Verwandte Artikel zu Point of Honour

9780312872021: Point of Honour
Hardcover
ISBN 10: 031287202X ISBN 13: 9780312872021
Verlag: St Martin's Press, 2003

Inhaltsangabe

Set in Regency London, Sarah is a fallen woman - she ran off with her brother's fencing master. After he dies, Sarah invents a new role for herself, and a new vocation, so she becomes an investigative agent. Her stock in trade is her wits, her discretion and her small sword.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Madeleine E. Robins lives in New York City. Her previous novel, The Stone War, was a New York Times Notable Book.

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Point of Honour
One
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a Fallen Woman of good family must, soon or late, descend to whoredom. Indeed, a maidservant or seamstress might eke out her wages with casual prostitution, but a gentlewoman of damaged virtue is often so lacking in resources that dedicated harlotry is her necessary fate. The lower classes certainly provide the greatest numbers, but it is from the ranks of the gentle and nobly born that such courtesans come as understand not only the coarse principles of pleasure, but the nicer distinctions of rank and precedent, and the proper service of tea. The brothel is the lone institution in which persons of every rank mix, and there is no doubt a particular frisson for men in consorting with women better born than they, defiling the edifice of class in the pursuit of pleasure.
The extraordinary range of establishments of prostitution in London of 1810, from the meanest stew to the most elegant house of joy, only bore out the truth that in pleasure, as in all other things, class was no little consideration. Brothels of allsorts, most managed, if not owned, by women, thrived in the city; it seemed that the era would be known to history chiefly for the fashion for venery--and the endless war with Bonaparte. Perhaps a nation under the gentle hand of the Queen Regent was more disposed to look kindly upon such female enterprise--although Queen Charlotte herself would have been horrified by the idea. Still, no less personages than her sons made ample and very public use of these establishments; only the widowed Prince of Wales, nearing his ninth year of mourning, was circumspect in his pleasures. Reformers and clerics suggested that had the King kept his mind and his power, matters might have been different--but the King had been mad for over twenty years, and women of all kinds and conditions continued to take refuge in the only profession universally available to females.
It was obvious to anyone familiar with the large, fine house in Manchester Square, which stood in its own garden, ringed round by a high, ivied fence and an abundance of old trees, that it was run by a woman once of very good family. The house was handsomely kept up, the merchants who supplied the establishment brought only their best, and the ladies of the house were never seen out-of-doors unless sober, respectably dressed, and with a maid in attendance. Further, the occupants of the carriages which stopped by the door were of the highest rank and character, and relied not only upon the quality of the entertainments offered, but upon the discretion which was no little part of the service rendered. To all these qualities must be added this one: that never, except at those moments most appropriate, was there anything about the establishment which smacked of vulgarity. But upon display or behind closed doors, the employees of the house were expected to be as enthusiastic in their pleasures as their customers required. This tension between decorum and license served, as the owner well knew, to heighten a patron's appreciation of both qualities; the house kept by Mrs. Brereton was privily considered one of the finest in the city, and the establishment thrived.
Mrs. Brereton herself was something of an example to her peers. Seduced as a girl by a half-pay lieutenant who had then gone off to die in the Americas, she had been cast off by her family and moved up the social ladder in her amours, carefully saving cash and favors until she was able to open her own establishment. Unlike most Fallen, she had defied custom by keeping her family name rather than take a nom d'amour. She was at least as hardheaded in matters of business as she was gifted in love. And as a matter of business, she treated her employees well, both the women and men who serviced custom--Mrs. Brereton was unusually broad-minded when it proved advantageous--and the servants who maintained the establishment to her rigorous standards. She required of them honesty, discretion, and imagination; she paid well, and was as thoughtful in consulting their preferences as she could be and still turn a profit. Mrs. Brereton saw to it that no stars were among her employees, no whore so famous she eclipsed her fellows and caused quarrels between the patrons. Performer's temperament was not allowed; the efforts of the house, upstairs and belowstairs, were bent upon the satisfaction of Mrs. Brereton's clientele.
Only one spot in the property was free of the overwhelming preoccupation of the establishment. In the garden at the rear of the house was the only place largely untouched by Mrs. Brereton's stewardship, a small cottage tucked away in the northern corner. The cottage was closely covered with vines, and nearly disappeared among the trees and shrubs that surrounded it; only those who knew it was there would have dreamt of finding it. To reach the cottage, it was necessary to go through the house, or discover the door to the gardens which was half hidden in the grape and ivy that covered the wall facing on Spanish Place. In daylight the task challenged the unwary. Now, in dark and rain, it was very nearly impossible.
Torches in doorways sheltered from the rain sizzled and spat, sending plumes of black smoke up to coil greasily under their awnings. In Manchester Square the yellow light from the windowscould not cut the powerful inkiness beyond an arm's length into the street, and in the gutters rainwater roared, sweeping all before it. Around the corner on Spanish Place, no light shone at all, and the man who scurried down it kept one hand upon the garden wall, feeling for the opening in the vines and ironwork. Clad in greatcoat from the Belgian tailor Gunnard, buckskins and top boots, and streaming water from hat to heel, he located the portal, fumbled with a key, and muttered low curses on the gods of weather. After several minutes' unavailing struggle, there was a click barely audible over the roar of rain, and the gate swung open.
The sodden fellow picked his way through the garden and turned, not toward the waiting warmth of the great house, but toward the little cottage in the rear, where a single light flickered yellow in the darkness. The door was unlocked. He made bold to step through, whereupon the Gunnard coat was shed, boots and stockings unceremoniously discarded, leaving a substantial puddle on the floor, and the slouch-brimmed hat which had taken the worst of the storm was consigned to a peg by the door. The figure was revealed to be no man, but a woman: slender, rather tall, and of some eight-and-twenty years. Sarah Tolerance shook down her heavy dark hair and swore, shivering with cold.
A voice rose up from the high-backed settle near the fire. "Come warm yourself, dear. I lit the fire specially for you."
"And helped yourself to my tea." Miss Tolerance pulled on the dressing gown draped over the back of the bench and, under its protective cover, shed her damp breeches. "You might at least pour a cup for me."
"Did I startle you?" The face peering over the back of the settle looked hopeful.
Miss Tolerance shook her head. "I dislike to disappoint you, Matt, but I saw the light from the garden. Who else would visit on such a night? Have you cut any bread and butter?"
"Not yet. There's the buffet spread in the blue salon at the house." Matt Etan turned back to the fire to place the kettle backon the hob. "Wouldn't you rather take your dinner from there?"
Miss Tolerance reached to ruffle the fair hair of her guest. He was young and open-faced, with a square jaw, broad mouth, blunt nose, and good-natured brown eyes, dressed in buckskin breeches and a finely made linen shirt. His shoes and stockings, Miss Tolerance saw now, were drying before the fire.
"Go out into that for a plate...

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Verlag
St Martin's Press
Erscheinungsdatum
2003
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
031287202X
ISBN 13 
9780312872021
Einband
Gebundene Ausgabe
Anzahl der Seiten
352
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Verantwortliche Person
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