Chapter Text
“House rules.” Lorna says, shuffling the deck and looking around the boat. And even though the situation couldn’t be more different, Godfrey suddenly finds himself transported back with a sharp pang of nostalgia to the Molly House. To long evenings sitting around a table that didn’t roll with the waves, in the company of familiar faces and close friends. Kitty Fisher, slender and flirty, the only one of them that could really pull off a face-full of makeup, sitting next to portly Nan, who’d be pulling her dress up and fanning vigorously to stop the sweat. And ruling the table would be Lydia; in her deep blue dress and lacquered nails, shuffling the deck and smirking around at them all.
“House rules. That means no, no cheating ladies.” She’d give a particularly pointed look at Kitty, who would simper and giggle and cheat outrageously anyway, because they all did.
In the Molly House he’d always felt at ease laughing with the rest. Sometimes joining in the games that grew wilder and sillier as the nights drew later, sometimes watching with a glass of wine, or listening to Lydia gossiping.
“Oh you should’ve been here, Goddy, back in the days, the real days. I mean this isn’t it.” She gave a dismissive wave that seemed to take in most of the room, but most especially Nan bouncing on top of a chortling Peer of the Realm, waving a feather scarf in his face and hooting with laughter. “All these … rich self-important …” her voice gave out and instead he got a rather unladylike flick of the wrist, the universal symbol for ‘wanker’, “You should’ve been here before the King went mad. Molly houses across all of London, both sides of the river, and rough trade as far as the eye could see.” A smirk particularly in his direction, “You’d have loved it Goddy. The worlds falling apart now; revolution in France, war in America, they’ve thrown out the King.” Lydia’s eyes turn on him and even with makeup obscuring her face she looks old and tired. “You’ve got to have a King, Goddy, I mean I know it’s not perfect, but if you don’t have a King, what do you have? Just a bunch of men running around like chickens in a barnyard, with no idea what to do.”
Well he’s here now. On a boat, renouncing King and Crown and Company. And true enough, Godfrey has no idea what to do.
Lorna shuffles the cards, cutting them down the middle, and then dealing left. Atticus frowns, his eyes meet Godfrey’s and Godfrey can tell they’re both thinking the same thing: dealing left? Godfrey’s always dealt right for Loo.
“What exactly are house rules?” Atticus rumbles.
It seems Loo is played differently in the Theatre to the Molly House, which surprises Godfrey as he’s pretty sure there’s a fair amount of overlap. Any profession which allows men to dress as something they’re not tends to attract men like him, he knows. “Back in the Olden Days.” Nan had told him once, waving a plump hand at the brandy until Godfrey poured it, “They used to only have men on stage. Did you know that, Goddy?”
Yes, his education had been classical enough to pick that particular detail up. Education had been like that, he remembered, vast swathes of comfortable boringness interspersed with small tantalising details that he’d never been brave enough to question.
“All boys, Goddy.” Nan gives Kitty a pinch until she squeals, “Boys in dresses, cinched in tight,” another little pinch, and Kitty gives an affectionate smack back with her fan, “Tight at the waist. All the lady’s parts.” She pauses for Kitty to snigger, “All played by men. All the romantic speeches, all the steamy little love scenes, all pretty little boys in dresses.”
Lorna finishes listing the rules, and Godfrey tries to focus back on the game. He tries to feel the comfortable familiarity of the Molly House, to see the people around him as fellow misfits and unfortunates, but there’s nothing to hide the fact that he’s the only man here wearing a dress. His hair is growing out now, a detail that makes him absurdly happy, so he can at least forgo the wig, but nothing hides the fact that Pearl and Lorna are so beautifully and wonderfully female and he, by clear comparison, is most definitely not.
He picks up his cards. No matter what the rules are, it’s a bad hand. He wishes he could’ve had a chance to say goodbye to everyone; to give Kitty one last hug, to give Lydia his abject thanks for all the times she’s watched out for him, and supported him, and made him laugh over the years. He’ll never see them again, and the Molly House will never be quite the same again. After a raid it’ll have to move, to relocate, and to go even further underground as England digs in its heels against the changing world outside.
Opposite him Atticus is looking poker faced, which means he does have a good hand. Pearl is looking smug, which means she thinks she does. Cholmondeley is next to him, his hand and face still heavily bandaged, so Robert is holding his cards. Cholmondeley whispers low and gentle to Robert, explaining the cards and explaining the rules, and Godfrey pretends not to overhear. He feels a stab of guilt for worrying about his appearance when Cholmondeley’s lost the skin on an entire half of his body.
He discards his hand, and Lorna’s eyes give a flicker of annoyance, “Not until your turn, Godd.” Atticus changes a card and she glares at him, “Were none of you listening!”
“House rules.” Atticus rolls his eyes. After a few rounds it becomes clear that there’s distinctly more overlap between Molly House rules and Dockside rules (Godfrey doesn’t say anything, but he has a feeling that Lydia probably has more than a little to do with that) and that Godfrey and Atticus have been playing almost a different game all together. And when Pearl lays down a full set of diamonds and announces that she’s been ‘collecting’ them, Lorna throws her hands in the air.
“I give up. Everyone’s playing their own game.”
Prompted by Cholmondeley, Robert lays down a winning hand.