The morning had been beautiful. Calm, quiet... Nora had sat in her window and stared at the sky for hours. Some street-musician had started playing music right under her feet. It had been so wonderful.

Then that toddler of a boy had come along, wanting her to join him and his cousin for lunch. They were both already drunk, and one of them had another girl on his arm.
“You think you can afford me?” she had yelled at him from her window in the second floor.
“Try me!” he’d hollered back. The others laughed as if he’d just said something hilarious.
“I’m expensive!” Nora informed him. He looked to young to be able to pay her. She was sceptical.
“I know that, that’s why we’re here. Only the very best today!”
“What are we celebrating?” the girl between them asked curiously.

She never got to know that. Now she was on Nora’s arm, too drunk to walk steadily on her own accord. Muttering angrily, she cursed the ‘old hag’ who had just thrown them out of her bar crying for them to take their business elsewhere. She imitated the lady’s voice, sounding very much like her, which made Nora giggle.
“’I won’t have my nephews anywhere near the likes of you!’ - The likes of you. – Who’s she think she is? Ooo, I’m so high and mighty… Thinkin’ she’s so much better than us. Pah!”
Well, she is, Nora mused, but showed her consent by spitting.
“Phoey!”
“They’d’a’ been good payers too, those guys, I’ll bet. They looked well-off.”
“Mm. Running low?”
“Give ya one guess.”
“Didn’t you use to work at The Spread Eagle? Why’d you quit there? It’s a steady-“
”I hated it there.”
“And you love this?”
”I… You earn way more now than you ever did working brothels, right?”
“Sure, but I’ve been at it for over ten years. And I have regulars. Besides -”
” -and you’re damn popular. What is it you do to them?”
“I’m just irresistible.” Nora flipped her hair and laughed at the other girl’s grimace. “Don’t worry. We’ll find some new ones. I’m not even sure those guys were good for it. I joined for the drinks. I’ll find you some better ones.”
”Thanks… Nora, right?” Nora nodded. “Yeah, I knew that. I’m Endina. You don’t need them for yourself?”
“What, costumers? You think that’s all I can get, is one? Sweetie, you underestimate me!” Endina giggled and Nora flipped her hair again and gave her an exaggerated sensual look over pursed lips. “And no – What I need today is not money. What I really need are drinks. – Let’s go through here.”

She dragged Endina, into Kirk Park, heading through it towards Lindebo’s main street. The cathedral loomed in the distance, making Nora shudder and look another way. “Stroll,” she commanded her friend.
“Eh?”
“Stroll, don’t stumble. Stumbling is not attractive.”
“Oh, and here I was thinking it would help me hook someone,” Endina rolled her eyes.
“Allright. Stop here. Let’s fix you a little.” Nora stroked the younger girl’s hair from her face and, with a bit of help from her own spittle, rubbed her cheeks clean of eye-shadow. Then she straightened both her own dress and her companion’s. “There we go. Now stroll.”
“Aaalrighty!” Endina put her chin up and marched ahead, exaggerating childishly. Nora laughed heartily.
“Ah, you’re a lady!” She caught up with Endina, both of them giggling frantically and not at all noticing that they were about to crash into a gentleman.
“Ooop! Aha!” cried Endina as they both hit his chest at the same time.
“Holy…! Oh my! Oh, Sir, I’m so sorry!” groaned Nora panic-stricken.
“We can make it up to you,” tweeted Endina. Nora kicked her.

Lord Wothersham walked among the trees in the late afternoon, his steps treading a familiar path without much conscious thought. He’d been down here many times before, and his mind was on other things. He was not paying attention to where he was going, his feet knew the way, and neither was he paying attention to the people around him; he expected them to get out of his way. John Doyle wasn’t much noted for being a person that rushed to make the path easier for others, it was more the opposite. He expected people to rush to make the way easier from him. So, heedless of the path ahead, he walked, and thought of the ongoing litigation with the Grainger family.

The honourable James Grainger, son of the late Lord Philip Grainger of Kirkleith, his baronial father, was twin the honourable David Grainger. Both had been seeking the majority of their father’s estate, as well as the title of baron, and James had originally retained John as solicitor to facilitate his claim. But recently, a man named Stephan Grainger had intruded on what had been shaping up to be a nice family squabble that would go on for years, which would of course have supplied John’s coffers with large amounts of fees over the same years. Stephan claimed to be the illegitimate son of Lord Kirkleith by the honourable Charlotte Moore, the daughter of a neighboring baron. That wouldn’t have been a problem except that the man was older than both of the twins, his mother backed him up despite the shame it brought her—but then, she was a widow and had nothing really to lose—and he sought his late father’s title and fortune exclusively. It was shaping up to be a lot of complicated litigation, and John was attempting to formulate a course of action that would allow him to resolve the dispute in a manner that was a tribute to his skill as an inheritance solicitor, but would take long enough to complete that he would gather a few hundred pounds in fees. It didn’t really matter if the twins ran themselves into bankruptcy trying to get the quarrel resolved, as long as they paid him first.

With this occupying his mind, Lord Wothersham did not notice the two giggling women until they crashed right into his tall frame. Both rebounded off him as he was considerably larger than they and with more forward momentum, and his arms came up to catch them, responding to the involuntary human instinct to save another from falling over. The one in his right arm was nothing special, neither particularly pretty nor homely, but the one in his left arm was quite beautiful. In fact, had she been dressed decently, he expected that she would have competed with the titled ladies quite nicely, being more beautiful than at least half of those he had looked over as prospective brides in the last months. Then his thoughts caught up with him and he realised what her uncovered hair and exposed bosom meant, and he realized his arms were around a pair of shameless women. Humiliated to be holding them—the rumors that would start if anyone saw!—a flush crept over his face.

Not wanting to compound his error by releasing them before they were steady on their feet, thus making it look as if he had caused it, he kept his arms around them until he was sure they had their balance. It took them only perhaps a couple seconds, but it was during this time that he noticed what had happened. The beautiful one was significantly shorter than his great height, and his arm was long enough that in curling around to catch her slim body his hand had been able to reach around to her front; his left hand now rested on her right breast, and because of the reflexive tightening of the hand muscles when her weight had shifted onto his arm, appeared to be firmly grasping it.

Immediately his hands flew off of them, mortified, his thoughts reeling. The Devil! What ought he do now? He had been clutching a scarlet woman’s chest! In public! The rumors that would spawn! And what if she charged him with assault? She could legally do that, and it would be her word against his. Except that she would have her friend as a witness, and if anyone had seen, he could reasonable be charged with embracing them, since his arms had made contact with both. If she chose to take it to court, he could potentially face penalties, and he would lose so much face that he would never recover. His career would be over and he would have to leave Lindebo, just when he had become accustomed to it.

What if he apologized right away? It was humiliating, if he thought about it, to have to apologize to a shameless woman, but it had been his error. Would the woman let it go, if he was suitably abject enough? At least it wouldn’t hurt his case in court, then, and perhaps if another passerby in the park heard it, he could mount defense if she took it to court. Facing Nora, he gave the apology his best shot. “I am truly sorry, lady. I didn’t mean… it wasn’t my intention… I oughtn’t to have…” What could he say?! He was stumbling over his own words, not something that usually troubled him, but there was no way to delicately phrase it. It wouldn’t strike the right tone. Why had she run into him anyway? He wouldn't be in this predicament right now if she had just been watching where she had been going. He settled on indirection instead of explicitly naming what he was apologizing for.

“I am truly sorry. Is there anything I can do to make amends?”

Nora looked blankly at the stranger for a few moments, trying to comprehend what he was playing at. Why was he apologizing? They were the ones who had crashed into him.
“Make amends?” she echoed bemused. “What for? Certainly, Sir, you had no fault in this. I’m sorry. We really didn’t see where we were going. We should be more careful, I promise I will be in the future.” She looked at him, feeling his eyes almost uncomfortably piercing. He had offered to make amends when he thought it was his fault. She should do the same thing. “I hope you weren’t hurt, Sir. I would offer some compensation…” Searching her mind for anything at all she might have on her that he would like, she noticed a peculiar look on his face and had a sudden understanding. That was not what he was sorry for.

She had felt his tight clasp on her chest, but thought little of it until now. She figured any man that had a whore thrown his way like that would feel entitled to give her merchandise a little once over. Now she realized he was not of the same opinion. She lowered her glance. He was probably not the type of person who would want affiliation with her kind. …Or was he? It was worth a shot; he looked quite well-off.
“I could always compensate by…” she smiled flirtingly at him and swung her skirts back and forth like a little schoolgirl. .
”That’s what I said!” Endina exclaimed.
“Yes, Endina is also willing to help,” Nora confirmed unnecessarily. "But I mean if you liked what you.... felt.” She tilted her head and examined his dark eyes curiously, then gave him a little wink. “You could at least buy me a drink?”

The woman he had grasped began to apologise to him, making Lord Wothersham even more agitated than he was before. Did she misunderstand him and think that he had done it on purpose? That would be unbearable, to have a scarlet woman think he was so unmannered as to behave as a common drunk, to look down on him for discourtesy. He was the one who should look down on her, for being of a lower class. But it became apparent after her next words that she had thought he was apologising for crashing into her, instead of for groping her. He was flabbergasted. Why in the Devil’s name would he apologise to her for something that was her fault? And then he realised what her misunderstanding meant. Maybe she hadn’t felt his hand on her, being distracted by her near-fall. Perhaps she would not have it in mind to charge him with assault after all.

But then he saw the gleam of comprehension in her eye, and knew that she understood what he was apologising for, even though she carried on apologising to him. Was she winding him up to extort something from him in exchange for not taking him to court? But then she made an offer he couldn’t mistake, and her friend chimed in. The woman then actually stated that her friend would help with her offer, and John became even more leery of them. What she proposed was impropriety, but didn’t she realise that it was simply debauched to think of what her friend’s help tacitly assumed? And then she qualified her offer, stating it was only valid based on his judgement. If he liked what he felt.

If he… liked what he felt? The implied question floored John. What kind of thing was that to ask a gentleman? It certainly wasn’t proper, was it? Did she mean to be rhetorical? Or, if not, was it a question which begged a polite answer, or was one supposed to answer it honestly? But then, if so, how was one supposed to judge? And this, realised John, was why the question bothered him so; not that he would ever admit it to anyone. He had no idea how men judged such things.

Lord Wothersham prided himself on possessing far more knowledge than the normal man. But in this crucial area he was deficient. He had never held hands with a woman except to bestow a courtesy kiss on her fingers, had never kissed a woman’s lips before, let alone done something so intimate as touching a breast. Affiliations with women had previously been only distractions from furthering his own goals, and he had eschewed them. Therefore he had no basis for comparison, and without that, how could he be sure of answering the woman’s question with the correct subjectivity?

He would have to answer objectively, that being the only other option. Unbidden, the feel of the woman’s breast under his hand came back. Roundness… there was a definite roundness to her. And she was soft, yet firm at the same time. And the exposed upper part, surrounded by a waterfall of white lace, trademark of her profession, was silk-smooth and far softer than her linen dress below. Yes, he had definitely liked what he felt, and—What was he thinking? Was he actually considering what a woman’s breast had felt like, so that he could tell her? He was a gentleman, and such thoughts ought not to spring to his mind at all about a woman he had just met, and should certainly never be expressed vocally.

He was so flustered by the fact that he had been thinking about her chest that in response to her question he blurted, “Yes! Yes, of course! I—“ And then his brain caught up with is ears. She wasn’t on the subject of breasts and whether he liked them or not anymore. She was talking about drinks. But now that he’d said what he had, he didn’t feel like going back and explaining what he had been thinking when he said it. It would be the height of humiliation. His mind, usually so composed and on track, had been completely snarled by this woman, and he sought desperately to cover over his words so that she wouldn’t guess what he had been considering. “Yes! Drink! At once. Drink, of course a drink. It’s the least I can do!”

What the deuce was happening to him? Lord Wothersham, the same Lord Wothersham who had faced down earls and litigated in the high courts, was stumbling like a novice barrister because of this one woman, who was so much lower in status than he that he should not even have deigned to notice her. How to salvage this situation? He had now committed himself to joining the woman and her companion at some rathskeller for drinks. That was disastrous; men of his station were not seen with scandalous women in broad daylight, nor did they drink publicly before the eventide. It was time to stop reacting to events as they happened and take control. The best thing now, if he was going to have to take these women, was to behave as if he had meant to do that all along. Drawing himself up, he directed at Nora as normally as he could manage, “I am sorry, I have not introduced myself yet. Do forgive my lapse. I am Lord Wothersham. And whom do I have the pleasure of escorting this afternoon?”

“My, my! A Lord!” Nora was surprised. She had not expected a man of this caliber to join them anywhere at all so early in the afternoon, and especially not in so indiscreet a fashion. Nora was often hired by noblemen, and occasionally noblewomen, but in these cases she was almost always cautiously approached and lectured for ages about the confidentiality of the matter. Lord Wothersham, in contrast, seemed to think taking the two girls for drinks in the middle of the day was a very good idea indeed. He was in fact quite enthusiastic in his response, if somewhat flustered.

“Endina Martin.” Endina introduced herself with a deep curtsy as well as a slight bow of her head. ”And this is Nora. Er, Nora…?” She gestured towards Nora, questioningly. She didn’t know her friend’s last name.
“Just Nora,” Nora said, curtsying too. “I’m s-“
”He’s a Lord, Nora. You can’t be on first name basis with a Lord. Give him your last name so he can call you Miss Something.”
“No last name. My Lord will have to call me Miss Nothing, I’m afraid,” Nora shot Endina an annoyed look. Which is actually a rather fitting name, she thought to herself. “I have on occasion picked random surnames to use, but too many people start interrogating me on relatives and origins, so I stopped doing that.” She smiled.

“So where would you like to go, Lord Wothersham? We know of many places, but they are rather rowdy and hardly befitting of a man such as yourself. Would you still prefer we take you there, or would you prefer to choose the locale yourself?” Endina had taken Lord Wothersham’s left arm and Nora held his right one. He appeared stiff and nervous to her. Perhaps it had been a while for him? “I also have a somewhat more secluded room we could go to,” she said, making her voice soft to try and calm him down.
Endina shot in: “We would have to stop by a liquor store though.”
“Right.”
”And then we have the gutter. Where I live.” Endina giggled and Nora felt Lord Wothersham jerk. She wondered what the hell Endina was doing to him.
“Yes, fitting for people like us,” she filled in. “But don’t worry. We’re nice girls, really. I promise.” Discreetly, without letting go of her companion’s arm, she let her free hand slide up his arm, stroking him - gently at first, then more firmly. Yes, it had definitely been a while for him. Poor man, that was probably why he wasn’t able to wait for a better occasion.

The two women seemed surprised at John’s title. Well, they were prostitutes, by their very nature women of low repute. It was to be expected that they wouldn’t meet members of the peerage often. Perhaps that was the reason for their exceedingly odd and impolite exchange under his nose. The beautiful one gave her first name, Nora, and the other one, Endina, had an argument about proper forms of address with her. Lord Wothersham, adhering to the tenets of courtesy even if they did not, said nothing about it, but privately felt that Endina ought to know that it was atrocious manners to correct someone publicly, or at least so indelicately as that.

He was about to assure both of them that since he likely would never see either of them again after this day, it did not really matter what they chose to introduce themselves as, when they started speaking again. It struck him then that it was probably a good thing that they both seemed to talk more than any three wealthy women combined; otherwise he would have said it to them, and recent experience had taught him that women were less than keen on his honesty in that regard. The last time he’d said something like that had been to the Honourable Rachel Pryer, explaining that he wouldn’t see her again so he really had no interest in talking to her. She’d slapped him, and she was the daughter of a Baron. What would these two women, from less refined society, have done in her place? For the first time, John began to be slightly worried for his personal well being in addition to his reputation.

He kept his mouth shut until Nora asked where he would like to go. Since he had pledged himself to take her for a drink to absolve himself of liability in her eyes, his initial thought, Home, or anywhere without you, wasn’t a fitting response. But she continued on without even a pause, and he stood there waiting for a moment to speak without interrupting. But Nora kept on talking, and then both women took his arms. It would have been more polite for them to wait for him to offer, but then, again, they scarlet women. He listened as Nora listed the possibilities, but was distracted by a sudden sharp pain in his left buttock, causing him to jerk.

Endina giggled, and his severe gaze went to her. She grinned up at him, and it took him a moment to realize that she meant the expression to be coy. The woman had the teeth of a horse. And she had just pinched his arse! Lord Wothersham, never goosed before in his life, had just had his bum fondled by a whore. That was downright humiliating. He may have accidentally grasped Nora’s bosom, and be required to redress the error, but that didn’t mean that he should have to stand for this trollop Endina violating his person! He was about to tell the whore on no uncertain terms that it was Nora that he owed drinks to, that it was only her companion whose goodwill he needed to buy, and that she was only along because for some reason he hadn’t thought to stipulate that before, when Nora began to run her hand along his sleeve.

He could feel the pressure through his coat, and even though this, too, was a violation of courtesy and his personal space, it did not offend him as Endina had. He wondered if that might not have something to do with the fact that, when he looked back at Nora, she smiled at him, and it was an open and, from all appearances, honest expression, unlike the ghastly grimace that Endina had foisted on him. Nora had a beautiful face, with perfect teeth, in contrast to Endina’s large graveyard slabs. John told himself he was staring at her face like a boggle-brained idiot and recalled himself to answer her question from before.

It would be a disaster if he chose the place where they were to go. He only knew the upper houses, where he might meet somebody he recognized, who would be aghast to see him at this time, with the sun barely going down. He would gain a reputation as a rake as soon as one of the titled ladies could pass it on, and his chances of marrying well would evaporate. Once saddled with the appellation roué, only those ladies who were desperate to marry off their daughters would treat with him.

Therefore, it would be better if Nora chose the place where they went. He ignored the comments made by Endina, and chose to also ignore the more intimate setting Nora had suggested. His reputation would be certainly doomed if he were observed entering a brothel, which was what she no doubt meant by that. Holding his right arm courteously for Nora, who was at least being dignified about this whole fiasco, he edged a little closer to her so as to be able to hold Endina further from himself. The silly woman was practically enveloping his arm, and the further it was from his body the better.

“I think it would be best if you choose the place we are to visit,” he informed Nora. “Since it is for you that I am buying drinks, it is only proper that you should be able to select a place known to you, to be able to enjoy them in a setting of familiarity and comfort.” And the Lord help him if she didn’t take his hint and instead picked an upper-class place. But what more could he do? She would no doubt be offended if he stated his wishes directly, and would then perhaps seek to litigate against him.

Nora took the hint. She nodded in agreement, relieved that she wouldn’t have to deal with an upper-class location and the environment it would mean. She was neither suitably dressed for it, nor had she worked up the courage like she usually did if she were to venture such places. And most importantly she was completely sober.
“What about McMillian’s then?” she suggested to Endina, who gave a slight little nod. For some reason she looked snubbed.

As the three of them exited the park, Endina was clearly moving towards Kirk Street, while Nora hesitated before deciding it would be better to sidle off into Edward’s. If he did not want just anyone and everyone to see him with them, Kirk Street was not the best option.
“Let’s walk this way. Kirk is so crowded this time of day,” she suggested sending Lord Wothersham a knowing look. She met Endina’s eyes as she lowered her gaze; they were filled with contempt, which confused Nora.

A steam-car coerced its way past them, forcing them to jump a few puddles while escaping. A “Watch for it!” followed by a point and a giggle escaped her, but little else was said until they arrived. Nora sensed a certain tension, but was unsure whether it came from their costumer or Endina, - or if it had just been too long since she’d last had a drink. She busied herself counting the cobblestones and light posts until they needed to cross over to Kirk’s in order to get to where they were going.

((OOC: Next post in "Sounds of the Working Class"))