Don Gutteridge - Desperate Acts

It was a bedroom, a man’s bedroom if the darkcurtains, carpet and coverlet were any indication. But it wasdefinitely occupied by a woman. Alone. Standing in front of athree-sided, floor-length looking-glass. In her corsets!

As the flung door rattled against the wall,she jumped with a jiggling of stays and a crackling of whalebone,and turned towards the sound. Her face had been trowelled withmakeup and dusted with talcum. Her lips were a crimson slash and ablond wig, cockeyed and frizzled, teetered precariously upon herhead. Below the corsets, her nether extremities floated in a pairof pantaloons.

But this was no lady.

“Oh, it’s you, is it, Cobb?” Sir Peregrinesaid, squinting through the black bars of his eyelashes. He wasbreathing heavily – either from his screaming performance for themirror or startlement at Cobb’s arrival – which had caused hisstays, stuffed with silk handkerchiefs, to undulate.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir. But I heard a scream an’thought – ”

Sir P. laughed nervously with his clown’slips. “Ah, that. I was just – ah – rehearsing. As I often do whenI’m alone and unobserved.”

“Is that yer Puck get-up, then?” Cobb saidwith suitable sarcasm. What on earth was the fellow up to? Thisbehaviour, whatever it was, seemed outrageous, even for abaronet.

“No, no, of course not. You see, Cobb, when Iwas at Harrow, I was often cast in the women’s roles in the playsand skits we boys put on. No girls available, eh? And when LadyMadeleine and I took up dramatics as entertainment in our Londonresidence, I would do the same whenever we were short of femalevolunteers. This is the undergarment for my triumphant role asBeatrice in Much Ado .”

“You plannin’ on re-prizin’ that rolehere?”

Sir P. chuckled in the indulgent manner hehad been taught to effect whenever the foibles and fecklessness ofthe unlettered classes warranted it. “When I get frustrated, as Iwas by the execrable efforts of the Crenshaws out there, I come inhere, dress up like Beatrice and attack the ungrateful world withher wit.”

“Yer mirror, ya mean?” Cobb said, recallingthat the screech he had heard did not sound like any linesShakespeare might have penned.

“My mirror, as you say. Now, sir – ”

“I’m off to fetch my paint,” Cobb said,backing towards the doorway. “Sorry about bargin’ in on ya.”

Well, Cobb thought as he heard the bedroomdoor click resolutely shut behind him, I’ll have something to tellthe major tonight.

***

Marc put his pipe down and said to Cobb, sittingopposite him in the parlour of Briar Cottage, “So you think thatSir Peregrine might be a cross-dresser, and that he was willing topay Duggan ten pounds a week to keep it from the generalpublic?”

“It’s possible, ain’t it? I know that the gentle-tree don’t fuss overmuch about that sort of behaviourback in England, but Sir P., as we call him, is tryin’ to be asomebody out here, startin’ up the Shakespeare Club, holdin’ fancyballs, an’ suckin’ up to the likes of Bishop Strongarm.”

Marc smiled, “Have you forgotten that I tooam a bona fide member of the gentry?”

“You don’t count. You went Indian a monthafter ya got here.”

“Still, you may be right. I suspect it is something he would want to keep hidden, if it istrue.”

“But I seen him, major. You wouldn’t believethe get-up he was in. It’d make a brothel-keeper blush.”

“He offered you a plausible explanation,though.”

“It was all he could come up with.”

“What I’d like you to do next Tuesday is finda way to get into his bedroom again. Look in his closets anddrawers. There’s a fair difference between costumes and ordinaryclothing. If he is a cross-dresser, you should find evidence of itin that room.”

“I can get into that hallway pretty muchanytime I like. I just haveta say I’m fetchin’ more paint.”

“Good. And the sooner the better. The trialstarts in five days.”

“And I got some other fair leads,”Cobb said with some satisfaction.

“Such as?”

“Well, this Dutton fella seems to beattracted to very young girls. He’s been givin’ Lizzie Wade thelecher’s eye.”

“But he hasn’t really done anythingimproper?”

“Not yet. But I heard Lady Mad, as we callher, warnin’ the girl about Dutton’s strayin’ hands. An’ that womanknows all about such things.”

“It’s not a lot to go on – yet.”

“An’ then there’s Fullarton. I think he’s gothis eye on Lady Mad. There’s a lot of friction between them, butthat’s usually a sure sign there’s lust somewhere in the picture.And I seen the fella limpin’ a bit – she must’ve give him a kickabout a foot lower than she was aimin’. I’m gonna watch both of ‘emlike a hawk.”

“From what you say, there’s plenty ofopportunity for mischief between the acts, as it were. Butremember, I’ll need pretty conclusive evidence.”

“I got that, I’m sure, when it comes to theCrenshaws.”

“You have?”

“Clemmy Crenshaw is addicted to opium.”

Marc did not seem to be properly surprised atthis revelation. “You’ve seen her taking it?”

“I have indeed. And I seen the glassy eyesan’ stumblin’ about that it causes.”

“Lots of people in this town take morelaudanum than is good for them.”

“I know. But these Crenshaws are both tryin’to climb as far up the social ladder as they can. The husband is aCouncillor an’ factory owner, but they’re dyin’ to get in good withSir P. an’ the real Family Compacters. Clemmy could scuttle themhopes if her addiction was known by everybody.”

“Possibly. But if she’s displaying theeffects of the drug openly at Oakwood, the Shuttleworths haveprobably guessed already what’s going on. Still, it could be thatCyrus Crenshaw was willing to pay off Duggan before hiswife’s appearance at the manor this week. But somehow it doesn’tseem enough. Not yet.”

Cobb knocked the ashes out of his pipe, andsaid, “Are you gonna tell me what you’re plannin’ to do with allthis dirt if an’ when we get it nailed down?”

“I am, old friend. As soon as it’s credibleenough to take to court. Until then, it’s just a possible line ofdefense. But I promise that you’ll be the first person to know if Idecide I can use it.”

“You got any other defense in mind?”

Marc shook his head.

So, Cobb thought, it’s all down to me.

***

On Monday morning a dishevelled Clemmy Crenshawarrived at Smallman’s shop on King Street between Bay andYonge. Rose Halpenny met her at the door to the dressmaking side ofthe enterprise, and tried not to look amazed. Clemmy’s ringletteshad been steamed into place once more but not quite subdued, andher powdered and bedaubed face seemed to have been made up by amasochist.

“Don’t worry, missus,” she said to Rose, “Ialways look a fright before lunch. You got the costume ready?”

Rose did have Hermia’s costume ready, andwith a curt nod directed Clemmy behind a screen to remove theghastly green frock she was wearing. Rose slipped the costume overthe screen, and suggested that Clemmy put it on carefully, as twoor three seams had merely been basted to allow for last-minuteadjustments.

“Ooo – ain’t it lovely!” Clemmy cooed.

Not exactly lovely, Rose thought as she wavedClemmy towards the nearest beam of sunlight, but it would do.Designing what was supposed to be little more than a shift andstill render Clemmy a virginal lass of eighteen was one of thegreatest challenges Rose had faced in the two years she had beenworking for Beth Edwards. Using what amounted to sleight-of-handand misdirection, she had rigged out a sequence of tucks, folds,drapelets, pleats and ruches in a fine muslin cloth – allcalculated to give the illusion of a slimming, down-flowingline.