No Honour Among Thieves (Mature)

No Honour Among Thieves Part 41

Draining the last of what he suspected was smuggled brandy, Freddy examined every detail of Pretty Billy's famous knocking shop. He was no stranger to vice and this city's all encompassing lust for it, the bawds here were a far cry from the sorry souls he saw on a daily basis though. Oh, he didn't doubt that by the end of this evening's entertainment they'd all still reek the same of fetch, but right now they were sweetly perfumed, damply displayed and currently, untouchable. The brothel mistress was making that quite clear to every lascivious pie plunger who walked through the door. And what salubrious clientele they were too, toffs, politicians, judges; all getting their shoes dirty with the venality of East End grime.

He acknowledged the conspiratorial wink from an Old Bailey judge with a short nod, Freddy's career was still important after all. It galled him that young Maskal had gained so much power and influence in so short a time. It had taken Freddy years of manipulation to reach this point, only now was he close to achieving his overall goal.

His gaze performed another sweep, no carrot topped Jezebel gambolled among the painted sluts, no waft of cloves teased his nose. The apathetic slowing of his blood informed Freddy that Billy's conker nut was put well away from covetous hands.

"Delighted you made it Cuntstable Scriven, can't tell you how heartened I am for you to grace my poor establishment with your presence. If you follow me, I've set aside my best table for your delectation."

Turning his head, Freddy met Maskal's serenely mocking countenance straight on. His fingers twitched on an almost uncontrollable urge to slam his glass into that unnaturally handsome face, instead he smiled. "Pleasure to be here Mr Maskal, lead on."

His young nemesis conducted him into the taproom, and Freddy had to concede the table was a good one. Set against a wall, it protected the back, and in a recess, it afforded privacy while still maintaining full view of both doorway and small stage.

So there was to be a show to incite the fat purses to take a punt on the virgin whore.

Suddenly the embargo on meat made sense, men sated by flesh were less likely to part with serious coinage.

"Here you are Superintendent, if you desire or require anything, don't you hesitate to call old Billy boy and I will do my level best to accommodate you."

Taking a seat, it was on the tip of Freddy's tongue to ask for clarification of 'anything,' but looking up into Maskal's laughing eyes decided he wasn't going to give the younger man the satisfaction.

"In that case, would you join me for a drink?" Freddy invited softly with a lift of his empty glass.

Not by a flutter of his overtly feminine lashes did Maskal's expression register surprise at the request. "It would be my honour superintendent."

As the boy took a seat opposite Freddy, a barmaid materialised immediately.

"What are you drinking Mr Scriven?"

Freddy swirled the amber dregs in his glass, brandy was a fine tipple but perhaps too fine for his coarse palate. Placing the cup on the scarred wood, he asked for rum.

Maskal nodded to the barmaid. "A bottle of grog and two fresh tankards."

***

Polly swallowed, then swallowed again, but her mouth continued to fill with salty spittle, scouring her throat and stinging her gums. To her right stood Ada, her wide smile forming into a monstrous gurn. To Polly's left, Dainty Daisy O'Shea, the fair rose of Donegal, and cat fighting championess, raised her plummy voice as she held the rapid auction.

Before them, a wall of ruddy faced men bid feverishly for Polly's pipkin. She sucked sweat, smoke and stale beer deeply into her lungs, but her body refused the tainted air, spewing it back from her mouth, unlike the sick clutching at her gullet. A bride's veil draped her, scratched at her nipples as she shivered strong enough to loose bones.

She tried to heed Ada's orders, to stand serene, be sweetly innocent, and 'think of the bleeding coin.' Only her mind clung to the Guv'nor. She knew he was in here, had seen him laughing with the Filth when an Old Bailey judge buried his head in Daisy's mammoth bosom. Polly couldn't see him now, but imagined he saw her on the raised stage, pale birthday suit framed only in white lace.

This very morning Billy had held her safe, wiped tears away with tender fingers. She knew he felt for her, she knew it, and if it hadn't been for that big tittied cow he would have noticed Polly sooner. He must see she was now a full grown woman with bubs and hair where they should be.

A raucous cheer brung her to, she had missed who the winning bidder was. Looking for direction, her belly sank when Ada wouldn't meet her eyes.

Beneath her breath the older woman snarled. "No fruiterer, looterer, and flute tooterer wants to devour a flower in front of a clatter of peeping Toms." She folded her fingers around Polly's sweaty hand, grumping. "Why does the dirty fucker want to use the dais?"

Polly's heart began to beat even harder. A public deflowering, not private as she'd been told it would be, and she didn't even know who the jack was. Her gaze scanned and caught on him; proud of bearing, neither old nor young, and dressed like a fancy nob. Polly couldn't meet his eyes, even as he approached, took her hand with a soft grip, and led her up the steps to the raised bed, as if she were his bride to be.

The palace madam was straightening the rumples of bed linen Kitty and Pearl had made eating each other out, to great enjoyment of the punters

With an encouraging smile, Ada winked and drew the transparent curtains surrounding the stage closed.

Polly tried to smile at the toff who seemed very big, but her lips wobbled when smooth as silk fingers slipped beneath the lace and fondled her hard apples.

He grinned, well pleased with her small offerings, and bent his head to inspect them. A scratchy mouth tickled her tiny tips and a rousing cheer made her jump, reminding her rudely that their silhouettes were eagerly gawked at.

The loutish thuggery incited her trick, and Polly felt herself caught up and pitched onto the bed. The stretched ropes whined beneath her as he clambered atop, brushing the lace aside to bare her to his gleaming eyes. His teeth nipped at her curly thatch, before the flat of the tongue lapped at her like a mongrel at spilt gravy. Her body jolted at each oddly painful swipe till she pushed his head away with a cry.

"I knew you'd like that." Her trick grunted, a smuggish look on his boat race.

Knee pressing hers aside, he crawled over her, digging out his root and prodding at her nethers till he broke into her body. Her yelp encouraged their audience to greater delight and a base ditty swelled the den.

'Bastinade her sweet muff boy, bastinade her sweet muff. May her bun be well buttered, and his cudgel well futtered, bastinade her sweet muff boy, bastinade her sweet muff.'

Eyes watering, Polly focused on the bouncing flame from the lantern swinging above their heads, while he stabbed, stabbed, stabbed at her guts with his meat dagger. Breath rasping damp against her neck, forced a little sick from her throat into her mouth. When a slimy slug tongue snailed in her ear, she gagged violently, jerking her body. His teeth bit her lobe, gusting grunts into her earhole as his weight slumped heavily over hers.

Polly waited with stiff limbs, was it done? Could she have a cup of Mother Ada's tea and the biscuit she'd been promised?

It took so long for him to catch his breath and get off her, poking his willy back into his smalls, and buttoning his britches, he crowed. "You're lucky you got an experienced fellow, if I'd been a callow boy you wouldn't have enjoyed it half as well."

Standing from the bed, something trickled down her shaky legs, making Polly feel like she'd wet herself.

Ada swept aside the curtains, and pulling the soiled quilt from the bed, covered Polly's aching body with it. Being enveloped in the stench of lust comforted her not at all. The thick crowd of howling men was already dispersing as the other girls became readily available for a fervid quick one upstairs.

Standing used and alone on the raised dais, Polly searched for the Guv'nor. She found him where he'd been before, same position, same seat, still in parley with the Filth. Her chin wobbled, bottom lip protruding as she clenched her jaws around the taste of vomit in her mouth. Tears squeezed from stinging eyes as the realisation struck.

Billy didn't love her.