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Sergeant Shadwell and Tracy had moved into a nice bungalow in Upper Tadfield, not too far out from one of the nicer streets that was dotted with cafes and little shops. There was a garden attached that Shadwell took over to both their delight. Tracy didn’t have much of a green thumb. Shadwell didn’t either, but he could follow instructions from the guys in the gardening center and the stash of gardening books he accumulated over the course of a year, and he was tenacious and patient. Soon they had flowers, and a few months later, he proudly presented them with their first radishes. Tracy loved seeing him in the garden, often bringing him a cup of tea and admiring the lastest progress.
Soon, Mr. S., as she still called him, looked better, smelled better, and was in a good mood more often than not. He diligently researched the witchcraft history of their new hometown, but the topic of witches didn’t embitter him any more like it used to do. He even joined a group of History Reenactors who brought the times of the actual witch hunts back to life on local festivals, and his lifelong experience with the topic and his stamina with long anti-witch rants were much appreciated there.
Tracy – who had no intention to ever go back to her given name of Marjorie, but wasn’t a Madame anymore, just a retired Madame – was not so lucky with finding something to fill her time though. Sure, there was a bungalow to furnish and decorate, and a new wardrobe to build. She still cooked for both of them, and had a firm hand on their finances. She volunteered at the community center, and finally even found a job as a waitress, for two days a week, then three. She liked the cafe and the customers, even if her knees didn’t always agree with the job.
But as soon as all that had become routine, Tracy realized she still was looking for something. Tadfield felt small to her after London. She had always wanted to get out of London when her finances allowed. She had expected to do her old job though, at least as a medium, at least sometimes.
But somehow, she didn’t want Mr. S. to be offended or disappointed. She had, after decades of him ranting against her unreputable occupations, turned herself into a very toned-down version of herself, and didn’t they have a good life? Hadn’t that been the idea, to be somewhere quiet and have it nice? And they did have it nice. Tracy didn’t want to be the one to break that arrangement. She had been the one talking him into this. It wouldn’t be right to change the terms now.
Mr. S. hadn’t asked for her hand in marriage. He had come very close, back then, in London, but then hadn’t, and in hindsight, Tracy was fine with that. They made very good companions, mildly scandalizing some nice old ladies in the neighbourhood. They enjoyed each other’s company. Tracy simply liked to have a man in the house. Other women liked cats. Tracy saw the appeal of cats, but they didn’t put a smile on her face like the sight of a man’s shaving gear in the bathroom did, or the manly shower gels, or the way Mr. S. bent over the sink to fill a glass of water. Men had always played a bigger part in her life than women, or cats, and she liked it that way.
So now that they had found their places in this new lives of theirs, and Mr. S. seemed to be happy with it, it hit Tracy like a ton of bricks when out of nowhere, Mr. S. slipped up.
“Thank you, Mr. S.,” she said as he handed her her scarf.
“You’re welcome, Mrs. S.,” he answered, and they were both extremely surprised.
Shadwell was mortified even, mumbling apologies. But Tracy wouldn’t hear any of that. She took his hands instead, and asked him if that really was something that he was thinking about.
Shadwell’s very embarassed answer was “Aye, but it wouldna be fair on you, would it?”
So she took off her coat again, and sat them both down in their living-room with cups of strong tea, and asked him to explain what he meant by that.
“There’s not much to me, I’m an old man,” said Shadwell. “You’re not old, not really. Not like me.”
“I’m only a few years behind you, Mr. S., you know my age well enough. Mr. S., is marrying me really something you’re considering? Because if it is, we should talk about it.”
Shadwell shook his head. “Of course I couldn’t do better than with you,” he said. “I’m a bit daft, but I’m nae fool. I know you deserve more. You’ve always been keen on the thing I can’t give ye.”
“Yes,” said Tracy slowly. “I think we should talk about sex.”
“Aye.”
Tracy half regretted bringing it up, seeing how it obviously made Mr. S. so sad. But they had to talk about it. It had sat between them silently, and they had been successful at pretending it wasn’t a thing. It was a thing though, and a big thing, as it now turned out.
“Mr. S.,” said Tracy, “You’ve always been outspoken about your opinion of my former profession, but I’ve retired, and you still avoid me. You barely will touch my hand. If we’re talking about marriage, I want to know if you’re repulsed by the thought to touch me, let alone sleep with me. I wouldn’t judge you if that was the case. I just need to know.”
Mr. S. wasn’t happy that the topic had come up, but he answered, slowly, with various pained expressions crossing his face.
“Ye have every right ta judge me,” he said bitterly, “seeing as I have judged you for such a long time. I lived in Soho for most of my life, too. I’m not as innocent a babe as I made it sound.”
“Oh?” said Tracy and couldn’t help the smile on her face. “Mr. S., please tell me about it!”
“It’s not a bad story,” said Shadwell. “Not a very exciting one either. Things just happened that I hadn’t expected to happen that way. Ye ken how I’ve been raised very strictly, all the impure thoughts been beaten out of me.”
Tracy raised a fist. “And my offer to do something scandalously impure on your father’s grave still stands, Mr. S., I am still furious about it.”
“It was a different time,” said Shadwell, but Tracy had shot that argument down before. “Anyway, it was no wonder I grew up too shy to talk to girls my age. As an adult, when the witchfinding didn’t pay enough to feed me, I took on other jobs, and one of them landed me in prison. And there I found a companion sharing my cell with me, really, I will hear no bad word against him, he was a good guy. And well. He taught me some of those things I had been raised to stay away from, and I didn’t mind learning them, if I may say so.
He’s long dead now, died shortly after we were released, but despite me not really being like that, I had very fond and loving feelings for him. And since then, I’ve always found it easier to turn to men than women, for lack of experience.”
Tracy nodded. She knew of course that Mr. S. had been to prison, multiple times, actually, for being a lock-pick with poor nerves and poor judgement in what assignments to take on. She wasn’t surprised he had found lovers there.
“I even had an affair with Mr. Crowley. Senior, of course.”
Tracy hadn’t expected that. Not at all. At all!
“Mr. S.!” she breathed. “THE Mr. Crowley? The guy in the velvet jackets who did a series of heists in Soho back in the day? Who owned the car Crowley jr is now driving?”
“That’s the one, aye,” Mr. S. confirmed, a bit amused by her strong reaction.
“Mr. S.!” Tracy couldn’t get over it. “Mr. S.! You paint yourself as the picture of inexperience and had a lover like Mr. Crowley! I… I don’t know what to say! That guy! I mean, his voice alone! Did the rest of him keep what the voice promised?”
Mr. S. couldn’t help chuckling. “I guess it did. Never met anyone like him.”
Tracy had to fan herself with her hand. “Mr. S.! You’re going to keep me up at night thinking of you and your adventures! If you don’t mind, that is!”
Mr. S. wasn’t sure if he minded or not, but he suddenly had a thought. “I must still have the picture of us, from back then.”
He got up and took an older diary out of the bookshelf. Yes, he had been right, there it was. He actually chuckled when he showed it to Tracy. Women liked pictures, right?
Tracy sure liked that one. A young Shadwell, a bit earlier from when they had first met, and the father of Tadfield’s Mr. Crowley, who had been even more handsome and dressed even nicer than his son, and other than his son, had had quite the reputation for his affairs and expensive tastes. There they were, young Shadwell pouting, Mr. Crowley purring something in his ear as the picture was taken.
“I… I don’t know what to say, Mr. S., you both look so dashing in this picture.”
“Oh, those times are long gone.”
“Did he treat you right? No ditching you when he was bored? Did he take good care of you?”
“Everything went as well as could be expected. I knew it wouldn’t last, and he made sure it was good while it lasted. He even hired me as a witchfinder often enough that I could pay my rent in the years afterwards.”
Tracy would have loved to linger on this topic for a while longer, fawning over her best friend’s amourous past, but she got a grip of herself. They weren’t sitting here for that.
“So…” she said. “What happened between the dashing young man who loved easily and today? Is it men and women that’s the problem? Is it me specifically?”
Shadwell sighed. “It’s not women,” he said. “It’s not you either, or men, or anyone. I did try these things when I was younger, depraved things that gave me a wicked pleasure. But only when others offered. I never went looking for it. And then I was old, and no one came seeking me out any more, and I found I didn’t mind. I closed that chapter of my life a long time ago. I did it gladly.”
“So it’s not because I had sex for money?” she asked. “You were always very much against that.”
“Aye,” said Shadwell. “Never seemed right to me, but you miss it, don’t you?”
“A bit,” said Tracy. “Not the tedious parts, but… the fun.”
“Fun,” said Shadwell and shook his head.
“Yes, Mr. S., my clients came to have a good time. That was always precious to me, to be able to give that to them.”
Shadwell made an unhappy face again. “There you have it,” he said. “That’s what I meant. I won’t be able to replace them.”
“Mr. S.,” said Tracy, “I wasn’t expecting you to.”
Shadwell looked at her. “You gave up your work for my sake. Such a sacrifice, for a daft old man,” said Shadwell and shook his head. “I thought it should give me peace of mind, but I can’t stop thinking about it. I don’t deserve to be happy when you’re not.”
Tracy’s first impulse was to protest, to tell him that she was happy. But she wanted to hear where Mr. S. was going with all this, so she just settled for a “This arrangement was always meant to make both of us happy, and I won’t accept anything you’re not also happy with, Mr. S.”
Shadwell made a number of faces that conveyed the complexity of the issue while he finished his train of thought.
“I’m not saying I liked what you did. I am oldfashioned and I won’t change my sense of what’s right or wrong. But ye’re a good woman, with or without those things, and ye’re not yerself without them. It would be wrong of me to keep you away from it. I swore to myself after those things we’d been through that I would become a better man, not failing ye. If it means ta stand by your side in darkness as in light, then so be it.”
Tracy beamed at him. “So you wouldn’t marry Marjorie Potts, but you would marry Madame Tracy?”
“Aye.”
And that was how Tracy became both Madame Tracy and Mrs Shadwell, within a few months.