To Catch a Rake by Sally Orr

the busy, driven man of today could do something so frivolous. “All young men can be fools. I wonder how old he was at the time?”
    “A repulsive book like that,” Clara said. “He should’ve known better. Why he must have had the brains of a mooncalf in leading strings to pen such a scandalous book.” As she put her teacup down, it hit the rim of the saucer. Her tea spilled and quickly became a river heading for the lady next to her. “Oh, I do beg your pardon.”
    “How significant?” Grizel said, ignoring the fuss of spilt tea across the table from her.
    “Pardon?” Meta clutched her napkin, eyeing the approaching river of tea.
    “The funds,” Grizel continued. “How significant are his earnings?”
    “I would never dare ask such a question.”
    The ladies began to speculate widely upon the profits of the field guide. Their guesses ranged from the equivalent of a new bonnet to funding the King’s peccadilloes for a year.
    “Think of what we could do with funds like that,” said Lady Sarah.
    Everyone nodded and spoke to their neighbor.
    Meta stood to address them. “Ladies, please, the field guide is not the issue here. Mr. Drexel too, by his profession as an engineer, works to help London’s disadvantaged. The tunnel will increase commerce, which means increased employment and less poverty. His profession is building public work projects, like bridges and piers…everything, really. He is currently working on several smaller projects too, one a steam-powered printing press and the other a card shuffler.”
    Lady Sarah nodded. “Meta does have a point. All of this Mr. Drexel’s endeavors will be to society’s advantage. I know I certainly wish him well. We could use a card shuffler for our whist parties too.” She called in a housemaid to attend to what remained of the spilt tea.
    “Oh, I agree, worthy inventions,” Clara said, standing and hurriedly wiping up as much of her tea as she could reach before the housemaid entered. “Yet it does not explain why a gentleman wrote such a questionable…” She lowered her voice. “Might I say vulgar book? Why doesn’t he write a treatise on engineering instead?”
    Meta laughed. “Would you purchase such a book? I think we all know the reason: young men need to impress other men.”
    “Oh, twaddle,” Lady Sarah said. “I’ve seen a copy of his book, and the field guide is not nearly as questionable as some of the books written in the last century. The Monk , for example.”
    Gasps erupted.
    “Now that is a questionable book,” Lady Sarah continued.
    “I may faint.” Bethia let her head fall backward slightly.
    “I beg to disagree,” Clara said, shaking her head and handing her wet, tea-stained napkin to the housemaid. “ The Monk is lurid, not vulgar. Truly vulgar, filthy, and vile books exist. I found an old book like that in my father’s library. The title is Fanny …something.”
    Collective gasps echoed around the room. From the many guilty expressions, clearly most of the ladies knew of the book Clara mentioned, but good manners prevented them from speaking about it.
    “What is this Fanny book about?” Sybella asked in all seriousness. “Should we add it to our list of books for discussion?”
    Most of the ladies stared at their laps.
    “No,” Clara said. “Clearly our ancestors must have been wild, uncivilized beings. That book is the most obscene book ever penned.”
    “Oh dear.” Sybella’s knitted brows and wrinkled nose spoke of confusion. “You mean it describes”—she lowered her voice to almost a whisper—“ congress between a man and a woman…in detail?”
    “Yes, dear,” Lady Sarah said, “and not only in metaphor.”
    “What do you mean in metaphor?” Sybella tilted her head, appearing like an eager puppy.
    “I remember our discussion now,” Clara said, her gaze darting around the table. “Authors use metaphorical tricks, secret messages to say something without saying something directly, and this