a queer thing.”
“What, that a strumpet’s whelp should have lived here, in this house, while the son of the lord was exiled? Yes, that is a queer thing,” he said. His eyes finally focused on me. “A queer thing indeed.”
I knew not what to make of his mood, so I said nothing. I do not enjoy verbal fencing with mercurial gentlemen, that is for sharp-tongued spinsters with many cats and well-thumbed copies of Emma .
“Well, let bygones be bygones,” he said at last. “’Twas not your fault, my situation, and it would make me unreasonable to blame you. Tell me about yourself, Miss Burchell. What do you do?”
“I am—a writer,” I said. “I live in London, where I work for a ladies’ periodical.”
“Which?”
“You would not have heard of it,” I said demurely. Experience has taught me not to divulge my status as pornographer too readily, I have found it is better to let people form an opinion of me before revealing how disreputable I am.
“You might be surprised,” he said. “I read all sorts of things.”
“Indeed?”
“Things that would make you blush, I’ll warrant.”
I thought this a sorry attempt at rakishness. “My lord?”
“I should show you my collection sometime … even though you are but a distant, and to be truthful, unwanted relation, you have Calipash blood in you, and thus should appreciate certain genres considered outré by the masses. It is really too bad the Private Library was burned to ashes—”
A clap of thunder from outside, where the storm still raged, silenced him, but I did not mind. I needed a moment to recover myself: He had mentioned the Private Library! That was what had been written on each bookplate: This Book Belongs to the Private Library of the Calipash Family.
“Perhaps you are referring to the collection of infamous volumes that used to be housed on the leftmost bookcase of the library? The one that required spinning about to find what it really contained?”
It was my turn to surprise him! He sat up in his chair and looked at me keenly. I began to doubt he had drunk as much wine as I had first thought.
“Yes—yes I do! Ach, how can it be that such a lowly urchin has sampled the legendary delights of the Calipash Private Library, and yet I have never done so?”
“I could not say, my lord.”
“Perhaps—do you then know why it was burned? I could not understand what my father said regarding the matter. His speech was too far gone when I asked.”
I was happy to have something to hold over him, so instead of answering him directly, I stood and began to fill a plate from the contents of the sideboard—salmon salad, cold chicken, succulent orange-slices, tongue in aspic. I avoided the cold boiled.
As I selected the last elements of my repast, over my shoulder I said, “Your father did not share your opinions, my lord.”
“Oh? How so?”
“He burned the collection after finding me perusing an illustrated copy of Fanny Hill —or, at least, what I know now was a … let us say variant edition of that classic pornography, rewritten to emphasize more deviant black magics than matters carnal. He was so very horrified that he whipped me out the door and into his coach, to be taken directly to school, never permitted to return.”
I did not add that he had discovered me with my hand under my own skirts, frigging myself furiously whilst looking at the naughty pictures, strange though some surely were.
It had been a humid summer day, and I had just that year discovered the delights of that revolving bookcase. Actually, I do not believe my guardian knew of the Private Library before that day, as when the old Lord Calipash walked in on me, he snatched the book away, and, eyes wide, had demanded to know where I found such a thing; after seeing what else the collection held he had shouted that he would burn the lot of it, that such titles could do nothing but induce evil in women and men alike.
Though I have never had any reason to doubt my
“What, that a strumpet’s whelp should have lived here, in this house, while the son of the lord was exiled? Yes, that is a queer thing,” he said. His eyes finally focused on me. “A queer thing indeed.”
I knew not what to make of his mood, so I said nothing. I do not enjoy verbal fencing with mercurial gentlemen, that is for sharp-tongued spinsters with many cats and well-thumbed copies of Emma .
“Well, let bygones be bygones,” he said at last. “’Twas not your fault, my situation, and it would make me unreasonable to blame you. Tell me about yourself, Miss Burchell. What do you do?”
“I am—a writer,” I said. “I live in London, where I work for a ladies’ periodical.”
“Which?”
“You would not have heard of it,” I said demurely. Experience has taught me not to divulge my status as pornographer too readily, I have found it is better to let people form an opinion of me before revealing how disreputable I am.
“You might be surprised,” he said. “I read all sorts of things.”
“Indeed?”
“Things that would make you blush, I’ll warrant.”
I thought this a sorry attempt at rakishness. “My lord?”
“I should show you my collection sometime … even though you are but a distant, and to be truthful, unwanted relation, you have Calipash blood in you, and thus should appreciate certain genres considered outré by the masses. It is really too bad the Private Library was burned to ashes—”
A clap of thunder from outside, where the storm still raged, silenced him, but I did not mind. I needed a moment to recover myself: He had mentioned the Private Library! That was what had been written on each bookplate: This Book Belongs to the Private Library of the Calipash Family.
“Perhaps you are referring to the collection of infamous volumes that used to be housed on the leftmost bookcase of the library? The one that required spinning about to find what it really contained?”
It was my turn to surprise him! He sat up in his chair and looked at me keenly. I began to doubt he had drunk as much wine as I had first thought.
“Yes—yes I do! Ach, how can it be that such a lowly urchin has sampled the legendary delights of the Calipash Private Library, and yet I have never done so?”
“I could not say, my lord.”
“Perhaps—do you then know why it was burned? I could not understand what my father said regarding the matter. His speech was too far gone when I asked.”
I was happy to have something to hold over him, so instead of answering him directly, I stood and began to fill a plate from the contents of the sideboard—salmon salad, cold chicken, succulent orange-slices, tongue in aspic. I avoided the cold boiled.
As I selected the last elements of my repast, over my shoulder I said, “Your father did not share your opinions, my lord.”
“Oh? How so?”
“He burned the collection after finding me perusing an illustrated copy of Fanny Hill —or, at least, what I know now was a … let us say variant edition of that classic pornography, rewritten to emphasize more deviant black magics than matters carnal. He was so very horrified that he whipped me out the door and into his coach, to be taken directly to school, never permitted to return.”
I did not add that he had discovered me with my hand under my own skirts, frigging myself furiously whilst looking at the naughty pictures, strange though some surely were.
It had been a humid summer day, and I had just that year discovered the delights of that revolving bookcase. Actually, I do not believe my guardian knew of the Private Library before that day, as when the old Lord Calipash walked in on me, he snatched the book away, and, eyes wide, had demanded to know where I found such a thing; after seeing what else the collection held he had shouted that he would burn the lot of it, that such titles could do nothing but induce evil in women and men alike.
Though I have never had any reason to doubt my
Similar Books
