CHAPTER 5
PENANCE
When the lock for my study door clicked into place I found myself spun around and pushed to the cool timber. My breath expelled in a whoosh as the warm weight of Sebastian pressed against the length of my body and his whiskey gaze scanned my face. He fingered my inky curls, his look one of wonder, as if he was gazing on a thing of unutterable beauty. I had never felt so worshipped before I submitted to this devilish man! My heartbeat stuttered out of time as I took in the one adoring me. His gaze dropped to consider my mouth. I licked my lips expectantly.
“My god, I’m famished,” he said in a whisper, and then closed the space between us to plunder my mouth. I was dizzied, my hunger for his touch rushing through me like the burning lick of fire. I coiled my arms around his neck, my fingers messing up his pomaded hair. I pulled him tighter to me as we opened and tasted one another’s tongues. After several heady minutes of kisses, Sebastian was the first to pull away.
“My, my, we are ravenous for our second breakfast,” I said in a lightly teasing tone as we both caught our breaths, both a tad dishevelled now.
The clock on my mantle struck on the half hour, it was now half-past ten, and I was pulled back to reality. “Goodness! This day is getting away with me,” I admitted regretfully as I unclasped my arms from around my beloved’s neck. There was nothing I wanted to do more than spend the day wrapped in hedonistic activities, but alas, the burglary had ensured that reality would not be denied, and permit time for my newly resurrected appetites. I straightened my hair and my suit, and automatically smoothed Sebastian’s locks back into place, revelling in his watchful gaze at the intimacy of that action.
“I have the book of photographs here,” I said gesturing to the large brown box tied with twine that sat upon my desk. “Please, take a look before I send it off to Scotland Yard. I particularly want the fish shaped spice box that I purchased from Blake. It was the new jewel of my collection.” I rounded the desk to slump into my captain’s chair. Sebastian moved to sit in the chair opposite my desk. I untied the box, removed the book, and then leafed through the photographs, placing a page marker on the pages with stolen items. Each listing contained a penned telling of where the article of silver was sourced, the maker’s name, year, price on purchase, and insurance price. I flipped to the back of the book to the most recent purchases, and then offered the volume to Sebastian, pointing out articles of particular sentimental value.
As Sebastian perused the book of photographs, committing the items to memory, I swiftly wrote three notes. The first to a local locksmith, as it was true that I had been lax when it came to the security of my home. Despite the considerable cost, all door locks and window catches on the first floor would have to be replaced. The second note was to Detective Inspector Dancer with the fabricated story of the stolen door key. This would accompany the book of photographs. Before I could start my working day I needed to attend to one particular duty that niggled in my mind. And so the third note was to my secretary Annie explaining that I would be further delayed. When Mr. Troy knocked on the study door to tell me he was to visit the cobblers with a pair of my brogues that required being re-soled, I suggested that I join him on his walk and we could attend church too. He left to ready himself for the outing. Mr. Wilkins came when I called and took the two notes I’d penned to arrange delivery. Sebastian repackaged the book of photographs for me and offered to bring it to Scotland Yard with the note I’d penned for Detective Inspector Dancer. He wanted to get a look at the fellow and make his measure. I trusted my lover implicitly and so agreed. When he left and there was no longer any distraction, I could finally begin my day.
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The first task was to unburden myself and seek forgiveness at my church, St Giles in the Field . I would attend the short midday service and spend some time in contemplation.
As was arranged, Mr. Troy accompanied me to worship and confession. I had done him quite the disservice, and although I rarely stepped outside my door with a member of my household as a companion, as we walked together on this now drizzly cold January day I was grateful for the silent company of my valet.
After my confession I sat alone in the pews. The relief that came after I’d taken my penance was as if a physical weight lifted from my shoulders. I looked up at the altar, Our Lord on the cross, nails in his hands and feet. He sacrificed his life for the sins of men, and I knew intimately that even though The Bible told of how Jesus made the ultimate sacrifice, men continued to sin. Men would never cease sinning. I stared at the tragic image of the crucifixion and wallowed in melancholy for the state of the world. How could mankind continue to thrive if lust, selfishness, greed, and power obliterated love, kindness, and empathy? The Resurrectionist Brothers of the Seed believed that they too could experience death and then be reborn, resurrected, and gain eternal life using their mingled seed, the arcane Greek phallus, and a spell. It was ridiculous, pure quackery and couldn’t fathom why these influential men did not see it. I did not believe that my seed contained arcane traces of the soul. I did not seek eternal life, or the power the cabal sought to wield over others with our proclivities. I did not seek to drown myself in pleasure and slake my lust with a multitude of partners. But if I’m being completely honest, a part of me did ache for brotherhood, for a group of trustworthy friends who believed as I did, that love begat love no matter ones biology. And while I had come to terms with my own predilection, I remained in fear of exposure, as did all who loved as we did. The one saving grace would always be my respect and admiration for one man, and as long as Sebastian returned my affections it would remain so.
It was then that a shaft of sunlight cut through the stained glass window facing the alter and honeyed golden light illuminated the cross. It was a sign; I felt it in my heart that this was a vindication of sorts, the light of forgiveness. My anger about Euan’s betrayal melted away and God’s love mingled with Sebastian’s love, filling my heart with joy. I had never experienced such overwhelming awareness of the divine in a place of worship. Tears of gratitude sprang to my eyes and I lowered my head to pray.
I could not feel anger towards Euan anymore. I pitied him for allowing the unproven teachings of the Svengali, Lawrence Blake to exercise a mesmeric influence upon him. I was distressed that my old friend had become embroiled in an impossible scheme, but he had chosen his path. A shadow to my left made me shudder and turn my head. I let out a breath, relieved to see it was just Mr. Troy.
“I’ve completed my penance sir. Would you like me to accompany you to the office, or shall I make my way home after I’ve stopped at the cobbler?” Mr. Troy asked.
I stood up and stepped from the pew. “Thank you for your company, Troy. You can return to the house.” I dug into my coat pocket for my wallet, removed a silver shilling and then said, “Stop at the confectioners on the way home and buy some sweets for each member of my household. I’d say we all need a treat.” Troy smiled as I placed the coin his palm.
“That’s very generous of you sir. Mrs. Twigg’s partial to Turkish Delights, Wilkins likes his Barley Sugars, and the girls prefer Sherbet Lemons. I favour a quarter of pear drops,” he informed. “And of course, Chocolate cherries for you sir? ”
I grinned, for I did enjoy the occasional indulgence of cherries soaked in Kirsch, then dipped in dark chocolate.
“Excellent idea! And please stay alert, there’s a plain clothes copper keeping his eye on our home. And there’s bound to be a reporter or two about in Bedford Square looking to embroider stories of the burglary. You know what to do if you spot one!”
“Indeed sir, don’t you worry, I’ll introduce them to our dear Mrs. Twigg and her broom of doom!”
We both laughed.
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