I AWAKE WITH A start, having slipped off the settee and hit my head on the floor. Merde! I remember where I am: the empty room near the theatre. The last candle is burning now and it too is nearly spent, beginning to gutter. The place feels slippery with blackness, with the possibility of movement in the corners, at the edges of my panic.
Also, I am aghast to discover, there is the sound of footsteps. I scramble up and put myself behind one of the tapestries, press myself against the paneling. A key clanks in the lock. The door opens slowly, and light spills into the room. The Cockney enters carrying a candelabra with three tapers in one hand and in the other a glass carafe and a covered dish.
When he doesn’t immediately see me, he puts everything down with an oath, spilling wax all over the dish, and comes at the tapestries with both arms flailing. ¡Jesu! He will flatten me or knock me senseless. I step out; what else can I do?
“I’m here.”
I must have something to drink before I expire.
His shadow billows above me and onto the ceiling as he comes to a sudden halt. “Christ, woman. Scared me shitless.”
I point at the carafe, trying for imperiousness. “Is that for me?”
“Thirsty? Tho’t you’d be. Not just yet though, not allowed.”
Dog.
And the big man laughs at me. “Won’t let us get ya, eh? But you will, you’ll come round. You’ll ’ave to.” He yanks one of the wooden chairs to the centre of the room, places the candelabra upon it, then pulls over the other chair and sits himself down, arms crossed, legs spread. I smell a delicious aroma coming from the covered dish and wonder what it can be. Something with meat, and sauce . . . or gravy . . .
I move away to the edge of the room, use my haughtiest Spanish inflections. “Where is your friend, or should I say, associate? Your employer? What is he?”
He sits there, following my movements with his eyes. I don’t like this, not one bit.
“I want to know who you are,” I say. Where has it come from, this defiance? I need water; I need to get out of here! But even more than that, it seems, I need to know that they are not with him—the fiend. Oh god in heaven, that is the terrifying thought that has been slipping around in the shadows.
“The Society of the Exterminating Angel!” I say the name loudly, eyes glued to his face, watching for something, a flicker, a withdrawal, a sense of pride, anything.
He opens his eyes wider, but I can’t read them. Nothing in them of past or future, just of the moment, and the pleasure of his power.
“Please,” I ask, “let me drink something.”
“Come over ’ere,” he says, “and I’ll think abou’ it.”
This disgusts me. “No.”
I see swift anger mount his cheeks, swell into his brow. He glances over at the door, then back at me. He has just remembered, and so have I. He hasn’t locked it! I race over, grab the handle, twist and yank—and I’m in a corridor. Which way to turn? Then I go down with a mountain of man on top of me, crushing the air from my ribs. He gets to his knees, breathing heavily, gives my forehead a thump on the floor, lifts me under the arms, and returns me to the paneled room. He presses me up against the door, which he has closed and locked behind us.
“I know an’ you know,” he says against my hair, “that I could do anythin’ I want wi’ you an’ no one will ’ear it. An’ I’d like to do a lot.” I can feel his erection against my back. “My friend, as you call ’im, is makin’ final enquiries. All the bits an’ pieces comin’ together. We’ll soon ’ave ya. There’s nowhere for you to go, or ’ide. You’ll be found out, an’ take yer punishment for all yer crimes. That I promise you. Snooty jade.”
He releases me and steps away.
“I’ll wait ’til you’re broken. And you will be, after ’e finishes. Then I’ll look like your ’ero, an’ a Spanish widow loves her ’ero, isn’t that what you said? And I’ll ’ave ya.”
He picks up the tray with the carafe and the dish, unlocks the door. “Get yer facts in order, missy.”
And he’s gone. The candelabra remains, one of the tapers broken and cold but two still burning. It’s a good thing—the only good thing—because the last guttering candle from their first visit now expires. I am almost beyond fear. What in God’s name are they after?
I must recollect everything, have it all at the ready. And land on my feet.