couldn’t imagine spending eternity with someone like Emily Bainbridge, but Avalon inspired me to think on it once again. And only after one meeting. What a remarkable woman. To spend eternity with that perfect face. To kiss the perfect “o” of her soft lips. I had been too young in my new life to have had the presence and foresight to turn Catherine before she married my brother. I’ve regretted it ever since. I had resigned to live this life in solitude of heart, if not in body. Now I could have both, but how to do it? Certainly I could force myself on her, by the time she knew what had happened, she would be on the road to turning herself. Still that was risky. For her to hate me for all eternity would be quite unbearable.
That would only be a last resort.
The gaslights on the street corners hissed at me as I passed. They gave off a fuzzy, warm glow through the fog and kept me on track, allowing my mind to wonder to Avalon again and again without fear of losing my way. Before long, I turned onto Gray’s Inn Road and slipped down the alley. The door to the brothel was well hidden. One had to know where one was headed to find it. It was not a normal brothel, if there was such an animal. This one didn’t advertise its presence, as it was of serious ill-repute. If London society knew what went on behind these doors...
I removed the wide black sash from my hat and covered my face with it, allowing only my eyes to show. Best disguise one’s appearance at such a place. As I entered, the door hit a bell suspended from the ceiling, announcing my entrance. The parlor looked like any other, albeit shabby and dank. It was decorated in deep burgundy tapestries and upholstery, lined with a faded gold. Few oil lamps, very dimly lit, barely kept it from being downright dark. A lone woman, old and wrinkled, with her features mostly hidden by a scarf, sat in a corner on a once overstuffed chair. Now it looked as tattered and worn and saggy as the woman herself. A retired prostitute, no doubt. She bore the look of one who had lived a very hard life. There weren’t many whores who lived to her age. Either from foul play or disease, whores usually died relatively young. But then everyone died relatively young compared to me.
“Good evening, sir,” she said in a crackled voice. She didn’t question my appearance, as it was understood here that discretion was of the utmost importance.
I nodded to her.
“What be your pleasure tonight sir?”
“Chamber of Horrors,” I said in a deepened voice, thick with an assumed Irish accent.
“It is occupied, sir. It is one of our more popular rooms, normally by appointment only.”
I took out twenty pound notes and slapped them down on the table next to her. She regarded them for a moment before speaking again, perhaps counting them in her head.
“For this you could buy a virgin, sir. A very young virgin.”
“Virginity is not necessary, and I like my women older.”
“Are you sure, sir? We have a newly acquired young virgin, fresh and frightened.”
“Quite sure. Give me one of your older ones. At least thirty, and I want that room.” I put down another few pound notes to ensure my request. Money, after all, meant nothing to me.
“Of course, sir. Give me a moment, and I’ll see what I can do.”
The old woman hobbled out of the room through the only other door, probably to construct some lie to the current patron, inspiring him to change rooms. I waited, looking at my dank surroundings. Wondering how many of London’s elite had enjoyed the dark pleasures of this place. A few minutes later she reappeared.
“This way,” she said to me, and I followed. She led me down a dark hall past many doors from which screams, not the pleasurable kind, could be heard mixed with the moans and grunts of ecstasy. A man, fat, rather old and saggy himself, and naked except for a covering on his face, came out of the last room on the left. A young girl, no older than fourteen, cowered in
That would only be a last resort.
The gaslights on the street corners hissed at me as I passed. They gave off a fuzzy, warm glow through the fog and kept me on track, allowing my mind to wonder to Avalon again and again without fear of losing my way. Before long, I turned onto Gray’s Inn Road and slipped down the alley. The door to the brothel was well hidden. One had to know where one was headed to find it. It was not a normal brothel, if there was such an animal. This one didn’t advertise its presence, as it was of serious ill-repute. If London society knew what went on behind these doors...
I removed the wide black sash from my hat and covered my face with it, allowing only my eyes to show. Best disguise one’s appearance at such a place. As I entered, the door hit a bell suspended from the ceiling, announcing my entrance. The parlor looked like any other, albeit shabby and dank. It was decorated in deep burgundy tapestries and upholstery, lined with a faded gold. Few oil lamps, very dimly lit, barely kept it from being downright dark. A lone woman, old and wrinkled, with her features mostly hidden by a scarf, sat in a corner on a once overstuffed chair. Now it looked as tattered and worn and saggy as the woman herself. A retired prostitute, no doubt. She bore the look of one who had lived a very hard life. There weren’t many whores who lived to her age. Either from foul play or disease, whores usually died relatively young. But then everyone died relatively young compared to me.
“Good evening, sir,” she said in a crackled voice. She didn’t question my appearance, as it was understood here that discretion was of the utmost importance.
I nodded to her.
“What be your pleasure tonight sir?”
“Chamber of Horrors,” I said in a deepened voice, thick with an assumed Irish accent.
“It is occupied, sir. It is one of our more popular rooms, normally by appointment only.”
I took out twenty pound notes and slapped them down on the table next to her. She regarded them for a moment before speaking again, perhaps counting them in her head.
“For this you could buy a virgin, sir. A very young virgin.”
“Virginity is not necessary, and I like my women older.”
“Are you sure, sir? We have a newly acquired young virgin, fresh and frightened.”
“Quite sure. Give me one of your older ones. At least thirty, and I want that room.” I put down another few pound notes to ensure my request. Money, after all, meant nothing to me.
“Of course, sir. Give me a moment, and I’ll see what I can do.”
The old woman hobbled out of the room through the only other door, probably to construct some lie to the current patron, inspiring him to change rooms. I waited, looking at my dank surroundings. Wondering how many of London’s elite had enjoyed the dark pleasures of this place. A few minutes later she reappeared.
“This way,” she said to me, and I followed. She led me down a dark hall past many doors from which screams, not the pleasurable kind, could be heard mixed with the moans and grunts of ecstasy. A man, fat, rather old and saggy himself, and naked except for a covering on his face, came out of the last room on the left. A young girl, no older than fourteen, cowered in
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