Under False Colours Read Online Free Page B

Psyche's intact status were not in doubt.
    'Really?' he said, trying to show interest while he made up his mind. There was a strong reek of gin on Psyche's breath. Clorinda was poking an index finger between the bare toes of her right foot and Chloe had turned away. Only Zenobia watched him, a look of hunger in her eyes. She turned slightly, cocking a hip at him in a small, intimate gesture of invitation.
    He looked again at her waist and the riot of black hair that tumbled over her shoulders and down her back, curling over the breasts elevated by her tight corsage. From overhead, the bumps indicated someone was having a riotous time. He hoped its originator was Mr Fagan.
    'How much, Mrs Hockley, are you asking for this quartern of bliss?' He gestured to Psyche with the head of his cane.
    'Two guineas, Captain,' Mrs Hockley said, placing an intimate hand on Drinkwater's arm as if implying some kind of guarantee.
    'And she is truly a virgin?'
    'Would I lie, sir?' she asked, her hand abruptly transferred to her bosom, her red lips an outraged circle and her false lashes fluttering. 'She is fresh as a daisy, Captain, as I live and breathe ...'
    'As she lives and breathes, Madam, there is an excess of gin! I'll take Zenobia.'
    'Oh, sir, you are a wit, Zenobia is two guineas ...'
    'Ten shillings, Madam, and for as long as I want pleasuring.' He was sickening of the charade, eager to be out of the heavily perfumed stink of the room.
    'In advance, Captain, if you please.'
    He drew the coins from his waistcoat pocket, dropped them into Mrs Hockley's eager palm and abruptly gestured Zenobia to lead him to her chamber. Upstairs, the false luxury of Mrs Hockley's salon gave way to a bare-boarded landing with half a dozen unpainted deal doors leading from it.
    Zenobia, whose given name was more certainly Meg or Polly, entered one of them and closed the door behind them. The room had a small square of carpet, an upright chair and a bed. The sheets were stained and rumpled. The window had been bricked up, Drinkwater noticed, as Zenobia went round the room, lighting a trio of candle stumps from the single one she had brought upstairs. The air was filled with the strong scent of urine as Zenobia pulled a drab screen to one side. Instead of a commode a cracked china Jordan stood on a stool.
    "Ave a piss, Capt'in, I'll get undressed.'
    'No, wait... how much will you be paid for this, Zenobia?'
    'Five shillin' plus me board and lodgin', why?' She had paused and was looking at him.
    'Because I want you to do something special for me.'
    She turned away and made to unhook her stays, her face uninterested. 'You'll still have to piss ... I'm a clean girl ...'
    Drinkwater blushed, aware that, for all his bravado, he was not used to this sort of thing, was unfamiliar with the rituals of what passed for love, and of what exotic treats might be available to him.
    'You don't understand, I'll give you two guineas ...'
    The woman looked up sharply, throwing her skirt over the back of the chair and drawing her stays from her body. Her breasts, still tip-tilted, swung free, catching the light of the candles.
    'You pay me what you like. I'll do what you want, but no beating. If you beat me, I'll scream for Jem. An' I wants to see yer 'and-spike ...'
    'For God's sake, be quiet . Here ...' Drinkwater fished the coins from his pocket and held them out to her. She seized them and bit them.
    'Is a man called Fagan in the house?' he asked, before she could say more.
    She looked at him through narrowed eyes. Her hand reached out for her skirt and she drew it to cover her breasts as though he had asked her a most improper question. 'What's yer game?' She backed towards the door.
    'It's all right Zenobia, I mean you no harm. Just tell me if a man called Fagan is in the house. If you help me I'll pay you another guinea.' He knew it was a mistake, the moment the words were out of his mouth. He saw the quick movement of her eyes to his waistcoat pocket, gauging how many