Posted on 2021-10-31
My official JAGoHoNo name is supposed to be Mrs. Radcliffofdespair, but it wouldn't let me post under another name.
So, I had a hard time with this particular prompt. Good ideas were not easy to come by. So, yeah.... Yeah.
A fortnight had passed since he and Maria had their final, tempestuous parting, and Henry Crawford was not in a mood for society. He had retreated to Everingham, where he promptly drunk himself into a stupor, and he had spent the rest of time since౼when not passed out or sleeping౼in attempting to compose poetry to Fanny Price’s eyes. The drunker he was, the better his chances of winning her back seemed, so he made sure to keep the brandy topped off while counting out sonnet lines, and attempting to find any rhyme for mild other than wild or child. He congratulated himself that he wrote exceptionally good poetry while disguised. Other men might turn into idiots while in their cups, but not him.
He woke early one afternoon and found himself sprawled on the sofa in his library, a pile of half-written papers by his elbow. Groaning, he rubbed his face, and shut his eyes against the sunlight filtering in through the windows. His mouth tasted disgusting, his shirt clung unpleasantly to his skin, and he was fairly certain he had wet himself at some point. What would Fanny think of you now? crossed his mind.
The door creaked, and Henry’s valet peered in. Henry waved his hand. “Come in, Thompson, and help me to a bath.”
An hour and a half later, he was back in the library, consuming a meal and reading through the previous night’s effusions as his headache started to fade. Really, some of them weren’t half bad. If he could only find a way for Fanny to read them…. The butler brought in a pile of mail on a silver platter. Henry started to wave it away, when he caught a glimpse of the writing on the top one, and snatched it up. “Fanny,” he whispered.
It was her hand, he was certain of it. He had seen it often enough, in letters to his sister. He even had a few of them that he had begged from her. Trembling with eagerness, he eased the wafer from the paper, and opened a single, hot-pressed sheet.
Mr. Crawford [it read], Please forgive me the liberty I take in writing to you, but I do not know where else to turn. The Bertrams have disowned me, and my family in Portsmouth do not want me. William is still at sea, and I have no other friends. Please౼if you ever loved me, take pity on me, and help me in my miserable state. If you would assist me in finding some respectable position, I will be forever in your debt.
You may find me at ౼౼౼౼౼౼ Inn on ౼౼- Street, London. I have said my name is Sally Watson, because I cannot bear the shame of my current condition. If you come, then please do so in secrecy.
Your very humble servant,
Fanny Price
Two hours later, as his barouche rattled over the road to London, Henry reread the letter compulsively, trying to glean what he could from its stark contents. He knew those Bertrams could not be trusted with Fanny’s welfare! They never appreciated her. “This is because of me,” he muttered. “I’ll bet they found a way to blame her for all of it.” He crumpled the paper in his fist. “Never mind, darling, you’ll never want for anything again once I reach you.” His hands were shaking. He pulled a flask from his pocket and drank a little౼just to steady his nerves.
Over the course of the next day, between steadying sips on his flask, Henry tried to decide the best way to marry Fanny quickly. She was still underage౼but on the other hand, her father was unlikely to object. He could lie to the bishop and claim they had his permission౼but probably not any bishop in London, as the name Crawford had gained a uncertain undesirable notoriety lately. He could take her to the border. It would be a few days, and could not imagine Fanny enjoying an elopement, but surely it would be more palatable than her current situation. Perhaps the best thing would be to carry her directly to Everingham. His local bishop owed him favors, and would not look too closely at trifling matters such as Fanny’s age or how long she had lived at Everingham.
Yes, Everingham was definitely the best option. That settled, he reviewed his latest attempt at poetry:
My Fanny’s eyes are soft and mild,
One glance from her can drive me wild,
Her skin so soft, her hair does curl,
Just looking at her makes me
… Henry paused, and frowned.
When they reached London he was surprised to discover that the address she gave him was not the small, seedy institution he had been imagining. Instead, it was a rather cavernous old building near the outskirts of London. Now that he came to think of it, it wasn’t that far from the house where he had lived with Maria for the last few months. He shrugged that thought away; he was a reformed man, now. Fanny would never have cause for complaint౼he would be completely faithful to her. That had not stopped him from leering at that barmaid with the low-cut bodice when he stopped for lunch, but that was different. He was only looking౼and he wouldn’t have done it while he was with Fanny.
Remembering Fanny’s request for secrecy, Henry had his barouche draw up around the corner, and walked on foot back to the ancient house that loomed over the street in the twilight. A sign over the door did, indeed, designate it as an inn, but he could see no sign of the usual bustle that accompanied such institutions. His alarm at the idea of Fanny in such a place increased. How in the world had she come to be here? What did the Bertrams do to her?
He knocked on the door, and it swung open. He stepped inside. The building was dark, his footsteps echoing on the wooden floor of the long front hall. “Is anyone here?” he called.
At first, only silence answered him. The building did bear indications of having once been an inn. There was a common room on his left, half-filled with battered tables and chairs. However, it was obviously abandoned now, and Henry’s bewilderment increased. Surely this could not be the correct address? He was about to turn around, when from the innards of the house, faintly, a voice called his name.
“Fanny?” It was her voice, he was certain of it! Eagerly now, he rushed down the hall. “Fanny, where are you?”
Again, no initial answer, then the sound of footsteps across the ceiling about him. He searched for a staircase, and ascended. The boards creaked beneath his feet. “Fanny?” he called again.
“Henry!” Fanny’s voice, closer now. “Henry, help me!”
“I’m coming, my darling!” He took the steps faster. “I’m coming at once!”
He gained the upper hall. It was dark, only a little light filtering in from the surrounding rooms, but just there, at the end of the corridor, he glimpsed a slight, familiar figure, just disappearing around the corner. He followed at a run, and pulled up. The corridor ended, but he could just make out several doors, half open. “Fanny?” His voice echoed in the empty corridor. “My love, are you here? Where are you?” A shuffling sound behind him; he started to turn towards it, when one of the doors swung open, and there stood Fanny, holding a single candle that cast a halo around her pale hair.
“Fanny,” he breathed, and stepped towards her. Then something heavy hit him in the back of the head, and everything went dark.
* o-//-< *
When he woke up, which he did slowly and painfully, he found himself tied to a chair. That chair sat in the middle of a shadowy room. In front of him, a desk bearing a candelabra. Behind the desk sat a woman, her head bent as she sketched on a piece of paper in front of her.
Henry blinked, certain the vision must be born of a drunken imagination. Come to think of it, everything since the post came yesterday seemed like a liquor dream, none of it more so than the chase through the abandoned inn. Perhaps he was actually still passed out in his library?
“Either I’ve been drinking too much or too little,” he muttered. But when he tried to move, the ropes at his wrists pulled, and dug into his skin. It certainly felt real. He tried to clear his throat. “Um… madam?”
The woman at the desk looked up, and he saw, to his shock, that a mask covered the upper half of her face. A plain, white velvet mask, through which her eyes glittered in the candle light. He swore. “Great Jove, woman, what is the meaning of this?”
“She is taking your portrait,” said a woman’s voice to his right. He jumped, and swung his head around. As his vision adjusted, he realized that, far from being alone with the woman at the desk, he was in fact surrounded by a circle of female figures, standing in the shadows, all of them wearing the white velvet masks.
He swore again. “Jumping Jehoshaphat! Am I drunk? Is this a nightmare? I mean౼” with difficulty, he recollected himself. “Ladies౼” he smiled౼ “how you doin’?”
One woman stepped forward. “You must be wondering, Mr. Crawford, why we have lured you to this place. Allow me to introduce myself. I am౼Miss E.B.”
“E.B?”
“We deal only in initials here. I am sure you understand.” Her voice sounded young, lovely really. Her figure, from what he could see of it, seemed light and pleasing. “I have the honor to the be current president of this esteemed organization, although I can claim to be its founder. That distinction lies with these ladies,” she gestured, “Miss M.D. and her sister,” she nodded to the woman at the desk, “Miss E.D.”
“You have an E.B. and an E.D.?”
“Well, yes. And an E.T. We might have also had an E.E., if we had seen fit to extend an invitation, or her to accept it, but that is neither here nor there. We know who we are.” She took a step forward. “Allow me to explain to you who we are. You have fallen, Mr. Crawford, into the hands of the R.N.C.T.S.”
He stared at her. “The R.N.C.T.S.? How would I pronounce that?”
“You don’t. It’s an acronym.”
“Well, yes, but it’s not a very good one. Good acronyms spell out a word౼you know, like F.O.B.S.౼Females Of Dubious Sanity. Fobs, get it? It’s a word, it’s an acronym, it’s౼”
“It’s the The Rakes Need Consequences Too Society!”
He stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me! We, the women here, have all experienced the harmful consequences caused by men who like to trifle with women’s affections. Men who have no concern at all about the vulnerable position of unmarried women in our society.”
“Men like these. ” Another woman moved, unshuttering a lamp and revealing a series of sketches hanging on the way. Sketches of men, tied to a chair. “This first one౼J.W. Well, he impregnated a young girl, deserted her, charmed and made love to another girl until she was mad for love of him, and then deserted her too, to marry a woman with money whom he did not even care for౼all while still professing to love the last girl.” She stared at his face dispassionately. “He was a handsome devil, once.”
The woman who had been introduced as Miss M.D. snorted.
“And then we have the next gentleman.” She moved down the wall. “Mr. G.W. Quite a practiced seducer, this one. Exceptionally charming. Nearly convinced a 15-year-old heiress to elope with him, and did convince a 15-year-old without any money to run away౼only, of course, in her case, he had no idea of marriage. He was eventually bribed to marry her, but of course, it would be cruel to condemn such a young and foolish lady to life as such a man’s wife.”
“Indeed it would!” Asserted a tall, stout girl from the other side of the room. “Why, being married to him was not pleasant at all, especially when he continued to visit the fancy houses౼and it is not like I ever denied him౼”
“Lydia!” said Miss E.B. sharply, then cleared her throat. “We are getting off track. If you would continue, Miss J.F.?”
Miss J.F moved down the wall. The next portrait made her sigh. “Mr. F.C. was perhaps not in the same category as these other rakes, but there is no denying that he did trifle with m౼a woman’s affections. He convinced her to become secretly engaged to him, promising it would not be for long, and then he drew the secret out and out, all while flirting with another woman, and making everyone believe he was in love with her . And all for fear of his wealthy aunt.”
“Wealthy aunts are the worst,” muttered Miss M.D.
“The very worst ,” agreed Miss E.B.
“Oh, shut up, it’s not at all the same for you. Your wealthy aunt was useful , remember? Your man ran to you, not away from you.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t change the fact that౼”
“She’s right.” A woman with a rather high, whiny voice spoke up. “In fact, I don’t even know why you’re here. You have a husband who’s rich and young and handsome and doesn’t take mistresses. You know nothing of what’s like to choose between an old fool who might marry you and a young, charming one who౼”
“Just because I had the good morals to౼”
“Ladies!” Miss E.D spoke sharply. “Recall where you are, please! Every woman who is here is here for a reason, Miss P.C. As for you, Miss E.B., I expect you to behave as befits the current president of our esteemed organization. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes,” muttered Miss E.B.
“Yes,” muttered Miss P.C. with a scowl.
“Our next example,” said Miss J.F., in an elevated tone, “is Mr. W.E., who attempted to seduce one woman,” she nodded at Miss P.C., who tossed her head, “even while courting another for marriage. He was also known to lead other men astray into gambling and bad investments, and to deny their widows their proper inheritance. The others౼” She raised her lamp a little higher.
Henry Crawford, who had been following these exchanges in some bewilderment, sat up suddenly. “Those other two portraits are women!” he exclaimed.
“Yes,” agreed Miss E.B. “Unlike society, we here at the R.N.C.T.S. do not discriminate on the basis of sex. We recognize that women can be rakes too. That is Miss I.T. and౼ahem౼ Lady S.V. They suffered their consequences the same as the men did. The same as you , Mr. Henry Crawford.”
Henry squirmed against his binds. “I am sure this is all a mistake. I never did anything to injure any woman, I swear. If I allowed myself a little freedom in the matter of flirtation, well, the girls enjoy it just as much as I did! I’ve never forced myself on any woman. And I’m in love౼I’m sure you’ll be glad to hear that I have fallen very much in love with an extremely respectable young woman who will make me into a perfect model of propriety if I can convince her to marry me౼in fact, that’s why I’m here. I came to help her, you see. She needs me, and you wouldn’t deny a young, innocent girl the protection of the one man in the world who really loves her, would౼”
“Bring forth the witnesses!” cried one of the women suddenly. Three figures stepped forward out of the gloom, two tall and well-formed, one shorter and slighter. They removed their masks.
Henry gasped. “Julia౼Miss Bertram!--how are you౼Fanny? My darling, I found you! I was so worried, I came at once, just as your letter said to౼” His eyes moved to the third figure, and he gulped. “Maria,” he said weakly. “Mrs. Rushworth, what are you doing here?”
Miss Julia Bertram went first. “I, Julia Bertram,” she said, “do solemnly declare that this man, Henry Crawford, courted me, flirted with me, and made me fall in love with him, while also pursuing my sister, and without ever having serious intentions towards either of us.”
Mrs. Rushworth was next. “I, Maria Bertam Rushworth, do solemnly declare that this man, Henry Crawford, courted me, flirted with me, and made me fall in love with him, both before my marriage and after it, even while he also pursued first my sister, and then my cousin. He seduced me, ruined me, took me from my husband’s home, made me his mistress, and then refused to marry me.”
“Now look here,” said Henry, “that was not all my fault౼you seduced me, in fact, as I remember, and I only ran off with you because you declared you wouldn’t live in your husband’s house any longer and I knew you would never let me have Fanny౼so there’s no use pretending you were some sort of innocent౼” He stopped when the third woman stepped forward. “Fanny. Fanny, no. Dearest, surely you of all women wouldn’t౼I wanted to marry you!”
Fanny’s eyes were full of tears, but her face set in determined lines. “I, Fanny Price,” she said in her soft voice, “do solemnly declare that this man, Henry Crawford, courted me, flirted with me, and proposed marriage to me, after he had already made both my cousins fall in love with him, and then he would not accept my refusal. He said that he loved me, that he would continue to pursue me, and win me over by his constancy౼and instead, he seduced my cousin Maria and ran off with her.”
Henry winced. “Okay, that’s fair, but I really did mean it when I said I loved you. I totally would have married you౼I would marry you now! Now, please, darling౼” he wriggled in the chair, “accept my proposal now. Say you’ll marry me! I’ll never be unfaithful again, I promise. I won’t even flirt any more. I’ve learned my lesson, really.”
“That’s what they all say,” said Miss J.F. unemotionally.
“Women of the R.N.C.T.S,” proclaimed Miss E.B, “Henry Crawford is accused of dishonorable behavior towards women, wilfully breaking hearts, and generally behaving as a rake and a scoundrel. How do you find, guilty or not guilty?”
“Guilty!” cried the women as a whole.
Henry’s wriggling turned frantic. “No!” he cried, thrashing against his bonds, “you can’t do this! By Bacchus, this is wrong!”
Miss E.D. behind the desk put down her pencil, and took up a jar of some strange substance.
“No!” screamed Henry. “I’m too young to die!”
“Die?” one of the women asked. “What makes you think you are going to die? We’re not going to kill you!”
He paused. “You’re not?”
“Of course not. If we were going to kill you, do you think we would bother to wear masks, or use only our initials?”
“Oh. I didn’t think of that.”
“Of course you’re not going to die.” Miss E.D. handed the jar to Maria, who took it eagerly. “We’re just going to make sure that you will never be in a position to break another woman’s heart again. I would close my eyes, though, if I were you,” she added kindly.
Henry shrank against the chair as Maria advanced. Her face looked ghoulish in the flickering light. “Wh-what is that?”
“It’s acid,” said Maria. Fanny turned away, and some others gathered around her, patting her back.
“Here.” Julia tossed her mask onto his lap. “You’re going to need that.”
So, I had a hard time with this particular prompt. Good ideas were not easy to come by. So, yeah.... Yeah.
A fortnight had passed since he and Maria had their final, tempestuous parting, and Henry Crawford was not in a mood for society. He had retreated to Everingham, where he promptly drunk himself into a stupor, and he had spent the rest of time since౼when not passed out or sleeping౼in attempting to compose poetry to Fanny Price’s eyes. The drunker he was, the better his chances of winning her back seemed, so he made sure to keep the brandy topped off while counting out sonnet lines, and attempting to find any rhyme for mild other than wild or child. He congratulated himself that he wrote exceptionally good poetry while disguised. Other men might turn into idiots while in their cups, but not him.
He woke early one afternoon and found himself sprawled on the sofa in his library, a pile of half-written papers by his elbow. Groaning, he rubbed his face, and shut his eyes against the sunlight filtering in through the windows. His mouth tasted disgusting, his shirt clung unpleasantly to his skin, and he was fairly certain he had wet himself at some point. What would Fanny think of you now? crossed his mind.
The door creaked, and Henry’s valet peered in. Henry waved his hand. “Come in, Thompson, and help me to a bath.”
An hour and a half later, he was back in the library, consuming a meal and reading through the previous night’s effusions as his headache started to fade. Really, some of them weren’t half bad. If he could only find a way for Fanny to read them…. The butler brought in a pile of mail on a silver platter. Henry started to wave it away, when he caught a glimpse of the writing on the top one, and snatched it up. “Fanny,” he whispered.
It was her hand, he was certain of it. He had seen it often enough, in letters to his sister. He even had a few of them that he had begged from her. Trembling with eagerness, he eased the wafer from the paper, and opened a single, hot-pressed sheet.
Mr. Crawford [it read], Please forgive me the liberty I take in writing to you, but I do not know where else to turn. The Bertrams have disowned me, and my family in Portsmouth do not want me. William is still at sea, and I have no other friends. Please౼if you ever loved me, take pity on me, and help me in my miserable state. If you would assist me in finding some respectable position, I will be forever in your debt.
You may find me at ౼౼౼౼౼౼ Inn on ౼౼- Street, London. I have said my name is Sally Watson, because I cannot bear the shame of my current condition. If you come, then please do so in secrecy.
Your very humble servant,
Fanny Price
Two hours later, as his barouche rattled over the road to London, Henry reread the letter compulsively, trying to glean what he could from its stark contents. He knew those Bertrams could not be trusted with Fanny’s welfare! They never appreciated her. “This is because of me,” he muttered. “I’ll bet they found a way to blame her for all of it.” He crumpled the paper in his fist. “Never mind, darling, you’ll never want for anything again once I reach you.” His hands were shaking. He pulled a flask from his pocket and drank a little౼just to steady his nerves.
Over the course of the next day, between steadying sips on his flask, Henry tried to decide the best way to marry Fanny quickly. She was still underage౼but on the other hand, her father was unlikely to object. He could lie to the bishop and claim they had his permission౼but probably not any bishop in London, as the name Crawford had gained a uncertain undesirable notoriety lately. He could take her to the border. It would be a few days, and could not imagine Fanny enjoying an elopement, but surely it would be more palatable than her current situation. Perhaps the best thing would be to carry her directly to Everingham. His local bishop owed him favors, and would not look too closely at trifling matters such as Fanny’s age or how long she had lived at Everingham.
Yes, Everingham was definitely the best option. That settled, he reviewed his latest attempt at poetry:
My Fanny’s eyes are soft and mild,
One glance from her can drive me wild,
Her skin so soft, her hair does curl,
Just looking at her makes me
… Henry paused, and frowned.
When they reached London he was surprised to discover that the address she gave him was not the small, seedy institution he had been imagining. Instead, it was a rather cavernous old building near the outskirts of London. Now that he came to think of it, it wasn’t that far from the house where he had lived with Maria for the last few months. He shrugged that thought away; he was a reformed man, now. Fanny would never have cause for complaint౼he would be completely faithful to her. That had not stopped him from leering at that barmaid with the low-cut bodice when he stopped for lunch, but that was different. He was only looking౼and he wouldn’t have done it while he was with Fanny.
Remembering Fanny’s request for secrecy, Henry had his barouche draw up around the corner, and walked on foot back to the ancient house that loomed over the street in the twilight. A sign over the door did, indeed, designate it as an inn, but he could see no sign of the usual bustle that accompanied such institutions. His alarm at the idea of Fanny in such a place increased. How in the world had she come to be here? What did the Bertrams do to her?
He knocked on the door, and it swung open. He stepped inside. The building was dark, his footsteps echoing on the wooden floor of the long front hall. “Is anyone here?” he called.
At first, only silence answered him. The building did bear indications of having once been an inn. There was a common room on his left, half-filled with battered tables and chairs. However, it was obviously abandoned now, and Henry’s bewilderment increased. Surely this could not be the correct address? He was about to turn around, when from the innards of the house, faintly, a voice called his name.
“Fanny?” It was her voice, he was certain of it! Eagerly now, he rushed down the hall. “Fanny, where are you?”
Again, no initial answer, then the sound of footsteps across the ceiling about him. He searched for a staircase, and ascended. The boards creaked beneath his feet. “Fanny?” he called again.
“Henry!” Fanny’s voice, closer now. “Henry, help me!”
“I’m coming, my darling!” He took the steps faster. “I’m coming at once!”
He gained the upper hall. It was dark, only a little light filtering in from the surrounding rooms, but just there, at the end of the corridor, he glimpsed a slight, familiar figure, just disappearing around the corner. He followed at a run, and pulled up. The corridor ended, but he could just make out several doors, half open. “Fanny?” His voice echoed in the empty corridor. “My love, are you here? Where are you?” A shuffling sound behind him; he started to turn towards it, when one of the doors swung open, and there stood Fanny, holding a single candle that cast a halo around her pale hair.
“Fanny,” he breathed, and stepped towards her. Then something heavy hit him in the back of the head, and everything went dark.
* o-//-< *
When he woke up, which he did slowly and painfully, he found himself tied to a chair. That chair sat in the middle of a shadowy room. In front of him, a desk bearing a candelabra. Behind the desk sat a woman, her head bent as she sketched on a piece of paper in front of her.
Henry blinked, certain the vision must be born of a drunken imagination. Come to think of it, everything since the post came yesterday seemed like a liquor dream, none of it more so than the chase through the abandoned inn. Perhaps he was actually still passed out in his library?
“Either I’ve been drinking too much or too little,” he muttered. But when he tried to move, the ropes at his wrists pulled, and dug into his skin. It certainly felt real. He tried to clear his throat. “Um… madam?”
The woman at the desk looked up, and he saw, to his shock, that a mask covered the upper half of her face. A plain, white velvet mask, through which her eyes glittered in the candle light. He swore. “Great Jove, woman, what is the meaning of this?”
“She is taking your portrait,” said a woman’s voice to his right. He jumped, and swung his head around. As his vision adjusted, he realized that, far from being alone with the woman at the desk, he was in fact surrounded by a circle of female figures, standing in the shadows, all of them wearing the white velvet masks.
He swore again. “Jumping Jehoshaphat! Am I drunk? Is this a nightmare? I mean౼” with difficulty, he recollected himself. “Ladies౼” he smiled౼ “how you doin’?”
One woman stepped forward. “You must be wondering, Mr. Crawford, why we have lured you to this place. Allow me to introduce myself. I am౼Miss E.B.”
“E.B?”
“We deal only in initials here. I am sure you understand.” Her voice sounded young, lovely really. Her figure, from what he could see of it, seemed light and pleasing. “I have the honor to the be current president of this esteemed organization, although I can claim to be its founder. That distinction lies with these ladies,” she gestured, “Miss M.D. and her sister,” she nodded to the woman at the desk, “Miss E.D.”
“You have an E.B. and an E.D.?”
“Well, yes. And an E.T. We might have also had an E.E., if we had seen fit to extend an invitation, or her to accept it, but that is neither here nor there. We know who we are.” She took a step forward. “Allow me to explain to you who we are. You have fallen, Mr. Crawford, into the hands of the R.N.C.T.S.”
He stared at her. “The R.N.C.T.S.? How would I pronounce that?”
“You don’t. It’s an acronym.”
“Well, yes, but it’s not a very good one. Good acronyms spell out a word౼you know, like F.O.B.S.౼Females Of Dubious Sanity. Fobs, get it? It’s a word, it’s an acronym, it’s౼”
“It’s the The Rakes Need Consequences Too Society!”
He stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me! We, the women here, have all experienced the harmful consequences caused by men who like to trifle with women’s affections. Men who have no concern at all about the vulnerable position of unmarried women in our society.”
“Men like these. ” Another woman moved, unshuttering a lamp and revealing a series of sketches hanging on the way. Sketches of men, tied to a chair. “This first one౼J.W. Well, he impregnated a young girl, deserted her, charmed and made love to another girl until she was mad for love of him, and then deserted her too, to marry a woman with money whom he did not even care for౼all while still professing to love the last girl.” She stared at his face dispassionately. “He was a handsome devil, once.”
The woman who had been introduced as Miss M.D. snorted.
“And then we have the next gentleman.” She moved down the wall. “Mr. G.W. Quite a practiced seducer, this one. Exceptionally charming. Nearly convinced a 15-year-old heiress to elope with him, and did convince a 15-year-old without any money to run away౼only, of course, in her case, he had no idea of marriage. He was eventually bribed to marry her, but of course, it would be cruel to condemn such a young and foolish lady to life as such a man’s wife.”
“Indeed it would!” Asserted a tall, stout girl from the other side of the room. “Why, being married to him was not pleasant at all, especially when he continued to visit the fancy houses౼and it is not like I ever denied him౼”
“Lydia!” said Miss E.B. sharply, then cleared her throat. “We are getting off track. If you would continue, Miss J.F.?”
Miss J.F moved down the wall. The next portrait made her sigh. “Mr. F.C. was perhaps not in the same category as these other rakes, but there is no denying that he did trifle with m౼a woman’s affections. He convinced her to become secretly engaged to him, promising it would not be for long, and then he drew the secret out and out, all while flirting with another woman, and making everyone believe he was in love with her . And all for fear of his wealthy aunt.”
“Wealthy aunts are the worst,” muttered Miss M.D.
“The very worst ,” agreed Miss E.B.
“Oh, shut up, it’s not at all the same for you. Your wealthy aunt was useful , remember? Your man ran to you, not away from you.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t change the fact that౼”
“She’s right.” A woman with a rather high, whiny voice spoke up. “In fact, I don’t even know why you’re here. You have a husband who’s rich and young and handsome and doesn’t take mistresses. You know nothing of what’s like to choose between an old fool who might marry you and a young, charming one who౼”
“Just because I had the good morals to౼”
“Ladies!” Miss E.D spoke sharply. “Recall where you are, please! Every woman who is here is here for a reason, Miss P.C. As for you, Miss E.B., I expect you to behave as befits the current president of our esteemed organization. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes,” muttered Miss E.B.
“Yes,” muttered Miss P.C. with a scowl.
“Our next example,” said Miss J.F., in an elevated tone, “is Mr. W.E., who attempted to seduce one woman,” she nodded at Miss P.C., who tossed her head, “even while courting another for marriage. He was also known to lead other men astray into gambling and bad investments, and to deny their widows their proper inheritance. The others౼” She raised her lamp a little higher.
Henry Crawford, who had been following these exchanges in some bewilderment, sat up suddenly. “Those other two portraits are women!” he exclaimed.
“Yes,” agreed Miss E.B. “Unlike society, we here at the R.N.C.T.S. do not discriminate on the basis of sex. We recognize that women can be rakes too. That is Miss I.T. and౼ahem౼ Lady S.V. They suffered their consequences the same as the men did. The same as you , Mr. Henry Crawford.”
Henry squirmed against his binds. “I am sure this is all a mistake. I never did anything to injure any woman, I swear. If I allowed myself a little freedom in the matter of flirtation, well, the girls enjoy it just as much as I did! I’ve never forced myself on any woman. And I’m in love౼I’m sure you’ll be glad to hear that I have fallen very much in love with an extremely respectable young woman who will make me into a perfect model of propriety if I can convince her to marry me౼in fact, that’s why I’m here. I came to help her, you see. She needs me, and you wouldn’t deny a young, innocent girl the protection of the one man in the world who really loves her, would౼”
“Bring forth the witnesses!” cried one of the women suddenly. Three figures stepped forward out of the gloom, two tall and well-formed, one shorter and slighter. They removed their masks.
Henry gasped. “Julia౼Miss Bertram!--how are you౼Fanny? My darling, I found you! I was so worried, I came at once, just as your letter said to౼” His eyes moved to the third figure, and he gulped. “Maria,” he said weakly. “Mrs. Rushworth, what are you doing here?”
Miss Julia Bertram went first. “I, Julia Bertram,” she said, “do solemnly declare that this man, Henry Crawford, courted me, flirted with me, and made me fall in love with him, while also pursuing my sister, and without ever having serious intentions towards either of us.”
Mrs. Rushworth was next. “I, Maria Bertam Rushworth, do solemnly declare that this man, Henry Crawford, courted me, flirted with me, and made me fall in love with him, both before my marriage and after it, even while he also pursued first my sister, and then my cousin. He seduced me, ruined me, took me from my husband’s home, made me his mistress, and then refused to marry me.”
“Now look here,” said Henry, “that was not all my fault౼you seduced me, in fact, as I remember, and I only ran off with you because you declared you wouldn’t live in your husband’s house any longer and I knew you would never let me have Fanny౼so there’s no use pretending you were some sort of innocent౼” He stopped when the third woman stepped forward. “Fanny. Fanny, no. Dearest, surely you of all women wouldn’t౼I wanted to marry you!”
Fanny’s eyes were full of tears, but her face set in determined lines. “I, Fanny Price,” she said in her soft voice, “do solemnly declare that this man, Henry Crawford, courted me, flirted with me, and proposed marriage to me, after he had already made both my cousins fall in love with him, and then he would not accept my refusal. He said that he loved me, that he would continue to pursue me, and win me over by his constancy౼and instead, he seduced my cousin Maria and ran off with her.”
Henry winced. “Okay, that’s fair, but I really did mean it when I said I loved you. I totally would have married you౼I would marry you now! Now, please, darling౼” he wriggled in the chair, “accept my proposal now. Say you’ll marry me! I’ll never be unfaithful again, I promise. I won’t even flirt any more. I’ve learned my lesson, really.”
“That’s what they all say,” said Miss J.F. unemotionally.
“Women of the R.N.C.T.S,” proclaimed Miss E.B, “Henry Crawford is accused of dishonorable behavior towards women, wilfully breaking hearts, and generally behaving as a rake and a scoundrel. How do you find, guilty or not guilty?”
“Guilty!” cried the women as a whole.
Henry’s wriggling turned frantic. “No!” he cried, thrashing against his bonds, “you can’t do this! By Bacchus, this is wrong!”
Miss E.D. behind the desk put down her pencil, and took up a jar of some strange substance.
“No!” screamed Henry. “I’m too young to die!”
“Die?” one of the women asked. “What makes you think you are going to die? We’re not going to kill you!”
He paused. “You’re not?”
“Of course not. If we were going to kill you, do you think we would bother to wear masks, or use only our initials?”
“Oh. I didn’t think of that.”
“Of course you’re not going to die.” Miss E.D. handed the jar to Maria, who took it eagerly. “We’re just going to make sure that you will never be in a position to break another woman’s heart again. I would close my eyes, though, if I were you,” she added kindly.
Henry shrank against the chair as Maria advanced. Her face looked ghoulish in the flickering light. “Wh-what is that?”
“It’s acid,” said Maria. Fanny turned away, and some others gathered around her, patting her back.
“Here.” Julia tossed her mask onto his lap. “You’re going to need that.”