married.”
Micky looked away. That was perceptive of her. She had no idea what went on in the private rooms of Nellie’s brothel — but she had a mother’s intuition. He, too, felt that if he married first, Edward might be more willing. “Me, marry?” he said with a little laugh. Naturally he would marry, sooner or later — everyone did — but he saw no reason to do so yet.
However, if it was the price of financing the railroad …
It was not just the railroad, he reflected. One successful loan would lead to another. Countries such as Russia and Canada raised fresh loans every year on the London market — for raifroads, harbors, water supply companies and general government finance. There was no reason why Cordova should not do the same. Micky would take a commission, official or unofficial, on every penny raised; but more importantly, the money would be channeled to his family’s interests back home, making them ever richer and more powerful.
And the alternative was unthinkable. If he let his father down over this he would be never be forgiven. To avert his father’s wrath he would marry three times over.
He looked back at Augusta. They never spoke of what had happened in old Seth’s bedroom back in the September of 1873, but she could not possibly have forgotten it. It had been sex without intercourse, infidelity without adultery, something and nothing. They had both been fully clothed, it had lasted only seconds, yet it had been more passionate and moving and searingly unforgettable than anything Micky had ever done with the whores at Nellie’s brothel, and he felt sure it had been a momentous passage for Augusta too. How did she really feel about the prospect of Micky’s getting married? Half the women in London would be jealous, but it was so hard to know what Augusta felt in her heart. He decided to ask her directly. He looked into her eyes and said: “Do you want me to marry?”
She hesitated. He saw regret in her face for a moment. Then her expression hardened and she said firmly: “Yes.”
He stared at her. She held his look. He saw that she meant what she said, and he was oddly disappointed.
Augusta said: “It must be settled soon. Emily Maple and her parents won’t be kept in suspense indefinitely.”
In other words I’d better get married quickly, Micky thought.
I will, then. So be it.
Joseph and Edward returned to the box and the conversation turned to other matters.
Throughout the next act Micky thought about Edward. They had been friends now for fifteen years. Edward was weak and insecure, eager to please but without initiative or drive. His life’s project was to get people to encourage and support him, and Micky had been supplying that need ever since he started doing Edward’s Latin prep at school. Now Edward needed to be pushed into the marriage that was necessary for his career — and for Micky’s.
During the second interval Micky said to Augusta: “Edward needs someone to help him at the bank — a clever clerk who will be loyal to him and look after his interests.”
Augusta thought for a moment. “That’s a very good notion indeed,” she said. “Someone you and I know and trust.”
“Exactly.”
Augusta said: “Do you have someone in mind?”
“I have a cousin working for me at the ministry. His name is Simon Oliver. It was Olivera but he anglicized it. He’s a smart boy and completely trustworthy.”
“Bring him to tea,” Augusta said. “If I like the looks of him I’ll speak to Joseph.”
“Very well.”
The last act began. He and Augusta often thought alike, Micky mused. It was Augusta he should be married to: together they could conquer the world. He pushed that fantastic notion out of his head. Who was he going to marry? She should not be an heiress, for he had nothing to offer such a girl. There were several heiresses he could easily captivate, but winning their hearts was only the start: there would be a prolonged battle with the parents and no guarantee of the right result. No, he needed a girl of modest background, one who liked him already and would accept him with alacrity. His eye roamed idly around the stalls of the theatre — and lit on Rachel Bodwin.
She fit the bill perfectly. She was already half in love with him. She was getting desperate for a husband. Her father did not like Micky much but her mother did, and the mother and daughter together would soon overcome the father’s opposition.
But most importantly, she aroused him.
She would be a virgin, innocent and apprehensive. He would do things to her that would bewilder and disgust her. She might resist, which would make it even better. In the end a wife had to give in to her husband’s sexual demands, regardless of how bizarre or distasteful they might be, for she had no one to complain to. Once again he pictured her tied to the bed, only this time she was writhing, either in pain or desire or both….
The show came to an end. As they left the theatre Micky looked out for the Bodwins. They met on the pavement, as the Pilasters were waiting for their carriage and Albert Bodwin was hailing a hansom. Micky gave Mrs. Bodwin a winning smile and said: “May I do myself the honor of calling on you tomorrow afternoon?”
She was obviously startled. “The honor would be all mine, Senor Miranda.”
“You’re too kind.” He shook hands with Rachel, looked her in the eye, and said: “Until tomorrow, then.”
“I look forward to it,” she said.
Augusta’s carriage arrived and Micky opened the door. “What do you think of her?” he murmured.
“Her eyes are too close together,” Augusta said as she climbed in. She settled in her seat then spoke to him through the open door. “Other than that, she looks like me.” She slammed the door and the carriage drove off.
An hour later Micky and Edward were eating supper in a private room at Nellie’s. Apart from the table, the room contained a sofa, a wardrobe, a washstand and a big bed. April Tilsley had redecorated the whole place, and this room had fashionable William Morris fabrics and a set of framed drawings of people performing sexual acts with a variety of fruits and vegetables. But it was in the nature of the business that people got drunk and misbehaved, and already the wallpaper was torn, the curtains stained and the carpet ripped. However, low candlelight hid the tawdriness of the room as well as taking years off the ages of the women.
The men were being waited on by two of their favorite girls, Muriel and Lily, who were wearing red silk shoes and huge, elaborate hats but were otherwise naked. From outside the room came the sounds of raucous singing and some kind of heated quarrel, but in here it was peaceful, with the crackling of the coal fire and the murmured words of the two girls as they served supper. The atmosphere relaxed Micky, and he began to feel less anxious about the railroad loan. He had a plan, at least. He could only try it out. He looked across the table at Edward. Theirs had been a fruitful friendship, he mused. There were times when he felt almost fond of Edward. Edward’s dependency was tiresome, but it was what gave Micky power over him. He had helped Edward, Edward had helped him, and together they had enjoyed all the vices of the most sophisticated city in the world.
When they finished eating Micky poured another glass of wine and said: “I’m going to marry Rachel Bodwin.”
Muriel and Lily giggled.
Edward stared at him for a long moment then said: “I don’t believe it.”
Micky shrugged. “Believe what you wish. It’s true, all the same.”
“Do you really mean it?”
“Yes.”
“You swine!”
Micky stared at his friend in surprise. “What? Why shouldn’t I marry?”
Edward stood up and leaned over the table aggressively. “You’re a damned swine, Miranda, and that’s all there is to say.”
Micky had not anticipated such a reaction. “What the devil has got into you?” he said. “Aren’t you going to marry Emily Maple?”
“Who told you that?”
“Your mother.”
“Well, I’m not marrying anyone.”
