The Red Ribbon Society
Mary slowed down her gait when she saw the red ribbon which always marked the meeting place. It was still on the door at the end of the alley, so she wasn’t late. That was good, for there was going to be a vote, and for the first time, Mary had a decent chance of winning it. She knocked on the door, and after a few seconds, a footboy opened it, bowing to Mary as she entered the building.
“Welcome! You’re just in time,” said a large man standing in the hallway beyond the door.
“Hello George. Are the others here already?” Mary asked.
“Yes, they are,” George said and turned to the footboy. “Jimmy, take Hostess Mary’s coat and hat! And then remove the ribbon and lock the door!”
“Yes, mister Blair.” Jimmy always did as he was told.
“This way, please,” George said, leading Mary along the hallway.
Mary hadn’t been in that place in a long time. They changed the location of their meetings and Gatherings regularly to make it harder for the people who didn’t approve of their events to find them. People like the clergy, politicians, and the constabulary; the same people who raided brothels and hunted down street prostitutes. Of course, the Gatherings shouldn’t have even been compared to brothels; such unchastity wasn’t the point of these events. They were more like gentlemen’s dinner clubs, providing well-off men, the “Johns”, a place of relaxation and entertainment. The Hostesses, in turn, were—more or less—respectable free women, who didn’t want to conform to be the role of the “angel in the house” that was expected of them.
At the Gatherings these women were allowed to express themselves through conversation, singing, and dancing, earning money in the process. The performances might have been enticing at times, and occasionally some dancer’s unmentionables were seen, but still the Hostesses were nothing like common whores. Sure some of them might have been fallen women as there was no rule about what they did with the Johns after the Gatherings, but fornication was never the aim. Then again, there was usually a limit on how many gifts a John would give to a Hostess before expecting something more than dances or words in return. Violence, however, was something the Hostesses didn’t need to fear—unlike married women—, for the steward, George, made sure that any belligerent John was never seen again.
The hallway ended to another door with a ribbon. George waited patiently while Mary straightened up her pulled back hair and draping, purple dress. Then the steward opened the door, announcing the comer. Some of the Johns cheered as Mary stepped in, but the first person to really welcome her was the Head Hostess Elizabeth; the belle of the ball, as she herself liked to think.
“Oh Mary! So delighted that you didn’t miss this meeting,” Elizabeth said, mincing closer in her gleaming green evening gown. “Would have been dreadful if we'd had to exclude you from the vote.”
“That would have been a shame. But alas, I’m here, and on time,” Mary said and gave a short laugh.
Elizabeth looked a little aghast but let out an uneasy chortle. “Yes. Oh, but were are my manners? Mary, I’d like you to meet Lillian.”
Mary hadn’t even noticed the girl standing next to Elizabeth until now. “Charmed,” she said.
Lillian curtsied. “Nice to meet you, Hostess Mary.” Her voice was almost too small and high-pitched to comprehend.
“Lillian is a relative of mine,” Elizabeth explained. “She worked in her parents' apothecary, but their business was struggling, so I adopted her. Now she’s my heir.”
“Oh, dear! I though she was a servant.”
“She is helping with the serving today. But she’ll most definitely become a regular Hostess soon.”
“Then you must get her new clothes; surely a Hostess and your heir can’t be dancing around in such a plain brown dress. About dresses—”
“She dances very well,” Elizabeth interjected. “In fact, she danced at our Gathering last week. The Johns were entranced by her gracefulness.”
“Really? This mouse of a girl?” Mary seized Lilian’s chin and examined the girl briefly. “I suppose she is quite pretty. But I can’t imagine her
singing with that squeaky voice.”
Lillian took the insult with stoic composure, which made Elizabeth take on a very smug expression. “I guess we’ll hear that in the next Gathering,” Elizabeth said. “About Gatherings... Where were you during the last one?”
“I was drowned in work.”
“Oh yes. You still work days even though you’re a Hostess? Very peculiar. You are a seamstress, correct?”
“A dressmaker. I have my own shop.”
“Oh, how very radical of you. Though I thought the shop was your father's.” The embarrassed blush that crept on Mary’s cheeks was enough of an answer to make Elizabeth smile. “In any case, give me your... professional opinion.”
Mary watched as Elizabeth twirled around in her dress. The green fabric had a stunning sheen to it, and the many folds and ruffles were all very elaborate. And to top it all off, there were dozens of finely made butterfly ornaments on the dress; their wings shining in flaming patterns.
“That is an exquisite gown. Couldn’t have made a better one myself. I believe it has French Ivory both in the fabric and the decorations. A very modern material,” Mary said. “Were did you get it?”
“From a secret admirer,” Elizabeth whispered. “I truly don’t know who it was.” She gazed at a group of Johns standing near the dinner table and smiled.
“Well, then you have at least one great devotee. Oh, but I think the dinner is ready now. Shall we eat?” Mary said and walked off towards the table. But before sitting down she grabbed the footboy close to her. “It’s chilly in here, Jimmy. Why don’t you put some more wood in the fireplace. And do keep the fire going.”
“Yes, Hostess Mary.”
The Hostesses dined on one side of the long table and the Head Hostess at one end near the fireplace. The other long side was for the Johns. Only the men who were the most generous with their donations to the Gatherings had been invited to vote. Most of the money from those donations went into organising the events, but the rest went to the Hostesses with the Head Hostess getting the lion’s share, so the title was very coveted by the women.
“You might win,” the Hostess on Mary’s right, Margaret, whispered as everyone was finishing their dinners. “I think it’s almost even split between you and her. Elizabeth has her charms, but she has become increasingly annoying and, dare I say, ugly as she has grown older. You’ll have my vote this time.”
“Thank you,” Mary said. Margaret’s vote could have been the one to turn things to Mary’s favour.
“Would have voted for myself, of course, if I hadn’t become pregnant,” Margaret snickered.
Mary didn’t have time to respond to that piece of news because a barely audible voice interrupted her. “More wine?” Lillian asked, standing just behind the women.
“Yes,
please,” Mary snarled. “Aren’t you a skulking little mouse.” Mary took a sip of the wine and cleared her throat, watching as Lilian walked to the end of the table and whispered something to Elizabeth. “I may have lost my chance just now,” she muttered to Margaret. “At least she can’t vote.”
Elizabeth tapped her glass with a spoon. “Now that we’ve eaten, it’s time for our 17th quarterly vote for the Head Hostess. Before we begin, I must ask that you exclude Margaret from the voting and that she won’t cast a vote. One cannot be, or partake in the voting of, the Head Hostess if one isn’t able to perform in the following quarter. I doubt you can do that, Margaret, as your... condition progresses.” Margaret sniffed, and Mary scowled “Let’s vote!”
George collected the ballots into a hat and took them to Elizabeth, who stood up in front of the fireplace. Mary didn’t care about the results; she didn’t have to.
“Fire!” George shouted.
First there was only a puff of smoke, but in mere seconds Elizabeth’s dress was a blazing, exploding inferno. French Ivory, or celluloid, as it was also called, was so flammable that even the heat from the fireplace was enough to ignite it. A dressmaker would have obviously known this.
Elizabeth screamed in agony. Some of the women, and even one man, fainted. There was panic all around. But Mary just sat in her chair, smiling as the smell of burning flesh hit her nostrils. She raised her wine glass high and drank it all in one go. Then she coughed and started gasping for air.
Someone whispered into her ear. “More wine?” The voice was high-pitched, but its tone was deviously content now. “Elizabeth sends her regards.”
“You little...” Mary tried to breathe. Then her limp body collapsed onto the floor.
