Eleanor Tatum

Egad!

Last week we left Trevor Coffman, an English titled gentleman on the edge of meager means, convincing his rich old Oxford mate to marry his younger sister from Boston. With the engagement announced, the men escape trivial wedding preparations by traveling by train to an exclusive hunting camp in the swamps of the American southeast. There he meets an unusual, but mute, lady of entertainment. The manager encourages Trevor to proceed.

“Well, your Lordship, you English move fast. Okay, then, she’s yours.” A wave of audible disgruntlement danced around the room, but soon dissipated and the crowd refocused on other options. “Go on, girl. Wait for his lordship in his room.” He released her wrist and she flew back through the door. He laughed, “She doesn’t seem pleased with you. Let me know tomorrow how she works out. I might let her join the other girls.” He slapped Trevor on his back and sauntered off to speak with another group.

Edgar appeared on his left and handed him a whiskey. “Does take you long to make up your mind, either.”

“Shut up, Ed. That girl was terrified.” Wanting to change the subject, he asked, “When do we eat?”

The rich meal of steak, flounder, fried potatoes, and more liquor sat heavily in Trevor’s stomach. He wanted to leave the table, but he knew that would be rude and far too obvious. So, he waited for someone else to begin the retreat.

Mercer, their host, stood from the head of the table and tapped his glass with an ugly hunting knife. Its sight and sound got their attention. “Gentlemen, our first hunt begins early tomorrow so go and enjoy this evening’s desserts waiting for you in your rooms.” A few cheered and he went on, “Tomorrow we’ll discuss the different flavors. Some of you might want to rotate the treats.”

Trevor felt the familiar nervous twitch when things weren’t right, only this time it was off, different, less acidic. He walked out of the hall with the others, saying little, letting them ramble on in their drunken speech. They headed down a long hall with several doors on each side. A set of stairs at the end led to a second floor.

Edgar yelled from behind, “I’m just here, old man. I think your room is just above mine so keep the noise to a minimum. Don’t let me hear the headboard banging all night.” Edgar unlocked his door and walked in to the sounds of giggles and comments. “Hello, love, I’ve been waiting for you.”

Trevor’s anxious stomach gave him a kick up the stairs. He reached for his doorknob and hesitated before opening it. He remembered her eyes so mixed with fear and thankfulness. He debated about even going in there. How could he possible explain his nasty self to her? These were not his ways. A gentleman doesn’t treat his mistress or even one from a London brothel as rudely as these clods did tonight. He had to convince her that he wasn’t a bad sort. He pushed the door open while he debated why it mattered.

The room was empty, no one. On the bed sat his key and a single sheet of paper. “Thank you, Lord Coffman. Please keep our secret. CMR”

The penmanship was exquisite and the short note bragged of a classic education. He folded it and put it in his vest pocket. He closed the door with a bang, stomped around the room a bit, and rolled around to make the springs squeak. Finally, he closed his eyes and wished for better…everything.

Enough! for now