by Ella Edon
“Not yet, my dove,” he said, laughing. “I’ll train you up right quick!”
“Help!” she called, moving away from him, but he was too quick, and he moved on her, pushing her backward onto the bed. She fell on her back and he leapt on top of her, his dirty hands feeling beneath her skirts, as she felt herself begin to faint from terror.
“Please sir, stop this behavior, or you will regret it!” Garance was near tears in frustration.
“You shut your face, or you’ll feel the steel of my pistol on your temple,” he said.
Garance was instantly silent. She closed her eyes, feeling his rough hands on her skin. She was horrified and began to pray silently. Her eyes were closed tightly when she felt a strange sensation of a bright light and imagined she was being admitted into the heavenly realm.
But then, she heard voices all of a sudden, male and female voices, and she opened her eyes, and far from salvation, she saw her own version of hell. Women dressed or half-dressed in crude and lewd dresses, barefoot and bare-chested, and men, large, drunken men, leering at her and the other women, and she realized someone had lit a lantern that illuminated this inferno, in which the lost souls of London inhabited.
The horror, for Garance, was that she seemed to have become one of them. The man who had brought her here was pawing her with his great rough hands, and there was nothing she could do about it anymore than any of the other prostitutes could prevent their monsters from having their way with them. She wanted to scream, but she suddenly felt as though she were under water.
In order to try to stop the sensation of this brute from ravishing her, she looked at the other prostitutes and realized they were all drunk or drugged in some way. They seemed passive in a way that was nearly impossible for her to imagine. The horror of her own fate was tempered by the fact that there was company, she assumed, in their collective misery.
Just as she was about to give up hope of salvation, the door was kicked open and light streamed even brighter into the room. She looked up and saw Jonathan at the door, looking fierce and powerful.
“Get your bloody hands off that woman this instant!” he cried with fury.
“You would do well to step back there, my young buck,” said Bagshot, pulling his pistol and turning the barrel on Jonathan at the doorway. “This wench is mine!”
Garance, in terror that he would be shot, screamed at the top of her lungs. Her lungs were more than usually powerful, because she had a singing voice unlike any other woman in Europe.
Behind Jonathan, Mrs. Leach clambered up the stairs to see what was happening. “What’s all this, then?” she said seeing Bagshot on Garance, and laughing rudely. Then she noticed the pistol. “Oy, there mister, you get that firearm out of this room this instant! You want to take one of me girls, I don’t mind, but no fisticuffs, you ‘ear?”
As this was happening, Bagshot, holding his one ear from the pain of Garance’s cry, aimed his pistol, and at the same time, Jonathan pulled out his revolver. It was a stand-off.
“I say, get off my fiancée this instant!” thundered Jonathan, advancing on Bagshot, who waved his pistol at him.
“I’ll bleedin’ cut you down, boy!” he said.
Jonathan raised his revolver in the air and fired a shot to frighten off this brute, and the bullet hit the bedpost, splitting it.
Seeing the advantage was his, Bagshot took careful aim at Jonathan who was within two yards of him, and, as though miraculously, he missed. The bullet drilled into the wall inches from his head.
Bagshot jumped up, realizing he was out of shot, and thinking Jonathan was as well. He rose from the bed, allowing Garance to rise and move to Jonathan. What Bagshot did not know was that Jonathan had a revolver and revolvers, unlike pistols, had four bullets in their revolving magazine. Bagshot pulled a long dagger from his boot and ran at Jonathan. Jonathan, though, was ready for him. He kept his wits about him and as the brute charged, Jonathan aimed to fire again.
This time, he pulled the trigger, and it went off just as Bagshot was about to pounce on him to stab him in the heart. The bullet made contact just as Bagshot was about to strike. It ripped through Bagshot’s shirt and into his chest, causing him to stumble. Then, after teetering for a second in the air, he fell to the ground, lifeless, a heavy thud on the bare wooden boards announcing his death knell.
There was silence in the room for several seconds. Then Garance, overcome with the emotion and shock of the moment, fell in a swoon, caught at the last moment by Jonathan, who gently laid her on the bed.
Garance was horrified by this near-death experience, but Jonathan was with her, calming her. As she regained consciousness, he helped her to her feet, and looked into her eyes.
“This was not supposed to happen like this,” he said quietly.
“No, it was not. He tried to…” and she dissolved in tears, mortified by the humiliation and the shame of what had happened.
Jonathan looked at her. “Did he do anything to…?”
“No. No! You arrived in time, thank God! He attempted to have his way, but you arrived before anything could happen,” she said. She looked around and although the women were horrified at the corpse lying on the floor, most of the men continued with their ministrations.
“Stop this instant!” said Jonathan wielding his revolver, and all of the men in the room paused. “Get out of here this instant, or you will feel the steel of my revolver!” he said with feeling.
The men rose as one and trailed out to the hallway and down the stairs, most of them running shame-faced.
“Thank you, sir,” said a small, blonde woman who had been pinned down by a huge and hideous brute only moments before. “You have no idea how long I have prayed for salvation. I had no idea there were gentlemen like you in the world.”
“Mrs. Leach!” said Jonathan.
Mrs. Leach stepped forward with trepidation. “Sir?” she said.
“Why are you operating a house of ill repute in this gambling den?”
“It’s not my fault,” she said haltingly. “The gentlemen demanded it.”
“I don’t doubt it was a temptation to lure in more custom,” he said. “But please, Mrs. Leach, I am appealing to your conscience. Let these women go.”
“But My Lord,” said one of the whores. “Where shall we go?”
“You may go wherever you want. How many of you have relations you can stay with?”
Three of the women raised their hands with what seemed to be a certain amount of fear.
“Then you will go to them and tell them how you suffered. Here,” he said, his hand out, holding gold sovereigns. “Take one and use it to get back your lives. For this is no life, and I cannot abide this going on any longer.” The three who had a place to go stepped forward, and with a certain amount of gallantry, Jonathan presented each of them with a sovereign.
“Thank you, My Lord,” they said, as they accepted the gift.
After they had left, there were four other women, standing awkwardly, adjusting their dresses, to make themselves look presentable. “The rest of you,” he said, frowning a little as though trying to solve this issue. “Mrs. Leach, do you think I can trust you to keep rooms for these women?”
“What for?” she said. “They are no use to me now.”
“As boarders. Are they employed as serving girls or cooks or anything useful to you?”
“We are,” said one of them, cutting Mrs. Leach off. “I am a serving girl. Nell here is a cook, and Bella is a seamstress. Tess there just arrived yesterday, so we don’t know ought about her.”
“Mrs. Leach, would you be willing to keep these women on as honest help?”
“I guess I could, but I got nothing to pay them with,” she said.
“Then I shall pay their wages,” said Garance. “How much are they paid per week?”
“Three shillings, sixpence. That’s for honest work.”
“I will pay them six shillings a week for one year,” she said.
“That’s very generous of yo
u miss,” said Mrs. Leach. “But I really can’t keep them here unless they are bringing in business.”
“You mean to keep them as prostitutes here?” Garance asked.
“They like the money, I dare say,” said Mrs. Leach, with an innocent look.
“Do they though?” asked Garance.
“Well, of course they do. Who wouldn’t? It’s a pretty penny they make.”
“Would you like to do this work then, Mrs. Leach?”
“Good gracious, no!” she said.
“Then why do you think they like it?”
“Because they are that sort…” she replied.
“Mrs. Leach, let me suggest to you that no person, man or woman, likes being taken advantage of by people they despise.”
“I never…”
“Please! Enough!” said Garance. She turned to the four women. “Are you willing to stay here, working at honest work, for the wages promised by me?”
They all nodded silently, in a sort of fog. “Then it’s settled. And Mrs. Leach, I shall send an envoy here weekly to ensure that you are adhering to this bargain. If you mistreat any of these women in any way, I shall have you put out of business and in chains. Is that clear?”
“Very clear, ma’am,” said Mrs. Leach. “And My Lord,” she added timidly. “Might I ask your assistance in getting this … body off my floor?”
“Of course,” said Jonathan, looking at the corpse of Mr. Bagshot, who was lying in a crumpled heap on the floor. There was blood seeping from his chest wound onto the floor. However, despite the pressing need to remove the dead man, Jonathan was wholly unprepared for this sort of thing. He looked at the women, who still seemed to be in shock. He thought for a minute. He had no idea what to do.
Garance, moved from his side and flew down the stairs. Moments later, she returned with D’Arcy Dancer. “I say, old chap, what is all this disturbance?” He looked at the corpse on the ground. “Oh.” He smiled. “Well, in fairness, that bloke had it coming.”
“You know him?”
“I do. He’s one of Alastair Kerr’s men. I had some dealings with him. Not a pleasant sort of fellow.”
“I’m afraid he’s met a rather grisly end,” said Jonathan.
“Nothing to do but dispose of him. I happen to know some chaps who can use him. Give me a few minutes.”
He leapt to the stairs and disappeared. Jonathan moved Bagshot into a straighter pose, put his hands across his chest, and closed his hideous eyes, which were bulging from the shock of death. “I confess this was not the way I intended this to happen,” he said.
“Nor I,” said Garance. “But I tell you Jonathan, you saved me and the only way you could be held responsible is in a very unjust world.”
As she said this, four men from the night watchmen of Cheapside appeared, followed by D’Arcy Dancer. They looked around at the scene.
“Right!” said the one who appeared to be in charge. “Who’s responsible for this?”
“This man before you was trying to ravage my lady,” said Jonathan. “I fired a revolver to stop him but he came at me with a dagger.” The dagger still laid on the ground by the dead man’s hand.
“Right then,” said the officer. “Let’s get this baggage out of here.”
The other three men lifted him up and covered him with one of the coverlets that lay on the bed.
“Oy! That’s mine!” said Mrs. Leach.
“Or perhaps you’d prefer us to take him out uncovered through your gambling den?” said the lead officer with a hint of threat in his voice.
“No, that’s right. Take it!” she said.
“Jonathan, let us go please,” said Garance, pleadingly.
“Of course, my love.”
D’Arcy approached Jonathan. “Listen old sock, I am really most frightfully in your debt. You see, this chap has been harassing me for many months about a debt I’ve already repaid to that old growler Kerr. Can I offer you something of a gesture of gratitude?”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” said Jonathan.
“I mean, this brute was forcing me to pay him, so I would not meet with his ruffians in the alleys of Cheapside. It would appear the threat is now gone, and I would like to recompense you for dealing with a problem I could not. Would you do me the honor of accepting this small token of my esteem?” He handed Jonathan an envelope.
“What’s this then?” asked Jonathan.
“It’s a package I was going to give to that man Bagshot. Nearly two thousand pounds. I was to give it to him tonight at midnight. But now I have no need.”
“That is most generous, but there really is no need,” said Jonathan.
D’Arcy put it gingerly into Jonathan’s waistcoat pocket. “Not a word,” he whispered. “However, I warrant if word got around that you disposed of this blackguard, there would be many a young gentleman willing to pay you in gratitude. Come with me,” he said, leading the two of them down the stairs.
He entered the hall and stood on a raised dais. “I beg your pardon gentlemen. I shall only take a moment of your time, but I have some information I have reason to believe will be very good news to many, if not all of you.”
The hall went silent for a moment. D’Arcy Dancer seemed to have something of a reputation here. “This young man, Johnny Anderson, has done me the favor of disposing with a brute who has been extorting money from me for nearly a year. He is no longer with us and I believe many of you have been extorted as well. If that is true, I would like to call upon your sense of right to render unto this brave young man a token of your respect and your relief at being freed from his brutal yoke.”
“What? Is that true? This young stripling bested the meanest brute in Cheapside?” One of the men said, doubtfully.
“He did, and he did it with grace and charm.”
There was silence in the room, and Jonathan found himself the center of attention for a moment.
“Was that what all the rumpus was about overhead?” said one dandy who had been losing at Pharaoh all evening.
“It was,” said D’Arcy. “Bagshot tried to mistreat this lovely French woman, and he stepped in, shot him through the heart with a clean shot, and arranged for his disposal into a pauper’s grave, courtesy of the night watchmen of Cheapside.”
“Crikey!” said another. “I am very grateful for that, Johnny. Here you are,” he said, stepping forward with a wad of cash. “I am willing to part with my winnings for the night. Nearly two hundred quid.”
“And so am I,” said another, approaching Jonathan with another wad of cash. As he neared him, he lowered his head and whispered. “This was what I had to give the bastard every night, so I am very grateful. You have no idea how many people he was extorting. But you also need to know it was not him alone. It was Alastair Kerr. You know him?”
“I do,” Jonathan replied. “In fact, I owe him a tidy sum myself.”
“Then I will warn you to be careful. He is a slippery old kipper. Him and that mate of his, Josiah Braithwaite.”
“Thank you,” said an astonished Jonathan. He turned to Garance with a shrug and mouthed the words “I love you” to her. She looked back and smiled.
Within ten minutes, he had collected another two thousand pounds from grateful gentleman freed from the yoke of extortion servitude. He went to Garance and embraced her for the first time since they came down the stairs from the frightful rooms.
“We should go home,” he said.
“Jonathan, I want to ask you a favor,” she replied. “I have had something of a trying evening and I would not feel comfortable sleeping on my own. Would you please come with me?”
“Of course,” he said, embracing her with all his heart. “I shall take you home and deposit you safely in your chambers.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Stay with Me
“I want you to stay with me,” said Garance, smiling shyly.
Jonathan was taken aback. “But, what would the… I mean, you want me to stay with you? As husband and
wife?”
“I am not sure I would phrase it that way, but I was hoping I could convince you to simply hold me in your arms tonight, so that I can feel safe. It would go a long way to making me feel better.”
Jonathan took her by the hand and, as they passed through the crowd of grateful gamblers, he thanked the gentlemen. Outside, the drivers all paid great honor to him, as he sought out and found Nathan.
“Do take us to St. Martin-in-the-fields, Nathan,” he said, handing him five sovereigns.
“Right away, my Lord!” said Nathan.
