AN: There's only one chapter left and then The Quack Act is all over; what a depressing thought. I also apologise in advance for this chapter's anticlimax; I'm warning you now so that you won't be as disappointed…

The Quack Act

Part IV: The House of Lords

Sierra had been rather affectionate in wishing him farewell on Thursday, just as he was setting off to take his seat in the House of Lords. Actually, Jack felt as though she didn't want to ever let him go, and on more than one occasion, he found that she was attempting to wheedle him into taking his original speech and abandoning his proposed duck pond ban.

"If you support Hardwicke today," she said, "instead of attempting to halt all proceedings for your own little act, then perhaps, when you eventually present this duck pond ban, you'll have quite a few of the lords' support, and it'll be passed with relatively little protest or amendments."

"If I support Hardwicke today," Jack explained as she busied herself with nuzzling his neck, "and later propose the duck pond ban, and have it approved, then I would be remembered by posterity as nothing more than Lord Hardwicke's lackey, and I flatly refuse such a fate."

"So you'd rather go down in history of your own accord, even if it means becoming known as the man who had proposed the Quack Act?" Sierra asked doubtfully, and Jack nodded slightly.

"Yes, I desire to go down in history, as you so eloquently put it, on my own terms. I want to be remembered for long after I've passed away, my love: I yearn for books and poetry to be written about me, and ballads sung in celebration of my life; and then, centuries from now, I desire for the more exciting and supernatural episodes of my time on this earth to be played out with great acclaim to an international audience by an expatriate actor whose surname is the German for 'idiot.'"

"My God," Sierra sighed, pulling away to look at him. "If only you plan your life with half as much detail as you've planned out your afterlife…" she trailed off wistfully. Then she frowned suddenly, and looked up at him. "'Depp?'" she asked. "You want the supernatural and exciting episodes of your life to be played out by an actor whose surname is 'Depp?'"

Jack also frowned. "'Depp' is the German for 'idiot?'" he asked, and she nodded. "I thought that idiot was 'Dummkopf.'"

"No, that means 'fool.' But I can see where you got confused."

"Oh well, never mind that," Jack brushed off, annoyed that her German (which the more sycophantic members of the English aristocracy had attempted to learn in order to please their Hanoverian sovereign) far outstripped his own. "I must now take my reluctant leave of you."

Sierra smiled softly up at him. "Good luck," she said in all sincerity as he gently untangled himself from her limbs and rose from the comfortable settee that graced their parlour. "Oh, and Jack?" she added as he opened the door. Lord Livingstone paused, and turned to see his wife straightening her clothing in an attempt to look respectable.

Her smile was positively saccharine. "Quack," was all she said.

"Oh shut up," Jack castigated, and closed the door.

The seat of the House of Lords was a medieval building located in Westminster, and as such steeped in a wide and colourful history. Many great and noble men had taken their places in this building, and many fine, unsavoury, and occasionally unnecessary laws had been passed as a result. Looking at the Houses of Parliament, at its looming, impenetrable façade and its tall, sickening spires, one couldn't help but feel that the men who so regularly frequented these elegant fortresses must be something like the buildings, especially if the men were peers of the realm: eternal, but not ancient, wise, formidable, strong and unyielding creatures whose sole care was the welfare of their fair nation.

The reality, of course (as these things tended to be) was much different: when Lord Livingstone entered the House of Lords, taken his seat, and looked disdainfully around at his equals, his eyes were met by scores upon scores of what we shall politely term as 'fops.' And dozens of them! So many powder-wigged, pastel-clad, snuffbox-sniffing fops. Looking around at the arrayed aristocrats lounging on the benches, exchanging saucy anecdotes and the occasional wig-maintenance tip ("Do not, under any circumstances, drop your wig into a large jar of honey whilst you're visiting commoners in the country," said one man seated behind Jack. "Not only does it look ridiculous and feel disgusting, but you'll attract several rather unpleasant insects."), it was easy to see why so many foreigners had, on visiting the grand city of London, immediately assumed that a large percentage of the male population were sodomites. This wasn't necessarily true of course, although Jack did accept that England's fair capital probably was a little more open and accepting of her numerous molly-houses than other cities were.

"Livingstone!" a vaguely familiar voice called. Jack stiffened and attempted to fade into the white-wigged rabble; which, considering his stubborn insistence to leave his natural hair bare and unadorned, and his great love of slightly less effeminate cuts and colours, was quite a difficult feat to achieve; so difficult, in fact, that Lord Livingstone failed entirely, and had to wait sulkily for Baron Harrogate to clamber his way towards Lord Nathaniel Livingstone, the Viscount Cranborne and son and heir of the Earl of Salisbury. "Livingstone, my good fellow! I've been looking everywhere for you." And with this, he unceremoniously kicked the Duke of Lancashire off of the bench and took the aristocrat's place, rubbing his hands together and grinning in what he believed was a flirtatious manner. "Why if I didn't know better, I could have sworn that you were attempting to avoid me!"

Jack's easy smile was nothing short of forced. "Oh, I would never do that, Harrogate," he said, bearing in mind that this gentleman was one of his wife's closest friends, and very probably one of the very few that the woman held in high regard. This realisation did nothing to keep Jack from slapping Harrogate's wandering hand away from his backside.

"Ah," Harrogate had huffed in disappointment, sullenly cradling the abused fingers in his lap. "So you still like women, then?"

"Yes," Jack told the sodomite for what he could have sworn was the one thousand, five hundred and eighty-ninth time. (This number wasn't actually that far off from the actual total; Baron Harrogate continually asked this question in the hope that, out of sheer irritation for the baron's stubborn persistence, Lord Livingstone would finally crack and admit that actually, he did prefer men, and then nothing would have stopped the two of then from having a steamy and torrid love affair, with Livingstone's wife occasionally thrown in as she was very pretty and had already told Lord Harrogate that she liked the general idea.)

"Pity," Baron Harrogate replied for the sixty-three thousand, two hundred and seventy-second time (he asked a lot of gentlemen this particular question). "And how is the lovely Lady Livingstone? I trust you find her as desirable and satisfactory and insatiable as ever?"

"Yes," Jack said absently. "Very much so." He turned to see Lord Harrogate watching him intently with infatuated eyes, and, only slightly disturbed, added, "Particularly the last part; I swear, she just becomes more and more persistent with age."

"But she's still quite young," Harrogate pointed out. "Still in her prime. Quite like I myself am," the baron added, and rather conspicuously leaned his head on Lord Livingstone's dark shoulder, much to several onlookers' amusement.

"Hmm," Jack agreed, attempting to push the perfumed politician off, and sighed when he felt Harrogate's hand slip deftly into his coat and clutch tightly at his waistcoat. "Yes, alright Ben, you can just—Christ! Ah… Do you think you can…" (he paused to swallow) "…get your hand off of that?"

"Why?" Lord Harrogate asked, apparently not realising the utter impropriety at groping another gentleman in the swarming House of Lords. "Do you not like that?"

Jack didn't dignify this query with a response, and chose instead to throw Baron Harrogate into the Marquess of Islington's lap, self-consciously straightening his clothing and checking to see that his beloved speech was safely tucked inside his pocket. The baron pouted at this, but, on noticing the marquess' finely chiselled features, immediately broke out into a wide smile, and forgot about the handsome Lord Livingstone altogether.

Jack sat silently as the opening speech washed over him, impatiently tapping his fingers on his knee and wondering if Pearl was busy flirting with yet another handsome young man who she would remain enamoured with for the rest of the week before sweetly asking her dear father to rid her of the stalking pest and swearing on her life that she will never fall so swiftly for a boy again. He wondered if Sierra was out browsing the fashionable shopping districts which seemed to change with each and every season; or whether she was in their library, scribbling yet another one of those erotic novels which she published under the pseudonym of Monsieur Dubois that actually reaped quite a high profit; or perhaps she was curled up in their bed, exhausted from their previous night and quick fumble in the parlour only this morning, sweetly covering her pillow with drool.

Lord Hardwicke had risen from his seat, and was now addressing all assembled peers in that confident, educated, reverberating voice that Jack found so incredibly annoying; he was speaking out against the "licentious barbarity" of common-law marriages, how they encouraged immorality and depredation amongst the mob, how such arrangements can be used for particularly unscrupulous fortune-hunters to whisk away innocent heiresses…

In his sleepiness, Jack nearly fell off of his bench, but quickly came to his senses and shook himself free of drowsiness. When he was fully awake, he looked curiously down, as did most of the rabble, to discover that Lord Hardwicke had returned to his seat, and that Baron Harrogate, having shaken off that effeminate façade he reserved only for his personal life, was standing in the place Hardwicke had so recently vacated and was looking upon the noble and privileged with a professional arrogance.

"Lord Hardwicke's vision," he began solemnly in a deep, booming voice, "is indeed great, and noble, and a good number of many other positive adjectives that I shall not list. However, I do believe that, considering how we are on the subject of raising the people's moral standards, we should target and terminate the true serpent that has invaded our Eden; a creature so cunning that it has walked amongst us utterly undetected for centuries; a demon so crafty that it has already claimed many an innocent soul, and yet not one step has been taken to eradicate this most villainous poison."

Jack frowned at this, finding that some of the words were most familiar.

"And I propose that we take the first step to vanquish this evil by immediately granting a piece of legislation of what I pray shall become known as the Quack Act."

Jack actually did fall off of his seat then, and sheepishly picked himself up as several noblemen turned to look at him. The Quack Act. Sierra had mockingly referred to his bill as the Quack Act. He hadn't written the last part that Harrogate had said, but he couldn't help but find it odd that the baron, who was a close friend of his wife, and who had just fumbled through Jack's coat so recently, his hand even moving to where Jack's speech was kept… Well, it was all rather suspicious.

"Now, I do realise that it is a little unorthodox to propose a bill that has not even been presented to the House of Commons, and especially when we are in the middle of another very possibly more pressing act," Harrogate was saying whilst Jack discreetly fumbled in his pockets for a particular sheet of paper. Harrogate's commanding voice faded as Jack quietly pulled out and unfolded the square, only to discover that he had in his possession the original speech that Sierra had been so desperate he take to Westminster instead. Her neat little annotations remained relatively unchanged, although he did notice that, at the very top of the page, Sierra had hastily scribbled the apologetic words: I'm so sorry, Jack. I promise I'll make it up to you.

For a moment, Jack was so stunned that he'd forgotten all about Harrogate and Hardwicke and the House of Lords.

"You little whore…" he said aloud in disbelief, causing quite a few heads to turn as a result. Noticing suddenly how quite a few eyes were on him, Jack cleared his throat embarrassedly and apologised for his crass and uncalled-for language.

Harlot, he silently fumed. Wait until I get my hands on her pretty little… Actually no, she might like that; I'll just… No, no, she definitely likes that. I think I'll just… Bugger, there's no conventional corporal punishment that she won't enjoy…

And his thoughts continued in this vein for some time whilst the rest of the House of Lords listened to Lord Harrogate recite and successfully butcher Jack's proposed Quack Act in growing disbelief.

"Despicable, sir!" Lord Hardwicke cried after politely waiting for Baron Harrogate to finish. "Absolutely despicable! A mockery of our laws and constitution! We talk of lasciviousness, ravishment, abduction, and you talk of the evils of the common mallard! How dare you!"

Lord Harrogate merely shrugged the insult off. "A man must attempt his best," was all he said, and returned to his seat amidst rumbled murmurings, catching Jack's eye and flashing the handsome lord an apologetic smile as he sat beside Lord Livingstone.

"So very sorry," he whispered as the House erupted into avid discussion. "But Lady Livingstone is a very good friend of mine, and my own political career is secure enough to risk such a travesty."

A travesty? Jack thought in disbelief. Bastard fairy.

Lord Hardwicke was calling for order and attempting to bring his own Marriage Act back to the collective attention of the House of Lords, with relatively little success; as Sierra had predicted several days ago, Harrogate's political standing was such that he was always guaranteed a number of supporters, no matter what outrageous or ridiculous idea he suggested. In despair, Hardwicke raised his voice and requested, somewhat desperately, that the charismatic Lord Livingstone stand and make his views known. Having heard his name being evoked, Jack had complied, straightening his clothing with an air of nonchalance, and marching down to stand beside the rudely ignored Lord Hardwicke, where he stood silently waiting for the aristocrats became aware of his aloof presence.

"Before I begin," Jack enunciated clearly, his voice effectively filling the magnificent hall, much to his secret pleasure, "I've one question to ask, and I wish it to be known that this query is put forth out of simple curiosity, and nothing more; most certainly not a secret, personal attachment stemming from buried childhood memories and a recent and most humiliating evening in which I duelled with and was uncompromisingly defeated by certain winged members of English wildlife. If Lord Harrogate's proposed Quack Act was put forth in the more conventional manner, and if I had been the man who had proposed such a… a mockery, as my Lord Hardwicke had put it, would you have considered its approval?"

The reaction Jack received was mixed; Harrogate's more sycophantic supporters had cried out that yes, they most certainly would have approved the Quack Act with relatively little hesitation, whilst the more neutral and unbiased of the nobility had flatly scoffed and laughed at such an idea. Feeling more than a little offended, Jack waited patiently for silence once more before unfolding his speech.

"Gentlemen," he said, attempting to keep his voice light and droll as opposed to the tired monotony that he really felt, "as you know fully well, we are here to discuss the Clandestine Marriage Act…"

TBC