Page 25 of The Songbird of Wychwood

CHAPTER 18

PERCY

Languid, in my post-sex haze, I sauntered dreamily down Drury Lane and turned onto Kingsway to hail a hansom cab. It was just after eight o’clock in the morning and the city was already a bustle. The night had been intense and marvelous. I’d had no idea that sexual union could be, well, fun! The act was taught by the Church as the right of man, an act of solemn duty for procreation and not for pleasure. The boys at school shared ribald jokes about the act, and at university male virginity was seen as a burden and humiliation that a man must rid himself of as quickly as possible. My university friends used sex as a means of testing one’s manhood and as a reason for braggadociousness. I’d played along and in fear of a mocking, said I’d been with a girl, but secretly I’d remained a virgin. Maybe I’d been so intimidated by their machismo that I’d cut myself off from what intimacy could be? And of course, I was an invert and did not wish to endure the social sanction that revelation would have received. But finally, at the age of twenty-six I was no longer a virgin…and surprisingly, I was still me. I’d spent so many years, my head in the clouds reading the romantic poets with their highfalutin ideal of love. I’d thought that sex would transform me in some way, maybe it had, but what I’d shared with George was neither a reason to brag, nor the romantic ideal, it was deeply personal and I wanted to hold it to my chest and protect it like a fragile precious thing. And yet, George and I barely knew one another, so how could this connection be real?

I hadn’t slept much at all; not after George looked at me like he had when we made love, Oxford style. He watched me with such tenderness in his gaze as I held my legs up and pressed them tight together, and then he thrust his slicked prick between my thighs, brushing over my bawsack, his hand frigging my stand. I’d found it almost unbearable to be so naked, so vulnerable with him, but George had made it good for me, good for both of us, I hoped. I wanted him to do it again, to go further the next time.

We’d agreed to see one another for luncheon on Tuesday and, honestly, I couldn’t be happier. I hailed a cab to take me to Greenwich, and so lost was I in writing pretty words in my head, that it felt like I closed my eyes and then a moment later the cab pulled up outside Blackwood Hall.

It was Saturday morning and according to the Grandfather clock in the foyer, just after nine a.m. I heard the twittering of ladies and intermittent laughter in the drawing room. Thoughtless with happiness, I boldly knocked on the door and stepped in.

“Ah! Good morning mother, ladies,” I beamed, unable to stop from smiling. Mother was taking tea with her Guardians of the Poor church group. At the sudden interruption I received several scandalous glares from the older ladies. Then I looked down at myself, wearing wrinkled garments that had spent a night on the floor of George’s room while I lay in his bed of seduction and sin. I supposed I did look a little worse for wear rolling in after a night out!

“The good Lord has blessed us with a sunny spring day, Ladies,” I offered to cover my embarrassment.

Mother eyed me suspiciously. “Are you quite alright Percy?”

“Yes, yes, quite alright. Just appreciating the blessings of the day, mother. You look radiant today mother, simply radiant,” I added. This was met with more glances of suspicion.

“Do you want something Percival? We are having a private meeting,” Mother reprimanded.

“Apologies. Um, is, er…is father home?” I was sure that after the church group left, I would get quite the telling off for my strange behaviour!

“Your father is in his study, and don’t forget, we’re entertaining Mr. and Mrs. Campbell, and their daughters, Angeline and Victoria this evening. I do hope you’ll have…bathed by then.”

Ouch, that was quite the barb, and in front of her ladies too! I’d quite forgotten that mother had arranged yet another interminable dinner to force me into socializing with more daughters of the elite. I nodded and wished the group good day, and then I stalked through the halls towards my father’s study. I was brimming with inspiration after my night with George, not only for my poetry, but I’d also mulled over an idea that could be beneficial for both of us, however, I’d need to run it past father first.

When I reached the study, which had also been grandfather’s study I paused, straightened my garments and then knocked.

“Enter,” he barked. I opened the door and stepped in. The room still smelled like Theo and a pang of sadness hit me. I recalled the secrets he shared only with me, and I renewed my vow to do as he’d advised and live my life as I believed was fitting, not society. Theo’s token to gain entrance to Wychwood had been the best gift I’d ever received. It led me to meet a glorious man and now I would venture to know him as a friend and a lover!

My father appeared impeccably dressed and his hair, mutton chops, and moustache were well-groomed and oiled. However, I could not miss the tired eyes. I’d suggested he should delegate more tasks to his underlings, but he was a Harcourt through and through, so he took his duty seriously. He was seated behind grandfather’s desk, but the huge slab of mahogany dwarfed him. Victor Harcourt was slighter of build than grandfather Theodore had been and so it always took me as strange to see father in Theo’s place.

Father looked up from his paperwork. “Ah, Percy! Have you just gotten home; you rogue?” he said with a wry grin. “You do look rather chipper. I do hope you were careful and she was worth it,” he chuckled. “Your mother didn’t sleep a wink, waiting to hear you coming in. I did tell her that we men need the freedom to sow our wild oats before marriage, and our Percy is a chip off the old block,” he smiled with self-satisfaction.

I plastered the expected grin on my face but did not favour talking of intimate matters with my father. I was aware of mother’s recent religious fervor and my father’s dislike of the sinful behaviour of sodomites. If only he’d known his own father was an invert and I was a chip from that same block! I was sure that the revelation would see me disinherited and the shock of not getting grandchildren, for I had no plans to become a father, would probably kill mother.

“I made the mistake of interrupting mother’s ladies at tea. She was not best pleased with me,” I admitted.

“Ha! Your mother always puts on airs for her ladies, serves you right. I always hide in here when the Guardians of the Poor are meeting. I have the feeling that if they got a hold of me they’d turn me upside down and shake every last coin out of my pockets…for the needy, of course.”

“Always so wise, father!” I laughed. “Speaking of your doubtless wisdom, I’ve had a business idea and I wanted to run it past you before I do anything about it.”

“Ahh, there’s nothing like a good tupping to get the brain sparking, eh!” he said tapping a finger on his head. “Come, take a seat, and tell me about your idea.”

We each took one of the comfortable high-backed chairs by the hearth and I felt veritably giddy with the swirl of ideas in my head.

“Has Harcourt Press ever considered music publishing?” I began.

Father was quiet for a long moment of thought. “I don’t believe so. I suppose that this is an area you’d be interested in pursuing?”

“It is. I’m acquainted with several composers, and I’ve recently met an excellent lyricist. I don’t believe that they are contracted anywhere. With our printing and distribution connections I would like to set up a new business to print sheet music. Say, tunes from music halls, piano music, short Operas, and musical plays, in sheet and book form. I would ensure the composers earned a royalty, while their music would be shared across the Empire.”

“That is quite the vision, Percy. There are a handful of other musical manuscript publishers who focus on niches like waltzes, brass band marches, or even religious songs. I do believe Hopwood is involved in music publishing.” Father paused, his right index finger tapping ponderously on his lips. “Yes, John Hopwood is a good sort. He’s a member of my club. I’ll introduce you to him if you’d like and you can pick his brain.”

“Thank you. It would be beneficial to speak to someone in this line of business.”

“And, any thoughts on how would you finance this endeavor?”