through the agency of an agreeable camp-follower (who accommodated him between her laundry duties). When he married, he chose his wife with his particular proclivities in mind. It would not do for him to wed some virginal maiden. The first time a strap was produced she might have run home to her mother (or besoiled herself—he had known that to bechance an unwitting chit). No indeed, he selected a woman not only for her beauty, but her sophistication. He must have a wife who would not be taken unawares by such habits—a woman of the demimonde.
Although he had selected her for her urbanity, Howgrave held out hope that she would be able to gratify his passion in the customary fashion. Initially, she did. Regrettably, the many burdens of his office (infested as it was with ungrateful rioters and cunning compatriots) had coalesced into a teeming mass of agitation, depriving him of the ability to obtain amatory consolation unless aroused in some perverse fashion. Hence, it had been necessary for Lady Howgrave to employ evermore elaborate manoeuvrings and manipulations to bring him to achievement. Only when she did not succeed in those ministrations was he forced to take the whip to her. He did not take delight in it. He was left with no other choice.
He must have a child—a son to carry on the family name (such as it was).
However, he vowed not do as his father had done. He would not take a child from some low mistress. His son would not bear the disgrace of bastardy. He would be suckled at the breast of a proper wet-nurse not consigned to the scullery with the likes of Bess Dumpstitch.
Dear Bess was his mother and a lowly maid in the service of Howgrave Manor. He was called Frederick, but was not allowed to take his father’s surname. The master of the manor had a wife and, as mistress of the manor, she looked upon his bastard son with disapproval. Hence, poor Bess received no compensation for giving birth to the master’s child. It was enough that she was allowed to keep her position (and was happy that she was not struck from the house due to her disgrace).
Until he was ten, Freddy slept in the same bed as his mother at night and helped in the kitchen by day. He had to sit outside upon the steps to partake his meals and was beaten for every dish he dropped. Called Fictional Freddy by the other servants, he grew up altogether baffled as to why he had to suffer the envy of others for a position that netted him absolutely nothing.
No education—letters or numbers—had been squandered upon him until the day he was sent off to school. His classmates abused him mercilessly. This came to pass as much for his lack of learning as his dirty fingernails. He received no quarter from the schoolmaster either. If given an incorrect answer, he laid the rod across every boy’s knuckles. (Hence, Freddy’s were perpetually swollen.) Two hours a day were dedicated in prayer and introspection. Each week, they bared their buttocks to accept a switching just on general principle.
If Freddy was not a particularly astute student, he was a magnificent learner. He hastily uncovered the most important lessons the school had to offer—and he did not have to attend a single class to learn them. By undertaking distasteful chores, befriending stupid boys with wealthy families, and falling prostrate with reverence in the presence of the most despised schoolmasters, he ingratiated himself to those who mattered. One did not have to be good; just have the appearance of it.
Upon his final year he had grown fat but not tall, yet his adiposity was no longer the target of unkind pranks. For the first time in his life, he felt approval. He arrived at school a shunned dunce and would leave a clever young man, having gained an extraordinary education in finagling, connivance, and collusion.
Just when all seemed right with his world, word came of his mother’s death. Freddy did not sally forth to Howgrave Manor to watch her being tossed into the cold,
Although he had selected her for her urbanity, Howgrave held out hope that she would be able to gratify his passion in the customary fashion. Initially, she did. Regrettably, the many burdens of his office (infested as it was with ungrateful rioters and cunning compatriots) had coalesced into a teeming mass of agitation, depriving him of the ability to obtain amatory consolation unless aroused in some perverse fashion. Hence, it had been necessary for Lady Howgrave to employ evermore elaborate manoeuvrings and manipulations to bring him to achievement. Only when she did not succeed in those ministrations was he forced to take the whip to her. He did not take delight in it. He was left with no other choice.
He must have a child—a son to carry on the family name (such as it was).
However, he vowed not do as his father had done. He would not take a child from some low mistress. His son would not bear the disgrace of bastardy. He would be suckled at the breast of a proper wet-nurse not consigned to the scullery with the likes of Bess Dumpstitch.
Dear Bess was his mother and a lowly maid in the service of Howgrave Manor. He was called Frederick, but was not allowed to take his father’s surname. The master of the manor had a wife and, as mistress of the manor, she looked upon his bastard son with disapproval. Hence, poor Bess received no compensation for giving birth to the master’s child. It was enough that she was allowed to keep her position (and was happy that she was not struck from the house due to her disgrace).
Until he was ten, Freddy slept in the same bed as his mother at night and helped in the kitchen by day. He had to sit outside upon the steps to partake his meals and was beaten for every dish he dropped. Called Fictional Freddy by the other servants, he grew up altogether baffled as to why he had to suffer the envy of others for a position that netted him absolutely nothing.
No education—letters or numbers—had been squandered upon him until the day he was sent off to school. His classmates abused him mercilessly. This came to pass as much for his lack of learning as his dirty fingernails. He received no quarter from the schoolmaster either. If given an incorrect answer, he laid the rod across every boy’s knuckles. (Hence, Freddy’s were perpetually swollen.) Two hours a day were dedicated in prayer and introspection. Each week, they bared their buttocks to accept a switching just on general principle.
If Freddy was not a particularly astute student, he was a magnificent learner. He hastily uncovered the most important lessons the school had to offer—and he did not have to attend a single class to learn them. By undertaking distasteful chores, befriending stupid boys with wealthy families, and falling prostrate with reverence in the presence of the most despised schoolmasters, he ingratiated himself to those who mattered. One did not have to be good; just have the appearance of it.
Upon his final year he had grown fat but not tall, yet his adiposity was no longer the target of unkind pranks. For the first time in his life, he felt approval. He arrived at school a shunned dunce and would leave a clever young man, having gained an extraordinary education in finagling, connivance, and collusion.
Just when all seemed right with his world, word came of his mother’s death. Freddy did not sally forth to Howgrave Manor to watch her being tossed into the cold,
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