Free The Painted Lady by Edward Marston

Araminta no period of grace?’
    ‘A week is more than adequate. That will give her time to bury her husband and embrace the notion of widowhood.’
    ‘She needs to mourn, Jocelyn.’
    ‘What she needs is solace,’ Kidbrooke declared, ‘and I intend to offer it to her. If the two of you prefer to stand aside out of a false sense of sympathy, you leave the field clear for Henry and me.’
    ‘So be it,’ said Prout. ‘I resign from the Society. I’ll happily forfeit my stake in the enterprise.’
    ‘Well, I’ll not do so,’ said Sir Willard, forcefully. ‘I’ve put in too much money to quit the contest now. Jocelyn is right. What place has morality in the deflowering of a virgin? We do but follow the natural impulse of our sex.’
    ‘Araminta is no longer what she was when I devised the Society and you would do well to bear it in mind, Sir Willard. A virgin cannot be deflowered twice. Sir Martin Culthorpe has already performed the office that we all aspired to.’
    ‘We do not know that,’ said Kidbrooke.
    ‘Of course, we do. They were married for weeks.’
    ‘Some wives have been married for years before they discovered the delights of the flesh. Some husbands simply do not know what they are about in the bedchamber. Culthorpe may be one of them.’
    ‘Who could possibly resist Araminta?’ asked Prout.
    ‘A husband who respected her too much,’ said Kidbrooke. ‘A man who led a celibate and God-fearing life for over forty yearsbefore he even thought about marriage – in short, Sir Martin Culthorpe. I doubt if they even shared a bed on their wedding night and, if they did, it was surely occupied by two virgins. That’s what irks me most,’ he added through gritted teeth. ‘Culthorpe had that jewel of womanhood in his grasp yet he had no idea what to do with her.’
    ‘Jocelyn makes a telling point,’ said Sir Willard, his interest renewed. ‘Araminta may still be untouched.’
    ‘I’m certain of it. She still has that wondrous bloom on her.’
    ‘You’ve seen her?’
    ‘Only from a distance.’
    ‘When?’
    ‘Recently.’
    ‘Where?’
    ‘That’s my business,’ said Kidbrooke, evasively. ‘The point is this. One of us may still be able to fulfil the original aim of the Society. Now that good fortune has removed her odious husband, Araminta is there for the taking, gentlemen.’
    ‘Not by me,’ said Prout.
    ‘What about you, Sir Willard?’
    ‘All my senses have been revived,’ said the other with a wolfish grin. ‘So beautiful yet still a maid? No husband left to safeguard her? The lure is irresistible. I’m with you, Jocelyn. I begin to drool already. Araminta is fair game.’
     
    Jean-Paul Villemot had worked on the portrait until fading light made him stop. He had never been so inspired by any woman who had sat for him before. Araminta Culthorpe was a positive gift to an artist. He set up candles around his easel so that she remained in view as the paint slowly dried. Long into the evening, he kept returning to look at her, relishing her beauty afresh on each occasion as if seeing it for the first time. As he watched, he drank wine and it made him increasingly maudlin. When he had emptied one bottle, he opened another. He went back to the portrait again and liftedhis glass in honour to Lady Culthorpe before taking another sip of wine.
    Villemot set the glass aside. Taking hold of the painting with both hands, he brought it gently towards him until it was only inches from his face. His face was aglow, his eyes moist.
    ‘ Ma cherie !’ he sighed.

Chapter Four
    Jonathan Bale looked after his parish with an almost paternal care. Whenever a serious crime was committed on what he saw as his territory, he took it as a personal affront and bent all his energies to solving it. He hated to see Baynard’s Castle Ward soiled in any way but even he could not keep pace with the petty theft, drunkenness, domestic violence, prostitution, fraud and tavern brawls that were regular events