by Blake,Zoe
Sarah could already feel a tingling sensation in her middle at his seductive promise, “Yes, my lord,” she murmured as she went to do his bidding.
~*~
Across London, Florence arrived back at Mrs. Needham’s. Angry at the humiliation she suffered at Lord Warrington’s hands, she was determined to seek her revenge on Sarah. The rooms above were usually empty during the day with everyone occupied with tasks and assignments. Florence crept past her own door, to stop at the room shared by Sarah and Elma. Perhaps a slashed gown would teach Sarah a lesson. It was only right, reasoned Florence; the savage had ruined one of her gowns. The fact she was handsomely paid back by Lord Warrington escaping her mind at the moment.
As she entered the sparsely furnished room, she noticed a prettily wrapped package on Sarah’s bed. Picking up the gold wrapped box, Florence tore open the card.
For you.
P.
Lord Warrington’s Christian name was Pierce. She remembered seeing it on the signed bank notes he gave her. So the savage had him buying gifts for her! Florence ripped open the gold and silver paper. It was a box of her favorite chocolates from Lyon’s Corner teashop. Well, I guess I will just help myself, thought Florence with a smile. Enjoying the idea of Sarah coming home to find all the chocolates eaten with only the note and wrapper left. Florence popped another sweet morsel into her mouth.
Chapter Ten
“You have to let me go!” she laughed.
There it was again. That simple phrase which always caused his stomach to twist.
Holding her warm body close to his side, he said, “I don’t see why I do.”
Sarah sighed. They had spent the rest of the afternoon in his large four-poster bed making love. Sarah felt like Alice tumbling down the rabbit hole. She no longer understood the world about her. Everything was topsy-turvy. Pain led to pleasure. Torment to laughter. Art to love making. Innocent to wanton. She did not regret losing her maidenhead. Lord Warrington was the most fascinating, enigmatic man she had ever known. No one had ever looked at her as he does. As if he could see into her soul. As if he instinctively knew what she wanted what she needed before she could even form the words. As the punishment was now over, she could even appreciate the strength in protective feeling on his part that led to her being disciplined. Having lost her father at a very young age, the idea of a strong man protecting her, caring for her, keeping her safe…drew on something deep and wanting in Sarah.
Having never given much thought to marriage before, she gave even less to it now. Not for a moment did she think this would lead to a wedding. He was a powerful lord. Powerful lords did not marry misses from America with no connections or vast fortune. Besides, this was the modern age. A girl had options. She could make her own way if she chose as a governess, a seamstress, a shop girl or yes, even as a mistress. The options were plentiful. Sarah had seen it happen at least twice in her months with Mrs. Needham. One of the girls would form an attachment with a great lord or wealthy painter and off she would go! She would be petted and taken care of for several months as the man’s mistress. And then, more often than not, return to Mrs. Needham’s employ when the affair ended. There was no judgment. What was there to judge? Each had a grand time while it lasted.
Even as she tried to adopt the casual carefree attitude, Sarah knew it was pointless. There was one glaring difference between her and those other women. Sarah had been foolish enough to fall in love. She had read enough scandalous sensation novels to know in order to survive a casual alliance the girl had to keep her wits about her and hold her heart close otherwise it never worked. Sarah was not even a mistress yet and already she had violated the cardinal rule. She had fallen in love with the handsome yet mysterious Lord Warrington. As much as she may fight him, she loved the domineering primal side of him that simply took what he wanted regardless of her protests. Who forced her to come to terms with what her body truly wanted, truly needed. Who punished her not only for discipline, not only for pleasure but because he cared about her well-being, of that she was certain. Were it not so, he would have punished her for no reason, without any regard to her pleasure. Yet, each time she had been punished it had been justly earned. At the end of every punishment, he rewarded her for her subservience.
Now there was a choice to be made. Did she dare live as his mistress knowing it may lead to her own heartache or did she try to leave him again? The first time did not go so well. Despite the harsh punishment, Sarah was secretly pleased he was so angered at the thought of her replacing him. The thought of him being fine when Florence showed up in her place tortured her. She hated the idea of leaving him as much as she hated the idea he might not care or notice. His actions this afternoon put those fears to rest. As to Victoria’s warning about the Linked Rings Brotherhood, it was probably just idle gossip.
Still she needed time to think. Time alone. Time to truly contemplate what she would be giving up and gaining by agreeing to become his mistress…and what she could be risking.
“I cannot stay here with no clothes!”
“My groom fetched your dress and shoes from that pitiful artist’s studio.”
“One wrinkled gown is not sufficient or remotely decent.”
“I will buy you new gowns, a room full of gowns with shoes to match.”
Pierce rolled her on to her back with those words. He began to place leisurely kisses across her belly up to her breasts. It was beyond the pale to install one’s mistress in one’s own home but Pierce did not give a damn. He was not letting her out of his sight. The idea of installing her in a small home in a less-fashionable but respectable part of town did not appeal to him. He wanted to go to bed at night with her lying sated in his arms only to wake her up the next morning with the feeling of his cock sliding into her waiting cunny.
“Do not distract me from my purpose,” she playfully warned. “I have to go to Mrs. Needham’s if only to give her proper notice and to give Elma a forwarding address.”
“Very well, but you’ve earned another spanking for defying my wishes,” he said with a lighthearted growl. “Do you want your punishment now or later?”
Sarah bit her lip. Their jovial conversation had taken a dark turn. Her eyes lit with anticipation the moment he threatened to spank her. Her bottom twitched at the memory as much as her cunny tingled.
“I am your lordship’s to command,” she responded in a throaty whisper.
With a primal roar, Pierce flipped her on to her stomach, pulling her hips up and back so the seam of her rounded backside cradled his growing cock.
It was sometime later before Sarah was finally allowed to leave in the carriage with strict instructions to fetch her things and return within the hour. He had teased her with some very scandalous ideas for another photographic session later this evening in his studio. Sarah felt a soft, flurry in her middle at the thought of him taking more of those terribly naughty photographs of her.
Pierce would soon learn to regret giving in to her impish pleas. He should have never let her go.
Chapter Eleven
Something was wrong, of that Sarah was certain. The familiar green door of Mrs. Mildred Needham’s Studio of Virtuous Young Beautiful Women Artist Models was flung open. There were numerous serious looking coppers traipsing in and out. No not coppers, thought Sarah, Bobbies, that was the proper British term.
Sarah picked up her skirts and shouldered through the small crowd, taking the old wooden steps two at a time. The atmosphere in Mrs. Needham’s parlor was far worse. Her employer was seated by the fire, her ever-present handkerchief actually being put to good use for once. Obviously agitated, she was overshadowed by two large men, one in uniform, one in a suit.
“I don’t know! I’m telling you! I just don’t know!” cried Mrs. Needham.
Sarah ran to her side, falling to her knees. “Mrs. Needham, what has happened?”
Mrs. Needham placed her hands on Sarah’s cheeks, “Oh my Sophronia, you are here! It is too awful. Florence is dead!”
>
Sarah paled. “What? How can that be?”
Mrs. Needham waved her hand listlessly in the direction of the men, “These men say there is foul play.”
“Who are you miss?” asked the man in the uniform. He had a massive handlebar mustache and a belly to match.
“Who are you?” Sarah asked with spirit.
Pulling his shoulders back in irritation, he spit out, “I’m Constable Bagstock and you’d be smart to answer my question!”
“I’ll be the one asking the questions,” interjected the man in the suit. He was clean-shaven but equally tall with an equally impressive amount of girth.
“And who are you?” asked an already exasperated Sarah.
With an arrogant look in Constable Babstock’s direction, he stated, “I’m Detective Constable Chuzzlewit.”
From the short exchange and his deliberate emphasis on detective, Sarah could tell there was some animosity between the Bobbies and the still newly formed detective department.
“Why do you think Florence was murdered?”
“I’ll be asking the questions!” said a ruffled Detective Constable Chuzzlewit.
At that moment, two men carrying a canvas stretcher appeared in the hall just outside the parlor door. As they shifted to prepare for the steep decline of the stairs, one pale hand emerged from the shroud to fall lifeless to the side.
Sarah held her hand to her mouth, horrified. While she had never gotten on with Florence, she never would have wished the poor girl dead!
Dabbing his pencil against the tip of his tongue, Detective Constable Chuzzlewit cleared his throat, “Yes, well. I will ask again. Who are you?”
“Sarah.”
“Sophronia.”
“What’s this all about?” asked Chuzzlewit his suspicions aroused.
“Mrs. Needham, please! This is no time for your silliness with names!” responded Sarah. “My name is Sarah Grey, sir.”
“Well, now. You are just the one we’ve been wanting to talk to. If you will follow me?”
Squeezing Mrs. Needham’s hand in a show of quick comfort, Sarah followed the detective to the informal dining room. Victoria was just rising along with another gentleman in a suit.
“Did you get her statement Detective Constable Granger?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good, give us the room if you will.”
During this brief exchange, Victoria approached Sarah. Her hands trembled as she took both of Sarah’s into her own. It was obvious she had been crying. Sarah knew Victoria was one of the few people in the household who seemed to have a genuine fondness for Florence.
“I’m so sorry, Sarah,” she tearfully confessed. “I had to tell them. They made me so frightened with their questions and accusations!”
“Victoria, what are you talking about?”
“I had to tell them how you threatened Florence last night.”
“Threatened Florence? That is ludicrous, I did nothing of the kind!” responded an alarmed Sarah.
Victoria’s voice rose in agitation, “Don’t you remember telling her her nastiness would get her into trouble?”
Sarah saw the interested looks on both men’s faces as they observed her conversation with Victorian with interest.
“That was just silly banter. You know that,” said Sarah uneasily.
Victorian and the other detective left, leaving Sarah alone with Chuzzlewit.
“Where have you come from, miss?”
Unwilling to drag Lord Warrington into this mess, Sarah lied. “A walk in the park.”
“A walk in the park? All afternoon?”
“I really enjoy walking.”
The detective took in her wrinkled dress and mussed hair. He made a few notes.
“We understand you and the deceased did not get along.”
“It was more an uneasy friendship but I wouldn’t say I didn’t get along with her.”
“Is that why you bought her some chocolates from…” he checked his notes, “from Lyon’s Corner Tea shop?”
“How did you know about the chocolates?”
“Just answer the question, miss.”
“Yes…yes…I bought her some chocolates. I…I tore her dress and wanted to apologize.”
“Um…hmmm,” was the uncommitted response. “Stay where you are seated. Do not move.”
Chuzzlewit left the room, leaving Sarah to sit in agitated silence desperately wondering what was happening. Then she heard the scrape of a boot just outside the doorway. Mary poked her head into the drawing room.
“Thank goodness,” cried out Sarah in an excited whisper. “Dear Mary do you know what is going on?”
Unlike the other servants in the household who had believed Florence’s dark tales of savages from America, Mary had always been kind to her. In return, Sarah always shared her hairpins and sweets with her.
With another quick look around, Mary scurried into the room. “Oh miss! It is something awful! Miss Florence retired to her room complaining of a sore throat and a burning in her stomach a few hours ago. Then Mrs. Needham sent me to check on her.” Mary’s face crumpled at the memory. Sarah stroked her shoulder in an effort to comfort the poor girl…and to get her to continue.
“It was horrible,” she sobbed. “Miss Florence was on the floor. It looked like she had tried to reach for the water pitcher but fell over. She had been sick in the chamber pot. The whole room smelled something awful. The worst part was how twisted and bowed her body was…as if…as if she had fought with the devil himself and he froze her in place!”
There was the sound of heavy footfalls down the hallway. Mary scampered back to her hiding place.
Detective Constable Chuzzlewit entered with two Bobbies in tow. “Miss Sarah Grey alias Sophronia Grey, it is my duty to inform you, you are being placed into the custody of the Her Majesty’s Metropolitan Police for the callous poisoning murder of Miss Florence Hawdon. Constable, the wrist manacles if you will.”
Sarah was roughly turned by her shoulders, her arms pulled back. “Poison! No! I’m innocent! Please! I had nothing to do with her murder!” she cried out as the heavy and too large irons were placed over her slender wrists.
Mrs. Needham appeared in the doorway.
“Mrs. Needham! You know I am innocent! Please! Help me! Where is Elma? Elma! Elma!”
“We cannot find Elma! Oh lord, what if she was carried off by the murderer! Constable, please! You have this wrong! Where is my Elma?” entreated Mrs. Needham, grabbing on to his sleeve in the process.
Carefully removing Mrs. Needham’s grasp on his jacket, Detective Constable Chuzzlewit responded, “There is strong indication this was a death by arsenic poisoning. As far as we can tell, the last thing she ate were the chocolates given to her by the accused. There is also evidence of a threat to her person from the accused just last night. Not to mention a long simmering animosity according to your staff.”
“But…but she ate those chocolates from me days ago! Where is Elma? She will tell you! Florence finished the chocolates I bought for her that very day!” Sarah desperately tried to explain.
“Rest assured, miss. We will conduct a thorough investigation including finding this Elma witness but we will still be taking you into custody.”
Sarah was roughly pulled out of the room. The Bobbies placed a coat over her shoulders as they ushered her down the steps and out the battered green door.
“Where are you taking her?” demanded Mrs. Needham of the closest Bobbie.
“Probably to the Female Convict Prison at Brixton just cross the river.”
Mrs. Needham turned back into the drawing room. “Mary! Mary!”
As soon as the servant appeared, Mrs. Needham said in a rush, “Go to the street and hail a hansom cab. Quickly!”
Mrs. Needham gathered her hat and gloves. There was only one thing she could do. She just hoped her instincts were correct.
“Where to?” called out the hansom cab driver as Mrs. Needham climbed into the back of his carriag
e.
“Regent’s Park, York Terrace East. The Warrington house.”
~*~
Across London. At The Brotherhood of the Linked Ring club on Old Bond Street.
“So how is your secret project coming along, Warrington.”
Pierce’s only response was a quiet smile.
“Come now man! It really isn’t sporting of you to keep such a treasure to yourself,” said Lord Van der Weyde jovially.
“If the man is not finished playing with his new toy, there is nothing we will say to dissuade him. We will just have to be patient. He will tire of it soon,” laughed Mr. Davison.
“Well he better not break it before we’ve had our chance to play,” grumbled Lord Robinson.
Before Pierce had a chance to respond, there was a loud scuffle in the hall. His butler, Parker, burst in to the inner sanctuary of the club.
“Parker! What the devil!” called out Pierce, astounded at his usually proper and staid butler’s actions.
“Your lordship, please forgive the intrusion. There is something that requires your immediate attention,” said Parker evasively, with looks about the room.
Knowing Parker since he was a boy in leading strings, Pierce knew only something of grave import would lead to such a breach in decorum. “Very well. Gentlemen,” said Pierce with a nod as he rose to leave.
“Trust Warrington to always bring the exciting bits to our little club!” called out Lord Van der Weyde.
Pierce excited the club into his waiting carriage. The sight of a rattled Mrs. Needham sitting docilely in the corner alarmed him.
“Bloody hell! Where is Sarah? What has happened?”
“I will explain everything my lord on our way to the prison,” assured Parker as he rapped on the ceiling to signal the driver to proceed.
“The prison?” Pierce ground out through clenched teeth. God Dammit, what had his little spirited American gotten herself into this time?
