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  "Give over! If you can't pay for it, go home to your ma!"

  "Aw, Lizzie Jane. You're so cruel and heartless."

  "Heartless, my eye! A girl's got to make a living somehow."

  The young men laughed good-naturedly. They were medical

  students at the local varsity and fond of teasing the girls that lingered

  in the noisy taproom of the Cock Bull, hoping to pick up a generous

  client or two. Most of the women weren't pretty, their faces etched by

  the harshness of their lives. They ranged in age from tender

  adolescence to over fifty, the older women having to swallow their

  pride and drop their price along with their underclothes. Lizzie Jane

  was a big strong girl from the north country, her accent as broad as

  her rolling hips. Somehow she'd managed to keep her sense of

  humour along with a fine pair of bright rosy cheeks. Victor was

  attracted to the young woman but neither he nor his friend would be

  foolish enough to sample her wares. They'd seen the results of

  rampant whoring in the wards at St. Barts. Syphilis, in its terminal

  stage of purulence and insanity, was a powerful deterrent. But the

  young men enjoyed the company of the wanton ones, so easy and

  different from the prim girls of their own social class.

  "You don't know what you're missing, you don't!"

  As usual, Lizzie Jane was slightly tipsy. Most of the prostitutes

  were, when they could afford it, as if the fake warmth of the booze

  could somehow keep the chill of their wretched lives at bay. Victor

  bowed theatrically.

  "I regret, my dear Miss Lizzie, that my present circumstances

  render me unable to partake of your delightful charms. I am, as you

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  know, nothing more than an impecunious student. Would that I could

  fill up your purse with shiny gold coins!"

  "Get away with you!"

  The young woman pushed Victor away from her until he bumped

  up against the long mahogany bar; not with any great malice, but a

  mild exasperation borne of an ongoing but fruitless friendship. They

  were lost causes, those two young lads, but she enjoyed their company

  as much as they liked hers, for they treated her as a pretty girl and not

  an end of beef on the butcher's slab. Lizzie glanced up at the clock on

  the wall behind the bar. Almost turning-out time and nary a customer.

  Perhaps she could pick one up on the short walk back to the miserable

  room she shared with two other girls.

  "Not much point stayin' on here!"

  Lizzie muttered to herself as she swallowed the dregs of her gin and

  water and reluctantly set the empty glass on the bar. The publican

  winked and she blew him a mocking kiss, wrapping her woollen

  shawl about her shoulders and leaving the taproom without so much

  as a backward glance. Victor watched her shapely rear retreat with a

  wistful expression and his friend slapped him on the back.

  "I'm tempted, Tom. So tempted!"

  "Don't be a fool, Victor. Come, there's just time for another before

  the old man rings the bell."

  Out in the cold, the young woman walked briskly, purposefully

  towards the tall narrow rooming house on Dover Street. The cobbles

  were slippery with ice beneath the thin soles of her well-worn boots

  and she cursed as she almost took a tumble into the filthy gutter. It

  was a freezing night, her breath a moist cloud in the chilling air. She

  passed two men in heavy overcoats, hats pulled down almost over

  their eyes, but they ignored her saucy invitation so she marched on,

  chin up to greet whatever the lamp-lit shadows might bring.

  Sometimes she felt as if she was invisible. It would be Christmas

  soon and who'd have a package for Lizzie Jane?

  Stop feeling sorry for yourself, my girl!

  She had come from a large family and her parents were farm-

  workers, eking a meager living to feed their ever expanding brood.

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  Lizzie had heard the streets of London were paved with gold, and it

  had seemed so right to bid the exhausting world of muddy chores and

  minding babies adieu. Well, she knew what the city's streets were

  lined with and it smelled worse than the cow-dung on the farm...

  The young woman's route took her down narrow Fournier Street

  with its jacquard workshops, in which the descendants of French

  immigrants worked with fine silk cloth. At the end of Fournier Street,

  the vast stone edifice of Christ Church towered against the clear night

  sky, its spire seemingly spearing the stars. Lizzie paused to admire

  the elegant portico with its four immense columns. When was she last

  in church? She shook her head in sadness. As she turned away to

  continue the brisk walk back to her shabby lodgings, she noticed a

  hansom cab approaching at a leisurely pace.

  Well, better late than never!

  Smiling broadly, Lizzie stepped up to the curb and waited for the

  horses to draw to a snorting, stamping halt. Their nostrils were flared,

  clouds of vapor drifting in the freezing air.

  "There, now!"

  Instinctively, she reached up to rub the closest horse's nose. The

  familiar velvety sensation and the warm, pungent scent of the beast

  made her feel at ease. She would try to get back home somehow.

  There were different kinds of misery and the city's were grimmer if

  truth be told.

  The door of the cab opened and a little set of steps dropped down.

  Lizzie peered into the pitch-black box of wood and leather but could

  not make out the figure within. A gloved hand reached out to her,

  beckoned her to enter. Confidently, the young woman stepped up into

  the cab. She'd have money to eat dinner the following day, and

  maybe a bottle of gin to keep the infernal cold at bay.

  "Good evening, my dear."

  The gentleman had a foreign accent. An American, if her ears

  weren't deceiving her. That was a stroke of luck, for everyone knew

  the Colonies were full of wealthy gents who'd made a fortune in

  cotton or steel.

  "Just visiting, are you, sir?"

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  Lizzie barely listened to the curt response the gentleman offered.

  She was busy unfastening the bodice of her dress. Swiftly she

  exposed her large firm breasts, proudly clasping them in frozen hands.

  "The finest you'll find in the city, sir!"

  The American appeared to be reaching inside his voluminous cape.

  Lizzie closed her eyes, anticipating the cheery clink of golden coins.

  Perhaps Christmas would come to Lizzie Jane. She lifted her breasts

  higher, offering them as if they were her special gift to the silent man

  who drew an eight-inch blade from his coat and slit Lizzie's throat

  from ear to ear.

  22

  CHAPTER IV

  A DECISION

  Mary McGeever was snoring again. Lily sighed and lit the lamp on

  the night stand, carefully turning it down to its gentlest glow. She

  glanced at the other girl but there was no sign of her waking. The

  curtains were parted a little, allowing a glimpse of clear cold sky and a

  scattering of bright stars. Lily sat, hugging her knees through the

  quilt, wondering what she should do next. It seemed tha
t men's

  desires were inescapable. She had found an intoxicating power in her

  ability to attract the opposite sex but being their prey and unwilling

  plaything placed the boot unnervingly on the other foot.

  It just won't do, Lily Warnock. It just won't do at all.

  Lily reached under the bed for her carpet bag and retrieved a sheet

  of writing paper and a fountain pen. Placing the paper in the pool of

  yellow light on the night stand she began to write:

  Dear Lord Thorburn (or may I call you Henry?),

  I regret to inform you that I simply cannot bear Akenhead Hall!

  You have been so kind and so generous to me and I am truly ashamed

  to have been found lacking in domestic skills (by both the

  housekeeper and the butler) so soon after arriving here. In truth, I am

  a dreadful housemaid! I cannot return to Mrs. Jakes' establishment

  for the reasons we have discussed but perhaps we could make a more

  private arrangement to our mutual benefit? I would not ask, only I am

  truly quite miserable here and obviously thoroughly unsuitable for the

  position.

  Missing your ticklish whiskers, Henry dear!

  Your Lily

  Lily read and reread the letter before folding it and concealing it

  within her bag. It hadn't been such a bad life until the nightmare of

  the American had sent her reeling into a whirlpool of fear. No doubt

  he had returned to his homeland and she could resume her luxurious

  demi-monde existence without looking over her shoulder. She missed

  her French scents, fashionable clothes and sleeping until lunchtime.

  She missed her kinder clients, ruddy-faced and whiskered like Lord

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  Thorburn, delighting in her youth and beauty and easy ways, so far

  from the strictures of their own class. She missed the pleasures of the

  flesh. Sex was a habit, like wine or opium and she was made for it.

  "A filly made for riding", that's what Lord Thorburn said.

  Lily's bottom still ached from the butler's caning and she could

  smell traces of her conservatory assailant's semen lingering within her

  body. Colonel Hanley of Bombay, no less – a bully and a bore whose

  twenty-year-old wife was desperate to leave him. The servants had

  been gossiping about various members of the house party and the

  greatest disdain had been aimed at the Colonel. Recalling Julia

  Hanley's frantic, wretched face, Lily made her decision.

  I'll belong to no man. I am my own woman. They can pay and pay

  well for the privilege of "taking" me.

  Lily turned off the lamp and settled down to sleep.

  * * * *

  "Well, if it isn't luscious Miss Cunny." Colonel Hanley barred

  Lily's way as she walked out to post her letter the following morning.

  It was Sunday and she had crept out during servants' prayers, sneaking

  away through the frosted maze of the large formal garden. Lily

  clasped her letter tightly and looked defiant. She had made up her

  mind to leave Akenhead and it would no longer matter if she was rude

  to one of her master's guests. Quickly she stepped to right and left,

  attempting to dodge the great brute of a man, but the Colonel caught

  her both times.

  "I want you again, sweet puss. You'll not escape me. Off to post a

  letter are we? A love letter, I'll wager! Give it here and let me see."

  "Don't you dare!" Lily whipped the precious envelope away from

  the Colonel's grasping fingers but not before he saw the addressee.

  "Lord Thorburn forsooth! Miss Sweet Cunt has friends in high

  places, does she? My, my!"

  Something in Lily snapped and she brandished the letter like a

  victory flag.

  "Yes, Henry Thorburn is a good friend! And he would never, ever

  allow me to be treated in this manner! Now let me past, Colonel

  Hanley or I will scream."

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  "Scream away, my dear. I'd rather enjoy that." The Colonel pushed

  Lily against a tall laurel hedge and roughly squeezed her breasts

  through her woollen coat. His fleshy mouth descended on her throat

  again and she sharply brought up one knee, painfully catching him in

  the crotch.

  "Little bitch! I'll see you dismissed!"

  Lily ran down the crunching gravel path, not pausing to glance over

  her shoulder at the Colonel who leaned against the hedge clutching at

  his groin. There could be no going back now. Thank heavens she

  was warmly dressed with a winter coat and hat but – oh Lord – she

  had only the tuppence to post her letter, not the train fare back to

  London. The wide driveway to Akenhead Hall appeared beyond the

  end of the formal gardens. Beyond the huge wrought iron gates lay an

  uncertain future. She'd have to keep that tuppence for bread if all else

  failed but she was used to living by her wits. Lily paused to fold the

  letter and stuff it down her corset bodice. It was safe by her heart.

  She marched down the driveway, feeling very small and vulnerable,

  then through the enormous gates and out into the cold, unwelcoming

  world.

  25

  CHAPTER V

  ON THE RUN

  Lily's feet hurt. It had been a very long day, trudging along icy

  country lanes, stepping over the deep frozen ruts that would soon turn

  to mud with warmer weather. Her toes burned and she suspected

  she'd have chilblains if she couldn't put her feet into a nice soothing

  basin of hot water. Perhaps running away wasn't such a clever idea

  after all but there could be no going back. How far had she walked?

  She had no idea. The lanes were quite confusing and poorly sign-

  posted. Several times she had a vague sense of travelling in the wrong

  direction but she couldn't be sure. Breakfast was many hours past and

  her stomach grumbled rebelliously. What next? She had hoped to

  charm a ride with some obliging gentleman but the only men to pass

  her had been farmhands and the occasional vagrant. It was late in the

  afternoon and the pale winter sun was setting, an orange orb above the

  black skeletal trees.

  What next, Lily Warnock?

  It was going to be another freezing night. If she slept outdoors, she

  might not survive to greet the dawn. Lily scanned her surroundings

  for signs of a house, looking for a barn or some other outbuilding in

  which she could spend the night. The faint outline of a chimney was

  visible in a nearby wood and Lily climbed over a stile and walked

  across a field towards the hidden house. The dusk gathered about her

  like a cold grey cloak as she entered the wood, her heart beginning to

  beat a little faster. Who lived in the house? Were they kind people?

  She wondered whether she should try knocking on the door and

  asking for help. She wasn't a vagrant. But what would they think?

  What story could she give? The depth of her predicament began to

  dawn upon her. A young woman with no money, not even a change

  of clothes, running away from her position and guilty of assaulting

  one of her employer's guests.

  You're in a fix, Lily, my girl.

  She had but one resource – her sex – and she had to pray an

  opportunity arose for her to use it. Lily smelled wood smoke as
she

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  approached the house. Warm light spilled from a downstairs window.

  Someone was in. Swallowing her fear, she knocked on the stout oak

  door. Footsteps approached and the door opened just a crack.

  "Yes?"

  Lily felt wretched but she had to try her best.

  "Will you help me, please? I seem to have lost my way and I need

  a place to spend the night."

  "Does this look like a lodging house?"

  The voice was male, low-pitched and smooth. For some reason it

  sent a shiver down Lily's spine. Suddenly she felt dizzy and

  nauseous, utterly exhausted. The door opened further and she looked

  up at a tall, rather handsome man.

  "Please. I'm so tired..." Strong arms caught her as she fell forwards

  in a near faint.

  "Good heavens girl!"

  Lily was aware of being carried into a warm room and laid down

  upon a chaise lounge. She smiled weakly as the man leant over her, a

  concerned expression in his dark eyes.

  "Perhaps I should give you a drop of brandy. Will you take some?"

  Lily nodded gratefully, already beginning to feel better. The man

  moved towards a sideboard with an almost empty decanter and there

  was a comforting sound of clinking glass.

  "Drink this." A glass was pressed against Lily's lips and she opened

  her mouth, aware of the sensuality of the action. Burning liquid

  coated her tongue and slipped down her throat. She swallowed and

  looked up into the man's eyes.

  "Thank you so much."

  The man removed the empty glass and crouched on the floor by the

  chaise lounge.

  "Should I send for the doctor? Are you recovered?"

  Thoughts of being sent out into the freezing night made Lily

  wonder whether she should reply in the negative but the thought of a

  probing doctor who might be aware of the events at Akenhead Hall

  were equally unpleasant. Common assault was a crime. No one

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  would believe her side of the tale. The letter crackled faintly as she

  arched her spine and held out her hands.

  "You've been so kind, Mr.–?"

  "Faulkner. Lawrence Faulkner. How do you feel?"

  Lily resisted the temptation to make a saucy reply. She would