The Lady and the Locksmith @page { margin-bottom: 5.000000pt; margin-top: 5.000000pt; } Table of ContentsChapter 1Chapter 2Chapter 3Chapter 4Chapter 5Chapter 6Chapter 7Chapter 8Johnny Doesn't Drink Champagne The Lady and the Locksmith � A novella by Cody Young � � � Kindle Edition Copyright 2011 by Cody Young � � � This is a work of fiction. Names, Characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. � � � Also by Cody Young American Smile Scandal at the Farmhouse � Coming Soon Johnny Doesn't Drink Champagne � � For more information about this author visit: � http://www.codyyoungblog.blogspot.com/ � Chapter 1� North East of England, 1900 � CARL HOPED THE PARLOURMAID would answer the door, because he was very fond of parlourmaids. He rang the bell and stepped back to wait for a reply, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his shoulders. It was a grand house he’d been sent to today, built of stone and set back from the road, in an avenue where doctors and lawyers liked to live. If the maid who worked here was pretty, he was in for a fine afternoon. Carl knew he had a certain look about him, and a twinkle in his eye. His father had been a Swedish sailor, and it showed. He saw a figure through the frosted glass, and he reckoned he might be in luck. A girl, in a long white apron, approached and opened the door. She had long chestnut-coloured hair tied up in a simple knot and wary hazel eyes. She studied him for a moment without saying a word. Carl suddenly felt acutely aware of his own appearance. He snatched off his cap, and gave her a winning smile. �ŚYou sent for a locksmith, Miss?’ he said. She nodded, seeming a little shy. �ŚCarl Janssen. At your service.’ He wished he’d worn his other neckcloth, and cleaned the mud off his boots last night. Wordlessly, she led him through to the back of the house, down to the basement, and showed him the door that wouldn’t fasten. She gave no explanation as to why she needed a locksmith, but that seemed unimportant. Nine times out of ten, Carl could work out what had happened just by looking at the lock. He whistled under his breath when he examined the door. �ŚWhat have we got here, then?’ he said, running his hand down the edge of the door. �ŚLooks like someone smashed through it in a flaming temper!’ Several attempts had been made to pick the lock. There were scratches on the brass fitting, and gouges in the wood. But obviously the lock hadn’t yielded, so the culprit had found himself a chisel or something and smashed his way through, breaking the mechanism completely, and taking part of the lintel off with it. Whoever did this had been very determined to get at whatever was on the other side, Carl concluded. But why? This door guarded no special secrets. All it led to was a little outhouse with a small high window - the type of room that might have been a laundry room in the past - and beyond that was the garden, with its high brick walls around it. �ŚVandals, maybe,’ the pretty girl said, �Śor thieves.’ Carl looked up in surprise, and gave her a grin. Ah, she was a sight to brighten a man’s heart all right, with her trim little figure and her innocent eyes. �ŚThieves trying to get into the house would have broken it from the other side,’ he pointed out. �ŚTrue.’ She offered no further explanation, so he smiled and set to work. He knelt down by the door, and opened his heavy tool bag to find what he needed to replace the lock. To his surprise she didn’t go, but stayed to watch him work. She hovered near him pretending to carry things to and fro in the hallway. Very distracting she was too, flitting about all the time, with her little buttoned boots passing right beside him and her skirts swirling, giving him tantalising glimpses of shapely ankles and frothy cotton petticoats underneath. �ŚNice house, this,’ Carl observed, in a friendly tone of voice, hoping to get her to chat. It was indeed a lovely place - grand and well-appointed. There was expensive furniture everywhere, and good carpets, even in the basement. �ŚYes,’ she murmured. She seemed distracted. �ŚWho does it belong to, Miss, if you don’t mind my asking?’ There was a long pause as if she needed to weigh up the answer. �ŚA merchant, I believe.’ �ŚOh aye?’ he said, encouragingly. But she said nothing, which he thought was a bit of a shame. He would have enjoyed chatting to a sweet little thing like her. He knew he was handsome and wholesome looking – with his honey blonde hair and his blue eyes – but maybe this little maid didn’t go for that sort. Maybe she was walking out with a young man already. In fact, it would be odd if she wasn’t. She would not be drawn into conversation with him, so Carl started to sing a ballad he knew. �ŚWhy weep ye by the tide, lady, why weep ye by the tide? I’ll wed you to my youngest son, and ye shall be his bride�Ś’ At first he sang softly, under his breath, as he worked away at removing the broken lock, and then a little louder, as he checked the mechanism to see if it could be salvaged. It was broken, that was for sure. He’d have to go back to the shop to look for another one like it. Soon, he stopped feeling self-conscious and sang out the words of the chorus, in his full rich tenor voice. �ŚBut oh, she let the tears down fall, for Jock O’ Hazeldean!’ Carl realised the shy little maid was standing entranced, watching him work, listening to him sing. And when he reached the end of the song, he looked up and he saw, to his intense embarrassment, that real tears glittered down her face as she turned away. He stepped nervously to his feet. �ŚBeg pardon, Miss, do you want to borrow my handkerchief?’ She had brushed most of the tears away with the back of her hand, but she nodded and accepted his offer. He gave her his clean white handkerchief and she took it and dabbed her face. He stood there, uneasily, watching her struggle to regain her composure. �ŚIs it a song that brings back memories for you?’ he said, and gave a slight cough to cover his awkwardness. Inwardly, he cursed himself for his curiosity, telling himself he should leave her be. She nodded. �ŚMemories of my mother,’ she said. �ŚLong gone. But it was wonderful to hear that song again. It made me feel so happy.’ �ŚOh, good,’ Carl said, with a perplexed frown. She didn’t look happy. Never in a million years, he decided, would he fully understand women. After a slight pause, he decided he’d have to tell her the bad news about the door. �ŚI’m afraid I’ll have to slip back to the shop, Miss, as this lock can’t be repaired. There’s a piece of wood here that must be made good, too.’ He showed her the place where it had splintered away. She reached out and touched it and her warm hand grazed his, sending a shot of pleasure through his body like a whiskey on a cold night. She bit her lip, and looked very worried. �ŚBut �Ś you will make it look just as it was before, won’t you? And you can mend it today, before eight o’clock?’ �ŚYes, of course I can. I can do anything with these hands of mine,’ Carl said, with a likely grin, for he was confident and proud of his skill. �ŚIt can be made good as new, Miss, no need to worry.’ So Carl trudged back to the shop, thinking all the time about the little wench who had quickened the beat of his heart. There didn’t seem to be any other servants about, he reflected, but that wasn’t all that surprising. It was high summer and the owners of the house were probably away on holiday. They would have taken most of their people with them, and left only a skeleton staff. That entrancing girl with the bright eyes and the pretty ankles would be one of them – and she wouldn’t want anyone to think she hadn’t been looking after the place. He went to the back of the shop, to the workshop beyond, and searched until he found the fittings he needed to take back to the house. He even found a little bit of leftover paint in a can, and he wrapped it up and put it in his tool bag to take with him, planning to touch up the place where the wood was broken. The girl seemed so very anxious that no one should know about the broken lock, and this was something he could easily do for her. Carl’s boss stopped him on the way out, wanting to know why it was all taking so long. �ŚWhat about that other job on Lake Road, lad? Are you still planning to get that done this afternoon?’ �ŚNo, sir. I’ll have to look at that in the morning,’ Carl said, heading briskly for the door before he got asked any more questions. �ŚThis one’s turned out a bit more complicated than I thought.’ �ŚOh I see. Complicated is she?’ said the older man, looking over the top of his gold-rimmed specs with a disapproving frown. �ŚNothing I can’t handle,’ Carl said, with a smile. The shop door jingled merrily as he left. � � It was quarter to seven before Carl finished working on the lock. Normally he would have finished much earlier and gone home to his lodgings for supper - but he’d promised that he would make the damage good for her, and he was a man of his word. At last it was done, and he straightened up and admired his handiwork. The girl was pleased, he could tell, and she thanked him profusely. �ŚYou are very clever,’ she said, turning the key back and forth in the lock, admiring the way it worked so smoothly. Carl packed up his tools, and all the time he was aware that she was watching him, and though she didn’t say a word, he sensed she was sorry to see him go. �ŚIt’s getting late,’ he said. �ŚDo you live out? If you do, I could walk you home.’ �ŚNo. I live here,’ she said. �ŚThis is the house where I was born.’ That’s when he realised his mistake. Her voice. She had a lovely clear voice - she spoke kindly, with no condescension - but she was posh, he could see that now. This girl was no parlourmaid. He wasn’t sure what she was, except that she was not in his league. Carl experienced a pang of deep disappointment. He had really warmed to this little miss. But before he could ask her why she had misled him, she spoke again - more boldly than he was expecting. �ŚBut the master of the house has run out of brandy,’ she said. �ŚAnd he is very fond of a glass of brandy. Do you think I might be able to buy some at the Three Bells? Carl was astonished. A shy little thing like her, talking about the local tavern. �ŚYou would indeed – but it’s not a place a lady should venture into,’ he replied. �ŚNo. Perhaps not.’ Carl paused, uncertain what to say. The evening was hot and sultry, and there was tension in the air – tension that came not just from the heat. He glanced down at the girl, and smiled apologetically, silently acknowledging his mistake. She was very lovely, too lovely to be ordinary – he should have understood that. But surely, she must realise that the game was over, and that they couldn’t go on flirting any more? The pause seemed endless. Everything was different now that he understood she was a lady. �ŚShall I offer to go with you, Miss?’ Carl said, knowing it was improper. Knowing it was not his place to say any such thing. She blushed. �ŚYou are very kind �Ś’ she began. �ŚVery gentlemanly, but�Ś’ He’d spoken out of turn. He knew it. �ŚSorry, Miss. It was not gentlemanly at all,’ he admitted. �ŚA gentleman would have offered to go for you, I think.’ He smiled to hide his embarrassment, and to his delight she smiled back and the tension was broken. She had a lovely, lovely smile. �ŚYes,’ she said, her face flushed pink and pretty. Lovelier than ever. �ŚThat’s what I’ll do then, Miss. You give me the money and I’ll buy it. I’ll be back before you know it. Forgive me for saying the wrong thing.’ There was another moment’s hesitation, and her eyes met his, sending a sensation through him that wasn’t just embarrassment any more. The girl kept gazing back at him, artlessly, innocently, while he coloured up again. She moistened her lips, little minx, and he felt a wave of warm heat up his back and round his neck. He touched his neckcloth, to loosen it slightly. Then she spoke. �ŚYou know, Mr Janssen, I really would like a breath of fresh air.’ � � Susannah walked along the tree-lined avenue, in the direction of the tavern, with the locksmith by her side. All the way along the road, a little voice in her head told her she should not be doing this. A well-bred young lady, walking down the street with a tradesman? What was she thinking of! Yet she had done so many things today that she had never done before, it seemed to follow on naturally from everything else. Besides, the locksmith was so easy to talk to – so smiley and handsome and fair. She wasn’t used to men like that. She wasn’t used to men at all. � �ŚWhere are you from, Mr Janssen?’ She took a sidelong glance at him as she spoke, to admire his broad shoulders again. �ŚI’m from here, I was born in this town,’ he said. �ŚBut I know what you’re asking. My father was from Stockholm. He met and married a local girl, and stayed here all his life.’ �ŚI have a book about Sweden that papa gave me for Christmas,’ she said. �ŚBut I’ve never been there. I’ve never been anywhere at all.’ She spoke quickly, anxiously, but she was not unhappy. She was excited. �ŚNeither have I, Miss. We have that in common.’ She smiled a radiant smile. She liked the locksmith – but today she liked everything she set eyes upon. She gazed around and everything she saw seemed completely perfect. The evening light through the leaves, the long tree-lined avenue leading them into the city, and the delightful hustle and bustle of busier streets beyond. A tramcar went rattling past, and Susannah turned and watched in amazement. What luck! What incredible luck - to see such a thing on what was only her second trip out of the house in four years. She knew the locksmith must think she was odd, but then, he didn’t know the half of it. She felt a little guilty for misleading him - pretending to be a maid - but it had to be done. �ŚTell me your name,’ he said quietly. She decided to oblige him. �ŚSusannah Fortescue.’ He smiled and swiped a bloom from a flowering shrub overhanging the path. �ŚFor you, Susannah.’ He should have addressed her as Miss Fortescue, but she was glad he didn’t. If the name meant anything to him he didn’t say. Perhaps she shouldn’t have told him her real name, but she didn’t want to lie anymore. Now he’d always be able to say he once walked out with Fortescue’s daughter, whom no one in the town had ever seen. But Susannah pushed those thoughts away. She wanted to enjoy walking in the sunshine with this wonderful, handsome man. They approached the inn now. It was a quaint little place with a low doorway and a painted sign on hinges above the window. �ŚIt’s a good little tavern,’ the locksmith explained, �Śand they know me here. I sing songs for them on a Saturday night, you see. So, if you are planning on buying any more brandy, this is where you’ll find me.’ �ŚI think that’s most unlikely,’ she said, with obvious regret. She knew this walk to the Three Bells was a stolen pleasure, a once in a lifetime thing, never to be countenanced again. �ŚI know, I know,’ he said. �ŚNo harm in wishing, is there?’ She gave a shy little smile, and waited outside watching the passers by, while he went into the pub and bought the brandy. Then reluctantly, they turned and headed back to the house where she belonged. He walked her right to the door, and they both went through to the back of the house so that he could retrieve his tool bag. Susannah was sorry the evening was over. It had been such a thrill, enjoying his company, walking along beside him – knowing that she was doing something that crossed the line between proper and improper. �ŚBefore I forget,’ he said, �Śhere are the keys for the new lock. There’s a master and a spare.’ He showed her the keys, linked together on a metal ring. �ŚA spare key?’ she said, in amazement. �ŚYou have made more than one key!’ �ŚIt’s what we always do.’ �ŚThat means �ŚI could have a key to that door, all of my own?’ �ŚYes, Miss. If that’s what you want.’ He took one of the keys off the metal ring, and handed it to her. �ŚAre you happy with that?’ Susannah gazed at the key in the palm of her hand, curling her fingers around it. Then, she looked up at him with a bright smile. �ŚMore than you can possibly imagine, Mr Janssen. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.’ � � Carl was intrigued by the way she examined the shiny new keys as if she’d never seen anything like them before. She was so sweet. He realised he was lingering, not wanting to go. He made no move to pick up his heavy tool bag; he wanted to make the moment last. He knew he had to say goodnight for now, but this wouldn’t be the end of it, he was sure. The longer he spent with her the more she aroused him. �ŚCarl?’ she said, and he looked at her in surprise, because it was the first time she had used his given name. He rather liked the way it sounded on her lips. She surprised him even more by tugging gently at his shirtfront, pulling him towards her. He smiled down at her, enjoying the unexpected intimacy. If she wanted more, he’d be happy to oblige. �ŚIf I really was a parlourmaid, what would you do now?’ �ŚI’d steal a kiss,’ he said. �ŚIf she was willing.’ �ŚHow would you do that?’ she said. �ŚFor if she was willing, it wouldn’t be stolen, would it?’ Carl couldn’t take his eyes off her sweet little mouth. Pretty pink lips, pouting a little as she spoke. Daring him to kiss her. God, he wanted to kiss her. �ŚIt’d be stealing if she belonged to another man,’ he said warily. �ŚParlourmaids are seldom married, Mr Janssen, and neither am I.’ Carl knew he was on dangerous ground. Stop this right now, he told himself. She’s a rich man’s daughter and she’s leading you on. �ŚYou know what I mean, Miss. Your father would have me run out of town if we�Ś’ Susannah gave a heavy sigh. �ŚParlourmaids are lucky.’ She turned away. Carl couldn’t bear it. He didn’t like seeing her so crestfallen. �ŚYou’re the sweetest girl I ever saw!’ She turned eagerly when he blurted this out. �ŚReally?’ she said, with her eyes burning bright. �ŚYes. But you mustn’t play with fire,’ he said. �ŚYou’re a lovely, lovely girl and you don’t know what you are getting yourself into. I am not a gentleman, and even if I were, I have no right to touch you, strangers that we are. You mustn’t be too forward with men, or believe me, they will misuse you.’ Suddenly she looked contrite, and a worried frown came over her face. �ŚForgive me,’ she said, �ŚI have never been so unladylike in my life. One little taste of freedom and I am behaving like a�"I don’t even know the right word! I have no experience of these things!’ Her face flushed scarlet and she fanned herself with her hands. It was such an alluring gesture – and done so artlessly – it almost brought Carl to his knees. �ŚI must go,’ he said, as he struggled to maintain his resolve not to touch her. �ŚLet me shake your hand instead, Mr Janssen,’ she said. Their fingers met, and lingered. They shook hands and they didn’t let go. Neither of them wanted to end this fragile moment of contact. Warm hands, shy looks, and words that didn’t really mean goodbye. �ŚOh, sweetheart! Come here!’ he said in despair. He reached out and pulled her into a tight embrace, his mouth finding hers, tasting her for the first time. It was a wild crazy kiss; a long, hard, aching kiss that made Carl moan in anguish and delight. She yielded so sweetly to him - as his tongue invaded her mouth – he thought he’d die of pleasure. The kiss deepened, and his whole body pressed against hers. His hands caressed her back, and he could feel the seams of her corset, underneath the fabric of her dress. Moments passed, touching, tasting, delighting in her eager response. And with all her sweet curves pressing against him, Carl became hotter and harder all the time. You’re a fool, his conscience told him, for a moment of pleasure in a pretty girl’s arms. What if her father walked in on you, now, doing this? He broke away from her instantly, leaving her breathless. �ŚIs that what kissing’s like?’ she said, in amazement. �ŚNot usually.’ Carl stumbled backwards, stunned and numb from that sensational kiss. Guilt and shame overwhelmed him, as he contemplated what he had done. She looked flushed and delighted, triumphant even. She had got her first kiss. �ŚI didn’t want to do that,’ he said, shaking his head. The girl’s eyes were bright with amusement. �ŚOh, you did, Carl! You know you did. You should not tell such lies.’ She laughed and pushed him away, and then she showed him the door. Leaving him to wonder if she ever meant to see him again, or if she had just used him to get that kiss. � Chapter 2� � ON SATURDAY NIGHT, Carl was singing in the pub. He had a repertoire of haunting ballads and sea shanties, including a few rousing old favourites at the end so the crowd could join in with the chorus. He looked up through the throng of people, and he thought he saw her face looking through the casement window. When it was time for him to take a break, and the publican brought him a pint of beer, he set it down without taking a sip and made his way through the crowd to see if he could find Susannah. He went through the door, and out into the cool night air. She was standing in the street outside the pub, and smiled in delight when she saw him. She seemed unconcerned by her surroundings – though there were two drunken men sitting in the gutter only a few feet away. Carl took hold of her arm. �ŚWhat are you doing here, Susannah? It’s not safe in the street at this time of night!’ �ŚYou asked me to come, and hear you sing.’ �ŚI suppose I did,’ he said, with a pang of guilt, �Śbut this pub is no place for a lady.’ �ŚMr Janssen, a lady is a person with a title. I have no title, none at all, so can’t we just pretend that I’m a maid?’ �ŚBut you are not a maid!’ One of the drunken men looked up and tugged at Susannah’s skirt. �ŚIf she is, she won’t be for long – not if she sets foot in there!’ He broke into gusts of wheezy laughter, amused by his own joke. Susannah ignored him. She went over to the casement window and looked inside. �ŚI can see lots of women in there, Carl, and they’re all having such a fine time. Why shouldn’t I join in?’ Carl was torn, he couldn’t leave her here, but he had to go back in and sing and there wasn’t time to get her home first. He relented and took her into the pub. He made a great show of finding her a seat, to warn the other men off. The barmaid gave Susannah a drink (and Carl a wink) and promised she would keep an eye on her for him. �ŚI’ll see she don’t come to no harm. Get up there and sing. They’re waiting for you!’ More agitated than before, Carl went and took his place and the music started. Carl sang his heart out, knowing he had never sung so well as he did that night. Susannah sat there before him, sipping her drink, smiling now and then. He had never had such an attentive admirer. Her gaze never left his face. His voice rang out, rich and true, filling the room with sound. �Ś�ŚAnd ye shall be my bride, lady, and ye shall be my bride �Ś’ Then, inwardly, he cursed himself for singing the wrong words. HIS bride, he thought with a hint of a blush, that’s how that song is supposed to go! � � On the way home, they talked more honestly than before. �ŚYou broke that lock yourself,’ Carl said. No judgment was attached; it was simply a plain statement of the fact. She was silent for a moment, but then she nodded. Carl waited for her to speak, but she glanced away. �ŚAre you in some kind of trouble?’ Finally, she made her confession. �ŚMy father’s in London, and the servants are away. All except the housekeeper, Molly. She’s a good sort, and she’s kind to me, Carl.’ He listened, intently, and didn’t speak. �ŚWell, Molly got a letter from her sister, who has just had another baby – her seventh child – can you imagine?’ �ŚQuite well, since my mother had nine.’ �ŚWell, things didn’t go so well with this baby, and Molly said she had to go over to her sister’s straight away, to help out. So, the house was deserted – everyone gone – all except for me. That’s when I grabbed my chance.’ �ŚYou broke the lock, so you could get out of the house?’ �ŚYes. It was such a lovely day, and I realised it had been four years since I went out. I used the scissors that Molly gave me for sewing. I used them to smash the door. I couldn’t resist it.’ �ŚSusannah, am I hearing this right? You’ve been shut up in that house for four years?’ �ŚYes.’ �ŚBut, why? For heaven’s sake, why?’ �ŚI don’t know. My father is fearful for my safety, I believe.’ �ŚI think I’d be fearful for his, if anyone found out about this,’ Carl said, clenching his fists by his side. �ŚShould we go to the police, do you think?’ �ŚI wondered about going to the police, but then I wasn’t so sure they would understand. My courage failed me. I thought about running away,’ she continued, �Śbut where would I go? So, I explored parts of the house I am not usually allowed to see, and then I walked up to the shops. I bought some stamps and some flowers, and I got myself a railway timetable.’ He smiled. Such modest purchases, on what should have been an exultant day of freedom. �ŚI thought the stamps would enable me to write to people, to get some advice about how to escape my �Śsituation. With that hope in mind, I acquired the railway timetable, thinking I might need to catch a train one day, when I had worked out where I should go. The flowers I bought entirely on impulse. I love sweet peas - my mother used to grow them. After that I knew I had to go home. I passed the locksmiths’ shop on the way and I called in and asked them to send a man to fix the door.’ �ŚAnd your father was none the wiser,’ Carl said. �ŚYou’re a clever, clever girl.’ �ŚI hope he never finds out about my escapades,’ she said. �ŚThere are so many places I’d like to see.’ � They arrived back at the house, and went round to the back. Carl noticed that there were wrought iron bars on some of the windows. �ŚIs that where you live?’ he said, pointing to the basement windows. He felt choked up with emotion, thinking of her plight. �ŚIt’s not so bad. Sometimes I’m allowed to stroll in the garden.’ �ŚOh, Miss, I wish I could help you.’ He resolved that he’d find a way to help her, if it was the last thing he ever did. �ŚPerhaps you can. Now that I have my key I can make all sorts of plans for the future. I am so full of hope and happiness.’ Help me up to the window, if you please.’ She was in through the window in a trice, giving Carl a tantalising flash of slim legs and frothy petticoats. Then, she slipped her key into the lock and turned it, and the door to her little basement room was open. �ŚGood night,’ she murmured and disappeared inside. �ŚSusannah! Wait! Will I see you again?’ he said, but she was gone. The door was closed tight shut, and he could not call out, for fear of waking the rest of the house up. He must walk home, with all his questions unanswered. � Chapter 3� � FRIDAY MORNING, AT THE SHOP, and the boss was going through the unpaid invoices. �ŚYou know that lock you fitted, up in Park Avenue, Carl?’ Carl looked up from his work, grinding keys. Susannah. How could he forget? �ŚThey’re saying they didn’t call for a locksmith that day,’ Carl frowned. He couldn’t deny that he’d done the repair. �ŚThat’s not right, sir, you know it’s not.’ His boss laughed. �ŚI was here when the girl came in about it. Nice bit of skirt she was too. I’ll go round there and remind them.’ �ŚDo you have to?’ Carl said, too quickly. �ŚWhy don’t you let me go?’ � �ŚIt’s got to be handled right, lad. We’d like them to pay but we don’t want to upset them, you understand.’ �ŚWhy not?’ Carl was playing for time, wondering how to sort this one out. �ŚYou’ve got a lot to learn. Mr Fortescue’s a popular man – running for parliament. It could be very bad for business if things turn sour with him. I’ll go up there and have a friendly chat.’ Carl’s heart sank. Her father was a politician. What hope for a poor locksmith? What chance did he stand, a working man, wanting to court her? But worse than that, there was the matter of the invoice. Susannah would be in deep trouble now. If only Carl had remembered about the invoice he would have tried to stop it being sent out. He turned to his boss, hoping to change his mind. �ŚIf it’s that important not to upset them, sir, why don’t you let them off?’ �ŚLet them go without paying? I don’t know that we need go that far, lad. Fortescue’s got plenty of money.’ Carl made one last desperate appeal. �ŚPlease Mr Broderick – if you just wait til payday, I’ll pay the bill meself.’ Broderick looked up sharply. �ŚWhy on earth would you do that?’ � � Susannah’s room was neat and orderly. She kept her books arranged on a little shelf above her bed. She had a little writing box, in which she kept a few treasures. She had stowed her precious stamps away in there. Another day she would write to an address she knew in London, to try to get some advice. She’d love to be free - she had a picture on the wall that showed children paddling in the sea. The picture was sentimental - the sand was golden - as was the children’s hair - and the kindly fisherman had eyes of china blue. She had not thought that any real person could have eyes like that, until she met the locksmith. She shivered with excitement, and touched her mouth where his kisses had been. Until now she had been allowed no contact with young men. No parties and no dances, no conversations – not even chaperoned ones, and definitely no kisses. If her father found out about Carl, there would be hell to pay. But things will change, she told herself, now that I have my key. She must be stealthy and discreet. Tonight, when the house was completely quiet, she would take another stroll in the garden. Another day, she might go further a-field. The library, the market, the linen draper’s shop. The horizon was alive with possibilities. The fairground, the theatre, the racecourse maybe �Ś � � Carl had supper with the boss and his wife. They were pleased with his work, and they had no sons of their own. There was often a place for him at their table. Mr Broderick, Carl’s boss, was a vigorous fellow of about fifty. He was going grey, and he had a large handlebar moustache. He was enjoying a plate of stewed beef and dumplings, cooked by his plump lady wife. Carl wasn’t making much headway with his plate of food. His thoughts were with Susannah. Never in a thousand years did he imagine it would lead to this. �ŚPlease, Mr Broderick, what do you know about Mr Fortescue’s daughter?’ The boss looked up and frowned. �ŚFortescue? The politician? Has he got a daughter?’ Mrs Broderick interrupted. �ŚHe has, my dear, he has got a daughter – though nobody’s ever seen her. Apparently, she’s an embarrassment to him, and he’s kept very quiet about it, with the election coming up. They say she’s not right in the head.’ Carl dropped his fork. Not right in the head. �ŚOh God. Is that how it is?’ he said, and only after he had spoken the words did he realise that he’d spoken out loud. He thought of her over-bright eyes, her nervous energy, the crazy little things she said. �ŚWhat’s your interest there, my boy?’ Broderick wanted to know. Carl shook his head and tried another mouthful of food. He found he could hardly swallow, and he pushed his plate aside. He said nothing, but Broderick’s suspicion was raised. �ŚDid you see her, then? Up at Fortescue’s place?’ �ŚShe was the girl who came into the shop,’ Carl replied. �ŚThat girl? No! That was Fortescue’s daughter, in my little shop?’ �ŚOh Carl, you haven’t got tangled up with her, have you?’ Mrs Broderick said, and touched his arm. Carl gave her a guilty look. Broderick and his wife exchanged a glance. Carl ran a hand over his face. There’d be all sorts of questions, now, and he was in no mood to answer them. All he could think about was that dreadful phrase. Not right in the head. No. Carl refused to believe it. Melancholy, perhaps, but not mad. Anyone would behave a little strangely if they were kept cooped up like a caged animal. There was more to this, of that he was sure. Broderick wanted the truth. �ŚCome on, Carl, tell us what you know about Fortescue’s daughter.’ �ŚAll I know is that I care for her more every day, and I don’t believe she deserves the reputation she’s been given.’ � � Carl sent her a note, asking her to meet him, unsure if she would agree. But on Tuesday night she was there at the gate, waiting for him. They met at night for safety’s sake, when the streets were empty and quiet. They walked in companionable silence down the darkened streets and alleyways, heading towards the river. Susannah would have been afraid, if Carl had not been with her. But there were no villains at large, as far as she could see. They startled a stray cat, with eerie luminous eyes, and walked on, past shops and pubs that were closed for the night. At the boat shed he picked the lock, and �Śborrowed’ a rowing boat so he could take her out on the water. The river was dark and seductive. An expanse of shimmering ripples in the moonlight. He got into the boat first, and held out his hand for her. �ŚStep in carefully, so you don’t upset it,’ he warned. But she almost did, in her ignorance – just one false step and it nearly overturned. She gasped as the boat lurched dangerously, and then gave a squeal of laughter. �ŚSit down, Miss, before you get us both soaking wet.’ �ŚStop calling me �ŚMiss’, Carl.’ �ŚYes, Miss,’ he said, with a grin. She lay back in the boat, and he threw her his jacket to cushion the wooden seat. Then he took up the oars and began to row, slicing through the water with crisp even strokes. Under his dark waistcoat, his white shirt showed up well in the moonlight – pale shirtsleeves rippling as he moved the oars. Susannah enjoyed watching his strong arms make light work of the rowing. �ŚSo �Ś you’re a politician’s daughter,’ Carl said. She nodded and gave him a little sigh. She’d been expecting this. �ŚHe’s all set to win this time?’ �ŚSo I’m told.’ �ŚWho tells you, Susannah? Who’s your window on the world?’ �ŚYou are,’ she said, gratified to see that he was pleased – as if she had paid him an unexpected compliment. But he wouldn’t settle for that. �ŚI knew nothing about Fortescue and his plans to go into parliament, not until yesterday.’ �ŚMolly tells me things. Our housekeeper. She loves to gossip, even to me. Sometimes she lets me read the paper – especially if it says nice things about Papa.’ �ŚHow did it all begin, Susannah? You, locked up, living in that little room?’ She bit her lip. She didn’t want to tell him, but what was the point of the pretence. If he’d found out a bit about her father, her must have learned some unpleasant truths about her, too. She paused for a long, long time, and he did not interrupt her contemplation. �ŚIt started when my mother died. I was beside myself with grief, I suppose. I made mistakes I have lived to regret.’ �ŚTell me,’ he said, very gently. Susannah shook her head. �ŚNo. It will change things.’ �ŚI swear to you, it won’t.’ She admitted that she had been present at one of her father’s political rallies, and when everyone was asking him weighty questions about his policy on this or that, she had raised her hand and asked him why he didn’t call the doctor sooner, when her mother was ill. Then she’d burst into hysterical weeping in front of everybody. �ŚI apologized afterwards of course, but Father said the damage was done.’ Carl was kind. �ŚGrief takes us all in different ways,’ he said, �Śand you were just a girl. I suppose Fortescue was terrified you’d ruin his career?’ �ŚYes. He made sure that no one took any notice of anything I said after that. You’re the only one who isn’t afraid to hear me out,’ she observed. �ŚWhy?’ �ŚMy father was a good judge of people. He sailed before the mast for sixteen years. Cooped up in the ship’s forecastle with twenty other sailors, it was a useful skill. He told me that you must watch for clues, little signs that tell you what a person is really like. I have watched all the signs with you, my lovely girl, and you are sweetness itself. Inexperienced, hungry for life, that’s all. Every minute we spend together delights me, and only makes me want more.’ If there had been sunshine, instead of moonlight, he would have seen the blush that she knew stained her cheeks. She felt hot, though the night air was cool, and she turned her face away. She dipped her hand in the water just to convince herself this pleasure was real. Cool, wet, dark, and seductive – that’s what this night had become. He let the boat drift into a secluded place, shielded by willow branches hanging like a curtain over the water. Susannah watched him securing the oars. She caught her breath, when he came to lie with her. The boat rocked gently, but he was skilled and knew where to place his weight. She shivered - not with cold – but he placed a strong warm arm around her shoulders, and held her close to his body heat. �ŚSusannah, look at me,’ he breathed, and she felt the gossamer touch of his fingers on her cheek. She was afraid to look up into his eyes; afraid she would feel naked and exposed. �ŚSweet Susannah,’ he said, reassuringly. �ŚIt’s me. It’s only me.’ Still she could not look up. His fingers stroked softly, insistently, tracing the curve of her neck. All the time she lay against his long, lean body. He felt so warm tonight. He did not move, and she began to think she’d lost her chance of a kiss by being far too shy. But then, he tipped her chin upwards gently, and placed his mouth on hers. She made the faintest sound of protest, and then surrendered to his kiss. He was different tonight. He was confident and knowing as he pleasured her. His lips were persuasive and tender; he took her mouth and taught her every sweet little move he knew. He taught her how to tease and taste, and how to linger – his lips just touching hers – until she ached with pleasure. He taught her how to let the passion build and build, until her whole body trembled and yearned for much, much, more than moonlit kisses in a tiny rowing boat. �ŚCarl. Undo my dress. It buttons up the back.’ He gave an appreciative sigh, and one last lingering kiss. �ŚI must get you home,’ he said. �ŚNo,’ she said, and clung to him, burning with longing for him. Carl smiled at her, obviously enjoying the effect he had upon her. �ŚIf I am to maintain any hope of being a gentleman, and courting you properly, I must take you home.’ Susannah did not want him to be a gentleman, she did not want him to be a gentleman at all, but she sobered up a little at the mention of courting properly. All day today and all day yesterday, while she was waiting for this assignation with Carl, she’d spent long hours considering how the impossible gulf between them could be bridged – and her father’s opposition overcome - to allow such a courtship to occur. With her body aching for him, her breasts yearning to be touched, and a sense of aroused confusion in her soul, Susannah allowed him to row her back to the boatshed. She stood and watched him stow away the boat and fasten the door. By now, she did feel cold. Carl lent her his jacket, which was about six sizes too big, and they walked back to her house hand in hand. � Chapter 4� � THE NEXT DAY, at the locksmith’s shop, Mr Broderick called Carl in to the office. He told Carl to take off his leather apron and tidy himself up to go out. �ŚThey want to see you, up at the Fortescue place, about that unpaid bill.’ �ŚI told you, sir, if you’ll wait til payday �Ś’ �ŚCarl, you can’t play Tom Fool with Fortescue’s daughter and not expect there to be consequences.’ �ŚYou’ve not said anything to him, have you, sir?’ �ŚNo. You’re on your own.’ Carl went up there with mixed feelings. It might be a chance to see her, or it might be the end of it all. He made quick work of the walk, up the tree-lined avenue to where she lived. He was astonished when the butler said that Mr Fortescue himself wanted to see him. He stood waiting in the library, cap in hand, and he stole a nervous glance at himself in the mirror. He’d always been proud of his blonde hair and his honest blue eyes – but his hands were calloused and his face was tanned by the sun. He wore a rough tweed jacket over a linen shirt. It was much too hot in this weather but he thought he’d have to wear a jacket if he wanted to look like a respectable tradesman. Who was he trying to fool? He looked like a Swedish sailor on a charge of being drunk and disorderly. Then he noticed a portrait photograph on the other side of the room – of a young woman in a white dress with her hair tied back with a blue satin ribbon. He went nearer to take a look. �ŚSusannah,’ he breathed. �ŚMy own sweet girl.’ He longed to see her again, but he had heard nothing from her, and it had been nearly a week. � The door opened, and Carl prayed that he had not been overheard. Mr Fortescue came into the room with the offending invoice in his hand, and took a seat behind a mahogany desk. Carl stood, since he was not invited to sit, and prepared to defend himself as politely as he could. �ŚCan you explain this?’ Mr Fortescue demanded. Carl could see this man was Susannah’s father. He had the same eyes as her, but his voice was pure condescension. Carl asked if he could look at the bill, playing for time. He pretended he was struggling to read it, taking his time to make out the words, while he tried to think what he should say. �ŚWill you stop playacting, man, and explain yourself?’ Carl looked up. �ŚIt has been sent to you in error, sir.’ �ŚIn error?’ Mr Fortescue frowned. �ŚYes sir, I believe it relates to some work I did nearby,’ said Carl. �ŚAnd it has been wrongly addressed to you.’ �ŚIt says here, plain and clear, that you changed a lock in this house. Will you kindly identify the lock? To whom did you give the key? It is vital that I make sure my house is secure.’ �ŚI cannot tell you that, sir, because I didn’t do this work for you. It was for someone entirely different.’ Fortescue sighed. �ŚVery well, I shall have every room searched until I find out.’ Carl stared at him in disbelief. �ŚGo now, while you still have the chance. When I get this straightened out I shall make my complaint to your employer!’ Carl left the house with a terrible sense of foreboding. He had gone there to try and make things better for Susannah, and only made things worse. Fortescue was rich, Fortescue was clever – and worst of all Fortescue had people’s trust and respect. He was all set to win the election, for heaven’s sake. He stood for reforms that would bring money to the town, and no one wanted to think ill of him. If some young locksmith were to start making wild accusations - who would believe him? But if he didn’t do something to help Susannah, he was fearful of how things would turn out. � � Susannah looked up when she heard footsteps on the stairs that led down to the basement. Her father burst in, with the butler and the housekeeper. Molly, the housekeeper, begged Susannah to cooperate. �ŚJust tell them where it is, there’s a good girl.’ Susannah tried to stay steadfast. The men ransacked the room and Susannah watched while all her things were strewn about. Her books, her papers, the handkerchiefs and everything else in the chest of drawers, all scattered on the floor. Susannah shut down all emotion and saw it all unfold as if it meant nothing to her. The writing box, smashed to smithereens, her flowers knocked over and water spilling over the edge of the bureau and onto the floor. And all the while, in the distance, she could hear Molly alternately begging the men to stop, and begging Susannah to cooperate before everything in the room was broken. Finally, when they had looked everywhere, they realised it must be on her person. Sure enough, the key was found, on a silk ribbon around her neck. Susannah tried to hold onto it, but she couldn’t fight them all. Her father was wild with anger, and he wrenched at the ribbon, determined to drag the key away from her. The ribbon snapped, and Susannah howled in distress. Molly was horrified. �ŚFor the love of heaven, sir! You’ve hurt her. Look at that angry red mark on her neck.’ Susannah’s father didn’t take any notice. He turned back to her and shook her roughly. �ŚHe made you this key, didn’t he? And tell me, what did he get from you?’ � �ŚPapa, I did nothing wrong. Nothing that would embarrass you.’ � �ŚFoolish, foolish girl! You imagine I cannot see through that artless young man? I wouldn’t last a day in politics if I were not more cynical than that!’ � � Carl didn’t return to the shop. He loitered near the house, hiding in the shadow of an overgrown hedge about a hundred yards away from her house. He sat and waited, hoping that sooner or later Fortescue would go out. He didn’t mind if Broderick swore at him, for being late back to work. He didn’t care if Broderick sacked him as long as Susannah was safe. As time went on, he cursed himself for not rushing in there, to confront the wretched man. It wasn’t even fear that prevented him - it was the sickening realisation that in order to help her, he must keep her secret just a little longer. Just when Carl was at the point of giving up, he saw a man in a smart summer suit striding down the path, swinging his silver-topped cane. Fortescue. Carl waited until the hated man was out of sight, and then went back to the house. He waved to the gardener in a friendly way, as he made his way round to the tradesmen’s entrance. He wanted it to look as if he had a perfect right to be there. If anyone questioned him, he would say it was about the unpaid bill. Then he seized his chance. He nipped round to the back door, the one that led down to the basement. He knew he would find it locked. But Carl could deal with that. He had, in his pocket, a set of likely keys, and he tried a few until he found a promising one. The key was close, but not quite right, so Carl took out a small metal file, and filed it down until he thought it would fit. Then he tried it once more and it worked perfectly. He crept down the stairs, wondering what he would find. � �ŚSusannah?’ he said, �ŚAre you there?’ With a sense of terrible fear in his chest, he pushed open a door and went inside. This must be her room, and it chilled him to see that it was in total disarray. A vase of flowers, tipped over. A writing box, smashed into pieces on the ground, and all the envelopes scattered all around. A torn picture and a broken frame. His heart skittered in his chest. She was nowhere to be seen, but he thought he heard a faint sound. She must be here. �ŚSusannah?’ �ŚGo away. I don’t want you to see me like this.’ Her voice came from the wardrobe. �ŚOh God, Susannah, what has he done to you?’ Pulling open the door, Carl found her in the wardrobe. She was sitting hunched up on the floor, choking back the sobs. He knelt down, hoping to comfort her; fearful she’d push him away. Her dress was torn and her face was very tear-stained. But she was still his own sweet girl. �ŚMr Janssen – they took away my key!’ she burst out, and he pulled her into his arms. He hushed and soothed and kissed her hair, which hung around her face in dishevelled, uncombed curls. He had to think fast. He couldn’t take her back to his lodgings. His landlady wouldn’t allow that. His parents were dead and his brother was at sea; his sisters were all in service. He couldn’t ask the Brodericks for help; they were so much in awe of bloody Fortescue. �ŚWhat are we going to do?’ she said. �ŚI don’t know yet. But I promise you will not have to sleep another night in this dreadful place, not if I can help it.’ �ŚYou’ll take me away from here?’ she said, in astonishment. He nodded, but his heart stuttered because of the rash promise that he’d made. He glanced desperately round the room, as if he’d find the answer on the floor with everything else. Then he looked up again at Susannah. He couldn’t take her anywhere as she was. The torn white nightgown made her look as mad as Lady Macbeth. �ŚFirst, we’ll get you dressed. Do you have some sort of travelling outfit?’ She shook her head. �ŚI haven’t had need of one, Carl.’ �ŚYou need one now,’ he said ruefully. �ŚSomething that won’t draw attention to us, when we try to get on the train.’ �ŚThe train?’ she said, with bright round eyes. �ŚYou’re taking me on the train?’ He nodded, though his plans were only just beginning to take shape. He helped her to put up her hair. Carl had seven sisters and had acquired a fairly good idea of how a young woman’s hair was supposed to look. He searched around the room until he found her hairbrush, on the floor where everything had been ransacked. �ŚDo you have pins?’ he said, gently. She nodded, and they searched around until they found them, and then he helped her to coil up all her long honey-gold hair into some kind of order again. Hastily they packed up a few of her things, and she dressed as neatly as she could, in a long grey skirt and a white blouse with a brooch pinned at the neckline. She put a short blue cape round her shoulders. �ŚThere,’ she said, and turned to Carl. �ŚDo I look less like a mad girl, now?’ He gave a rueful grin. She knew. She knew what was said about her. �ŚYou are my girl, Susannah, that’s what you are.’ He gave her a kiss on the cheek. �ŚLook,’ she said, and bent down to pick some sheets of paper off the floor. �ŚMy railway timetable. If we can just get up to London, I know someone who will help.’ Together, when the coast was clear, and the gardener had gone for his lunch in the kitchen, they made a bolt for the railway station. � Chapter 5� � ON THE TRAIN, they sat opposite one another, trying to make a plan. The first thing Carl wanted to know was who she knew in London, who might be able to help. � �ŚHis name’s John Finnegan,’ �ŚAnd who is he?’ �ŚHe’s my doctor,’ she confessed. �ŚHe has been helping me to see things more clearly.’ � �ŚSusannah! We can’t go to him!’ �ŚWhy ever not?’ she said. �ŚHe’s very nice. He’ll tell us what to do.’ She frowned in confusion, and looked hurt. Carl sighed and cursed himself for speaking so sharp. Her naivety alarmed him, but it could hardly be seen as her fault. �ŚYou think your doctor is your friend, sweetheart? Who do you think pays his bills?’ �ŚHis bills?’ �ŚYes. He will have been paid handsomely for every conversation you’ve ever had with him. Your father pays him. So he’s Fortescue’s man, no doubt.’ He watched her thinking this over, turning it around in her innocent mind. �ŚYou must think me very silly,’ she said. �ŚBut please, let’s try the doctor. I’ve been shut away and I am foolish, but I know when someone can be trusted. Why else would I have trusted you?’ Carl couldn’t answer that. He thought it was insanity itself to go to the doctor, but he couldn’t offer her any alternative. He had no friends or relatives in London. His plans went as far as spending the night in a cheap boarding house. He hadn’t got any further than that. Perhaps they should have tried his unmarried aunt in Skegness. But he couldn’t even imagine what she would have said if he’d turned up there with a woman on his arm. � � They walked for what seemed like miles, before they reached Finnegan’s house. It was a smart terraced house with a brass plate mounted beside the door. They were shown into the front parlour, and Finnegan, a well-respected doctor in his fifties, was surprisingly polite and sympathetic. He listened to the whole story, and all the time he stroked his beard as if he was deep in thought. He said nothing. �ŚSusannah tells me you’re an excellent doctor,’ Carl said, and the older man raised an eyebrow. �ŚAnd you’ve had the decency to listen.’ The doctor smiled. �ŚBut?’ Carl nodded and gave a nervous half-smile. He was standing before the mantelpiece, feeling angry and self-conscious, and he kept crushing his cap in his hand. �ŚBut �Ś I believe Susannah is as capable of making her own decisions as you or I. It is true that she has no understanding of how the world works – but that’s because she has been kept hidden away from the world for so long. What human being wouldn’t behave a little oddly if kept like a caged bird or common criminal?’ The doctor seemed amused. �ŚYou speak most persuasively, young man. Have you ever thought of entering politics yourself? You would certainly win the hearts of the people with your �Ś charisma. Tell me? Did you practice in front of a mirror to get that impassioned look in your eyes or does it come naturally to you?’ �ŚThis is no moment for levity, Mr Finnegan, Doctor. Sir,’ Carl wasn’t sure how to address the man. �ŚPolitics is a dirty business. I prefer changing locks and grinding keys. Good honest work where nobody gets hurt.’ Finnegan sent Susannah into his consulting room and told her to look at a book, so that he could have �Śa private word’ with Carl. �ŚMr Fortescue is a friend of mine,’ he began. Carl sighed, already feeling defeated. �ŚHe’s a good politician too.’ Carl snorted. �ŚHe’s a terrible father – to inflict such unhappiness on his daughter! I should not want a man like that representing my interests.’ �ŚThat’s just the thing. He does represent the interests of men just like you – decent working men. He will bring about marvellous changes if he is elected. It would be a catastrophe if he were to lose, Mr Janssen. Have you any idea what a scandal it would cause if the papers got a whiff of all this?’ Carl frowned. �ŚSusannah is �Ś very troubled,’ Finnegan said. �ŚHer mind is not like yours and mine. You’ve noticed her unnatural curiosity, and how impetuous she is? How she fails to think before she speaks, and when she speaks she always says exactly what’s on her mind?” Yes. Carl had noticed, and he was in love with it all. �ŚWhat exactly is wrong with her, sir?’ Dr. Finnegan spoke about Susannah’s �Ścondition’ for a good ten minutes, and used a number of impressive words, but at the end of it Carl was sure that Finnegan didn’t understand a woman’s emotions any better than any other man. Finally, Susannah was sent for and she came back into the room with a look of innocent hopefulness on her face. �ŚFinnegan refuses to help us,’ Carl said, and watched the hope fade from her lovely face. �ŚBut he’s promised not to harm us either – so perhaps we can help ourselves.’ Susannah’s expression lightened, and she thanked the doctor profusely, as if he had saved their lives. Carl glanced back, as they left the room. Dr Finnegan had a telephone - a shiny brass contraption – sitting smugly on his desk. The doctor moved to touch it, and then hesitated, resting his fingers there, without lifting up the receiver. He’ll wait until we’re gone, thought Carl, and then all he has to do, is lift that up and ask for Fortescue. We are done for, if he does that. � � Carl bought her a cheap ring, on their way to the boarding house, and Susannah kept admiring the way it caught the light and saying how pretty it was. Carl knew it wouldn’t fool the landlady, but it seemed impolite not to try. � They could only afford one room, and the room was poor and mean. � �ŚNo view,’ he observed, glancing around. �ŚNo water in the washstand jug �Ś and not even a lock on the door!’ �ŚGood,’ said Susannah. She flopped down onto the bed as if she had lived there all her life. But Carl was wary of people bursting in, so he put a chair in front of the door. Then he came and unbuttoned Susannah’s boots for her, so she could rest her aching feet. �ŚDoes it worry you,’ he asked, �Śthat we must pretend to be man and wife? �ŚOh, I’m not going to pretend,’ she said. �ŚMy feelings for you are real. You can do what you want with me now.’ Carl drew in a sharp breath, surprised at her boldness – but then it dawned on him that she didn’t really know what she was offering him, and he must hold himself in check. He sat down and put his arm around her, meaning to seem protective and gentlemanly. �ŚWhat I want, sweet girl, is for you and I to lie on the bed, and plan what we must do.’ Susannah threw her arms around his neck, full of nervous excitement. �ŚOh, Carl! Can we kiss at the same time?’ �ŚKissing is very distracting; we must make plans for tomorrow. We must find someone else who can help us, my love, or we will be parted again.’ �ŚLet no man put asunder what love has joined together,’ she said, excitedly. �ŚWe must hold hands very tightly, and then we two will be as one.’ �ŚSusannah,’ he began, nervous about what he had to say. �ŚDo you understand what goes on between a man and a woman?’ She shrugged. �ŚHow do I know what I don’t know?’ she said, perfectly reasonably. �ŚI asked Dr Finnegan to explain it to me and he said it would disturb my mind.’ Carl frowned, thinking of her doctor playing god like that, keeping her in ignorance. �ŚIs that what you think, too?’ Susannah took his hand, �ŚI don’t know about my mind, Carl, but my body is restless and longs to know more.’ �ŚThen I suppose I must try to tell you.’ He paused, thinking of a way to explain it to her. She was no ordinary girl, and he didn’t want to frighten her. After some moments of hesitation, an idea came to him. �ŚYou know when I came to mend that door,’ he began. She smiled. �ŚThat was such a happy day.’ �ŚYes,’ he said. He stroked her hair and held her close. �ŚWell, the woman is like the door.’ �ŚA woman is not much like a door, Carl.’ �ŚJust listen to the rest of it before you tell me I’m wrong.’ �ŚGo on.’ He was feeling a little awkward now. �ŚThe man �Ś the man holds the key.’ Then, he took hold of her hand, and put it there, against his body, so she could feel his hardness through his trousers. Susannah moved her hand tentatively, exploring him. Carl closed his eyes for a moment, and hoped he wouldn’t moan out loud. She considered the matter. �ŚIt isn’t much like a key, either, for it is long and smooth and warm.’ She curled her whole hand over it, and Carl had to put his hand on hers, to stop her from exciting him any further. �ŚIt is the part of me that longs to be inside you,’ he explained. He was glad that she didn’t seem alarmed. She lay quietly in his arms, taking in the information, still touching him surreptitiously with her fingertips. Carl moved her hand, and placed it over his heart instead. �ŚSusannah, do you even understand �Ś which part of your body �Ś’ Carl found it difficult to continue, but thankfully, she seemed to want to make it easy. She moved her right hand – the one that lay so sweetly on his chest, where his heart faltered for her – and let it slip down over her own belly, sliding it down across the fabric of her dress, down to the place between her legs. �ŚThis is where I yearn for you, Carl. Instinct tells me that I need you here.’ Dear God, he wanted to meet that need. He was burning up, and all he wanted to do was plunge his aching, throbbing shaft inside her. Only some deep thrusting and the sweet, sweet release that must follow would make this fever go away. But she was innocent, unspoilt, and vulnerable. With difficulty, he restrained himself, and lay quietly stroking her hair. �ŚTell me what happens,’ she said. He nodded, patient and tender, kissing her face, smoothing her hair. �ŚThe man puts his key into the barrel, and it fits perfectly.’ �ŚBut he does not turn it,’ she said, trying to follow his meaning accurately. �ŚNot generally, no. It is more the action of sliding the key in - that gives them both such pleasure. Slide in and ease out, as many times as they want.’ Her face was flushed with excitement. �ŚWe must try. We must see if the key fits.’ His body ached with a keen desire that he knew he must suppress. He must not take advantage of her now. �ŚNo. Sweetheart. This is the reason the doctor wouldn’t tell you. We are not married – it would be wrong. If I did it to you now, it would be a violation of you, my love. I’ll wait til I can make you my wife.’ �ŚMarry me tomorrow. Love me tonight.’ Oh, how he wanted to love her! But he knew he must not. So they lay on the bed, fully clothed, and Carl resigned himself to spending the night like that. He kissed her forehead and told her that tomorrow they’d see about getting wed. �ŚImagine,’ she said, and gave his arm an excited squeeze. �ŚMe - a married woman! Married at eighteen!’ Carl’s heart lurched. He cursed inwardly, and pressed his lips once more against her soft skin. She wasn’t yet twenty-one. She was under the age of consent. Of course she was. He’d never asked, because he hadn’t wanted to know. He closed his eyes and waited for tomorrow to come. � Chapter 6� � THE CLERGYMAN WAS SYMPATHETIC – but unable to help them in their plight. Standing in the little porch at the vicarage, Carl turned his cap round and round anxiously in his hands, and listened while the vicar told him no. He heard the words and nodded, but all the time he watched Susannah walking in the churchyard, fresh as a summer’s day in her pretty white blouse and a long grey skirt that hugged the slim curves of her hips. She wore her hair piled up high today, topped with a jaunty straw boater. The blue ribbon at the back fluttered in the breeze. Carl sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. She’d be heartbroken when he had to tell her. They could not wed today, or any day. Not without Fortescue’s blessing. He knew what would happen. They would go here and there and hear the same tale. Go home, young man. We can’t help you. You’re on your own. Your intentions are noble, but we won’t let you live up to them. You can live with her in sin, until your money runs out and you have to admit defeat�Ś Carl had heard enough. He bid the clergyman good day and took Susannah home. He supposed the little room at the boarding house qualified as their home for now. � � Carl had persuaded the landlady to let him buy a cheap lock for their bedroom door. He fitted it himself, thinking that he and Susannah might need the privacy. It would give them a moment of warning, too, if anyone found their hiding place. Susannah sat on the bed and watched him. He tested out the lock, as soon as he had fitted it. The key turned easily. �ŚDoes it bother you,’ he asked, �Śbeing locked in here with me?’ �ŚI don’t mind,’ Susannah said. �ŚAs long as I can hold the key.’ So, he took the key and put it in the palm of her hand, and she curled her fingers around it, as if she never wanted to let it go. Carl stroked her cheek. �ŚAre you planning to hold it tight like that all night?’ �ŚNo. I want to hold you tight, Carl, if only you will let me. I shall leave the key here, under my pillow.’ He sighed, longing to give in and join her on the bed. Gently, she encouraged him to sit down next to her. �ŚYou are my husband, Carl. You’ve proved that in so many ways. You have risked all for me, and I want us to be together, even if it’s only for tonight.’ Carl felt the unfamiliar sting of tears welling up in his eyes. Fortescue would catch up with them soon. It was inevitable. Perhaps she was right. They could enjoy this one stolen night together, as if they were man and wife, if he could only set aside his principles for an hour or so. An hour would end her innocence, forever. �ŚPlease,’ she begged. �ŚTouch me.’ Carl knew he could fight this feeling no longer. He nodded, powerless to resist her invitation. He came and sat near her on the bed. He began by unpinning her hair for her, placing the pins on the bedside table, one by one. He ran his fingers through the coiled locks of hair, releasing them, lifting them away from her neck, so he could put gentle kisses there instead. After that, he undid those irresistible little buttons down the front of her blouse – the ones he had longed to touch all day. He helped her take her bodice off, and lay it down beside the bed. Then, he asked her to stand before him. He laid his hands on her waist. The fastening on her skirt yielded to him soon after, and he tugged down her petticoats as well. He pulled her down to sit upon his knee. Her stays. He gazed, lovingly, at her breasts, pert and perfect, encased in her white cotton stays. He touched the little ruffles that decorated the bust line, tracing his fingers down the seams. Her breathing quickened as he touched. The gentle rise and fall of her bosom became more definite - the longer he kept his hand there, the more definite it became - and a pretty pink blush came stealing across her skin. �ŚSusannah,’ he murmured and lent forward to place a kiss where she blushed, warm and sweet. Ah, she smelt delectable too, as he placed his lips against those irresistible little curves. She made a hushed, soft, sound – the sound of a woman longing to make love. With desire rising rapidly in every part of his body, Carl left off from kissing and concentrated all his attention on releasing her from her stays. His fingers were infinitely tender and gentle, but his heart raced rapidly now. Release her, untie her, set her free, his body begged, while his fingers tried to obey. He hastened to find the right way to unwrap her, the ribbon to pull, the cord to unlace, and all the little hooks that must be undone, before he could enjoy her. Her beautiful little breasts sprang free, and he moaned out loud and cupped them with his hands. He cupped and kissed and teased her a little. He made her stand up again, and twirled her around - bare-breasted and glorious - but still wearing her lace-edged bloomers. He caught her up in his arms and lay her down on the bed, surging over her, eager to remove the last piece of her clothing so he could see her naked. �ŚNo,’ she said, and shook her head. She pushed his hands away. �ŚNo?’ Carl blinked in pure surprise. �ŚNo.’ Her dark eyes gazed up at him soulfully for a moment, and then she lowered her lashes very prettily, and made her request. �ŚBefore I take these off,’ she said, �ŚI’d like to see you undress.’ He smiled and stood up, beside the bed. He pulled off his braces, and pulled his shirtfront free from his trousers and started to unbutton his clothes. He began with his shirt, unbuttoning down towards his waist, every movement revealing more of his chest. He glanced up to see if he pleased her, and to his delight she moistened her lips. Growing more cocksure, he tossed the shirt aside and flexed his arms a little, so she’d see what a catch she’d made. He knew he had a fine torso, muscular and tanned; he knew he was a fine-looking man. She gave him a pleasing little sigh. He studied her face, as his fingers moved to undo the buttons on the trousers. He lingered on the very topmost button, watching her all the while. �ŚCarl,’ she said, with a coy little frown. �ŚYou are taking your time, I think.’ �ŚAye,’ he said, fingers toying with the top button, while her impatience grew. �ŚGet on with it then, and I’ll remove mine.’ His fingers flew to undo the rest, and he was out of his britches in a trice. He looked up and saw where her gaze rested, but he was confident and proud. Carl liked his body best when he was hard. Her eyes widened. Her innocence was sweet, and her interest was obvious. His arousal throbbed and demanded relief. �ŚQuit staring, Susannah, and keep your end of the bargain!’ She laughed and slid her drawers off, wiggling her hips irresistibly as she did so. Carl’s breathing faltered. He had a feeling their lovemaking would be brief. He was on the bed in an instant, pinning her down, gazing into her eyes. She was breathless and excited beneath him, begging for him to start. He ran his hands over her naked body, enjoying her curves, kissing her smooth shoulders, her soft neck, and her face. Eventually, Carl’s fingers found that slick little keyhole between her legs – and he knew she’d be moist and ready. He told himself he must ease into her gently, but he longed to thrust hard inside. �ŚSusannah, you must forgive me, for what I am about to do.’ His whole body tensed in readiness for that first delicious stroke. �ŚDo it,’ she ordered, and wriggled a little closer. �ŚI’ll forgive you if it hurts.’ Her breasts were warm against his chest. Her legs already parted to accommodate him. Her body was open and ready to receive him, and Carl pushed his swollen shaft inside. She moaned as he breached her, plunging his length into that sweet, sweet paradise between her thighs, and he cried out in pure delight. It was agony to be assailed by such pleasure. Hot and wet and sweet. He meant to wait and hold her gently, so she could get used to the feel of him inside her, but he could not hold back and nor could she. She clung to his shoulders, as he started to thrust, and if she felt pain she gave no voice to it. Instead, she kissed and clung and let him love her. She was wild and sweet and free. Carl had never known such untrammelled passion. He thrust harder and she responded to his every move. This was a woman who had smashed her way to freedom. This was the love of his life. Her inexperience had beguiled him, but her passion drove him wild. He tried to tell her – to warn her what was coming - but the pleasure pushed too fast. Pushed them both towards the edge. Thrusting deep, gasping with pleasure, he heard her voice calling out. Begging him, beseeching him - but for what? For mercy? For more? He wasn’t sure, until he felt her tumbling climax around him as he gave her his last and final thrust. He cried out as his body let rip inside her. Hot bolts of lightening shot through him. Racked with sensation, he lost control and let the turbulent waves flood over him and into her. Triumph flooded his heart. With her body trembling beneath him, and her hot, sweet kisses on his neck, Carl knew that he had loved her well. But then came guilt, and fear, for he knew that Fortescue and his men could not fail to catch up with them, and then there would be hell to pay. For a while, they lay together, exchanging lover’s vows. �ŚIt scares me,’ Carl confessed, murmuring the words in her ear, �Śthat it was only by chance I was sent to your house that day.’ �ŚIt wasn’t chance,’ she said. �Ś It was in the stars. I looked up at the stars every night, and wished for you to come. That day when you knocked at the door, my wish came true.’ Carl kissed her forehead and thanked God it wasn’t another man, who held her in his arms tonight. �ŚI know what I want to give you for our first anniversary, Susannah.’ �ŚYou are thinking of our anniversary already? When we are still unwed?’ Carl didn’t want to think about that. He wanted to pretend. He cupped her warm breast with his hand and made promises he hoped he could keep. �ŚOn our anniversary I shall give you a beautiful key – the key to the door of our house. I shall fashion it myself out of gold and silver, and put it on a necklace, and then you can wear it all the time.’ �ŚA lovely idea,’ she said, smiling in pleasure. �ŚBut don’t make me wait a whole year. Make me a key tomorrow.’ He laughed. �ŚMy sweet, impatient girl! I promise - as soon as we have the house, you shall have the key.’ � Chapter 7� � BY THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Susannah’s disappearance had made the papers. �ŚWoman missing – feared abducted,’ the heading read. Carl bought a copy from the newsboy on the corner, and Susannah watched him put the coin in the boy’s hand, and wondered if the boy had any idea he had just met the man who’d committed the crime. They found a park bench in a secluded little square, and sat down and read about themselves. Carl read out the words under his breath, as if someone might overhear them. �ŚThe daughter of a prospective member of parliament disappeared from her home on Tuesday, and fears are mounting for her safety �Ś’ �ŚShe is unlikely to understand what has happened to her,’ Susannah read, with a growing sense of outrage and anger, �Śas she is of unsound and feeble mind!’ �ŚThe culprit must be apprehended and brought to justice,’ read Carl, and his voice remained steady, but his hand shook a little handling the newspaper. �ŚAnyone with information about his whereabouts must contact the Police straight away �Ś’ Susannah gripped Carl’s arm, as if she could prevent anything bad from happening to him. They decided to go back to the boarding house, to avoid the possibility of being seen out in the open, and that proved to be their big mistake. They walked back across the square, and past the market stalls on the corner. They bought some ham and cheese and tomatoes and they planned to enjoy a little picnic up there in the attic room. On the front steps, they said hello to the landlady, and didn’t notice anything amiss. They ascended all three staircases, to their inhospitable little room, and opened the door. There were two policemen in there, waiting for them. The younger one was standing at the window, the older one sitting on the bed. Instinctively, Carl’s grip tightened on Susannah’s hand, and he turned back in the direction of the door, he as if he almost considered making a run for it, but a third man appeared in the doorway. Another policeman. The trap was sprung, and they were caught fast. �ŚNow do you understand why I didn’t want to go to that rogue Finnegan,’ Carl said to Susannah, as they put him in handcuffs. She looked up at him in utter confusion. �ŚYou think he told them?’ �ŚI know so.’ She berated herself for her innocence and stupidity. �ŚWhat do I do now, Carl? Tell me what I must do?’ The more senior of the two policemen interrupted. �ŚYou have to come with, us, Miss, and we’ll see you safely back home.’ They all made their way back down the stairs. She noticed how roughly they treated poor Carl, and how silently he bore it. Outside the house, children were gawping and people kept coming to their doors to see what was going on. Susannah wanted to go with Carl, wherever they were taking him, but the Sergeant took her firmly by the arm and pulled her away. Carl called out to her as they dragged him away. �ŚMy love, forgive me – it was an ill-conceived plan!’ �ŚIt was the kindest thing anyone ever did for me!’ she called out. He just gave her a regretful smile. � � To Susannah’s surprise they did not escort her back home to her little basement. They put her in a horse-drawn cab, and took her round to Dr. Finnegan’s house instead. As the cab drew up outside the smart terraced house, Susannah gazed miserably up at the facade and reflected on what Carl had said. He was right, about Finnegan’s involvement. She had been too na�Żve to understand. The two policemen escorted her into the house. They were pleased as punch that they had found her, and clearly expected Finnegan to feel the same way. They handed her over to the butler, who took hold of her arm and propelled her upstairs, fingers digging into her arm. The policemen laughed as she was led away, and went gleefully into the front parlour to discuss the terms of their reward. So. She was a commodity, to be bought and sold. She was consigned to a draughty guest bedroom on the first floor, to sit and contemplate her fate. The door wasn’t locked, but it was guarded. A young manservant sat on a chair right outside. Susannah sighed, but she could hardly complain about her own situation, when poor Carl was being held like a felon. She had no idea what would happen to him. At worst his future would be ruined forever. At best he would go back to his old life – fixing people’s locks, singing in the tavern, taking girls out on the river - knowing that only a few streets away she was all alone and unhappy, locked up in her basement again. She thought about the song he used to sing to her. The ballad about the girl who ran away with penniless, irresistible Jock. Carl used to smile and ask her if she understood why the girl chose the man who had nothing to offer her. Nothing but his love, that is. Today, she knew that she did. � � In one of the holding cells at the prison Carl sat on the edge of the narrow bed, lonely and upset. He’d been questioned, roughly, and he had told the truth, but nobody believed him. They insisted that he must have taken Susannah from the safety of her home by force. They had repeated this accusation so many times that Carl almost believed it himself. Now, at last, the ruthless questioning was over. He was back in his cell. There was one high window that let in a solitary shaft of light. Carl shivered. He sang a few miserable snatches from the ballad he’d sung to her the day they met, but it didn’t help. His last act before he went to sleep was to write a letter to the Brodericks, who deserved an explanation for his disappearance. He wrote first of all to beg their forgiveness, for they had always been kind. Then he told them the whole story of how he found Susannah, and the misery of her life under lock and key. �ŚIf I am to be punished, for trying to help her, then I have no regrets. She is all I care about, and to exist without her is punishment indeed.’ The tears fell onto the page as he wrote, and he swiped them away with the back of his hand. �ŚShe lived like a lonely songbird, locked up in a tiny cage. I could not leave her there,’ he wrote, �Śfor she holds the key to my heart.’ � � It took days to think out what to do, but by Tuesday morning, Susannah had a plan. She was up and dressed early. She did her hair with great care, allowing little curls to escape and frame her face in a most becoming fashion. She opened the door of her bedroom, and the young man who was guarding her door turned in alarm. Susannah gave him a warm smile, and lowered her lashes. If there was one thing that being with Carl had taught her, it was to recognise the effect her pretty looks had on the opposite sex. The young footman coloured up in the most gratifying way. �ŚToby?’ she said, giving him what she hoped was an appealing, doe-eyed glance. He seemed pleased that she’d remembered his name. �ŚYes, Miss Fortescue?’ �ŚTake me downstairs so I can have a word with Dr. Finnegan.’ �ŚYes, Miss. Come with me, Miss.’ Susannah began to wonder if all one really needed to succeed in life, was a packet of hairpins and a winning smile. But Finnegan might prove to be a more formidable adversary than poor Toby, of course, and she had to get to Finnegan first, before her father did. Downstairs, she marched into the room where the great man sat, stroking his beard, behind his mahogany desk. He looked powerful and impassive; a raised brow was the only indication that he was ready and waiting for her to speak. Susannah stood before him, took a deep breath and did some negotiating on her own behalf. She began with a bold enquiry. �ŚHave you ever considered how much your professional reputation would be enhanced, Dr Finnegan, if you were to have a few successes?’ �ŚI beg your pardon?’ �ŚDr Finnegan. If some of your patients were to get better, it would do you a lot of good,’ she explained patiently, as if he was a small child with limited comprehension. �ŚWord would get round. You’d be seen as a man who could work miracles. You could charge fat fees in the future.’ Finnegan looked nervous, embarrassed even. But his eyes began to widen. �ŚPeople would beat a path to your door. They would demand to see you and only you and they would be prepared to pay dearly for a even few minutes of your time.’ The doctor swallowed. �ŚIf I got better, for example, it would solve my father’s problems. Carl will take me far away, if I ask him to, and all the embarrassment will be over.’ Finnegan had a strange look on his face – as if he had just been offered a plate of chocolate truffles. �ŚThere is some �Ś lucidity in your arguments,’ he said pleasantly. �ŚBut what about your illness, my dear?’ �ŚI am convinced that it was only my grief over my mother’s death that made me seem so �Ś troublesome. But it has been four long years since she died, and though I still miss her, I’m ready to enjoy life again – more than ready - if only I could be given the chance.’ She knew she was persuasive. She could see that Dr Finnegan was tempted - she offered him a way out with honour. �ŚWell, well,’ he said. �ŚYou are your father’s daughter after all.’ He telephoned Fortescue and put the idea to him. He spoke hastily, eagerly, as if he himself was seized by the plan. But Fortescue was adamant. Susannah heard her father’s response, loud and clear, though she was sitting on the other side of the desk. �ŚNever!’ he cried, in a hostile tone. The telephone call ended abruptly, and the doctor sighed. �ŚI am sorry, my dear. I tried.’ Susannah gave an exasperated sigh and went over to the fireplace and put her hands over her face. She knew the tears would soon follow, and when they came there would be no stopping them. �ŚYour father thinks a stay in a special place might be the best solution – a place where they have all kinds of new treatments on offer�Ś’ Susannah trembled, her bright hopes fading and her confidence dissolving into the tears that brimmed in her eyes. She knew all about the lunatic asylum in her home town. It was the place where poor mad John Clare ended his days, mourning his long lost love. Then, there was a knock on the door. Finnegan looked at Susannah questioningly, but she shrugged. It was very early for visitors and this was none of her doing. The parlourmaid admitted a grey-haired man with a large moustache, and a woman in a long brown travelling coat and an exceptionally overloaded hat. �ŚBroderick’s the name,’ the man said tersely, �Śand no, I don’t want to sit down. We are here to plead the case of the boy who means more to us than a son!’ �ŚYou are Carl’s employer,’ said Susannah, rushing forward to greet them, and then hesitating in the middle of the room. �ŚAnd �Ś I am the cause of your pain.’ �ŚMiss Fortescue! We’ve heard so much about you,’ the older woman exclaimed. The plumes on her hat fluttered in excitement, as she clasped Susannah’s hand. �ŚHave you?’ Susannah said, with a sinking feeling in her heart. Her reputation as the town freak seemed to follow her everywhere. �ŚFrom whom?’ Mr Broderick smiled. �ŚFrom Carl, my duck. He says you’ve stolen his heart.’ �ŚYes,’ said Mrs Broderick. �ŚThe boy is in love.’ She turned and looked sternly at Dr Finnegan. �ŚAnd when, may I ask, was that made a criminal offence?’ Mr Broderick went to stand right in front of Finnegan’s desk. �ŚWe’ll not stand by and watch an innocent man suffer for the woman he loves! We know all about Mr Fortescue’s basement, and the bars on the windows there. I have a letter here that Carl sent us, and it tells the whole sorry tale. The poor boy pours his heart out like a poet – and he’s only a locksmith, you know.’ Mrs Broderick leaned forward urgently. �ŚPoet or not - it shows Mr Fortescue in a very poor light. A very poor light indeed. Fancy keeping a young girl locked up like that! For four long years, if you please! And you, Dr. Finnegan, you knew all about it! Scandalous, it is. We’ll go to the police if we must.’ �ŚNo, not the police,’ said Susannah resolutely, surprising even herself. �ŚWe’ll go to the papers, instead. They will want to read Carl’s letter, and we could give them permission to reprint it in full.’ Three faces turned and stared at Finnegan, and he went a little pale. Susannah smoothed her skirt, and looked up, lifting her chin. �ŚWell, that’s how it works, isn’t it? Me, my story, it’s a commodity to be bought and sold.’ Finnegan grimaced, as if he was suffering from toothache. �ŚJust one more thing, Doctor,’ Susannah said, tilting her head on one side. �ŚHow long must a woman wait before she can be sure she is �Ś with child?’ �ŚOh my dear!’ exclaimed Mrs Broderick, and touched Susannah’s arm. �ŚNice one, Carl,’ Mr. Broderick murmured, beneath his splendid moustache. Finnegan’s face bristled with anger, which he endeavoured to control. �ŚYou people leave me no choice.’ He lifted up the telephone receiver and asked to be re-connected to the number he had requested only a few minutes ago. � Chapter 8� � CARL MUST HAVE FALLEN into a restless sleep, for he thought he heard Susannah’s voice. Then, he heard footsteps outside his cell, and the rattling of keys. He decided that if they had come to bully him again about making a confession – this time he might as well sign. He heard her voice again, and this time he knew he wasn’t dreaming. She was here, in this miserable place, his charming, crazy girl. She was talking brightly to the prison guard, as if they were on the promenade at the seaside. Carl sat up and ran a hand through his hair. �ŚKeys are such lovely things, aren’t they? So bright and shiny?’ She sounded excited and happy, but what did that signify? Carl leapt to his feet, all the same. The guard was right outside the door. �ŚYour fellow’s in here, Miss. So they tell me.’ �ŚYes, yes! Here he is!’ she replied. �ŚCan I ask a special favour, sir? Can I unlock the door?’ The keys jingled and the door swung upon. And there she was, all smiles, standing in his cell. Carl fell upon her and hugged her ravenously, leaving kisses on her soft smooth neck. �ŚWhat’s all this?’ he said delightedly, nuzzling her ear until he noticed that the guard stood right beside them, grinning in amusement. � �ŚI am sent with news of your release,’ she said. �ŚIf you will only agree to the terms.’ Carl cocked his head to one side. �ŚWhat terms might they be, lady love?’ She pushed him backwards, and gave him a level gaze. �ŚPeople have been telling me all week, that if the charges are dropped – as they should be – you’ll disappear as soon as you’re free, leaving me and my reputation in tatters.’ �ŚNever.’ �ŚThey say that all your claims to care for me are just a ruse, and you have been sent by one of my father’s rivals to ruin his chances in the election.’ Carl frowned, and rubbed his face. �ŚYou didn’t fall for that one, I hope.’ She gave just the slightest hint of a smile. �ŚIt has even been suggested that you are- in fact - a supporter of my father’s cause, and you have done all of this to get his name, and yours, in the papers.’ �ŚThe author of that pack of lies was never in love,’ Carl pointed out. �ŚNever in love in his life.’ That pleased her, he could tell. Her eyes sparkled with hope. �ŚBut people need to be convinced, Carl�Ś’ �ŚThen tell them to fetch the prison chaplain, and I’ll marry you today!’ � � So they were married in the prison chapel – after a special licence had been obtained. It was a grim, joyless place for a wedding, and yet there was happiness and excitement in the air. The chaplain obliged with a reading, about the duties of a husband to his wife, while Carl stood wide-eyed with surprise. Normally the chaplains words fell on deaf ears, and his prayers were for the souls of desperate men, hardened by London crime. Today he had wrapt attention, from a couple deeply in love. Carl looked across at his bride. She held a bunch of fresh roses, and she looked like the sweetest, purest thing that he had ever seen. She wore a lovely dress in a soft pale beige, which showed off her trim little waist. Silently, Carl counted the buttons down the front. A dozen buttons – and he looked forward to undoing each and every one – as soon as they were wed, right and tight. At last came the words, �ŚYou may kiss the bride.’ Carl leant forward and kissed her cheek, not daring to do a lot more with Fortescue and the warden and the chaplain looking on. Oh, she was soft and sweet and smelt like heaven. �ŚWho’s paying the bail?’ he whispered. �ŚMy father,’ she replied. �ŚNo! Has he seen reason at last?’ She nodded. Carl gazed down into his wife’s warm hazel eyes. Admiration and awe in his soul. �ŚHow did you do it?’ �ŚI could not do it alone, Carl. It was only because we two are one.’ Distantly, he could hear Mr Fortescue, complaining that things had come to this. �ŚA locksmith! A prison! It’s outrageous,’ the man said, though he had nobody to blame but himself. �ŚMy daughter’s marriage certificate will bear the name of that man, and a dreadful place like this!’ Susannah didn’t seem to hear her father’s ugly words. She smiled a radiant, bridal smile. Carl touched her face and wondered if he dared have another go at that kiss. � � A little while later, Carl boarded the train with his pretty young wife. He had never travelled first class in his whole life, but this was their honeymoon and he wanted to do things right. The Brodericks had given him some money and Mr Fortescue had trebled it, of course. He could hardly believe his luck. They took their seats, side by side, and Carl accepted a copy of the newspaper from a boy in railway uniform. He turned the pages until he found the article he was looking for. �ŚMissing woman found alive’. Susannah tapped his arm, playfully. �ŚWhy are you reading that nonsense?’ �ŚBecause this column is about us and I am curious to see what it says. I’m certain they won’t have printed the truth.’ Susannah smiled as if she didn’t care one way or the other. �ŚWhen we get to Brighton, Carl, will you have your way with me, again?’ He put down the newspaper and flashed her a smile. �ŚOf course.’ He was getting used to her forthright way of asking about things now. She glanced at him, coyly. �ŚWill you wait until tonight, or will you do it straight away, when we get to the hotel?’ He took hold of her hand. Her gloved hand seemed so small, when it was enclosed in his. �ŚI will do whatever you want.’ She only hesitated for an moment, eyes all round with innocence and charm. Then, adopting the manner of a girl choosing a ribbon for her hair, she announced: �ŚI should like you to do it to me now, without any further delay!’ He laughed. �ŚI’d gladly oblige, but do you think we might upset those people over there?’ They had already attracted some disapproving scowls from a pair of stern old women seated not far away, but Susannah didn’t even pretend to care. She glanced around, saw the two old biddies with the iron grey curls, and let out a disappointed sigh. �ŚIs it very far to Brighton, do you know?’ He nuzzled closer. �ŚOnly another half an hour,’ he promised, �Śand when we get there I shall pleasure you again and again and again.’ Susannah pouted. �ŚBut the waiting is so very, very hard.’ He gave her thigh a surreptitious squeeze. �ŚNot just the waiting, either.’ Susannah giggled and reached out to see if he spoke true, but Carl was quicker and snatched her hand away. He brought it up to his lips and kissed it instead. � �ŚLook here,’ he said, picking up the paper again. �ŚLet’s read all about what we’re up to. It will help take our minds off the other little matter.’ �ŚOh, it’s not little, Carl, it’s not little at all.’ �ŚSusannah. I’ll not last til Brighton if you don’t stop saying things like that, my love.’ Susannah suddenly wore a straight face. She composed herself and folded her hands. �ŚNow I understand why it is so very important - to have something absorbing to read on the train!’ Carl smiled and read out the carefully worded statement that had been released for the morning papers. �ŚSusannah Fortescue is safe and sound honeymooning in Brighton with her new husband.’ Susannah laughed. �ŚA blatant lie - we have not yet set foot in the town!’ Carl gave her a playful kiss on the cheek, and continued to read aloud. �ŚWe are reliably informed, by a source very close to the family, that the girl’s �Śabduction’ was no more than a malicious rumour propagated by one of Fortescue’s opponents �Ś’ �ŚThat’s true enough,’ Susannah whispered to Carl, �ŚFather always was his own worst enemy.’ �ŚAh, politics!’ Carl laid the paper aside and pulled his sweet young bride into his arms. �ŚWho gives a penny for politics, when all I really want is an hour behind a locked door with a lovely little girl like you!’ He spoke of an hour, but he pulled her into a deep kiss that promised her a lifetime of pleasure. Johnny Doesn't Drink Champagne� Read an excerpt from Cody Young's latest novel � IT’S ALWAYS BEEN MY DREAM to go to London, and now, at last, I’m here. Well - almost. I’m at Heathrow airport and it’s packed with all kinds of people. I’m standing near the baggage claim waiting for the giant tartan wheelie bag my grandma insisted on lending me for the trip. Seriously uncool, I know. I look down at my feet, standing for the first time on English soil. Or English carpet tiles, at least. My sneakers are new and chafing a little – that ten hour flight from Chicago was a killer. It’s late – nearly midnight. I look around for the rest of my group. Twenty-eight teenagers on a high school trip to London, all from the same small town in the Midwest. Can’t be too hard to spot. I was last off the plane because I left my coat under the seat and had to go back. I gaze across a sea of unfamiliar faces, and I wonder if any of them made the journey for the same reason I did. I see tourists, backpackers, and airline pilots. Young women in headscarves and old men with walking sticks; moms with screaming babies, and guys with big ice-hockey bags. Tall skinny girls who look like runway models and men in bright colored robes, jabbering away in languages I’ve never heard before. But then, the noise seems to fade away – as if someone has turned the volume right down. A chill goes through me. I turn, as if I know he’s there, though I swear I have no idea why. That’s when I see him. In one endless moment that lasts less than a fraction of a second, he is imprinted on my mind. He could have stepped out of the pages of a magazine. My memory takes a dozen photographs, yearning to remember the heart-searing beauty of his face. An entirely masculine beauty that only now I understand. Yes, perfection exists - because he exists. His jacket is dark and austere - perfectly cut. The word �ŚArmani’ comes to my lips like the words of a whispered incantation. Silently, I form the syllables, but I’m unable to make a sound. He moves through the crowd, heading my way. I can’t quit staring. No man alive deserves to be blessed – or cursed – with looks like his. He moves as if cameras flashed around him, lighting up the perfect angles of his face. His hair is dark, longer than average, swept into a sleek side part. In my mind, I caress it. I run my fingers through the strands, and yes - it is as smooth as silk. I shiver. I shake my head to dispel the decadent images that cloud my mind. I long for him to look my way – and yet I fear it too. For if he looked into my eyes, I feel sure I would see disinterest or disappointment in his. A blue jeans girl with a soap-and-water beauty routine; I wouldn’t get more than a glance. My faded shirt with butterflies on the front isn’t likely to impress a man who wears Armani. But as I stand there, he turns his head, and his eyes meet mine. My heart cries out in agony of the sweetest kind. He has fiercely intelligent eyes, darker than my own - much darker. The eyes of a French nobleman, or an Italian movie star, glittering as they turn to meet my helpless, hopeless stare. His face is more youthful than I first thought. He could not be more than twenty, or twenty-one. But I’m a schoolgirl, and I have no business eyeing up strangers in unfamiliar airports in the middle of the night. I know I will die if he smiles at me. He looks like a man who smiles often. For the paparazzi. And yet tonight, he is alone. He is so close. I fight a wild impulse to reach out and touch his sleeve. I long to feel the texture of the charcoal wool beneath my trembling fingers. I clench my hands into fists and fight with all the mental strength I possess, and I do not move from the spot. I realize I’m in his way, but my feet won’t move. They will not obey my desperate command to step out of his way and let him pass. His brows arch in enquiry as if to ask why I stand - shock still - in front of him. A hint of a smile plays upon his lips. He knows. He knows the reason for my stunned, involuntary stare. I swallow in mortified embarrassment. But still I let my eyes feast on him. My face flames and my tongue tries to remember how to speak. �śForgive me,” I murmur and step aside. The smile dies on his face, and a look of surprise replaces it - if I am not mistaken. There is another emotion too, there in the depths of his glittering dark eyes, and it scares me. Anger? No. Surely not. My helpless adoration wouldn’t make him angry. Fear? It could not be. Guys who look like that don’t feel fear. Recognition? Yes. Recognition. But that’s not possible. I would definitely remember if I’d met him before. To my undying surprise, he reaches out. He reaches out and touches me! He grips my arm and his grip is tight and unrelenting. I gaze down and see his strong male hand, gripping hold of my arm. I can feel his strength through the soft cotton fabric of my shirt. �śWhat did you say?” he demands. His accent isn’t French, or Italian. It’s English. I gulp. �śI think I said �Śforgive me’. I was in your way and I �Ś” �śSay it again!” His eyes glint with that dangerous emotion I saw just a moment ago. I am shaking now. He is a stranger. He is, without a doubt, the most beautiful young man I have ever set eyes on. Yes. But at this moment, he is behaving like a crazy person. Even in my dazed and delusional state I can see that. I glance around wildly, and I wonder how I came to be separated from my group. I must shake free of him and find the others. Brody and Lydia and everyone else. Mrs. Bertorelli. I’d even be glad to see her, just now. �śYou know, I gotta go.” I look down at his fingers on my arm. His grip doesn’t falter. �śSay it again!” It seems best to humor him, so I smile a weak, idiotic smile. �śForgive me.” �śIt’s you! Madeleine!” He speaks with real astonishment in his voice and he expects me to know him. �śNo. No. I’m Madison. I’m sorry!” The words are out of my mouth before I realize how dumb it was to tell the guy my real name. �śMadeleine! I should have known!” He sounds quite angry now. It bothers me that he picked a name so similar to my own, but surely this must be a coincidence? I shake my head. �śI’m not Madeleine.” He frowns. He studies my face, searching for signs of recognition. �śYou’re not Madeleine?” His dark eyes seem almost soulful for a moment. �śNo. Sorry.” He lets go my arm, and the confident, movie star manner evaporates. I stare into his troubled dark eyes and glimpse something I did not expect to see. Tenderness. Confusion. Sadness. Somewhere inside this know-it-all, seen-it-all, super-cool guy, there is a boy, not much older than myself. But then, he narrows his eyes. �śMy mistake,” he says, in a voice laced with anger and suspicion. Then he inclines his head, giving me a curt, old-fashioned bow. �śI apologize.” I try to smile, but the whole conversation has been rather unsettling. He seems to expect more, so I give it my best shot. �śNo problem. Could have happened to anybody!” �śJet lag,” he says, tersely. I realize that I have succeeded in putting him off balance. Quite a turnaround from just a moment ago. I nod in hearty agreement, though one surreptitious glance at his Calvin Klein face reveals no sign of exhaustion. No lines, no shadows under the eyes, nothing. Just smooth, perfect skin, and glittering dark eyes. He’s as crisp and fresh as that starchy white shirt he’s wearing. Probably travels First Class all the time. I tear my gaze away and try to concentrate on the matter in hand: finding my bag. I study the luggage carousel like my life depends on it. I fix my attention on the row of black and navy bags passing by, giving each one serious consideration as if it might turn tartan and shout �Śsurprise!’. But all the time I feel his presence – just a few feet away. I try to remain focused on waiting for my bag, but now and again, I steal a sidelong glance at him, and I strongly suspect him of doing the same. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him get something out of his pocket. I risk taking another look. It’s a little piece of paper, old and yellow. He stares at it, scowls, and then he crumples it up in his fist. I watch as he lets it slip from his fingers and fall to the ground. Quite deliberately. A loud American voice startles me. �śMadison! There you are!” Mrs. Bertorelli. Cross with me. Worried about me. I can see from her face that she’s tired and I’ve put her through the wringer. She’s a short woman, a New Yorker, with a wide face and a double chin. She wears her hair in one of those styles that has �Śa lot of volume’ and she must have sprayed it to hell and back so it didn’t deflate while she was on the plane. With hair like that she wouldn’t even need a neck pillow. The color is basically purple, though I’m sure it must have said something like �Śburnished mahogany’ on the box. She’s waving her fat little hands at me, to get my attention. Her rings are glinting in the artificial light. She wears a lot of rings, on all but the third finger of her left hand. �śMadison, honey. There you are!” �śOh. Hi �Ś Sorry!” I don’t say the fatal words �Śforgive me’ this time. �śWe’ve been looking all over for you! Everyone else has gone to find the bus.” �śI had to go back for my coat, Mrs. B. I left it on the plane. One of the fight attendants went in and got it for me.” �śI see,” she says, and she reaches out and touches the jacket with her short stubby fingers, as if to make sure I’m not faking. �śI guess you can’t go round London in September without a jacket,” she says grudgingly. �śIt’s still August, Mrs. B.,” I remind her gently. �śYou know perfectly well what I mean. Put it on. It’s cold outside tonight. Thank goodness I’ve found you. I thought I was one down before we even made it to the hostel.” I haul on my jacket, obediently. �śSorry I scared you, Mrs. B.” �śOh my gosh, Maddie. Is that your bag?” I turn and see the giant tartan eyesore being swept away on the conveyor belt. It’s already out of my reach, and so I try pushing my way through the crowd to see if I can rescue it, apologizing all the way. I catch frustrating glimpses of it as I try to shove my way through to try to grab hold of its old plastic handle. I can see I’m not going to get it. It’s heading serenely towards the black rubber strips concealing the entrance to that unknown, unnamed area out back. The place where all the lonely unclaimed bags end up. I suppose I’m in for a long, long, wait while it does another lap of honor around the entire system. Or worse – they might pull it off the conveyor and send it to Lost Property. I sigh. Mrs. B isn’t going to be thrilled about this. Then I see him again - the man in the immaculate charcoal suit. He appears through a gap in the crowd and suddenly he’s right there - reaching out his hand to grab my bag . I see his outstretched arm and his pale, elegant, fingers, rescuing my runaway bag, just before it disappears out of sight. He lifts it up and off the conveyor, and then he checks the label. I watch him tweaking open the tag and taking a look. I frown. Now he knows where I’m staying. I bite my lip. He looks up and catches my eye. He looks kind of angry – in a sultry, stormy sort of way - but he moves towards me, and holds out the offending tartan bag. �śI believe this is yours, Miss Lambourne.” I take hold of the handle, and my fingers graze against his as we do the exchange. I look up, feeling grateful and a little guilty. �śThank you.” �śNot at all.” His tone is light and casual. His eyes are not. �śMy teacher’s waiting for me.” I say, desperate to get away, but mesmerized by him all the same. I’m drowning in his dark eyes. Yearning to feel the glancing touch of his hand again. Knowing I never will. �śOf course,” he says. Very British. Very proper. He turns away and releases me from his spell. I can breathe again, and I remember my manners. �śThank you. Thank you so much!” He spares me one last, intoxicating glance. �śFare thee well, sweet lady.” His strange turn of phrase leaves me struggling to make sense of him, again. I stare as he disappears into the crowd. Fare thee well. What archaic words they are, and used so lightly, so naturally, as if he spoke like that all the time. I feel a tiny surge of pleasure, and I can’t suppress a smile. Sweet lady. He called me �Śsweet lady’! Though I have to say his voice was a little gruff and bitter when he said it. But he said it, all the same. Again, it’s Mrs. Bertorelli who breaks into my little daydream with her harsh New York whine. �śNow wasn’t he your guardian angel, huh? He came along just in the nick of time.” I smile weakly, and struggle with my bag. The ancient mechanism that allows the handle to extend seems to be jammed. At this rate I will have to drag it like a dead animal out of the airport, instead of wheeling it gracefully away like everyone else. �śDidn’t kill him to help out a pretty girl, of course.” Mrs. B says, with a laugh. I bite back a swear word that comes to my lips, and tug at the handle of my horrible bag. At last it gives. The handle extends and I straighten up. I can wheel it along – slowly and with a repetitive bump every few inches. One of the wheels must have gotten squashed out of shape or something. It’s like towing a little drunk guy along by the hand. A little drunk guy in a huge tartan overcoat. �śMove it along, Maddie! I wanna be on the bus, honey. My feet are killing me. I need to take the weight off and I still have to get all those kids settled into the hostel. If that bus has gone without us I am going to be so mad!” �śI’m doing my best, Mrs. B.” I try to sound cheerful and upbeat, but it’s late and I’m tired too. The crowd has thinned out a little, and we start walking towards the door that leads to passport control. I see something pale on the floor up ahead of me – a scrap of paper, discarded like an old candy wrapper. People are walking right over it, treading it into the carpet, but I am drawn to it like a magnet. I feel certain that I know what it is and I want to go see if I’m right. I watch people passing by and dread that one of them will notice it first and take it before I can get there – but of course, they don’t. To them it’s just a piece of litter. I veer away from Mrs. Bertorelli and I go and check it out. Staring down, I see that the paper is thick and yellowed with age. It’s folded and crumpled and it’s been trodden on, but I’m guessing there’s writing inside. I bend down and pick it up. �śMaddie!” �śShoelace,” I insist, stuffing the ball of paper into my pocket. I make a pantomime of adjusting my shoe. Then I hurry after her and we make our way out towards the long queue for the checkpoint. � Outside, in the parking lot, I can see the bus waiting for us, with everyone else on board. The driver is standing outside the bus, pacing up and down. He looks as if he’s been cursing me and Mrs. Bertorelli for a good thirty minutes or more. He helps me stow my trusty tartan friend in the luggage hold and slams down the metal hatch. I climb up into the bus and a big cheer goes up. About ten different people want to know what took me so long. Further back on the bus, my best friend Lydia leaps up out of her seat and starts waving at me. �śHere, Maddie! I saved you a place!” �śHey, Madison. Did they strip search you?” The question comes from Brody, who sits with me in compulsory English. He has gum in his mouth and his cap is on back to front. As usual, there is far too much interest in his round blue eyes. His sidekick, Tanner, answers for me. �śLike she’d tell YOU, even if they did!” Then he laughs like a hyena, and sticks his foot out to try and trip me up. I roll my eyes and try to step over his leg. �śNo, they did not mistake me for a terrorist,” I hiss, �śbut I’ll let them know you’re carrying explosives on the way back if you like.” Mrs. Bertorelli turns and yells in a voice that would halt a herd of buffalo. �śEnough interrogation, Tanner Doyle! For your information, nobody got strip searched. I did offer, but they just said welcome to the United Kingdom and have a pleasant stay.” Everyone on the bus erupts in laughter, but she has their attention. �śSo will you all sit down and shut up, so we can get this show on the road!” The bus driver turns and glances warily at Mrs. B over his shoulder. I guess he hasn’t met anyone quite like her before. I head for where my friend is sitting, about two thirds of the way down, on the right hand side of the bus. Lydia’s great but she’s always been the odd one out. She’s a platinum blonde with braces on her teeth. Her style owes more than a little to Madonna’s early look. Miniskirts and military boots, that kind of thing. She gets up and moves into the aisle and lets me take the window seat. She’s generous like that, and she knows how much this trip to London means to me. I slump down and the bus starts to move. Lydia gets out her (pink) cell phone and flips it open. �śYou’re dad’s been messaging me.” I shoot her an agonized look. �śYou’re kidding.” �śNope. He’s worried. Apparently you promised to call when you arrived.” �śBut I haven’t arrived,” I say, consternation brewing. �śI’m barely out of the airport.” Dad is unbelievable sometimes. I reach inside my pocket for my phone, which I had obediently switched off when we got on the plane. Instead I encounter the crumbling edges of that piece of paper I picked up off the floor at the airport. Just the feel of it gives me a tiny thrill of anticipation. Brody pipes up again. �śHey! Check out the Lamborghini!” Everyone on the right hand side of the bus peers out of the window into the parking lot. Sure enough, there’s a highly unusual car oozing down the street. A just-out-of-the-showroom kind of a car. Pale silver, not a mark on it, raindrops beading on all its gleaming bodywork. The windows are tinted and I can’t see who’s behind the wheel, but for some reason, I know who’s inside it. I can feel it. It’s him. Mister Didn’t-We-Meet-Someplace-Before. �śOh man! That is one hell of a car,” Tanner says. He’s standing up in the seat in front of me, with his face pressed against the window of the bus, flattening his nose. He’s practically licking the glass. I’m guessing he looks like a ghoul from the outside. Beside me, Lydia lets out a sigh. �śThat’s two hundred thousand bucks worth of car. Right there.” I shoot her what I hope is a sympathetic look, but she frowns at me. I know that Lydia’s family is dirt poor, and I know who paid for her to come along on this school trip, too, and it wasn’t them. I’m sworn to secrecy, and I’m not even sure if Lydia knows the whole truth. Maybe she thinks it really was the school hardship fund that paid for it all. But I know it wasn’t. It was my dad. He didn’t want me to make this trip on my own, so he forked out for my best friend’s fare too. I’m glad he did – real glad - but it’s created this tension between me and Lydia that I didn’t expect. Maybe I’ll get a chance to say something to her tomorrow. To clear the air. To apologize for having a generous dad - an overprotective, sentimental old fool of a dad who sometimes has more heart than he has sense. It was a difficult call and he did what he thought was best. For me and for Lydia. I know he went over to her house and talked her parents into letting her go. Told them to forget their pride and take the money, for Lydia’s sake. I’m glad they said yes. I hope she’ll be glad too when she gets used to the idea. Finally we are on our way, and in spite of being so tired, I look out into the dark night and try to catch my first glimpse of England, but all I can see is a big curving slip road leading to the freeway – or whatever they call it over here. The road up ahead gleams black and shiny in the rain, and traffic from the airport streams past. Red tail lights reflected on the wet road– that’s about all there is to see. Not much to write home about yet. Lydia has settled back in her seat to read her book. It’s a dog-eared paperback with a creased spine, and I’ll bet she’s read it before. I smile. I lean over and whisper to her. �śWhat is this time? Vampires, werewolves, or shifters?” �śVampires. They always win. Hands down.” I sit back and try to relax, but my mind is still buzzing from the encounter at the airport. I decide to allow myself a surreptitious look at the little piece of contraband in my pocket. I pull it out and unfold it gently, for although the paper is heavy, the edges are so fragile that they crumble away in my fingers. I smooth it out. I catch my breath and pray I won’t be disappointed. It’s like the start of an old, old letter. Written in black ink. There’s no name at the top and no signature at the bottom, either. Just a few words scrawled in black ink – and they could mean anything. �ŚForgive me. In time you will forgive me. I’ll be waiting for you at Heathrow, last Wednesday in August, in the year of our�"’ It doesn’t say which year. There’s a harsh black line trailing away from the last word, as if the person who wrote the letter had gotten interrupted before they finished it. I gasp out loud, but it’s not the words that shock me. I almost knew the contents would be cryptic. He was that kind of guy - the enigmatic stranger at the airport. It’s not the words that disturb me. It’s the way those words are written. The handwriting. Fear grips my throat, like a cold hand around my neck. I take a few short sharp gasps for air, and Lydia looks up in surprise. �śWhat’s wrong, Maddie?” �śNothing!” I fold the letter up. I can’t let her see. �śWhat have you got there?” She reaches for my precious letter, but I snatch it out of her grasp. My heart is pounding in fear. �śNothing! It’s just �Ś a list �Ś of stuff I had to pack,” I say desperately, struggling to concoct something she won’t question. �śI think I forgot my cell phone charger. Can you believe that?” �śNo,” she says. �śYour dad will have got you three spares.” I stare fixedly out of the window to hide my lies. I’m scared. Lydia murmurs something about borrowing her charger when we get to the hostel. Then she leaves me alone and goes back to reading her book. When my heartbeat has slowed down again, I take one more surreptitious glance at the letter, just to make sure I’m not seeing things. But I’m not. Every detail is etched into my mind, correctly. The �ŚH’ in the word Heathrow. The �Śg’ in forgive me – and the way the writer dots every single �Śi’ with a tiny little circle. Every detail is familiar. I know the handwriting. The way the letters all lean backwards. The person who wrote this letter was left handed, just like me. The person who wrote this letter was me. �