there.
A pretty girl with big blue eyes, she was only about twenty years old and anyone could tell she was miserable, so Maisie was not surprised when she said: 'Please can I talk to you about something personal?'
'Of course, what is it?'
'I do hope you won't be offended but there's no one I can discuss it with.'
This sounded like a sexual problem. It would not be the first time that a well-bred girl had come to Maisie for advice on a subject she could not discuss with her mother. Perhaps they had heard rumors about her racy past, or perhaps they just found her approachable. 'It's hard to offend me,' Maisie said. 'What do you want to discuss?'
'My husband hates me,' she said, and she burst into tears.
Maisie felt sorry for her. She had known Edward in the old Argyll Rooms days and he had been a pig then. No doubt he had got worse since. She could sympathize with anyone unfortunate enough to have married him.
'You see,' Emily said between sobs, 'his parents wanted him to marry, but he didn't want to, so they offered him a huge settlement, and a partnership in the bank, and that persuaded him. And I agreed because my parents wanted me to and he seemed as good as anyone and I wanted to have babies. But he never liked me and now that he's got his money and his partnership he can't stand the sight of me.'
Maisie sighed. 'This may sound hard, but you're in the same position as thousands of women.'
Emily wiped her eyes with a handkerchief and made an effort to stop crying. 'I know, and I don't want you to think I'm feeling sorry for myself. I've got to make the best of it. And I know I could cope with the situation if only I could have a baby. That's all I ever really wanted.'
Children were the consolation of most unhappy wives, Maisie reflected. 'Is there any reason why you shouldn't have babies?'
Emily was shifting restlessly on the couch, almost writhing with embarrassment, but her childlike face was set in lines of determination. 'I've been married for two months and nothing's happened.'
'Early days yet--'
'No, I don't mean I expected to be pregnant by now.'
Maisie knew it was difficult for such girls to be specific, so she led her with questions. 'Does he come to your bed?'
'He did at first, but not anymore.'
'When he did, what went wrong?'
'The trouble is, I'm not sure what's supposed to happen.'
Maisie sighed. How could mothers allow their daughters to walk up the aisle in such ignorance? She recalled that Emily's father was a Methodist minister. That did not help. 'What's supposed to happen is this,' she began. 'Your husband kisses and touches you, his doodle gets long and stiff, and he puts it into your cunny. Most girls like it.'
Emily blushed scarlet. 'He did the kissing and touching, but nothing else.'
'Did his doodle get stiff?'
'It was dark.'
'Didn't you feel it?'
'He made me rub it once.'
'And what was it like? Rigid, like a candle, or limp, like an earthworm? Or in between, like a sausage before it's cooked?'
'Limp.'
'And when you rubbed it, did it stiffen?'
'No. It made him very angry and he slapped me and said I was no good. Is it my fault, Mrs. Greenbourne?'
'No, it's not your fault, though men generally blame women. It's a common problem and it's called impotence.'
'What causes it?'
'Lots of different things.'
'Does it mean I can't have a baby?'
'Not until you can make his doodle stiff.'
Emily looked as if she might cry. 'I do so want a baby. I'm so lonely and unhappy but if I had a baby I could put up with everything else.'
Maisie wondered what Edward's problem was. He certainly had not been impotent in the old days. Was there anything she could do to help Emily? She could probably find out whether Edward was impotent all the time or just with his wife. April Tilsley would know. Edward had still been a regular customer at Nellie's brothel last time Maisie spoke to April--although that had been years ago: it was difficult for a society lady to remain close friends with London's leading madam. 'I know someone close to Edward,' she said cautiously. 'She might be able to shed some light on the problem.'
Emily swallowed. 'Do you mean that he has a mistress? Please tell me--I must face the facts.'
She was a determined girl, Maisie thought. She may be ignorant and naive but she's going to get what she wants. 'This woman isn't his mistress. But if he has one she might know.'
Emily nodded. 'I'd like to meet your friend.'
'I don't know that you personally should--'
'I want to. He's my husband, and if there's something bad to be told I want to hear it.' Her face took on that set, stubborn look again, and she said: 'I'll do anything, you must believe me--anything. My whole life is going to be a wasteland unless I save myself.'
Maisie decided to test her resolve. 'My friend's name is April. She owns a brothel near Leicester Square. It's two minutes from here. Are you prepared to go there with me now?'
'What's a brothel?' said Emily.
The hansom pulled up outside Nellie's. Maisie peeked out, scanning the street. She did not want to be seen going into a brothel by anyone she knew. However, this was the hour when most people of her class were dressing for dinner, and there were only a few poor people on the street. She and Emily got out of the cab. She had paid the driver in advance. The door to the brothel was not locked. They went inside.
Daylight was not kind to Nellie's. At night it might have a certain seedy glamor, Maisie thought, but at the moment it looked threadbare and grubby. The velvet upholstery was faded, the tables were scarred by cigar burns and glass rings, the silk wallpaper was peeling and the erotic paintings just looked vulgar. An old woman with a pipe in her mouth was sweeping the floor. She did not appear surprised to see two society ladies in expensive dresses. When Maisie asked for April, the old woman jerked a thumb at the staircase.
They found April in an upstairs kitchen, drinking tea at the table with several other women, all in dressing gowns or housecoats: obviously it was some hours before business would begin. At first April did not recognize Maisie and they stared at each other for a long moment. Maisie found her old friend little changed: still thin, hard-faced and sharp-eyed; a little weary-looking, perhaps, from too many late nights and too much cheap champagne; but with the confident, assertive air of a successful business woman. 'What can we do for you?' she said.
