by Chris James
Hearing Rebecca’s harsh words about my legs confirmed the girl was a vixen and as I applied some precautionary lotion to my genitals later that night, I vowed never to give her the time of day thereafter. But time is a great healer and no one would be more surprised than I how I would, once again, lust after her.
Chapter 5
‘You took advantage of her, Silver,’ Muxlow growled the Sunday after as they sat on the riverbank. ‘Lady Bedford demands you don’t go near the house. She could have you expelled.’
‘I did no such thing. If anything…’ Jacob began in protest.
‘Let’s leave it at that, shall we? I’d like us to remain friends. What you did to Emmy–’
Jacob grabbed Muxlow by the shoulders and spoke firmly.
‘Friend, I did nothing to Emily. I promise you. Emily was happy, elated. She got carried away, that’s all. But nothing happened. Her honour is preserved.’
They sat in silence, skimming stones, free from the pressures of the Bedfords and the school bullies. In fact, since Bateman’s unfortunate accident, the others left them alone. Rumour had it that Jacob had more control over events that day than he would admit, and all were wary of him wreaking vengeance upon them. If he decided only to get even it would cause them much mischief.
‘Do you really care for her?’ Muxlow ventured, breaking the silence.
‘More than I can describe. How I’ll cope, not seeing…’
‘She’s missing you. Chronically. Cries all the time.’ After a few moments Muxlow added, ‘And if you’re truly missing her… Well, I’ll arrange something. As long as you promise…’
Jacob shook his hand like a gentleman. ‘I promise. She’s safe with me. I’ll protect her.’
‘She’s not well, our Emmy.’
‘I know that. I was there when it happened, remember. Concussion can–’
‘Oh, that. No, it’s a bit more than a bump on the head, old chap.’
‘She’s ill? Tell me. Tell me everything, Muxlow.’
‘She’s here for the fresh air. She can breathe properly here.’
‘Asthma, is it?’
‘Mama wouldn’t say. Thought it best I didn’t know, stop me worrying, she said. Nor Rebecca. Emily has to wait and see what a year with the Bedfords will do for her.’
‘Apart from drive her mad, you mean?’ Jacob smiled.
‘She’s all right, the old lady. Worries for her little niece, that’s all.’ Jacob smiled again. ‘Becca took a fancy to you, too. Did you know?’ Muxlow quipped, catching a passing duck with a bouncer. The duck squawked repeatedly, paddling rapidly and scooting across the surface until it took flight, making them both laugh. ‘That’s the kind of noise Becca made, hearing you were banned from the house.’
‘Really? Oh, dear. Going to have to disappoint your Becca, sorry. Emily wouldn’t approve.’
It was half-past midnight, mid-January, when Jacob returned to the dormitory from his latest session with the professor, two nights later.
‘Christ, Jake!’ Muxlow whispered to him, dragging him out onto the landing. ‘Emmy’s here, catching her death waiting for you. Thinks you’ve got some other filly in tow.’
‘Emmy? Where?’ Jacob pressed, looking into the dormitory.
‘Not there, stupid. I took her down to the boathouse. Nobody’ll see you there.’ Muxlow led him away.
Moonlight reflected off the flooding river as Muxlow, not finding Emily where he’d left her, led Jacob through a back door into the boathouse. They heard giggling.
‘She’s in here. You’ll have an hour at least but don’t press your luck, old chum. I’ll be out here.’
‘In case I go too far, is that it?’
‘No, you idiot. In case anybody comes,’ Muxlow said, clawing at his face.
‘Mosquitoes?’ Jacob asked him, pulling his hand from his face.
‘Something bloody nasty. Eating me alive it is.’
‘We’ll see to it later. I promise. Least I can do.’ With that, Jacob disappeared inside the boathouse.
Jacob called into the pitch dark, in a loud whisper, ‘Emmy? Emmy? It’s Jacob.’
A soft feminine hand grabbed his wrist and pulled him tumbling into a scull alongside the dock. Loud giggling from both of them followed before the rocking hull settled.
‘Keep it down in there!’ murmured Muxlow from outside the door. ‘You’ll wake up the whole bloody college!’
Their giggling controlled, Jacob held her face in his hands. ‘I missed you, darling,’ he breathed.
He held her face between his hands as her hands slid into his shirt, flicked open a couple of buttons and then tugged at it, signalling she wanted it off. Jacob obliged, caressing her; and the whole time her hands were kneading his firm body, handfuls of flesh squeezed with excitement. A cold, wet hand suddenly shot down into his trousers. He yelped. Fumbling with her bodice and petticoats, he did the same, dipping his hand first in the water and then on to her now naked breast. She giggled, a faint inward chuckle of delight, then urged him on top of her, unfastening his belt and yanking his trousers off his hips.
More water splashed onto his rump. Yet more smeared on to her heaving breast.
As she panted and urged him on, his hardness was unbearable. God, what promises had he made to Muxlow? How could he stop now? This girl needed him. Needed him inside her. He needed her. He had to have her. It was a duty. And what of honour? Loyal to friend outside, or lover here, inside? Beside him. Panting. Urging. How could he possibly–
‘Hello?’
The voice: unmistakable. In the dark, up a mountain, in a forest, in hell or heaven – he knew that voice so well.
‘Is anybody there?’
Emily.
‘Jacob, darling?’ Her voice nearer now.
Rebecca giggled loudly, grabbed his sagging manhood in two cold wet hands.
‘Do it, for fuck’s sake! Do it!’
The twenty-foot boat rocked. Someone had stepped on the far end.
‘Becca? I know it’s you.’
Muffled giggles rose from the girl next to Jacob in the boat.
‘What in damnation are you doing here?’ Emily shouted.
‘I couldn’t sleep,’ Rebecca lied, peering into the blackness as she tried to unravel her drawers.
‘You bitch!’ Jacob breathed into her ear, struggling to stand up before leaping out of the boat onto the dock, his leg irons clunking.
The narrow boat rocked violently. Yells came from Emily’s end, then two huge splashes. Gurgling. Choking. Floundering. Emily and Rebecca, arms flailing, tried desperately to stay afloat, creating a shocking din in the small boathouse.
A flood of moonlight lit up the spectacle as Muxlow threw open the door. Before it closed, he had dived into the water after his sisters. But he was too late.
Jacob had them – hooked with a boathook. He pulled all three Muxlows out of the water.
Coughing and spluttering out in the moonlight on the riverbank, Emily could not conceal her anger. Jacob feared who would feel the edge of her tongue the most and sat well away from both girls. But poor Emily, still struggling to catch her breath, was in no fit state to squabble, needing to recover from the pneumonia that was about to invade her lungs, before thrashing her sister.
Two weeks later, Emily was seriously ill. Messages, conveyed to Jacob by her maid, implied she was in fear for her life.
‘I don’t care for your rules, Lady Bedford. I am in love with your niece and I’m not prepared to sit and wait while you and those other quacks sit by and let her die,’ Jacob said, bursting into Emily’s boudoir.
Lady Bedford yelled, summoning the butler, the footman, and the maid, in that order, to rid her of this intruder. When, finally, Rosemary the maid answered her call, she found Jacob kneeling at the bedside of an unconscious and wheezing Emily, stroking her hand. Closing and locking the door to keep Lady Bedford and her smelling salts out, Rosemary pleaded with Jacob.
‘She pines for you, Master Jacob. Every day, ten times
a day she pines. Don’t fret over milady. Just tell me what to say to Emily when she next wakes – so I can put her out of her misery.’ Jacob looked at the maid, puzzled. ‘She thinks you don’t care, master. But I know that’s not true. I’ve seen the way you look at–’
‘Rosemary, open this door at once, I command you,’ Lady Bedford cried out, kicking the door. ‘I will not have this insolence in my own home, you hear, gel?’
‘It’ll be a thrashing for me, master. Make it worth my while. She’s dying, sir. Leave something nice for our dear Emily to remember you by.’
And Jacob did. Taking two vials from a row sewn into the inside of his jacket, he passed them to the maid.
‘Rosemary, not a word to her ladyship. I could go to prison, you understand?’ She nodded. ‘But I’ve trained in these things my whole life. See that Emily gets two drops from each vial, three times a day, in a glass of water, for seven days, understand? Don’t mix them. Whatever you do, don’t mix them. D’you understand?’ The maid nodded again, smiling this time. ‘Emily need not know we’re treating her, in fact it’s best if she doesn’t. And her ladyship must never know. But I promise, with all my heart, we’ll all find a great improvement in poor Emily.’ He prepared to step out of the window. ‘I’ll leave this way. Can I count on you to do exactly as I ask, Rosemary?’
Rosemary bobbed a polite curtsey, holding up her pinafore, ‘Swelp me God, you surely can, Master Jacob.’
‘Only two drops from each vial, three times a day, in a glass of water, for seven days, understand?’ Jacob reminded her.
Rosemary, her back raw from a beating with a broom handle, concealed the vials under the blankets in her room high in the attic. Once she was sure the household were all in bed, she made her way down to Emily’s room. Emily was fast asleep, pale and still wheezing heavily. Taking out the vials, Rosemary removed the corks and counted the drops onto a spoon.
‘Seven drops, three times a day for two days,’ she murmured under her breath. ‘Do I mix ’em or what?’ she asked herself, hesitantly holding the second glass vial over the spoon. ‘Why not?’ she settled on, ‘All goes down the same ’ole.’
Tilting Emily’s head up from her pillow, Rosemary slipped the tip of the spoon between Emily’s lips, which parted conveniently allowing fourteen drops – a mere ten drops too many, neat, without water – to percolate down the girl’s throat.
By morning, twenty drops too many, undiluted and taken together against all instruction, had passed Emily’s lips – and she was rampant. She climbed the walls, fought Rosemary to try and jump out of the window, swore at and cursed the maid, milady and all who came to listen, with words they thought only thieves and beggars used – or Rebecca occasionally.
Late the next night, after a priest called and blessed the child with holy water, he was about to begin performing an exorcism when Rosemary fell to his knees and gasped for forgiveness, confessing everything before sobbing her heart out.
Headmaster Fellows had Jacob by the ear and frogmarched him out through the large oak doors. ‘After what you did to that poor girl, you’re banished from these hallowed halls – for ever!’
‘I didn’t touch–’ Jacob kicked out and tried to break free, but was thrown onto the front lawn; his worn satchel followed.
‘Begone with you, boy!’
The Trial: Day 3
My bully of an escort made a swathe through the usual hangers-on on the way upstairs to Court Number One. At the top I was confronted by a particularly scruffy urchin offering me a silk kerchief with a motif. Exquisite, it bore a family crest depicting two exotic birds supporting a shield bearing three purple fleur-de-lis orchids. The tanner it was offered at made it particularly good value for money. Nevertheless, I called my escort with his horsewhip to assist with negotiations.
‘The boy is offering me this for sixpence,’ I told the man who towered over the lad menacingly. ‘Tell the boy,’ I continued, glaring at the snotty lad, ‘I’ll pay him double if he can name the birds in the motif, and quadruple if he can name those items in the middle of the shield. If he fails, the scarf shall be mine.’
The boy tugged on my man’s sleeve and whispered in his ear.
‘ ’E says: what’s a quad-duple, ma’am?’ asked my man.
‘Quadruple. Four times. Two bob in your tongue,’ I said directly to the boy.
‘A deal then,’ he began, pointing into the kerchief. ‘Them’s chickens and them’s fevvers,’ he blurted, grinning and holding out his grubby hand.
Withdrawing a silk handkerchief from my purse I pointed at the same motif. ‘Them’s peacocks and them’s fleur-de-lis orchids,’ I told him, snatching the kerchief from him, adding, ‘you snivelling tyke. You stole this from me yesterday on my way up these very stairs.’
My man had the boy by the ear as he thrashed out. ‘Take yer furkin flurtle leezes. I don’ wan’ ’em, yer ol’ cow,’ he yelled. After my man clumped him, he added through tears, ‘Was after a crust is all.’
I left with the booty and heard the yells behind me when the boy’s minders succeeded in freeing him. I decided that my man deserved the two bob, one for each shiner.
It would prove to be an interesting day.
Sergeant Beck was continuing with his evidence, Mr Ponsonby posing questions. I found counsel styling his questions in such a way as to throw the worst possible light on poor Jacob’s character. The jury could be forgiven for thinking this was a witch hunt rather than a murder trial.
‘You asked Jacob Silver why he was expelled, sergeant?’ Mr Ponsonby began.
‘I did, sir. He replied: “They said I administered substances, maliciously. But what I had given the poor girl had been improving her for weeks. So who gives a tuppenny toss what it was?” ’
‘You have your notes taken at the time, sergeant. Please continue through the interview you conducted with the accused,’ Mr Ponsonby said, turning to face the jury through the sergeant’s evidence.
‘I asked Silver: Did you mean Emily harm when you administered these substances? He replied: “Of course not. I cheered her. Every day she improved.” I said: But you weren’t there when the maid administered those last concoctions. He said: “Unless she was stupid, my instructions were quite clear. Two drops, three times a day. How could anybody get that wrong?” I said: But as far as you knew these medicines, these potions, were working, improving her condition? He replied: “It was the same medicine I had given her before. There was no reason to suppose she would respond differently, only positively.”
‘I asked Silver: Who else have you administered substances to? He laughed and replied: “To many. Where shall I start?” ’
Murmurs rose in the courtroom and gallery above. I noticed jurors were looking at each other with some dismay.
‘At the beginning, I told him. Let’s have them all. You’ve told me about Muxlow, your friend. What about the others?’
Sergeant Beck read out a long list of ailments that Jacob had supposedly treated, unofficially, and the Latin names for what he had treated them with. Most of them were problems caused when disgusting little boys attending the college, mostly titled I might add, mixed with one particular scullery maid, who took a liking to all boys, titled or no. Others treated were boys of a shy nature whose ailments were mostly minor embarrassments, indigestion, or tummy upsets, or constipation and the like, for which those boys preferred not to consult the school’s nurse, Miss Primm. This lady, no matter what end of their body the ailment, always insisted they drop their trousers for closer examination, Jacob had explained to the sergeant. The court found that element quite amusing.
One other patient’s complaint was of a more serious nature – a certain young lady named Rebecca Muxlow. Since she later became one of the murder victims, Sergeant Beck was questioned for over an hour about Jacob’s consultation with her – a consultation that had cost him dearly, losing something he could never possibly regain – his virginity.
The sergeant described, in Jacobs own words, how thi
s hussy had forced herself upon him. I had no sympathy for the girl. He had openly offered to help her, without questioning the consequences – and she took advantage of him.
I was eager to learn how she met her demise, later.
My respect for Jacob was completely renewed when the officer next detailed the administration of substances to Emily. For that was the Jacob I knew so well, and loved. A saviour. He would do anything to help anyone in distress – even though it led to his expulsion from college.
‘So, in the accused’s eyes,’ asked Mr Ponsonby, ‘he had saved Emily, from certain death?’
‘He was sure he had saved her life. Yes, sir.’
‘And the family’s only appreciation of his interference led to his expulsion?’
‘That is correct, sir.’
‘Sergeant, at the time of this interview, Jacob Silver had led you to believe that Emily Muxlow was back in normal health by the time he was expelled. Is that correct?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Chapter 6
Ashamed and expelled, I arrived back home in mid-February, 1888. The Thames, visible from the front windows, was frozen over. Left empty, the house was extremely cold with ice on the inside of the windows. I broke up old furniture to make the first fire and slept in front of it on a mattress pulled down from upstairs. I used every blanket in the house just to keep warm. Numerous jars of vegetables, preserved by my mother, remained in the larder and I feared that once they had gone I would starve to death without an income.
After a couple of days, I went to visit my aunt and explained my shame at being expelled. I didn’t tell her about my encounters with Emily or Rebecca, only mentioning the medicines I had offered to those I had considered in need. Aunt Alice didn’t hesitate to provide me with a large box full of food and provisions but, herself being a widow surviving on a meagre military pension, insisted I seek work, of any kind, in order to be able to stand on my own two feet. She promised, in the meantime, she would call and ensure everything was in order and bring me five shillings a week to cover essentials.
