“Our audience being women who can read murder mysteries to their children under the guise of providing didactic tales to prove that no crime goes unpunished.”
Isla sniffs. “In this case, the crimesomewould see is that a woman dared pen such things and was, in their minds, rightfully threatened with punishment.”
“Either way,” Jack says, “it would be inappropriate. Depictions of gruesome murder, yes. The mention of writings exploring sexuality?” She shudders. “Think of the children.”
I want to roll my eyes at the very Victorian-ness of this. And then I remember the childhood friend who was allowed to rent any action or horror movie, however violent, as long as it didn’t contain nudity.
I can still blame the Victorians, right? They started it.
Okay, it was probably the Puritans, who passed it on to the Victorians, but still...
Isla says, “I presume the blackmailer is threatening to expose this poor woman as a pornographer?”
“Worse,” I say. “They’re threatening tomakeher a pornographer. To have her writings published and sold, with her name attached.”
“Published and sold?” Isla’s brows knit. “Is that profitable?”
Both Jack and I turn to stare at her.
“Is pornography profitable?” Jack says slowly. “If that is your question, Mrs. Ballantyne, I fear you are more sheltered than I thought.”
Isla glares at both of us. “I know pornographic sketches and photography are profitable. I mean this sort. Writing that is purely intimate in nature, rather than part of a larger narrative, such asFanny Hill.”
“You’ve readFanny Hill, Mrs. Ballantyne?” Jack says.
Isla’s glare locks on her. “I read everything, and if you expect me to sputter and flush, I will not.”
“Actually,” I say, “your question is the reason I called you both in here. I don’t know whether things like this are popular or easily sold. I could ask Dr. Gray, but he reallywouldsputter, as well as turn a very unhealthy shade of red and, ultimately, not answer the question.”
“But you thoughtIcould?” Isla says.
“Hey, you just said you read everything.”
“Having not known this sort of writing existed, I have not read it.”
I grin at her. “Good. Then I know what to get you for Hogmanay.”
She does sputter and flush at that, then skewers me with a glare that says I will pay for this.
I turn to Jack. “How about you? As a writer, would you say there’s a market for letters like this?”
Jack stretches her legs and then remembers she’s wearing a skirt and retracts them. “There is certainly an audience for such work. Putting it into a larger narrative—particularly if one can pass it off as proper literature—is one way to do it, but there is a very avid market for those who do not want story interfering with the risqué bits. It can pay exceedingly well. I tried it myself but...” She shrugs. “I am better at writing about murder. That problem, to be honest, seems to be a lack of experience.”
“You have more experience with murder than sex?” I say.
She sighs. “I strode into that one, didn’t I? No, it’s not even a lack of experience with sexual congress so much as a lack of experience withgoodsexual congress. No one wants to read about the bad stuff, even if it’s embellished by imagination.”
“I feel I should offer my condolences,” I say. “I would also suggest you stop bothering with the bad stuff.”
“And how would you suggest I do that? Ask men whether they’re any good first? They all think they’re incredible becausetheyfinish every time. This is one place where I truly envy men.”
“For being able to finish every time?”
“Well, yes, but beyond that, men can easily obtain good sex by paying for it. Go to a brothel and lay down money for a woman of craft and experience. Women do not have that option. We have to take what we can get and hope for the best, which isneverthe best, no matter what the men claim.”
I glance at Isla, who is sitting perfectly still, with the expression of a twelve-year-old hearing teen girls talk about sex, trying to look casual, as if she hears this all the time, as if she’s not inwardly shocked that they’re openly discussingitthe way one discusses the weather.
As I’ve said, women in this time do discuss sex, but only among themselves and, from what I can tell, primarily among the lower classes. Jack would have no problem with it, and she’d presume I wouldn’t, either.
