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  36

  CHAPTER VII

  TO LONDON

  They sat in a second-class railway carriage, Lily outwardly prim

  and slightly breathless with a very firmly laced up corset beneath her

  winter clothes. She had carefully brushed the dirt from her boots and

  the hem of her dress and looked perfectly respectable. Lawrence read

  a newspaper, from time to time rustling it officiously and reading

  snippets to his pretend "wife" in a suitably patronizing and edifying

  manner. Lily's heart warmed as she spotted the wicked glint in his eye

  and she felt sorry that their friendship would be a brief one. He

  possessed a rare sense of humour beneath his conservative

  appearance.

  "Young woman found murdered in Spitalfields. That's nasty. The

  details are far too gruesome to disclose to you, dear Louisa, with your

  delicate disposition. Hmm, a witness spotted a hansom cab loitering

  in the area late the previous night. It's suggested that the victim was –

  ahem – a lady of the night."

  A middle-aged woman across the carriage wrinkled her nose in

  distaste and Lily feigned coy ignorance.

  "A lady of the night, dearest? I don't understand."

  Lawrence gave the newspaper a particularly officious shake. "And

  neither you should, Louisa, my dear, neither you should. Nothing for

  you to concern your pretty little head with, I'm sure." They were both

  on the verge of laughing out loud but Lily remembered that the

  newspaper article was very serious and she swallowed hard, suddenly

  recalling her own nightmare with the American sadist. So a woman's

  life was dispensable if she sold her body for money? Why, she was

  little more than a "lady of the night" herself.

  "Are we nearly there yet?"

  "It's not far. I have to visit my solicitor at Gray's Inn at five, so I'll

  let you settle into our rooms while I'm away for an hour or so, if you

  don't object to that, my sweet."

  Lily nodded her head in meek compliance. Her corset was so tight

  that she was beginning to feel slightly faint. Lawrence's hand touched

  37

  her knee very briefly and her entire body thrilled with an electric

  surge. She could hardly wait for them to reach their rooms and fall

  into bed. Was it true about the solicitor's appointment? She hadn't

  had time to inquire what Lawrence's line of business was, if he had

  one at all. His house was comfortable but not grand and she hadn't

  forgotten the bread and cheese supper. He hadn't eaten at all the night

  before and she strongly suspected he had given her his evening meal

  for all that remained in the larder that morning was the remains of the

  loaf and a small pat of butter, both of which she'd felt quite guilty

  about dispatching for her breakfast. If Lawrence had had reason to be

  curious about her background, she suddenly realized, with a slight

  shock, that she had plenty to wonder about his. Like herself, he was

  outwardly very respectable, well spoken, neat and tidy.

  But he could be anyone, Lily Warnock. Anyone at all.

  Lily looked out of the carriage window and watched the barren

  wintry fields rushing past. Soon the fields would become suburbs and

  the suburbs would turn into the seething tumult she loved so well,

  London town. She had missed the city life with its noise and color.

  Really, the whore to housemaid transformation had not gone too well.

  Henry Thorburn would laugh so hard when he heard about her

  exploits! But that Colonel Hanley – what a monster to accuse her of

  stealing, when all she'd done was delivered a much-deserved knee to

  the groin... Lily settled back against the railway seat, closed her eyes

  and daydreamed about her return to a life of "easy, fancy ways".

  * * * *

  The rooms were in Clerkenwell, in a tall terraced Georgian house

  on Sekforde Street. There was a neatly furnished sitting room and an

  adjoining bedroom with a brass framed bed. Lily reclined on the big

  comfortable bed and stretched luxuriantly.

  "This is the life, Lawrence! I could get used to this. Must you

  really go to your meeting?"

  Lawrence stood nearby and Lily was gratified to note the swelling

  in his crotch. He wanted her as much as she desired him, thank

  heavens. She stroked the bedcovers and he glanced at his pocket

  watch.

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  "Damn it, Lily, you temptress. I can't have you now, alas. But

  soon, I promise. Very soon." He took some money from his waistcoat

  pocket and laid it on the night stand. "Buy something good for supper

  and a bottle of wine, my dear. We'll stay in this evening and make our

  own entertainment."

  "Oh, all right. Please try not to be too long." Lily glanced pointedly

  at her lover's crotch and he stuck out his tongue at her in a most

  lascivious manner. Really, their friendship was taking a fascinating

  direction. Lawrence Faulkner was full of surprises.

  When he had gone, Lily looked around the room. The bed would

  be wonderful for a game of erotic bondage, with plenty of

  conveniently placed brass loops to tie her wrists to. She felt so

  aroused she could scream. She wanted Lawrence to do everything to

  her that she'd ever experienced, which was a broad repertoire of

  sensual pursuits. She had best get that little shopping expedition out

  of the way. Hmm, Clerkenwell. Not one of her haunts but she knew

  the area well enough. She shouldn't get lost in the maze of teeming

  streets. Lily picked up the money and tucked it into an inner coat

  pocket, wary of the city's ever-present thieves. The letter rustled

  gently as she did so.

  Bloomsbury. That's not so very far away.

  Lily counted the coins Lawrence had given her. She had just

  enough to take a cab to Russell Square, where Lord Thorburn's

  elegant town house was located. She could get there if she was quick

  and request an audience with Lord Thorburn. There needn't be any

  embarrassment as he was a widower, with no inquisitive wife to ask

  probing questions. Lily made up her mind. She could be there and

  back in a flash and if she was delayed, surely Lawrence would

  understand. She looked around for paper and pen to leave him a note

  but, alas, neither had been provided. She tore open the envelope of

  Lord Thorburn's letter, took out the contents and laid the empty

  envelope on the bed, address side up. She hoped Lawrence would

  make the connection if he returned before she did.

  Out on the street, Lily looked around for a hansom cab. None were

  visible. She would have to walk to the nearest busy thoroughfare, St

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  John's Street. She walked briskly, her mind already fixed upon the

  meeting with Lord Thorburn. She hoped he would not be annoyed

  with her. Clerkenwell was a busy area, a warren of narrow, crooked

  streets concealing hundreds of little workshops. In the workshops,

  artisans toiled away like bees in a vast hive. Clocks and pocket

  watches were made there, scientific instruments and fine jewelry.

  There were bookbinders and printers too, announced by the pungent

  odors of tanning hide and ink. On St Joh
n's Street, Lily spotted an

  empty cab waiting by the kerb and she called up to the driver.

  "To Russell Square, please, as quickly as you can."

  Off they drove at an uneven pace, hindered by the endless

  procession of merchants' carts and the occasional horse-drawn

  omnibus. Turning right onto Clerkenwell Road, the scene became

  even busier. Lily bit her lip as she looked out of the cab window at

  the seething crowds. What if Lord Thorburn was not at home? What

  if he was embarrassed by her visit? Well, it was too late to change her

  mind. The hansom cab drove past Gray's Inn Gardens and Lily

  realized that Lawrence was not far away. Then the area changed and

  they entered an enclave of grander homes. Stately households with

  imperious butlers and sneering footmen to guard the doors. What if

  they wouldn't let her see Lord Thorburn? Well, she had to try.

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  CHAPTER VIII

  AT RUSSELL SQUARE

  "Here you are, miss. Number eleven, Russell Square."

  Lily stepped down from the cab and paid the driver. She had less

  change left from the money that Lawrence had given her than she had

  hoped, but that couldn't be helped. The horses clopped away over the

  cobbles and she gazed up at the tall imposing house. She had to be

  brave. She had to walk up the steps, take the large lion's head knocker

  in her hand and make her presence known. It seemed like a daunting

  task in reality, though so simple in her daydreams of the past few

  days. As she stared up at the elegant façade of the house she realized

  that the windows were all shuttered.

  Oh no. Is Lord Thorburn abroad and his town house closed up?

  Trembling, Lily walked slowly up the broad flight of steps. She

  had been too sure of her clever plan. She lifted the brass door-

  knocker and let it fall, almost hoping that no one would answer. She

  was about to turn away when footsteps approached and the door

  opened to reveal an elderly manservant. Lily swallowed hard. She

  had to say something.

  "Is Lord Thorburn at home?"

  The man frowned.

  "I'm afraid Lord Thorburn passed away last week. The funeral took

  place on Friday."

  Lily clasped the cold stone of the balustrade, suddenly dizzy.

  Everything seemed unreal, distorted, as if she was swimming under

  water. When she found her voice, her words sounded as colorless and

  brittle as the dead leaves lying in the gutter.

  "Passed away?"

  The old man nodded. "It was very sudden. Heart, you know. I'm

  sorry, miss."

  Lily turned away, hot tears prickling in her eyes. The door closed

  and she stood looking down at the grandeur of Russell Square.

  Now what, Lily Warnock? Lawrence Faulkner or back to the

  game?

  41

  "Poor Henry." She whispered the words to the cold December wind

  and, heavy with grief, started her walk back to Clerkenwell. What

  time was it? The afternoon was growing dim, a hint of fog in the

  atmosphere. She knew her way, more or less. The clock on a nearby

  church tower read almost five o' clock. No wonder it was getting

  dark. Behind Lily, in Russell Square, the wheels of a hansom cab

  rolled over the damp cobbles. She turned her head to look as it slowly

  moved forwards, not knowing why the sound sent a vague shiver

  down her spine. The driver's face was concealed by a deeply recessed

  hood, his heavily caped body hunched over the reins. Lily quickened

  her pace and marched down Southampton Row towards busy

  Clerkenwell Road. The cab followed at some distance, the horses

  walking at a sedate pace.

  He can't be following me. I'm imagining things.

  Night was cloaking the city. Gas lamps issued their yellow glow in

  regularly spaced pools, the murky darkness pressing all around as if to

  extinguish their meager light. The fog crept up from the Thames as a

  chilling miasma, insinuating tendrils around the lamp posts like

  spectral fingers. Lily was almost running as she reached the

  comforting hubbub of Clerkenwell Road. Behind her, the hansom cab

  was snarled up in the street's traffic. She dodged through the crowd

  on the pavement, a nameless fear clutching at her heart.

  42

  CHAPTER IX

  MR. FAULKNER'S PLEASURE

  "You believe you were followed, Lily?"

  Lawrence was kind but slightly skeptical. He returned at six from

  his appointment to find Lily huddled in a wing chair before a blazing

  fire. She had bolted the door to their rooms and would not admit him

  until she was certain it was he. Lily reached out her hands to warm

  them at the fire.

  "I don't know, Lawrence. I had a bad feeling. That's all."

  She had told him about her impromptu trip to Russell Square and

  the recent demise of her friend and he nodded his head in compassion.

  "Perhaps it's time to give you some good feelings. Actually, what

  you really deserve is a first rate strapping for disobeying my orders

  and dashing off to Bloomsbury, spending a large portion of our supper

  funds on the cab fare."

  Lily looked sheepish.

  "I had hoped to be able to repay you."

  Lawrence shrugged and opened a bottle of burgundy.

  "You will repay me. With interest. I had hoped for a roast chicken

  rather than meat pies but beggars can't be choosers and the wine

  makes up for the food."

  "Henry taught me a few things about choosing wine." Lily's voice

  trailed away as she recalled Lord Thorburn. He really had been a

  good friend. She would miss him deeply. They ate the pies and drank

  the deep red wine. It made her feel better, warmer inside and more at

  ease. When they had finished eating, Lawrence picked up the half-

  empty bottle and took Lily's hand.

  "And now to bed, my girl. I've been thinking about this all day."

  "So have I!"

  They laughed. Lawrence made Lily close her eyes and he guided

  her into the bedroom.

  "Are you really going to strap me for disobeying?"

  "Yes, Lily, I am. But first you're going to suck me like you did last

  night. Keep your eyes tightly closed and get down on your knees."

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  Trembling with desire, Lily did as she was bade, unbuttoning

  Lawrence's trouser fly. His shaft was already swollen hard and she

  put out the tip of her tongue to lick it, like a butterfly tasting sugar.

  "Suck it. The entire length."

  Lily relaxed and adeptly drew Lawrence's cock deep into her

  velvety moistness, still caressing its silky underside with the flat of

  her tongue. The head of his shaft pressed insistently at the back of her

  throat and she opened more, yielding to the pressure, accepting inch

  after inch of rigid shaft.

  "Quite the little sword swallower, aren't you, my dear? Can you

  match this performance, Rosina?"

  Lily jumped. There was someone else in the bedroom.

  "Keep sucking, Lily but open your eyes and look at your playmate."

  Lawrence placed his hands on either side of Lily's head and made

  her continue sucking his cock. Her eyes swiveled to take in a pretty

  young girl of around her
own age. The girl crouched on all fours on

  the bed like a dog, her mass of curly brown hair cascading over her

  naked shoulders. She wore nothing but a corset, the stays laced

  extremely tightly. She watched what Lily was doing very intently, as

  if inwardly taking notes.

  "Lily is an expert, Rosina. She's a whore."

  Lily looked at Rosina. The young girl's cheeks were flushed,

  probably with the constrictive effect of the stringent corseting. Her

  waist was tiny, the kind that a man's hands could span. Her breasts

  and hips were round and full, her nipples large and swollen.

  Lawrence began to take the pins out of Lily's hair.

  "That feels wonderful, my dear. Now you will undress for us,

  down to your corset." He wetted his lips as he said "corset" and Lily

  realized that he had a fetish for tight-lacing. She stood up then began

  to perform a slow, theatrical unbuttoning of her dress. Lawrence

  stood by the bed, one hand on the young girl's back, delicately tracing

  the straining cords of the girl's corset. Lily knew that when Rosina

  took it off, there would be a deep pattern of criss-cross marks on her

  soft skin.

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  "What a lovely body she has!" Rosina spoke at last, with a London

  accent. Her full mouth pouted voluptuously and Lily looked at the

  young girl's full, lush breasts. There was much pleasure to be had

  there if Lawrence would allow it. She allowed her dress to fall slowly

  and seductively to the carpet, then teasingly covered her own breasts

  with her hands. It wasn't the first time she'd played with both a man

  and a girl and she relished the opportunity to enjoy everything that

  nature had to offer.

  "Lily has earned a strapping, Rosina."

  The young girl opened her hazel eyes very wide in mock dismay.

  Her nipples seemed to harden even more and she arched her spine

  beneath Lawrence's hand. His fingers continued to stroke the corset

  cords that seemed pulled to near breaking point.

  "And you are going to deliver it. But first we must do something

  about her stays. She thinks she's tightly laced, poor dear."

  Lily gasped. She was already laced as tightly as she'd ever been;