October 10th, 2008

I left off in May of 1878, where George Chapman and I had found ourselves in one of the local brothels. The Madame was about to introduce me to the 'ladies'. My first steps into a darker world full of strange and wonderous things. The potential and temptations were hard to deny. And my initial intent of being there as an observer were soon forgotten.

Curiosity killed the cat.

But satisfaction brought it back.

And so my story continues.

She rose and bade me follow her. "Let me introduce you to the ladies," she said. We passed the main staircase, and I was aware of muffled, distant sounds, which I could not identify, coming from the floor above. Madame glanced upwards and gave me a look with an ambiguously raised eyebrow.

George remained in the parlor and we were alone in the hall when she stopped as if arrested by a sudden thought. "If you prefer, we do have boys."

I shook my head.

"They are very accommodating."

"Thank you, no," I said, feeling foolishly polite, as if I were declining a second piece of cake at a tea party.

"One never knows." She shrugged with indifference. "After all, you are a friend of Chapman's," she added with a smile, watching the reaction in my face for one alert moment before she resumed our little tour. "He is a man of such varied interests."

She ushered me into a room which could almost have been the drawing room in the home of a well-off family. The young lady playing the piano was named Lola. She could have been a school teacher. Lola asked me if there was a piece of music I wished to hear; I said I should enjoy some Strauss, and she launched into a waltz which she played with great gusto. A gentleman in the corner whom I had not previously noticed awoke and lurched from the room in search of a dancing partner.

I heard a man's guffaw and the titter of several women coming from the adjoining room and went to investigate. I found a fifty-year-old man reclining on a couch supported by three young women in their underclothes who were draped around him in various poses. With his florid, rotund features and face surrounded by a white beard he looked like a Bacchus from a mythological painting. At some point that night he had been in evening dress, but his jacket and shirt were missing and all that remained on his upper body were his cuffs and collar.

"Take whichever one you want," he called out to me. "Don't let me hold you back, old chap. I'm spent. Entirely spent."

The girls laughed and teased him.

"Please don't let me disturb you," I said, but his attention had already been distracted, and I passed on without further pausing.

The next room might have been a cafe of the bar in a gentlemen's club. A waiter stood attentively to one side, and several gentlemen sat with women of the house at tables. There was a relaxed air in which the men felt it permissible to remove their jackets and drink wine in their suspenders.

I had a fresh glass of champagne. Apparently it was the only drink they served. I was thirsty and drank deeply. I had kept my eyes lowered because I did not want to give offense by appearing curious.

It was then that my path crossed with Suzanne's and the world lurched.

Suzanne was pretty in a precise, symmetrical, wondrous way that I had never known before. Her eyes were long-lashed like a fawn's. Beautiful eyes the color of blue cornflowers. She was dressed like a girl and came forward with a sprightly, insouciant step, brushing her dress with her hands as a girl does who is unused to the outline of adult clothes, as if to suggest youth and innocence. It was play-acting, whore-house make-believe which would deceive nobody.

I could tell you that I had the notions of saving this young beauty. Spiriting her away to a better life. But I would be lying.

When I crossed the threshold her of room, when Suzanne closed the door behind us, I lost all the observing capacity of a scientist, the transmuting spells of a poet, and the tender feelings of a lover. I was a beast.

I make no apologies for my behavior. It was no worse than that of the other clients such women must endure in their line of work.

I will simply say this. No matter how much of a beast I may have been, she asked that I return. And what kind of gentleman would I be if I denied so simple a request?

Yours till death

John Druitt