A Pretty Mouth by Molly Tanzer Page A

I wore his gift none could see it. Still, its warm weight was a secret comfort to me, for he had given this present to me as a token of affection, and feeling it ‘round my neck reminded me that I needed not fear disgracing myself in front of my nobler relation with my ignorant manners and common conversation.
    When I heard the knock at my door I very nearly turned my ankle in my dash to answer the summons. It was Laurent, looking very dashing indeed, and he even took my hand and kissed it when he saw me!
    “Dearest Camilla, how beautiful you look,” he said, lasciviously licking his lips with his red tongue. “Why, my cock is half-standing just looking at you, remembering the rapturous sensation of Mr. John Thomas battering his way up inside of you, taking for my own your troublesome maidenhead! Careful, or I might make a mistake—and eat you instead of my supper.”
    “I am glad you have not had your fill of me. I have heard it said in town that you are indeed a rake and libertine.”
    “It is all in the past,” he assured me. “I have never thought to marry, but you, my cousin, have won my heart, body, and soul.”
    Alas, for I was a fool to believe such words! I assure you, as I write this, locked up for crimes I did not commit, that no woman has ever suffered more than I on account of love!
    We lingered over supper, which consisted of every food known to inspire amorous devotion: caviar, asparagus, oysters, champagne, artichokes in white wine, and finally, a tiny cup of potent chocolate. By the end of it I was swooning with passion and anxious to retire, but it was not to be. As a final course, Laurent’s housekeeper surprised us by coming in with two chilled glasses of a French anisette liqueur as a digestif—but when I reached to take mine off the silver tray, the silver-filigreed cameo Laurent had given me spilled out from the neckline of my gown.
    “Thief!” cried his housekeeper. “Why, it is Lady Fanchone’s favorite ornament, long thought to be missing! How did it come to be concealed on your person, I wonder?”
    “Laurent gave it to me last night,” said I, shocked by her implication.
    “How could he, when it has been gone these ten years? As I recall it, Lady Fanchone wished to bequeath it to her only son and heir—and could not, for it had vanished!”
    I thought Laurent would come to my defense, but when I raised my tear-filled eyes to meet his, I saw only cruelty there.
    “Indeed, it had long been my desire to have that ornament turned into a cravat-pin—and here you are, possessed of it! My, my … Camilla! I never thought you would be the sort of girl around whom I should have to count the silver! To discover the woman I thought to make my bride is actually a low thief—and a thief so bold as to wear her ill-gotten possessions around those who might miss them!”
    I know it does not speak to my honesty to confess here that I bolted from the table then, thinking to leave The Beeches on foot. But I ask you, dearest reader, what hope I had of protesting my innocence when Laurent—he whom I had thought devoted to me—was speaking such dreadful falsehoods? You, my friend, know that I am innocent, that I would never steal, but I was apprehended by the handyman before I had taken ten steps out the front door. I screamed and beat his breast with my fists, demanding he release me, but he was far stronger than I, and restrained me easily. Then a policeman was called, and the matter seemed more and more hopeless. My character is no longer known in these parts, after all, and so it was the easiest thing to conclude I was a thief!
    To keep me from fleeing before my trial, I was locked into the tower with only a meager supply of candles to keep me from the grim darkness at night.
    It seems a century past, but it was less than a fortnight ago that I was found guilty of the crime of stealing the cameo necklace, and tomorrow I shall be hanged for it. The town being so small I was locked back into the