Sim opened the door to the dressing room as Mrs. Jordan ascended the spiral staircase from the stage floor. She swept into the room, and he handed her a glass of sherry, and then busied himself removing her wig. While she sipped the sherry, he began deftly to unbutton her costume so that she could easily step out of it.
“A good house, ma’am?” he asked as he undressed her.
“Very good,” she answered cordially, “and I do believe it was one of the best performances I have given these many weeks.”
Sim smiled, “So Kate Hardcastle is no longer tedious, ma’am?”
She laughed. “I never said she was tedious, Sim, merely that I am getting too old to play the role.”
“Still,” he said, “they love you in the part. You have made it your own.”
He began to unlace her and she sighed as the stays were loosened. She watched him in the mirror as he worked. He was dressed in his new set of evening clothes – in his shirtsleeves. His new coat of dark blue superfine was on a hanger convenient to the door. She observed his speedy efficiency.
“If I know the man,” she observed, “he will have been waiting these thirty minutes.”
“I think so too, ma’am, and I am loathe to keep him waiting a moment longer than necessary.”
She maneuvered the corset from her body and said gently, “Then you had better go. It does not do to keep a gentleman waiting.”
Sim was surprised. “Ma’am?”
“Go. Go.” She said. “I can finish up here.”
Sim’s face was wreathed in smiles. “Thank you, ma’am.” And he hurriedly donned the new coat and dashed out of the dressing room, adjusting his shirt collar and cuffs as he spiraled down the staircase. He ran across the stage floor to the stage door, calling goodnight to the various men who worked there. When he approached the stage door, he halted, took a breath and at a more stately pace, made his way to the alley outside. He looked around into the darkness. A wave of disappointment choked him. The Lieutenant was not there. He hesitated, at a loss to know what to do.
A voice came out of the darkness. “Have you lost something, sir?”
Sim whirled around. The Lieutenant stepped out of the darkness and smiled at him. No wonder Sim had missed him in the dark. His dark blue boat cloak was wrapped around him so that all that was visible was his face.
Sim smiled foolishly. “I feared I had missed you, sir.”
“And I, sir, feared you were not coming.” The Lieutenant replied gravely.
Sim moved towards him as though to embrace him, but stopped himself remembering where he was. He realized then it was raining softly. He looked up at the sky.
“I should have brought an umbrella,” he said in dismay, “My new coat will be ruined.”
The officer laughed gently. “Never fear, my young fop,” he said, “the navy will contrive.” And he threw the boat cloak around the both of them, drawing Sim close to him. Sim gasped at the intimacy, but the Lieutenant seemed quite matter-of-fact about the arrangement.
“Come,” he said, “I have a cab waiting.” He held the cloak around Sim’s shoulders, and they made their way down the alley to the main street where a hackney was standing, the horse and the driver, wearing many shoulder capes, were silhouetted against the flickering street lamp lights.
They scrambled into the carriage, and the Lieutenant said to the driver, “Back to Gloucester Road,” and the cab lurched into movement. The rain began to fall steadily and officer arranged the cloak over their legs, and then, to Sim’s delight, put his arm around his shoulders and drew him close. Sim’s cheek rubbed against the scratchy wool of the shoulder of the man’s uniform.
A thought occurred to him. “Gervase?”
“What is it?” came the quiet reply.
“Is this the uniform you fought the French in?”
“When I was wounded?” Sim nodded. The Lieutenant laughed quietly.
“Actually,” he said, “I fought bare-chested. It was the Indies, remember, and a uniform coat would only have impeded my swinging a sabre, besides being devilish hot.”
Sim tried to snuggle into the Lieutenant, but once again his new breeches betrayed him and began painfully to constrict his growing erection. He wriggled and squirmed trying to accommodate his stiffness.
“What is it?” asked his companion, “Have you got ants in your breeches.”
“Not ants,” answered Sim, embarrassed, “but something much larger that keeps getting… much larger.”
The Lieutenant was silent for a moment, and then began to chuckle, and the chuckling turned into laughter. “If you can muzzle the monster, we have not far to go.” He kept chuckling as Sim, not bothering to conceal his actions, tried to find a comfortable position. With his arm lying idly across Sim’s shoulders, the Lieutenant gazed into the weeping streets, sparing his companion the mortification of laughing in his face, although he kept chuckling as the cab bowled along.
“It’s not funny, Gervase,” Sim said crossly, “I could do myself a mischief.”
“Let this be a lesson to you, Sir Vanity,” his companion said. ”The next time you buy your breeches, let comfort not fashion be your guide.”
Sim said loftily, “For your information, Sir Smugness, I didn’t buy these breeches, I tailored them for myself.”
The Lieutenant turned his head, trying to see Sim in the dark. “Did you, b’God? Then the lesson is doubly applicable. You have no one to blame but yourself.”
Though smilingly said, that sounded suspiciously to Sim like a reprimand.
He said, in a small voice, “I thought they looked well on me.”
The man laughed quietly and drew Sim very close and, pressing his mouth into Sim’s copper hair, whispered, “ So did I, my Simkin. So did I.”
Sim closed his eyes in contentment at the intimacy. Without his meaning it, his hand fell to the Lieutenant’s lap, and he realized with a jolt he was touching the man’s most intimate part. He gasped and quickly withdrew his hand. The officer laughed.
Sim said daringly, “You seem well able to contain the ravening beast, Gervase.”
“Ah,” instantly replied his companion, “ use is everything. ‘Tis not an uncommon affliction for us gentlemen of the Senior Service.”
“But how do you manage to conceal such … such forwardness?”
“Well,” said the Lieutenant wisely, “when all suffer the same affliction, then none is singled out. Besides, the men of the navy are very tolerant of the appetites of their fellow sailors since all share these appetites and all share equally the same recompense.”
“Sodomy and the lash, sir?”
The Lieutenant was suddenly silent. He whispered fiercely, “I swear to you, Simkin, I have never ordered a flogging in my entire career.”
Sim smiled and laid his cheek on the man’s shoulder. “I never supposed you had, sir.” Then after a pause, he asked slyly, “And the other, sir?”
Sim sensed the man was slightly shocked, but he laughed – a very intimate laugh.
Then he said, very quietly, “Did you know there is an unspoken agreement within the navy? That, if a ship has been at sea for a year and a day, then certain activities among the crew are winked at by the officers?”
“Like buggery, Gervase?”
The Lieutenant laughed. “It has been known to happen. Among other things.”
Sim was instantly intrigued. “What other things?”
The Lieutenant positioned his mouth close to Sim’s ear and whispered, “Perhaps I will show you – later, when we are alone and I have you compleeeeatly in my power.” And his tongue touched the inside of Sim’s ear.
Sim drew a shuddering breath of pleasure, and deliberately reached his hand down and gently caressed the man’s muscled thigh, touching with his fingertips the soft hardness of his swollen member. It was the Lieutenant’s turn to gasp and laugh. He maneuvered his hips so that he was beyond the touch of those wicked fingers. He looked out and said, “We’re here now.”
Sim looked around with interest. As the cab jolted to a halt, the Lieutenant indicated a portico of a solid, discreet looking brick building. He threw the cloak around Sim and said, “Go. Wait you under the shelter.” Sim clambered down from the cab and made a dash through the teeming rain till he gained the portico, where he looked back to the cab. The Lieutenant was paying the cabbie and then dashed to join Sim outside the front door. With his key, he let them in.
The vestibule of the building was lit by a single candle in a large candlestick on a side table. Crowded round the candlestick, were smaller portable candles in holders, like so many chickens round a mother hen.
The Lieutenant took one of the small candles and lit it from the large candle, then said quietly to Sim, “My rooms are on the second floor.” In the flickering light, Sim preceded him up the solid, polished timber staircase still wearing the boat cloak, dragging it on the stairs behind him.
The Lieutenant’s rooms were a surprise to Sim. He had expected something like Mrs. Jordan’s dressing room, but the main room was fitted out very neatly and cunningly, and lit by the fire burning low in the fireplace. With the candle he carried, the Lieutenant lit several candles about the room and Sim looked around with great interest. It was obviously a man’s room – oak paneling, many books and polished brass naval paraphernalia. A cold supper under dish covers was laid out on a sideboard. The Lieutenant stoked the fire and said, “Come to the fire and warm up,” and he took the cloak from around Sim’s shoulders.
“I must confess, Gervase,” said Sim as he warmed his hands by the fire, “I am rather hungry.”
The Lieutenant flashed him a smile and said, “In a moment. There’s something I have to do first.”
Sim looked around with interest and was startled when the man moved across to him, took him in his arms and kissed him – a long heartfelt and possessive kiss. Surprise rendered Sim unresponsive at first, then he melted into the officer’s arms and clung to his lover, pressing his body to the Lieutenant’s and returning the kiss with as much fire and passion as he received.
They broke apart after a long time, both panting slightly.
With their arms still around each other, they looked into each other’s eyes, both at the same time laughing the same quiet laugh of recognition, excitement and desire. Sim began efficiently to unbutton the officer’s dark blue coat, never fumbling with the large gilt buttons. As soon as the coat was opened, he did the same to the white jean waistcoat.
The Lieutenant, laughing intimately, said, “I see now the skill of your profession.” And he stood with his large hands on Sim’s shoulders, watching the deftness of his nimble fingers.
Sim said, “I am a treasure hunter, sir,” and he quickly and efficiently opened the waistcoat and untied the long white neckerchief. He looked into the man’s eyes and dramatically parted the ruffles of his shirt revealing the column of his neck and the top of his bared chest, saying, “And this is the treasure I seek…” Then he leant slowly forward and pressed his lips to the base of the Lieutenant’s throat.
Under the thrill of the kiss, the Lieutenant breathed raggedly and muttered, “Sweet Jesus!” as Sim began sliding kisses over the bare chest. He grasped Sim by a fistful of copper hair, and pulled his head back, and looked into his face. Sim watched him with open panting mouth and eyes hooded with lust. Ruthlessly, the Lieutenant crushed his mouth to Sim’s invading it with his tongue, and his free hand slid over Sim’s hips till he deliberately cupped Sim’s private parts and massaged the enormity of his erection.
They broke apart again, but the Lieutenant still held him close, and still massaged his engorged member.
“Are you still hungry, beloved?” The Lieutenant asked huskily.
In the throes of chaotic sensation, Sim answered with a foolish grin, “Not for food. O God. Gervase,” he gasped, “have mercy. These breeches are new. I shall befoul them with my sap if you continue.”
He pushed himself out of the reach of the Lieutenant, and then began immediately to divest himself of his clothes. The Lieutenant watched him, amused that a professional dresser should make such a muddle of his own undressing. Sim shed his treasured coat and half unbuttoned his waistcoat; he hopped around on one leg after the other as he wrenched his top boots off and he fumbled at the buttons of the front fall of his breeches and tried to lower them till he realized he had not unbuckled them at the knees.
Vastly amused, the Lieutenant cried, “Stop. Stop. You’re making such a mull of it!” Sim stopped his thrashing about and looked at him, panting with large eyes like an owl. The Lieutenant slowly came within reach of him and gently eased the waistcoat from his torso and then crouched down to unbuckle his breeches, taking time occasionally to nuzzle his private parts. He then lowered the breeches so that Sim stepped out of them. Looking up into Sim’s face, he put his thumbs into the waist of Sim’s drawers, and gently eased them over the turgid member, and slid them down to his ankles. He rolled down the stockings and, as Sim lifted one foot after the other, removed the breeches and the stockings. Sim stood, clad only in his voluminous dress shirt, not knowing what to do with his hands.
The Lieutenant stood, and looking Sim in the eyes, placed his large hands on Sim’s smooth flanks and slid them upwards, divesting Sim of the fine linen shirt as Sim raised his arms to facilitate him. Sim was now completely naked. He crossed his arms over his chest to provide a little warmth, seeming unconscious of the nakedness of his lower torso where his outsized organ hooked stiffly, upwards and out from the explosion of red-gold hair at his groin.
The Lieutenant gazed awe-struck at Sim’s perfect beauty – ivory pale in the candlelight, and muscled like a marble statue of some young god. Sim just looked at him, smiling slightly, a little bit shy, a little bit wanton, but mostly seeking the Lieutenant’s approval.
With a fixed look of wonder on his face, the officer slowly began to strip off his clothes, until he, too stood naked with his back to the fire. Although both were young men in their prime, Sim had the fine muscled body of a stripling, while the Lieutenant was more mature in build, bulkier, more heavily muscled, craggier.
Sim approached him almost with reverence, and he stretched out his hand and slowly ran his fingertips down the Lieutenant’s torso, starting at his wide shoulders. The officer watched him impassively, and Sim followed his fingers over the slab-like chest ruffling the swirling hair, over his rocky stomach till his fingers curled through the luxuriant black springy hair at the base of the man’s huge straining organ. He grasped this organ in wonder, sliding his palm to the broad tip, which was wet and slippery under his touch.
The Lieutenant reached out and gently pulled Sim to him, wrapped his arms around him, and his hands explored Sim’s back, descending to his high round buttocks until his fingers caressed the cleft of his fundament. Sim spread his thighs slightly to ease the Lieutenant’s access.
“Is this one of those mysterious forbidden pleasures of the navy, sir?” Sim murmured archly.
The Lieutenant laughed gently. “Mysterious? Perhaps. Forbidden? Most assuredly. But very very much a pleasure.” And one of his fingers wickedly circled Sim’s fundament. Sim gasped and clung to his lover. He felt the man’s insistent hardness burning against his belly.
The officer whispered with his mouth close to Sim’s ear, “I would have you. Now.” And he scooped Sim up into his arms and effortlessly carried him curled into a ball, into the shadowed bedroom. He gently laid Sim on the bed and climbed over him on his hands and knees. He kissed Sim many times and then murmured, “There will be pain…”
Sim ran the palms of his hands up and down the Lieutenant’s rocky arms.
“I am no virgin, Gervase,” he whispered, “Like every man in the theatre I have experienced the ways of Sodom on more than one occasion, and have grown partial to being stretched and plumbed. Do not fear that I am too fragile.”
His lover nuzzled the base of his throat and said, “It seems then, my wanton, we both have been prepared for this moment – you, as a child of the theatre, and I, as a son of the navy, for I have been taught by masters to delight in planting my staff in the warm depths of a man’s arse.”
Sim giggled and raised his pelvis towards the officer so that their stiff organs began dueling. They played at dueling for several minutes, the Lieutenant on top, Sim below. Long sticky trails of clear slime began to form a criss-cross of spider webs joining one to the other, and all the while they giggled and chuckled like school boys, engrossed in their naughtiness, till suddenly the officer raised himself, kneeling on the bed, his muscled thighs apart, with Sim prone between them. Sim fondled the man’s staff and bollocks with both hands, while the Lieutenant leaned over suddenly to the small table beside the bed and took up a small glass jar.
Grinning wickedly, he held it in front of Sim’s face and deliberately dipped his finger into the jar. He waved the finger under Sim’s nose, and Sim breathed in the sweet aroma of lavender.
“What is it?” he asked.
The Lieutenant kissed him on the mouth and then said, “This will ease the passage of love.” And he reached down between his legs and unerringly placed that finger on Sim’s fundament. Sim gasped. It was cold. The Lieutenant murmured, “Gently, my love,” as the finger swirled round and round and delicately invaded Sim’s hole, greasing it up with the scented ointment. Sim found the sensation wonderful. The scent of lavender filled the air. All he could do was vocalize a long, ”Aaaah!” as the Lieutenant tenderly prepared him for penetration. Then the Lieutenant raised himself up again and applied a generous dollop of the ointment to the blunt end of his organ and maneuvered his hips till Sim suddenly felt the hot tip slithering in the cleft of his buttocks.
The Lieutenant slid his large hands under Sim’s shoulders and said, “And now I plant my flag.” And he pressed his organ to Sim’s hole. The pressure was slow but unrelenting, and Sim gasped as he felt the large head pop through the threshold of his chute. Slowly, slowly the Lieutenant kept advancing, and Sim felt like a balloon gradually being filled with air. There was pain, but it was bearable and the pain was soon muffled by the wonder of the warmth and intimacy he was feeling. He sank his fingers into the Lieutenant’s rocky shoulders as the wide pole kept up it’s slow advance, until, when he thought he could be stretched no further, he felt the man’s wiry bush rubbing his buttocks.
With open mouth and stentorious breathing, Sim felt his body of its own accord begin to undulate to the slow rhythm of the Lieutenant’s movement, as the Lieutenant began the long measured tread of the dance of love – moving his hips sensually back and forth, playing Sim’s body like a musical instrument, with Sim responding with groans and gasps. The Lieutenant watched Sim through slitted eyes, leaning forward so that their breath mingled.
They moved together as one. Sim lifted his legs around the small of the Lieutenant’s back and his fingers raked and massaged the deep back muscles of the man’s shoulders, and still the Lieutenant continued his deep rhythmic thrusting, bending forward to plant sucking kisses on Sim’s neck and shoulders.
He murmured, “My love, my love,” chanting quietly following the rhythm of his thrusting, and rippling the hard muscles of his stomach so that he caressed the length of Sim’s swollen organ which was pressed between their bodies.
Sim’s orgasm started deep within his bowels and spread throughout his lower body, until it flowered in a quaking explosion through his organ causing their bellies to slip and slide together as he moved wildly under the sweating body of his lover. He cried out and was joined by the officer as he, too, spewed his seed deep into the deepest recesses of Sim’s body.
And then it was over. The Lieutenant collapsed on top of Sim’s naked body, sweating and panting, while Sim began a drowsy contented giggling, holding the man fast to him. When the officer began to move, Sim held him tighter, whispering, “Stay in me! Stay in me!” and he kissed the man deeply, on the lips, his tongue invading the Lieutenant’s mouth as he ran his hands over his back, savoring the steel in him. He clutched the back of the Lieutenant’s head, his fingers encircling the stubby ribbon-bound queue, holding their faces together.
When at last they broke the kiss, Sim said wistfully, “ I wanted it to last longer – I could not hold back.”
The Lieutenant whispered, “You held back until exactly the right moment, my love, for your culmination matched mine to perfection.”
Sim felt strange emotions, somewhere between crying and laughing.
They lay in euphoric contentment for several minutes, then the Lieutenant sighed and slowly rolled off Sim, his rapidly softening organ leaving Sim with a slight pop. He twisted his body and engulfed Sim’s organ with his mouth. Sim cried out. The pleasure was an agony almost too exquisite to bear. He was shocked to feel that his organ once again began to stiffen.
“Gervase, I cannot. Not so soon.”
The Lieutenant broke off from his relentless sucking. “And now, my love, you will see what the navy is famous for.” And he rose up and straddled Sim on his hands and knees, his enormous organ dangling over Sim’s face, while he continued kissing and licking and sucking Sim’s own organ. Sim felt the large hot head of the member enticingly rubbing his face and cheeks, and in an action that seemed as natural as the seasons passing, he opened his mouth and accepted it. The Lieutenant began to lower and raise his hips, sliding the organ in and out of Sim’s eager mouth, while his own mouth performed its magic on Sim. In no time at all, it seemed, they each of them rewarded the other with copious doses of love.
Sim awoke with a start. The night was still dark. The candles in the other room had burnt out but there was a slight flickering light from the fire. He heard the rain on the roof, and felt the Lieutenant’s warm breath on his neck. He was so comfortable, so content that he did not want to move, though he sensed that dawn was near and he realized that he must leave very soon before the household had risen. He shook the Lieutenant softly.
“Gervase,” he said softly, “wake up. Wake up.”
His sailor lover mumbled and stirred, scraping Sim’s bare chest with his stubbled chin.
“Gervase, I must go,” Sim said urgently.
The Lieutenant’s beautiful eyes opened. “Stay,” he said, “Stay with me. I cannot lose you now. Not now.”
Sim gently stroked his hair. “You will not lose me, love.” He said. “But I must go – while it is still dark – no one must see me.”
“But I want the world to see you,” the Lieutenant said, “I want the world to see us – together.”
“No, Gervase,” Sim said laughingly, but firmly, “you would never survive the scandal. No. I must go, and be away from here before the sun rises.” And he crawled over his lover and moved, naked, to the next room. He hunted around in the dim flickering light and found his clothes, while the Lieutenant, naked also, began to light the candles.
Sim was very quick and efficient in getting dressed, far more efficient than with his undressing. When he was finished, he stood and looked at his lover, who was watching him forlornly.
“Gervase,” said Sim quietly, “I shall ever remember this night. You have given me a taste of honey.”
“No.” The Lieutenant replied harshly. “Do not speak as though we shall not meet again. Do not, I beg you.” And he moved across the room the room and fiercely embraced him.
Sim said, as he lingered in the embrace, “One of us, I fear, must be sensible. Of course we shall meet again, but we must meet without …expectation, as close but indifferent friends. You must remember your family, Mr. Levison, and your career, and if you cannot, then I must remember for you.” He grinned suddenly. “And remember also, you still owe me a meal, and I shall hold you to it.”
One final kiss and he was gone.
He had to run through the dark streets from shelter to shelter in the rain, but he had no thought of his clothes being ruined. His heart was light and his feet scarce seemed to touch the cobbles. Besides, the rain seemed to be easing. At that time of morning, there was no chance of picking up a cab, but his sense of direction was good and within half an hour he was in the vicinity of Drury Lane where he had his lodging.
Sim had taken a room in an old-fashioned building that used to be a coaching house, but in more recent times it had been converted into a private rooming house. Its location made it the prime residence of the whores who frequented the streets around Drury Lane. With the exception of a few elderly relicts, Sim believed that he was the only male who had a room in the building. It suited him very well. The rent was cheap and his neighbors were friendly and discreet, minding their own business and ignoring his. He was able to attend to his duties at the theatre with the minimum of inconvenience to himself.
Dawn was breaking, and, as he mounted the outside staircase to his room, Sim heard a merry call. “Wotcha Simmy!” He looked up to the balcony above. In the early morning light he saw a tousled head looking down at him. He laughed and waved.
He climbed the staircase to the next level and was greeted with the sight of one of Drury Lane’s Vestals waving at him vigorously and she ran to meet him.
“You’re up early, Belle,” he said.
“I ain’t been to sleep, Simmy. Still workin’ “ She pointed back along balcony to her client, a figure half hidden in the doorway.
“Why aren’t you with him?” Sim asked.
“Gotta piss,” she said, “Can’t stop.” He stood aside, and as she passed she shot him a mischievous look and said, “You smell like you had a good time.”
Sim flushed red, suddenly aware that having become heated by hurrying away from Gloucester Street, he now reeked of sweat, lavender and the fluids of love. He immediately decided he would have to wash at once. He hurried to his room, passing as he did so, Belle’s room where the man, bare-chested and smoking a cigarillo, watched him with an inscrutable expression. Sim paused under his gaze, and he nodded a slight bow. The man gave no sign of recognition, but still gazed at him impassively and blew a cloud of smoke. Sim recognized his breeches as military, but he was not so familiar with official colors and patterns that he could name the man’s regiment.
He hurried to his room where he carefully removed his clothes, and wearing only his small clothes, he made his way to the washroom at the end of the balcony. He disliked washing in cold water, but there was none hot ready to be used, and he felt washing was of the first priority. He had a quick and not very satisfactory sponge bath. Later in the day he would visit one of the public bathhouses to have a more thorough bath, but until then, this sponge bath would have to suffice. Because there was no one else about, he daringly lowered his drawers and thoroughly washed his nether regions, paying particular attention to the oozings from his fundament. When at last he was finished, he toweled himself dry and returned to his room.
As he stepped out on the balcony, he saw that Belle’s customer had left her room and was sitting on the balcony rail, smoking. He watched Sim as he left the washroom, and Sim began to feel a little uncomfortable under this scrutiny. He ignored the man and entered his room and flopped on his bed. He suddenly felt weary having had little sleep. Fortunately there was no day performance so he was not wanted at the theatre until late afternoon.
Over the next two days, Sim had only one communication from the Lieutenant. It was a letter that said merely, “My thanks, love.” And was signed “G”. Laconic though this was, it brought a warm glow to Sim, and he carried the letter around like a talisman next to his heart, even though he half laughed at himself for such girlish sentimentality.
Mrs. Jordan was immediately aware of the change in him. He was distracted and wore a little smile, even when discharging his duties as her dresser. Because she was, at heart, a kind woman, she forbore to refine upon it, deciding that any comment she might make would only make him uncomfortable and embarrassed.
One evening soon after, about an hour before the performance was due to begin, Harry the assistant stage manager banged on the dressing room door and called out, “Visitor to see you Simmy!”
Mrs. Jordan was a little shocked to see the sudden change that came over her dresser. He grinned and flushed and she gave him a speaking look. He hurried to the door and opened it and asked Harry, rather breathlessly, “Who is it, Harry?”
Harry answered chirpily, “Captain Levison.”
Sim laughed, “Lieutenant Levison, I think, Harry.”
“Nah,” said Harry, “Captain. Military geezer. Left his card.” And he handed Sim a card and disappeared.
Sim looked at the card without seeing it, so great was his shock.
He looked at Mrs. Jordan. “Military?” She snatched the card from his lifeless fingers.
“Captain James Levison.” She read.
After a moment of reflection, she said, “Saltash’s name is James. This must be his grandson.”
Sim felt a shadow of foreboding. “A relation?” He asked.
She looked at him. “How could he know?” Sim shook his head in complete ignorance.
She said, ”You’ll have to see him.”
Sim snapped out of his stupor and shrugged into his coat. She stopped him before he left.
“Sim. Be warned. There is a streak of … unsteadiness in Saltash, which, from all reports, his heir has inherited. I pray you – take care.”
Sim smiled a wan smile. “I will, ma’am, and I thank you.”
He had a terrible sense of déjà vu as he descended the spiral staircase and approached the green room. Holding the card in his hand, he entered the room. There was only one man there – a soldier in full regimentals. The First Life Guards, Sim recognized immediately. Taking a breath he said as pleasantly as he could, “Captain Levison?”
The man looked at him impassively, and Sim recognizes, with a jolt, the man who had been Belle’s client, who had watched him going to and fro to the washroom.
The Captain said harshly, “Your name is Tregear?”
Sim raised his eyebrows slightly. “Simkin Tregear. Yes sir. Can I be of service?”
The Captain said disdainfully, “No, Mr. Tregear. You cannot be of service. I am come merely to see with my own eyes the bumboy whore who is intent on destroying my family.”