The Last Days of a Rake

understood myself better, I might have changed the course of my life.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “That night, with Miss Lascelles. Oddly enough, though it was her idea to meet me, and I knew she was in a reckless mood and felt sure of winning my bet, I quailed at the thought. One more maiden to despoil should not have mattered, but I had begun to be a little sick of myself by then. I glimpsed the truth; men were using me, making sport of me, but the true cost was borne by others, by the young ladies and fellows. Even as I led those poor lads to poverty and shame in Merkin’s gambling hell, so the men I knew—the ones who called me friend and clapped me on the shoulder and offered me a drink—led me down paths to truly indecent depths. And I, idiot lamb that I was, let it happen.”
    “You’re claiming innocence?” Hamilton said, his tone showing his revulsion at the notion.
    “No, no, of course not. Not innocence.” He was silent for a moment, but continued, saying, “I’m not sure how to explain it. The culpability rests with me alone. I was led, at least at first, but I chose my actions as surely as, though society dictates I must wear a waistcoat, I choose the tailor and the fabric and style.”
    “So did you meet her that night? And if you did, did you recognize then how wrong you were?” Hamilton asked.
    “If I did, John, I would have become a better man then and there. I can’t explain it. I knew what I was doing was wrong and did it anyway, caring nothing for the consequences. It has taken all my life and this illness to change me, to show me the ungodly path I trod for so long. Too late, I fear.” He chuckled, a dry rattle in his throat, followed by another coughing fit and a long silence, with only his wheezing efforts to regain his breath to break the stillness. “Witness God’s sense of humor.”
    “How could you resist the truth, if you were beginning to see it?”
    “As men have ever withstood the truth when it showed them in a bad light. I wore blinkers, black stuff blinders over my eyes so I could say, with honesty, that I saw nothing wrong with my life as it was.”
    Silence fell between them again, but finally Lankin said, “There is more that happened after that night, more wickedness and weakness that allowed me to resist the truth for so long, but that comes after my night with Miss Harriet Lascelles.”
    “Do you feel strong enough to continue your story now, my poor friend?”
    “I do.”

Part 9 - The Iron Maiden
    Lankin waited under Miss Lascelles’s window that night in a fever of impatience, but it was not for the honor of taking her virginity that he was so eager. Rather, it was the end of the bet, so he could collect, flaunting his success in the faces of his former friends at White’s. He had pictured the end, with him entering the forbidden rooms, demanding the betting book, and signing his name to his triumph. In the case of the annual “Susan” bet, the book never detailed exactly what the wager concerned, of course, but was couched in delicate terms, such as “Mr. Edgar Lankin has bet that he will succeed in a certain endeavor agreed to by…” It then listed the other men who bet he would not succeed. By signing their names, they all agreed they understood the terms and would pay up upon Lankin’s word of honor—laughable phrase, given the object of the bet—that he had succeeded. Right-thinking gentlemen would have abhorred the wager, but the participants were careful to keep the exact details of the bet a secret from the stuffier club members.
    If Lankin achieved his goal that night, then he would go the next afternoon to the club, sign his name, collect his winnings and tell them all what he thought. Nagging in his mind was one question only the men of White’s could answer: Why had ten years of betting on taking a young lady’s virginity been allowable, but leading young men astray into financial ruin was not? Both events ended in a youth disappointing societal constraints in some way, but only the second had resulted in something more than being called a rascal and a rake.
    Lankin had never been adept at analyzing his own actions, nor asking himself soul-searching questions, but for the first time in his life he asked himself, what was it like to be a woman? Horrifying thought, but once it occurred to him it would not let him go. As he spotted Miss Lascelles above where he stood in an alley, ready to climb out her window as if they were