Mr W- Y- gives me much to consider

[the_comfortable_courtesan]

I am in the fiercest longing to be with my darlings, but sure I cannot see any way that we might contrive this at present. Besides the great press of Society matters, there are the other matters I have upon hand, even tho’ I am like to suppose that my pretty little house is no longer being covertly watcht.

The matter of conveying Mr W- Y- into confinement within the Contessa’s mansion is contriv’d. We are in some consideration as to who should go question him.

Why, says I, I confide should be me. Have I not been most greatly inconvenienc’d by this matter of his disappearance? Also, I do not think he will put on bold defiance and declare silence to the death is he fac’d with that pretty feather-wit, Lady B-. And sure, gentlemen have oft been most eager to confide in me.

Sandy says, very dourly Calvinistickal, that he may think he can readyly overpower a weak and feeble woman and make his escape.

With Hector outside the door, intelligence that I shall go convey to him by telling Hector, as I enter the prison-cell –

'Tis, says Sandy, a comfortable chamber on one of the upper storeys that is not at present inhabit’d, altho’ the precaution has been taken of having the shutters clos’d and lockt.

- not to come in with me but guard the door, I think he will think twice before endeavouring escape.

O! I cry, mayhap I should take that pretty little pistol in my reticule, just in case.

Sandy looks at me and says, he would be quite entire happyer did I not, and he knows not what G- was thinking of, giving it to me.

My fears of highwaymen in Surrey, says I, 'twas extreme thoughtfull of him. He also, I go on, gave me a little instruction in the matter.

Sandy groans, and I fear that there may be some argument 'twixt the pair of 'em.

But after a little protest he concedes that 'tis a reasonable stratagem, but I should if necessary threaten him with some other that will be less cajoling.

So, I betake myself to the Contessa’s mansion, and she says that he has give up beating upon the door and demanding to be releas’d, and also eats very hearty of what is taken up to him.

'Tis a good sign, says I, for had not been attending to such necessities while he was huddling around the docks.

So I go up to the chamber in which he has been bestow’d, with Hector following me, a candlestick in my hand – altho’ the shutters are clos’d so that he cannot discover where he is held, and does not know what time o’ day 'tis, he is not depriv’d of light.

As I unlock the door I say to Hector that no, I will go in alone, but he should wait here and come in at once does he hear any disturbance.

I enter. Indeed, has no air of a prison-cell, there is a comfortable-looking bed, an easy-chair, a table and chairs, and I apprehend that there must be one comes and attends to the necessities of keeping the place clean and sweet, for does not smell as bad as might.

Mr W- Y- is at the window, pulling at one of the shutters in a vain hope to loosen it.

How now, says I, Mr Y-, sure this is a pickle you are in.

He turns and gapes. Lady B-!

I dip him a very modest curtesy and say, at your service, sir.

He makes a somewhat ungainly leg. But what do you here? You find me an entire captive, I know not what’s afoot –

I sit down at the table and put down the candlestick.

I see him cogitate and then go sit opposite me.

Lady B-, he says, I know not how 'tis you come here, but I know you a kind and mercyfull lady, can you not obtain my release? Sure there must be some misunderstanding, if only was one I might talk to and explain, can you not contrive that?

I tilt my head to one side and blink at him. Why, says I, the intelligence I receiv’d was that you were discover’d in a hovel somewhere about the docks, nigh on lunatick from taking some noxious matter that is purvey’d in those parts, and were convey’d to some place where ‘twas hop’d you might eventual become sober -

Indeed 'twas so, he says, and then goes on, sure I was seeking visions, had been ill-adviz’d concerning what they call bang -

Perchance, says I, should not be taken in conjunction with opium and cheap gin, that were also discover’d about you.

Also, says I, had the most curious call paid upon me by a gentleman that was most exceeding anxious to know did I have any intelligence concerning your whereabouts – a most disagreeable encroaching prying fellow, I did not take to him in the least.

Mr W- Y- was not looking particularly well when I enter’d the room: he now looks a deal more pale and sickly.

And shall you now tell him where I am?

I take out my fan – for the room is somewhat close - and fan myself a little and say, O, I think not, I did not like, o, what is the nautickal phrase that the dear Admiral will use, the cut of his jib, he was a nasty creature. But sure I was given to wonder why such a fellow should be seeking you. For he did not appear to be one that is a great lover of poetry.

Mr W- Y- goes bury his head in his hands.

Poetry! he says with a groan. Sure that is what brought me into this tangle in the first place.

I look at him with my sympathetick listening face.

He looks up. I ever desir’d to be a poet, he says. Had a fine education, went to Cambridge, mov’d in an excellent set of fellows of similar ambitions and radickal opinions – and the muses car’d not. That pudding-fac’d provincial miss, that I daresay had some half-educat’d governess for a few years or went to some girls’ school to be taught embroidery and deportment, has the divine spark that I do not.

Why, says I, I have heard from those that have critickal apprehension that your first volume of poems show’d considerable promise.

He makes a noise that might possibly be a laugh. That, says he, was not my work either.

Oh? says I.

In this fine set of mine, he says, there was one – Peter Lasalle – that manifest’d quite the greatest talent. Had not publisht anything, but copies of his poems circulat’d – O, was a splendid fellow! Sure Byron would have had to look to his laurels had Lasalle liv’d.

He dy’d, then?

Shot himself. Oh, 'twas give out an accident while he was cleaning his gun, but quite shortly after there was a rumour going about that he had been about to be took up for sodomy – tho’ sure I never saw anything the like in his company – and wisht to avoid the disgrace to his family.

I had copies of his poems, and the strongest feeling that they should have wider circulation, so I went about to publish them anonymous: but somehow, sure printers may be very loose-lippt, began to get about that they were mine, my own. And 'twas hard to deny it.

Then, some little while later, comes to me this sneaking fellow and says, hears I was a great friend of Lasalle, what a sorry loss he was, &C&C. And then works round by means of insinuation to come at the fact that he knows the authorship of the poems suppos’d mine. And dares say I should not like this to get about.

And indeed, 'twas I found most agreeable to be fêt’d as a coming new poet, but I said somewhat to the effect that I thought the poems merit’d an attention they might not gain given the scandal of Lasalle’s death, had not intend’d to claim authorship –

And he smiles like some tiger and says, ah yes, the scandal of Mr Lasalle’s death, sure one would not want all to come out concerning that. That in order to preserve himself and – his friend - from a sodomy prosecution, had turn’d informer upon his set concerning any seditious activities they might be about, or connexions they might have –

Mr W- Y- falls silent, and then sighs. And somehow, he gradually comes around to the suggestion that I might undertake the like, for sure I have my own secrets and he dares say would not like the full truth to be known of Lasalle –

(O, thinks I, indeed 'tis monstrous: does not only threaten disclose a fellow’s own secrets but to bring about damage to others that he car’d about. I shiver somewhat even tho’ 'tis so close, with the shutters clos’d and candles burning, on a late spring day, within the chamber. For I had been like to suppose that one that is known a former courtesan and does not keep it a secret cannot be threaten’d by any revelation of scandal. But was it a matter of protecting my darlings, or Sandy and Milord – o, indeed 'twould be a different matter.)

And so, says he in a dull voice, I turn’d informer, for here was I, an acclaim’d poet of good birth, recently elect’d MP for the borough where my family has interest, and some reputation as a radickal fellow from being in Lasalle’s set ever since Cambridge. 'Twas not just outright sedition the fellow lookt for –

I may well suppose, says I in very dry tones, that he was also most extreme interest’d in any matter that he might employ to put pressure upon one or another to serve his interests.

Mr W- Y- looks at me as if a cat had start’d speaking Greek. For sure 'tis not a thought one might anticipate from the feather-witt’d Lady B-.

Well, says I, rising and snapping my fan shut. Sure you have give me much to consider, Mr Y-. I go away to meditate upon it.

What is this place? he asks. Why am I here?

I smile and say farewell.

Comments

[annotated_em]

Aw, geez. Poor Mr. Y, so weak-willed and well-meaning.

At least he's got Lady B in his corner now.

[kore]

O! I cry, mayhap I should take that pretty little pistol in my reticule, just in case.

Sandy looks at me and says, he would be quite entire happyer did I not, and he knows not what G- was thinking of, giving it to me.

My fears of highwaymen in Surrey, says I, 'twas extreme thoughtfull of him. He also, I go on, gave me a little instruction in the matter.

Sandy groans, and I fear that there may be some argument 'twixt the pair of 'em.

Ahahaha oh Sandy.

(Aww man I don't want to feel sympathy for Mr W Y!)

[brigdh]

Oh, I actually feel sorry for Mr W Y now! Who would have thought I could ever have sympathy for him!