Sinful Seduction (15 page)

Maggie shuddered in disgust then glanced fearfully around, expecting him to leap from a corner and force himself on her again. But thankfully the room was empty, so she staggered to her feet and looked frantically for her clothing. Wherever he was, she had to get away before he came back.

Her expression became bewildered as her gaze searched the room. Her clothes! Where were her clothes? She bent and raked through the pile of dirty rags, then pushed her hands through the straw beneath. Nothing!

Panic threatened to overwhelm her and she forced herself to be calm. She had other clothes. She could wear those instead. In fact, that would be even better, she reassured herself. In her ordinary dress she wouldn't attract so much attention when she fled. So wrapping herself in the best of the rags from the bed, she tiptoed across the room to where she had hidden her Gladstone bag and reticule - then stopped in dismay.

There was nothing there! Her bag had gone! Her reticule, containing Mrs Hardcastle's precious letter of reference had gone! Her purse with two month's wages was gone! Maggie sank down, sobbing in despair.

She was trapped, naked and alone in this filthy room and her stepfather had disappeared, taking everything she possessed in the world with him.

 

 

 

Shivering with cold and fear, Maggie crept into the darkest corner and cowered there, casting frightened glances towards the door. Seconds stretched into minutes and minutes into hours, but still there was no sign of her stepfather. Eventually she was driven by hunger to venture out and rake through the basket Mrs McAlister had given her - and which thankfully remained - for something to eat.

Clutching a wedge of game pie she retreated to her corner and crouched there, devouring it hungrily. The taste of the good food reminded her again of everything she had lost and she salted it with a few bitter tears. Finally, worn out by her emotions, she curled up on the filthy pile of straw and rags like a beaten dog and drifted into a restless doze.

The sound of the door creaking open made her start upright in confusion. For the first few seconds she was blissfully unaware of her surroundings, imagining herself back in the bedroom she shared with Emily, then it all sank in again. Hands and feet scrabbling in the dirty straw, she pushed herself away from him until her back was against the wall and stared up at him fearfully.

‘On yer feet,' he growled. ‘We ain't got all night for you to lounge around like a bleedin' lady.'

For once he seemed to be sober; there was no smell of drink coming from him, just the usual stench of his sweaty, unwashed body. Gaining confidence, Maggie pushed herself to her feet and stood holding her rags to conceal her naked body.

‘What you done with all me stuff, you thieving bastard?' she demanded, glaring at him defiantly.

‘Sold it,' he said indifferently, and jingled the contents of his pockets. ‘And a pretty penny it brought too. Enough to keep me in drink and whores for weeks.'

‘You had no right,' she protested. ‘Get it back or I'll have the coppers on you.'

He began to laugh. ‘Coppers?' he sneered. ‘Where you going to find a copper in this place? It'd be more than a peeler's life was worth to come down these alleys.' His grin vanished. ‘Anyway, you won't be needin' your stuff no more. Not where you're going.'

The colour drained from her face. Was he going to murder her? Strangle her and fling her body in the river? She gulped; he could do it easily. Nobody knew she was here. Nobody would even miss her. She'd just disappear, swallowed up by London, like so many other girls before her. Her mouth went dry. She'd seen a body hauled out of the water down by the docks once. Bloated and putrefying, its features had been eaten away until it didn't even look human any more - just a slab of dead, rotting meat. Was that going to be her fate too?

‘What do you mean?' she quavered, not sure that she wanted to know the answer.

‘Got you a new job, ain't I,' he grinned. For the first time she noticed he was carrying an old sack in one hand. ‘Here, get this on,' he ordered, flinging it at her.

The relief she'd felt at his words disappeared as she opened it and pulled out the contents. ‘I ain't wearin' this,' she gasped, holding up the dress. It was made of red satin, creased and dirty from years of use and the hem was in tatters. Rings of stale sweat stained the armpits and it was cut obscenely low. ‘It's filthy,' she complained, throwing it to the floor. ‘Gawd knows what I'd catch off it. I wouldn't touch it with a bargepole.'

‘Gerrit on!' he growled, picking it up and shaking it under her nose. ‘Or I'll drag you through the bleedin' streets stark naked! And a pretty little thing like you wouldn't last five minutes once some of the blokes clocked you in your birthday suit.'

The sound of the whistles and catcalls from the shadowy doorways echoed in Maggie's memory. He was right; they'd fall on her like a pack of wild dogs. Shivering, she grabbed the dress again and slipped into it, trying to hide her nakedness as he watched closely.

‘Very nice,' he grinned, as she tugged it over her shoulders. ‘Very nice indeed.'

The dress was too small for her and the bodice was so low it barely concealed her breasts, pushing them together and up until they threatened to spill over it. Smiling lustily, he shuffled closer and cupped the soft globes, pinching her nipples viciously till they stood out against the shiny material. Whimpering in pain, she closed her eyes to shut out his loathsome face and braced herself for another attack. But it didn't come.

‘Better not,' he muttered regretfully to himself. ‘Don't want to bring the price down.'

Maggie opened her eyes and stared at him in bewilderment. ‘What... what do you mean?' she asked cautiously for the second time in as many minutes.

‘You'll soon find out,' he chuckled, then delved into the sack again, produced a pair of shabby red high-heeled shoes and flung them at her. ‘Here, get these on,' he ordered. ‘Time's gettin' on.' He sniggered. ‘Don't want to keep your new employers waitin'.'

Maggie pushed her feet into the shoes, wincing as the cracked leather pinched her toes, and they were barely on her feet when he grasped her by the wrist and pulled her towards the door. Teetering awkwardly on the unaccustomed heels, she had no option but to follow him or be dragged along like a sack of coal.

What followed was a ghastly parody of the last time she had left this hellhole, stumbling along behind her mother in a borrowed dress and ill-fitting shoes. Then she had been on her way to a new life - one of hard work, but also of safety and comfort.

Now she was being dragged weeping behind her stepfather - and God only knew what lay ahead!

 

 

 

Maggie was exhausted by the time Bert suddenly stopped on the opposite side of the road from a large house. She staggered against him. They seemed to have walked for hours and she had a stitch in her side from trying to keep up.

‘This is it,' Bert said with satisfaction, and relief for Maggie at the unexpected respite was tinged with fear at what lay behind the heavy mahogany doors. It was not exactly the ‘best' area of London, but it was still good - and the house was well maintained. Red velvet curtains masked the tall windows, but warm light escaped from the chinks and she could hear music and laughter. But she shivered as an icy finger touched her spine, for despite the reassuring façade, there was something about the house that made her skin crawl - and was it her imagination or did the female laughter have a note of desperation to it?

As she watched a carriage rolled up outside and two men alighted from it, walked up the steps and knocked on the front door. There was a pause, then it was opened and Maggie's eyes widened as an immensely tall black manservant, dressed in green and gold livery, appeared. He smiled and welcomed them with a bow. As the light spilled over the men's faces, it illuminated their predatory grins and she shivered again.

Her uncomfortable thoughts were interrupted as Bert jerked her by the arm. ‘Don't just stand there gawpin',' he ordered, hauling her behind him. ‘Pick yer feet up; old Ma Wilkes don't like to be kept waiting.'

Reluctantly she followed him across the road and down the kitchen entry, trying not to slip on the uneven steps. He released her wrist long enough to bang on the door and she took the opportunity to try and tidy herself up, and was still attempting to pull her tight bodice higher when the door swung open.

‘Wot you want?' demanded the slovenly maid who answered, her jaws still champing on a mouthful of food. She looked them up and down with contempt, and spat a lump of gristle on the ground at Bert's feet.

He pulled himself up to his full height and scowled at her. ‘None of your damned business,' he snarled. ‘I talks to the organ grinder, not the bleedin' monkey.' He smirked. ‘I got an appointment wiv Mrs Wilkes. She's expectin' me.'

‘Please yerself,' shrugged the maid. ‘It's no skin off my arse.' She pulled the door open for them and Bert swaggered past her, clicking his fingers at Maggie to follow.

A wave of homesickness washed over Maggie as she walked into the kitchen. At first glance it was the twin of Mrs McAlister's domain; the same black range, with its constantly boiling kettle and a shabby wooden armchair at each side of the fire. The same cluttered shelves. The same long, deal worktable.

But there the resemblance ended. It was obvious that the range hadn't seen black lead and a polishing cloth in a month of Sundays. The shelves were cluttered all right, but not with sacks of flour and sugar. Instead they were filled with rank upon rank of rot-gut spirits. As for the deal table, it was covered with spills and ring-marks from the dirty glasses and empty bottles that had been dumped there and forgotten. Maggie smiled ruefully. If Mrs H saw this lot, she'd have a fit.

But her smile disappeared as quickly as it had come. If the condition of the kitchen was a shock, its occupants were even more so. The grubby maid, her duties done, ignored them and sauntered off to finish her interrupted supper.

At a hastily cleared corner of the table a fat woman in a filthy apron was decanting cheap wine into expensive bottles. As Maggie stared, she wiped her snotty nose with the back of her hand, and then wiped her hand on her apron. Maggie shivered with disgust.

But Bert had no such scruples. He watched the woman greedily and then cleared his throat, and when she looked up from her task, he winked at her. ‘Aintcha goin' to offer your guests a bit o' hospitality then, sweetheart?' he suggested with an ingratiating smile. The woman simpered back, filled a tankard and held it out to him, and he grabbed it before she could change her mind. ‘Cheers, love,' he grinned, knocking half of it back and belching.

‘I'll have a glass too, Gladys,' came a husky voice. ‘And make sure it's a clean one.'

Maggie and Bert both turned to look at the unseen speaker, and Maggie's jaw dropped. She'd been too busy looking round the rest of the kitchen to notice the woman sitting in the chair by the fire with her feet propped up on the edge of the range. But now that she had, she couldn't take her eyes off her.

She was wearing a red satin dress too, but that was the only similarity. If Maggie had thought her own was indecent, it was nothing compared to this. It was so low-cut that the shoulder had slipped and one plump breast was totally exposed. The front panel was slit almost to the waist and had fallen away to reveal a pair of shapely legs in black silk stockings and garters, but even more shocking was the fact that one slender hand held a cheroot. As Maggie watched in amazement, the woman took a long draw and blew out a thick cloud of blue smoke.

Bert couldn't take his eyes off her either. They were fixed in lustful fascination on the soft white flesh of her bosom, until with a cynical smile the woman tugged up the neck of her dress. ‘Shut your mouth, love,' she advised. ‘The flies'll get in.' Bemused, he did as he was told.

‘There you go, Miss Millicent,' said Gladys, waddling across and handing her some wine. The woman accepted it with a gracious nod, and taking another puff on her cheroot, she ran her eyes sympathetically over Maggie and raised her glass in an ironic toast. ‘To the newest lamb to the slaughter,' she said. ‘Here's to a short life and a happy one.' She flung her head back, swallowed the wine and got to her feet. ‘No rest for the wicked,' she chuckled. ‘Better get back to work.'

Maggie watched as she left. Despite the outlandish clothes and behaviour there was something familiar about her, but for the life of her Maggie couldn't figure out what.

Her disappearance broke the spell and Bert suddenly remembered what he'd come for. ‘Where's old Ma Wilkes?' he demanded. ‘I ain't got all night to hang around ‘ere.'

‘Keep your hair on,' muttered Gladys. ‘And it's Mrs Wilkes to the likes of you. She hears you calling her old Ma Wilkes and she'll ‘ave yer guts for garters.' She waddled over to the door and pulled it open. ‘Eddie!' she bawled. ‘Get yer arse in ‘ere!' She shook her head. ‘Blasted boot boy's never ‘ere when you want him. Gawd knows what he gets up to.'