Taming Maria (11 page)

In that moment
when she hovered between consummation and the little death, a face
appeared before her mind's eye; a dark, sardonic face. A further
ripple took her and she was filled with longing, though unable to
fathom why she wanted her cruel, mocking guardian.

The next
evening Maria and Jane tried on the garments Emily had borrowed
from Tranter. 'It reminds me of when we acted in plays at school
and sometimes had to take masculine roles. I enjoyed that,' Maria
said.

'I always
hoped I'd be passed over,' Jane replied. 'I was never comfortable
pretending to be a boy. What on earth would Miss Bailey and Mrs
Jenkins say?'

'They aren't
to know. We're thought to be spending a quiet time together in my
room, reading Shakespeare's sonnets.'

Maria was a
few inches taller than Jane, looking much more the part of a lad.
She had already tied her hair back in a queue, and now turned her
attention to the problem of her breasts. She bound them with a wide
cotton scarf, flattening their curves. She put on cloth breeches
and a jacket and wound a stock around her throat, then posed in
front of the pier-glass, pleased with the effect. She assumed the
cheeky air of the groom whose clothes she now wore, hat pushed to
the back of her head, hands thrust deep in her pockets, strutting
around and whistling.

Jane was
having trouble getting rid of the awkwardness she experienced
wearing breeches. She pushed her hair into a jelly-bag cap and
tried to stride instead of mincing.

Tranter was
slight of build and his clothes fitted them well. Emily had bullied
him into loaning his best suits. These were of plain material and
simple cut. There was nothing dandyish about them. His boots were
too large, so they settled for ones Maria used when riding.

They left the
house by the servants' entrance, their escape engineered by Emily.
Their destination was The Temple, an area designated to students
studying law, where Robin was staying with friends. Tranter planned
to accompany them.

'How are we to
get into the house later?' Maria whispered to Emily as she let them
out of the back door.

'Don't fret,
milady. I'll wait in the stables. Mrs Jenkins is going out this
evening, all of a twitter she is, dolling herself up, meeting that
footman again, and I've made sure that Miss Bailey has a bottle of
gin to hand. She'll sleep the time away.'

'You're a
treasure.' Maria hugged her.

'I'm only
doing my duty, keeping your secrets, helping all I can. Ain't that
what ladies' maids have always done?'

They
understood each other very well. Both knew Emily would benefit; it
was one of the perks of her position, but Maria was confident she
was genuine and loyal to a fault. It was a comfort to have someone
like her.

The moon hung
over the rooftops, a thin thing giving little light, but the stars
made up for this. Tranter led them through the garden into a lane
that connected with the main thoroughfare. There he hailed a
hackney carriage and gave the driver the address of The Three Tuns,
an inn popular with scholars, working men and apprentices. The
traffic was thick, the cobbles spattered with mud, horse dung and
rubbish. Chairmen in blue kersey coats, black knee-breeches, white
stockings, buckled shoes and large cocked hats, conveyed passengers
in hired sedans. They were jostled by crested, privately owned
vehicles. Rowdy bucks clattered through the streets in their
phaetons and others, driving elegant barouches, escorted ladies to
balls or the theatres.

The cabby
dropped Maria and Jane close to their destination. Tranter paid him
and followed them at a distance. Emily had ordered him not to let
them out of his sight.

'How do you
feel?' Jane asked nervously, as they joined the pedestrians who
were on their way home or going out for the evening.

'I like it.'
Maria swaggered along. 'Such freedom! How much better than trailing
a skirt. No wonder men go off adventuring. I wish I was wearing a
sword and had a real cock. Emily wanted me to pad my crotch in
order to complete the illusion, but I wouldn't.'

'How do men
manage with such an awkward appendage?' Jane wondered aloud.

'The same as
we do our breasts, I suppose.'

'Anyway, you
know it's no longer fashionable to wear a sword,' Jane reminded.
'Even when it was only gentlemen had the right, and we're supposed
to be servants, aren't we? Oh dear, why did we venture on such a
hazardous undertaking?'

'It's for you,
and the fostering of your love affair.' Maria was revelling in the
adventure. 'It's better than spending a boring evening playing
backgammon with Mrs Jenkins who always cheats but denies it
vigorously. Oh, look, we've just passed a group of people and they
didn't give us a second glance, fully convinced that we are
lads.'

Jane was not
much comforted, pausing as they reached the alleyway that led to
the inn. 'How can I let Robin know we're here? Supposing he's been
delayed? What shall we do?'

'Courage,
comrade. Didn't he say in his letter that he would meet you?
Anyway, it's too late to do anything about it now. Come on!' and
Maria dived ahead of her, brimming with confidence.

They had no
difficulty in locating the tavern owing to the noise. It was filled
to capacity. The door stood open, light streaming out, shadows
passing and repassing across it. The smell was pungent; hops and
grape, candlewax and tobacco, overlaid by roast beef and cabbage,
for this was also an eating-house. Maria and Jane hesitated for a
moment, then stepped over the threshold.

The tap-room
was wide and long, with a low, oak-beamed ceiling blackened by more
than a century of smoke from the open fire, human breath and the
fumes from clay-pipes. The floor was rush-strewn, soaking up
spittle and slops. Wooden settles and chairs stood at trestle
tables whose surfaces were knife-scarred and bore the rings left by
tankards. The bar occupied the whole of one wall and pewter mugs
hung from hooks behind it, with glasses and wine bottles on
shelves.

It was
crowded, the clientele mixed. Labourers rubbed shoulders with
students, businessmen huddled in corners discussing the latest news
from the Stock Exchange, and travellers broke their journeys. A
noisy party were drinking the health of a man who was to be married
next day and gamesters, intent on play, crouched over dice and
cards. Hard-faced serving wenches moved among the customers,
slapping aside hands that wanted to squeeze breasts or dive up
under skirts. They were well able to defend themselves, their
language that of the gutter.

Other females
swanned about, flaunting gaudy feathered hats and showing bosoms
naked to the nipples, selling their bodies to anyone who would pay.
Young and not so young, they were strident harpies who did not
hesitate to show what they had on offer, whisking up their
petticoats and displaying their hairy or denuded pudendum and buxom
arses. Their presence galvanised the men into boasting about the
length, width and power of their pricks. The atmosphere became more
heated. Several of the whores went outside with customers,
returning after a short time seeking the next punter. They charged
for their favours - nothing was for free.

An old man
started to scrape a tune on a fiddle. The tipsy crowd sang along
and one of the harlots danced, mouthing bawdy lyrics, kicking her
legs high and exciting the men even more.

Lord, what are
we doing here? Maria thought. She and Jane had taken part in many a
hare-brained prank at school, but never anything as risky as this.
Supposing they bumped into someone they knew? Friends of her
guardian for example, though it was unlikely that they would be
seen dead in a place like this, but one never knew. After their
behaviour in the vault, anything was possible.

She weaved
through the throng to the bar, Jane close behind her. The host, a
large bewhiskered man with a beet-red face, grinned at her. 'What
can I do for you, laddie?'

'Two pints of
cider, landlord.' She pitched her voice several octaves lower.

The fermented
apple juice appeared and Maria handed over coins, then they made
their way to an empty table and sat there, sipping their drinks and
watching the brazen antics of the whores. It was an education.
'That's the way to handle men,' Maria said. 'Play the bastards at
their own game. Make them beg for it, controlled by their pricks
and rendered cunt-struck.'

Jane, still
labouring under the illusion of being in love, was in a ferment of
worry, repeating over and over, 'Where's Robin?'

The uproar
increased as the ale flowed. Maria could feel her head swimming.
The cider was strong and slipped over the tongue pleasantly,
deceptively smooth but with a kick like a mule. She was not used to
it; sherry or wine were her only alcoholic beverages, and then in
moderation.

'Perhaps we
should order something to eat,' she suggested, hoping to sober up
and calm Jane.

'I couldn't
touch a morsel, really. He'll come. I know he'll come.'

A man
staggered against their table, slopping their drinks and sending
hot wax flying from the candle. 'What the devil...?'Maria shouted,
staring at him fiercely and starting to understand why drink made
one so aggressive.

A full-blown
row was breaking out. The gamblers were arguing with the
stag-party, strong words and insults being exchanged. A table was
overturned with the clash of broken glass. The serving-girls
shrieked. The whores cursed. The landlord sent the pot-boy to fetch
the constables. Maria looked across and saw Robin pushing his way
towards them.

'Jane!' he
shouted, then reached her and swept her into his arms. 'Oh,
Jane!'

'Be careful,'
Maria warned, as he released her and slid along the bench. 'We're
supposed to be lads. You don't want this lot getting the idea that
you're looking for a bum-boy.'

'All right,
and your disguise is perfect, but I should know Jane anywhere.' He
laced his fingers with hers under the table and she stared at him,
starry-eyed.

Oh, damn!
Maria thought. This was going to be tricky. Those two would give
the game away for sure. Everyone would guess they were lovers.

'You must be
discreet,' she said urgently. 'I don't want to get into a fight
where I have to explain that Jane and I are women. This would be
exceedingly awkward and we could be manhandled and possibly raped.
I don't expect for a moment that the whores would help us. They'd
probably find it funny and accuse us of poaching on their preserves
or something equally ridiculous.'

'I'll take
care of you.' He was so bedazzled by the object of his desire that
it bore out Maria's opinion of the rutting male.

The cider had
reached its target and she needed to relieve her bladder. This was
a contingency for which she had not planned. 'I need the privy,'
she said, and stood up.

'In the yard
at the back.' Robin jerked a thumb in that direction, but he was
not really attending, staring into Jane's eyes.

Maria had seen
Tranter come in. He was standing near the door, pint mug in his
hand, watching her, though pretending not to. She nodded slightly,
and then went outside. The yard was dark, but she made out the bulk
of the privy. It stank, a wooden structure containing buckets for
the relief of nature. When full these would be emptied into the
open sewer that ran down the centre of the road outside.

She shuddered.
There was no way she was going to use one of those. By the state of
the ground, it was apparent that many of the male clients simply
stood against the wall to rid themselves of water. Women were
hardly catered for, but not many decent ones frequented pubic
houses, only 'ladies of the night'.

A whore was
servicing her client. She had him with his back to the fence, her
legs locked round his waist while he supported her under the
buttocks. He was groaning as she rode him, moving her hips, his
cock embedded within her. It was impossible to see clearly in the
gloom, but Maria was intrigued by the sight of a woman busily
employed in the world's oldest profession. Her stomach churned at
the idea of taking that gross unwashed person's most intimate part
into her own body. Women must be desperate to do it, she thought.
Hungry children, bills to be paid, a family to support. They
weren't like the trollops she had seen in Damien's vault,
highly-paid and sometimes highly-born sluts who did it for fun.

Her bladder
was demanding to be emptied, so she went to what appeared to be a
woodshed, lowered her breeches and squatted. This was carried out
with all speed. Not only was she fearful of being discovered, but
there was the question of Robin and Jane and what to do about them.
I shall never fall in love, she decided, while adjusting her
clothes. It takes away one's power and turns one into a spineless
ninny, dependant on the whims and fancies of another.

She stepped
from the shed straight into the arms of a man who was passing. 'I'm
sorry, sir,' he said, and she recognised his voice instantly.

It was Charles
Bradley. Guilt, shame and annoyance chased through her. How
unfortunate that he should patronise the tavern at the same time as
her. Fate played some diabolical tricks, concerned with nothing but
her own amusement.

'No harm
done,' she muttered, blessing the darkness.

At that moment
a couple came out of the door and a shaft of light fell across
Maria's face. She heard Charles's intake of breath and knew she had
been recognised. Hold hard there,' he said, a thread of laughter
running through his voice. 'Don't I know you, sir? Or is it
madam?'

Maria tried to
pull away, but he held her arm firmly. 'I don't think so,' she
muttered.