Chapter Thirty-Three #2
Oscar signalled for drinks and, instead of taking one of the chairs positioned near a card table in the centre of the room, or over by his mother on the sofa as he used to when we were younger, sat me in a corner away from the other guests, and pulled up a seat.
Looks were cast in our direction, Gilbert’s most disapproving.
I ignored them. Flattered by his attention, I was also curious why, after all this time, Oscar would single me out in such a public manner.
‘Well, Florrie,’ he began. ‘Have you read it?’
I accepted a glass of sherry from the boy and, waiting until he was out of earshot, replied, ‘You mean your novel or the gossip about you?’
‘What gossip?’ said Oscar, feigning shock. Then, he raised his glass.
‘You got my thank-you note? Good. And yes, I have read it,’ I said. ‘I think it brilliant, Oscar. Awfully clever and cleverly awful. You transformed a speculative conversation from long ago into a gripping tale.’
Oscar chuckled in delight. ‘It’s been too long between drinks for us, hasn’t it?’
We clinked glasses and I smiled. ‘Between anything.’ I took a sip. ‘But I’ve also read the stories about you, and I must say, if scandal and scurrilous headlines sell books, then you must help Bram create some.’
‘I would think Bram perfectly capable of generating his own, my dear, don’t you?’ He tilted his head, his eyes sombre and knowing.
What they knew, I didn’t care to find out, but my face grew warm.
‘How’s Constance?’ I asked, changing the subject. ‘And the boys? Cyril and Vyvyan, isn’t it?’
Oscar levelled a long look at me. ‘As far as I know, they’re well.’
‘As far as I know …’ I repeated slowly. ‘Then, you’re like all husbands and treat your home, your wife and family, like rooms only to be used for special occasions. Or when you need to rest your body.’
‘Or on my laurels,’ said Oscar.
I laughed. ‘I doubt you’ll ever rest on yours.’
‘You always knew me best, Florrie.’
‘Did I though?’ I finished my drink. ‘I think perhaps I scarce knew you at all.’ I looked pointedly in the direction of Mr Ross. Oscar followed my gaze before his eyes slid to Lord Alfred. Ah, that’s how the land lies.
Oscar sighed and focussed his attention back on me. ‘Maybe it was me who knew you.’
‘Really?’ I scoffed. ‘I think perhaps you scarce knew me at all.’
Oscar hesitated. ‘Are you happy with Bram, Florrie? He’s still spending more time with his Chief than his wife. Du Maurier’s going around saying Irving’s mesmerised him.’
Damn Du Maurier!
Surprised by the question and hurt by Mr Du Maurier’s perfidy, I waited while my glass was refilled before answering.
‘What is happiness? Fleeting, according to the poets.’ I sipped my wine.
‘I think I’m happier with Bram than I would have been with the alternative, don’t you?
’ Oscar didn’t answer. ‘And what about you? Are you happy with Constance? With the vicissitudes of marriage, of being a husband and father?’
‘I’ve always been of the opinion that a man who desires to get married should know either everything or nothing.’
My lips twitched. ‘What do you know?’
‘Why, everything, Florrie. I know everything.’
‘Modest as usual,’ interrupted a deep voice. It was Lord Alfred. He stood slightly behind Oscar’s chair, smiling, drink in one hand, cigarillo in the other.
Oscar jumped to his feet. ‘Florrie, may I introduce Lord Alfred Douglas. Lord Alfred, this is a dear old friend of mine, Mrs Bram Stoker.’
I offered his lordship my hand, and he bowed over it.
‘Hardly old, Oscar,’ said Lord Alfred. ‘Mrs Stoker. The pleasure is all mine. And please, call me Bosie. Everyone does.’
‘I thought that name was reserved for only the closest of friends,’ pouted Oscar.
‘Any friend of yours, etcetera. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Mrs Stoker, I would like to steal this man away. There’s someone I wish to introduce him to.’
Just as Oscar was led off, Hall and Gilbert replaced him. ‘Honestly,’ Gilbert all but snarled, ‘it’s shameful the way that man parades his young lovers about like this is a molly house.’ He fell into Oscar’s recently vacated seat.
‘That’s what the scandalmongers are prattling,’ said Hall, watching Oscar across the other side of the room. ‘They say young Mr Ross is soon to be supplanted.’
‘By whom?’ I asked, already knowing and not even bothering to defend Oscar.
I too had been shocked at how openly Oscar displayed his …
preferences. My heart went out to poor Constance.
No wonder she’d absented herself from this salon – from them all.
I glanced towards Lady Jane. Did she know what Oscar was doing?
Did she care? Perhaps she thought that if she allowed him to be with his friends under her roof, he was safe from judgement.
No-one was safe from that.
But then, what did Oscar care? He’d always flouted the rules, defied convention.
He’d railed against the strict policing of moral boundaries for years, called out the hypocrites.
Those who constantly broke the rules but were rich enough, or titled enough, for their behaviour to be overlooked.
My eyes strayed towards the prince. Not everyone could flaunt their dalliances the way nobles did.
Most had the sense to hide their indiscretions.
Oscar was either too proud or too foolish to conduct what was widely regarded as his immoral business in the shadows.
How long would it be before the gossip grew to a roar and calls for him to be made an example of reached a crescendo?
‘Oscar may have bitten off more than he can chew if he sets his sights on the young lordling,’ said Hall, glancing at Lord Alfred. ‘He hasn’t taken into account the lad’s father.’
‘His father?’ I asked, trying to recall who that might be.
‘The Marquess of Queensberry,’ provided Gilbert.
My eyes widened. I’d met the marquess. A short, brutish-looking man with thick square eyebrows and coarse sideburns, he’d been divorced twice and had a reputation as an utter thug.
He’d established some rules around boxing – a vicious sport – that were named after him.
I cast a sympathetic glance at Lord Alfred.
He, Oscar and Mr Ross were conversing with a very attractive woman of middling years.
Uncaring who might see, Oscar draped an arm across Lord Alfred’s shoulders, much to the evident dismay of Mr Ross.
Lillie Langtry and her escort chose that moment to arrive, distracting everyone – especially Call-Me-Bertie.
Only Oscar was unmoved, remaining defiantly where he was, right by Bosie’s side.