“Remarkable.”
“Prime minister, he is man who would right world’s wrongs, wrongs against all, but most particularly the most neglected and least esteemed. He is a Jew!”
“A Jew!”
Yes, and wrongs to that race for many centuries have left him with a great rage to defend those who cannot defend themselves!”
The massive, bearded head nodded several times. “I see. Well, First Lord…” he leaned forward, at last, and said, never shifting his gaze from the first lord’s, “take care, one day he will see evils, evils intolerable, where it is convenient to you to see none, and his passion may turn on you.”
The first lord again entertained images of the young Minister of Parliament walking the night on the East End to startle street-walkers with his offers of hope and assistance. It was a time when the masses of girls and women were viewed not as a matter for reform but a blight on human nature and morality.
“And is this such a moment, Prime Minister? Evil intolerable, but inconvenient to see?”
“What will ensue if these as you call them ‘prisoners,’ abused young men and women, are freed, and disseminated across the Kingdom with tales of the duke’s…frank degeneracy..and on their lips the names of some of our best families? What, then, of the future of the monarchy and rule by our class?”
“I have thought of that…”
“Good!”
“And I see no satisfactory answer. These are slaves, Prime Minister, as much as once were Christian men and women in galleys and harems of Suleiman the Magnificent!”
To the first lord’s surprise, the prime minister looked down, not meeting his gaze, and shook his head. “First lord, we may accomplish the great good of righting this wrong and thereby see the end of all our ambitions to right every other wrong.”
“That has seemed to be so more than once, Prime Minister, but you have come back to fight another day.”
The head nodded slowly. “I was younger, then, and had time.”
The first lord did not like the drift of the conversation. He said, “May I suggest that I deliver my report to you at the earliest moment and leave it to your wisdom and goodness to decide upon a course?”
“Deliver your report, with evidence that is incontrovertible.”
“You may expect it.” The first lord almost rose from his chair, but that would have signaled he was ending the conversation. Unthinkable!”
“First lord, how did this man come to your attention?”
The first lord spoke eagerly. “Sir, he came down from Cambridge with a double first in natural sciences and philosophy, and yet chose a career at Scotland Yard!”
“Many of his race with such ability find their way to the City. It is your opinion that he chose Scotland Yard out of desire to do battle with evil?”
The first lord chose his words. “I am aware, of course, that a Jew would not see as open to him all avenues in government.”
“And he would be no more than a realist.”
“And yet, for such a man to choose a career in Scotland Yard!”
“It is growing late, First Lord.” The prime minister shifted in his chair as though to brace himself to rise. “I must know one thing more.”
“Yes.”
“You spoke at Hawardian of a source you on no account could reveal. I shall respect that—for now. But I wish to know the nature of this source.”
“Prime minister, you have heard of a man in London today who is making a great reputation as a detective—a
private
detective? Indeed, he speaks of himself as a ‘consulting detective.’”
“Go on, I follow you thus far.”
“Well, the disappearance of a girl, a simple farm girl, Prime Minister, in Devon, occasioned inquiries. It occurred under most peculiar and suggestive circumstances.”
The massive head nodded. Assent? The approach of sleep? The first lord hurried on. “And as a result, I approached this man to see if with his well-attested powers he could shed light on what I suspected was a crime of kidnap.”
“And he could?”
“Sir, I described to him all particulars—and the father, as well, adding his account—and he said that the information available suggested no solution to him. I urged him in the strongest way that the Admiralty craved some clue to this disappearance.”
The first lord studied the bowed head. It seemed sunk in contemplation. He hurried on. “He then made the most extraordinary suggestion, I may say, that I can recall from all my years in service. He said that there is a man in London who could be relied upon to know of every crime, malefactor, and malevolent mystery that occurred in the infinite underground of the city of London and outside it, too.”
“First lord, your narrative becomes extravagant, you are aware?”
“And more so, Prime Minister! But please bear in mind that this is the great detective, a man of reputation—of reason! And he spoke with assurance!”
“Go on, then, but my day has been long.”
“I will conclude. This man, the famous detective alleged, is the greatest criminal in London, a criminal genius.” The first lord pursed his lips. How far to go? But he said, “He did not think it extravagant to characterize him as ‘the Napoleon of Crime’”!
“First Lord, I am as capable of being amused as any man, I hope…”
The first lord felt the need to be assertive. “Perhaps I have been influenced, prime minister, by the
consequences
of my inquiry…”
“You met this man, this Napoleon of Crime?”
“Alone, sir, unaccompanied, which was an absolute condition that he set. And when I presented him with the mystery of the girl in Devon, he began, immediately, to nod. He demanded in the strongest terms the assurance that his name never be mentioned in connection with the investigation. With my assurance, he then disclosed this astonishing and heretofore unfathomable secret scheme of the duke. He knew of a certainty that that is where the Devon girl was taken—and so it has proved!”
Why did the prime minister not reply? Had he succumbed to sleep, at last? The first lord could not tell. But the face came up and all the lancing interrogation was there. He asked, “And what did this man require from you—from us—in payment for this information, which, after all, was available nowhere else? It is not my impression that the criminal class, much less ‘the Napoleon of Crime,’ provides services in the public interest.”
The first lord quickly said, “Well, nothing specific, sir.”
“I see. That means everything in general. Well, you may expect to hear from him, First Lord, and more than once.” He rose quickly, hand raised as in self-defense, and added: “No doubt that is as it must be, First Lord, no doubt. Bring me the report. Bring me the report.”
“I may be gone soon.”
“No! Don’t do it now—so soon—just because the duke is coming. I will be all right. Go when it’s best!”
David again had chosen the showers for a brief conversation, standing close to her so water’s hiss masked their words. To Hannah, he appeared weary after the grueling day, but she felt exhilarated, her body’s reward for weeks of exercise that pushed the limits of her endurance.
He was shaking his head, seeming not to look at her. “I have been here longer than anyone expected.”
“I’ll come to your room, tonight. It could be the last time—ever.”
“Hannah, my room is dangerous—for you and because it calls attention to me.”
Now, they were left alone in the showers. David said, “There is all afternoon. Meet me at the beach, the others will be going.”
“No, the room.” She had stepped from beneath the stream of water. He looked at her, arms wrapped around herself beneath her breasts, naked and perfect as the drops coursed down her body. It was not chilly, but her nipples were stiff. She was looking into his face, intent, and said, “the room, as soon as we can,” and turned to walk back to the dressing room. He waited half-a-minute and did the same.
They went separately, as always, David arriving first and Hannah running to his door when the corridor was empty. She did not knock, just opened the door less than half-way, slid in. and pushed it shut. She turned to him. “No one saw me.”
She wore a white silk blouse, full and ruffled, using the perfect silk extravagantly, and a white skirt with several petticoats. David said, studying her, “How could you possibly change?”
She smiled, glancing down at herself. “I had been thinking about this since we talked yesterday at the beach. I didn’t know when, but I knew what I’d wear.” She walked toward him, still smiling, as though to model the splendid clothing, finer than she ever had dreamed she would wear. He waited, smiling.
When she reached his chair, she turned and sat gracefully on the arm, the skirts and petticoats softly crushed beneath her, draping the chair’s arm. She leaned closer to him; there had been no time for make-up; her face had the beauty of her green eyes, her straight dark eyebrows, and full lips. Her skin seemed as smooth as the still surface of cream.
‘I want you to take me, the way…” She hesitated. “The way a man takes a woman for the first time.” Again, she seemed constrained, as though wondering if she should go on. But she said, “Like a husband. Will you?”
He was nodding, but his gaze never left her. “And I want to take you, Hannah, the way a husband takes a wife. Because I want you to be my wife…”
“Oh, God, yes! Do you?”
“And to take you not once but again and again. And find out everything you ever thought, or did, or felt, and then share what you become.”
She whispered, “That’s what I want, but I couldn’t say it that way.”
“But, Hannah, how can I, now?”
“I don’t care about the duke—if that happens, if you have not returned, first. If I know that you have taken me, then whatever happens, I can stand it.”
“But then I leave you here to suffer for all we do together.”
“But you said you are leaving soon… It is a week until the duke comes. Perhaps you will succeed by then.”
He had closed his eyes, shaking his head almost imperceptibly. He murmured, “I want to…”
“If you leave and never get back, we will have had nothing. Nothing to make us together forever—in some way, forever.”
“I don’t tend to cry…”
She stood up. “Don’t cry. Take off my things, the way you would seduce a…a lady…out there, in the other world.”
She stood waiting and he rose. He wore the white top and bottom of their every day, here. “I never even kissed you,” he whispered, just before he kissed her. By the time she was moaning softly, in his arms, pressing against him, his hand was beneath her blouse, on her back. This was not “the other world”; she wore no underclothes. His fingers came up slowly, tracing the long curves to her neck, and then closed around her neck as they kissed. By the time their lips parted, his hands had lifted the blouse over her head, but its sleeves were fastened tight at her wrists, so that when he dropped it behind her, it hung down, trapping her arms behind her.
He stepped back and looked. She smiled up. “I’m going to leave it that way, for now; I like the way you look with your hands tied behind you.” And he leaned forward to close his lips on her nipple, his big hand covering the other breast and squeezing it, crushing it, moving it against her as though he couldn’t get enough of its shape and softness. Her head hung back, now, and she drew long breaths.
‘My mother’s are much larger, will you like me if mine get larger?”
He lifted his mouth momentarily, said, “yes,” and went back to kissing her. After awhile, as she began to squirm her hips and push them against him, he backed her toward the bed.
“I can’t touch you,” she murmured. “My hands are tied.”
When he pushed her down so she sat on the edge of the bed, he stepped behind her and unbuttoned her sleeves; she tossed the blouse in the direction of the chair. Then, she leaned back on the bed. He pulled off her skirts and petticoat, so the sandy-brown bush emerged against her pale skin. Then, he lifted her farther back on the bed, quickly dropped his clothes to the floor, and straddled her. Immediately, her hand went under him and slid down. She said, “Your prick get wets just like a pussy.”
“Ohh!” he breathed. Her fingers had begun to circle the bulb, spreading the slickness, then moved down and up the shaft. Now, she was panting, her hips restless, lips parted, and she said, excitedly, “Now is the time, now you should do it!”
“I have to touch you, too.”
“If you touch my clit, I will explode, right now,” she murmured.
His hand went down, covering her bush, feeling it, and then it was over her whole wetness and she shoved herself against the hand, urging, “No! In me!”
“He lowered his body onto her, completely, his face close to hers. She gave a gasp. He said, softly, but seriously, now, the passion in abeyance, “Hannah, if you conceive a child, from this, and you are still here, somehow—something goes wrong—they will end your pregnancy.”
“Perhaps it won’t happen.” She had raised her head to look at him. “I know about times of the month, my mother knows so much about those things. I shouldn’t get pregnant…”
“But it can happen, you know. And then, I am gone, you are pregnant with my child—and they take it…”