"Here," announced Hiram. "I got something to show you." His voice was almost seductive.
Florence didn't trust herself to speak any more than a formal "Indeed?" but there was a tremor in her voice.
He reached into an inner pocket of his frock coat and pulled something out. It was tight in his closed fist.
"Step closer and look here," he directed her.
She stepped forward almost like an automaton, or the victim of some Svengali-like hypnotist, and when she got close enough he opened his hand, and in his palm was a polished piece of gold. It was about the size of an acorn and it shone beautifully in his weathered hand.
Usually so careful of maintaining a lady-like carriage, Florence found herself stooping forward mouth open, her hands on her knees and her backside sticking out and she bent to get as close a look to the object, which was as a loadstone to her shortsighted eyes, as she could.
"It don't get much prettier than this. Does it?"
The young woman's greedy eyes never left the enormous nugget as she made an odd gurgling noise by way of reply.
He extended his hand toward her and said, "Want to hold it?"
She nodded with alacrity and made an unseemly, almost feral snatch at the precious shiny lustrous thing.
Address me as Hon. Hiram Priest, esq.
"It don't get much prettier than this. Does it?"
The young woman's greedy eyes never left the enormous nugget as she made an odd gurgling noise by way of reply.
He extended his hand toward her and said, "Want to hold it?"
She nodded with alacrity and made an unseemly, almost feral snatch at the precious shiny lustrous thing.
"Feels good doesn't it, Miss Patterson-Forde? It must because I can see your pulse in your neck." He then moved a chair away from the table. "Why don't you sit for a spell?"
"Price of many a crime untold. Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold! Good or bad a thousand fold!" The wily old judge recited from the poem he'd recently quoted.
"Price of many a crime untold," he repeated.
"What would you do to have that nugget all to yourself?"
"Feels good doesn't it, Miss Patterson-Forde? It must because I can see your pulse in your neck." He then moved a chair away from the table.
Florence felt the satisfying dead weight of the precious metal in her hand and felt the lustrous smooth surface of the large nugget which was multiplied a hundredfold in her greedy heart. Most people coveted gold for what it could buy them, what it could do for them. She just coveted gold.
She absently touched at her throat at Hiram's comment about her pulse.
"Why don't you sit for a spell?"
She sat, like a woman ensorcelled, the sight and feel of the shiny object acting as a hypnotist's swinging gold watch to the young woman.
"Price of many a crime untold. Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold! Good or bad a thousand fold!" The wily old judge recited from the poem he'd recently quoted.
"Price of many a crime untold," he repeated.
"Price of many a crime untold" she repeated dumbly, now completely within the old rascal's power.
"What would you do to have that nugget all to yourself?"
"I would do anything" the mesmerised girl replied without even being able to consider her words. They said that a hypnotist couldn't make a body do a thing that they wouldn't normally do in their right mind: that was a lie spread by professional mesmerists.
Address me as Hon. Hiram Priest, esq.
"Price of many a crime untold," he repeated.
"Price of many a crime untold" she repeated dumbly, now completely within the old rascal's power.
"What would you do to have that nugget all to yourself?"
"I would do anything" the mesmerised girl replied without even being able to consider her words. They said that a hypnotist couldn't make a body do a thing that they wouldn't normally do in their right mind: that was a lie spread by professional mesmerists.
Being a retired judge, Hiram had limits and parameters. Still, he delighted in seeing the weakness of flesh.
"Why don't you sit on my knee," he said as he pointed to his bony kneecap. "That way I can see that nugget before you put it in a safe place of your choosing?"
He turned in his chair and spread his knees further apart, making it easy for her to transfer places, if she chose to do it.
"Why don't you sit on my knee," he said as he pointed to his bony kneecap. "That way I can see that nugget before you put it in a safe place of your choosing?"
It was a most impertinent and disgusting suggestion; impertinent and disgusting enough to drag her somewhat out of the gold-dazzled reverie she had fallen into. Priest snapped into focus again: gaunt, old, cold piercing eyes behind the glass of his spectacles: redolent of a living cadaver, a geriatric vampyr, sit on his knee? Ughh... he was revolting!
The gold in her hand reasserted its influence.
It was slippery and oily and greasy and heavy and... she became consumed with it again, almost forgetting Priest the man... she just saw Priest as the owner and potential giver of the metal lump.
She heard herself replying with a gulp and a prim "This is a most unusual instruction, Mr Priest... but as you are my employer, I feel I must comply..."
He turned in his chair and spread his knees further apart, making it easy for her to transfer places, if she chose to do it.
She found herself standing... turning... slowly lifting her skirts in the most wanton way imaginable and placing her bottom, protected only by her thin split-drawers, down onto the rougher material of the old scoundrel's trousers, the weight of her soft round buttocks pressing down onto the hard bones of his skinny legs.
It was not just the feeling of sitting on his knee like some little plaything that filled her with abhorrence, but the idea that she was doing this in the kitchen of the saloon: at any moment the black cook, that disreputable singer Caroline Mundee or even Sally Cutts whom, although her friend, she slightly looked down upon as her intellectual and social inferior; any of them might walk in and see her in this inexcusably humiliating situation!
She held up the nugget, that source of horrible temptation, in the palm of her hand.
"You mentioned that I should put this in a safe place of my choosing... what do you mean by that, Mister Priest?"
@[Priest]
Address me as Hon. Hiram Priest, esq.
It was not just the feeling of sitting on his knee like some little plaything that filled her with abhorrence, but the idea that she was doing this in the kitchen of the saloon: at any moment the black cook, that disreputable singer Caroline Mundee or even Sally Cutts whom, although her friend, she slightly looked down upon as her intellectual and social inferior; any of them might walk in and see her in this inexcusably humiliating situation!
The old codger thrilled to the warm of the young woman's flesh. It had been eons, -- decades it seemed, since he'd been so close to a girl's lovebird's nest. His heart began pounding like a sledgehammer, and blood rushed through his veins with a force not experienced in years.
It was daring, but a faint heart never won a fair maiden. So, he raised the knee she was straddling by lifting his heel off the floor then lowering it. This he repeated and repeated.
She held up the nugget, that source of horrible temptation, in the palm of her hand.
"You mentioned that I should put this in a safe place of my choosing... what do you mean by that, Mister Priest?"
"I can find a place for you. Would you like that? It's will be your gold piece from now on, and you can look at it and hold it whenever you want," he gasped.
Priest went to rearrange her position when he felt a pain run up his left arm and into his neck. He broke out in a sweat and breathing was labored.
"Off! Off!" he ordered her. The pain in his chest was significant.
It was daring, but a faint heart never won a fair maiden. So, he raised the knee she was straddling by lifting his heel off the floor then lowering it. This he repeated and repeated.
Sitting astride Mr Priest's thigh was already like riding a rail, it reminded Florence of a time she slipped when she was climbing a fence back East, but when the old rascal started bouncing her up and down on it, well, it was quite undoing. She managed to ask in a wobbly voice:
"You mentioned that I should put this in a safe place of my choosing... what do you mean by that, Mister Priest?"
"I can find a place for you. Would you like that? It's will be your gold piece from now on, and you can look at it and hold it whenever you want," he gasped.
"Oh no, I think I'm slipping!" Florence suddenly cried, and with her spare hand, reached down and steadied herself by placing it on his, well, 'lower front'. "Oh! Mr Priest!!" - there was something hard beneath the material of his buttoned up flies and, although she had never been anywhere near a boy, Florence wasn't so naive as to think it might be another nugget of gold. But apparently all this was too much for the old boy's ticker.
"Off! Off!" he ordered her. The pain in his chest was significant.
Florence jumped off with alacrity and, stuffing the gold nugget into her top, where it lodged safely under her corsets, tended to the stricken man.
"What is it, Mister Priest? Did I break something? I'll get you some brandy!" she offered dashing to a sideboard which seem to contain more different types of liquor than the main bar, front of house. She returned post haste to his side and lifted the glass to his lips. She hoped he was OK, after all, she wouldn't want to loose the goose that laid the golden eggs... even if one of those eggs was at this moment nicely lodged between her breasts.
Address me as Hon. Hiram Priest, esq.
"Oh no, I think I'm slipping!" Florence suddenly cried, and with her spare hand, reached down and steadied herself by placing it on his, well, 'lower front'. "Oh! Mr Priest!!" - there was something hard beneath the material of his buttoned up flies and, although she had never been anywhere near a boy, Florence wasn't so naive as to think it might be another nugget of gold. But apparently all this was too much for the old boy's ticker.
"Off! Off!" he ordered her. The pain in his chest was significant.
Florence jumped off with alacrity and, stuffing the gold nugget into her top, where it lodged safely under her corsets, tended to the stricken man.
"What is it, Mister Priest? Did I break something? I'll get you some brandy!" she offered dashing to a sideboard which seem to contain more different types of liquor than the main bar, front of house. She returned post haste to his side and lifted the glass to his lips. She hoped he was OK, after all, she wouldn't want to loose the goose that laid the golden eggs... even if one of those eggs was at this moment nicely lodged between her breasts.
Priest, pale and sweating, held the glass of brandy with his shaking hand. He leaned his head toward the table, and his top hat toppled off his head.
"Oh God!" He gasped. "Oh don't we pay for the things we do." He held his head in his hands and took deep breaths followed by long exhalations. With a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket, he mopped his forehead.
The pain subsided.
"Thank you, my dear, for the beverage. It's made a difference."
In time, he straightened himself and, once composed, returned his hat to his head. It was time to get back to the right side of the road. He remembered the words to the field preaching from his youth; Stay on the right side of the road. Look out for old man Satan, he's on the wrong side waitin'. Stay on the right side of the road.
"Keep the nugget --- if you play your cards right and keep the books, there will be more coming your way."
"Thank you, my dear, for the beverage. It's made a difference."
"It is the angina pectoris, Mister Priest, my grandfather suffered from it, and it is easily treated with Hoffmann’s anodyne or Warner’s cordial, and brandy in moderate doses. Also a warm foot-bath can be most efficacious.”
Florence was much more at home playing the fussy nurse than the flirty secretary.
In time, he straightened himself and, once composed, returned his hat to his head. Then he said something that surprised the girl.
"Keep the nugget --- if you play your cards right and keep the books, there will be more coming your way."
"The glistening of gold is less to me, Mr Priest, than the insurance of you health" she said loftily "Besides, it has anyway slipped to a place which would be most difficult to retrieve in this public place..."
She bent over him and gently felt his wrist with her warm comforting fingers.
"Your pulse is quite erratic still... we should get you undressed and tucked up in bed and you should have a good rest for a few hours. I will send the girl to the druggist for some anodyne." She held up a warning finger "Now, Mr Priest, I shall have no argument! You are my employer, it is my solemn duty to take care of your health."
It was well that Mama McMahon walked into the kitchen then and not five minutes before.
"Lawd Lawd what's a happenin' here?!" she blurted. Flo was equal to the task.
"I am Miss Patterson Forde, Mr Priest's new secretary. He has suffered a small attack of the angina pectoris and I require you to help to remove him to his bedroom and then send the girl to the druggist for an anodyne" she uttered with an air of command which brooked no dissent.
"Yes m'!" Messalina heard herself reply mechanically as she hastened to help the part-owner of the business up off the kitchen chair. This young woman reminded her of someone: only later would she realise it was the blonde imperious daughter of the old Master back on the plantation before the war, long long ago.