curiosity. It was time to share one of Adair’s gifts. “A present from my employer,” I said as I handed him a small bundle wrapped in red silk: the deck of ribald cards. “From one gentleman to another.”

“Entertaining,” he said, as he looked intently at each card in turn. “I’d seen a deck like this when I went to Fredericton, though not as—imaginative.” When he went to pick up the red silk to rewrap the cards, a second gift tumbled out, one I’d forgotten I’d brought.

Jonathan drew his breath in sharply. “Good God, Lanny, who is this?” He held a miniature painting of Uzra in his hands, a shimmer of enchantment in his eyes. “Is she a phantasm, the creation of some artist’s mind?”

I didn’t care for the tone of his voice—no gentleman would speak that way in front of a woman for whom he claimed to care—but what could I do? The portrait was meant to tempt him, and clearly it had done the trick.

“Oh no, I assure you, she exists in flesh and blood. She is my employer’s concubine, an odalisque he brought with him from the silk trade route.”

“Your employer has a curious domestic arrangement, it would seem. A concubine, kept openly in Boston? I wouldn’t think they’d stand for it.” Jonathan looked from the painting to me, brows knitted.
“I don’t understand … why would your employer send gifts to
me
? What is his interest? What in the world did you tell him about me?”

“He is looking for a fit companion and senses you might be a kindred spirit.” He was suspicious, perhaps fearing that any interest from a man he didn’t know had to be tied to his fortune. “To tell you the truth, I think he is disappointed by the Boston crowd. They are quite a dour lot. He’s been unable to find a Bostonian with a spirit similar to his own, a willingness to indulge in whatever fancy intrigues him …”

But Jonathan didn’t seem to be paying attention to what I’d said. He studied me so closely that I feared I’d inadvertently said something offensive. “Whatever is it?” I asked.

“It’s just that you are … so much
changed
,” he said at last.

“I won’t argue with that. I have changed
completely
. The question is, are you disappointed in the change?”

He blinked, a shadow of pain in those dark eyes. “I must say—yes, perhaps a little. I’m not sure how to say this without hurting your feelings, but you are not the girl you were when you left. You are so worldly—you are this man’s mistress, aren’t you?” he asked hesitantly.

“Not exactly.” A term came to me from years earlier. “I am his spiritual wife.”

“His ‘spiritual wife’?”

“We all are. The odalisque, myself, Tilde …” I thought it best to leave out Alejandro and Dona, having no notion how Jonathan would respond to that arrangement.

“He has three wives under one roof?”

“Not to mention the other women he entertains …”

“And you do not mind?”

“He may share his affection however he wishes, as may we. What we have is unlike anything you’ve heard of, but … yes, this arrangement suits me fine.”

“Goodness, Lanny, I can scarce believe you are the girl I kissed in the church cloakroom those many years ago.” He cast a shy look in my direction, as though not quite sure how to behave. “I suppose, given all
this talk of freely sharing your affections, it would not be unseemly if I were to ask you for—another kiss? Just to assure myself that you truly are the Lanny I once knew, here with me again?”

It was the opening I’d hoped for. He rose from his chair and leaned over me, grasping my face in his hands, but his kiss was hesitant.

That hesitancy nearly broke my heart. “You must know I thought I’d never see you again, Jonathan, let alone feel your lips on mine. I thought I would die from missing you.” As my eyes searched his face, I realized that the hope of seeing Jonathan again was the only thing that had kept me sane. Now we were together and I would not be cheated. I rose and pressed into him and, after a second’s hesitation, he drew me into his arms. I was grateful that he still desired me, but everything about him had changed since the last time we’d been together, even the scent of his hair and his skin. The reserve in his hands as he grasped my waist. The taste of him when we kissed. All changed. He was slower, softer, sadder. His lovemaking, though sweet, had lost its ferocity. Maybe it was because we were in his family’s house, his wife and his mother just beyond the locked door. Or he might have been consumed with regret for betraying poor Evangeline.

We lay on the settle together after Jonathan had finished, his head lying between my breasts cupped in fine silk stays, beribboned and trimmed with lace. He was still between my legs, lying on a crush of skirts and petticoats hiked to my waist. I stroked his hair while my heart thrummed with bliss. And, yes, I felt the secret thrall of having made him give in to his desire. And as for the wife waiting dutifully on the other side of the door—well, hadn’t she stolen Jonathan from me to begin with? And a deed of marriage meant little when he still wanted me, when his heart belonged to me. My body quivered with the proof of his desire. Despite all that had happened to each of us in the years we’d been apart, I was convinced more than ever that the bond between us was unbroken.

THIRTY-SIX