Free Friends and Lovers by Joan Smith

“There is Mrs. Livingstone living in state in that grand brick house on the river, not a mile away from here.”
    I opened my mouth to shush her, but Culligan’s hand was already flying across the page, while he mentioned it would be better still if we could give him another name or two. “I don’t know that one mistress would blacken his character, him being a bachelor, you see. It might be what you call an extenuating circumstance.”
    “Might be?” I asked. “Don’t you know for sure? You are a lawyer.”
    “Each case is unique. I have never had one just like this before. It is his lordship being a lord that clouds my understanding. Not to say the law is different for the rich and titled, but if he managed to get a jury of his peers, you see, they would certainly see nothing amiss in a bachelor having a fancy. They would think him a rum touch if he had not. If you could tell me something in his background that is really wicked, we would have a stronger case. You wouldn’t happen to know if he molests children—that would be an excellent point. Or we could use beating his servants, insisting on having his way with the serving wenches—any sort of perversion in particular would be entirely helpful to us.”
    “No! Good gracious, no! He is not a monster of depravity. He is only inconsiderate of the children’s day-to-day comfort. I do not want you asking such questions as that of his friends.”
    “I deal subtle-like,” he assured me.
    I next mentioned Peter’s inheritance of ten thousand pounds, which would provide them a more comfortable home than Lady Anne’s cottage, lest Menrod use that against me.
    “Aha!” Culligan said, his lips splitting in a smile. “It is their blunt he’s after. That is an excellent point. Would you happen to know if he’s ever got money from anyone else by these underhanded means?”
    “Certainly he has not! It is not the children’s money he is after, either. That was not my meaning. Really, I think you are going at this the wrong way, Mr. Culligan. I do not want Menrod traduced so wantonly as you are doing.” I was beginning to consider dropping the case entirely, or the lawyer, at least.
    “Now I see you are vexed with me,” he said. “You must not think because I speak very frankly to you within these walls that I will shout the same questions about the countryside, Miss Harris. Client privilege—what you say to me here will never be uttered by me outside. It is my duty, as your lawyer, to do my best to win the case for you. You may be sure Menrod is following the same course with his man, in having your character looked into. It is the normal way of going on. Law is a messy business, but we’ll wrap the whole up in a clean linen when the time comes to go public. Don’t take another pique, but I really must enquire whether there is anything in your own background that don’t bear scrutiny. No liaisons, never run afoul of the law, paid your debts all up proper, and so on, have you?”
    “My character is good,” I said, incensed, though I knew the question was necessary.
    “We owe the greengrocer two pounds,” Mama reminded me.
    This naive statement convinced Culligan we were a pair of angels. He went into a merry peal of laughter. It was a long, distasteful interview. I was told to go through my correspondence with Hettie, for I had kept her letters, and discover whether there was anything indicating I should be the children’s guardian in case they were orphaned. I knew there was nothing of the sort, but he insisted I check.
    I felt as though I had been rolling in a gutter when we finally got out into the clean sunshine. There was something depraved about the visit.
    “You did not tell him about the stairs, Wendy,” was my mother’s first comment. “That shows a bad streak in his character, to make Mr. Everett take them out, when they were so much better than the old.”
    “I fear that is a mark against us, rather than Menrod. We agreed not to change