Silver, p.11
Silver, page 11
I suppose I had not even given it so much thought as that even, at the time it was impossible to imagine mother without father or he without her. In the end she had died of a large tumour in her stomach. Her last months were terribly hard on us all but father bore the worst of it. Even as an adult they were protecting me as if I were a child and they both made sure that I never endured any of the details of the awful treatments that the doctors tried on her. Geoffrey had seen it too. He was a regular visitor to Hamble Gardens in those last few months, I know father and he shared more than business during that time.
As I stared back at Geoffrey, his tired grey eyes sparkled with tears. He would never speak of any of that in this room. He had seen my father cry on a few occasions but in truth what man would not in such horrendous circumstances. Geoffrey himself had lost his own wife a few years after him and then he too had cried. Avery had been the natural choice of all his friends in whom to confide and to lean on. The question posed by the young man was a touch too far and Leech visibly prickled as the young man, feeling awkward in the silence created by Leech, repeated himself. Leech weighed up how much he was willing to share in the matter of public interest and what was adequate in a legal investigation such as this.
“I don’t see that this has any bearing on this inquiry,” he settled upon, looking to the Coroner for assistance. The Coroner merely tipped his head on one side, considering the matter before reluctantly addressing the juror.
“I think, whilst we can say it would throw some more light on the life of the deceased, it does not serve this inquiry in determining the cause of death nor the question in hand as to gender.”
An argument was ready on the lips of the young man; he was evidently cross that he had not had the opportunity to have his own line of questioning praised as had the previous gentleman. He decided against putting words to his disgruntled thoughts and instead crossed his legs and turned his back on the room a little. It was an insolent and immature gesture that did not go unnoticed by the Coroner who rolled his eyes.
“Does anyone have any more questions of Mr. Leech? That are pertinent to the aims here today,” he added. The jurors looked at each other blankly, most seemed to be more intrigued by the details which evidently were not to be investigated.
“Well if that is all, then Mr. Leech you are free to go.” The Coroner indicated the free chairs to the back of the room and Leech walked as directed to sit beside me once more. “We will take a five minute break.”
Chapter Eight - Avery, 1869
It wasn’t the breeze ruffling the hair at the nape of his neck which made him feel empowered, though the recent trim Kate had skillfully administered and the lack of hair clips and ribbons was, of course, refreshing. Nor was it the feeling across his chest as the tight crepe bandages compressed his small breasts though, unsurprisingly, this gave him the confidence to stand taller than he had since he was a child. And, though the shoes he was wearing gave him a new gait, a relaxed amble that made his arms swing loosely beside him, it was not these that endowed him with the secret pride he was carrying. The whole ensemble he wore was made of expertly crafted pieces and yet none of it was responsible for making him feel whole. It was not the gold cuff links or the pocket-chain he had borrowed from his father. It wasn’t his trousers, his jacket or his hat. Nor was it his underpants but what was inside them which made him stand tall.
On that first evening, when he had taken the packages which Kate had collected from Fry’s and hurried them into his room, he had locked the door and opened each of the boxes and inspected the fine clothes with a deep reverence, as if each item contained an element of magic; as if in wearing them he would become something else. That they would not only serve to shroud the body he had inhabited but that in doing so would reveal something in its place. He had laid the first suit across his bed sheets and he had itched to try it on. He had pulled out a shirt and the draw was too great; having checked the lock was drawn across his door, he pulled the stifling grey dress over his head, tearing a few delicate buttons from their threads. Not comfortable naked, he kept his stays on and drew the white shirt over his back and buttoned it up, the smooth cotton causing his nipples to pucker and protrude. He glanced at the mirror and pressed his hand under the shirt and crushed his chest. The line he created was pleasing and he nodded to himself, he could see a solution and strode across the floor to draw out some crepe bandages from a side drawer. He dropped the shirt to the floor and made haste binding his breasts tightly, his chin dropped on his chest as he watched them disappear with a satisfied grin. He eagerly picked up the shirt and drew it back on. He buttoned it completely before turning to face the mirror once more. The flat line was remarkable and he wished immediately that the change could be unalterable. He had smoothed his hand down the front of the shirt and his reflection glowed with approval. Then, as he had unwrapped the paper from a third but smaller package and, having folded back the tissue, he had discovered underwear. Rather than revere them, he had instantly thrown them down. They had surprised him. All of the other garments, he was outwardly familiar and they also served to conceal what he already had; yet these were both unfamiliar and were designed to display what he should have had. The light within Avery’s stomach had been briefly tempered and he had crushed up the underwear, his fist balled around the fabric. He had been angry and had used the material to stifle his own suffocated sobs, his teeth clenched. As his anger diminished and self-pity began to glow within him, so too did an idea. At first it was a crude and ill-formed thought but his ambitious mind excelled himself and he found himself smiling over his tears. Of course the idea had its flaws; Avery had never seen a male appendage before. There were sculptures of course but one was not allowed to linger long enough to inspect them for design. Paintings, art and imagination were all he could rely upon and for the moment it was enough to form an image in his head. From what little he knew of anatomy he could be sure that it had to be soft but hard enough to stand erect and he would need some way to attach it to himself so that it would not slip out of his underpants and slide down his trouser leg. His mind had raced as he reached yet another dead end. How on earth could he fashion something which would fit the bill? Where on earth would he be able to do it and from what could he make it?
It had given Avery several days of heartache and he had begun to sink into a depression so deep that it threatened to overtake him all together. His father had called in the family doctor and the dire look of him had been enough to encourage the normally intervention-shy Doctor Whitaker to prescribe a sleeping draught. It was during one of these visits from the doctor that Avery had had his epiphany.
“What’s that?” Avery said.
“What is what Miss Silver?” Doctor Whitaker barely looked at him as he continued making notes in his small ledger. He was drawing up a prescription for another draught, his mind already on his next patient.
Avery reached across his bed and lifted a dullish red instrument from the doctor’s case. It was a long and rounded tool, the thickness of an infant’s arm but attached to a handle. Several wires were connected through the handle suggesting some further additions. Despite its presence in the doctor’s kit and its obvious medical intentions the shape was undoubtedly phallic. Avery examined it and was instantly struck by the firmness but pliability. Doctor Whitaker looked up and a frown broke across his forehead. He delicately withdrew the instrument from Avery’s grasp and replaced it gingerly back in his case.
“It is a Vibrating Massage Device Miss Silver. Not a nice looking instrument but nevertheless a useful one when it comes to dealing with feminine humours.” Doctor Whitaker replied. “I quite hope that with your constitution and your own late mother’s strong presence of mind, God rest her soul, that you will never have call to have the use of it.”
“What is it made of?”
The doctor had looked at Avery in puzzlement. Evidently, this was not the usual sort of question from a young lady. Now standing, ready to close his case, he was keen to be on his way but he was also rather proud of his new instrument.
“It is a vulcanised rubber Miss Silver. It’s a funny sort of material, softer and more malleable than ordinary rubber. They can mould it to almost any shape they want, a little like pouring hot wax into a mould. It’s rather more preferable than the old metal ones which frankly were cold and less forgiving...” the doctors eyes strayed to Avery’s and his face coloured as he realised the impropriety of his words.
“Vulcanised rubber,” Avery repeated, his eyes bright.
In the intervening weeks, Avery noticed with a mixture of disappointment and relief that Kate seemed to have lost interest in his activities and she neither mentioned that odd fortnight or the clothes hidden within his dresser. He imagined she thought the whole scenario strange and had begun to forget all about the illicit danger he had placed them both in. She could forget but he could not. The thought of his clothes, the sound his boots made upon the street as he walked, the memory of the looks he elicited from people he passed made his heart race. He noticed that Kate no longer gave him a knowing look as opportunity after opportunity to continue his nightly excursions seemed to pass by. He wondered whether he had expected too much of the young girl and she had lost the courage. It was after one such perfect opportunity, a Saturday evening when the house was empty of all staff save for Kate and Jamieson who had retired early to bed (reportedly to work on some buckles of Old Mr. Silver’s!), that an excitement seemed to rise up in her. He and Kate had been sat in companionable silence in the drawing room. Avery had been sullen all day; his mind was busy thinking about the device he had seen in Doctor Whitaker’s bag, the girl from the alley, Connie and his tortured dreams of Kate.
He was hardly aware of her leaving the chair opposite him but he felt a draft as she opened the door. He glanced up just as she slipped through the door throwing him a wink. And then the door closed. It was such a welcome gesture after days and days of feeling adrift from her, he wondered whether he had imagined it. After a few minutes pondering its meaning, he was compelled to follow her. A few moments later, he opened the door to his own room and found her busy with a damp cloth polishing his shoes. Without being asked, she had prepared an evening suit for him which was now laid upon the bed like a shadow.
“Kate! What on earth are you doing?”
Kate spun round, her eyes dancing with excitement.
“Sorry, I know you didn’t ask me but I thought if I made a quick start, you could be out before dark and….”
“Put it away.”
His voice was sharp and Kate looked stung by the tone.
“Sorry?”
“You heard me. I’m not going anywhere.” He tried to avoid her gaze but after a few moments in the silence, he eventually levelled his gaze to meet hers.
“But, this is a perfect opportunity!” Her tone was petulant and Avery detected a quiver in her arms that suggested she was struggling with self-control. “Your father won’t be home for hours, we’ve the house to ourselves. What’s stopping you?”
Avery stepped back from her, watching the rise and fall of her chest as she tried to draw her breath calmly. His dreams of her, far from abating, in light of the event with Connie had only grown clearer. Where before he had woken frustrated at the lack of satisfaction, now he woke in a sweat, shuddering with pleasure. Kate roused him from his sleep so softly that on occasion he had almost pulled her to him. The proximity of her at these moments, half asleep were his most vulnerable. So completely he believed his transformation in his dream and so vividly had he imagined the taste of her flesh beneath him as he moved inside her that for several waking moments he was insensible to his own body. In some ways the realisation is more difficult to accept and harder for him to inhabit his female body. He had taken to avoiding her as much as possible, preferring to dress himself rather than have her eyes on his female form or her watching him walk about in a dress.
“Have you changed your mind, Sir?”
She watched him as he moved across the room and he felt more absurd than ever in his usual plain dress. Far from having changed his mind, he was more determined than ever to find a way to never have to feel as he did then. As he sat down on the end of the bed, he knew he would need her help in achieving the next step in his plan.
“No Kate. I haven’t changed my mind. Of what I am about to tell you I have never been more certain in my life. Will you help me?”
He held his breath needlessly as Kate nodded eagerly, her fingers clenched around the fabric of her apron.
~o~
It had taken a few weeks to track down a medical manufacturer who would take a design and, at the time, Avery had noted with concern how readily the man had agreed to the unusual commission. He watched from outside the office door, straining to hear their exchange, as Kate negotiated with the proprietor.
“I will admit, Miss, that this is a most irregular request. If you could tell me more about the intended purpose of this…device…then perhaps I could...,” The man had looked Kate up and down before licking his lips salaciously. “…guarantee your satisfaction?”
Avery had insisted that he accompany Kate but she was unsure that the presence of another woman in such a transaction would add to the legitimacy of the request. He had objected at first but, having witnessed the outrage of the proprietors of two outlets, had eventually been persuaded that caution was best exercised alone. It was agreed he could accompany her but must wait outside in the guise of maid.
“I am afraid I cannot go into detail, Sir, but suffice to say that I would be extremely grateful of your help in matters of my delicate health.”
Kate, dressed in one of Avery’s finest dresses, looked like a wealthy lady of means and, furnished with some ready cash, the two had hoped to persuade this latest manufacturer with wealth alone, but evidently, he wished to negotiate his terms.
“I see,” he nodded sagely. “And the straps?” He was seated at a desk and she noticed him slip his hand inside his trousers.
Kate, feigned interest and continued with her cover story, the details of which she and Avery had concocted a few nights ago. He had supplied some of the information Doctor Whitaker had provided and Kate had added some of her own detail.
“My doctor is quite unable to massage me to satisfaction and I am left feeling quite out of sorts after his visits. I have employed a young maid with the specific purpose of curing me of my ill humours.” The implication was clumsy and Avery thought that she sounded a little foolish; however, the effect was instantaneous and he noted with disgust the tendons in the man’s arm begin to flex.
“Tell me more,” he whispered hoarsely.
~o~
As Avery Silver sauntered down the Tottenham Court Road, he felt at once both as conspicuous as a pelican but all the while more at home in his skin than he had ever felt in his twenty years upon the earth. The thing which had stoked Avery’s flame was solid between his legs, the soft bump of it against his thigh as he walked and with every reminder of its presence, gave Avery two things. Firstly, it gave Avery confidence. The confidence to return the smile he had just been cast from a lady beneath her hat; the confidence to tip his own hat in acknowledgement and to stride more purposefully despite having no errand. Yes, the warm, hard shape Kate had collected that afternoon and had strapped to him, gave him confidence but it also gave him an appetite.
It was easy enough to find Connie, having returned to the same place albeit a few hours earlier. Avery had spotted her quite quickly. He watched as she pressed herself at passing gentlemen. By some she was rewarded with a wink but business was slow and she could not elicit more than that. Avery saw that others visibly recoiled from her, the mere proximity of her seemed to seep under their noses, like a foul smell curling up their features in distaste. She too seemed choosy with her clientele. Several times, she sensed the distaste before it was obvious and saved herself the effort of a wasted opportunity. Avery watched with interest from his hidden vantage point as the woman spotted a lone figure turn into the street. His presence seemed to cause her some concern and, although he was too far off to discern his features, it was obvious from his posture that he was dangerous. The whore drew her shawl up from around her elbows and covered herself, stepping backwards into a doorway. Hers was an ugly line of work and Silver recalled reading of a case reported in the press only a few months ago, of a murdered woman found brutalised. As the man passed her by, Avery noticed her close her eyes in palpable relief. He took the opportunity to cross the street.
“Good evening again, Miss,” he said softly.
The woman visibly rose as she jumped at the sound of Avery’s voice. She had spun around wildly but was clearly relieved to find her stalker had not been the dark haired man.
“Christ! What do you mean by sneaking up on people like that? ‘ere don’t I know you?” Her eyes narrowed as she recognised Avery’s face but she failed to place him immediately. He stared directly at her but there was no moment of enlightenment. Caught off guard momentarily, the woman returned to her pitch at hand, a small swell of pride visibly making her hold herself taller at the prospect of a repeat client like the proper house girls got. Her eyes darted around and then she grabbed Avery by the wrist and led him across the street.
“I’ve a room only two minutes away. Come on,” she said.
Though Avery knew he would not be making use of the services she offered within her room, he also knew that to discuss his proposition out in the open would be foolish and he allowed himself to be led, trusting only her discretion of a few months ago to prevent him from falling foul in this dark city. He followed the woman a few streets away to a run down side street off Helier Road, whereupon she stopped beside a tired wooden door that had once been painted a fresh white. The door had borne much abuse and was heavily scuffed, paint peeling from the scratches, the white faded to a dull grey like the fog which Avery imagined would lingered here in the winter.
