"Give over! If you can't pay for it, go home to your ma!"
"Aw, Lizzie Jane. You're so cruel and heartless."
"Heartless, my eye! A girl's got to make a living somehow."
The young men laughed good-naturedly. They were medical
students at the local varsity and fond of teasing the girls that lingered
in the noisy taproom of the Cock Bull, hoping to pick up a generous
client or two. Most of the women weren't pretty, their faces etched by
the harshness of their lives. They ranged in age from tender
adolescence to over fifty, the older women having to swallow their
pride and drop their price along with their underclothes. Lizzie Jane
was a big strong girl from the north country, her accent as broad as
her rolling hips. Somehow she'd managed to keep her sense of
humour along with a fine pair of bright rosy cheeks. Victor was
attracted to the young woman but neither he nor his friend would be
foolish enough to sample her wares. They'd seen the results of
rampant whoring in the wards at St. Barts. Syphilis, in its terminal
stage of purulence and insanity, was a powerful deterrent. But the
young men enjoyed the company of the wanton ones, so easy and
different from the prim girls of their own social class.
"You don't know what you're missing, you don't!"
As usual, Lizzie Jane was slightly tipsy. Most of the prostitutes
were, when they could afford it, as if the fake warmth of the booze
could somehow keep the chill of their wretched lives at bay. Victor
bowed theatrically.
"I regret, my dear Miss Lizzie, that my present circumstances
render me unable to partake of your delightful charms. I am, as you
19
know, nothing more than an impecunious student. Would that I could
fill up your purse with shiny gold coins!"
"Get away with you!"
The young woman pushed Victor away from her until he bumped
up against the long mahogany bar; not with any great malice, but a
mild exasperation borne of an ongoing but fruitless friendship. They
were lost causes, those two young lads, but she enjoyed their company
as much as they liked hers, for they treated her as a pretty girl and not
an end of beef on the butcher's slab. Lizzie glanced up at the clock on
the wall behind the bar. Almost turning-out time and nary a customer.
Perhaps she could pick one up on the short walk back to the miserable
room she shared with two other girls.
"Not much point stayin' on here!"
Lizzie muttered to herself as she swallowed the dregs of her gin and
water and reluctantly set the empty glass on the bar. The publican
winked and she blew him a mocking kiss, wrapping her woollen
shawl about her shoulders and leaving the taproom without so much
as a backward glance. Victor watched her shapely rear retreat with a
wistful expression and his friend slapped him on the back.
"I'm tempted, Tom. So tempted!"
"Don't be a fool, Victor. Come, there's just time for another before
the old man rings the bell."
Out in the cold, the young woman walked briskly, purposefully
towards the tall narrow rooming house on Dover Street. The cobbles
were slippery with ice beneath the thin soles of her well-worn boots
and she cursed as she almost took a tumble into the filthy gutter. It
was a freezing night, her breath a moist cloud in the chilling air. She
passed two men in heavy overcoats, hats pulled down almost over
their eyes, but they ignored her saucy invitation so she marched on,
chin up to greet whatever the lamp-lit shadows might bring.
Sometimes she felt as if she was invisible. It would be Christmas
soon and who'd have a package for Lizzie Jane?
Stop feeling sorry for yourself, my girl!
She had come from a large family and her parents were farm-
workers, eking a meager living to feed their ever expanding brood.
20
Lizzie had heard the streets of London were paved with gold, and it
had seemed so right to bid the exhausting world of muddy chores and
minding babies adieu. Well, she knew what the city's streets were
lined with and it smelled worse than the cow-dung on the farm...
The young woman's route took her down narrow Fournier Street
with its jacquard workshops, in which the descendants of French
immigrants worked with fine silk cloth. At the end of Fournier Street,
the vast stone edifice of Christ Church towered against the clear night
sky, its spire seemingly spearing the stars. Lizzie paused to admire
the elegant portico with its four immense columns. When was she last
in church? She shook her head in sadness. As she turned away to
continue the brisk walk back to her shabby lodgings, she noticed a
hansom cab approaching at a leisurely pace.
Well, better late than never!
Smiling broadly, Lizzie stepped up to the curb and waited for the
horses to draw to a snorting, stamping halt. Their nostrils were flared,
clouds of vapor drifting in the freezing air.
"There, now!"
Instinctively, she reached up to rub the closest horse's nose. The
familiar velvety sensation and the warm, pungent scent of the beast
made her feel at ease. She would try to get back home somehow.
There were different kinds of misery and the city's were grimmer if
truth be told.
The door of the cab opened and a little set of steps dropped down.
Lizzie peered into the pitch-black box of wood and leather but could
not make out the figure within. A gloved hand reached out to her,
beckoned her to enter. Confidently, the young woman stepped up into
the cab. She'd have money to eat dinner the following day, and
maybe a bottle of gin to keep the infernal cold at bay.
"Good evening, my dear."
The gentleman had a foreign accent. An American, if her ears
weren't deceiving her. That was a stroke of luck, for everyone knew
the Colonies were full of wealthy gents who'd made a fortune in
cotton or steel.
"Just visiting, are you, sir?"
21
Lizzie barely listened to the curt response the gentleman offered.
She was busy unfastening the bodice of her dress. Swiftly she
exposed her large firm breasts, proudly clasping them in frozen hands.
"The finest you'll find in the city, sir!"
The American appeared to be reaching inside his voluminous cape.
Lizzie closed her eyes, anticipating the cheery clink of golden coins.
Perhaps Christmas would come to Lizzie Jane. She lifted her breasts
higher, offering them as if they were her special gift to the silent man
who drew an eight-inch blade from his coat and slit Lizzie's throat
from ear to ear.
22
CHAPTER IV
A DECISION
Mary McGeever was snoring again. Lily sighed and lit the lamp on
the night stand, carefully turning it down to its gentlest glow. She
glanced at the other girl but there was no sign of her waking. The
curtains were parted a little, allowing a glimpse of clear cold sky and a
scattering of bright stars. Lily sat, hugging her knees through the
quilt, wondering what she should do next. It seemed tha
t men's
desires were inescapable. She had found an intoxicating power in her
ability to attract the opposite sex but being their prey and unwilling
plaything placed the boot unnervingly on the other foot.
It just won't do, Lily Warnock. It just won't do at all.
Lily reached under the bed for her carpet bag and retrieved a sheet
of writing paper and a fountain pen. Placing the paper in the pool of
yellow light on the night stand she began to write:
Dear Lord Thorburn (or may I call you Henry?),
I regret to inform you that I simply cannot bear Akenhead Hall!
You have been so kind and so generous to me and I am truly ashamed
to have been found lacking in domestic skills (by both the
housekeeper and the butler) so soon after arriving here. In truth, I am
a dreadful housemaid! I cannot return to Mrs. Jakes' establishment
for the reasons we have discussed but perhaps we could make a more
private arrangement to our mutual benefit? I would not ask, only I am
truly quite miserable here and obviously thoroughly unsuitable for the
position.
Missing your ticklish whiskers, Henry dear!
Your Lily
Lily read and reread the letter before folding it and concealing it
within her bag. It hadn't been such a bad life until the nightmare of
the American had sent her reeling into a whirlpool of fear. No doubt
he had returned to his homeland and she could resume her luxurious
demi-monde existence without looking over her shoulder. She missed
her French scents, fashionable clothes and sleeping until lunchtime.
She missed her kinder clients, ruddy-faced and whiskered like Lord
23
Thorburn, delighting in her youth and beauty and easy ways, so far
from the strictures of their own class. She missed the pleasures of the
flesh. Sex was a habit, like wine or opium and she was made for it.
"A filly made for riding", that's what Lord Thorburn said.
Lily's bottom still ached from the butler's caning and she could
smell traces of her conservatory assailant's semen lingering within her
body. Colonel Hanley of Bombay, no less – a bully and a bore whose
twenty-year-old wife was desperate to leave him. The servants had
been gossiping about various members of the house party and the
greatest disdain had been aimed at the Colonel. Recalling Julia
Hanley's frantic, wretched face, Lily made her decision.
I'll belong to no man. I am my own woman. They can pay and pay
well for the privilege of "taking" me.
Lily turned off the lamp and settled down to sleep.
* * * *
"Well, if it isn't luscious Miss Cunny." Colonel Hanley barred
Lily's way as she walked out to post her letter the following morning.
It was Sunday and she had crept out during servants' prayers, sneaking
away through the frosted maze of the large formal garden. Lily
clasped her letter tightly and looked defiant. She had made up her
mind to leave Akenhead and it would no longer matter if she was rude
to one of her master's guests. Quickly she stepped to right and left,
attempting to dodge the great brute of a man, but the Colonel caught
her both times.
"I want you again, sweet puss. You'll not escape me. Off to post a
letter are we? A love letter, I'll wager! Give it here and let me see."
"Don't you dare!" Lily whipped the precious envelope away from
the Colonel's grasping fingers but not before he saw the addressee.
"Lord Thorburn forsooth! Miss Sweet Cunt has friends in high
places, does she? My, my!"
Something in Lily snapped and she brandished the letter like a
victory flag.
"Yes, Henry Thorburn is a good friend! And he would never, ever
allow me to be treated in this manner! Now let me past, Colonel
Hanley or I will scream."
24
"Scream away, my dear. I'd rather enjoy that." The Colonel pushed
Lily against a tall laurel hedge and roughly squeezed her breasts
through her woollen coat. His fleshy mouth descended on her throat
again and she sharply brought up one knee, painfully catching him in
the crotch.
"Little bitch! I'll see you dismissed!"
Lily ran down the crunching gravel path, not pausing to glance over
her shoulder at the Colonel who leaned against the hedge clutching at
his groin. There could be no going back now. Thank heavens she
was warmly dressed with a winter coat and hat but – oh Lord – she
had only the tuppence to post her letter, not the train fare back to
London. The wide driveway to Akenhead Hall appeared beyond the
end of the formal gardens. Beyond the huge wrought iron gates lay an
uncertain future. She'd have to keep that tuppence for bread if all else
failed but she was used to living by her wits. Lily paused to fold the
letter and stuff it down her corset bodice. It was safe by her heart.
She marched down the driveway, feeling very small and vulnerable,
then through the enormous gates and out into the cold, unwelcoming
world.
25
CHAPTER V
ON THE RUN
Lily's feet hurt. It had been a very long day, trudging along icy
country lanes, stepping over the deep frozen ruts that would soon turn
to mud with warmer weather. Her toes burned and she suspected
she'd have chilblains if she couldn't put her feet into a nice soothing
basin of hot water. Perhaps running away wasn't such a clever idea
She had no idea. The lanes were quite confusing and poorly sign-
posted. Several times she had a vague sense of travelling in the wrong
direction but she couldn't be sure. Breakfast was many hours past and
her stomach grumbled rebelliously. What next? She had hoped to
charm a ride with some obliging gentleman but the only men to pass
her had been farmhands and the occasional vagrant. It was late in the
afternoon and the pale winter sun was setting, an orange orb above the
black skeletal trees.
What next, Lily Warnock?
It was going to be another freezing night. If she slept outdoors, she
might not survive to greet the dawn. Lily scanned her surroundings
for signs of a house, looking for a barn or some other outbuilding in
which she could spend the night. The faint outline of a chimney was
visible in a nearby wood and Lily climbed over a stile and walked
across a field towards the hidden house. The dusk gathered about her
like a cold grey cloak as she entered the wood, her heart beginning to
beat a little faster. Who lived in the house? Were they kind people?
She wondered whether she should try knocking on the door and
asking for help. She wasn't a vagrant. But what would they think?
What story could she give? The depth of her predicament began to
dawn upon her. A young woman with no money, not even a change
of clothes, running away from her position and guilty of assaulting
one of her employer's guests.
You're in a fix, Lily, my girl.
She had but one resource – her sex – and she had to pray an
opportunity arose for her to use it. Lily smelled wood smoke as
she
26
approached the house. Warm light spilled from a downstairs window.
Someone was in. Swallowing her fear, she knocked on the stout oak
door. Footsteps approached and the door opened just a crack.
"Yes?"
Lily felt wretched but she had to try her best.
"Will you help me, please? I seem to have lost my way and I need
a place to spend the night."
"Does this look like a lodging house?"
The voice was male, low-pitched and smooth. For some reason it
sent a shiver down Lily's spine. Suddenly she felt dizzy and
nauseous, utterly exhausted. The door opened further and she looked
up at a tall, rather handsome man.
"Please. I'm so tired..." Strong arms caught her as she fell forwards
in a near faint.
"Good heavens girl!"
Lily was aware of being carried into a warm room and laid down
upon a chaise lounge. She smiled weakly as the man leant over her, a
concerned expression in his dark eyes.
"Perhaps I should give you a drop of brandy. Will you take some?"
Lily nodded gratefully, already beginning to feel better. The man
moved towards a sideboard with an almost empty decanter and there
was a comforting sound of clinking glass.
"Drink this." A glass was pressed against Lily's lips and she opened
her mouth, aware of the sensuality of the action. Burning liquid
coated her tongue and slipped down her throat. She swallowed and
looked up into the man's eyes.
"Thank you so much."
The man removed the empty glass and crouched on the floor by the
chaise lounge.
"Should I send for the doctor? Are you recovered?"
Thoughts of being sent out into the freezing night made Lily
wonder whether she should reply in the negative but the thought of a
probing doctor who might be aware of the events at Akenhead Hall
were equally unpleasant. Common assault was a crime. No one
27
would believe her side of the tale. The letter crackled faintly as she
arched her spine and held out her hands.
"You've been so kind, Mr.–?"
"Faulkner. Lawrence Faulkner. How do you feel?"
Lily resisted the temptation to make a saucy reply. She would