by E M Jones
The maid’s eyes scattered around the yard, searching for escape. She had been taking waste to the small yard at the back corner of the house when Charlie and Johnny approached her. Now she sat with her back against the stone wall and the stench of her master’s waste all around them.
Johnny’s huge frame bent over her and spoke quietly. “Look. We have nothing against you, and we don’t want to hurt you. But we are worried about our friend, Sir Glynne’s companion tonight. We won’t tell anyone we spoke, we won’t mention your name, nobody will ever know. But don’t let him hurt her if we can help. Please.” Tears formed like dust from stars at the edge of Johnny’s eyes.
The young maid stared at her feet between Johnny’s trunk-like legs.
Charlie crouched down, her knife out of sight once more, and lifted the young woman’s chin. “Please. Is it him that’s been killing the other girls? Don’t let him hurt another one.”
Silence filled the yard.
After a long moment, the maid spoke. “He has a carriage, his own carriage, not the family one. Sometimes he takes women out in that one. They don’t come back again after that. I don’t know what happens—”
“Where does he go?” Charlie maintained her gaze on the maid.
“One of the men said he goes down to the river, near Battersea.”
Charlie jumped up and tried to pull Johnny out of the yard. “Come on, Johnny.”
“I’m coming.” Johnny quickly lifted the maid onto her feet. “Thank you.” Johnny nodded quickly before following Charlie around the back of the house.
“Be careful!”
The shouted whisper provoked Charlie and Johnny to turn back briefly.
“My master is a very powerful man.”
***
Lizzie had failed. She had studied the entire inside of the carriage for an escape, there was no way out. There was a driver and a footman—Matthew, Lizzie thought—who must know what Sir Glynne was up to, and Sir Glynne himself. There was no way she would be able to fight her way free. She took a sip of wine and contemplated her own death.
Anger sprung inside her, boldened by fear and wine. “Why do you do it?” Lizzie looked directly at Sir Glynne.
“Oh, more questions! Can you not leave me alone? You have already spoilt everything.” He flapped his hands in exasperation.
“You have me here now. I would like to know why.”
“Because of this—you… you women!” Sir Glynne face was purple with wine and anger. His face scrunched in frustration like a schoolboy in a temper. “You come to me meekly and with such promise to serve my pleasure. But you aren’t here to serve me, you are here to serve yourselves. You want more, to go out in society, to tell the world, to use me, to be treated like princesses and then abandon me, and you are all just common whores!”
“What about Dina? She never asked anything of you. She was faithful to you.”
“She was not!” Sir Glynne’s bellow exploded inside the carriage. “Once she thought I was out of the city, she went to look for another companion. Well, I had not gone, and she should have waited for me to return. How dare she, a paid companion, take another over me.”
“But she thought you were away for the summer. She was waiting for you to call upon your return. She looked forward to seeing you again. She was waiting.”
Lizzie was unblinking in her challenge, and Sir Glynne paused briefly.
“I will not be disposed of, done away with, so easily.” He looked earnestly at her. “I was forsaken once. We were to marry. We were to live together on the estate. Anne and I.”
Lizzie tried to cover her fear with sympathy. “I’m sorry.”
Sir Glynne’s face remained engorged with rage. “Don’t you sympathise with me! I swore that no woman would have such a grasp on me again. And you shall not. Marie, Dina, Elsbeth, Anne, all of you! You should have served and obeyed me. I am master.” Sir Glynne breathed heavily. “When I want some relief from a life in society, I shall have it. I shall have it at home, and I shall have it abroad. When I sought some quiet female company to bring pleasure to me in my most private space, you all ruined it by speaking to all and sundry about me. Why can you not give a man some pleasure and be quiet about it! I allow you to enter into my life, into my retreat, and you betray me! Like her! I am not their trophy; I am not your trophy. I sought Dina incognito, and she joined a stranger with absolutely no regard for me. Betrayed again. Well, you will see. You will all be made to see. You are all mine. I am master.” Sir Glynne was breathing deeply, and his voice grew into a petulant snarl.
Lizzie’s anger overcame her fear. “Where are you taking me?”
Sir Glynne breathed slowly, regaining control of himself. He smiled. “Somewhere quiet, somewhere peaceful, where there are no distractions, so that you truly understand that I am your master.”
35
Sir Glynne had become still. Lizzie studied his figure across the carriage as it dragged her to the river. His face was still stained red with wine and temper. His broad forehead had smoothed, his eyes closed. His face was almost square, and sitting down he seemed more broad than long. His chest rose and fell steadily, his raven black silk tie winking at Lizzie between the folds of his coat. His portly stomach produced a mound within his coat, and his legs were steady on the wooden floor.
Lizzie was frozen to her seat, being pulled to her death. Her mind whirred through impotent possibilities for saving herself, but her body was still, as if pinned in reflection of Sir Glynne or by shock at its sudden fate.
Again, she searched Sir Glynne’s body for a sign that he was a killer, and that she should have known.
The carriage came smoothly to a stop, and Lizzie looked up at Sir Glynne. He opened his eyes and gave her a look of disappointment. “We have arrived.”
The carriage door opened, and Sir Glynne stepped down. “Come, Lizzie.” He held out his hand, which Lizzie took to guide her down the stairs. “Matthew, hold her.”
The tall footman’s hands held her arms like shackles. A lantern on the outside of the carriage had been lit. The carriage was on a bank of silt. The soft flow of water drew Lizzie’s gaze, moonlit, like the mane of a black, galloping horse.
Sir Glynne reappeared at her side, holding a thin rope in his hand. “From my estate.”
Lizzie thought back to the painting of the farm and the country house in Sir Glynne’s private parlour. She looked at him through the darkness. “You have everything you need.”
“Need. Yes. But want? No. I wanted you to be different, Lizzie. I wanted you to provide me with pleasure and comfort. You have disappointed me, and so now you can be disposed of.”
“Why not just let me go? I’ll disappear. You’ll never see or hear from me again.” Lizzie pushed herself nearer to Sir Glynne, her body bent whilst pleading.
He briefly paused the process of arranging his rope to address her. “No, Lizzie. You, like the others, have ruined everything. And even worse, you have dared to come into my home like a prying priest and try to chastise me. There is no greater moral being in my world; I am lord and master.” Sir Glynne broke into laughter, a harsh hawking like a scavenging gull. He looked directly at Lizzie. “To think that you thought you would prick my conscience, a woman of the street who sells herself to survive!”
“Sorry, George, but really, I will cause you no trouble. It will be as if I never existed.”
“It will be exactly as if you never existed, because soon you will not.”
***
Panic rose in Ted, and yet his legs continued to circle as quickly as they could. He ignored the dull, growing ache that stretched from the top of his thigh to his knee.
He forced his legs to slow to a stop. He had lost sight of the carriage. There was no dust, and the road had become narrower and softer. Ted glanced around in the darkness and looked up to the moon. His breathing was laboured, and the moon’s light reflected in his eyes, large and desperate. He choked on his own breath and spat.
He was shaking his head when he realised.
He stood between two rows of carriage wheels pressed into the soft road surface. His feet re-connected to the pedals, as if drawn by an enormous magnet, and turned as quickly as they could.
***
“We’ll get there, Charl. We’ll get to her.”
Charlie’s gnawed lip was bleeding. She nodded towards Johnny, her eyes whipped by the wind.
Johnny struck the unfamiliar horses again and drove Sir Glynne’s carriage as fast as the stolen animals would pull them.
***
“And now I think you understand.”
Lizzie nodded.
“I am master of all within my world.” Sir Glynne strolled around her as he spoke, his feet firm on the silt. He seemed to be admiring his own work as he walked, nodding at the knots that bound Lizzie’s arms behind her back and her ankles close together.
She followed him as far as she could, but she was bound tightly and could not turn around.
“And order will be restored to my world. You are already silent and still, Lizzie, and now this will be for eternity.”
The cloth used to gag Lizzie pushed against the inside of her mouth, and she forced herself to not be sick. She shifted her head to try to loosen it a little, but it pushed against the inside of her cheek again and nausea rose in her.
Still again, she followed Sir Glynne each time he passed on his ring around her. He stopped, grounding his feet firmly in the silt. He looked directly at Lizzie. Then a gush of air and a flying propeller struck him and knocked him to the ground.
Lizzie started and fell over. She looked up to face Ted. He pulled the gag from her mouth.
“Lizzie!”
“Ted!” She coughed and looked around, eyes wild in the moonlight.
Sir Glynne lay moaning into the silt, blood trickling from his temple.
“There’s another two, Ted. The footman and a driver.”
Lizzie turned towards the carriage as Ted untied the rope quickly and held onto her hand as he turned to look back towards the carriage. Matthew’s tall, slim figure, dressed in his master’s dark livery, approached them. As he walked, the moon shone on the polished blade of a dagger.
Ted held on to Lizzie’s hand and bent to pick up his weapon, a plank weathered by the river. “Run, Lizzie. When I say so. Run straight up the road behind the carriage. There’s an inn less than a mile back on the left. Wake them up, wake everyone. Hold my hand.” Ted met Lizzie’s eyes, and she held them in agreement. “Walk with me towards him, and when I say so, run.”
They walked past the groaning Sir Glynne, who was whimpering by turns. Blood had flowed around his nose and head to seep into the silt. Ted walked on, holding Lizzie tightly and watching Matthew, who also walked towards them.
When Matthew was about two paces from them, Ted released Lizzie’s hand.
“Run, Lizzie, run!”
She leapt like a lynx from a cage and ran. Past the carriage, she looked back. Ted swung the plank towards the dagger, but Matthew swung quickly with Ted’s force, and landed back, centred on his long legs and ready to attack. Lizzie turned to the road and ran.
Her entire body screamed as if burnt: by rope and fear and pain and regret. But she forced it to carry her forward, to keep running. The moon had moved and was partly covered by a mottled black cloud. In the soft ground, she could just see the imprints of the carriage that had led her here; she forced her eyes to focus and lead her body along its path.
The ground thudded, and Lizzie ignored the protests of her body. The thudding grew louder, and Lizzie ran on. Only when she looked up, almost running into the source of the noise, did she realise that the thudding was not from her own pain, but the hooves of two magnificent horses galloping towards her. Her relief turned to horror as the moon’s light caught a proud and polished ‘G’ shooting towards her between the horses’ flanks. Lizzie screamed. She looked from the carriage to the river and turned towards Ted.
Again, she ran, hooves now pounding behind her, pummelling her ears with fear. She swallowed a sob. The carriage ran next to her, and then overtook her and stopped. Lizzie turned in despair, searching for escape. A dark figure leapt like a gymnast from the carriage and landed on the silt. Lizzie turned to run again towards the inn.
“Lizzie! Lizzie! It’s me. You’re safe. Lizzie, it’s Charlie.”
Lizzie stopped running and fell towards her friend. She collapsed into Charlie, whose slight body framed her like ancient rafters.
“We’ve got you, Lizzie. You’re alright.”
Lizzie exhaled at Johnny’s familiar voice and let her friends carry her towards the carriage.
***
“Ted.”
Lizzie sat upright in the carriage, moving away from the familiar velvet. She looked from Johnny to Charlie. “Ted’s still at the river. With Sir Glynne and Matthew—the footman—and there’s another one. We have to help him.”
Charlie looked to Johnny, who moved to action quicker than ever before.
“Right, I need to make sure that you two are safe first. I’ll take you back to an inn we passed less than half a mile from here—you stay there and I’ll go to help Ted.”
“No, Johnny, we need to go now. He saved me—I need to help him now.”
Johnny took Lizzie’s hand. “Lizzie, he saved you, not for me to put you back in danger. You are going to the inn with Charlie, and then I will help Ted.”
Johnny’s large frame was moved in decision, and Lizzie fell back.
“Alright.”
“Let’s go.”
Johnny leapt out of the carriage, the whole structure shuddering as he jumped onto the seat. Lizzie sat back in Charlie’s arms and closed her eyes as she was spun around and moved to safety.
***
“Ted!”
The inn was alight with candles and lanterns. The mistress of the inn had given Charlie warm water and cloths to tend to Lizzie’s wounds, and she sat in an armchair in borrowed clothes. She sat up as Ted entered, but fell back.
“I’m alright, Lizzie.” He winced in pain. Blood matted his hair on one side, and he held the side of his chest as if to reinforce his flesh.
“Where’s Johnny?” Charlie rose from her place at Lizzie’s feet and bounced on her knees, ready for flight.
“He’s alright. He’s just tying the horses.”
“My husband will be with him.” The mistress of the inn moved forward only briefly.
Charlie nodded her understanding and retreated back to sit and tend to Lizzie’s flayed ankles.
“Mister, sit down.” She guided Ted to a seat near Lizzie. “Let me help you.”
She lowered Ted into his seat and fetched a cloth and water before patting his head like a baby’s.
Johnny filled the doorframe and was greeted with a row of tired smiles.
“Alright, Johnny?” Charlie turned to him.
“Yes, Charl. I am.” There was a gash down Johnny’s sleeve and his blood stained his shirt like a long pair of closed lips.
“Your arm, Johnny!” Lizzie moved to stand again, but the effort defeated her.
Johnny walked close to her and placed his other arm on hers. “My arm will be fine, just a cut. See to Ted first.”
Ted’s head looked better; his hair dark and clean and a purple wound distinct now, a straight line from above his left ear towards his forehead. The mistress of the inn placed some ointment along the cut and he winced.
“And Sir Glynne?”
Everyone turned to Lizzie, her voice almost worn to silence.
“Is he dead?”
Ted and Johnny shared a look. Johnny spoke. “We don’t know, Lizzie. I helped Ted get away. Sir Glynne and the footman definitely came out the worse. No sign of the driver—probably got out of there as soon as Ted got there. They won’t come after you again. You’re safe now.”
36
The loud whispers that had become more distinct as Lizzie descended the stairs stopped when she entered the kitchen. Mrs Henry looked up from tending to a chicken, and Mary held her kn
ife in mid-air, the potato beneath saved briefly from the blade.
“Lizzie.” Mrs Henry wiped her hands on her apron and moved to embrace Lizzie.
Lizzie inhaled as the old woman’s bulk pressed into her wounds.
“Lizzie.” Mrs Henry held Lizzie’s upper arms and appraised her. Her gaze paused at the wounds on Lizzie’s wrists, and she pursed her lips. She looked up again. “You seem a little better this morning. Rest heals most things. How are you feeling?”
Lizzie nodded obediently. “A little better.” She damned herself for her tameness, and her wounds burned in reproach. “How is the chicken this morning?” She nodded towards the scrawny mound on the table.
Mrs Henry walked towards the pitiful offering and lifted one of its wings. “Why, pleased to see you, ma’am.”
Mrs Henry chuckled at her own joke, and Mary and Lizzie echoed with forced laughter. Lizzie stepped further into the kitchen, fetched a tired-looking cabbage and a knife, and filed into place next to Mary. Mrs Henry fussed and huffed around the chicken like a tribal dancer trying to conjure a succulent dish from her meagre beginning. Lizzie and Mary chopped silently, the sound of their blades the only background to Mrs Henry’s exertions. Mary swerved around Mrs Henry to place a pan of potatoes on the fire and made her way back to Lizzie, moving in time to the old woman. She placed a hand on Lizzie’s arm, above the ropes burned into her wrists. “Can I do these for you?”
Lizzie smiled. “Thank you, but I’m alright.”
Mary held Lizzie’s arm and smiled with open relief. “I don’t mind.”
“Thank you. But I’m happy to get on with things.”
Mary nodded and moved to fetch a pan for the cabbage. She continued to encircle Lizzie with unsought help, collecting the pieces of cabbage too tired to eat from Lizzie’s board, and Lizzie was silent in her thanks for the young woman’s kindness.
They worked together quietly until Mrs Henry thrust between them an object like a shaved guinea pig decorated with a tropical headdress.
“There. We shall celebrate your safe return, Lizzie!” Mrs Henry proffered the dish to Lizzie, who stifled her laughter and forced a smile of thanks.
