Chapter Nine

Constable Jackson took a sobbing Martin Bannon to the cells, while William reorganized the case evidence for the crown prosecutor, and Julia, Henry and George shared their opinions back in the detective's office.

"So Mr. Snow was not as innocent as we thought, was he?" Julia stated. "A blackmailer, and a rather cheeky one at that considering he typed his blackmail notes at work… even if he gave the money to women to get themselves out of the life of prostitution. That was why Mr. Snow had all those cards on him for charities. I suppose he thought it was poetic justice to take Mr. Bannon's blackmail money and spend it that way."

"Indeed, doctor. Snow's exposé on patent medicines actually gave Mr. Bannon the idea of poisoning as well as using 'Doctor Batty's formulas and setting up Mr. Batting as a suspect." George shook his head sadly. "This sounds like one of the Shakespeare plays the inspector is so fond of-a tragedy."

Henry tried to defend him. "Well—if Mr. Bannon's wife hadn't been, er…refusing him for years and if he had been able to keep himself out of trouble…I mean he could have found other, um companionship, then he would not have been subject to blackmail…"

"Henry—don't make any excuses for him." William admonished. "He makes enough of them for himself. He tried to say he didn't really mean to kill Norris Snow; just wanted him to be humiliated and found in a compromising situation as if he was a drug user. Except he stalked the man to that alley, slammed him against the wall and had a syringe full of heroin on him to do the final deed. He stole Snow's keys and money, raided his rooming house and his office, destroyed his journal, burned his papers and threw away as much of the evidence he could get his hand on. If he'd have remembered about the ribbons then we'd have a much tougher case. Besides, after hearing some of the things George and I have heard about the man, his wife may have had just cause to refuse her husband relations," as he shut the box of evidence, satisfied with the contents. "So don't feel sorry for the man."

"The persons I feel sorry for are Mr. Bannon's wife and Miss Love; both women were deceived and both lost the men they loved," Julia added thoughtfully. "I gave Mrs. Bannon a sedative and sent her home with a constable."

William thought about the promise he made to Miss Love to clear Mr. Snow's reputation once the case was solved. "Miss Love is a strong, sensible person. She will recover and the constabulary will be discrete about her connection to Mr. Snow—while she was wrong about his being assassinated because of the stories he wrote, she did provide key evidence." He was not going to be able to protect Mr. Snow's reputation once the papers got a hold of the story, but he might be able to shelter her. He rose from his seat.

"Gentlemen. Please finish up the paperwork and get what you can from Mr. Bannon's house. Then we are done for today."

# # #

Calling ahead to the hotel, Julia managed to have Beef Burgoyne delivered to their suite at 9:00 pm, minutes after they had arrived home. Praying that there wouldn't be another call to attend to, they sat down to enjoy their meal and one another. Though Norris Snow hadn't been utilizing the services of prostitutes, Martin Bannon had, and Snow's death had been a result of his work in exposing the sex trade, a service William still found distasteful.

"It seems that this whole thing could have been avoided if Martin Bannon had just remained faithful to his wife, and treated her like a good husband should," William opined. "If he'd done that, he would never have been blackmailed, and he would never be facing the noose for premeditated murder."

Taking a sip of her wine, Julia shrugged. "If it is true that Mrs. Bannon was refusing him relations, perhaps he should have been upfront with her about how he would handle those needs, then he wouldn't have been nearly as open to blackmail, and this arrangement would have remained a private matter between Mr. Bannon and his wife. They certainly wouldn't be the first couple to come to such an agreement nor will they be the last," she countered with a faraway look in her eye.

"Well, yes, I suppose that's true. But what about those women in the brothels or even those on the streets being controlled by their pimps who don't want to be there? Surely someone such as you cares about them and how they're being mistreated?" he asked

"If they are there against their will, or are being forced into things they would rather not do, then yes, I am thankful that Mr. Snow was a Robin Hood of sorts, and was using his ill-gotten gains to assist the young women who wanted a new life. I hope there are others who will be inspired to take up his work as word of his exploits comes out, but just as Mademoiselle Chastity told you, there are some women who enjoy sex, and to make a living from it is what they desire. Surely what they want is important as well?" she inquired.

"Of course it's important. I just wish there were a way to be honest about it, that there were a way to know for sure that all parties were there of their own free will and no one was being deceived," William confessed. "Of course, one could just marry for love and commit to enjoying their spouse as God intended. There is no shame in doing so, provided that both parties agree to what is being asked," he readily confessed.

"Did William Murdoch just admit that there is no shame or even 'dark places' within the bonds of holy matrimony? Does this mean that I can look forward to him sharing some more of his fantasies with me?" she teased.

Laughing, he shook his head. "Perhaps, so," he admitted. "I believe that one of the things I find most distasteful about prostitution, aside from the physical risk the women take, is the men's desire to engage in acts one would never do with one's wife. For years Julia, as I stared at your backside, I am somewhat ashamed to admit that I have desired to bend you over a surface and take you from behind as I did the other night. I must know, did that degrade you in any way?" he asked.

"No, it did not. It excited me to have you behave the way that you did, to take me as you desired, William. If you must know, I'd always suspected you must have fantasized about such a thing given how often I realized you were staring at my backside. Besides, you made sure that I received pleasure as well. You were not selfish. As much as I enjoyed playing the role of a courtesan, I would not want to be a prostitute, as you were absolutely correct, a prostitute is inferior to a courtesan in a way. A courtesan was typically an intelligent, educated woman. She had multiple talents and they weren't just sexual - her patron made an investment in her, and he treasured her, just as you said you treasure me. I know you would never force me to do anything I don't want to do, so I feel safe in occasionally placing all of the control in your hands, I know you respect me and would take care of me, make sure that I enjoy the experience as well," she admitted.

Setting his fork down, William took her hand and looked her directly in the eyes. "Have I ever asked you to do something you would prefer not to do?" he wondered.

"Asked me to? No. I will admit, that I am not that fond of fellatio, yet you will remember I have performed it on you a few times over the years. Admittedly, I didn't give you much say in the matter," she confessed with a nervous laugh.

"While I certainly didn't hate it those times, I've never wanted to ask for or demand it again. The idea of it leaves me somewhat uncomfortable, I must confess. I've always felt that it was degrading to the woman even if it was highly pleasurable for me. So, if you don't enjoy it, why have you done it? I've never asked for it from you."

Laughing, she took a sip of her wine. "Truth be told, I am somewhat ambivalent about it. I liked that it brought you immense pleasure, but honestly, what I enjoyed most was the feeling of control it gave me over you," she said.

"Control?" William asked.

"Yes, William, control. I wanted to be your lover, wanted to make love to you, and experience you in that way. Yet you were so steadfast in your belief that we not indulge before marriage and you were very much in control in that regard. This was my way for me to assert my control in a way. I may have been on my knees, but I had you by your most vulnerable piece of anatomy…I had the power in that instant, and it was thrilling to have confirmation that underneath all that propriety and restraint, you were very much a man. I enjoyed that aspect of it I suppose you could say, but the actual act, well, no, it doesn't do much for me, and I suppose that's why I haven't taken you in my mouth since we married. I experience what I want to experience now, and I admit, that was terribly unfair of me to do to you. You had your reasons for abstaining, and I didn't respect them as much as I should have," she admitted.

Chortling to himself, he shook his head. "I knew what you wanted Julia, and I wanted to give it to you. Badly. But, I was afraid that if I did, you would be content to merely be my lover, and that was never going to suffice for me. I wanted everything Julia. I wanted you to wear my ring, share my bed, take meals with you, raise a family…I wanted to have a lifetime with you, I wanted to grow old with you, still do as a matter of fact. Withholding my sexual favors from you was my own form of control if I'm honest, it was a way of making sure you would be my bride, so I can't admit to being any better in that sense," he admitted.

"Funny, it's usually the woman who holds that position," Julia laughed.

"Yes, it's not the first time we've done a role reversal in our relationship, and truthfully, I quite like it that way. I got the one thing I wanted more than anything, and that was you as my wife. It worked out in the end," William ceded.

"Speaking of reversals…and you, William? I love it when you …taste me. Am I asking for more than I should?"

"Oh, no! It is quite intoxicating, and I think I understand what you mean by being in control…"

She found his blush charming and his answer thrilling. "So tell me William. You seem to feel most strongly against prostitution. Is there a reason for that? Something in your past?" Julia wondered.

Pushing his chair back from the table, William walked over to the window and looked out. "I suppose there is," he admitted as his shoulders sagged. "After I gave up my notion to become a priest and it's demand for celibacy, I still thought that I would save myself for marriage. I wanted my bride and I to discover the art of lovemaking together, but for my 18th birthday, I was presented with a whor…a prostitute," he corrected. "I didn't think much of it, I was young, impressionable, and the men were cheering me on," he said with a laugh. "So I spent myself with her, because that's what I thought a man was supposed to do, and I didn't think much about it until, as time went by, I learned that she'd been orphaned with a younger sister and brother and with no other way to support them in a rough logging town, she turned to prostitution. That's always bothered me, Julia. She wasn't suffering the awkward fumblings of a neophyte such as me because she wanted to, she did it to take care of her family because there was no other way to do so in that community. What's worse, is that many of the men who saw her were married, exposing their wives and maybe even children to all sorts of diseases and harm," he said with disgust, shaking his head. After several long minutes, he continued, "Probably not what you wanted to hear."

"It's the truth William, and it helps me understand where you're coming from. Of course that would bother you and shape your views on the topic. As for myself, I was relieved when Darcy stopped visiting me…I couldn't bear his attentions…they were a reminder of my biggest mistake. Not only did I often find myself imagining that it was you, I felt guilty about it afterwards and quite frankly, I longed for the time when he would finally start taking those needs elsewhere, as my friend's husbands had done," she confessed.

William was silent, but walked over to her and held out his hand, helping her up and pulling her towards him. They said nothing, but simply held one another. "How about now, Julia? Do you long for me to take my needs elsewhere?" he asked.

"No, I actually couldn't bear such a thing, it would devastate me. I want to be your only lover, and I love the fact that you would never do such a thing, that you want me to be your everything, your courtesan, if you will," she whispered.

"Yes, Julia. Despite my foibles and less than honorable exploits as a younger man, I knew that once I married, I would never be unfaithful to my wife, that I would honor my vows to her. I love that you're my best friend, my lover, my confidante, and my partner. I wouldn't want it any other way," he murmured. "I want it all, Julia."

"As do I, William. I don't want ever want another woman to do with you what I do," she reasoned.

"I assure you, dearest Julia, you're the only one for me."

Even though he was exhausted, he was not at all averse to physically enjoying Julia once again, particularly given what they'd just shared. He looked at the bottle of Lydia Pinkham's Vegetable Compound and wondered if he might be able to convince her to undertake another experiment with him.

Catching his glance, she giggled. "Would you care to give it another go, Detective?"

"Indeed I would, Doctor," he replied, pulling her snug against him as he kissed her.

# # #

Three Weeks Later

Julia looked up, annoyed, in reaction to the bang and slam of the double-door entrance to 'her' morgue, the noise echoing off white tile walls. Constable Jackson's backside proceeded in first, followed by a large crate and a deliveryman on the other end, sweating and grunting with their immense burden. Jackson nearly lost his grip when the other man pushed the door closed behind him with a booted foot. The two men stood there looking around for someplace to put the crate down. "Dr. Ogden. Where do you want this?" Jackson asked.

Julia wiped her hands and came over to examine the crate. "Where do I want what?"

The deliveryman set his end of the crate on a lab stool and drew out an invoice, and handed it to her with a well-muscled dark brown arm. "Missus Murdoch? This delivery has to be signed for or I have to take it all the way back to my boss. And he won't like that. Not at all."

Julia examined the papers. "This appears to be something my husband ordered."

"Says it can only be delivered to 'Murdoch'—don't matter to me if it's Mister or Missus," the deliveryman complained.

"He's not there, doctor, will be out all afternoon, so I thought we could just deliver this to you so this man can get on his way?" Jackson asked hopefully, wrestling with his end of the wooden box.

Julia sighed even as her curiosity was piqued. She scribbled her signature, 'Mrs. Murdoch', just to cover all bases and saw the gentlemen out. Coming back to the wooden crate deposited on the floor, she circled it—about six and a half feet long, two feet wide and two feet high. She peered inside between the slats, but all she saw was packing material. "What sort of contraption has he purchased now and wherever does he plan on keeping it?" she wondered. She restrained herself from opening it up, going back to her workbench and getting absorbed in finishing up her organ dissection and tissue sample examination.

By the time she'd finished and stretched to work out the crick in her neck, four hours had passed without any disturbance and suppertime was just around the corner. That delivery, which she had effectively put out of her mind, was now calling her attention like a siren song. Well, it got delivered to a Murdoch and I signed for it, so perhaps I should open it. She thought about how awkwardly it was marched into the morgue, the jostling in some warehouse or in a carriage. What if whatever it is got broken in the transport? William does mail order some delicate equipment.

Having found a persuasive rationalization, she immediately rummaged around for a pry-bar and attacked the packing-crate until the final nail was removed from the lid and she set it aside. The box held a thick layer of wood wool, which she scooped up to discover a burlap–wrapped flat area. She was struggling with removing the rest of the wooden crate when Constable Crabtree entered and immediately came over to help her unearth what appeared to be a long, low bench swathed in muslin, and set it out on the floor.

Julia thought there more packaging than product, now scattered over her workspace. "It is something William ordered. I wonder what it is?"

"He's right behind me, doctor; he sent me over to get your most recent analysis." He gestured to the covered object. "You'll just have to see for yourself."

After unwrapping it, Julia was puzzled at what she surveyed: a bench of about six feet, by perhaps two feet wide and eighteen inches high, pinched down in the middle of the bench to a width of less than 12 inches. It was thickly upholstered in a rich brown velvet, which she ran her hand over in admiration. And if she understand the design, one half of the bench could be raised on an incline, for what purpose she could not imagine.

"Well," she stated as she backed away to show it off to the constable for the first time. "What do you think, George? I've never seen anything quite like it, it is a most unusual piece."

George was trying hard not to answer, his eyes betraying a certain amount of anxiety. "Oh, Good Lord!" he muttered under his breath.

"This is so soft and plush. Nice support. I never guessed he'd be so thoughtful of me."

George tried to back away…anything to not have this conversation.

"I think he must have gotten it for our bedroom, I can't think where else he'd want to locate it—unless the salon, or over by the window?"

George practically choked. "Um, doctor, I really should be getting back—I would not want to be here when the detective gets here, I mean I would not want him to see me…" Too late, he realized, the detective was coming down the ramp. "Sir! I must be going. I will get Dr. Ogden's full report in the morning."

George fled blindly past William and out, not even bothering to stop and close the door. William watched him go, surprised at the constable acting like scalded cat. He shook his head in wonder and turned around to greet his wife, a huge smile on his face and that lovely lift in his heart he gets whenever he sees her. "Julia! Good evening, how…."

He lost his voice upon seeing his wife, a slight sweat forming on his back. Oh no! The love bench…

"Julia?" he asked nervously, "what have you there and why was George here?" Thank the lord I did not order a siege d'amour!

"William! He was admiring the new piece of furniture you got for our suite. Why did you not tell me you wanted a bench for the end of our bed so we can use it to set the counterpane on it or use it to put our shoes on in the morning….?" She patted it fondly. "It does seem a little long though. George and I discussed which room I'd prefer to have it in—did you want it in the salon…?" Julia smiled at him for a moment before she became curious about his reaction.

William was caught off guard, but could not help imagining what this particular piece of furniture was designed for: his body reclined on the bench and Julia above him in all her glory, riding him for an exquisite, tight connection, all the way to ecstasy …

Good Lord! And now George is thinking about that too….. Laughing softly, he shook his head. Nothing to be done about it now, he thought. "Well, Julia, perhaps we best hire a wagon and transport it to the hotel, which is where it was supposed to have been delivered. Then, I would like to show you what it is for, and, I hope you find it as intriguing as I do," he explained.

"How fascinating! A mysterious function? I can't wait for you to show it to me, William!" she enthused.

"Nor I, Julia," he laughed out loud now. "Nor I!"

-END-

# # #

Author's Notes: Thank you for joining us on W&J's adventure we cooked up for you. Please give us your thoughts on the story—we welcome any and all comments and reviews. It is fun, easy to do and much appreciated by Fallenbelle and RuthieGreen.

Historical background: (Or….the internet is a wonderful thing )

Patent Medicines (the original over-the-counter medications) were a real thing and a real problem (still can be in fact!) Many of the preparations were in fact toxic; the 'good' ones at least did not harm even if they were not helpful. Dr. Batty's Asthma Cigarettes and Mrs. Lydia E. Pinkham's Vegetable Compound indeed existed and Heroin was sold as a cure for all sorts of things and opiates and alcohol were liberally applied to all sorts of daily ills, and given to children making them sicker than they already were. In fact all such questionable concoctions mentioned here truly did exist and you can even still buy a varied form of Lydia Pinkham's compound today as it is marketed as an herbal remedy.

There was indeed a Madam Le Chabanais in Paris who hosted King Edward in her bordello, and if you check on line you can get a picture of the siege d'amour referenced in the story and apply your own imagination… Alice Keppel was one of the King's long-term mistresses.

-RG says thank you to "Dutch" for a beta read.

- FB says thanks to "Big Red" for helping out while she wrote, and to "E" for "helping". :)