Page 10 of Molly Boys

“Because it’s exp…”

“Expected,” Ev finished for him in exasperation. “So you’ve said. Good grief, Hugh, you’re beginning to sound like a stuck Graphophone.”

“I don’t know why you’re fighting this.” Hugh’s voice rose as Ev pushed his chair back and stood abruptly. “You’ve always known you were destined for ordination. It is expected that, as the second son, you would take the vows and replace Father Ignatius when he retires so your parish would be close to home. Father has already designated the cottage on the edge of the estate for your use.”

“Yes, it’s all been planned out, hasn’t it? Pity my thoughts on the matter were neither required nor requested,” Ev said bitterly as he turned away from his brother, moving to the window and staring out at the bustling London Street. Sat at the edge of the road in front of his home was the family carriage, its paintwork polished black and ruthlessly clean. “Do you remember when we were children, Hugh?” Ev muttered, his gaze thoughtful. “You were always running about with a stick for a sword and one of Cook’s pot lids as a shield. I always thought you’d have made a fine soldier.”

“A childish fantasy I put aside a long time ago,” Hugh replied, his tone matching his brother’s. “There was never another path for me. As the eldest, it was my duty to marry and have children, just as it is my duty to take over from Father when the time comes. A military career was never in the cards, even if… even if I’d wished differently.”

“Hugh.” Everett glanced over his shoulder.

“When are you going to understand that there is no choice for any of us, only duty? Rich or poor, we’re all bound by circumstance and station.” Hugh frowned in frustration. “Everett, you have a responsibility, a calling.”

“A calling?” Ev scoffed as he turned away from the window. “Trust me, God would not want me guiding any of his flocks.”

“Don’t blaspheme,” Hugh muttered as he stared at Everett. “Look, as much as I’m loathe to admit you may not be particularly suited to a life of spiritual service, it is expected. You may not like it, but you have a duty to the family, to our legacy and our standing. I would also remind you that Father still holds the purse strings, and while you continue to live on his largesse, you are bound by his rules and expectations.”

Everett stared at him silently.

“Stop fighting it,” Hugh said as he rose from his seat, dusting a few errant crumbs from his trousers. “You’ll be happier if you just accept it.”

“I doubt that,” Ev muttered flatly.

“Be that as it may.” Hugh sighed. “Take some time and think about what I’ve said. I’ll make your apologies for the sixth, but Everett, Father won’t wait forever. Your time here is limited.”

Everett’s jaw tightened, the only outward sign of acknowledgement as Hugh bid him farewell and left the room, shutting the door behind him. Ev returned to the window and a few minutes later he watched his brother step from his front door in his heavy coat and top hat. Pausing momentarily while one of his footmen opened the door to his carriage, Hugh then climbed inside without a backward glance. The gold paint of their family crest adorning the door glinted as it caught the morning light when the footman swung it closed. With a sudden clatter of hooves on the cobblestones, the carriage jerked and set off down the street.

Tired, frustrated, and feeling more than a little unwell, Ev pushed away from the window, crossing the room with the intention of once again seeking out his bed. But as his eyes grazed the folded newspaper perched at the edge of the table, a smaller headline caught his attention. Pausing, he picked up the paper and unfolded it even as his gaze was already skimming the sickening words.

CHARGE OF COMMITTING AN UNNATURAL OFFENCE.

CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT.

George Wainright, 39, described as a clerk, and James Besley, 19, were indicted for an unnatural offence.

Mr. Sandford prosecuted for the Treasury; Mr. Green defended the prisoner Wainright, and Mr. Smith appeared for Besley, who pleaded guilty.

This case was one of a most atrocious character, it being alleged that the elder prisoner had pursued an act of egregious and improper conduct towards the younger prisoner Besley, who is employed in the telegraphic department of the Post Office. The prisoner Besley was summoned as a witness for the prosecution, and he gave a detailed account of the filthy conduct practised by the prisoner Wainright, who appeared to have met the boy in the vicinity of Hyde Park and invited him to his residence at No. 18, Park-street, Islington. The offence is a very serious one, and its details were of such a disgusting nature as to render it a nameless one.

Mr. Smith urged on behalf of the boy Besley that he had been a good, respectable boy until he had, unhappily, fallen in with the older prisoner and engaged in immoral and repeated acts of unnatural behaviour.

Wainright was sentenced to be kept in penal servitude for life, and the boy Besley to 10 years of the same punishment. Both sentences to be served at Newgate Prison.

Christ.

Ev swallowed uncomfortably. No. 18, Park-street, Islington was a little too close for comfort. Although still some distance from Francis’ establishment, the last thing they needed was the law looking too closely in the area.

He stared at the print, the words blurring as his fist tightened to screw the paper into a ball. A life sentence for Wainright and ten years for his younger lover.

Parliament may have repealed the buggery law and punishment by hanging, but right there in black and white was the proof of how little freedom they still had. It was still illegal to engage in any acts of intimacy with another man.

Ev closed his eyes and breathed slowly, the ill effects of the night before forgotten as his chest ached and his stomach tightened with a new discomfort. The constant fear of his sexuality being discovered was just another bar in the cage Francis described.

One that was getting smaller by the day.

3

Inspector Archibald Franklin shoved his hands further into the pockets of his heavy overcoat, the coarse material scraping his knuckles as his fists burrowed deeper against the cold. He’d pulled his collar up but it did little to keep the bitter wind from tugging the hair at the nape of his neck.