Joy V. Sheridan writes

Charity Amour

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN part 2

So it was that Fibbins, dandified and loudly ostentatious in his apparel and manners, set off in pursuit of Black Jake de Villier’s den of iniquity. Not only had his good lordship set Fibbins up in a more than passable disguise with regard to clothing and headgear, he also saw to it that there was a credible story. 

He pressed coin upon his serving man and promised him more, should it be needed to loosen tongues, once their objective looked to be coming into sight. John Fibbins’s story was that he was an itinerant thief - one fond to excess of wine, women and song. 

He had come abroad from his native homeland in pursuit of some fabulous pickings, but had - alas - come unstuck as his initial calculations had proven to show wrong. Thus, hardening his demeanour, he was eventually directed to Black Jake’s watering hole. 

It was not unforeseeable that he should run across the man, Mellors, and in due course of gambling and generally creating bawdy mayhem together, the two men struck up more than a passing acquaintanceship. Fibbins proved an apt and able liar, and after gaining Mellors’ ear he broached the subject of his own impecunity, ooh-ing and aah-ing at the fun he felt he was missing because of his impoverished financial status. So did the conversations eventually drag around to the fairer sex and, with relish, John Fibbins expounded upon his ideal, fancy woman. 

Mellors listened to these ramblings, greatly amused, assuring Fibbins that despite fine trimmings, all birds looked the same plucked. Fibbins, appearing to be deep in his cups, had slurched a question in Mellors’ ear. How did he know that? Mellors, wishing to be taken for more than he was, alluded to a house of pleasure he had oft-times tarried to and he had - so he said convincingly - sampled the goods therein and not found them to be too far removed from say, - the maid, - in the street. “Mind you,” Mellors had continued, “the dame as runs the establishment is an unusual cultured and refined woman - a great beauty, even though now she touches ’pon thirty-five.” ‘Ah,’ thought John Fibbins, ‘Perhaps we are getting somewhere at length’. "How exactly did you get to experience this, urrhumm, courtesan and her charms, then .Michael? (It were best to bear in mind that Mellors was not adverse to using an alias). “To be blunt, John, I do a little delivery work now and then. You know, help the lady select staff, for all departments of her business you understand, and well, by that route I have relative easy access to the cosy ports that are usually forbidden to a simple wayfarer.”

John Fibbins's eyes had glittered through the smoky, red-lit interior of the tavern, “Do ya now! Staff, eh?!” 

“Naturally, Madame needs lackeys and stablers the same as the rest of ’em. Not to mention cooks, and chamber maids and waiting staff. Mind you, she does seem to have more female lackeys than male upon her staff. And sometimes,” here the man rubbed a thick finger beside his thick oily and blackheaded nose, “I do get the chance to take her a real, luscious piece!” 

Mellors grinned broadly and slopped another mouthful of cheap, potent brandy down his throat. “Yes, blonde one was – English too, no more than eighteen years of age, if she was that. But built...” he whistled and made crude gestures with his hands, “Why, like you could never imagine! I should know, I felt the tits on it!” Fibbins made a facial expression which spoke that he was more than suitably impressed.

“’Ere, Michael: wot’s this dame’s name then. The one that runs the show? Go on, you can tell John Fibbins!” “Can’t do no harm I s’pose, seein’ as you’re one of me own kind. Some calls her ‘Natalie’, but I knows ’er as Madame or Madame d’Esprit. I’m not on first name terms yet!”

Fibbins tickled a piece of hair away from his nostril: “I bin thinkin’ Michael. You recall I told you I was landed wif bringin’ me kid sister along, seein’ as Ma died, and there wasn’t no one to take care of ’er? Well, you says that this ’ere Madame Natalie, or whatever ’er name is, often needs new girls...oh, staff and suchlike. Well, I was wonderin’ - to do us both a favour like, whether you couldn’t - fer a smallish remuneration like - see if you couldn’t get me kid sister orf me ’ands fer me? Might give me the time an’ opportunity to set me own ’ouse in order, so ta speak.” “That hard up, are we John?” 

Mellors guffawed, "Well, I don’t know.... Does she need any new girls at present? Mind you, she always needs staff to keep the house ticking over. Can’t seem to keep them for long, so there's a possibility. Tell you what, let me have a squint at this sister of yours and if she don’t meet the one requirement, I should say, she'd do passably well to join the lackeys. I could let you have an answer within a forty eight hour period. Why, the Château des Amourettes ain’t so far removed. Why don’t you say, promenade your sister somewhere accessible and public tomorrow? That way I can size her up for her suitability.” 

John Fibbins did not look exactly pleased at Mellors’ last remarks and feeling honour-bound, he exclaimed: “Sure my sister ain’t no great beauty, but she ain’t as plain as a pikestaff neither!” 

Mellors cocked a hairy eyebrow, the hint of a sneer on his face: “Hold yer horses John, don't get into high dudgeon. I was only trying to gauge her, shall we say, potential worth.” “If that’s the case then she's worth a lot ’cos she’s got one precious commodity not possessed by many of ’er sex. She don’t chatter away idly fer hours at a time. Nor do she listen to telltales!” “Howzat?” 

“Because she’s a deaf an’ dumb mute, ain’t she!” Mellors’ eyes twinkled, “Oh, I see! Very rare that is. But wouldn’t that make life a bit difficult? Hearing directions, orders, what have you?” “Not at all. Molly’s a clever girl. She ’as ’er ways and means!” 

John Fibbins looked pleased that he had been able to speak up on behalf of the sister he was even then - purportedly - thinking of selling into slavery. 

He was following Lord Seyton Clover’s directions to the tee. He was unscrupulous, cunning and low. And his sister was the nearest relation he had to his mother! So selling was their parable. 

Thus was John Fibbins able to report back to Lord Seyton Clover that it looked now very likely that they were headed towards success. With speeding fingers and assorted gestures, Fibbins explained to his sister the role she was to assume. 

She had looked dubious about the situation but His Lordship had entered the dialogue with the suggestion that, should Molly be unwilling to act the part of a novice ‘Lady of Amour’, even for a very short amount of time, then she should look the very epitome of the servant girl. He also added that if her valorous exertions on both his and the missing young woman’s behalf would entail that she go above and beyond the call of duty she should be even more handsomely rewarded on their return to London. Thus he would up what he had stated as payment earlier. 

This seemed to please Molly and the business was duly completed with skillful aplomb by all parties. Fibbins had made a great show of not wanting to see his sister to her new place of residence, saying with tears in his eyes that such a business were best conducted between her and her new mistress now. He received a smallish sum of money whilst she was handed into the post-chaise and was promised a more substantial amount on Mellors’ return to Paris. 

Ah! But had the coachman, the postillion or indeed any of the passengers within the confines of that vehicle (barring Molly, that is) been more alert, they would have realised that their coach was shadowed throughout the shortish journey by two riders. And one of these riders kept scribbling names taken from signposts and villages with a stub of pencil in a small notebook. 

At the village of Montérique, the coach drew to a halt and Molly and Mellors were seen to alight from the vehicle. Lord Seyton Clover had bidden Fibbins to hide himself more acutely behind a clump of overhanging branches. Fortunately for those two, who did not, after all, wish to be observed, the day was foul and rainy, enough to keep all workers and others in their places of employment or at home. 

They watched an open landau move towards the stationary duo and with a muddy squelch, the smaller vehicle was off and away. 

Lord Seyton Clover and his henchman watched it as it manoeuvred into a long, tree-skirted driveway. After the sounds of horses and coach had lowered into an indistinct cacophony, the waiting riders edged forward. There upon the broken pillars was inscribed the goal they sought: ‘LE CHATEAU DES AMOURETTES’. 

With a curt nod, Lord Seyton Clover indicated that they withdraw. Finding their way back the short distance to a local hostelry, they dismounted and sought drink and food, using the seclusion and desertion of the tap-room they were in, to discuss - in hushed whispers - what was to be their next move. 

Such was the outcome of their rapid planning that it was agreed that John Fibbins - as unapproachable hopefully, and as sinister looking as his master, - for the roads were rumoured to be thick with cut-throats and thieves - should reroute himself back to Paris to pick up his ill-gotten gains for the sale of Molly, his sister.