Page 44 of The Songbird of Wychwood

“There’s no rush, Eloise, you can have as much as you want,” I said.

“Lou’s got a sweet tooth,” George informed.

“Yeah, and I eat everything I can get me hands on when I’m on me monthly,” she explained. I was confused for a moment. Monthly what? Then a realization hit and I was horrified by the outrageous nature of the comment.

“Women’s business should remain between women!” I scolded, and Eloise just laughed at my discomfiture. I hurriedly poured tea for us all, and then sat back.

“Now, please, from the beginning George,” I said testily.

I’d sipped my tea and listened to a tale that boiled my blood. This Alfred Grayson fellow was a scoundrel of the lowest order. And I was stunned to hear that a mysterious benefactor had ensured George remained living at the theater. It was a very strange business indeed. Clearly, it was beneficial for George to not only have a home, but a profession where he thrived. And my God, how he had thrived. I supposed we should be grateful for the benefactor’s intervention and financial aid because the reality was that George’s situation would have been so much worse when his mother passed away if not for this act of charity.

“So, will you help him?” Eloise asked before stuffing another finger sandwich into her mouth.

“Of course I will. This is an outrage, a blatant, egregious theft. You shall have the weight of Harcourt’s legal department behind you,” I said in passionately fury. “After all, the fellows you performed for the night we met again are lawyers.”

“I beg your pardon?” George spluttered, and then put his teacup down.

“The party of men that night…it was a bachelor’s party. The fellow getting married is one of our law clerks and the rest of the party was mostly from the legal department. My company lawyer, Oliver Simmons is assisting with the contractual requirements for my new publishing business. He told me that for copyright a song must be performed publicly. The whole party bore witness to your performance that night.”

“I didn’t know that, about your party or the requirement for public performance,” George admitted meekly.

“Don’t worry; we shall meet with my good fellow Simmons. He can advise on how to deal with this Alfred Grayson.”

Eloise reached down and picked up the large carpet bag. She opened it and drew out a stack of papers which she handed to me. I looked down at the pile of musical manuscripts.

“Well, you’d best give him these then! George bought them at a music shop near Temple Bar. They’re all his songs, every last one of them. I was there when he wrote some of them and we practiced them together on the piano in his room,” she revealed.

I rifled through the manuscripts and they were indeed for the songs George had sung on stage. I recalled the pages of manuscript notes and lyrics that were strewn on the couch and steamer trunk in his room at the Middlesex.

“Are you planning on going back to the theater?” I was concerned that this Grayson fellow had something else up his sleeve, what with the reportedly troubling recent behaviour.

“Of course. It’s my home. I’ve got nowhere else to go,” George insisted. “And my mysterious benefactor paid up for that room.”

“If you don’t want to stay there and keep bumping into Grayson, you don’t have to. You can stay at mine if you want,” Eloise offered. “It’ll be a bit cramped, but we’ll make do.”

“Hmmm…I suppose that if you move out now he’s sure to realize you’ve cottoned on to his scam. I suggest you go back and continue on as if nothing has happened. But once Simmons has advised on the legal way forward you may have to move in a hurry. So start packing discretely. I don’t think your employer will be best pleased to receive a summons.”

George’s shoulders slumped and he looked so thoroughly dejected. “Pack to move where? I can’t sleep on Lou’s floor. I’ve nowhere else to go, Percy. And what about my job, I love that job, what if I can’t perform anymore, what if Grayson spreads rumors and blacklists me?” Oh dear. Anxiety was getting the better of my dearest.

“Don’t worry, all will be well.” I insisted. “I have an apartment if you need to move quickly. The Middlesex is not the world,”

“It’s my world, it’s all I’ve ever known,” George pleaded. I could understand how difficult change would be as he’d lived in the same room since he was eleven. But George was not a child anymore. He was a kind, beautiful, talented man of twenty-five.

“Let me show you the rest of the world, George. It would be my honour and pleasure,” I smiled, and reached for his hand, unable to hide my deep affection for him.

“Eh! Where’s the latrine? You two need a moment alone,” Eloise decided having finished her plate of sandwiches and cakes. For such a slight, wispy girl she could certainly pack the food away!

“It’s down the hall, the third door on your left,” I directed. Eloise left us and I reached for a napkin. I looked into George’s beautiful whisky eyes as I held his chin up with a finger. Then I wiped the crimson from his lips.

“What did you do that for?” he asked, a little annoyed.

“So that I could do this,” I said as I pressed my lips to his. George opened his mouth sighing his relief into me as our kiss took on a life of its own. I laid him back on my mother’s couch, the couch where she would sit while having her Guardians of the Poor meetings with her devout, prickly ladies. I plundered my lover’s whimpering, hungry mouth, loving how he writhed beneath me, until there was a gentle knock. I was glad Eloise was courteous enough to knock. I pulled back seeing that I’d made quite the mess of Miss Georgette’s make up. George’s gaze was lust drunk and he couldn’t stop grinning. I mirrored his grin as I righted myself. Pacified, George sat up too.

“Come,” I called and Eloise entered with a wicked smirk as she set her eyes on us.

“Good grief. It’s lucky I’ve got powder and lip paint in my bag. We can’t have you leave looking like you’ve been ravaged,” she said with a chuckle, and I was quite relieved she’d come prepared!

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