by Lucy Wild
The matter with the Marquis seemed a very long time ago. This was to be his life now. He would settle into Whitby with the fishermen and the world’s grumpiest landlady. He would eat their food, he would become one of them, a simple honest person who worked for a living. He would forget about Eleanor, eventually.
But as his eyes closed and he began to doze, he could not shake the thought of Eleanor from his mind, the look on her face as she had screamed, “You killed him.”
He fell asleep with a gnawing sensation in his stomach. He told himself it was just hunger but he knew that was a lie. The truth was impossible to ignore. He missed her already.
Chapter 5
The letter looked innocent enough. Eleanor’s maid had brought it to her in bed, curtseying before withdrawing. Eleanor sat up and looked at the envelope. It did not look like William’s handwriting.
She shook her head. Why was her first thought to think it might be from him? It had been a year since he had vanished. Why was she still thinking about him? “It is because I hate him,” she said out loud.
A year was a long time. The Marquis was married to some girl from Scotland, he had doubled the size of his lands in the stroke of a pen upon the register and that was that. Eleanor had determined she would never let any man marry her. There could only be pain in love, she had decided. Two men bickering over her had cost one man his life and the other his freedom if he were to ever show his face again. Love was for fools.
Yet there was a part of her heart that was saddened by the handwriting on the letter. If he had written just once, let her know he was still alive. That would be something. He might be dead at the bottom of the ocean or struck down with some tropical disease somewhere. “Good,” she said to the empty room. “Hope he rots.”
She broke the seal on the back of the envelope and slid out the letter. Unfolding it, she began to read.
Dearest Eleanor,
You are in great danger. Vincent is coming back. Meet me in Pickering Friday 12th at noon. Wait in The Black Bull and I will come to you. Do not tell your aunt or uncle lest they are put in danger also. I beg you to heed my plea and attend.
Your ever loving sister
Eleanor read and reread the final lines. Her sister? Her ever loving sister? “But I do not have a sister,” she said out loud, running her eyes over the words as she spoke. “What could this possibly mean? Who is Vincent?”
She rang her bell and waited, her maid arriving minutes later. “Yes, miss?”
“Who gave you this letter, Betsy?”
“It arrived first thing this morning, miss. The gatekeeper was given it by the post, I do believe.”
“You know nothing of the sender?”
“No, miss.”
“I see.”
Folding the letter and replacing it in the envelope, Eleanor thought hard. Was this a joke? A trick?
Once dressed, she sent Betsy away before descending the stairs and seeking out her guardians. They were seated at the breakfast table, awaiting her company. “You are a slugabed as ever,” her uncle said as she passed him the envelope. “What is this?” He took out the letter and read it, his brow furrowing as he did so.
“What do you think it means?” Eleanor asked. “Do I have a sister?”
“This is a joke,” her uncle replied, screwing up the letter before tossing it into the ashes in the hearth. “Think no more of it.”
But Eleanor could not do that. Something told her the letter was genuine. Yet how could that be? She spent the day lost in thought, pacing around the grounds of the estate until the sun had almost set. To think, she might have a sister out there. She wracked her brain to try and think of the time before the death of her parents. Little came to her. She had been so young back then, was it possible a baby sister was out there somewhere, having survived that awful night? Or an older sibling, perhaps, someone who she could confide in, someone nearer her own age than her aunt. But what of the danger? What danger could she possibly be in?
By the morning of the twelfth, she was no closer to answering her questions. Her uncle acted as if the letter had never existed. Any time she mentioned siblings, he would snap at her to cease her attempts to wind him up, that he would not rise to her bait.
Her aunt was worse, she would not even deign to answer Eleanor’s questions, preferring to turn and walk away whenever the matter was raised. For Eleanor’s part, she hated the not knowing and it was that more than anything else that saw her up before dawn on the twelfth. She had decided to ride into Pickering and see just who might be waiting there for her. She hoped to be identify whoever it was. If there was a family resemblance, she was sure to spot it.
The stable was empty when she entered but Galahad was ready for her, the groom having attached his saddle as per her request. She opened the stall door and brought him out herself, a first for her. Galahad seemed indifferent to being out with her so early, in fact he seemed to enjoy seeing the sunrise with Eleanor leading him out of the estate and along the lane towards Pickering.
Eleanor felt certain she was the only person awake at that time but she was corrected of that position around four miles from her home. Lost in thought, she did not see the man until he stepped out into the middle of the road, a pistol pointing directly towards her. His face was hidden behind a scarf, only the glint of his eyes visible in the first light of the dawn. “Stop right there,” he called out, his voice muffled behind the fabric.
Eleanor attempted to spur Galahad forward but the grooms had trained him too well. He came up short before the man, standing steaming and glancing round at Eleanor as if expecting praise. She kicked at his sides but he refused to move. She could hear the man stifling a laugh. “Well behaved horse,” he said.
“Step aside or I shall run you down,” Eleanor said, surprised by how weak her voice sounded.
“It would be a shame to have to shoot you when all I want is this beast of yours,” the man replied, his pistol waving slowly through the air. “Off you come and off you go.”
Eleanor looked down at him as he took a step backwards, raising the pistol until it was pointed directly at her head. A terror shot through her like she had never known before. She found herself unable to move or to speak, her eyes fixed on the end of the pistol.
“Come on,” the man snapped. “Get down now or I shoot, I swear it.”
“All right.” The words came out before Eleanor knew she had even said them. She slowly swung her leg over Galahad before sliding down to the ground. “Do not hurt me, I beg you.”
“I have no intention of hurting you,” the man said, picking up a rope from inside the hedge next to him. “Tie him to that tree.”
“What are you going to do to him?”
“That is my business. Though you should perhaps be more concerned with what I am going to do to you.”
Chapter 6
William had been in Whitby less than a week when he found work. Or more accurately work found him. He had settled into his lodgings, finding the novelty of somewhere so small amusing at first before coming to the realisation that servants definitely made life easier. It took days to get the hang of lighting the fire. Getting heat from the thing seemed an impossible task at first. He bundled himself up in a great coat and a mountain of blankets each night, awakening every morning with his limbs aching from the cold.
But as the sun rose each day, he felt better, helped immeasurably by his morning strolls in and around the town. The money he had brought with him soon dwindled in the cost of furnishing his apartments and person until he finally realised he had better search for work.
He tried numerous shops but nowhere was hiring. After three days of rejection, he was feeling downhearted but on the fourth day, a miracle took place. It was late evening, the sun having just set. He had failed to procure a position along the harbourside, each inn rejecting his lack of experience. Passing through a narrow backstreet, he was pondering his next move when he saw a violent altercation taking place a few yards down the road. A man
was attempting to push three brutish fellows away from his door but he was fighting a losing battle. As William ran over, they tripped the fellow and as he fell, countless kicks landed on him, the ruffians surrounding him as he grunted in pain.
“Leave him be!” William shouted, shoving the first ruffian into the wall beside him. The other two turned to him and glared, the tallest of the three pointing directly at him, a waft of ale assaulting William’s nostrils.
“Walk away now. This does not concern you.” The man’s voice was slurred from drink.
“Three men kicking a fellow while he is down concerns me. It is most unsporting.”
“Unsporting?” The man snorted a laugh as he curled his fingers into fists. “See how unsporting you think this is.” His arm swung towards William but the Duke of Ryedale was ready.
Ducking backwards, William caught his arm and twisted him round, kicking the fellow firmly on the backside as he spun on the spot. The second man darted towards him and he let him come, only moving at the last moment, catching him a glancing blow on the side of the head.
William caught sight of the first man coming at him and hit him twice with two jabs to his jaw. The man stopped dead, blinking as if confused by what had happened. “Who are you?” he asked, rubbing his chin.
“No one of consequence,” William replied. “Now might I suggest you be on your way before you get yourselves hurt.”
The men looked at each other and then at William who stood directly in front of their prone victim.
“This is not the end of this,” the first ruffian said to the man on the floor. “Come on boys.”
Away went the three as the man on the ground slowly got to his feet. “Thank you, friend,” he said, wincing as he rubbed at his back. “I do not know what would have happened if you were not passing.”
“Who were they?” William asked, watching the three men stagger away.
“The Jones brothers. Got a little too close to the girls. Had to send them out. They were not best pleased.”
“Apparently not,” William replied. “Send them out of where?”
The man squinted at William. “You’re not from round here are you?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Well, everyone round here knows about the Jet Club.” The man pulled open the door behind him. Immediately the sound of music echoed out from within. It was followed by the sound of many people speaking at once. William frowned as the man beckoned him inside. “Come and see for yourself.”
William followed him into the building. Though from the outside it had looked like a rundown tenement house, the place was strikingly different within. A short corridor led into a large auditorium that was filled with people. There was a stage containing a woman in the midst of something that took William’s breath away. Unlike any music hall he had ever encountered, this one looked as if it would not be out of place in the pit of Hades itself. The woman was stripping out of her clothes, enough flesh on display to make William wonder if he was dreaming.
To the side of the stage a man was brandishing a whip, making the woman undress all the faster. In front of the stage, a series of small round tables were set up. At each sat small groups of well dressed people, all of them with their eyes on the performance. Some were drinking, some smoking, all cheering the display before them.
“What on earth is this place?” William asked in disbelief.
“I told you,” the man replied. “This is the Jet Club and you are most welcome…?”
“William Thompson, and you are?”
“Julian Franklin. This is my club.”
“Your club?”
“It is indeed. Come, you look as if you need a drink.”
Julian waved and a waitress appeared carrying a tray containing two glasses filled with whisky. William took one of the glasses and drained it in one gulp. The fiery liquor burned a path down his throat as the performance on stage reached its climax. The woman was down to a pair of bloomers and a scarf of some description tied around her chest. The man with the whip cracked it and she winced, untying the scarf to reveal her breasts. William could not help but stare as the man approached her, grinning as he did so.
She screamed in a most convincing manner. Was it really an act? It had to be. She could not genuinely be frightened, could she?
The man grabbed hold of her and twisted her round so she was facing the back of the stage. He yanked her bloomers downwards to expose her posterior to the applause of the crowd. Without pausing, he brought his hand down on her posterior and began spanking her as if she were a recalcitrant infant. The sound echoed around the auditorium as William realised he had missed something Julian had just said.
“I am sorry,” he replied, turning to his host. “I am afraid I missed that.”
“I said, are you looking for work at all?”
“As a matter of fact I am,” William said, glancing back at the stage to see the woman falling onto her front, the man pouncing on her like a tiger upon a gazelle, continuing to rain blows down upon her backside.
“You have proved yourself handy with your fists,” Julian continued. “I wonder if you might consider working a security detail here. The Jones brothers are likely to return and I do not fancy my chances if they do.”
“I would consider it if the rates were favourable enough.”
“A fellow after my own heart,” Julian laughed, slapping him on the back. “Do not worry. I can afford to be generous to the man who saved my life.”
William allowed himself a smile before his attention returned to the stage. The sight before him was scandalous to his eyes though compared to the next performer to appear, it was the most innocent of follies. For out next came Lady Jet herself with an act that William never forgot for the rest of his life.
Chapter 7
Eleanor wished with all her heart that she was back at home. The letter from her sister had brought her out into the countryside early in the morning. That had led her into the clutches of this wicked man with the scarf around his face, his pistol jabbing her in the back as he pushed her into a copse of trees beside the road.
“That’s far enough,” the man said at last. “Turn round.”
Eleanor did as he asked, her heart pounding as she looked into his soulless eyes.
“What are you going to do to me?” she asked, her voice weak.
“All in good time, missy. Now it’s a warm enough morning. I think first of all, you can remove that coat of yours.”
“What? Why?”
“It’ll fetch a pretty penny at market, that’s why. Now enough with the questions and off with the coat.”
Eleanor fumbled with her buttons, finding it almost impossible to undo them, her hands trembling with fear.
“Come on, come on,” the man snapped, glancing around him. “I haven’t got all day.”
At last, she got the coat undone, slipping it from her shoulders and holding it out towards him.
“That’s a nice dress too,” the man said, his eyes moving up and down her. “I think I’ll have that as well.”
“Please,” Eleanor mumbled. “Do not do this.”
The man pointed the gun straight at her face. “I bet it makes a change for one such as you, to have someone else in charge I mean. You toffs are all alike, looking down on people like me.” His voice rose to a shout. “Well I’m in charge now, not you. Now get that dress off or I’ll rip it from your body.”
“Please,” Eleanor repeated, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks. “I beg you.”
“Last chance,” the man replied, cocking the gun. “I’d hate to get blood on such fine fabric.”
The gown Eleanor had dressed in that morning was designed for simplicity and for travel. She had chosen it specifically so she would not need the help of her maid to dress. Beneath it was neither corset, nor crinoline. She cringed at the thought of what he was making her do. It was utterly humiliating but what choice did she have.
Slowly, she slid the straps from her shoulders
, all the while pleading with him not to do this. “I shall freeze in my underthings,” she said as she pushed the dress down her body. “Do you wish me to die?”
“Hand it over,” he replied, ignoring her question. “Now isn’t that a lovely chemise. I think I’ll have that as well.”
“For the love of God, I beg you to leave me with this,” Eleanor sobbed, gripping the chemise in her hands. She had begun to shiver in the morning cold, the sunlight struggling to penetrate the thick foliage above her head. “Do not do this to me.”
“Off with it,” the man snapped impatiently. “Come on, come on.”
Eleanor looked down at herself. Without the chemise, she would be wearing only stockings, drawers, and her shoes. How had her morning ride out descended into this nightmare so quickly?
She gasped as the gun prodded her in the chest. “Please,” she muttered.
“Off with it.”
Weeping openly, Eleanor pulled the chemise over her head, passing it to the man as goose bumps formed on her skin. She did her best to cover her exposed chest with her arms, feeling the hardness of her nipples against her forearms, wishing she were home, safe and warm and away from this lunatic who seemed capable of anything.
“I will freeze to death,” she said as he leered down at her chest. “Please let me go.”
“Drawers next.”
“No, please. I beg you.”
“Drawers off or you go home in a box.”
Eleanor sobbed as she pulled down her drawers, standing back up to find the man far too close to her. “Don’t you look pretty as a picture without your finery?” he grinned. “Good enough to eat in fact.”
He reached out and pushed her arms to her side, taking hold of her left breast in his hand as if he were weighing it. “Decent size. Look like they’ve never been touched before, neither. Well, we’ll soon change that.”
The gun pressed into Eleanor’s ribs as he moved his free hand down her body, making her shudder with fear as his fingers slid between her legs, pressing obscenely into the folds of flesh which lay there.
