by Amy Cross
As I bring up Mark's number and wait for him to answer, I look out across the flat, barren car park. Everything's gray and made of concrete; if someone built a car park on the moon, this is what it would look like. Even the sky is gray.
"Hey, Elly," Mark says as he picks up. This time, the line is good and I can hear him properly. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," I reply, immediately feeling my chest tighten a little at the sound of his voice. "Sorry about earlier. We were on the motorway and I couldn't really hear you".
"That's okay," he says. "Who are you with?"
"Just some friends," I say. "We're going down to Exeter for a gig".
"Sounds good," he replies. "When are you getting back?"
"I'm not sure," I say, looking down at my feet for a moment. "I might just go straight to Bristol from here".
"What about the funeral?" he asks.
"Well, I..." I pause, not really sure what to say. In my head, I've got this whole argument sorted out, but suddenly the words seem to be stuck in my throat. "I was thinking maybe I didn't need to go," I continue eventually. "It's just a bunch of people standing around and staring at a box, and it's not like I get a whole load of invitations to go to gigs with bands, so I was thinking my Dad would actually understand if I..." My voice trails off as I feel a tear in the corner of my eye. Wiping it away, I take a deep breath and try to hold myself together. I want to keep talking, to explain my decision, but I feel like I might start crying if I say another word. Damn it, of all the times, why does this have to happen now?
"Elly, are you okay?" Mark asks.
I nod, but there are more tears in my eyes and my bottom lip is starting to tremble. If I speak, he'll know I'm crying, and that's the last thing in the whole world that I want. Instead, I quickly walk around the corner, to make sure no-one can see me.
"Elly, where are you?" he asks.
As tears stream down my face, I close my eyes and try to concentrate on pulling myself together.
"Elly," he says again, "I need you to tell me where you are".
I take a deep breath and sniff back the tears, but my nose is running and I'm quickly becoming a complete mess. Opening my mouth to reply to Mark, I realize my bottom lip is trembling so hard, I can't possibly say a word.
"Hang on," Mark says, and there's silence on the other end of the phone. "You're at a service station near Salisbury, aren't you?" he says after a moment.
"How do you know?" I say, my voice cracking up with tears. I wipe my eyes again, but it's no use. Sitting down on the ground, with my back against the wall, I try to take another deep breath but instead I just start sobbing. I have no idea where this came from; a couple of minutes ago, I was okay, and now I'm an emotional mess.
"I have my methods," he replies. "Elly, are you sure you don't want to come back and go to your father's funeral?"
I sniff back some more tears as I wipe my nose on the sleeve of my jacket. "I don't know," I blurt out. Damn it, Mark must think I'm some kind of idiot kid right now.
"Here's what I'm going to do," he says. "I'm going to have a driver pick you up and bring you back to London. Just stay where you are and he'll be there within the hour, okay?"
"Can't you come?" I ask, trying to stay calm but fully aware that my voice is betraying my tears.
"I can't come right now," he says firmly. "The driver who's coming, Howard, is one of my best men. He'll bring you back to London. Also, I'll arrange with the staff in the service station for you to be able to buy anything you want in the little restaurant they have there, and I'll take care of the bill. Okay?"
"You don't have to do all this," I say, wiping away yet more tears.
"Let me," he replies.
I nod, swallowing hard. "When I get back to London," I say, my voice still trembling, "where should I go?" I pause for a moment, wondering whether I might get to spend the night with Mark. "Should I -"
"Howard will take you back to your mother's house," Mark says firmly. "That's where you should be tonight".
"Okay," I say, realizing I'm not really in a position to argue with him. I s wear to God, I have never, ever felt so pitiful and weak and powerless as I feel right now, but at the same time I desperately need Mark's help to get me back to London, and I feel strangely warmed by the thought that he's becoming increasingly involved in my life. I want to see him, and to thank him in person.
"Everything's going to be okay, Elly," he continues. "You'll come back to London and you'll go to your father's funeral. That's what you want, isn't it?"
I pause for a moment. "Yeah," I say eventually, and I realize it's true: I do want to go. Even if it just means standing in a stupid room and staring at a stupid box, I want to be there. For the past few days, I guess I've been managing to avoid confronting the finality of what happened, but now I know I have to stand there and look at the coffin and know that my father's body is in there. Even though I'm a mess right now, sitting on the floor outside a motorway service station, with tears streaming down my face, I somehow feel like I'm strong enough to go back to London and face the things I have to face.
"Elly," Mark says. "Are you sure you're going to be okay while you wait for Howard?"
"Of course," I reply, realizing that the tears have slowed. "I just feel like I wanted to get away, you know?" I pause for a moment. It's weird, but even though I don't know Mark very well, I want to talk to him about this stuff. "I feel like -"
"Elly, I have to go," he says suddenly.
I take a deep breath. "You do?"
"I'm in the middle of a very important meeting. I stepped out to speak to you, but there's only so long I can keep these men waiting. If I put the phone down, will you be okay waiting there for Howard to show up? You'll recognize him immediately. I doubt there are too many other black limousines in the area".
"Okay," I say. "When will I see you again?"
"Soon," he replies, but he sounds a little distracted.
"At the funeral tomorrow?" I ask.
"Maybe".
"Maybe?"
"I'll try".
"I'd like it if you're there," I say.
"I'll try. I promise".
I pause for a moment. "Okay". At that moment, I hear Rob calling my name in the car park, and I realize I need to go and tell him that I won't be going to Exeter. "I have to go too," I explain to Mark, "but I really want to see you soon. I need to thank you for everything".
"It was nothing," he says. "Good luck. And wait for Howard". With that, the line goes dead and I'm left sitting on the ground, staring straight ahead. I guess I should probably call my mother and tell her I'll be home soon. She'll be pissed off, but I'll just say I was out with friends. Sighing, I haul myself up off the ground and put my phone away, before wiping my eyes again and trying to pull myself together. As the sun briefly breaks out from behind the gray clouds and casts a little warmth on my face, I realize that at least I won't have to go back into that freezing cold van. I guess Rob will be able to tell that I've been crying, but I figure he won't make too much of a fuss. He and I had a little fun together for a few days, but we were never a proper couple or anything like that. It's not like we were fused together.
Eight
1895
The bag containing Elizabeth's body rests at the edge of the ice-cold water, gently lapped by the rising tide. It is long past midnight, and Mr. White and I have been waiting for almost half an hour. All around us, the darkness of this freezing night carries an ominous presence, and I cannot help but wonder if Inspector Matthews is out there somewhere, watching us. I can only hope he has come to pay witness to the terrible deed that is about to be completed, and that soon he will have all the evidence he needs; otherwise, Elizabeth's death will have been in vain.
"Where is that cursed woman?" Mr. White mutters, glancing about for some sign of Lady Red.
"Patience," I reply. "She'll be here".
"Why can't we just dump the body and leave?" he asks, turning to me. "Doesn't she trust us?"
"
It's not a matter of trust," I say. "It's a matter of tradition. This is how the game has been played for more than a century, and it is not our right to make changes". I take a deep breath. While everything I said is true, there is another reason why we must wait for Lady Red to arrive: I need Inspector Matthews to see that she is present, so that he understands I was telling him the truth when I told him about the game.
"How many are down there?" Mr. White asks, staring into the depths.
"I shouldn't like to guess," I reply. "Scores, that I know of. Perhaps even hundreds". I look out at the expanse of water. The previous Mr. White once told me that there is an entire second city hidden beneath the Thames, full of the secrets discarded by the citizens of London. Bodies and objects, sunk into the cold water in an attempt to get rid of them. Should the river ever run dry, all these secrets will be exposed and London will find itself once again having to face its nightmares. As the previous Mr. White noted wryly, it is no coincidence that the major buildings of government are all next to the river; that way, it is easier to dispose of things that need to be hidden.
"This is intolerable!" the current Mr. White says, starting to get more and more agitated. "When I joined the game, I was told that I would be able to go to bed with ladies you had selected! So far, there have been no young ladies, and yet here I am, freezing to death by the edge of the water".
"Just wait a little longer," I insist. "You'll get what you're waiting for".
"That Elizabeth girl was good enough," he spits at me. "Why could I not have fucked her before I killed her?"
"Because that is not how the game works," I reply. As I stare at Mr. White's frustrated face, I come to the conclusion that Lady Red has made a terrible mistake. When she selected a new Mr. White, she chose a man hides a rich seam of violence and anger just below a veneer of respectability. The previous Mr. White was always able to remain calm, and to keep his passions in check, but this latest inhabitant of the role is a much more dangerous and unstable man. Were the game to continue, I feel that Lady Red would have to quickly dispose of him and find another candidate. I must confess, I am a little surprise that she could have made such a terrible choice. Then again, perhaps she feels that she needs a more vicious Mr. White for the time being.
"We give her five more minutes," he says eventually, "and then we -"
"She's here," I say, spotting a figure walking toward us. I can see immediately from the outline, and indeed from the gait, that it is her. "Steady your tongue," I whisper. "She is unlikely to be in a good mood at such a late hour".
"Gentlemen," Lady Red says as she reaches us. "I trust I did not keep you waiting too long". She turns and looks down at the bag containing Elizabeth's body. "Is this Ms. Elizabeth Cavendish? What a shame. She seemed like such a nice young lady, but I suppose it can be rather hard to tell until one has tried her out".
"It was unavoidable," I reply.
"Perhaps," she says, "but this is the second girl in a row to have ended up dead without even getting past the first stage of the game. Do I need to be worried about your conduct, Mr. Blue?"
"Absolutely not," I reply, hoping beyond hope that Inspector Matthews is out there somewhere, listening to us. "Both Sophia Marchant and Elizabeth Cavendish had their own beneficial qualities, but in the end I determined that neither of them would be suitable to pass on to Mr. White. I certainly wouldn't want to waste his time". Looking over at Mr. White, I can see the frustration in his eyes. He is desperate to get hold of a girl, and he believes that I am standing in his way. In some ways, he is absolutely correct; I have grown weary of sending girls to be hung up in his dark little room, and in many ways I consider him to be the epitome of everything I dislike about the game. It gives me considerable satisfaction to consider that he will never get what he wants. The game will surely be over soon.
"Perhaps it would be wise to get on with things," Lady Red says. "It's late, and I had hoped to get an early night tonight. I must address some kind of political gathering tomorrow morning, and I'm afraid I haven't given much thought yet to what I might say".
"Agitating for political change again?" I ask, as Mr. White and I pick Elizabeth's body up from the ground.
"Just some ideas and suggestions," Lady Red replies with a smile. "You know me, Mr. Blue. I am fully aware of my position in society as a mere woman, and I would never dare to tell the great men of this city what they should do. However, I do think that it is acceptable for me to see if I can plant ideas into their heads. I suppose you could think of me as a rather forceful muse".
Together, Mr. White and I carry Elizabeth's body along the side of the quay, and finally we throw her into the water. Having been weighted down with a few rocks and bricks, the body sinks immediately beneath the surface and is soon gone. We stand and watch as a few bubbles appear, from air that was trapped in the bag, but finally the water becomes still once again. I cannot help but glance around at the darkness, wondering when Inspector Matthews might make his move. Surely the man is out there, poised to pounce? Surely he has seen enough already? I am quite certain that I persuaded him to give me one chance to prove my claims, so I am sure he must be here somewhere, watching from the shadows.
"Are you looking for something, Mr. Blue?" Lady Red asks.
I force a smile as Mr. White and I walk back over to her. "Not at all," I reply. "I was merely taking in the scene around us. London can be a rather forlorn place late at night, and sometimes I find it hard to believe that so many people could find a home in such a concentrated patch of land. Do you know, there are some who believe there might be as many as five or even six million people living here?"
"Fascinating," Mr. White grumbles.
"I see," Lady Red says, fixing me with a curious smile. "I hadn't realized you were a scholar of the city's history, Mr. Blue. Why, for a moment, I quite imagined that you believed we were being watched tonight".
I stare at her, as I feel my blood start to run cold. Does she know about my contact with Inspector Matthews, or is she merely guessing that I have been up to something? The last thing I need to do is panic just because she has made an insinuation. "I do not know what you mean," I reply, trying not to let my panic show. "Sometimes, I am merely given to contemplating the great mass of this city, and..." I pause for a moment, realizing that I have started to ramble. "Do you never think about such things?" I continue, stammering slightly. "Surely, with your political interests, you sometimes -"
"I do," she says, interrupting me. There's an awkward pause. "I do think about such things. And what about you, Mr. White? Do you ever think about such things?"
"Never," he replies firmly.
"No," she says, "I didn't think you would". She stares at me for a moment. "Nor do I think you would, Mr. Blue. In fact, it seems rather out of character. So tell me, who do you expect to see come looming out of the darkness?" She bites her bottom lip as she watches me. "Surely not that nice Inspector Matthews from New Scotland Yard? Is that who you think will come to your rescue? Oh, well, I'm sure he might have done, if he had ever received your message". Reaching into her pocket, she pulls out the letter I sent to Inspector Matthews earlier tonight. "Fortunately," she continues, "your manservant Martin chose to come to me with this missive. I must say, Martin is very wise. His true loyalties cannot be broken".
I stare at the note, and I realize with a sinking heart that Inspector Matthews is in all likelihood fast asleep in his bed, unaware of anything that is happening out here tonight. It never occurred to me that Martin could not be trusted, but now I see that Lady Red is a most formidable operator. She has extended her influence into every corner of my life, and I have made the fatal mistake of underestimating her. I trusted Martin with my life, and it has proven to be a terrible error.
"I must admit," she continues, "I am rather surprised that you are so keen to get out of the game, and also that you did not think to simply come to me with your request. Perhaps I would have let you simply walk away". She smiles. "Although, let us be honest with
one another, Edward. No-one has ever just walked away from the game, as poor Elizabeth learned to her cost. I liked her, Edward. I liked her a lot. Did you give up her life in an attempt to incriminate Mr. White and myself? How..." She pauses, as if she's searching for the right word. "How clever of you," she says eventually. "I wonder, though, if she is cold down there on the river bed? Do you think that perhaps she would like to get her lover back, so that she is not alone?"
Hearing movement behind my back, I turn to see that Mr. White has removed the knife from his pocket. He's a big man, and I'm quite certain I would not be able to beat him in any kind of physical confrontation, so instead I turn and run. Racing along the dark bank of the river, I see the street up ahead and for a moment I feel quite certain that I shall manage to get away. After all, Mr. White's size must surely count against him in the chase, and there must be -
Suddenly a shot rings out, and I feel a sharp pain smash through my left hip. I immediately tumble to the ground, landing hard and feeling the agony surge through my flesh. I try desperately to get up, but my left leg is no good at all and all I can do is stumble onward a couple of paces before I feel Mr. White grab my collar and start dragging me back toward the river. I reach up and try to get free, but his grip feels far too strong. Desperately, I try to think of some other way out of this situation, but soon I'm back where I started, with Lady Red standing over me. Smiling, she holds up her pistol.
"Mr. White is good with a knife," she says, "but when it comes to marksmanship, I'm your lady".
Lashing out at her, I almost manage to grab the gun from her hand, but she takes a step back. I reach around to grab Mr. White, but the pain in my hip is intense and I know that even if I got loose, I would not be able to run very far. Nevertheless, I am filled with the urge to fight for my life. Is this how Elizabeth felt when she was on my bed earlier tonight? I feel Mr. White take a firmer grip around my neck, and I brace myself for the flash of his blade across my neck. If I am to die, I suppose it is at least fitting that I should die in the same way as all those girls who have been lost from the game over the years. I tense, preparing for the knife to slash my throat, and for my blood to pour onto the ground.
