Free Not Less Than Gods by Kage Baker

Residentials were invited to relate the story of the challenge they had faced, which they did with a great deal of hilarity and mutual interruption. After the savories, water ices were served, lemon and ratafia flavored, amusingly molded to resemble asparagus stalks. The maids bore away the dishes and brought cigars to offer; and when the pleasant fragrance of tobacco drifted in blue clouds up to the ventilation screens, Mrs. Corvey said:
    “Now then, sirs, I expect you’re ready to meet the ladies.”
    “Yes please,” said Pengrove, who had made a few exploratorily suggestive remarks to the maids and been ignored.
    “A word, first,” said Ludbridge, as he exhaled a plume of smoke. “Don’t imagine these are common whores, gentlemen. They’ve been trained as carefully as you have, and to the same ends. They merely employ different means.”
    “A lady
may
hold a pistol to a statesman’s head and demand to know his plans for war or peace, but there are far more subtle and effective means of persuading him to speak,” said Mrs. Corvey.
    “D’you begin to understand?” Ludbridge turned his cheroot in his fingertips. “There’s a reason this place is called what it is. These are your equals, gentlemen.”
    “I am certain they fully comprehend,” said Mrs. Corvey graciously. “And there is one other thing I should mention, my dears: you will not choose from amongst my young ladies. They will choose you, as they are extending a professional courtesy. Ah! They approach.”
    The rustle of skirts was heard from beyond a curtain, and the ladies of Nell Gwynne’s came all together into the room.
    One, at least, did not wear skirts; she wore male attire, with hercropped hair combed back sleek, and smoked her own cheroot. One wore a lady’s equestrienne habit, and carried a riding crop. One was gowned in severe respectable gray, bespectacled, tapping a birch rod into her palm thoughtfully as she considered the gentlemen. Three were indistinguishable from the most well-bred society debutantes, perfectly turned out in the latest fashion in colors to suit their respective blonde, brunette and auburn hair. Another seemed an intentional parody of a fallen woman, her mouth and gown a startling red, her cheeks heavily rouged, kohl rimming her eyes.
    “So these are the new boys, are they?” she remarked. Her accent was cut-crystal refined, would not have seemed out of place in Belgravia. The Residentials, who had scrambled to their feet, stared mute.
    “They are. Gentlemen, permit me to introduce Herbertina Lovelock, Mrs. Otley, Miss Rendlesham, the Misses Devere, and Lady Beatrice. Girls, this is Mr. Charles Augustus Pengrove, Mr. John Frederick Hobson, and Mr. Edward Alton Bell-Fairfax.”
    “Stop a bit,” said Pengrove. “How did you learn our Christian names?”
    “I know a good many things you wouldn’t expect,” replied Mrs. Corvey. “Useful in my line of work, isn’t it? You may have at them, girls.”
    Mrs. Otley, she of the riding crop, stepped forward and tapped Hobson on the chest. “This looks like a sturdy little mount. I wonder if he can gallop for long distances, or is he only fit to bear burdens?”
    Hobson blushed. “I—er—I should be delighted to go for a ride, madam.”
    “Tch! I’ll do the riding, my dear. Come along.” She gave him a swat with the riding crop and led him from the room to chambers beyond. Miss Rendlesham struck Pengrove lightly with her birch rod.
    “This one looks like a troublemaker, to me,” she said. “I daresay you speak out of turn, don’t you, boy?”
    “I do!” said Pengrove, wide-eyed. “Dreadfully! My parents despair over my impertinent behavior! I’m perfectly awful, if you want the truth!”
    “Oh, I do,” said Miss Rendlesham. “More truth than you can imagine. Step along now, and don’t dawdle, or I shall become extremely vexed with you.” Grasping him by the ear, she led him out. Before the soundof their footsteps faded, those in the parlor