A Victorian Romance

by Steven Schechter

Table of Contents

Chapter 5: He Left Nothing Behind

part 1

The newspapers reported that Thomas Beauton had been garroted in his bedroom and that valuables and money were taken. No one had seen or heard anything; it was the cleanest murder that money could buy.

Digby returned from the city to find that Beatrice was newly settled at Bolton House. He soon visited Lady Griffith in her new home, having arranged with Arthur to be on holiday for a time. “Auntie knows,” Beatrice told him, behind the closed doors of the drawing-room. She sat on a couch as Digby leaned against a piano.

He agreed that something had to be done about Margaret, but he thought it was best to wait a while. Another death in the orbit of these two families, following so soon upon Thomas Beauton’s death, would attract attention. He convinced Beatrice that her aunt had no plans, certainly no immediate plans, to go to the authorities or to tell Arthur, reassuring her that the last thing Margaret wanted was to destroy her beloved brother, not to mention the family name as well. In all likelihood, Margaret would bury whatever suspicions she had, not wishing to know any more. When the time was right, he added, Margaret’s death should seem accidental, such as a horseback-riding incident.

Beatrice leaned her head back on the sofa, her eyes closed, and breathed deeply. She felt safe, protected. Digby looked at her a few moments, sitting there with her eyes closed, then came and sat down beside her on the couch. “Don’t you see that I am your true knight?” he asked softly.

Her eyes opened on him with a hint of wariness. “Yes, my black knight.”

Gently, he pulled her close and kissed her. She neither resisted nor received the kiss. He kissed her neck, then he drew back to look at her, and waited. She spoke with a trace of formality. “You have protected my honor so carefully, Simon. I can’t help but love you now.” He kissed her again, and she returned the kiss. He caressed her and she responded. Is this passion or more dissembling? Digby wondered.

Beatrice surrendered herself to her protector. There was no romance in it, or not of the sort she had always imagined. But there was trust, of a kind, and curiosity and, after a point, excitement and pleasure. In the strange and surreal month that Richard remained away, Lady Griffith was mostly able to put out of mind that she was, at night, the lover of Simon Digby, a petty grifter.

Now and then, there were reminders of her new status. Awakening in the morning swollen and hard-used between her legs. Or, when attending a charity luncheon with her father, a wave of desire, sudden and punishing, swept through her. At the funeral of a distant uncle, she daydreamed of the cedar twigs that had come down hard on her ass cheeks and brought her to orgasm.

* * *

Percy had waited hours for the train pulling into Union Station, but he wished for another hour or another day. Or time enough to find a drink, but he didn’t want Richard to smell it on his breath. There was no putting it off now; the train was in and passengers were stepping onto the platform. Through the clouds of steam, he spotted Richard and went to him.

“Percy!” Richard embraced his friend. “I certainly wasn’t expecting you!”

“I must fill my days somehow,” Percy smiled.

“I should know that I can count on you.” Richard signaled to the porters for his luggage, but Percy indicated to them to wait a moment.

“Are you expected immediately?” Percy asked. “We might go to the club for a drink.”

“I should go home,” said Richard.

“Of course,” Percy said. “But then it would only be for an hour or so.”

Richard smiled affectionately. “All right. Since you were so punctual.”

The billiard rooms at the Preamble Club were small, fitted with one billiard table and a liquor cabinet. As they played, alone in the room, it was clear that Percy was distracted.

“You had better say what is on your mind,” said Richard, “or your chin will sink to the floor.”

Suddenly there were tears in Percy’s eyes. “Sometimes I think of that day and going into Mandalay, when Predergast sent me three hundred yards over flat ground to deliver his message.”

Richard tried to lighten the mood as he set up the next shot. “Come on, old man. Can’t rest on your laurels forever.”

“I never told anyone how terrified I was,” Percy continued after a moment. “I am a coward, Richard.”

“Bosh! You carried through! There’s no need to think of this, Percy. Come on, now.” He tried to start the game again.

“But I would happily ride that ground again. Over and over until I was killed... rather than tell you what I must tell you.”

The game was over. “What is it, Percy? What’s wrong?”

Percy took a deep breath. “Someone came to me last week to tell me a story.” He paused. “About your family.”

Richard’s mother had passed away more than a year earlier, and his father was long gone. “My family... Do you mean Beatrice?”

Sorrowfully, Percy pushed on. “I would never have listened, except that the messenger is so far beyond reproach that it was my duty to listen. And because I was told that your honor was concerned.”

“My honor?” Richard felt cold inside. “Who is this person? Why don’t they tell me directly?”

“I am duty-bound not to say,” Percy answered, trembling.

Richard came up closer to Percy. “What story, Percy? What is going on?” He asked again, “What is this story, Percy?”

“I was told... that Beatrice... was meeting alone — God help me — with a man... in your home.” Richard was rooted to the spot. Trying to understand words which hung in the air for a moment as only sound.

Percy’s mouth kept moving, “Situations that last nearly till dawn.”

Richard swung the cue, catching Percy on the forehead and knocking him down. Blood spurted from the cut. Percy lay on the floor, breathing heavily, making no effort to stop the bleeding. Richard wanted to pick the man up and bash his head against the wall, to smash his face to a pulp.

“Do you hate her that much?” Richard said. “Maybe it is true, what others have said, to which I have turned a deaf ear.”

Percy just looked up sorrowfully at his friend. He was not badly hurt.

“Whoever told you this,” Richard said, “whoever they may be, is lying. Spreading lies. You must tell me who this person is.” He waited a moment, then shouted, “How could you respect anyone who would not face me!!?”

Finally, Percy answered, “I am the only one who was told.”

Through the pain, a thought came to Richard. “Perhaps there is no such person... and you have made this up out of whole cloth.” There was no answer from Percy but the steadfast look. Richard retrieved his drink and finished it in a swallow. “We shall not see each other again after this.” He turned away to gather his belongings.

Percy lifted himself up painfully and moved to the door, then turned and stood facing the room. His task was not yet done. Richard had his bags strapped together and he approached the door. “Please remove yourself,” he said.

“I was challenged,” Percy began again, “as your loyal friend, to determine the truth for myself.” Richard’s eyes bulged with fury and warning, but Percy went on, “I was told where and when I should keep watch.”

Dropping his things, Richard grabbed Percy by the throat and banged him against the wall. “Watch for what?! What did you do!?” He punched Percy, sending him into the wall and down. Quickly picking him up again, as if Percy were a rag doll, and punching him again, knocking teeth out. Two club members burst through the door and grabbed Richard, barely able to restrain him as he shouted, “You spied on my wife!?”

“Sir, sir, restrain yourself!” cried the club members.

Gasping for breath, Percy managed to speak through bloody lips as he lay on the floor. “I tried to guard your honor.” He panted for breath and went on. “I would do it again though you beat me to death.”

* * *

Digby lay on the bed in the master bedroom of Bolton House. He rose and moved to the window to let in some cool air and to assess the conditions outside, whether it would be a safe time to leave. He thought the best time was just before first light. It was still too early and he returned to the bed where Beatrice lay unmoving and covered with sweat.

“Isn’t your husband due in?” Digby sat on the bed.

“Tomorrow,” she said absently.

“Don’t become careless now.” Digby thought he should begin to dress, but he lay back and closed his eyes.

“Richard is too proud to watch over me,” said Beatrice. She had been thinking of something else that night, wondering how to put it into words. After a few moments, she asked, “Is all the world doing this? I mean... this.”

Digby looked at her, surprised at the question. “Everywhere,” he said, “men and women poking on the sly... But the world knows nothing and says nothing.”

After a silence, she asked, “Are other men like you?”

“How is that?”

She giggled. “Do other men speak in that bawdy way? Coax women and win them over?” She giggled, “And smell their fingers.”

“Look now,” he purred, reaching for her, “you’ve woken John Thomas.”

In the garden the darkness had begun to recede. Directly below the open bay window, out of the sightline from the bedroom, someone listened as giggles and murmurs and soft sounds were magnified in the stillness of the cool mist. Finally, the outsider turned and walked unsteadily out of the garden.

* * *

Proceed to part 2...

Copyright © 2023 by Steven Schechter