Hearing Effie’s heartbeat comforted Ernest and he closed his
eyes again and sank into sleep for a moment. But then Effie seemed to be
shaking him, and he could hear Gabriel laughing at him, and he opened his eyes
to see the boudoir once more, and to discover that it was not Effie he was
embracing, but Suzie with the long dark hair. She was shaking him, asking him
if he felt quite better, telling him how dead white he had looked, giving them
all a funny turn to look at him. Ernest shook himself free and sat up,
experimentally, to see if the room stayed in its usual proportions. He was
relieved to find that it did, but more relieved than he could express to see
that there was no top-hatted gentleman lurking in any of the corners.
‘Where did you go?’ Gabriel asked him.
Ernest was confused. ‘You mean I did leave this place, after all. I thought I had, but…’ He looked down at his shoes, which were clean and dry; certainly they had not travelled through blood and mud.
‘No. You keeled straight over as if you’d been skittled, and there you lay, talking now and then to yourself. But you described some East End landmarks, as if you were taking a walking tour.’
Ernest gave a nervous laugh. ‘I think I was. I was sort of flying around my old haunts.’
Suzie laughed. ‘If I was going flying round London I’d look at somewhere better than that. I’d fly in through a window in the palace and see the King in bed.’
‘And the King himself wouldn’t turn you down, my dear.’ Said Gabriel, smoothly. But his attention was on Ernest. ‘Are you recovered? Have I corrupted you too entirely in one night? If so, I do apologise. I’ve no self control, I know it. Some might say it is a weakness of mine, but many admire me for it, so I cultivate the flaw’. He smiled, apologetically.
‘Control.’ Repeated Ernest. ‘Control can also be a weakness. ‘ He got up and left the house, walking all the way home.
‘Where did you go?’ Gabriel asked him.
Ernest was confused. ‘You mean I did leave this place, after all. I thought I had, but…’ He looked down at his shoes, which were clean and dry; certainly they had not travelled through blood and mud.
‘No. You keeled straight over as if you’d been skittled, and there you lay, talking now and then to yourself. But you described some East End landmarks, as if you were taking a walking tour.’
Ernest gave a nervous laugh. ‘I think I was. I was sort of flying around my old haunts.’
Suzie laughed. ‘If I was going flying round London I’d look at somewhere better than that. I’d fly in through a window in the palace and see the King in bed.’
‘And the King himself wouldn’t turn you down, my dear.’ Said Gabriel, smoothly. But his attention was on Ernest. ‘Are you recovered? Have I corrupted you too entirely in one night? If so, I do apologise. I’ve no self control, I know it. Some might say it is a weakness of mine, but many admire me for it, so I cultivate the flaw’. He smiled, apologetically.
‘Control.’ Repeated Ernest. ‘Control can also be a weakness. ‘ He got up and left the house, walking all the way home.
Ernest had developed the habit of seeking out an expert
opinion and source of advice for any dilemma he encountered, and he decided
that in the matter of courting a young lady, Mrs Letts would be more practical
help than any book. She was delighted to
be taken into Ernest’s confidence, and spent half an hour switching between
warning him that he was far too young, and telling him for how many years she
had hoped and prayed that this time would come. When she had finished giving Ernest some
rather idealistic advice on what flowers to present to Effie on their first
meeting and on each subsequent one, and on what to wear, and what poems to read
to her, she did finally settle down to the practicalities of making the
required contact with Effie’s Mother, in order that the young lady could take
tea with Ernest and Mrs Letts in a fortnight’s time. By the end of all this Ernest was beginning
to think that those men who chose to remain unmarried were denying themselves
nothing except a lifetime of social and personal embarrassment. But these
conspiratorial talks with Mrs Letts were as nothing compared to the vast abyss
of awkwardness that opened up between Ernest and Mr Letts, when his Foster
Father edged into Ernest’s bedroom to have a ‘little chat, man to man’ with
him.
Ernest, trying not to have to listen, but also to nod in the right places, thought back to Mr Triskit and his rabbits, and all his daughters, and then of what he had read in the banned books, complete with their anatomically correct but completely baffling watercolours. He also thought about Suzie, who had been more help than any book, and certainly nothing like a rabbit, and more complex and wonderful than the watercolours could ever be. Mr Letts, however, approached the subject from the angle of the sacred duty of a man and a woman to bring forth the next generation. There was a lot more on that vein, and very little practical information. Ernest did point out that, as yet, he and Effie had not even drunk tea together, but Mr Letts said he felt it wise that any man should be prepared, in order that any possible sin should be avoided. If Ernest had a feeling or a sensation that he thought or felt might be sinful then, Mr Letts intoned, it undoubtedly was. Ernest thought of several sensations he had enjoyed with Suzie, and promised to always be watchful and spiritually vigilant against any such feelings.
Once alone again, leaning thankfully against his bedroom door, having bid Mr Letts goodnight, Ernest told himself that in addition to sins of the flesh too numerous to list, he had now disobeyed his foster parents and lied to them. He could not, in all honesty, blame his actions on Gabriel. He had made his own choices. And now, as every evening, he had to kneel before his God in prayer, and explain his behaviour. Ernest always asked for forgiveness of his sins as a matter of course, part of the ritual of prayer, but this night he was sincere, begging for forgiveness and vowing to be a better man not just for his Lord, but for Effie.
Ernest, trying not to have to listen, but also to nod in the right places, thought back to Mr Triskit and his rabbits, and all his daughters, and then of what he had read in the banned books, complete with their anatomically correct but completely baffling watercolours. He also thought about Suzie, who had been more help than any book, and certainly nothing like a rabbit, and more complex and wonderful than the watercolours could ever be. Mr Letts, however, approached the subject from the angle of the sacred duty of a man and a woman to bring forth the next generation. There was a lot more on that vein, and very little practical information. Ernest did point out that, as yet, he and Effie had not even drunk tea together, but Mr Letts said he felt it wise that any man should be prepared, in order that any possible sin should be avoided. If Ernest had a feeling or a sensation that he thought or felt might be sinful then, Mr Letts intoned, it undoubtedly was. Ernest thought of several sensations he had enjoyed with Suzie, and promised to always be watchful and spiritually vigilant against any such feelings.
Once alone again, leaning thankfully against his bedroom door, having bid Mr Letts goodnight, Ernest told himself that in addition to sins of the flesh too numerous to list, he had now disobeyed his foster parents and lied to them. He could not, in all honesty, blame his actions on Gabriel. He had made his own choices. And now, as every evening, he had to kneel before his God in prayer, and explain his behaviour. Ernest always asked for forgiveness of his sins as a matter of course, part of the ritual of prayer, but this night he was sincere, begging for forgiveness and vowing to be a better man not just for his Lord, but for Effie.
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