‘So you see,’ she said to the accompanying men. ‘It is as I told you.’
James pulled hastily out of Augusta and tried to wipe himself on the grass before correcting his attire. His lover had stiffened and cried out with dismay on hearing Mrs Shaw’s voice, turning away and hiding her face in the tree’s bark.
‘I see,’ said one of the men, shaking his head. ‘Dreadful business. Full-blown nymphomania.’
The other gentleman merely folded his arms and nodded.
‘We have had our suspicions for years,’ he said.
‘Oh, how dare you!’ Augusta turned her face back to the company and hauled herself to her feet.
Seeing that her legs shook, James took her elbow, holding her steady.
‘How dare you, Rupert,’ she repeated. ‘Are there no depths to which you will not stoop? And you, Mrs Shaw! You, to conspire with him against me. For shame!’
‘This is one of your cousins?’ James asked, though he felt he already knew the answer.
‘Yes, we share a bloodline, though we have little else in common, including simple humanity.’
‘See how she raves,’ gloated Mrs Shaw. ‘She is unhinged by her excesses.’
‘Constable,’ said the other man, whom James supposed some kind of asylum quack. ‘Seize the patient.’
‘Leave her,’ snarled James, standing in front of Augusta. ‘She is as sane as you are.’
‘The corrupter does not wish to lose his prey,’ observed cousin Rupert.
‘Move aside, sir, or consider yourself under arrest for obstructing a police officer in the course of his duty. Not to mention gross indecency.’
‘Yes, arrest me,’ cried James. ‘I am guilty. But leave her.’
‘Mr Stratton,’ said Mrs Shaw, stepping towards him with a smile made of razor blades and hate. ‘If you value your liberty, leave us now. If not, I am sure the constable here will be able to raise some assistance to deal with you. Nothing will stop us from doing what is best for poor Augusta, least of all a backstreet pornographer.’
‘I will not let you take her.’
Mrs Shaw signalled to the policeman, who blew his whistle loudly.
Realising that his time for reasoning and remonstration was short, James turned to the cousin.
‘I know, for Augusta has told me all, that you covet her inheritance and you have no scruples in the lengths you will go to in order to obtain it. I suppose your pocket doctor does not know this? Do you, doctor? This man wants Augusta’s money. His motive is avarice and greed. Meanwhile, Augusta has the full control of her mental faculties and is guilty of no worse crime than falling in love. Do you treat your patients for love, doctor? Do you consider it an illness?’
‘Of course not, but the only women I know who would behave as Lady Heathcote has are prostitutes and nymphomaniacs. She is certainly not the former and so I have no hesitation in diagnosing the latter.’
‘But you are wrong!’
‘Oh no, young man, I am very seldom wrong and you yourself show some alarming signs of an overly passionate disposition.’
‘Do not presume to diagnose me, sir; I am a healthy man as she is a healthy woman. We do no more than act on God-given desires.’
‘Oh, so it’s God’s fault now,’ said Mrs Shaw with a waspish laugh.
‘Jezebel,’ spat James, seeing the reinforcements advance through the dark shrubberies.
Augusta clung tighter than ever to James, feeling perhaps that the time when she would be wrenched from him came close.
‘You will not,’ he vowed, ‘you will not take her, not while I stand.’
‘Step aside,’ barked the constable, braver now with his comrades at hand.
‘Augusta, my dear,’ said Mrs Shaw, her voice all false tenderness. ‘Come to your loving Mrs Shaw.’
‘I love him and only him,’ she cried. ‘You do not love me. You are in league with my enemies. How long have you been plotting with them?’
‘You see, she has such a dark imagination,’ said Mrs Shaw, turning to the doctor.
‘How can I be imagining what is here before me! I would say I could see it with my own eyes, but of course—’
‘You might consider,’ said Mrs Shaw, still speaking to the medic, ‘the possibility that her blindness is entirely hysterical. I have always thought it so.’
‘I had a blow to the head!’ screamed Augusta.
Rupert laughed. ‘So we see.’
James leapt forward and laid him out with one well-placed fist. Augusta, still clinging to him, staggered and became disengaged. In a moment, the doctor had hold of her, Mrs Shaw providing reinforcement at her shoulder.
James wheeled around, lunging towards them to try and retrieve Augusta, but the police officer and his cronies were all around now and they leapt on him, knocking him to the floor and pinning him down until he could kick and flail no longer.
By the time they raised him to his feet, handcuffed and bleeding from the lip, Augusta had been taken.
‘What is the charge?’
Uncle Stratton looked quite bilious as he stood on the other side of the barred holding cell at Walton Street police station in Brompton.
‘Affray. Resisting arrest. Public indecency.’ James quoted the list with dull resignation.
‘And all this happened at the Cremorne Gardens? Where you went with the young lady you have been so secretive about?’
‘Yes.’
‘The thing is, James, I’ve been warned to stop you poking your nose in affairs that don’t concern you.’
‘Warned against? By whom?’
‘I had a visitor – the lady in black who first enquired for you. According to her, you are to forget everything that you have seen and heard if I value my livelihood and my home.’
‘She threatens the shop?’
‘I believe so.’
‘She is Satan in black bombazine.’
‘She is convincing enough for me. James, I urge you to do as she says. Take whatever the magistrate hands down and then come back to Holywell Street and put all this behind you.’
‘I thought you believed in social justice.’
‘I do, boy, you know it.’
‘I have seen the most hideous of injustices. I cannot allow it. I must rescue that woman, Uncle, or I cannot live with myself.’
‘Rescuing women. One day whores, the next, aristocratic ladies. You cannot fight these people, lad. The odds are stacked too high against you.’
‘I don’t care what you say. I shall act according to my conscience. Uncle, you must back me. I cannot stay in here while she … they could be doing anything to her.’
‘They’ll let you go once they’ve set a date for your court appearance.’
‘In the meantime, they might be … ugh.’ James shuddered. He had visited the Bethlem hospital as a curious younger man and, although he supposed Augusta would be shut away in some more private, genteel establishment, the treatments would probably vary little from what was available to the poorest lunatics. An image of his love, strapped to a bed covered in leeches, made him blanch and turn away from his uncle, his hand over his mouth to suppress the rise of bile. She would not even see what they were about to do to her.
‘I can’t lose the shop again,’ pleaded Uncle Stratton. ‘Be reasonable, James.’
‘Am I to be reasonable at the expense of the woman I love? Be reasonable on your own account, Uncle. You ask too much of me.’
Uncle Stratton wrung his hands a few minutes more then left, shaking his head.
James went back to the stone bench he had been sharing with a variety of drunks and thieves and laid his head against the wall, shutting his eyes.
His head ached and he had not slept a wink since his arrest the night before. His mind raced with the knowledge of Augusta’s terrible predicament and he found himself alternating horrible imaginings of her fate with rage against Mrs Shaw and cousin Rupert.
Had this been their object all along? To have Augusta shut away in an asylum so that Rupert could assume power of attorney over all her wealth? Something must be in it for Mrs Shaw – a share of the money, he supposed. But how long had the plot been laid? Had she always been Augusta’s foe, or had Rupert made advances to her? It seemed unbearably cruel on the part of Mrs Shaw to introduce Augusta to the world of sensual pleasures and then use that to entrap her.
‘She should be in the asylum,’ he muttered. ‘She is unnatural.’
‘Wossat you say, boy?’ An old drunk in the corner raised his threadbare hat. ‘Speakin’ ill of a lady, is it? I hopes not.’
‘No lady,’ muttered James.
After a miserable, painful hour spent in a hell of his own contemplation, James was finally allowed to succumb to sleep. His dreams were disturbing, of ripe red lips and fat leeches, barred windows and bared breasts. The jangling of the locks woke him abruptly and he did not understand the words of the officer with the keys until he spoke them a second time.
‘Stratton, you’re out. Look sharp.’
He swayed a little on his feet, his head still full of swooping strangeness, and stepped carefully across the cell to its door, which was opened only enough to let him squeeze through.
‘You’re to present yourself at Westminster Police Court on Friday next at one o’clock sharp to answer charges,’ said the police officer who had arrested him, failing to meet his eyes. ‘These your belongings? One fob watch, one wallet containing sixteen shillings and sixpence, one silk topper, one jewelled tie pin.’
‘Yes, they are mine.’
‘Sign here then. You know where the Westminster court is, do you? Vincent Square.’
‘I will attend.’
‘Best not forget, eh? Next Friday. I’ll be there to give evidence against you. Keep your nose clean in the meantime.’
‘Are you personally acquainted with Mrs Shaw?’
‘I said, keep your nose clean.’ The officer gave him a sharp look.
‘Or did you happen to be on duty in the vicinity of the Cremorne Gardens?’
‘Let’s get you out of here.’
‘You have witnessed a crime – a most monstrous injustice. A lady as fully in possession of her wits as you or I, locked away in an asylum by malevolent relatives. Can you stand by and let that—’
Stratton found himself unceremoniously shoved through the door and down the steps of the station, landing ignominiously on his hands and knees on the pavement, eliciting huffs from passers-by.
It was a moment or two before he could collect himself. His head ached and his body was sore in all quarters after the desperate struggles of the evening. He was famished, having turned down the gaol-house breakfast, and he thought one of his fingers might be broken.
But that was mere background irritation compared to the huge canker of fear and despair pulsing in his breast. How was he to find Augusta? How was he to save her?
‘Jem? Oh, Jem. It’s you, ain’t it?’
He looked up and saw, through a fog of pain and bleached light, a familiar face looming down.
‘Annie,’ he said, surprise lending springs to his legs. He scrambled upright and stared. ‘Do I see aright?’
‘Your uncle said you was here. I came down soon as I could. What have you been up to, you silly boy?’
Her hand on his bruised cheekbone was soft and tender. He put his own hand upon it, holding her there for a moment.
‘You are not in the Lock Hospital?’ he said, feeling stupid at the obviousness of the remark.
‘No. I let ’em do their worst in the end. It was that or never get out of there – or so they said. I couldn’t stand it no more.’
‘You should not have to submit to such an indignity. It is an outrage. There is a lady in Liverpool to whom I mean to write.’
‘It’s all finished with now, Jem. Never mind me. What’s happened to you?’
He felt as if circles span around his head, little satellites, giving him glimpses of visions.
‘I ought to eat something,’ he said.
‘Oh, well, come on. Hyde Park ain’t far. We’ll get a potato and eat it by the lake, shall we? And you can tell your Annie all about it.’
On a bench beneath the leafy canopy of the park, James and Annie sat eating their potato and watching the ducks in companionable silence until Annie swallowed her last morsel and took a breath.
‘So, then. Your uncle didn’t have much to say to me, except “Where’s me rent?” Who’s been spoiling your lovely face?’
‘I need your help, Annie,’ he said, vestiges of an idea having formed somewhere in the chaos of his head.
‘My help? What can I do? Tell me what’s gone on.’
‘I can’t. If I say too much, there may be a price to pay, heavier than a few cuts and bruises. But you can help me.’
‘What would you have me do?’
‘There is a house not far from here – a very grand house in a very grand part of town. It would help me enormously if you could visit that house – the back door, the servants’ entrance – and ask to speak to your cousin Paulette.’
‘I don’t have a cousin Paulette.’
‘No, of course. But I need to see her, most urgently. It is more important than I can say. Will you try?’
‘Well, I s’pose,’ said Annie dubiously. ‘What’s the address?’
‘Fifty-six Eaton Place. The back entrance can be approached via the mews behind it. There is a cook and a young girl, a scullery maid, her name escapes me. Knock on the kitchen door and ask to speak with Paulette. I would give you a note, but she cannot, I think, read. When you are alone, ask her to name a time and place when we can meet, as soon as can be arranged. Today is best, tomorrow may already be too late.’
‘Too late for what?’
James shook his head and held out his hand. ‘Too late,’ he repeated, his voice cracking.
‘All right, all right, lovey. Deario. I ain’t never seen you like this. That address again?’
He repeated the address, and the mission.
‘And will you wait here?’
‘I will wait here. If you can return with her, so much the better. If not, just remember the time and venue she names.’
‘Right. No time like the present then. And I wouldn’t be doing this for anyone but you, you know.’
‘I am sensible of it. Thank you. You will have my undying gratitude.’
She winked. ‘I’ll have to think of something to do with that.’
Annie rose and pecked James on the cheek before bustling off over the ripe green grass, her crimson gown, far too fancy for the daytime, catching every eye.
He was asleep on the bench when she returned, pumping him by the arm to rouse him.
‘Oh, how could I have slept?’ he chided himself, trying to dismiss the blur from his head by shaking it vigorously. ‘Did you see her? What news?’
‘She can’t get away this morning but she has an errand to run in an hour or so. She can meet you in Eaton Square Gardens at three o’clock. She says to wait if she ain’t there on the dot.’
‘Of course, of course. Three o’clock. I hope it is not too late.’
‘She seemed very frightened. She thought the scullery maid might be on to us. Said something about her having a lot of strange cousins.’
James clasped his brow, trying hard to think in competition with the throb that threatened to burst through his skull.
‘Come on,’ said Annie, motioning him up. ‘Let’s get you home. You could do with a lie down, by the looks of you.’
‘I need to go the apothecary. A tot of laudanum in some brandy. I can scarcely see through this headache.’
‘I’ve got a bottle in me room, lovey. Come on.’
The temptation to lie down on Annie’s bed, amongst her garters and ribbons and pots of rouge and discarded petticoats, and dream the day away was immense but James knew that he must do his utmost to remain alert and awake. To miss the meeting with Paulette was out of the question.
So he stayed just long enough to swallow a measure of brandy mixed with laudanum, screw up his face at the odd sickly-sweet fire of it, and let Annie stroke his forehead for five minutes until the worst of the pain began to recede.
‘I mustn’t sleep,’ he said, resisting Annie’s attempts to draw him down into her arms.
‘But I’ve missed you. You need to rest, Jem.’
‘If I sleep now, I will not wake. Better that I walk the streets until the hour of my meeting is nigh. Thank you, Annie, for all your kindness. I don’t deserve it.’
‘You still owe me undying gratitude,’ she pointed out, a mite sulkily. ‘I might want to collect.’
‘Another time,’ he promised, kissing the top of her head and hastening through the door.
The streets, usually his wide domain, which he traversed with confident ease, seemed different today. Narrower, darker, dirtier – and threatening who-knew-what around each corner. James found himself looking sideways and watching his back, passing clear of alleyways and archways. Every eye that met his was assessed and glared at in return, every street vendor pressing against him earned a sharp oath.
In one night, the city had turned against him, and now it was his enemy. He found himself thinking everybody was in on some huge conspiracy against him, and all knew of Augusta’s misfortune, and his part in it.
If it weren’t for me. The words tortured him, running incessantly through his head and yet he knew that Mrs Shaw and Rupert and the rest of their coterie would have found a way to entrap Augusta in the end, with or without him.
Passing an art gallery, he saw a watercolour scene of a garden in the south of France, and the thought of how he and Augusta had sat making starry-eyed plans for European travel scant hours before made him stop and crouch down by the window and have to shut his eyes until the wave of despair passed.
Where was she now and what were they doing to her? He did not dare think of it. The brandy and laudanum sat uneasily with his bile and he did not want to risk the indignity of vomiting on the street. No, he must think only of freeing her from whatever imprisonment she suffered.
They would have to leave the country as precipitately as could be arranged. A mail train to Dover, a boat for hire. As for bringing the guilty to justice, well, that seemed too formidable a task. Let them have her money, let them have her property. To bring all to light would harm Augusta’s reputation anyway. If she could be free and with him, they might live as peasants treading grapes in the French vineyards for all he cared.
Without having realised where his feet trod, he found himself before the Society for the Improvement of Fallen Girls and Women in Little Ormond Street.
Perhaps Mrs Edwards would care to know what manner of woman her friend Mrs Shaw was? Perhaps she should be warned not to send any further unfortunate girls to that house in Eaton Place? Perhaps he could extend the scope of his article about the Contagious Diseases Act to encompass the shameful treatment of women in general?
All these on his mind, he hastened up the steps and rang the bell.
‘Mr Stratton wishes to take a moment of Mrs Edwards’ time,’ he told the maid, who looked a little alarmed to see him. ‘Excuse my face,’ he said, essaying a rueful smile.
She came back a moment later.
‘I’m afraid Mrs Edwards is busy, sir.’
‘Afraid, are you? No doubt, living in a prison like this. Step aside – I will see her.’
He had marched across the hall to Mrs Edwards’ office before the maid could cry out a warning.
Two women bent over Mrs Edwards’ desk, examining a document closely. When he entered the room, they looked up. Mrs Edwards gasped in affronted wrath while her companion’s eyes narrowed to gimlet proportions.
‘Mrs Shaw,’ said James, low and with precise enunciation.
‘Mr Stratton, you were not invited in,’ said Mrs Edwards. ‘Kindly leave us.’
‘You know this woman well?’ he asked of the refuge keeper, indicating a thumb in Mrs Shaw’s direction. ‘You know what a great friend she is of the unfortunate?’
‘Get out. I will call for a police officer.’ Mrs Edwards went to the window and pulled up the sash.
‘Where is Augusta?’ demanded James of Mrs Shaw, who merely stood, smirking slightly, on the other side of the desk. ‘What have you done with her, you evil bitch?’
Mrs Edwards began to wave frantically out of the window.
‘Hold, Patricia,’ said Mrs Shaw calmly. ‘This fellow need not detain us.’
‘Augusta. Tell me where she is or I swear I’ll take you by the throat and—’
‘Hush! Such a passionate young man, aren’t you, Stratton? I’ve told you, haven’t I, Patricia, what interesting tastes he has. How he treated my poor little Augusta – drove her to nymphomania.’
‘You lie!’
‘But what if I were to tell you, Stratton, that you have done a great many people a great deal of good?’
‘What?’
Mrs Shaw waved downwards at the document on the table.
‘My share of Lady Heathcote’s fortune is rather substantial – the Heathcote cousins tried to palm me off, of course, but I am not a woman to be trifled with. I held out for my thirty per cent. I feel I earned it, after all those years with that silly little trollop.’
‘You have sold her! Thirty per cent? Thirty pieces of silver! I hope and trust you will meet the same end as that miserable traitor.’
‘You dare to cast moral opprobrium on me, Stratton? You, who are no better than a common fortune-hunter? Better the money should go where it now will – towards this refuge and the unfortunates within – than straight into your pocket, as you designed.’
‘It was never my design,’ cried James, beyond self-command now. ‘I am here now because I care for her – because I love her, with her fortune or without it. Tell me where she is and I will take her away from you and all those who wish her harm. We will never make any claim on the money. We will disappear and you will never hear from us more.’
Mrs Shaw laughed scornfully. ‘A poor effort from a man of such imagination, Stratton. No. Remove yourself now unless you have developed a taste for the hospitality of the police cell. Go and comfort yourself that Augusta’s loss is the immeasurable gain of so many young women less fortunate than her.’
‘Who on earth could be less fortunate than Augusta at this moment?’
‘I see a police officer, a pair of them,’ said Mrs Edwards, still at the sash. ‘Shall I cry murder, Millicent?’
‘Let us give the young man one final chance to leave of his own accord.’
Defeated, James backed out of the room, but before he left, the slightest thread of an idea occurred to him, and he spoke again.
‘Well, you have done your worst,’ he said. ‘You have her money and I must throw in my hand. Well played, Mrs Shaw. You have won the prize. At least, I suppose, I gave Augusta some pleasure before you laid down your cruel cards on the table.’
‘You did,’ she conceded, and her face reflected quiet but utter triumph.
James left without further remark, ready to beat a path to Eaton Square Gardens.
Amidst his rage and anxiety, he could at least find comfort in having one piece of the puzzle in place. Mrs Edwards and Mrs Shaw were in league. Perhaps Mrs Shaw had even conceived this diabolical plan as a route to Mrs Edwards’ heart, for there seemed to be an intimacy between them beyond that of platonic friends. Augusta was no more than a sacrificial lamb to her, immolated on the altar of Mrs Edwards.
And she had hired him on the assumption that he would abuse his position and attempt to win Augusta’s heart and, thereby, her fortune. The thought gave him pause. Did it make him unnatural, that this had not crossed his mind? Never for a moment had he considered it even possible that Augusta would entertain the idea of marrying him – although, of course, his own situation rendered the possibility void. Had Mrs Shaw known of his unfortunate marital status, would she have hired another man for the job?
She had misread him, and perhaps her attribution of vile motives to everybody might be her downfall. She would not expect him to pursue Augusta now that the money was locked away in the possession of her cousins. She would expect him to fade quietly back into his Holywell Street life, perhaps casting around for a rich widow or another vulnerable and propertied young woman. It conferred a tiny advantage on him, that she laboured under this misapprehension – she would not bother placing obstacles in the way of his search for Augusta, assuming him to have meant his last words to her sincerely.
He was a little early for his meeting with Paulette and he paced around the gardens as if they were a cage rather than a pleasant oasis of flowerbeds and trees, in the statuesque shade of its grand surroundings.
The church clock at nearby St Peter’s struck three and still there was no sign of Paulette. He left the gardens and circumambulated them restlessly, too strung up to be aware of the continuing ache and fatigue of his body.
At last she appeared at the corner and he ran across to her, seized her wrist with both hands and dragged her, half-laughing, half-protesting, across to the gardens.
‘Rose for your lady love?’ asked the flower seller beneath the lamp post by the gate, but he ignored the suggestion and pulled Paulette inside the fences while the vendor chuckled at what she no doubt saw as a lover’s impetuosity.
‘Mr Stratton!’ exclaimed Paulette, once he had sat her and himself down on a bench beneath a spreading London plane tree. ‘I’m all a-flutter.’
‘I beg your pardon, Paulette. I must express my heartfelt thanks at your coming here. You do me a great favour.’
‘It was a little difficult to get away, but once Mrs Shaw was gone out of the house—’
‘Yes, she is not at home; I know that. What I do not know – what I must know – is where Augusta is.’
‘I hardly know, sir, I wish I could say.’
She was at once frightened and upset at James’s intensity of manner and he could see that she genuinely desired to help him. He quelled the urge to dash his fist against the bench and spoke more gently.
‘I believe they have taken her to an asylum, Paulette. I need to know which one.’
‘I’m not sure how I can—’
‘Don’t be afraid, I don’t mean to shout at you.’
He took her hand and held it affectionately, using its smallness and vulnerability to still the rush of his blood and remind him that none of this was Paulette’s fault.
‘Just think for me, Paulette, and tell me, if you can, what happened last night. Did Mrs Shaw return to the house with Augusta?’
‘Why, yes, sir, they all came back late, after midnight, it was. I was abed upstairs but I heard the clamour of it, we all did. Her Ladyship was weeping and screaming fit to wake the dead. We all got up and stood about the landing, listening to what was happening.’
‘And what was happening?’ James could barely stand to breathe, so precious was every word Paulette spoke.
‘Well, we all got the idea that Miss Augusta was taken bad, while she was out. A doctor was there, saying it was hysteria and nympho-whatnot and he’d find a bed for her in the morning.’
‘A bed for her? At an asylum? Think, Paulette, did he mention any names, any places?’
She shook her head, tears glistening in her eyes.
‘And when did they take her? Do you recall?’
‘It was soon after they came in. I suppose they must have thought of a place to take her after all, but I did not hear. Everything was very confused, very garbled and poor Miss Augusta shrieking over it all … It quite froze the blood to hear her …’
Paulette shuddered and James felt the vibrations, echoing them in sympathy.
‘So she was taken away, in the middle of the night? Did Mrs Shaw go with her?’
‘No, she stayed here with the other gentleman, not the doctor. They went into one of the drawing rooms and we didn’t hear nothing after that. We saw the cab take Miss Augusta away.’
‘A hired cab, no livery or anything?’
‘Just a hansom, sir.’
‘Where could they go in the middle of the night? To a more general hospital, perhaps, not an asylum? An emergency ward? A prison, even?’
The possibilities jostled each other in his mind, each bigger and meaner than the last.
‘I’m sorry,’ whispered Paulette. ‘You really do care for her, don’t you?’
He gave her a weak smile. ‘Yes, I do.’
‘I wish I could be more help to you. I wish I knew where Dr Tarbuck took her.’
‘Wait.’ He frowned, squeezing her fingers between his so that she winced a little and tried to unlace them. ‘You know the doctor’s name? I thought him to be some specialist in diseases of the brain, but he is her regular physician, I suppose? Has he treated you, while you have lived at Eaton Place? Do you know where he might keep his consulting rooms? Harley Street?’
He stood up, unable to keep still while ideas whirled so fast.
‘Harley Street,’ he repeated. ‘It’s as good a place to start as any. Tarbuck. Thank you, Paulette. Thank you.’
‘No, no,’ she said, rising to her feet and taking hold of his arm before he could march off towards Marylebone. ‘No, he isn’t the family physician, Mr Stratton. I recognised his voice but not from seeing him in Eaton Place.’
‘Then where?’
‘He is the doctor at the refuge, sir. He treated all us poor girls there. And he weren’t none too kind about it either.’
James inhaled so deeply he felt faint and smacked his hand against his forehead.
‘Dear God, but I’m a fool,’ he wailed, causing an alarmed Paulette to take several steps back. ‘The refuge, of course, of course. And to think that I stood, bare yards from her, only an hour ago …’ He dashed his forehead again and kicked the bench.
‘Please calm down,’ said Paulette tremulously. ‘You frighten me, sir.’
‘There is no time to be lost,’ he said, looking at her, but unseeingly. ‘They could, even now, be removing her to some remote asylum. Even now. I must gain mastery of my wits and think … let me think.’ Once more he commenced to pace up and down the paths, head clutched in hands, eyes on the paving slabs.
‘I must get back,’ said Paulette, eyeing the gate.
‘Oh – yes – but must you?’ He saw her again, and was aware of her, an idea occurring to him. ‘No, I’m sorry, you won’t do, they’d suspect something at once … Yes, run along, dear, if you must.’
‘I’m a little worried for you,’ she said timidly. ‘Are you well?’
‘Quite well.’ He smiled, with an effort, and took up her hands, kissing her fingertips. ‘You may have saved us all, Paulette. Come, I will walk you to the gate.’
This time he bought a spray of roses from the vendor on the pavement and she clucked and smiled her blessing when he gave it to Paulette.
‘They will think I slipped out to see a lover,’ she protested at the corner, but her cheeks were pink and her eyes dancing as she bade him goodbye and good luck before scampering back off to Eaton Place.
He stood for a while, breathing in the balmy rarefied air enjoyed by the metropolitan rich, before taking a determined path eastwards.
Annie was still in her bed in Holywell Street when he rapped on her door.
‘Annie,’ he called. ‘Annie, it’s me. Let me in. I need your help.’
She opened the door after a minute or two, yawning and tousle-haired.
‘Been dreaming of you,’ she said. ‘I thought I’d already earned your undying gratitude. What are you going to give me if I help you now? Guaranteed place in the heavenly choir?’
‘I don’t have God’s ear at present, but if I ever do …’
‘Sweet talker. Come in then.’
She plumped herself down on the bed and patted the place beside her.
Sitting beside her warm body, clad only in a thin nightdress, James fought to overcome the advance of sensual magnetism radiating from her body in waves. The cotton barely disguised her full, round breasts, even when she pulled a fringed paisley shawl over her shoulders.
‘Annie, I am about to ask a great deal of you. I don’t have the right to ask it and you have every right to refuse me, but I am going to appeal to your humanity and your … sense of sisterhood … and ask you all the same.’
‘Not sure I like the sound of this,’ she said, pulling the shawl tighter. ‘Go on.’
‘I want you to volunteer to be saved.’
‘Saved?’
‘I want you to present yourself at the doors of the Society for the Improvement of Fallen Girls and Women on Little Ormond Street and ask to be taken in.’
‘That’s funny,’ she said. ‘That’s more than funny.’
‘Why?’
‘I was thinking of going there anyway.’
‘Oh God, don’t!’
She laughed and stroked his bruised cheek.
‘You ain’t making sense, sunny Jim. You want me to go there, or you don’t want me to go there?’
‘Why would you go there of your own accord?’
‘I saw some things when I was in the Lock Hospital as I can’t unsee, though I wish I could. People mad with the syphilis, their faces half eaten away.’
Her voice faltered and she grew ashy pale and sweaty.
James held her in his arms.
‘It was a travesty that you were in that place,’ he said.
‘No, but perhaps it’s as well, lovey. Perhaps it was God’s way of showing me I could live a better life, look forward to a better end than those poor souls.’
She was weeping now. James had never seen her cry, never seen her anything other than chirpy and cheery. He was not sure why it affected him so deeply, but it did.
‘If you learn to read,’ he said, but he couldn’t finish the thought, realising with a sickening feeling that he had no plans to remain here and finish his personal tuition of her.
‘Well, that’s what I thought,’ she said, brightening a little and dabbing her eyes with a scrap of lace handkerchief. ‘At the refuge, they teaches you all that, don’t they? And you don’t have to pay no rent – because if I ain’t working, I can’t keep this room, can I? If nothing else, it’d give me time to think. I’ve never known nothing but whoring, Jem. I don’t know how to live any other way. If I go to the refuge, it might give me some ideas, you see.’
‘I don’t like their ideas,’ said James soberly.
‘Why not?’
‘I think they oppress the women within their walls. If you must go to a refuge, there are other, kinder ones, I hope. Mrs Edwards’ establishment is too much akin to the workhouse for my liking.’
‘Oh, I’d never set foot in one of those. My sister Mary went in and never came out.’
Annie shivered, nestling closer to James and resting her head on his shoulder.
‘My idea, in asking you to place yourself in the refuge, is to position you as a spy within its walls.’
‘A spy?’ Annie’s eyes were sparkling again, her imagination captured. ‘Lor’, really? You think I’d make a good one?’
‘I do. I would ask you to take your place in Mrs Edwards’ establishment and to try to find leisure to look around and find any locked doors, any inaccessible rooms within the building. I have a friend, you see, who is incarcerated there, against her will.’
‘Never your fine lady?’
‘That is by the by. What you need to know is that a helpless woman – and she is also blind – is held prisoner in that building, and I intend to free her.’
Annie gave him the most sorrowful of looks, the tears threatening, for a moment, to return.
‘I wish you’d come to save me, from the Lock Hospital,’ she whispered.
‘I tried. I came to the front office and ranted and raved.’
‘Did you really?’
‘I did, really. But they threw me out.’
‘Oh.’ Her sigh was rapturous, then melancholy. ‘Nobody’s never cared that much for me,’ she said.
He was silent, still filled with that unaccountable emotion her tears had drawn forth.
‘Will you help me, Annie?’
‘You want me to find the room where they’re keeping her? What’s her name?’
‘Augusta. Lady Heathcote.’ He doubted they would be using the Miss Quim moniker in such a stiff-starched moral atmosphere. ‘If there is a medical room, or infirm ward, try to have yourself placed there. I imagine they may check you over on arrival anyway. Take careful note of your surroundings. Listen for any cries, any whispered conversations. Anything at all.’
‘What if I’m discovered?’
‘You won’t be discovered. You’re a bright young woman, Annie, and you’re resourceful.’
‘I don’t much care for another examination, not after—’
‘Tell them about that – they will spare you, perhaps. But complain of a headache or … anything. I want you to see the doctor and to keep a watch on him. He will lead you to Augusta.’
‘What if I can’t find her?’
‘You have at least tried. I will keep a watch on the house, while you are there, to see that she is not removed. Tomorrow night, once you have had opportunity to fully reconnoitre the building, I want you let me in, through the back door. We will effect Augusta’s liberation together.’
‘Jem, far too much could go wrong. Far too much. And if the people are wicked, what might they do to us?’
‘Will you place your faith in me, Annie? I wish I did not have to ask it of you, but I give you my word that I will see to it you are unscathed, even if I must suffer as a result. Will you at least try it? If I am caught, I am caught – but I will see that you are safe.’
‘Well,’ she said, picking up her lace handkerchief again and fidgeting with its scalloped edges. ‘You’re really smitten with her, ain’t you?’
‘This is about more than love, Annie. It’s about doing right by one’s fellow creatures. Nobody else will come to her aid. It falls, therefore, to me.’
‘With a little help from good old Annie.’
She took a deep breath.
‘If you’ll seal it with a kiss,’ she said.
‘Of course. As many as you like.’
‘Pucker up, then.’
It was not technically infidelity, he told himself, lying in Annie’s arms on her disordered bed, if he kissed the woman whose assistance he relied on to rescue his love. It did not cast any shadow on his love for Augusta if he buried his face in Annie’s pillowy breasts and breathed in her scent of violet powders and gin-soaked lemon. All the same, he doubted any knight errant about to put on his shining armour and fight dragons for his lady love started his mission with his hand inside another wench’s skirts. Reluctantly, he withdrew before he crossed the line into flagrante delicto and sat back up.
‘Are you ready?’ he whispered. ‘We mustn’t miss a minute. They could, even now, be performing unspeakable horrors on her.’
‘Of course,’ said Annie, shoulders slumped.
He felt a moment of horrible, piercing guilt, then she picked up her shawl, slid it around her shoulders, hopped off the bed and said, ‘I’m ready for my new life, Mr Stratton. Annie the spy is reporting for duty.’
He kissed the top of her head, waited for her to don boots and outdoor clothes and led her down the stairs and through the shop.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Uncle Stratton left the customer he was showing leather-bound editions of pornographic texts to and came up close to James, hissing the question.
‘I have urgent business,’ said James, pushing Annie along towards the door.
‘With her? No. You have urgent business with me. I mean to keep my eye on you until all this trouble has blown over. Get to your room and get some work done – I refuse to subsidise this nonsense.’
‘You won’t be subsidising anything,’ snapped James. ‘I’m not a child and I won’t be told what to do and where to go. Good afternoon, uncle.’
He hurried up Holywell Street, ignoring the shout of, ‘Let’s hope there’s still a shop for you to come home to,’ that followed him along the cobbles.
‘What does he mean by that?’ asked Annie, looking back.
‘Never mind. I’ve had my fill of kicking my heels in Holywell Street. I don’t intend to spend another day of my life scribbling away at hack work to keep him in business. It’s time I spread my wings.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I haven’t the slightest idea.’
‘You’re like me then.’
‘Yes, Annie, yes, essentially I am very like you.’
‘I suppose she’s got money, any rate.’
‘She has, by rights, but not in actuality. It has been stolen from her by unscrupulous persons.’
‘Deario.’
They emerged from a passage into Little Ormond Street, the Fallen standing like a mixture of cloister and prison on the corner. James scanned it eagerly, as if he might find a way to see through the brick and locate Augusta’s place of captivity.
She is in there, somewhere – so close to me and yet so inaccessible.
‘Well, then, Annie,’ he said, turning to her and seeing that she chewed her lip, trepidation having replaced enthusiasm for her new role. ‘You see that there is an inn on the opposite corner of the street. That is where you might find me, in the event of an emergency. I mean to take a room overlooking the refuge.’
‘Right you are,’ she said, making an effort to portray spirit and pluck. She made to march off across the street, but faltered for a moment, holding on to his coat sleeve. ‘Are they very bad people?’
‘Only to those who stand against them. They will think nothing of you – you are just another unfortunate girl looking for help in their eyes. Be vigilant and be careful. I will be waiting at the back door tomorrow evening at midnight. If you cannot let me in, leave the refuge that night and come to me at the inn with all the information you possess and we will formulate an alternative plan. Most importantly, do not put yourself at risk. To lose one cherished … friend … to those people is insupportable enough, but two …’
He held her tight for a moment, his eyes damp. When she extricated herself, somewhat violently, and made a run for the refuge, his overwhelming instinct was to run after her and pull her back. But he mastered the rush of blood to the head and stood, his back to the wall, just inside the passage, watching her skip up the steps, crinoline swaying, and knock at the door.
Once she was swallowed up in the grey stone gloom of the refuge, he put his hand over his face and held it there, appalled by what he was doing. How could he have involved that poor girl in this hideous business? How could he?
Then he thought of Augusta, having torrents of freezing water poured over her with hosepipes and he forgave himself. Whatever it took to free her, so long as Annie remained unharmed, was what he must do.
He sidled along to the inn, afraid of being seen from the window of Mrs Edwards’ office, and slunk inside, asking to take the first floor front for the night before taking a pint pot of half and half up there with him.
He sat by the window, watching implacably as the shadows of evening began to fall on the refuge. Nobody came out or went in for a very long time. Was Mrs Shaw still there? What if she or the doctor had already taken Augusta away? The ifs and buts and holes and snags of his plan scratched away at his resolve, hour upon hour. It could never work. Even if Annie was able to purloin the back door key and let him in, what if Augusta was triple-bolted in and guarded in shifts? How was he ever to liberate her then? She might be in chains.
She had asked him once, if he could procure chains.
She had wanted him, another time, to play doctor, to diagnose insatiable whoredom and treat her accordingly.
Oh God!
The half and half made him feel sick and he felt he ought to eat, but he couldn’t stomach a morsel. The baked potato in Hyde Park was a long time ago now, its effects worried away to nothing.
If this plan failed, it was the French Foreign Legion for him.
Desert dwelling and relentless, gruelling physical effort. Sometimes he thought that was the life he deserved, after all. At least it would not require much thought, other than calculating the bare mechanics of survival.
But thousands lived such a life here in this city, he reflected, looking out at the street with a sigh. A crossing sweeper stood at the corner, a child of nine or so, thin as the railings outside the refuge. The world was such a wicked place – he was hardly the worst.
The pain in his body and head kept him awake all night, an unexpectedly helpful side-effect. He watched from the window but there was no sign of a carriage or of anybody being taken away. Just after dusk, Mrs Shaw walked down the steps, looking about her briskly as she pulled on her gloves.
Perhaps she is looking for me.
The night drew on, never silent, never holy. From the tavern downstairs, beery singing made the floorboards vibrate beneath James’ feet. In the refuge, the upstairs lights went out at nine. Mrs Shaw returned in a hansom and hurried up the steps, her head down.
The little crossing sweeper disappeared about ten o’clock, after handing over some of his hard-earned coppers to an oyster vendor standing on the opposite corner.
Which window, James wondered over and over, was Augusta behind? Who was with her? Was she in pain or was she well tended? And did she curse the day she had ever met him?
Then his thoughts turned to Annie. She would have swapped her frills and flounces for grey serge. Sackcloth and ashes. She would lie in a narrow dormitory bed, forbidden to speak. Was she creeping about the house now, looking for Augusta? What if she were found out? How could he have asked this of her?
‘Yes, well done, Stratton,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Destroy the lives of two women instead of one.’ He saw then that he had valued Annie’s life at lower worth than Augusta’s, and he was disgusted with himself.
But what was done was done, and he could do no other than wait for events to unfold. A chance to redeem himself was still available.
Midnight came and went, the candle burnt out, but still he dared not sleep. The darkest hours of night would be the best to secretly remove a woman, drugged insensible in all probability, to a waiting carriage.
In Mrs Edwards’ office, a low light still flickered. The drunks had all been tossed out of the tavern, to wander the streets to their homes or to other places, still open, or with secret basements where the carousing continued till dawn.
The street was as quiet as it was ever likely to be, shouts coming sometimes from the courts behind it, drunken singing from the cobbles as men staggered past. Down in Haymarket, the night would be in full swing, all the girls on the corners, the men sizing them up as they strolled by. In Holywell Street, the cats were out at this time, fighting and yowling, sometimes yelled at or doused with the contents of a chamber pot from the gables overhead.
James wondered that he ever slept at all, recalling the unearthly stillness when he spent the night at Eaton Place with Augusta. He would take her somewhere like that. Somewhere quiet, where the air was sweet.
He thought of it and his fantasies almost sent him nodding off at the window, but he always jolted back to consciousness after a second’s blacking out and gave the refuge another urgent scan to ensure he had not missed anything.
The dogs barked and the first cartwheels of morning creaked into action at no later than five. The church bells had rung the quarter hours all night, their chime infiltrating James’ brain and settling there so that he heard it constantly, the relentless background music of his watch.
Now he must last the day. How many hours? His mind was almost too tired to count, but at last he came to the answer – thirteen.
How would he stay awake through thirteen hours when his head ached so and his eyelids were coated with grit?
As soon as he heard stirrings downstairs, he went down and requested that the maid be sent to the stationers to buy him paper, pen and ink. He had determined to write his life story, in the hope that it would be lively enough to maintain a state of wakefulness.
It is the custom, when a man sets forth the history of his life, to begin with a portentous paragraph or two, a reflection on the nature of existence itself, perhaps, in stately foreshadowing of the grave and dignified nature of the personage whose exalted description shall form the body of the book, but in my case, I shall forego such intimations of greatness to come, for there will be none. My life is less significant than that of the crossing sweeper I see back at his corner this morning. I am no more than a scoundrel and a hack, but I hope my story might at least amuse, for it will certainly not edify.
Yawning, he dipped his nib into his ink bottle and, always keeping an eye on the building opposite, began his tale.
Trifling with breakfast, he described his gaolbird infancy, his parents and the house of Stratton. By the time he snatched a hurried luncheon, he was running errands for his uncle. He was still working on this wealth of anecdotal material when night began to make its second appearance, the shadows falling on the refuge walls.
At a little after nine, a carriage pulled up and a man, two men, went up the steps together. Men in the refuge? At night? One of them carried a bag. A doctor.
Now he had to put aside his writing in order to pace. A good deal of pacing was required. He almost stumbled on rising, for he was ridiculously tired and his head felt as if somebody had tightened a string around it, but he had made sure to eat well and keep his strength up for the ordeal ahead.
Now all would depend on how well Annie had managed to complete her portion of the task. For all her lack of formal education, she was a bright creature and very good at using her charm and force of personality to get her way. He felt he could rely on her.
The chimes rang out every quarter, and each time James’ heart weighed a little heavier and his head hurt a little more.
At a quarter before twelve, the time for action was upon him.
‘Cometh the hour,’ he muttered, ‘cometh the man.’ He was out of the side door of the tavern, in the warm summer night air, within a minute.
Nobody was in the street save him. He ran to Southampton Row and called down a hackney cab, asking for it to wait at the corner for him, pressing a sovereign into the cabbie’s hand and promising more if he would only do as James asked. The cab secured, he then made a slow approach of the refuge, giving its façade a wide berth in favour of negotiating the warren of side alleys that would take him to the back of the building.
All was in darkness, even Mrs Edwards’ office, although there could have been light on the unseen side of the house or in the long sheds that bounded the courtyard.
James flattened his back against the wall and waited.
It would be so easy to shut his eyes. He mustn’t shut his eyes …
He started and almost cried out at the sudden pinching of his arm.
‘Jem.’
‘Oh God, I must have—’
‘For heaven’s sake, don’t fall asleep on me!’ Her whispers were urgent and she sounded scared. ‘I’m risking my neck for you here.’
She stepped quietly out beside him, twirling the key on one of her fingers.
‘So she is there?’
Annie nodded.
‘I was so tempted to say that she weren’t and just leave here with you now.’
He took her hand and kissed it.
‘Thank you. It’s not enough, I know, mere thanks, but—’
‘Shh! No time for speechmaking. Are you coming in or what?’
He followed her inside the back door, in which she turned the key with her breath held, desperate not to disturb a soul.
‘You’ve seen her?’
‘No, I ain’t, but I know where she is. She’s in the sanatorium, in a little private room. I went there to ask for some magnesia for my heartburn, not that I’ve got any, it was just a ploy, like you suggested.’
‘Yes, yes.’
James looked warily towards the hall and staircase, a few yards away from the back kitchen door. Presumably the cook and servants slept in the eaves, or were ‘reformed’ prostitutes in the dormitory, for no staff members lay on pallets beneath the work surfaces.
‘At first I only saw a nurse in there. None of the beds was taken, but I noticed a door to a back room and I asked if that was the morgue for any girls what died in here. “What a morbid creature,” she says. “No, that’s for girls as might be contagious.” I makes out to be shocked and says “There ain’t no contagious disease in here now, is there?” She shakes her head, getting the magnesia, measuring it out. And then the door opens and Dr Tarbuck comes out. “You lied!” I shouted, making a big fuss, going all faint and whatnot. “Someone’s in there with the cholera or worse. Wait till I tell the other girls! Oh Lord, we’re all doomed in here.” Well, I had to lay it on a bit, didn’t I? Anyway, Tarbuck himself tells me to shut up and that there’s no diseased girl behind that door, only a sad unfortunate what’s gone mad from the harshness of life on the streets. “Poor thing,” I says. “I bet she’s seen the worst of it.” He smirks at that and says, “Actually, my dear, she hasn’t seen a thing.”’
James gasped. ‘Augusta. It must be.’
‘Well, so I reckoned. I took me magnesia, and I did it for you, Jem, for I hates that stuff, and off I went, to try and fiddle the key off the housekeeper. And I succeeded there as well, or you wouldn’t be standing here now.’
‘Indeed, indeed,’ said James, his mind racing with plans. ‘Annie, would you go to the infirmary and feign some illness? Say you must have a bed there for the night. I need you to distract the nurse so I can approach the back room.’
‘Jem, I don’t think—’
‘Let us go and see what the situation is there, at least.’
They passed through the kitchen and down some steps to the little door that led out on to the exercise yard.
The outbuildings were in darkness, except at one corner. He recalled Mrs Edwards telling him that the infirmary was there, although she had not shown him inside. At the time, he had presumed it was to protect him from the pall of sickness in the air, but now he was not so sure.
A low light in the only window in that part of the block drew him towards it.
‘That’s the main part of the infirmary,’ whispered Annie. ‘The room behind don’t seem to have no window.’
James shuddered, wondering what horrors might be taking place in there.
Suddenly, the back door handle of the main building rattled and he dragged Annie swiftly into the darkness of the chapel doorway, hiding there in the helpful shadows while two figures stepped out and crossed the yard.
One was Mrs Edwards; the other, the man with the bag he had seen arriving earlier.
‘It’s a very new form of surgery,’ the man said. ‘But we have seen some marked success in the asylums.’
‘You have seen women recover from nymphomania as a result?’
‘The desire for congress is reduced so far as to be extinguished.’
‘That is remarkable. I wonder if it is a procedure we could adopt here for our unfortunates?’
‘The clitoridectomy is, as yet, in its infancy. However, I am preparing a paper on it for the professional journals and trust it will be published in the next year or so. My hope is that this will lead to more widespread practice.’
The pair passed on into the infirmary block.
James had stiffened all over and was forced to put a palm flat against the wall for support. Nausea roared in his ears. He could guess what a clitoridectomy was, and he didn’t like the sound of it at all.
‘What was he saying?’ whispered Annie. ‘They’re going to do something to her?’
‘No, they are not,’ said James. ‘Not while I live and breathe.’
He hustled her out of the doorway and strode quickly up to the infirmary.
‘Go in,’ he said. ‘Occupy the nurse. Feign closeness to death, I don’t care how. Keep her facing away from the door if you possibly can.’
‘You aren’t going to do nothing stupid are you, Jem?’
‘I can’t promise that, I’m afraid. Stupidity seems to be somewhat natural to me. Now go. I will do what I can to get us all three safely out of here.’
He nudged Annie between the ribs, but before she stepped forward, she turned, hooked her hand behind his neck and kissed him, full and long, on his lips.
‘Just so’s you know,’ she whispered, before hurrying, shoulders hunched and head down, to the door.
He put his hand to his mouth and watched her, guilt lining his heart like lead. She was doing this for him.
He tried to dismiss all thoughts extraneous to effecting a quick and painless exit from the refuge for all of them and stood by the slightly ajar door, watching Annie’s antics through the crack.
She clutched at her chest and dry-heaved and staggered on to her knees until the languid posture of the nurse changed to one of briskness. She persuaded Annie on to a bed and bent over her, taking her pulse.
Now was his chance. He made a noiseless entrance into the room and slipped behind the nurse’s desk, examining the shelves of bottles over which she held dominion. He had to turn away from Annie and the nurse to do so, his nerves seeming to rattle audibly as he squinted to read each label.
Yes, chloroform, yes, laudanum. He swiped a bottle of each then ducked behind the counter to soak a cloth with the chloroform.
The nurse was still bent over Annie, feeling her forehead for signs of fever.
‘If you’re having me on, young lady,’ she was saying, but she said no more, for James pressed the chloroform-soaked flannel to her face until she fell in a bundle, almost on top of Annie, who had to leap off the bed quite smartly.
‘My apologies,’ muttered James to her recumbent form. ‘I hope you’ll understand one day.’
He approached the door at the end of the sick bay with caution, wondering that he had heard no screams or shouts of protest.
It was now that he wished he had something more than a paring knife tucked into his boot. No doubt the doctors would have a bag full of sharp and shiny weapons at their disposal.
He broke the empty chloroform bottle over a bed frame and handed its jagged remains to Annie.
‘Your weapon,’ he said, then he put his ear to the door and listened.
Low voices could be heard, but there was no way of catching their words. Augusta was silent. She must be drugged. If so, it would be difficult indeed to remove her from here.
‘Who’s in there?’ whispered Annie fearfully.
‘I don’t know. If we could only make them come out.’
‘Leave it with me.’
Annie went to the medicine shelf and commenced picking up the bottles of medicine and pills and hurling them about the room. The first shattering of glass was enough to bring Mrs Edwards and Dr Tarbuck running out of the inner room, neither of them bothering to look sideways, where James stood against the wall.
‘Mercy me, another lunatic!’ exclaimed Mrs Edwards. ‘What has she done to Nurse Ryall? Dr Tarbuck, help me to restrain her.’
But Annie held them off with her broken bottle while James took his opportunity to enter the room behind.
Augusta lay, strapped down on a bed, naked from the waist down but clearly conscious. She was gagged, which accounted for her silence, but her unseeing eyes were wide and fluttering with panic.
Leaning over her, stroking one of her hands and speaking to her in a low tone, was Mrs Shaw. The surgeon was intent on his box of scalpels and knives, so much so that the appearance of another blade at his throat made him splutter with astonishment.
Mrs Shaw looked up immediately.
‘You,’ she snarled, standing.
He had shut the door behind him, muffling the continuing crash of breaking glass and accompanying screams.
‘Yes, Mrs Shaw, me. I must ask you to release Augusta, or risk the neck of this pillar of the medical establishment.’ He spoke the words with bitter sarcasm.
Augusta made an inarticulate sound behind her gag and her body convulsed in its bonds.
‘Release him immediately, scoundrel.’
She came closer. James uncapped the bottle of laudanum with his teeth and forced it between the lips of the doctor, which were slack with fear. Once a good quarter of the brown liquid had glugged down the surgeon’s throat, he let go of him, letting him slump to the floor in an opiated haze.
‘No surgery for him tonight,’ said James, brandishing his paring knife in Mrs Shaw’s face. ‘And I have some left over for you. Do you have a taste for laudanum?’
‘Get out of here, wretch!’ she shouted, loud enough for her voice to carry next door. ‘Patricia! Dr Tarbuck! Your assistance, please.’
‘I think not.’ He jabbed the knife and she flinched. ‘Release Augusta from her bonds. Do it or I swear …’
She seemed to believe he would hurt her. She knew, after all, that he could hurt a woman, even if it was in pleasure.
‘You are a fool,’ she muttered, working at the buckles. ‘Her fortune is given over to the safekeeping of her cousins. You will never get your hands on a penny of it.’
‘I don’t think you understand, Mrs Shaw. I don’t care about the money. I care about Augusta. You may enjoy the wages of your sin as long as you like. But do remember, Mrs Shaw, what those wages ultimately are.’
She sniffed. ‘You will be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your days, mark my words. And saddled with a penniless blind woman. She will be no more than a burden to you, as she was to me.’
‘Well, you are free of her now,’ said James roughly, pulling the untethered Augusta upright, wishing he could be more gentle in view of her apparent stiffness, but aware of the need to be as hasty as possible. The blade still close up to Mrs Shaw’s skin, he had her lie on the bed in Augusta’s place, strapping down only her wrists before draping his arm around his love’s shoulder and supporting her towards the door.
He had left the laudanum bottle by Mrs Shaw’s head.
‘You might like a drop,’ he suggested, looking back at her. ‘A moment’s relief from what must be a terrible gnawing at your conscience.’
‘Conscience,’ she returned derisively, but he stayed to spar no more, snatching up a handful of surgical instruments on his way out.
The infirmary was a wasteland of broken glass. Mrs Edwards had laid herself face down on the bed beside her insensible nurse and was whimpering softly, far from the capable woman he had seen up until now.
As he drew closer, he saw that Annie and Dr Tarbuck were at daggers – or broken bottles – drawn, each circling the other slowly, making feints now and again.
The doctor spoke in a low, authoritative voice designed to bring Annie to her senses, but of course, she was immune to this.
‘Now come on, girl, you know this cannot end well for you. Be good and put the bottle down and you will be well taken care of.’
‘He lies,’ said James laconically.
Dr Tarbuck leapt around, confronted by James’ fist, each finger divided by a glinting blade.
‘Good God,’ he cried. ‘And now a madman too.’
‘Let us pass and no harm will come to you.’ Using his armoured fist, he guided Tarbuck away from Annie and held him against a bed, the points pricking the doctor’s throat while James directed Annie to look for the infirmary key.
Once she had found it, he nodded at Dr Tarbuck and wished him a good evening, sweeping swiftly on to the door, Augusta tripping and weeping in his wake.
Annie turned the key in the lock and they stopped for one deep, cleansing breath before heading for the house and door that gave access on to the street.
James scattered the surgical instruments on the doorstep and lifted Augusta, who had been limping, into his arms.
‘Southampton Row,’ he said to Annie. ‘That way. Quickly.’
The sound of a window smashing somewhere nearby led impetus to James’ steps. It would not take long for Tarbuck to free Mrs Shaw and have the pair of them try to break their way out of the infirmary. But he felt confident that they would not give too strenuous a chase. Augusta was not important to them, after all, now that the power of attorney was signed.
All the same, while she was at liberty, they could never rest easy in their beds.
Thank heaven, the cab still stood at the corner of Southampton Row, the horse snorting and pulling at the rein.
James climbed in, helped Augusta up beside him and lent his hand again to Annie. The cabman turned around and, seeing Augusta still wearing a gag, stared, then blinked.
‘Where to, guv’nor?’
James stared and blinked back, realising somewhere amongst all the adrenalin that he had no idea what to do next.
‘Excuse me,’ he muttered, unbuckling the gag and removing it from Augusta’s mouth. ‘I …’
Augusta, after coughing fit to strain her ribs, recovered her voice, but it still sounded hoarse when she spoke.
‘Eaton Place,’ she said.
‘We cannot!’ said James.
‘We can. We need money. I have my mother’s diamonds. We can go there – Mrs Shaw will not be there, after all – and get them.’
She was right. They had no money between them, save the small amount in James’ bank account, and were unlikely to go far without it.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Eaton Place.’
The cab jolted into motion and James wondered what he ought to say. What could one, did one, say at such times?
‘Cor, that was a close one,’ said Annie cheerfully.
And what to do with Annie? Where would she now go?
‘Diamonds,’ said James. ‘I will go in to get them. I know where you keep them.’
‘You will have to break in. I have no key and I cannot dare let the servants see me. They are so in thrall to Mrs Shaw.’
‘What about Paulette? She has helped me. Helped us.’
‘She is just a girl. I don’t want her placed in Mrs Shaw’s line of fire.’
‘Neither do I. I rather thought she might come with us – as your maid. But that was when we thought we would have your money.’
Augusta sighed. ‘I have been such a dupe.’
‘So have I. It cannot now be helped.’
The lovers spent the rest of the journey in sober silence and a tight embrace, reflecting on the close escape Augusta had had from the surgical knife. Annie chirruped away beside them, still apparently as high as a kite after their adventure, but her words fell on ears that, if not quite deaf, were effectively muffled to anything but their private thoughts.
Eaton Place drew nigh too soon. The mews were not yet locked and gated, some of the residents being out in their carriages even at this late hour, so James stepped down from the hansom, bidding the driver wait for him in the hope that he would not be kept long, and walked along the cobbles to Augusta’s stableyard.
The small brougham that was her only conveyance – retained more for form than for usage – was out. No doubt it would be found in the environs of the refuge, appropriated for Mrs Shaw’s personal employ.
He hastened through the empty stable and out of the back door that led into Augusta’s rear yard and garden. The house was in darkness, but that same sash window, a little loose in its frame, through which he had broken in before served his purpose on this second occasion.
He swung one leg over the sill, listening intently for any signs of nocturnal life in the house. There appeared to be none. Creeping in and tiptoeing across the ballroom floor, he kept his eyes fixed on the doors at the end. From there, it was an easy and familiar journey to the hall and up the stairs.
He paused at the top and breathed in the Eaton Place air. All the times he had spent here, pleasuring himself with Augusta – all those times …
He should never have accepted the commission.
Too late, now, for such regrets, though, and he moved with fixity of purpose to Augusta’s chambers, conscious of the need to hurry, lest Mrs Shaw should guess the game and disturb him at it.
Yes, the diamonds were still here and he paused to catch a breath. It had been his fear that Augusta’s nefarious cousins or Mrs Shaw might have taken them. Even the servants, caught up in the whirlwind of events, might have thought the time propitious to abscond with a handful of choice sparklers.
But the jewels were here, intact, and he filled Augusta’s enamelled and japanned boxes to the brim with the best of them, sorting rapidly through sapphires, rubies, emeralds, pearls until no more could be fitted in.
Crossing to her dressing room, he snatched a handful of gowns off their hangers and draped them over his arm, congratulating himself on his presence of mind as he did so.
As he emerged back into the chamber, a light fell across the opposite wall and he saw his erect figure in shadow. He dropped all that he held and whirled around, whipping the trusty paring knife from his boot once more, the only other weapon to hand being a hairbrush he had used, on occasion, on Augusta’s rear. The sight of it had awakened an untimely throb below his belt, a throb which had not quite abated when he turned to face his opponent.
‘Oh.’ He laughed and passed a shaking hand across his brow. ‘Paulette.’
‘Mr Stratton,’ she whispered, shaking no less. ‘I thought perhaps you were Mrs Shaw, or even Her Ladyship come back …’
‘Her Ladyship is never coming back,’ said James gravely.
‘Have they taken her?’
He shook his head. ‘I must say nothing, for it is unfair to burden you with the knowledge. Here.’ He picked up a handful of the jewellery he had not been able to fit into the boxes and held it out to Paulette. ‘Take my advice, Paulette. Leave London with this. Sell it in some distant city. Buy yourself a life.’
‘Oh, sir,’ she said, staring at him, unable to accept the strings of necklaces and flashing brilliants. ‘I ain’t a thief, whatever else I may be.’
‘It is not stealing. It is a gift. I am Her Ladyship’s intermediary and I give you her blessing.’
‘Really? You are sure?’
‘Quite sure, Paulette. Take it, please.’
She put trembling fingers on the handful of jewels, then accepted them into her cupped hands. James put his hand over them, briefly patting his approval, then he bent and kissed Paulette’s cheek.
‘Will you do as I ask, sweet one?’ he whispered. ‘For me?’
‘Oh,’ she said, quite overcome, tears gathering in her eyes.
‘Put as great a distance between yourself and Mrs Shaw as you can. It is what I intend to do. And now I must go. Farewell and keep yourself safe.’
He squeezed her shoulder and left her to fill the pockets of her dressing gown with unexpected bounty.
He left via the front door, feeling every inch the gentleman thief as he clutched the selection of jewellery boxes and gowns to his chest, almost tripping over the hems of the latter. At the corner, the cab still waited.
‘Now then, my man,’ he said, climbing back up with Augusta and Annie. ‘I wonder if there is an inn with rooms anywhere in the vicinity of London Bridge Station to which you could take us?’
‘London Bridge?’ said Annie. ‘Why would I want to go there?’
‘For the boat train,’ said James under his breath, not wanting to make the cabman party to more information than he could help.
‘I ain’t going on no boat train,’ said Annie. ‘I ain’t going on no boat.’
‘We have no alternative but to leave the country,’ whispered James urgently. ‘Augusta and I cannot stay here.’
‘Well, that’s as maybe, but I ain’t going.’
‘Annie …’
She shook her head.
‘Water gives me the horrors,’ she said. ‘Big open stretches of it, with waves and suchlike. You won’t never get me on a boat. Nor on a train for that matter. Ain’t that the line where they had that horrible accident last month?’
‘At Staplehurst? I suppose it was. Well, what if we go to Portsmouth instead, or Southampton?’
But Annie was resolute.
‘I can’t go with you anyway,’ she said. ‘You don’t want the likes of me along of you. You want to be together and I …’
She broke off, curling her fingers into tense little fists.
‘Annie, you have saved us. We owe you everything. You are never, ever unwelcome. I can’t cast you into the madness out there, I can’t.’
‘That madness is my life, Jem,’ she said, but her voice was strange and tight. ‘It’s what I know and what I’ve always known. And what you’ve always known too, but now you’ve got another life to lead, and it’s best I leave you to it.’
‘Annie, no!’
‘Give us one of your toy boxes, then, and I’ll leave you be. I’ll try and be a good girl and find a good man. I know they exist now, thanks to you, Jem Stratton.’
‘I can’t let you …’
But she had snatched one of the boxes from the seat and already had a foot out of the cab, looking for the pavement.
He made a lunge for her.
‘Please don’t leave this way.’
She eluded him, jumping lightly down onto the ground.
‘Don’t touch me, Jem, or I can’t …’ she said in a strangled voice. Her back was to him, her shoulders shaking.
‘Annie, for Christ’s sake …’ He was close to jumping out after her, but the sound of wheels rounding the corner of a street beyond made Augusta clutch his wrist and beg to leave Eaton Place.
‘All right, all right,’ he said, in an agony of spirits. ‘London Bridge, and please make haste.’
The cabbie cracked his whip and the conveyance made a jolting start.
‘I will write,’ shouted James to Annie, who was running now, jewel box hidden somewhere about her skirts. ‘Collect your mail at my uncle’s shop. But you must learn to read first!’
For the first minutes of the journey he was quite overcome with emotion and even felt like pushing away Augusta’s hand when it fell on his thigh and stroked it. She knew nothing of Annie, of that dauntless spirit, so generous and giving. Oh God, he had used her ill. He sent a silent prayer that she might find happiness and comfort, even at his own expense, for he felt at that moment that he would endure any trouble if it meant she could avoid it.
It was only when he became aware that Augusta wept silently at his side that his attention was deflected to his traumatised lover.
‘Oh, my pet,’ he said, sliding his arm around her and bringing her wet face down on to his shoulder. ‘What a lot of mischief I have brought about. But you are safe now, and you are cared for and loved. Nobody shall treat you ill again.’
‘I wish it could be true,’ she sobbed. ‘I wish it so.’
The inn with rooms was found, and the patrons very put out at being roused from their beds to light their guests upstairs, although it was in the nature of their line of work. The hiss of steam and clank of engines from the railway line outside could scarcely be slept through under normal circumstances, but James felt he could give it a heroic try.
The door shut upon them, and a false name given to the innkeeper along with the money up front for his trouble, Stratton guided Augusta to the bed and fell exhausted beside her.
‘It is terribly noisy,’ said Augusta. ‘I shall never sleep.’
‘Did you sleep much at the refuge?’
‘I did little else for they drugged me each time I awoke. I know not how long I was there. How long was I there, my love?’
‘No more than two days. I was awake for all of it. I’m afraid I will slip away quite soon, my love. Please do not take offence if I cannot keep you company in your wakefulness.’
She reached for his hand, clasping it in hers.
‘How could I take offence at anything you do, my love? After all you have risked for me, all you have done for me? Did they mean to kill me?’
‘They did not tell you their intent?’
‘No, for they treated me as a person without wits, even though Mrs Shaw, at least, knew well that I was as sane as I have ever been. They told me nothing.’
‘I heard the doctor conferring with Mrs Shaw. They meant to excise a certain portion of your anatomy. But I need not horrify you with the details, for the danger is passed.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘They have your fortune. Nothing else is of importance to those … ugh.’ Unusually for James, his vocabulary failed him.
‘I suppose you are right. All those years I thought Mrs Shaw—’
‘Cared for you?’
‘Yes. What a fool I am.’ She laughed mirthlessly. ‘A blind fool.’
‘You cannot help your blindness. Perhaps, if you could see, you might have understood her motives. I held a suspicion of her from the first.’
‘Did you really?’
‘I have never met such a woman, and I think it likely I never shall again. Perhaps your life has been too sheltered for you to realise the true extent of her unusualness.’
‘Doubtless it has.’
James yawned fit to crack his jaw. ‘Dearest, I simply must sleep. Let me undress you and put you into bed.’
Poor Augusta, still in the thin cotton shift she wore on the operating table, was quick and easy to disrobe. For the first time, James was able to unclothe her skin and handle her bare flesh without any urge to expend further attentions on it. He was exhausted and still trembling from the night’s exertions and the only siren tempting him tonight was sleep, deep, black-lidded and dreamless.
He placed the covers over Augusta and then undressed himself. Only when he lay down beside his lover did he realise how painfully and profoundly he ached. From his throbbing head to his weary feet, he was a man of sorrows. And he looked as if he had just staggered out of a boxing ring too.
His final thought before sleep was that it might be best to send Augusta into the goldsmiths to have her jewellery valued and sold. Certain conclusions would probably be drawn from his appearance, and he didn’t want to alert anybody’s attention to him. But, on the other hand, they would certainly try to cheat a blind female customer. No, best he went after all. Perhaps his appearance would serve to intimidate them into honesty. And then the tickets would be bought and the boat boarded and then they would roll upon the waves – the waves, the rolling waves …