Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

B eth slept late and when she did rouse, she was sluggish and heavy headed. She suspected she may have caught a chill from her soaking the night before. It took her a long time to rise from the very comfortable bed, and she was only driven out by a need to use the chamber pot.

Venturing to the window she judged from the angle of the sun that it was well past noon. She noticed that the windows were barred which seemed odd for a third story room. The next thing she noticed was that her clothes were missing. Her valise still stood beside the bed but all the clothing she had packed was gone. Only her sketchbook and toiletries remained. Her boots were gone too, she discovered, after bending down to check under the bed.

A prickling panic skated over her skin, and she went to the door and found it locked. Full-blown panic assailed her now and she pounded on the door, calling out. But no one came immediately.

Turning she surveyed the room and went back to the windows and discovered they were locked fast, and no amount of tugging could open them.

Her heart thudded and the fear that always came when that organ became erratic, forced her back to the bed to sit and try to breathe normally. Years of practice brought her pulse and breathing back under control and cleared her head somewhat.

She reviewed the previous night's encounter with the enigmatic Mrs Cummings and remotely elegant Mrs Temple, what kind of house was this? A charity? She had seen no evidence of bibles and neither Mrs Cummings nor Mrs Temple had uttered any of the usual epithets, prayers or homilies that tripped off the tongues of pious ladies bent on doing good works.

It was at this point, that the door opened to reveal Mrs Temple herself. She bustled in, followed by Betsy carrying a tray, and another maid carrying clothes. At the sight of the clothes, she relaxed a little.

"You're awake my dear, how fortunate. Here is your tea, you have slept most of the day away you know."

"I have?" Beth faltered. "What time is it?"

"Five o'clock," said Mrs temple calmly, directing the maids to lay down their burdens.

"No! It can't be! No!" Beth felt tears start to her eyes. "The stage leaves at four, I can't have missed it again!"

"It seems you have my dear, but never mind, you can catch it tomorrow if you wish."

"No, no, no!" Beth clutched her head in distress .

"My dear don't upset yourself so!" Mrs Temple patted her shoulder.

Beth looked up and said, "Why was my room locked?"

"Was it my dear? One of the maids must have locked the door not realising it was occupied. We keep the unused rooms locked you know."

Beth stared at her; her tone was so reasonable that Beth wondered for a moment if she was losing her mind. Her brain felt fuzzy, and it was hard to focus. "But-"

"Now why don't have a cup of tea, and you will feel much better," said Mrs Temple pouring a cup from the tea pot on the tray.

"No, I don't think-"

"Drink it my dear, it will make you feel more the thing, you will see." Mrs temple held out the cup and saucer with a fixed smile that didn't reach her eyes. A cold shiver ran down Beth's spine, and she put out a hand to push the proffered tea away.

"No, thank you, I would rather dress now and leave. I am very grateful for your hospitality, but it is time I left."

"Oh, but you can't leave yet my dear. You must pay for your bed and board."

"Of–of course. How much do I owe you?"

"Oh, you won't pay us in coin, you silly girl!" chortled Mrs Temple.

"No? Then what-?" Beth swallowed, dread starting to build under her ribs.

"You will drink your tea first, I must insist," Mrs Temple held out the cup again.

When Beth still didn't take it, she sighed and nodded to the two maids .

Beth shrank back with a squeak of fright as all three women converged on her. The two maids pinned her to the bed and Mrs Temple loomed over her, gripping her jaw to force it open, and using a dropper, deposited several drops of something bitter on her tongue.

"You really should have cooperated you know, it would be much easier for you if you did," said Mrs Temple.

Beth spluttered and coughed until her eyes watered when they let her go. When she tried to rise, she found her legs wouldn't hold her weight.

"What- what did you give me?" she gasped.

"Just laudanum my dear, it will help you to relax."

Beth's vision narrowed as she stared at Mrs Temple who seemed to be a long way away down a narrow tunnel.

"Why-?" gasped Beth.

Her question more of a whisper, went unanswered as the maids dragged her to her feet and removed her night gown. They sponged her down and dried her, then dressed her in a gown with tight lacing and a low neckline, and one of them brushed her hair and sprayed her with rose water. The scent made her sneeze.

"There now," said Mrs Temple "Aren't you pretty as a picture? Lie down, you can rest now, like sleeping beauty waiting for your prince to come." For some reason Mrs Temple seemed to find this exquisitely funny. It amused the maids too.

She pushed Beth down gently onto the bed, which the maids had remade and arranged her on her back with her hands claspe d at her bosom. And Beth couldn't do anything about it, her limbs were too heavy, and she couldn't keep her eyes open.

Vaguely she heard the sounds of the maids tidying up, building up the fire and then the door shut, and she was alone in blessed silence. She thought muzzily that she must get up, but her body wouldn't obey her.

She had fallen from the frying pan into the fire.

She really must get up, run.

The idea was ludicrous, her body wouldn't move. She struggled but lost the fight and slipped into heavy slumber once more.

She woke to soft candlelight and the sensation of someone touching her bosom.

"Ah, sleeping beauty awakes," the voice was male and not one she recognised. She blinked heavy lids, and got the impression of a male face, clean-shaven and smelling of lavender looming close. She tried to move, but her body was still heavy and reluctant to obey her.

"My dear your beauty has slain me," murmured the voice, and she felt thin lips tracing kisses on her neck and bosom, long fingered hands squeezing her breasts. Panic and loathing welled up inside her, but she couldn't do more than utter a moan of protest, which the creature mauling her, took for encouragement.

"Ah yes, ma belle," he panted his hands moving lower, rucking up her skirts. She whimpered shuddering and tried to move her legs together when she felt a hand land on her thigh .

"My little virgin is shy?" Her tormentor chided. "Do not be my dear, great pleasure can be obtained once a little pain is endured. Shall we get the pain over with quickly? Or shall we savour it, draw out your surrender as I take your sweet little cunny and make you bleed?"

Horror cascaded through Beth at this description and the tone of glee in the voice.

"Yes, I think so, ma petite. The blood is so very important to my pleasure after all. I do hope you will bleed for me my sweet."

Beth gasped something incoherent. This must be a bad dream. It couldn't be happening.

"I shall lick it off you, that first blood, and then I shall make you scream."

Seb spent a fruitless day with a rising sense of panic, sick dread and frustration, in equal parts. But with nightfall, came the news he had been dreading and waiting for.

A flower girl in Covent Garden had seen a girl answering to Miss Whittaker's description. One of the mudlarks brought him the news, and he repaired to Covent Garden in all haste to interview her.

The girl wasn't much more than seventeen herself, although her eyes looked older. Accepting a shilling for her information, she nodded at the portrait and told it freely.

"Aye I seen ‘er. She looked mortal frightened, poor thing. All bedraggled and wet, clutching her bag like it was a lifeline she was, scrunched up in a corner out o' the way of the crowd. I seed Mrs Cummin's sidle up to ‘er and talk to ‘er. She went off with Mrs C. right enough. They allus do. I'd a warned ‘er if I'd ‘ad a chance, but I ‘ad a customer see. Nothin' I could do once that ‘arpy ‘ad her claws in ‘er."

"Mrs Cummings is a procuress, yes?" asked Seb grimly, that sick feeling he'd been nursing all day increasing.

"Yep, you're a sharp one and no mistake. Pity little miss innocent weren't more awake. But o'course they never are."

"Which house does she procure for?"

"The White Orchid, in Bridge St, number seven. Mrs Temple's place. Very discreet, ‘igh class that one, yer wouldn't know it were a bawdy ‘ouse by the look o' it. Virgins fetch a ‘igh price from the toffs. Thou it's out o' season. Most o' the Lords ain't in residence. Mind, Mrs Temple ‘as a list of wealthy patrons long as yer arm. No doubt she'll be sending the word out she ‘as a tasty morsel and see which one stumps up the most rhino for the privilege." She laughed, showing a chipped tooth.

Seb gave her a crown for her information and walked away seething, to the sound of her appreciation. "Thanks, guv, you come back anytime you want to know anything. I'll be right here, Sally Green, just ask for me."

He ignored her and set off for Bridge St and then stopped. His instinct was to just barge in there and grab Miss Whittaker. But Mrs Temple would not be without protection. He could deal with one or two, even three men at a pinch, but more than that would present a problem. He stood a better chance of effecting a smooth and rapid extraction of Miss Whittaker if he took some back up with him.

Sending off a mudlark with a message to Ben and two of the men, he made his way more slowly to Bridge St, where he located the house in question and settled to wait for their arrival.

Sally Green was right, the house looked innocuous from the outside, a narrow three-story terrace, that was likely bigger on the inside than it looked. He took the time to navigate to the back of the house and check out the rear entrance, formulating plans in his head. He had returned to the front by the time Ben and the other two men had arrived, and he gave swift instructions.

Ben was to summon and hold a cab for their getaway, the men to go to the rear of the house and penetrate it from there, he would go in the front.

Seb knocked and the door was opened by a big man with a bent nose, likely a veteran of the ring, although he was dressed respectably enough in black breeches and jacket. Seb shouldered his way in and demanded, "A young girl with blonde hair and blue eyes was brought here last night, where is she?"

The man's mouth twisted up in one corner, the other was pulled down by a scar. "You'll have to wait your turn my bully. Lord M. won the auction. He's upstairs, deflowering her as we speak!"

Seb saw red, and seizing the man's throat in his hand, pushed him back against the wall and said through clenched teeth, "Which room? "

The man flailed and choked, his face turning purple. Seb let up the pressure just enough so that he could speak. "Which room?"

"Third floor, second on the left," gasped the man. Seb punched him in the jaw, knocking him out. He could hear his compatriots fighting their way through from the back of the house, but he didn't wait for them, taking the stairs two at a time, he reached the third floor in moments and locating the door second on the left, kicked it in.

The door flew back with a crack, and he beheld a slender man, dressed only in shirt and breeches kneeling between the legs of a young woman on a large bed. Her skirts were flung upwards obscuring her face. The man had his cock in his hand and his expression of shock at Seb's unexpected entrance would be comical if the situation weren't so dire.

Seb, hoping that the man downstairs had not led him astray, that this was the right man, and he had arrived in time to stop a tragedy, marched into the room and plucked the man from the bed by the scruff of his neck and flung him to the floor.

Bending over him, he growled, "Are you Lord M.?"

The hapless lord nodded and squeaked when Seb pulled him up by his shirt and hit him flush in the face. The man's head went back under the force of the blow and his body sagged.

"You'b broken mb nobe" the man yowled, thickly, blood coursing down his face.

"I'll break more than your nose, you sick monster! Preying on innocents!" Seb kicked him square in the cods. The man screamed, curling round his maimed privates and tried to c rawl out of Seb's reach.

"You'll never despoil a virgin again!" Seb growled, hauling him back, he kicked him again and again until the man passed out.

Disgusted, Seb threw him away and turned his attention the bed.

The girl was lying still, her skirts still up showing her pale shaking limbs and the nest of golden curls at their apex. Seb tried to avert his gaze and pulled down the skirts quickly, to reveal a pale-faced version of the portrait. It was indeed Miss Whittaker. Her eyes were open and deep blue, with such terror in their depths his heart ached.

Her gown was in the old-fashioned style, corseted and low cut, to reveal an expanse of small, rounded, white bosom.

"Miss Whittaker?" he said gently, bending over her.

She nodded and whimpered. It was the slightest of nods, but it was enough.

"Your sister, Mrs Tate, sent me, I'm here to protect you. It's over, you are safe."

She gasped, her eyes going wider if that was possible. He bent and scooped her up in his arms and carried her out of the room and down the stairs, where his henchmen had dealt rather effectively with any remaining resistance. The man he had knocked out, lay where he'd left him.

Only Mrs Temple remained, she was standing in the hallway shrieking that she would have the constable on them.

"Try it," growled Seb. "You'll find yourself in the dock for luring innocent young women to their ruin. Compliments of Mr Garmon Lovell!"

Mrs Temple went pale, her mouth agape.

Seb stomped out of the house; Miss Whittaker clutched to his chest. "My valise," murmured the light-as-thistledown burden in his arms.

"You want it?" he asked gently.

She nodded, her lip trembling.

Spotting Ben with the cab he had requested, he said curtly. "The lady's valise, third floor, second room on the left, the one without a door."

"Aye sir," said Ben and bolted into the house. He was back before Seb had finished settling Miss Whittaker into the cab. "This it, Miss?" asked Ben waving a small leather valise.

"Yes, thank you," she smiled, and Ben bloomed, his chest expanding, his face softening as he set the valise down on the floor of the cab. Seb's heart, which had been aching constantly for the better part of twenty-four hours, felt unaccountably better.

"Thank you, Ben, please inform Mr Lovell, Miss Whittaker has been recovered. Come and see me in the morning for a letter to take to him."

"Aye Mr Rooke." Ben closed the door of the cab and the vehicle lurched into motion.

Seb looked down at the creature he still had clasped in his arms, and she smiled tremulously at him and then burst into tears.