‘Bollocks!’ Doreen snapped. ‘Just ’cause he knows ’ow to diddle your minge.’
‘I told you to shut it!’ Tilly repeated, and the look in her eyes made Doreen back off.
‘What’s up?’ Jacob wanted to know, heaving his shoulders through the mêlée, holding a tray aloft then setting it down on their table.
‘Nothin’,’ Tilly replied coolly. ‘Just Doreen openin’ ’er trap. Gord, ’er mouth’s as big as ’er cunt.’
‘Cow,’ Doreen retorted blithely. ‘Come on, gal. There’s johns waitin’ to be milked of their spunk, and their soddin’ cash.’
‘So there is,’ Tilly said, getting up. ‘I’ll see you anther time, Jacob. And you, Angela, you just find me if you’re ever in trouble. I lives down Friggle Lane. That ain’t far from ’ere.’
They disappeared into the milling, drinking, fornicating throng. ‘How does the landlord allow this?’ Angela asked, staring askance at one of the women who lay across a beer-stained table, her legs raised and hooked round the shoulders of a navvy in corduroys and sweaty shirt, his cock buried in her dark slit. A flashily dressed gent was fingering her anus, and two others were playing with her nipples that poked above her stays, while she palmed their cocks, then kept one in her hand and opened her mouth and sucked the other.
‘He turns a blind eye. It’s good for trade and he has someone on the look out for the rozzers. Anyhow, the police don’t give him much trouble. They’re open to bribes. Shall we go? Have you seen enough? What do you think of Tilly?’
He talked non-stop as they left and strolled back to the store through the dusky streets. It was quite romantic and Angela wished with all her heart that Aidan and she had never been set on this course that had ruined her life. A lesson to be learned? Undoubtedly for her – she would never have known Aidan’s true nature had this not happened. She would have married him in ignorance of his association with Valerie and his interest in bondage and domination and wild orgies. By the time she did find out it would have been too late. She might have had children by then and the divorce laws were harsh. It was possible that if she had brought a case against him, she might have had her little ones taken away from her and put in their father’s care. In any case, no matter who was to blame in the breakdown of a marriage, a divorce cast a slur over the innocent party who would not be received in polite society. She told herself that she’d had a lucky escape, but could not help picturing his strong frame, devastatingly handsome face, flinty-grey eyes and the way he had of raising her to a fever pitch of desire.
She could tell that Jacob was longing to pluck up the courage to kiss her goodnight at her bedroom door, and she almost wanted him to do so. Then they parted after a single clasp of hands and both slept alone, and she was troubled by the evening’s events and wondered if she would see Tilly again, and under what circumstances.
‘So, it’ll be just you and me, keeping each other company,’ Arthur announced complacently at breakfast several days later.
‘What?’ Angela said, her heart sinking.
‘Uncle’s sending me on a business trip Manchester way,’ Jacob stated, and he was grinning, well pleased with himself. ‘I’ll be visiting the retailers, looking at stock and ordering it, too. It’s a responsible job.’
‘You’ll do it well, my boy,’ Arthur said, tapping his boiled egg with a spoon, slicing off the top and dunking the bread ‘soldiers’, as Angela’s nanny used to call them, in the golden yolk. ‘You look the part, I must say. Very smart, ain’t he, Lady Angela?’
She nodded and bit into a thin slice of buttered toast. Jacob looked more mature, attired in a neat dark suit, with a white shirt whose collar and cuffs had been crisply starched. His hair was no longer ruffled, but slicked back with macassar oil. He wore a sober tie, and his shoes had been buffed to a high sheen.
‘You could see your face in ’em,’ he enthused, looking down at his feet. ‘I used plenty of spit and polish. Do you think I’ll pass muster?’
‘Oh, yes,’ she said encouragingly, though terrified of his departure.
‘And you, milady?’ he asked anxiously. ‘Have you decided to go to one of those employment agencies who might find you suitable work? Or considered answering adverts in The Times? Don’t do anything hasty till I return. I’ll only be gone a couple of days.’
‘I’ve already visited two,’ she reminded, trying to avoid Arthur’s penetrating gaze. ‘I told you about it, Jacob. I didn’t have any luck with either of them. It seemed I was too well educated for some posts, and too ladylike for others. Neither fish nor fowl, apparently. The ladies in charge were not very helpful. I think my speech and breeding offended them. They have said they will be in touch if anything turns up that might suit me, but I’ve a feeling they won’t bother.’
‘Don’t worry your head about it,’ Arthur said expansively. ‘It is a delight to entertain such a charming young woman. ‘My house is your house, as I’m told they say in Spain.’
Angela nodded and lowered her eyes to her plate, then said, ‘But we shall be living here alone, Mr Taylor. It’s hardly proper.’
Arthur slapped his thigh and laughed. ‘Don’t you fret about that. Why, we’re surrounded by folk all day long. Don’t you trust me?’ And he gave her a smile that was supposed to be winsome. Angela looked away.
‘It’s not you, Mr Taylor,’ she lied, ‘but what other people may think. I have my reputation to consider.’
‘I’ll ask Kate to sleep in, if you prefer,’ he offered.
This was an even worse alternative than being confined to the house with him. ‘No, no, don’t bother,’ she said hurriedly, knowing she would have to put up with him, but soon he would go back down to the shop, there to keep an eagle eye on his staff and be patronising and pompous towards his customers.
After breakfast Jacob picked up his travelling bag and a briefcase, slung his overcoat over one arm and carried his trilby hat.
Angela leaned over the stairs, watching him descend. ‘Goodbye,’ he called, looking up at her. ‘Take care. I’m sure uncle will be like a father to you. I’ll see you at the weekend. I gave you the address of the boarding house where I’m staying, didn’t I?’
‘You did,’ she said, smiling as she remembered him repeating it like a mantra several times, as if by so doing he might bridge the gap between Manchester and London. As for Arthur acting the surrogate parent? This did not bear contemplating.
The day passed in its customary dull fashion, made more so by Jacob’s absence. Angela went to the market, rummaging round the second-hand stalls, interested in the china and figurines, bric-a-brac and lengths of silk. This amused her for half a morning, but she was bored and lonely. She contemplated visiting one of the agencies again, but did not feel confident enough to face those sour-faced women who ran them. She had the feeling that they were secretly triumphant to find a lady of her background seeking employment, and would not put themselves out to help her.
She sat in the park for a while, but was uneasy. Used to being chaperoned she did not know how to comport herself alone. The sunshine was warm, and the scene almost bucolic. Just for a while she pretended she was home again. She closed her eyes, and then became aware of a shadow between her and the sun. Warning bells clanged in her brain. Lifting her lids she saw a man standing there, staring down at her.
He tipped his hat, a tidily dressed person of middle years. ‘Are you by yourself, miss?’ he began. ‘May I join you?’
Angela got to her feet, a blush colouring her cheeks. ‘No, sir, I’m about to leave,’ she said levelly. ‘I’m meeting my mamma for lunch.’
‘Really?’ He raised a sceptical eyebrow and, as he took a step closer she caught a whiff of his breath. It was unpleasant and she noticed his teeth were stained and uneven. ‘I beg your pardon, but I imagined that you were here in the way of business, as it were.’
‘I d-don’t understand,’ she stammered, drawing her black cloak more closely about her.
‘No?’ There was mockery in his small brown eyes, and a
lop-sided grin on his narrow lips. ‘D’you mean to tell me that you’re not touting for trade? Come here, girlie,’ and he put his arms around her and dragged her behind a tree.
Angela struggled, freeing her hands and slapping him across the face. ‘How dare you?’ she gasped. ‘I’ll scream if you don’t leave me alone.’
‘Scream away,’ he said, unperturbed. ‘No one will take any notice. This is a spot that trollops often use, picking up men and selling themselves.’
‘Can’t you see that I’m not one of them?’ she panted, for now he had her trapped with her back against the tree bowl and his arms braced either side of her, his sour breath nauseating as he brought his face nearer.
He was pressing his loins into her belly, his hardness very apparent, and Angela knew she was in real danger of being raped. Even when with Aidan she had never felt so helpless, cursing her weak woman’s muscles that made her no match for this man’s strength. She squirmed and tried to lash out with her feet, but was hampered by her long skirt.
‘You don’t speak like a tart,’ he agreed, using one hand to flick open his fly buttons. His cock shot out like a freed serpent, long and mottled and thick. ‘No matter who you are, rub this for me and I’ll give you a half sovereign,’ he added huskily.
This was a tidy sum of money and her cash from the pawnshop was dwindling fast. Just for a moment she was tempted. Why not? He was a complete stranger and she need never see him again. She could use her hand on him, then wash and wash and wash till every trace of his nasty emission was gone. But the thought made the bile rise into her throat, and unable to stop herself she turned her head, leaned over and vomited.
He threw her from him, enraged, snarling, ‘Draggle-tailed slut! Do I disgust you so much, or are you ill or with child?’
Groaning, Angela doubled up, handkerchief pressed to her lips. When she next looked the man had gone. She ran back to the shop like a scared rabbit and went to her room and slammed the bolt. Throwing herself on the bed she sobbed as if her heart would break, cursing fate that had brought her so low, cursing Aidan for his callousness. That she could have even contemplated touching that vile man’s penis! Shame flooded her, warring with the commonsense argument that she would have been half a sovereign richer. She began to understand Tilly and Doreen. All one had to do was get over that first hurdle.
She woke into the headachy heat of early evening. She consulted her fob watch and was surprised to find that she had been asleep for so long. The room was becoming more and more shadowy. There was silence all around. The shop must be closed by now and the staff gone home. Where was Arthur? She slipped from the bed, tidying her hair, finding her shoes, and then unbolting the door.
Her first port of call was the lavatory. Throne-like, with a flowered porcelain bowl, it had a mahogany frame, seat and lid, and a high water cistern operated by a chain. She used it, and then rinsed her hands in the basin.
Still no signs of life. She decided to go down to the kitchen and made a pot of tea. There was a gas jet alight at all times, throwing a yellowish uncertainty over the treacherous stairs leading to the basement.
Angela disliked this place; it was too gloomy and threatening and probably spider infested. Besides which, Kate ruled supreme, and the last person she wanted to meet was the disagreeable maid.
With no thought save completing her mission with all speed and retreating upstairs, Angela moved quickly, her feet making no sound.
Then she became aware of noises issuing from the kitchen itself that lay at the end of a short corridor. They filled her with dread, for she recognised that they were made by the impact if leather against bare flesh. Someone was using a whip, or belt or flogger on some unfortunate. Her skin tingled in sympathy, though her emotions were muddled, fear mingled with a grain of envy.
Her legs were shaking but she forced herself forward and now those formidable sounds were joined by sobs and moans and Arthur’s voice growling, ‘D’you want me to gag you, Kate? I will if you don’t stop that caterwauling.’
‘I’m sorry, master, but I can’t help it. My pussy’s that sore with you slashing at it.’
‘Then mind your manners to Lady Angela,’ he shouted, and Kate shrieked as another blow found its mark.
Steeling herself, Angela pushed open the door and was met by the sad sight of Kate strung up by her wrists from a hook set in a beam. It should have been used for sides of bacon or cooking pots, but now it held human cargo. Kate was naked, a slack-bosomed, heavy-bottomed woman past her prime. Both of these sensitive areas were red as fire and bore a zigzag of stripes.
Her feet were tethered to iron rings set in the flagstones, about twelve inches apart.
Not realising that Angela was watching from the doorway, Arthur, in his shirtsleeves, continued Kate’s chastisement, sending the merciless length of leather singing through the air. It landed on her belly with a crack, the tip winding round to sting her buttocks.
‘Oh, master, have mercy! Let me lie with you tonight. I’ll do anything you want. You can thrust it up my arse, anything, but please, please don’t whip me any more,’ the wretched woman begged, tense in her bonds, jerking when he lay on another blow.
Angela could no longer keep silent, ‘Mr Taylor, stop it at once!’ she commanded.
He swung round, but did not drop the whip. ‘And what brings you down here, milady?’ he asked in a sibilant voice, his eyes narrowing as he leered at her face and body.
‘I would like a cup of tea,’ she said, advancing calmly though her heart was racing. ‘I didn’t expect to find you punishing Kate. Pray, what has she done to merit such severity?’
‘She is insolent towards you, and I’ll not tolerate her rudeness,’ he bellowed, emphasising his words by another slashing blow, this time to Kate’s breasts. She screamed and Angela’s own nipples crimped as she imagined the pain.
‘Don’t beat her on my account,’ she insisted, and hung on to his arm, marvelling at her boldness. ‘Can’t we forget this unfortunate incident?’
‘Forget?’ Kate cried, her face working with fury. ‘Why don’t you mind your own damn business, Miss High-and-Mighty? Arthur and me have an arrangement, see? We don’t needs you interrupting.’
Angela was almost struck dumb. There was something going on between the two of them, something unhealthy and rooted in sexual desire. Kate was looking at him like a woman in love! How could anyone love that loathsome creature? That he was aroused, too, was apparent by the huge erection distending his trousers.
Sickened, Angela turned to leave, but he snapped, ‘Don’t go. The tart and me have finished for the time being. Get out of here, Kate,’ and he untied her feet and released her arms. She fell to the floor then scrambled up, gathered her discarded clothing and limped out, but not before giving Angela a glare that should have killed her.
‘You treat her shamefully,’ she railed, turning on Arthur like a she-cat.
‘Don’t waste your pity on the likes of her,’ he advised, and there was a gleam in his eyes that made her sharply aware that there was no one within earshot. It was even worse than when the man in the park tried to take advantage of her.
She decided to remain cool, walking across to the range and shifting the black kettle so that it stood over the hob. Then equally calmly she fetched the brown earthenware pot and spooned tea into it from the metal caddy. She hoped that such everyday actions would ground him, but one glance told her it was in vain.
He was coming towards her, unfastening his trousers en route. He rummaged inside and lifted out his large, curved, pinkish-brown cock. The action of showing it to her seemed to excite him more and he was breathing quickly, enjoying her disgust. She backed away, seeking the door, but he followed, stroking his upright phallus, wetting the stem from the dew leaking from the tip.
‘Stay,’ he croaked, closer now. ‘Don’t leave me in this state, Lady Angela. You must know by now how much I admire you. Is it beyond imagining that you might accept the hand of a grocer? I’m a man of means and yo
u’d want for nothing. I know a thing or two about women’s desires, too, and will play with your love-bud till you come, screaming for me to do it some more.’
‘I can’t, this will never be,’ she cried, unable to drag her gaze from his tool as it bucked in his hand. ‘If you don’t let me pass I shall tell Jacob on his return.’
‘You’re so cruel to me,’ he complained, but continued to masturbate, his fingers grasping his shaft, working at it eagerly, pulling the foreskin back and forth in his frantic haste to achieve his goal.
‘You have no right to expect anything of me,’ she said, angry now and despising this sorry little man. ‘Let me pass.’
‘Not yet,’ he panted, breathing fast. ‘Not till you’ve seen me come.’ His hand flashed over his helm, his eyes bulged and his mouth was agape and he grunted deep in his chest as he released his semen in a creamy spurt that spattered Angela’s skirt.
‘Oh, God, you’re revolting!’ she cried, seized the handle, yanked open the door and flew up the stairs, never stopping till she reached her room and locked herself in.
Chapter 8
Without pausing to think or change her mind, Angela packed her bag. It was dark by now but she did not care. She had to get away from Arthur. Putting on her coat and hat she opened the door, picked up her valise and peered nervously into the passage. He was nowhere to be seen, so she crept down the stairs and let herself into the side alley via the back way.
She could hardly believe that she had been so lucky, anticipating trouble with Arthur, but either he had taken himself off to the nearest public house or was slumped at the kitchen table with a bottle of whiskey. Either way she did not give a hoot, just as long as she escaped him. She contemplated leaving a note for Jacob, then decided that she would post one, making sure it did not fall into the wrong hands and that he received it on his return. She had formulated a plan and walked swiftly, head held high, seeking her destination – Friggle Lane.
London by night was daunting, particularly for a female. There were still a number of people about, returning from work or setting out, doing late shopping or making their way to the taverns or music halls. Angela remembered that Friggle Lane was not too far from the Bunch of Grapes. She was pinning her hopes on Tilly, who had seemed good-natured enough, but she was not so sure about Doreen. In any case she had little choice, apart from returning to Aidan, and the very idea appalled her. She feared her own weakness where he was concerned. It would be fatally easy to succumb, sink herself into him and lose her self-esteem, her independence, even her very soul.
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