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London, England, 1851
Ding ding ding! The bell over the bookstore door tinkled.
The woman who entered was small, trim, and alone. She wore a large, unfashionable brown hat, gloves, and a navy blue day dress with a fitted bodice and full skirt.
Finnegan, unpacking a box of dusty old books in the rear of his store, hoped she had coin to spend. Business had been slow. The Great Exhibition had easily lured away his customers. The giant crystal palace, machines that could sew whole coats in minutes, and motor cars were more fascinating than books, even to him. Murphy's Fine Used Books could not compete with 13,000 exhibits, especially when the whole point was to show the rest of the world how superior England was. Everyone in London was there. Everyone, except Finnegan Murphy, and this odd looking girl.
She did not seem to see him and, with her head turned away, her hat hid her face. Finn watched her slowly draw her gloved fingers over a shelf of leathery spines, books he kept lovingly organized by subject and author. Horticulture, botany, flower arranging.
She moved on, and he glimpsed the tilted corner of her mouth as it lifted into what had to be a smile. She was young, too young to be in a shop unaccompanied unless she was a working girl. A governess perhaps, educated enough to read, though one never knew these days. He'd had gypsies and clowns wander over from the Exhibition and, as different as they were, he had been glad to see paying, book loving customers.
History, culture, architecture. This girl passed them all by.
Finn's usual, cheery, "Good morning! May I help you find something?" died as only a thought. Instead of speaking, he stepped down an aisle, shielding himself from the girl's view, watching her.
She wiggled long, white fingers free of ladylike, ivory-colored gloves, and removed her ridiculous hat. Her hair was dark and pulled smoothly into a twist at the nape of her neck. The resulting coiled bun looked heavy, and Finn had a vision of her with it loosened. He imagined it reached her waist, and that silken tendrils would flirt with the full breasts held so primly covered by her sensible dress. He imagined nipples as lush as baby-pink fruit, cool on his tongue.
When she turned cat-slanted, amber eyes his way, and their gazes locked, he knew he was lost, though he knew not why. She was exotically pretty, yes. A book lover, obviously. And, those eyes were mesmerizing, true. But, what set her apart from other pretty girls who liked books? Would something justify the violent lust burning through his body as he watched her?
"Forgive me, Miss. I didn't hear you come in," Finn lied, wiping dusty hands on the white smock worn to protect his clothing while handling the books. He rounded the corner, and came face to face with the woman he found so inexplicably arousing.
She was a tiny thing, barely reaching his shoulders. Her hands trembled as she hastily tugged her gloves back onto her fingers. "And, I did not see you, Sir. Quite all right." Her voice was soft, and held a slight quiver.
"May I help you find something? Dickens, Browning, Bronte?"
"No, thank you. Might I just explore?"
"Absolutely. Please, take all the time you would like." Finn escaped, sidestepping away from her, quickly past mystery and science, back to where the crate of books waited to be sorted and shelved.
Good god! What was wrong with him? His breath was ragged. His heart pounded, and his cock had been stiff from the moment she had walked into the bookstore.
He could not stop himself from peering over a row of poetry, watching as she seemed to spy something of interest on a top shelf. Tugging the rolling ladder over, she climbed up and stayed up, curvy hip cocked and leaning into the shelf of books as she read her selection. Finn's mouth went dry when he saw her snug fitting little boots and trim ankles topped with the crisp, white lace edging of her bloomers.
Out of view of the door, and the tantalizing customer, Finn angled his body into the bookcase. A fresh dose of musty leather and papery decay smell hit his nose, increasing his sharp yearning. He did love books. His fingers slid slowly over a buttery soft leather spine. He gripped the book with one hand. Through smock and trouser, ridges of book spines rubbed over his turgid shaft as he pressed himself closer to the bookcase. Baudelaire, Browning, Byron. He watched the girl who still perched atop the ladder, unaware of Finn's raging desire or the battle he fought within himself. A tiny voice urged him to go to her and slide his palms over her shoes, encircle her ankles with his fingers and climb up and under her prim and proper skirt to the bare skin that must lie within all that lace.
He thought of what would happen to him in one of London's squalid prisons if he was jailed for rape and he paled, turning his eyes from her and walking toward the front of the store, via the row she was in. One more look, close up, he told himself. Then, professional courtesy when she departed. Nothing more.
He kept his gaze on the pointy toes of her boots as he sidestepped past, assaulted with a vision of her wearing nothing but those boots. Her skirts brushed his chin, and he stopped in front of the ladder. The scent of lavender and cotton wool mingled with the store's bookish aroma. He had to bite his lip sharply to keep from groaning. His fingers slid over the ladder step to just touch the heel of her boot. A thrill shot through him.
About to tear himself away, determined to keep to his plan of ignoring her, he saw what section had so caught her eye, and inspired her to climb the precarious ladder. Kept on the highest shelf in the store were a few slim volumes devoted to erotica, exotica and other literature of a more taboo nature. Highly inappropriate for the average customer, yet sought after by enough that Finn always had a few in the store. This girl was the first person who had ever braved the ladder to get a closer look.
She held The Way of a Man With a Maid, so absorbed that she did not even seem to know Finn was there below her, slowly angling his head, trying to catch a glimpse of what lay between her legs.
The perverse book, about the seduction of a young girl by a gentleman who has an erotic torture chamber in his home, contained scenes of rape, mother-daughter incest and extreme sexual suffering. Finn liked its straight forward style and quirky sense of humour, but was shocked to see a woman reading it.
She continued to flip pages, her eyes moving rapidly back and forth. Seemingly unaware of his presence below her, she lifted one booted foot to rest on a higher rung. Finn saw a clean, white petticoat and chemise.
He imagined the thrill of watching her peel off her layers of clothing as she stood on the ladder. She would lean back, naked, her hands touching some of his finest books, as he feasted on her. No, she would remove everything but the ankle boots. And she would pull the books down from their shelves, so excited would she be by his expert attentions. Finn would help her from the ladder and lean her over a pile of books that would lift her hips to just the right height for a good plowing. No one would enter the store. They would be free to frolic. After, perhaps she would come upstairs to his modest abode and they could read to one another. He had a feeling she might appreciate some of the books in his most private collection.
"Oh!" She'd seen him, lurking below like the worst sort of reprobate. Her foot had come back down to a more modest rung, though she still carried the copy of The Way of a Man With a Maid close to her bosom. Her cheeks held a high flush.
Finn had never seen a lovelier woman. "I, um. Might I be of some assistance?" he asked her, stepping away from the ladder as she came down.
What had come over him? Clearly he had upset the girl. Acting like a complete degenerate. So unlike him. And, she did not know the worst of it. She would have been horrified to know of his lurid thoughts and desires.
She jammed her hat back atop her head and, unspeaking, made her way to the counter.
Finn gathered his pride and usual professionalism around him and took her coin, wrapping her book in brown paper and tying it with twine. He made no comment over her selection.
Ding ding ding! The bell over the bookstore door tinkled as she left, without a goodbye.
****
Prudence Smyth's cheeks burned as she hurried down the street, clutching her purchase to her chest.
Hyde Park was busy, the Exhibition in full swing. Throngs lined up to enter the now famed Crystal Palace, happy to pay the shilling for admittance.
Pru joined the crowd, wishing her reticule were large enough to stash her parcel in, just wanting to dispose of the book now that she'd managed to botch things completely at the bookseller's.
She passed by the machines and food stalls, the trees and gardens, until she came to the areas meant just for fun. Here entertainers walked atop stilted legs, clowns juggled and little dogs did tricks for the amusement of crowds bored with technological wonders. A tent with its doors folded back in welcome, decorated with images of moons and stars sat off to one side.
"I brought your book," Pru said to old Romany fortune teller inside the tent, thrusting the package into her hands.
"And, did you get your man too?" She cackled.
"No." Prudence knew now that this whole thing had been ridiculous and just wanted to be done with it all. The things in that book! Shocking. Oddly exciting, true, but nice girls did not read books like that, let alone purchase them. Still, the way she had felt, surrounded by all those lovely books, in the presence of such a handsome man, reading about such forbidden things. It had certainly been an adventure, she thought.
"Did you speak with him?"
"No. I was absolutely tongue-tied. I am sure he would have been horrified to know why I was there. As it is, he must have been terribly shocked to see what I purchased."
"Ah. Well now, there you are wrong, dearie. Had you but the courage to do as I instructed that man would have fallen under your spell. Maybe next time."
"Next time? I do not see how I could ever show my face to him again after the way I acted."
"You'd get farther showing him something more." The gypsy laughed and then narrowed her eyes, leaning forward and lowering her voice as if sharing a secret. "Any more and I charge you, but this I give you for free. Go back. Talk to the man. Say hello or climb that ladder again wearing nothing 'neath your skirts. That'll nab you a husband toot sweet!"
"Thank you." Pru thought she would do no such thing, but she couldn't help but wonder if the woman was right. Maybe if she went back, didn't act like such a ninny, and just said hello, things might go better. Mr. Murphy had seemed interested in her too.
****
Sabina Fa clucked her tongue as the girl left. These silly chits would never learn. She could take their coin for her advice, but she could not make them heed it. Over and over she would point them in the right directions, tell them exactly what to do (which was usually as simple as putting themselves in the path of their chosen and stating their desire plainly), and over and over, they refused to listen. Now, when she gave someone a feather and said it was magic, or a bit of water in a vial made of red glass, they would say whatever silly words she told them to over their new talisman, complete any ritual. Was it really so hard to speak aloud one's wishes?
Ah well. The lovesick girls did keep her in books she would otherwise never have purchased on her own. Her husband would fall dead of shocked horror if he knew of her tastes, so she had found a way to indulge her baser needs without him being any the wiser. There were so many bookstores in London, so many girls willing to do anything to find true love.
She stashed the book under the mattress in the back of the tent, wishing she had time to read it and indulge in a little afternoon rub, but she already heard the rustling sounds of her next customer outside. Smoothing her skirts, she went to meet them.
****
Sabina's husband, Elijah, finished with his chores and tired after a long day of hustling outside the tent, settled in their bed. Fishing a meaty hand under the mattress, he dug out the latest book, The Way of a Man With a Maid.
His wife would be busy long into the night, and he would have all the time he needed to read and diddle. It really was too bad, he thought, that they could not read it together, but his wife would surely die of shame if she knew he'd discovered her hidden treasures.
****
Ding ding ding! The bell over the bookstore door tinkled.
The woman who entered was small, trim, and alone. She wore a large, unfashionable, brown hat, gloves, and a navy blue day dress with a fitted bodice and full skirt.
"Hello," Pru said.
Finnegan Murphy smiled. "Hello."