The Gentleman Volunteer by J S Cole

Author:J S Cole [Cole, J S]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781981066810
Published: 2017-12-12T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Newcastle, Northumberland, Kingdom of Great Britain

He ran his fingers down her spine, amused as she shivered then groaned in contentment.

'Now, why canna ye be tha' gentle wan we start,' she asked, having made real attempts to soften her pronunciation when speaking to him. Unfortunately it had resulted in a bastard litany of various accents and phrases from past clients that were more incomprehensible than the original.

'Can you blame me?' he asked, getting use to giving compliments and the advantages they brought him. 'When I look at you I'm surprised we even get to the bed.'

'Tha first time, we nearly dinna, pet,' she mocked gently. He couldn't argue with Maggie Armstrong; it was true, embarrassingly so, but he had persevered and she had guided him.

He lay on his back on an antiquated trestle bed, in one of the smallest rooms he had ever seen. It was a cubicle really, windowless and damp, lit only by a single candle and with the rickety bed leaving the narrowest of passages to a curtained off doorway. The Black Gate never claimed to be an upmarket establishment, and the in-house brothel was designed for quantity, not quality. Screams, cries, and grunting emitted from the adjacent rooms and regularly put him of his stride.

Three days after escorting the heavily intoxicated and injured Cameron Breckenridge back to their sparse lodgings he had returned to the infamous tavern by himself, already drunk and indifferent to any repercussions. A rude tap on the shoulder of the mature serving woman and a discreet flash of coins between them, and she was quickly gripping his hand and leading him up the steep stone steps to the second floor. A cheer from the intoxicated subalterns of many regiments greeted his climb, an affectation of the Black Gate and its well known carnal delights.

That had been several days ago and after repeated late night visits to the public house his funds were already dwindling, although he considered that it was money well spent.

A travelling case of correspondence had arrived from Captain Wilson, the exemplary London based regimental agent. Monies, deeds of purchase, copies of the King's commission and simple familial correspondence had been sorted and forwarded by the regimental paymaster: the ever efficient Captain Oughton.

There had been an unexpected letter from his mother, replying to that sent from Ostend and offering best wishes and a brief perusal of the family news, as well as a collection of mixed coins. It seemed written in haste and it wasn't the structured funding of before; more the scrimping and savings of a housewife trying to support her middle child. He felt some guilt, using the carefully collected change of his beloved mother's purse to pay for alcohol and sex. But the tedium, isolation and desperation of his circumstances occasioned necessity and had numbed him to his immoral behaviour.

Now lying stretched and taunt on the low bed, one hand behind his head and the other stroking her skin, he felt a tremendous sense of satisfaction. Not

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