All Men of Genius

XXV.



FIONA Gowan had a knack for selling things. She understood the ideas of exchange rates and relative value. She knew how to make a person want something, and how much they would pay for it. But being born the only child to a tanner in Inverness, all she had to sell was herself. Not in the sense of prostitution—though she did dabble in that from time to time, if a gentleman seemed wealthy and enjoyable, or to get a better part in a play—but in the sense that she could show people what they wanted to see. As an actress, some might have called her a ham, but she knew what the audience wanted from her, and she delivered, perfectly.

But she was getting to an age, the kind never spoken aloud, where parts were fewer. She needed a steadier income. An audience of one with full and generous pockets. Becoming a mistress seemed the best option; even better would be mistress to a man who invested in theater, and cast her as all the leads. But she’d settle for anything that got her a clean room for a while.

Violet was a great source of information in preparing for her new role. Despite the extortion, Fiona rather liked Violet. She had a wild impetuousness that Fiona had only played onstage a few times, but which she secretly hoped she also possessed. Pleading sick from Thursday’s pony show, Fiona returned to the small boarding room she shared with two other girls, and fished out her small satchel of glass and paste jewelry. She had bought some new pieces with her share of the profits from peddling Mrs. Wilks’s Oscillation Therapy Devices—an easy sell—and she put them all on to prepare for the night, and for her great audition.

That new role was to be the lover of Drew Pale, heir to Pale Perfumes. He was an ideal audience for many reasons. He was rich; she found him genuinely attractive, and he her; and he wasn’t so complex that she would need to be constantly tweaking her performance. He was excited, or he was asleep, Violet said. If he was asleep, then she was not keeping him entertained; therefore, she needed only to keep him awake. From what she understood, Drew was kept awake by sparkling lights, noises, and smells. Like a baby. Fiona smiled at that idea.

Thursday, at nine o’clock, Fiona walked into the Well-Seasoned Pig dressed for her new part. Glass jewels sparkled down the front of her chest and over her very low neckline. Her fingers and earlobes glittered. She had her hair up in an ornate style she called the Fancy Pork Belly, of the kind usually seen only on Wagnerian sopranos. Her dress was a shining purple, and tight down to her feet, and she was wearing a combination of three different perfumes, which caused her to sneeze occasionally because they didn’t mix particularly well. She paused for a moment in the doorway of the pub, because as an actress, she knew that the audience would need a few moments to take in her entrance. Then, spotting Violet, Drew, and the rest of them, she glided purposefully toward their table.

“Well, ’ello,” she said, smiling her broadest smile and posing with one hand on her waist and the other bent up as though she were holding a serving tray. She had calculated that this position showed off her jewels to their best possible effect without taking her clothes off. Everyone looked up at her. Violet’s eyes widened slightly, and the rest of them looked confused. But it was Drew on whom she was focused, and it was Drew who stared at her as if transfixed, his eyes flashing from her face to her ears to her wrists to her bosom and then starting over again. “’Ello, Drew,” she said, leaning toward him so that her necklace fell away from her chest and hung in the open air, swaying back and forth, “care ta buy me a drink?”

“Oh, yes,” Drew said, looking confused at having been addressed. He stood and offered her his chair, then went and got another of his own and sat down next to her. She laid her braceleted hand on his knee. He stared at it. The others watched this interaction with expressions between fascination and shock, not speaking.

“I’m Fiona,” she said to them. “We met the other night. I was in the pony show.”

“Of course,” said the dark-looking woman Fiona had not been introduced to. “I’m Miriam. This is Toby. We weren’t introduced, because you were dancing most of the time.”

“Oh, aye,” Fiona said, “I do fancy a bit of dancing.” Fiona sneezed, then shook her head and stared at the table. There was a piece of paper laid out on it, and everyone had been careful not to put their drinks too close to it. It had lines running all around. As she looked closer, she thought maybe it was a map, but not of London, or any part of it she knew. “What are ye workin’ on?” she asked.

“Just a project,” Violet said in her ridiculous man voice, rolling up the map.

“Ah,” Fiona said. She ran her fingers up and down Drew’s leg, and felt it shudder slightly under her nails.

“You smell most extraordinary,” Drew said to her.

“Aye,” Fiona responded, “I like ta … experiment with scents.” She smiled at him, then sneezed.

“It’s wonderful,” he said.

“You’ll have ta excuse me,” she said, sniffling. “I seem to ’ave a bit of a cold.”

“Oh,” he said, taking a handkerchief out of his pocket, “please.”

“Thankee,” she said as she took the handkerchief and dabbed at her nose. The handkerchief smelled heavily of sweat, but she tried not to react.

She started to hand it back to him, but he shook his head. “Keep it,” he said, closing his hand around hers, which held the used and sweaty handkerchief. She felt it squish in her hand.

“You’re too kind,” she said, batting her eyelashes.

“Perhaps … since you already experiment with perfume … you’d be willing to let me test some of my own perfumes on you. I’m a scientist, but I’m also of the Pale family.”

“Pale Perfumes?” Fiona asked with perfect shock on her face—she’d played perfect shock on at least seventeen different occasions and felt sure she was good at it. “Why, I love your products! When I can afford them.”

“You do?” Drew asked, excited. “Well, if you let me test my perfumes on you, I’ll name the one you like best after you, and you will have it for life.”

“That would be so very kind of you,” Fiona said, squeezing Drew’s thigh.

He squealed slightly, and sighed with contentment. “No,” he said, “it would be an honor.”

Miriam cleared her throat loudly. Fiona looked up, saw everyone at the table looking at them, and realized she had begun to lean in, almost predatorially, toward Drew. She drew back and smiled. “So tell me,” she said to the group. “Was that a map I saw? What is it ye all are planning?”

“We’re mapping the basement of Illyria,” Drew said, eager to please her. Fiona noticed the others glaring at him, as if he had disclosed a secret.

“The basement?” Fiona asked.

“Yes,” Violet said with a sigh.

“That sounds messy,” Fiona said.

“It is,” Jack said. He was grinning, as if terribly amused by something.

“Well, don’t mind me,” Fiona said. “Just keep on mapping away. I’ll just drink a little and be on my way.”

“Oh, you musn’t go so soon,” Drew said.

“I have a show tomorrow,” Fiona said with an excellently formed look of regret. “Otherwise, I’d stay with you all night.”

“Where are you staying?” Drew asked, and then, in a slightly quieter voice, “I can deliver your perfumes myself, and put them on you, if you’d like. Some oils need to be smelled just as they touch the skin.”

Fiona rasied an eyebrow. He was more debonair than she thought. She gave him the address of her boarding house, finished her drink, and kissed him lightly but lingeringly on the cheek while stroking his thigh. Then she left, looking back once from the doorway. Drew was staring at her, while the others pored over their map. She winked at Drew and left.

She hadn’t stayed more than half an hour, but had done a very effective job, she thought. He’d be thinking about her for quite a while, and with any luck, would keep his promise to deliver her oils and soaps. Which was a start. Not quite a private set of apartments and unlimited income, but free soap was better than no soap. She’d need to know a bit more about him, though. So once she was home, she wrote a letter to Violet at her address in town, requesting additional information on Drew’s appetites, particularly those in the bedroom, and sent it off. She’d be prepared for him by the weekend. Having taken off her fake jewels and tight bodice, she changed into her old ragged nightshirt and lay down on the straw mattress the boarding house provided. She put her hands under her head and gazed up at the ceiling. Drew was a very nice boy. And he had very nice thighs. Fiona knew her acting came from her ability to forget herself in a role. Was she forgetting herself so quickly, smiling at the thought of settling down and taking care of the boy with the nice thighs and pretty, nervous lips? She didn’t know. But it was a role she could play. Fiona breathed in deeply and shut her ice blue eyes to the night, hoping that this show would be her last.