Chapter Ten: Surrender of a Sodomizer
A/N: As you may or may not have noticed the names of the victims have been changed in regards to the Molly Houses. Jonathan Wild and Charles Hitchen (with the exception of the 'e' replacing an 'i') along with John Gonson are the actual names of their respective historical figures. You can see some of the cases by going to either the official website for the Old Bailey () or visiting Rictor Norton's site on Homosexuality in Eighteenth-Century England (.uk).
A/N2: I'm rather disappointed at the lack of reviews for the last chapter. I'm hoping everyone was just busy and that my "sex scene" didn't scare people away or anything...
Francis and Arthur stood side by side at the back of the crowd at Tyburn. On the road to death today were two of the men found guilty of sodomy at Mother Clapton's Molly House. Despite her pleading at the Old Bailey for mercy on them, as she was very fond of her customers, they were sentenced to death for committing the heinous and detestable Sin of Sodomy. The group, as it was learned in court, had been spied on for over a year and exposed by a vengeful sodomite who had been ousted by the community. Of course, that was never mentioned during the trial. Francis had found out by talking to an inner circle of homosexuals, one of whom managed to escape the raid. The traitor was able to walk free and Ms. Clapton was left struggling with legal battles over her coffee house of sin, a fine of twenty marks, a day in the pillars and two years' imprisonment.
Arthur watched the two men climb the gallows. The first was Lawrence Gabriel. He was an aging gentleman just a few years past forty. He looked both angry and terrified as he reached the top of the platform. Behind him was Tom Rite, who was just over a decade younger.
Gabriel was the first to be noosed as he made his final statement. He accused Newman, the main testifier against him, of lies. He held fast to his religion and emphasized his eighteen year marriage with a now deceased woman who, "…bore me many children."
Francis knew the truth. Gabriel was, in fact, a sodomite sympathizer who had visited the establishment several times to show support for a dear friend. It tore at Francis to know this man was being falsely accused and would leave behind several children, the oldest one just thirteen.
As the floor beneath him disappeared Gabriel plummeted down, the whooshing sound followed by a snap of the neck. It wasn't enough to kill him so he twitched in place for a few moments before being spirited away. Arthur and Francis could not bear to watch and turned away before the decisive moment. The only signal that it was over was an eruption from the crowd in applause.
After Gabriel had been cut down the stage was reset for the next offender. Rite walked up, visibly shaking. He stood before the crowd as the noose was clasped around his neck. Taking a deep breath he professed his sins to the crowd, admitting he had engaged in some lewd activities with men. He also, like the man before him, accused Newman of perjury and gross exaggerations.
Francis and Arthur once again shut their eyes tightly as the floor beneath the accused was removed. Rite had a much scrawnier neck than Gabriel and didn't suffer as long. Francis nearly wept as he was especially fond of Rite, who was humorous and good-natured.
Arthur emitted a chilling sigh as the crowd cheered at the finale. He pictured himself and Francis on the gallows standing before the mob. He thought of their jeers and insults as the two desperately pleaded for freedom and forgiveness; as they reasoned with the crowd…or rather as he pleaded with the crowd. He could see Francis standing tall, facing whatever accusations came. He could see Francis admitting his love of men, or more specifically, his love for Arthur. The Brit exhaled slowly praying it would never come to that. Thinking about it made an unexplainable sharp pain of sadness and despair sweep through his heart.
He and Francis had already done the undoable and engaged in explicit sexuality. He bit his lip trying to keep himself cool as he recalled the night before:
Francis slid down from a kneeling position to a sitting one. He spit on his hand adding some more lubrication to his now semi-dried cock. Pulling Arthur onto his lap he gave the young man one finally kiss before pushing past his entrance and tunneling up inside him. The tight feeling left Arthur gasping loudly, throwing his arms around Francis and clawing at his back. Francis gave a sharp hiss inward at both the sensation of Arthur's taut inside and the nails digging into him.
They sat still for a moment as Arthur adjusted to the constraint. He breathed deeply before committing to the next step, "Ok, I think…I'm ready."
Francis' response was a simple kiss to the shoulder blade. He lift Arthur up by the backside and slide him down slowly causing the Brit to groan. They took it slow the first few times but as Arthur became more familiar with the feeling he instructed the Frenchman to go at a faster pace.
It was all Francis needed to cradle Arthur down onto the wooden floor and arch over him. Arthur's legs were spread on either side of the Parisian with the other still inside him. The thrusts began to pick up speed in a hypnotic rhythm making the Londoner blush with passion. The feeling was both painful and pleasure-filled and with every insertion the latter was winning out over the former.
"Ugh, Mmm, yes," Howls and mewls and keening noises were cascading from the Brit's mouth to the point where, embarrassed with his desire, he threw a hand over his lips to quiet himself.
At first Francis was too focused on pushing harder and harder, trying to find that sensitive spot to notice the muffled voice, but when he raised his head to look into the eyes of his lover he took note and leaned down to lick the back of the aligned fingers that blocked him from Arthur's lips.
The Brit refused to give entry choosing instead to stifle his moans, lest the neighbours hear.
Francis, whose hair was beginning to soak from sweat, bent down to nibble on Arthur's ear, cooing sweet words into it. The provocative diction made Arthur's face turn a new, deeper shade of red as he started buckling into the addicting pleasure.
The Parisian kissed him all over before returning to his ear, promising to make him cry out. With the way Francis was pounding away at him he realized the man may end up getting what he wanted.
Arthur's vision was becoming hazy as the electric bolts of yearning for more echoed throughout his body. Just when he thought the feeling couldn't get any better, Francis found that spot that made him convulse uncontrollably. It was the intense poking of that vital area that made Arthur cry out.
"Oh God!" He called out from behind his hand. He shut his eyes letting his senses take over, hoping to amplify every sensation.
Francis took the opportunity to remove Arthur's hand from over his mouth. He was desperate to get inside the mouth of his partner again. Locking lips he probed his tongue inside feeling every corner of luscious wetness.
The Parisian pulled away slightly, so that their lips were mere inches apart. He grinned, "Do you want more?"
Mentally, Arthur felt slightly annoyed, but physically he begged for it to go on. Had their bodies been capable he would've wished it continue for eternity.
Francis stopped instantaneously with his thrusting. Arthur peaked open his eyes, disappointed at the loss of friction. He was rather nervous and displeased at the greedy grin on the Frenchman's face. He knew what Francis wanted. He wanted Arthur to plead for more, to cry out for it.
With the upper half of his body cooling, though still twitching, and his hindsight returning he tried to wittily convince the Frenchman to continue, "You know you're just going to start again. You're the one who desperately wants it."
Francis responded with a quick, thick thrust, making Arthur flinched. He jerked a smile, "Oh no, I can wait. Can you?"
Arthur shuddered, but the heat within him was continuing to rise. He shuffled his legs a little, a testament to his hidden need for more, while he tried to outlast the other. The constant shifting of his legs was doing no good as it was making him cave to desire.
The Parisian leaned in and kissed him on the neck, whispering seductively in his ear, convincing him to give in and beg for more.
The driving force was a combination of Francis' low hum and the sudden jerking of his cock, which to this point had been left untouched.
Throwing his head back and arching his spine Arthur caved to the demand, "Ah- God…please."
"Please what?"
Arthur brought his head back and stared at Francis with menacing eyes. He hated and loved him all at the same time.
"Well?"
Too embarrassed and filled with pride, Arthur mumbled lowly, "Finish me."
"Pardon?" The Frenchman was enjoying the torture.
Arthur was in disbelief. He's already admitted his want. He stared back with sulky eyes, hoping the Parisian would see the need in his eyes.
Luckily the look worked as Francis gave him one more passionate kiss before pounding him furiously, hitting that delicate bundle of nerves over and over again. The succulent taste of Francis' lips combined with the satisfaction of being filled and the pressure of his hardened length being worked sent him over the edge.
"Ah- Francis, fuck! Fuck harder!" He cried out without thought.
The Frenchman refused to let up, mercilessly probing in and out of Arthur's sweaty body, high on the sounds his lover was releasing. When Arthur relieved the bent up pressure inside him, covering the two in milky white semen Francis let himself go, ejaculating inside his partner, filling him fully.
Arthur's chest was rising and falling rapidly as he panted. Francis had slunk down on top of him and was resting gracefully on his body; his dick, now softened, still inside. As his vision, blurred by white sparkles, returned to him he found himself stroking the other's hair. He gulped reminding himself that what was done, was done and there was no going back.
Making their way down Oxford Street, back to their dwelling, Francis and Arthur noticed a familiar figure in the crowd. He was chatting away with enthusiasm to a group of people surrounding him.
"Isn't that the garçon from the Wild hanging?" Francis pointed out.
"Yes, that's the fellow alright." Arthur nodded, "Jackson Parely. What is he up to over there, I wonder."
Blending in with the surrounding throng of people the two listened in carefully to Parely's bragging voice.
"I couldn't believe it myself! We caught the bastard! Found him hanging around some brothel on the west side."
Francis looked at Arthur with his brow raised. Arthur instinctively knew what he was getting at and nodded silently, recognizing the possibility.
"Where is he now?" A hoarse male voice shouted from the back on the other side of the gathering.
"Fear not, friends," Parley cautioned his hands in front of him, motioning patience, "He has been taken to Newgate where he will be interrogated."
"The damn nuisance should hang!" An old, wrinkly woman not too far to the right of Arthur and Francis shouted.
"Yes, ma'am," Parley agreed not looking in her direction – to the relief of Francis and Arthur, "but he must be put on trial first."
The blonde Frenchman looked over to Arthur and whispered, "You don't suppose they're talking about him do you?"
Arthur gave him a look spelling out the Parisian's naivety, "This is London; he could be talking about anyone. But given that this is Parely who's speaking I wouldn't be surprised."
Parley went on, immodestly praising the Society for Reformation of Manners – Arthur had not been in their company for some time now – on their actions to clean up the streets of London. The Brit rolled his eyes and turned as his former group associate went on a sales pitch spree attempting to recruit more men for the committee.
As the two walked away together a voice from the mob made Arthur stop in his tracks, shivering at the sound.
"Well if it isn't my dear friend, Kirkland. How are you, sir?"
Arthur slowly turned around to face the young man, who had exited the mob to greet the two; his spooked face was pale, "Um, yes. Hello Parley. I am well, and you?"
"Quite pleased, I must say!" Parley grinned tipping his hat to Francis who looked rather discontent with the burden of having to wait through the conversation.
"And pray, why is that?" Arthur gave him a quizzical look without hinting he already knew.
Parley laughed in disbelief, "Have you not heard then? Surely you must have seen me speaking but a moment ago."
Arthur frowned, "My apologies, but my mind has been focused on other things as of late."
"Ah yes," Parley nodded, "I heard from Sir Gonson that you now have an internship. You must feel quite fulfilled."
Arthur fought the temptation to look at Francis. The internship was a definite blessing, but being with Francis is what made him happiest the most. He had tried to deny it for the longest time, but he could no longer imagine life without the Frenchman. He was his only friend, his only family, and the only person he could share his truest feelings with.
"Very." He smiled.
"What were you speaking about?"
Parely and Arthur looked over to Francis who gave them a stern look. They blinked; surprised the Frenchman would so willingly throw himself into the conversation.
"Well?" He stared them down, Parely in particular.
"Oh, yes." Parely adjusted himself. He looked back to Arthur, ignoring Francis, "The Society – which greatly misses your attendance, has recently found themselves in the presence of another notorious thief-taker."
Arthur was aghast. Deep inside he told himself to expect it, but when it was finally acknowledge he was shocked. "You don't mean Hitchen do you?"
"That would happen to be the one, yes." Parely beamed all too proud of the fact.
"I see…" Arthur wanted to be cheerful; the man who tortured him would be done away with, but he was also fearful. Now that Hitchen was caught he would be determined to drag every soul who ever associated themselves with him down too. Would Arthur be amongst that group?
"Well," Parley tipped his tri-cornered hat again, "I must be going. Good day to you."
He turned to Francis with a mocking smile, "Adieu good sir."
Francis glared watching the young man walk away. He turned to Arthur and whispered, "I really hate that man."
)()()()()()(
Sir John Gonson knocked on a sturdy wooden door. He waited nervously as feet scuttled inside, voices barking at each other to answer the door. When the chestnut brown barrier was finally jerked open a worn, dirty face peered out.
"Good day to you sir," Gonson started. "I have some questions I'd like to ask."
Earlier that day, Gonson had been interrogating the freshly captured Charles Hitchen:
Standing above a bruised and bloodied man, Sir John Gonson glared into the eyes of the dark-haired captive. Behind him was a young man, no older than seventeen, scribbling words with a feathered pen into a small black book.
Gonson looked menacing as he continued to question the prisoner. "Did you assault the prosecutor because he would not engage in lewd activities with you?"
"I dunno," the middle-aged man threw a chunk of spit onto the ground, "Maybe I did."
Gonson growled, irritated by this man's games. "You're being indicted for assault with sodomitical intent. Are you going to suggest you are guilty?"
Hitchen rolled his eyes, "Does it matter? Who's going to stand at the bench and defend someone like me?"
Gonson smirked, "So you do acquire some intelligence."
Charles snapped, "Shut your mouth, you lazy old fool. You talk down to me, but you're just as stupid. You don't even know your own friends."
Sir John raised an eyebrow, "Oh really? Pray tell."
Hitchen had accused multiple people of the crimes of theft, murder, fraud and sodomy. The last category interested Gonson the most. The last name to be mentioned struck him with anger and shame. It was Arthur Kirkland. Hitchen told him of how one of his flunkies had robbed Arthur and, using the ironic twist, trapped the boy into a scheme to make him another lackey. Gonson was impressed when Hitchen informed him that the young man eventually failed to do it, stopped by a sense of justice. But what he said next bothered Gonson. He also suggested the Frenchman might have something to do with it.
"He was going to do it, he was close, but that Frenchman showed up. Ruined the whole thing…"
Gonson grinded his teeth as Hitchen gave all the details after his second run-in with Arthur; only he twisted them as a criminal would do. He neglected the constraints he put on Arthur, he somewhat neglected Arthur's refusal to be intimate and he neglected sobs and cries of the young man, replacing them with a wild tale of his growing lust for it.
Gonson stomped his foot bellowing out his mistrust.
"I bet the Frenchman is his 'husband'. If you don't believe me…ask his neighbours. Ask anyone who's ever seen them together."
So here John Gonson was, standing at the door of one of Arthur's neighbours requesting they comply with his questions regarding their fellow building dweller.
The elderly woman who lived there with her husband set down a plain white porcelain cup, still dirty despite her best efforts to clean it. Gonson had accepted her offering of a cup of tea but was now regretting that decision based on the condition of the mug he'd been given. He ignored the old hag as she poured hot water for him.
"I hate to bother you fine people but this is a very important issue regarding your neighbour."
"Who?" The old man gave a look that said he was still suspicious of the visit, "Artie?"
"If," Gonson tried to disregard the stare, "by Artie you mean Arthur Kirkland, than yes."
"What did you want to know about 'im?" The wife put down the tea pot and took a seat next to her guest. It was clear she was not a Londoner as her accent was a heavy Scottish one.
"I would just like to inquire about the nature of his relationship with his lodger." Gonson stated matter-of-factly.
"The Frenchman…" the timeworn made concluded with ease.
"Yes."
"Well," the old lady started, "he seems like a nice boy, but he's French so you can't trust 'im."
Her husband nodded in agreement, "Those Frenchies…turn your back on 'em and they'll pounce on you and steal everything ya got."
"I don't think things are going very well with him and Artie anyway," The old woman rubbed her chin, "So maybe he'll leave soon."
Gonson found this detail rather interesting, "Care to explain, ma'am?"
"Oh," she looked at him with a smile, "It's just that…I think they got into a big argument last night because Artie was yelling at him and using profanity."
"Must've been fighting" the husband added, "cause there was a lot of gruntin' going on."
"Oh yes," the little, wrinkled woman continued, "I was close to sending Samuel over to stop the fight but then it ended."
"With a large scream, ma'am?"
"Why yes," she narrowed her eyes trying to recall the atmosphere, "Artie screamed at the Frenchman. Something like: Ah! Francis, fuck hard."
Had he not been trained in perfect composure Gonson would have dropped his jaw with his eyes bulging out of his head. Hitchen couldn't possibly have been right, could he? But who honestly tells their roommate, during a fight no less, to 'fuck hard'? To get a better understanding he would have to visit more neighbours.
Sir John stood and nodded politely to his hosts. He apologized for the interruption and waved off the old woman's attempt to have him finish his tea.
"I'm sorry, but I have other people I need to question today. Good day."
Heading down the stairs he decided to stop in at the tenants living below Arthur and Francis to hear their story – one that was more graphic and vivid. Holding back an annoyed grunt he exited the building knowing there was only one person left to speak to…and he hoped that person would give him the truth.
History Notes:
1) All the general details of the hanging of the sodomites is true. The men at Mother Clap's house were ratted out by a former member and they were spied on for awhile. The only thing fabricated is Francis' inner explanation that the first guy, Gabriel, was innocent. He DID continue to claim until his death that he wasn't guilty but whether or not he really was will never be answered. The physical and behavioural description of the accused are also fairly accurate. All sentences, including Mother Clap's are also factual.
2) In case you didn't catch it "Newman" was the sodomite who testified against the Molly House patrons.
3) Before his capture Hitchen was already being connected to Sodomy due to accusations made by Jonathan Wild. It was actually sodomy that he was captured and put on trial for (not theft) by the Society for Reformation of Manners. Whether or not Gonson would have actually questioned him at Newgate, I really can't say but, it would seem likely.
And French:
garçon - A young male (usually means boy).
;-; Please review.