Feral Park by Mark Dunn Page B

with the following observation: “Oh, ’tis a hard life for those without money in London town. I have seen economic deprivations and I have seen the depravities of the morally deprived as well, such as could not be related in proper company such as this. La, there are even places there where men go to watch women dance like monkeys!”
    “I have heard of those parlours,” said John, with some interest, “but I have never been to one.” Then to the only other man in the room: “Tell me, Mr. Peppercorn, have you ever attended a show at one of the infamous London monkey parlours?”
    Suddenly there was attendance from nearly all within the room to the fact that the faces of both father and daughter were colouring at nearly the same rate. Anna, for her part, would not look at Gemma, who, having been told of Sophia’s employment there, was not aware of Mr. Peppercorn’s enlistment in times past as lip-licking spectator. “My, but I think you have been to a monkey parlour, Mr. P!” squealed Mrs. Dray with mischievous delight. “Yet think nothing of it! I myself went to sea for the purpose of adultery with my husband’s brother, and short of concealed murder, I cannot believe anyone in this room to own an offence greater in unalloyed wickedness.”
    “Oh, Mamma!” Gemma cried. “The wine has lubricated a frankness within you which can only result in discomfort to us all. Let us stop all such talk at this instant and repair to some place without a smell so that we may drink coffee and hold forth on topics that do not address our moral failings!”
    “Yes, yes,” said Mr. Peppercorn with manufactured joviality to mask the shame of admitting through a blush that he had delighted in seeing the furrynippled monkey dancers in Gracechurch Street. “The women should quit the room so that the men may take cigars and discuss the farm and weather reports. And how fortunate am I that Mr. Dray is here or I should be forced to respect custom by sitting alone with my cigar and talking to myself as would an inmate at Bedlam.”
    Mrs. Dray bestowed an indulgent smile upon Mr. Peppercorn, whilst saying, “You funny man. Now you must tell my daughter that I am not saying any thing that most of us do not already know. I own my offence and will always own it as my lifelong penance. For I know that though once I was a bad woman, I am a good woman now, am I not?”
    “You are a very good woman, Mamma,” interposed May, her eyes halfclosed into a droop of sleepiness. “We are all good people, each of us, would you not agree, Cousin Marie? Notwithstanding, of course, my behaviour earlier this evening for which I am most dreadfully ashamed. The evil ones in this family do not go by the name of Dray, but of Quarrels, and the distinction applies to both the mother and the son.”
    Cousin Marie nodded and said nothing. The nod was sufficient to the purpose.
    Mrs. Dray expounded upon what her daughter had said: “There is no greater hypocrite who ever lived than Lydia Quarrels. To point such an accusing finger at me with her own life so mired in putridity!”
    “And what sort of putridity is that ?” asked Anna.
    “I cannot say. I vowed never to speak of what I know about the woman.”
    Anna looked to her father to discern if he knew. The face hinted that he did. Anna snorted with distemper. She could not believe that such intelligence within the parish had somehow escaped his ken. Certainly her father must know, and, moreover, he had not been honest with her. Had he not indicated that his next meeting with his mysterious friend might reveal if there existed any intelligence of past wrongdoing by Mrs. Quarrels and her son that could be employed to restore the good reputation to Sophia Henshawe and remove her for ever from dishonourable employment upon the monkey stage? And had not the two already had their interview and her father reported that he had no information to retail? Intoxicated by Madeira, Anna was now given to ill thought