by Lucy Wild
“Good God, James, I’m a monster.”
“You’re no monster, Sir. You are a gambler.”
“There seems little difference in my opinion. But, as ever, you are right. I cannot humiliate her; she would be crushed by it. I cannot let her watch my world crumble around my ears as Glossop takes over my house. I believe I have no option but to let her go. Take her away in the morning, James. I do not think I could bear to tell her myself. Damn that Glossop, and damn the backgammon board into the bargain.”
He did not sleep well that night. He had drunk far more whiskey than was healthy, trying to numb the pain that built within him when he thought about life without little Beth. It was impossible to keep her, he knew that. The wager was legally binding, that was all there was to it. Glossop had won. Damn him.
By the time he stumbled into bed, he was more than a little drunk, the room spinning even when he closed his eyes. He could smell her on his blankets and it was agony for him, knowing that by the next day she would be gone forever, she who had come into his life from nowhere and woken him up, shown him what love could be. It need not be the dull thing that etiquette suggested, all fallen handkerchiefs and flicking fans. It could be unique; it could be whatever two people wanted it to be. He wanted to dominate her and she wanted to submit to him. She wanted to be spanked and he wanted to spank her. She would be gone the next morning and he would never spank her again.
It’s better that way, he told himself. Better that than her watch your downfall. The worst part wasn’t losing her though, it was the fact that she would never know the real reason why she was sent away; she would leave not only hating him but also thinking him a coward for sending his servant to do his dirty work.
He awoke the next morning with an almighty hangover, his head pounding as he climbed out of bed and headed downstairs to his study, unable to bear the thought that the nursery would be empty if he were to enter it. He sank into his chair and moaned softly, the light of the day piercing his skull like jagged knives into his brain. He had to go and see Glossop and concede defeat. The last thing he wanted to do was go to the club but what was the point of dragging things out?
“Why are you doing this?”
He looked up to find little Beth standing in the doorway of the study. She took a step towards him, repeating the question. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“You should not be here anymore,” he said. “Where is James?”
“Preparing the carriage. You are sending me away?”
“I am.”
“But why? I thought you cared for me, you told me I could stay here forever.”
“I have changed my mind.”
“But why?”
He sighed, having no choice but to be brutal if he was going to make her go. “Because you are a pauper, that is why.”
“What?”
“You are poor and I am a decent member of society. You do not belong in this house any more than I belong in the slums.”
“Why are you saying this, Sir?”
“Because it’s true. We had some fun, but now it’s time for things to return to normal. I want you to leave this house and never come back.”
“You don’t mean that, do you?”
Of course not, he thought silently. “Yes,” he said out loud. “Go.”
“But, I don’t understand, I thought you cared about me.”
“You were mistaken. Get out of my house.”
She didn’t cry, instead taking a step towards him. “I don’t want to.”
James appeared behind her and Charles waved towards little Beth. “Take her away and make sure she does not try to come back.”
“Of course, Sir,” James said and although his expression remained unchanged, even he appeared somehow full of sorrow.
“Please,” little Beth cried as she was dragged away. “Don’t do this to me, I’ll die without you.”
“You would die of shame if you stayed with me,” Charles muttered quietly to himself. He heard the front door open and then slam shut. She was gone.
It was some time before he was able to stand. His head still hurt, though that was nothing to the gut wrenching pain of knowing little Beth was gone. He collected his coat and hat and walked round the house to the stables. He would ride Brutus to the club, it might be his last chance to ride him at all. The stables would soon belong to Glossop. As would the house. It was horrible to think about it.
As he rode, he thought hard. It felt as if he were inside a train carriage, the brakes not working as he raced downhill towards a solid mountainside. There seemed like nothing he could do to prevent disaster, only watch it unfold as if he were an observer, not a participant in his fate.
Could he seek her out once he was ruined? Could they live in poverty together? He shook his head at the idea. She would want nothing to do with him if he were not wealthy. He was fooling himself if he thought otherwise. What would he be able to offer her? Nothing. She had survived this long on her own, she would not need him. Nor would she want him, not after he had sent her away. “I did it to protect her,” he said out loud, Brutus flicking his ears in response.
It was little comfort to know that she would not have to dress as a little at the Billingham place, that she wouldn’t be stripping at his command for the whole world to see. The only comfort he could draw was knowing that soon it would all be over. He’d admit defeat, he’d sign over his estate and then he’d walk off towards the horizon, never to look back, become a hermit somewhere and end his days alone and so, so lonely.
“I love her,” he said, the words falling away from him as he reached the city, heading towards the club. Saying the words did not help. It was too late for him. He already knew he loved her. He would not have sent her away if he felt nothing for her, he would have happily made her strip if she meant nothing to him. But she meant the world to him. And now she was gone. Forever.
Chapter 27
Lizzie was distraught. She had been his little Beth and now she was plain old Elizabeth Wilkinson again. She sat opposite James in the carriage, unable to stop crying. The house had long since vanished from view and with it went any hope she had of a life with Sir Doyle, her Sir, her master, her love.
“Why has he done this to me?” she asked, looking across at James who was pointedly staring out of the window. “Answer me, damn you!”
Her use of such severe language was enough to make James turn to face her. He looked as calm as ever, though his eyes seemed to speak of an emotion he was either unwilling or unable to articulate.
“It is for the best,” he said, passing her a handkerchief from his pocket. “Dry your eyes, Miss Wilkinson.”
“For the best?” she replied, dabbing at her face with the handkerchief. “How is this for the best?”
“I am not supposed to tell you but trust me when I say he has your best interests at heart.”
“What do you mean, you’re not supposed to tell me? Do you know something about this?”
“I cannot say.”
“You will say or I will go back to the house and not leave until I get some answers.”
He looked as if he were unsure of the seriousness of her threat. She nodded, folding her arms as she did so. “I mean it.”
“Very well,” he said with a sigh. “Though you must promise not to tell him I told you.”
“I promise. Now I insist you tell me the truth about all this.”
She listened as James told her about the wager. The fact that she was nothing but a betting chip between this fellow Glossop and the man she thought she could trust. “So I was supposed to dress as a little girl, attend a ball, strip naked in front of all the guests, and all for a wager?”
“If he did not go through with it, he would lose his entire estate, his home, his wealth, everything.”
Lizzie sat up straight in her seat. “Where is he now?”
“Gone to admit defeat, to sign the papers and hand it all over to Glossop.”
“Take me to him. Now!”
James looked as if he was going to respond but then he turned, rapping on the ceiling of the carriage. “To the club,” he called out to the driver. “Why are you smiling?” he asked, looking back at her.
“Because Sir Charles Doyle would rather give up everything he has than humiliate me. What does that tell you, James?”
“I do not know, Miss.”
“It tells me that he loves me. There can be no other reason why a man like that would just roll over and accept defeat. And he need not accept defeat. I only hope we reach him in time.”
She sat back in her seat to think. Her head ached from crying and it took a spell of time for her mind to clear. She needed it to be clear to think things through. Already an idea had formed in her mind, a thought that was crystal clear to her. It did not matter if he had not a penny to his name. All that mattered was that they were together, and if she could only think a little harder, she would know what to do.
The answer was there; she knew it was. She just couldn’t pin it down. It eluded her for most of the duration of the journey. Then it came to her. “Do you think he loves me?” she asked James as they drove into the city.
“I am certain of it,” James replied. “If I might make so bold, you are the first person he has ever loved.”
She looked out of the window as she said, “I am glad.” The city seemed so much brighter than last time she was here. It helped that it was a sunny day, a rare enough sight in the winter. The mud still coated the streets, thick smoke rose from countless chimneys, creating clouds and eddies of darkness that drifted back and forth on the breeze. Hawkers were yelling, carts laden with goods for market were being driven slowly onwards, the number of people a shock after less than a week away from them.
She felt differently to last time she was here. It was not just the fact that she was warm, well fed, well dressed. It was in her mind. She had changed. No longer was she the downtrodden pauper she had been. In just a few short days he had taught her how to stand tall, how to be proud of who she was and what she was. She was his submissive little girl and that fact alone was enough to make her burst with pride, her chest swelling as she sat rigidly upright, her shoulders back.
The club came into view and she was out of the carriage before it had even stopped, sweeping up the steps only to come face to face with the doorman. Last time she had seen him, he’d thrown her down into the gutter, his face filled with disgust. But this time, it was as if he had never seen her before. “Good morning, Miss,” he said, tipping his hat and pulling the door open for her.
She walked past him, containing her grin until she was inside the building. Looking up the stairs, she spotted Charles, deep in conversation with another man. Was that him? Was that the man who’d set all this in motion?
She took the stairs two at a time, reaching the top with her hands outstretched towards him. “Sir Doyle,” she said, “don’t sign anything.”
“What?” he asked, turning to face her. “Little Beth, what on earth are you doing here?”
“Who is this?” the other man asked. “Is this her?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know who I am,” Lizzie snapped, glaring at him. She pulled herself up short. “I know you. You were here last time.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. I remember now. You were talking to another man down there. You were talking about a girl with another man. What was his name? Roddie! That was it, you called him Roddie.”
Sir Doyle bristled. “Is that true, Cresswell? Are you in on this?”
“She’s lying.”
“Elizabeth Wilkinson has not told a single lie since I met her, you on the other hand, are far less trustworthy. Did he do all this to get Clare?”
“No,” Cresswell replied, shrinking back as Sir Doyle towered over him. “Not entirely. He wanted your estate too.”
“Anything else I should know?”
“He wanted to ruin you. He plied you with drink, he goaded you into betting it all.”
“There’s something else, isn’t there? Tell me or by the devil I’ll hurl you down those stairs.”
“He used loaded dice.”
“I knew it!” Sir Doyle said, turning and heading down the stairs.
“Where are you going?” Lizzie asked.
“To get my gun,” he replied without looking back.
She ran down after him, catching up in the entrance hall, getting in front of him and forcing him to stop. “Hold on,” she said. “I have a much better idea.”
That night, Sir Doyle stood on his doorstep, looking out at little Beth as she bid him goodbye.
“You are sure about this?” he asked. “You understand the risks?”
“I am certain,” she replied, kissing his cheek. “The carriage is waiting. I will be back shortly, I promise you.”
“Be careful, he is a dangerous man.”
“I will be fine, trust me.”
She skipped down the steps, climbing into the carriage and pulling the door closed. Giving Sir Doyle a final wave, she sat back in the seat and closed her eyes. It felt strange being out of the house in her little frock. Her dummy was in her hand ready and her nappy rubbed between her legs. She just hoped her idea would work. If she were able to succeed, then a happy life with Sir Doyle was assured. If not, well better not to think about the consequences of failure.
By now, there was no doubt that Cresswell had warned Glossop that they would be coming for him. To think he had cheated in their game, all in order to ruin a good man, a great man, in fact. She would have braved ten times the danger to assist her love in overcoming this. To wear the little outfit in public was a small price to pay.
It took a little over two hours to reach Glossop’s house. It was set at the edge of a village just outside the city. In another few years it would probably be swallowed up by the expanding population, no doubt that was the reason he was eager for the Doyle estate, tracts of land far from the sprawl of the ever growing city. The driver stopped half a mile from his house, opening the door for her to step out.
She climbed down from the carriage and the driver immediately climbed back up and set off. He was under instructions to drive away and not return for half an hour. She did not want anyone to see that she had gone there, the fewer witnesses the better. It was a simple enough plan. Seduce Glossop, find out where the betting slip was, retrieve it and then return to Sir Doyle. Of course, even the simplest plans could go wrong.
She could only hope that he would be too filled with lust at the sight of her to be suspicious of her motives. According to Sir Doyle, Glossop was well known for his inability to control himself where women were concerned. She marched towards his house whilst preparing herself mentally. Once she was in there, she would have to be quick on her feet to ensure things went as planned.
Knocking on the door a few minutes later, she was surprised by how calm she felt. The coat wrapped round her hid her clothes from anyone who might pass and the darkness worked to her advantage. The only one who would see her like this was Glossop and that would not be for long.
A butler answered the door, looking out at her with a sneer on his face. “Yes?”
“I am here to see Roderick Glossop.”
“Whom shall I say is calling? You have a card?”
“Tell him it is Elizabeth Wilkinson. He will see me.”
“Wait here, Miss Wilkinson.”
The door closed again, leaving her outside for a spell. When it opened a minute later, she was surprised to see it was Glossop, not the butler who was holding the handle. “Good evening, Miss Wilkinson,” he said, motioning for her to enter. “Come on inside.”
“Please, she replied, letting her coat slide to the marble floor of the entrance hall. “Call me little Beth.”
She spun round, slipping the dummy into her mouth as she did so. Glossop’s jaw didn’t exactly drop but he looked as if it might at any moment. His eyes ran down the full length of her and then b
ack up again. “Little Beth,” he muttered, staring at her closely. “My, oh my.”
She spoke through the dummy, shuffling on the spot as she did so, her feet pointing inwards, keeping his attention fixed on her. “I want a new papa,” she said in her meekest voice. “I’ve been bad and mean old Charles won’t discipline me the way I need. Will you be harsh to me? Will you spank me like the bad girl I am?”
Glossop squawked like a parrot, his cheeks turning purple. “I, that is to say, you, I’m not sure I follow you.”
“Go prepare me a bath, please, Papa. I’m all dirty.”
“I, I’ll get one of the servants to do it.”
“I want you to do it,” she pouted, lifting the hem of her dress to flash her nappy at him. “I don’t want them to see this, do I?”
“So I run you a bath and you wait right here?” he asked.
She nodded, still shuffling on the spot.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, sprinting up the stairs.
She watched him go before running over to the first door she saw. Entering one room after another, she looked about her, hunting for anything that might give her a clue as to the whereabouts of the betting slip. Down the end of a corridor, she found a study. She ran over to the desk and slid open the top drawer. As she did so, she heard the creak of a floorboard behind her. Looking up, she saw Glossop standing in the doorway, a piece of paper in his hand. “Weren’t looking for this, were you?” he asked, taking a step forwards. Reaching back, he closed the door, trapping her inside with him. “Now, how about that bath?”
Chapter 28
Charles gave her until midnight before going for her. He had regretted letting her go from the moment the carriage rolled away from his house. She should have let him use his gun. Yes, in all likelihood, he would have gone to the three legged tree for shooting another man, but by the devil, the satisfaction of it would have been sweet. How could he have let her go? He was a fool and an imbecile for not seeing through Glossop earlier. He should have trusted his instincts; he should have confronted him about the loaded dice. But what did he do instead? He signed the blasted betting slip, making their wager nice and legal.
