From nearly the first page, The Affairs of Emerald L’Belle was, to Miriam, very worth the effort she’d gone through to claim it.

She devoured the book completely over the course of the afternoon, curled up in her cozy armchair, her favorite, spicy cinnamon candies within easy reach. Every vibrant image, every clever turn of phrase, and especially every salacious innuendo propelled her eyes across the pages at breakneck speed with a desperation to know: what happened next? Beautiful, talented Madam L’Belle stormed her way through a twisting narrative of intrigue, commanding Miriam’s full attention and admiration as easily as the multitude of suitors vying for her hand. She was a woman made of thunder who brought men to their knees. 

Miriam grinned broadly with every one of Emerald’s early conquests, vicariously triumphant, until her path collided with that of a handsome viscount from far-away lands. His mysterious history and supernatural bearing drew Emerald in—and then what? He eluded her charms, only for her to manipulate their reunion—and then what? Miriam held her breath as—just as she’d predicted—the viscount revealed he was, in fact, not even human. Even the indomitable Emerald L’Belle nearly swooned when confronted with his full, demonic form! And yet, it intrigued her. This creature’s misshapen but muscular physique stirred her in ways no mere human ever could...

Miriam turned the page to the illustration she had happened on that morning and shivered. It meant so much more now put to context, and she lapped up the rest of the novel’s erotica-fueled exploits, blushing all the while.

When Miriam reached the end, she closed the book, took a deep breath, and thought, Thank goodness Odelia worked today, followed by, Crap, I forgot to buy flour!

By the time Odelia returned from work, Miriam had supper waiting. She regaled her roommate with tales from that morning, which Odelia endured very politely. Then they tidied up, and as was usually the case Odelia settled in to listen to her radio shows while Miriam retreated to her room for the night.

She ended up re-reading several chapters of the book, just to convince herself they truly had been committed to paper. If any book was going to ruffle the feathers of a sixteenth century Puritan like Irene, it would certainly be this one; even Miriam, long-time admirer of Darby’s work, felt herself blushing the second time. More than once she stopped to listen to Odelia in the next room, paranoid that somehow she would be able to hear the scandalous words leaping off the page.

Long after she should have turned in, Miriam finally put the book down and curled up in bed. Even then she couldn’t sleep at first; she kept replaying the images from the book in her mind, setting her imagination to the task of filling in every gap left by Darby’s suggestive and intentionally vague drawings. She closed her eyes and tried to picture what it would be like, confronted by a creature of such ancient power as the demon viscount. To resist at first, as Emerald had, only to give in. To have warm, smooth hands gliding over every part of her body, knowing each curve and crevice with unparalleled intimacy. To have such a sublime creature not only pay her notice, but pay her worship—Miriam simmered with the possibilities.

If only, she thought, but for the moment she only had her imagination to satisfy her, her own two hands and her own body. At least she knew how to make the most of that.

***

By morning, Miriam had channeled all her emboldened energy into its new avenue: Darby’s hearing.

She dressed and went with Odelia to the local phone company branch, where both worked as daytime operators. She managed not to stay for very long; though her supervisor was a humorless woman, Miriam had worked so steadily and efficiently for so long that she managed to negotiate one more morning off. With good lucks from Odelia—and a flurry of whispered speculation from her coworkers—Miriam left again and made her way straight to the courthouse.

Miriam was well-acquainted with the old building. As she stepped inside into the cavernous foyer, she couldn’t help but remember the first time her father had brought her. The tapping of her shoes echoing off the tiled floor made her feel ten years old again, her father’s hand huge and warm around hers. As she strode forward, an eldery bailiff even tipped his hat to her in recognition. She managed a small, embarrassed smile and hurried on.

Finding the courtroom where Darby was to be arraigned was not difficult, as a group of reporters had gathered just outside to finish their cigarettes. There weren’t quite as many of them as Miriam thought the affair deserved, but her attention to them didn’t last long anyway; a handful of women stood off to the side, whispering anxiously about the impending hearing, and among them was the woman Miriam had met at Quigley’s the day before.

That morning had been such a flurry of excitement that Miriam was embarrassed to admit she hadn’t paid the woman nearly as much attention as she deserved. A “friend” of Darby T. Fairchild who shared an interest in historic texts? Already she was leaps ahead of Georgie in terms of Darby’s acquaintances, as far as Miriam was concerned. Her features were very soft, with large, round brown eyes, her face delicately framed by dark curls. She wore a modest dress with a belt and large buttons that ran up one side, all stark white that shone brilliantly against her bronze skin.

Miriam wasn’t known for noticing things like that, but even she had to admit the woman was lovely. But it was when she turned and spotted her that Miriam’s heart gave a thump: those large eyes grew wider still, and a smile tugged at her full lips, as if she had been waiting for Miriam all along and was thrilled to see her.

Of course she’s waiting for me—I told her to come, Miriam thought. She swallowed, unused to anyone being quite that happy to greet her. Don’t think anything about it. She picked up her pace to lessen that awkward approach to as short a span as possible.

“Miriam, good morning,” the woman greeted. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Oh,” said Miriam, though she then quickly sucked in a breath. “Yes. You, too.” A moment of clumsy terror reminded her that she didn’t remember her name, and she blurted out, “I’m sorry, but your name was…?”

“Naomi,” she said, without any hint of disappointment that Miriam hadn’t remembered, thank goodness. She held out her hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself better yesterday. I was a bit...out of sorts.”

“No. Um.” Miriam shook her hand and marveled at how smooth her skin was. “Sorry. I was, too.” She cleared her throat. “Let’s get our seats.”

She marched into the courtroom, and Naomi followed close behind. A few people were seated already—a larger than usual number of court lookiloos among those supporting their arrested friends and family. Already an old man stood before the judge, entering his not guilty plea on some minor charge. Miriam picked a bench as close to the front as was available, and once she and Naomi were seated she took a moment to scan those gathered. Her gaze fell almost immediately on the matted white curls of Irene Usher seated in the next bench over.

Hateful old crone, Miriam thought, glaring daggers into the woman. Of course she has nothing better to do. 

She continued to stare openly until Irene finally noticed her and looked over. Irene turned her nose up at her and made the sign of the cross. Miriam bristled, already working on what she would say once she had the chance.

The other women and reporters filtered into the room and found seats. There was a great air of curiosity among the small crowd, more so than the outrage and concern that Miriam thought was deserved. At last the previous detainee was finished, and after a short break for the judge to shuffle his papers, the bailiff stepped forward.

“Calling Mr. Darby T. Fairchild,” he declared.

It had not escaped Miriam’s notice that Darby himself was not yet in the courtroom. Everyone turned in their seats to scan the room, and a quiet murmur arose. The judge looked up from his papers and the bailiff called Darby’s name again. Just as confusion began to make way for impatience, the doors opened with a flourish. Darby, dressed in an impeccable three piece suit, strode confidently down the aisle while his attorney, a portly gentleman in tweed, followed behind with briefcase in hand.

Miriam clenched her hands around her purse strap. Nothing will happen to him, she told herself firmly. Look, he’s not worried at all. Then Naomi touched the back of her palm, and she was so surprised it broke her tension for a moment. She glanced to Naomi next to her, and the reassuring smile being fixed on her made her blush again. She took a deep breath and faced forward.

“Please accept my apologies, your honor,” said Darby as he took his place before the judge. “I had a devil of a time locating the right courtroom.”

The crowd began to murmur all over again, which the judge silenced with a long, sweeping glare of the gallery. He then motioned to the bailiff, who shook himself from a momentarily starstruck look to read the charges. “Mr. Fairchild, you are charged with possession of obscene material of no artistic value, and with the sale of that material. Are you prepared to enter your plea?”

“Indeed I am,” said Darby as his lawyer pulled a folder full of papers out of the briefcase. “I would like to plead nolo contendere to the charge of being a public nuisance, and to make my reparations to the court with a financial sum.”

Darby’s attorney handed his papers to the prosecutor, an elderly gentleman who already looked exhausted by the entire affair. Meanwhile, the judge had to glare his courtroom silent again. “Mr. Fairchild, I’m afraid you don’t have the luxury of choosing the charges against you,” he said. “What is your plea?”

“Again I must beg the court’s forgiveness,” said Darby, as Miriam and all the rest blinked on in astonishment. “I’ve never been in a courtroom, let alone as a defendant. But my lawyer here has assured me that everything is in order.”

“Were you not in possession of the material with the intent to sell?” The judge consulted his notes, and his nose wrinkled. “One, The Affairs of Emerald L’Belle?”

“I was.” Darby straightened his back and lifted his chin. “But my work is of significant artistic value, your honor, and no sale took place.”

“That is a lie!” bellowed Irene Usher, vaulting to her feet. She raised her fist clenched tight around the mangled cover and first several pages of the novel. “I have the evidence right here!”

Miriam resumed her angry glares at the woman. Hateful old mare! 

The judge, his bailiff, and even the prosecutor all gave a great sigh as the courtroom bubbled with intrigue. “Ms. Usher,” the judge said with irritated familiarity. “Please take your seat.” Once she had done so, the judge fixed his heavy stare back on Darby. “Mr. Fairchild, did you sell a copy of your book to that woman?”

“This is no trial,” Darby replied coolly. “I am under no obligation to acknowledge such an accusation from the gallery. I am only here to enter my plea.”

The judge kneaded his temple with two fingers. “So now you’re aware of court procedure?”

“Your honor,” spoke up the prosecutor, his eyebrows raised as he read over the last lines of Darby’s documents. He tapped them against his desk to align them properly and then lifted his head. “The city of Boston will gladly accept Mr. Fairchild’s plea on the charge of public nuisance.”

“I caused a scene,” Darby confessed with a wave of his hand as the gallery resumed their murmurs. “I regret it, and I am prepared to make amends.”

“This court cannot be swayed with bribery!” shouted Irene, beating her fist against the seat ahead of her.

“Oh be quiet!” Miriam snapped back, at the end of her patience. “Just let the judge decide already!”

The judge released another, long-suffering sigh and banged apathetically at his gavel to reclaim order. “Please take note, Mr. Fairchild, that should you find yourself afoul of the law again, these kinds of arrangements can be made with the city prior to you making a spectacle of the court.”

Darby bowed his head respectfully as Irene continued to seethe and the gallery to murmur. “Duly noted, your honor, though I don’t expect it to ever happen again.”

The documents were relayed to the judge, and after a swift reading—which had his eyebrows rising as well—he passed them back to the bailiff. “So be it. The defendant is hereby dismissed and ordered to pay the agreed upon fine to the city.”

The judge banged his gavel, and furious murmurs grew as a smug little grin slithered across Darby’s face. It gave Miriam a chill. Then he was all charm and professionalism. “Your honor, as to the fate of the books?”

“As for The Affairs of Emerald L’Belle,” the judge said wearily, “the court does not share your view that it holds any significant merit, artistic or otherwise. All copies are to be remanded to the state and the sale of any such book is prohibited.”

Miriam felt an icy hand at her throat, and without thinking she leapt to her feet. “No—you can’t do that!” she declared. “You haven’t even read it!”

Quieter, but like-minded grumbles passed through the gallery as Irene turned her chin up in triumph. “Sit down, Miss Vance,” she said coldly. “The judge has given his verdict.”

Miriam spun toward her. “You—”

The judge banged his gavel some more. “This court is adjourned,” he announced, rubbing his eyes. “Bailiff, please clear the gallery before we proceed with the next defendant.”

The bailiff stepped forward, and without a single word of protest or even surprise, Darby turned to stride out with his lawyer. The reporters flocked after him, shouting questions that mostly consisted of, “how much did you pay?” while his fans gossiped along behind, distraught. Miriam gathered up her sunken heart and marched across the aisle to confront Irene.

“I’m sure you’re very proud of yourself, but this isn’t going to stand,” Miriam told her, hands poised to her hips as Irene stood. “I’m sure Mr. Fairchild is going to file suit against the city for this! His books—”

“His books,” Irene said with a sneer, “are nothing more than pornography.” She shoved the torn pages into her handbag and then stepped forward, waiting for Miriam to move out of her way. “I will do everything in my power to keep it and those like it out of the hands of weak-minded idollators like yourself.”

“It’s censorship, and you won’t get away with it,” Miriam continued heatedly. “Maybe if you’d had an affair in your life you wouldn’t be so quick to judge!”

The bailiff cleared his throat loudly as he touched Miriam’s shoulder. “Ma’am, I need you to clear the court.”