Chapter 01
First Meeting
Down a small side street where the glow of the street lamps did not reach, behind a tulip-yellow door, Mrs. Featherwink's doorman, brothel keeper, and sometime procurer, Halden, waited for the bell and admitted gentlemen late from the theaters, music halls, private clubs, drawing room entertainments, and dinners with wives to Mrs. Featherwink's establishment. Mrs. Featherwink specialized in the special orders and needs of the rich and influential and provided first-rate entertainment for the less adventurous and more conventional.
"Stop just here," George Ryman, Lord Downcliff the fourth Earl of Leeshore, Gordy to his friends, tapped the roof of the handsome with his silver-handled stick. At thirty he prided himself in keeping fit. No paunch like his married school chums, legs well muscled and buttocks firm from riding to the hounds, a strong upper torso. Gordy pressed his silk top hat firmly on his full head of hair and stepped into the cold drizzle. The fog, rolling in from the Thames, swirled on the cobble stones and licked at his ankles. A soft breeze caught his cape.
"Beware the footpads. I'll gladly deliver ye to your door." The driver leaned down to accept the coins Gordy pressed into his hand.
Flashing an easy smile, good teeth were the Ryman hallmark; Gordy turned and strode down the lane to the tulip-yellow door near the end of the blind lane. He slowed his gait and forced himself to take a calming deep breath. To his right a pair of doxies, heavily powdered, brightly roughed and dressed beckoned to the Lord from the mouth of an ally. The one with the orange hair twitched her hips suggestively and her yellow-haired companion leaned forward allowing her large tits to fall from her bodice. Gordy graciously declined their invitation and hid his disgust at the sight of the large areolas and distended nipples. One of his punchy club friends might risk stepping into the ally for a quick sucking, but Gordy's goal was more urgent. He bowed slightly, touching his breast pocket where in lay the note from Mrs. Featherwink. I have filled your request. F, written in an awkward hand, the F heavily embellished with swirls and curlicues.
One last calming breath before pulling the bell chain and he was ready. His face remained impassive as Halden ushered him into the small entrance way. Hat, gloves, cane and cape passed to the doorman. Quickly adjusted the black grosgrain ribbon securing his queue and inclined his head to the big man. Broken nose, wandering brown left eye, heavy muscles and scared knuckles. Most importantly discreet as his mistress.
Mrs. Featherwink bustled forward cotton-lace gloved hands extended. "My Lord, we are so pleased to see you. Come in, do come in. " Her fat fingers circled his upper arm giving the firm bicep an appraising squeeze as she guided him into her private parlor. From a larger room deeper in the row house the mixed sound of women and men's laughter emerged. "I know you won't be disappointed." Mrs. Featherwink settled her broad bottom on a spindly chair behind a small writing desk and inclined her head toward an armchair, inviting Gordy to sit. "A small sherry?" She reached for a cut-glass decanter. Behind her the flocked wallpaper showed signs of fading. A large water mark on the ceiling spread its stain toward a curling corner of the red paper.
Gordy accepted the stemmed glass and took a sip, leaned back, and crossed his legs. "I've put my faith in you for the last time, Mrs. Featherwink." He leveled his gaze at her over the lip of the glass. "I will not tolerate another . . . "
"My dear sir, I've met your every request. An impressive list." She licked her long lower lip.
"You've claimed success before."
"I've absorbed all the costs of the merchandise that did not meet your discerning eye." Mrs. Featherwink sighed, "I'm a poor woman; I only have a few years left to secure my retirement. The lower lip trembled.
Gordy felt his anger rising. He'd heard this song before. "I'm sure you've made back your investment time and again." He cast his eyes at the water stain above which the long hallway with a few Extraspecialty rooms lay. Extraspecialty is what Mrs. Featherwink called them. Young girls, boys, men with tits, women with dicks and cunts, a dwarf, tattoos, piercings and splitting, amputees, a third breast, and for one summer a pink pig with a yellow bow tied around its curly tail worked behind locked doors to secure Featherwink's retirement and Halden's too, Gordy suspected. There too were rooms for Mrs. Featherwink's failures to find Gordy what he wanted. He knew each served the house completely; maybe not as completely as the pink pig who fed the residents behind the yellow door a good part of one winter. He had it from a club friend who had it from his favorite at Featherwink's the good Mrs. F cried every time she ate the bacon. His friend claimed his doxie could squirt water from her quim with such accuracy she hit a target twenty paces away. Or, more likely she squirted wine into his open mouth. Still not special enough to be a Featherwink extraspecialty.
"If you've finished your sherry, I'll show you what we found." She rose with effort from the chair, bumping a vase of dusty ostrich feathers near her elbow. "Halden, call March to stand at the door. Miss Liz will take the ledger." She steadied the vase, extended her hand to Gordy, and walked to a worn and dirty spot on the red-papered wall. Halden entered the room and lifted a lamp from the skirted mantle. A low door in the wall swung inward. "Halden will light our way."
The steps to the basement were narrow and well worn. The shadows danced behind them on the damp wall. Gordy thought he caught the odor of pig as he followed the big man. Keys clanked at Mrs. Featherwink's waist. The steps took a sharp turn to the left the balustrade moved under his hand. His heart beat in double time. This time. This time. He'd made this trip three times before. Three trips that ended in frustration for him and crocodile tears for Mrs. F. Below water dripped slowly.
"Mind the puddle just there. Don't slip on the floor. Halden, don't rush."
