by Cody Young
‘How would you do that?’ she said. ‘For if she was willing, it wouldn’t be stolen, would it?’
Carl couldn’t take his eyes off her sweet little mouth. Pretty pink lips, pouting a little as she spoke. Daring him to kiss her. God, he wanted to kiss her.
‘It’d be stealing if she belonged to another man,’ he said warily.
‘Parlourmaids are seldom married, Mr Janssen, and neither am I.’
Carl knew he was on dangerous ground. Stop this right now, he told himself. She’s a rich man’s daughter and she’s leading you on.
‘You know what I mean, Miss. Your father would have me run out of town if we…’
Susannah gave a heavy sigh. ‘Parlourmaids are lucky.’
She turned away.
Carl couldn’t bear it. He didn’t like seeing her so crestfallen. ‘You’re the sweetest girl I ever saw!’
She turned eagerly when he blurted this out. ‘Really?’ she said, with her eyes burning bright.
‘Yes. But you mustn’t play with fire,’ he said. ‘You’re a lovely, lovely girl and you don’t know what you are getting yourself into. I am not a gentleman, and even if I were, I have no right to touch you, strangers that we are. You mustn’t be too forward with men, or believe me, they will misuse you.’
Suddenly she looked contrite, and a worried frown came over her face. ‘Forgive me,’ she said, ‘I have never been so unladylike in my life. One little taste of freedom and I am behaving like a—I don’t even know the right word! I have no experience of these things!’ Her face flushed scarlet and she fanned herself with her hands.
It was such an alluring gesture – and done so artlessly – it almost brought Carl to his knees.
‘I must go,’ he said, as he struggled to maintain his resolve not to touch her.
‘Let me shake your hand instead, Mr Janssen,’ she said.
Their fingers met, and lingered. They shook hands and they didn’t let go. Neither of them wanted to end this fragile moment of contact. Warm hands, shy looks, and words that didn’t really mean goodbye.
‘Oh, sweetheart! Come here!’ he said in despair. He reached out and pulled her into a tight embrace, his mouth finding hers, tasting her for the first time. It was a wild crazy kiss; a long, hard, aching kiss that made Carl moan in anguish and delight. She yielded so sweetly to him - as his tongue invaded her mouth – he thought he’d die of pleasure. The kiss deepened, and his whole body pressed against hers. His hands caressed her back, and he could feel the seams of her corset, underneath the fabric of her dress. Moments passed, touching, tasting, delighting in her eager response. And with all her sweet curves pressing against him, Carl became hotter and harder all the time.
You’re a fool, his conscience told him, for a moment of pleasure in a pretty girl’s arms. What if her father walked in on you, now, doing this?
He broke away from her instantly, leaving her breathless.
‘Is that what kissing’s like?’ she said, in amazement.
‘Not usually.’ Carl stumbled backwards, stunned and numb from that sensational kiss. Guilt and shame overwhelmed him, as he contemplated what he had done. She looked flushed and delighted, triumphant even. She had got her first kiss.
‘I didn’t want to do that,’ he said, shaking his head.
The girl’s eyes were bright with amusement. ‘Oh, you did, Carl! You know you did. You should not tell such lies.’
She laughed and pushed him away, and then she showed him the door. Leaving him to wonder if she ever meant to see him again, or if she had just used him to get that kiss.
Chapter 2
ON SATURDAY NIGHT, Carl was singing in the pub. He had a repertoire of haunting ballads and sea shanties, including a few rousing old favourites at the end so the crowd could join in with the chorus. He looked up through the throng of people, and he thought he saw her face looking through the casement window.
When it was time for him to take a break, and the publican brought him a pint of beer, he set it down without taking a sip and made his way through the crowd to see if he could find Susannah. He went through the door, and out into the cool night air.
She was standing in the street outside the pub, and smiled in delight when she saw him. She seemed unconcerned by her surroundings – though there were two drunken men sitting in the gutter only a few feet away.
Carl took hold of her arm. ‘What are you doing here, Susannah? It’s not safe in the street at this time of night!’
‘You asked me to come, and hear you sing.’
‘I suppose I did,’ he said, with a pang of guilt, ‘but this pub is no place for a lady.’
‘Mr Janssen, a lady is a person with a title. I have no title, none at all, so can’t we just pretend that I’m a maid?’
‘But you are not a maid!’
One of the drunken men looked up and tugged at Susannah’s skirt. ‘If she is, she won’t be for long – not if she sets foot in there!’ He broke into gusts of wheezy laughter, amused by his own joke.
Susannah ignored him. She went over to the casement window and looked inside. ‘I can see lots of women in there, Carl, and they’re all having such a fine time. Why shouldn’t I join in?’
Carl was torn, he couldn’t leave her here, but he had to go back in and sing and there wasn’t time to get her home first. He relented and took her into the pub. He made a great show of finding her a seat, to warn the other men off.
The barmaid gave Susannah a drink (and Carl a wink) and promised she would keep an eye on her for him. ‘I’ll see she don’t come to no harm. Get up there and sing. They’re waiting for you!’
More agitated than before, Carl went and took his place and the music started. Carl sang his heart out, knowing he had never sung so well as he did that night. Susannah sat there before him, sipping her drink, smiling now and then. He had never had such an attentive admirer. Her gaze never left his face. His voice rang out, rich and true, filling the room with sound.
‘…And ye shall be my bride, lady, and ye shall be my bride …’
Then, inwardly, he cursed himself for singing the wrong words. HIS bride, he thought with a hint of a blush, that’s how that song is supposed to go!
On the way home, they talked more honestly than before.
‘You broke that lock yourself,’ Carl said.
No judgment was attached; it was simply a plain statement of the fact. She was silent for a moment, but then she nodded.
Carl waited for her to speak, but she glanced away. ‘Are you in some kind of trouble?’
Finally, she made her confession.
‘My father’s in London, and the servants are away. All except the housekeeper, Molly. She’s a good sort, and she’s kind to me, Carl.’
He listened, intently, and didn’t speak.
‘Well, Molly got a letter from her sister, who has just had another baby – her seventh child – can you imagine?’
‘Quite well, since my mother had nine.’
‘Well, things didn’t go so well with this baby, and Molly said she had to go over to her sister’s straight away, to help out. So, the house was deserted – everyone gone – all except for me. That’s when I grabbed my chance.’
‘You broke the lock, so you could get out of the house?’
‘Yes. It was such a lovely day, and I realised it had been four years since I went out. I used the scissors that Molly gave me for sewing. I used them to smash the door. I couldn’t resist it.’
‘Susannah, am I hearing this right? You’ve been shut up in that house for four years?’
‘Yes.’
‘But, why? For heaven’s sake, why?’
‘I don’t know. My father is fearful for my safety, I believe.’
‘I think I’d be fearful for his, if anyone found out about this,’ Carl said, clenching his fists by his side. ‘Should we go to the police, do you think?’
‘I wondered about going to the police, but then I wasn’t so sure they would understand. My courage failed me
. I thought about running away,’ she continued, ‘but where would I go? So, I explored parts of the house I am not usually allowed to see, and then I walked up to the shops. I bought some stamps and some flowers, and I got myself a railway timetable.’
He smiled. Such modest purchases, on what should have been an exultant day of freedom.
‘I thought the stamps would enable me to write to people, to get some advice about how to escape my …situation. With that hope in mind, I acquired the railway timetable, thinking I might need to catch a train one day, when I had worked out where I should go. The flowers I bought entirely on impulse. I love sweet peas - my mother used to grow them. After that I knew I had to go home. I passed the locksmiths’ shop on the way and I called in and asked them to send a man to fix the door.’
‘And your father was none the wiser,’ Carl said. ‘You’re a clever, clever girl.’
‘I hope he never finds out about my escapades,’ she said. ‘There are so many places I’d like to see.’
They arrived back at the house, and went round to the back. Carl noticed that there were wrought iron bars on some of the windows.
‘Is that where you live?’ he said, pointing to the basement windows. He felt choked up with emotion, thinking of her plight.
‘It’s not so bad. Sometimes I’m allowed to stroll in the garden.’
‘Oh, Miss, I wish I could help you.’ He resolved that he’d find a way to help her, if it was the last thing he ever did.
‘Perhaps you can. Now that I have my key I can make all sorts of plans for the future. I am so full of hope and happiness.’
Help me up to the window, if you please.’ She was in through the window in a trice, giving Carl a tantalising flash of slim legs and frothy petticoats. Then, she slipped her key into the lock and turned it, and the door to her little basement room was open. ‘Good night,’ she murmured and disappeared inside.
‘Susannah! Wait! Will I see you again?’ he said, but she was gone. The door was closed tight shut, and he could not call out, for fear of waking the rest of the house up. He must walk home, with all his questions unanswered.
Chapter 3
FRIDAY MORNING, AT THE SHOP, and the boss was going through the unpaid invoices.
‘You know that lock you fitted, up in Park Avenue, Carl?’
Carl looked up from his work, grinding keys. Susannah. How could he forget?
‘They’re saying they didn’t call for a locksmith that day,’
Carl frowned. He couldn’t deny that he’d done the repair. ‘That’s not right, sir, you know it’s not.’
His boss laughed. ‘I was here when the girl came in about it. Nice bit of skirt she was too. I’ll go round there and remind them.’
‘Do you have to?’ Carl said, too quickly. ‘Why don’t you let me go?’
‘It’s got to be handled right, lad. We’d like them to pay but we don’t want to upset them, you understand.’
‘Why not?’ Carl was playing for time, wondering how to sort this one out.
‘You’ve got a lot to learn. Mr Fortescue’s a popular man – running for parliament. It could be very bad for business if things turn sour with him. I’ll go up there and have a friendly chat.’
Carl’s heart sank. Her father was a politician. What hope for a poor locksmith? What chance did he stand, a working man, wanting to court her?
But worse than that, there was the matter of the invoice. Susannah would be in deep trouble now. If only Carl had remembered about the invoice he would have tried to stop it being sent out. He turned to his boss, hoping to change his mind. ‘If it’s that important not to upset them, sir, why don’t you let them off?’
‘Let them go without paying? I don’t know that we need go that far, lad. Fortescue’s got plenty of money.’
Carl made one last desperate appeal. ‘Please Mr Broderick – if you just wait til payday, I’ll pay the bill meself.’
Broderick looked up sharply. ‘Why on earth would you do that?’
Susannah’s room was neat and orderly. She kept her books arranged on a little shelf above her bed. She had a little writing box, in which she kept a few treasures. She had stowed her precious stamps away in there. Another day she would write to an address she knew in London, to try to get some advice.
She’d love to be free - she had a picture on the wall that showed children paddling in the sea. The picture was sentimental - the sand was golden - as was the children’s hair - and the kindly fisherman had eyes of china blue. She had not thought that any real person could have eyes like that, until she met the locksmith. She shivered with excitement, and touched her mouth where his kisses had been.
Until now she had been allowed no contact with young men. No parties and no dances, no conversations – not even chaperoned ones, and definitely no kisses. If her father found out about Carl, there would be hell to pay. But things will change, she told herself, now that I have my key.
She must be stealthy and discreet. Tonight, when the house was completely quiet, she would take another stroll in the garden. Another day, she might go further a-field. The library, the market, the linen draper’s shop. The horizon was alive with possibilities. The fairground, the theatre, the racecourse maybe …
Carl had supper with the boss and his wife. They were pleased with his work, and they had no sons of their own. There was often a place for him at their table. Mr Broderick, Carl’s boss, was a vigorous fellow of about fifty. He was going grey, and he had a large handlebar moustache. He was enjoying a plate of stewed beef and dumplings, cooked by his plump lady wife.
Carl wasn’t making much headway with his plate of food. His thoughts were with Susannah. Never in a thousand years did he imagine it would lead to this.
‘Please, Mr Broderick, what do you know about Mr Fortescue’s daughter?’
The boss looked up and frowned. ‘Fortescue? The politician? Has he got a daughter?’
Mrs Broderick interrupted. ‘He has, my dear, he has got a daughter – though nobody’s ever seen her. Apparently, she’s an embarrassment to him, and he’s kept very quiet about it, with the election coming up. They say she’s not right in the head.’
Carl dropped his fork. Not right in the head. ‘Oh God. Is that how it is?’ he said, and only after he had spoken the words did he realise that he’d spoken out loud. He thought of her over-bright eyes, her nervous energy, the crazy little things she said.
‘What’s your interest there, my boy?’ Broderick wanted to know.
Carl shook his head and tried another mouthful of food. He found he could hardly swallow, and he pushed his plate aside. He said nothing, but Broderick’s suspicion was raised.
‘Did you see her, then? Up at Fortescue’s place?’
‘She was the girl who came into the shop,’ Carl replied.
‘That girl? No! That was Fortescue’s daughter, in my little shop?’
‘Oh Carl, you haven’t got tangled up with her, have you?’ Mrs Broderick said, and touched his arm.
Carl gave her a guilty look.
Broderick and his wife exchanged a glance.
Carl ran a hand over his face. There’d be all sorts of questions, now, and he was in no mood to answer them. All he could think about was that dreadful phrase. Not right in the head. No. Carl refused to believe it. Melancholy, perhaps, but not mad. Anyone would behave a little strangely if they were kept cooped up like a caged animal. There was more to this, of that he was sure.
Broderick wanted the truth. ‘Come on, Carl, tell us what you know about Fortescue’s daughter.’
‘All I know is that I care for her more every day, and I don’t believe she deserves the reputation she’s been given.’
Carl sent her a note, asking her to meet him, unsure if she would agree. But on Tuesday night she was there at the gate, waiting for him.
They met at night for safety’s sake, when the streets were empty and quiet.
They walked in companionable silence down the darkened streets and alleyways, hea
ding towards the river. Susannah would have been afraid, if Carl had not been with her. But there were no villains at large, as far as she could see. They startled a stray cat, with eerie luminous eyes, and walked on, past shops and pubs that were closed for the night.
At the boat shed he picked the lock, and ‘borrowed’ a rowing boat so he could take her out on the water. The river was dark and seductive. An expanse of shimmering ripples in the moonlight.
He got into the boat first, and held out his hand for her. ‘Step in carefully, so you don’t upset it,’ he warned. But she almost did, in her ignorance – just one false step and it nearly overturned. She gasped as the boat lurched dangerously, and then gave a squeal of laughter.
‘Sit down, Miss, before you get us both soaking wet.’
‘Stop calling me ‘Miss’, Carl.’
‘Yes, Miss,’ he said, with a grin.
She lay back in the boat, and he threw her his jacket to cushion the wooden seat. Then he took up the oars and began to row, slicing through the water with crisp even strokes. Under his dark waistcoat, his white shirt showed up well in the moonlight – pale shirtsleeves rippling as he moved the oars.
Susannah enjoyed watching his strong arms make light work of the rowing.
‘So … you’re a politician’s daughter,’ Carl said.
She nodded and gave him a little sigh. She’d been expecting this.
‘He’s all set to win this time?’
‘So I’m told.’
‘Who tells you, Susannah? Who’s your window on the world?’
‘You are,’ she said, gratified to see that he was pleased – as if she had paid him an unexpected compliment.
But he wouldn’t settle for that. ‘I knew nothing about Fortescue and his plans to go into parliament, not until yesterday.’
‘Molly tells me things. Our housekeeper. She loves to gossip, even to me. Sometimes she lets me read the paper – especially if it says nice things about Papa.’
