by Zoe Blake
None of my friends approached, no doubt put off by Richard’s presence by my side. I could tell we were attracting quite a few stares, probably compliments of Jane telling everyone about Richard’s sudden interest in me.
Richard leaned down to whisper in my ear, “You look stunning in that gown. I’m pleased you decided to wear it for me.”
Like I had a choice!
Swallowing my biting reply, I said instead, “You look very nice in your suit as well. Is it a Brunello Cuccinelli?” I asked, naming a famous designer whose fall collection I had recently studied in school.
The dark grey wool suit with a hint of a purple pinstripe fitted his large, strong frame expertly, emphasizing his broad shoulders and lean hips.
“Harry Poole,” he answered smoothly.
I bit my lip. Once again, I looked like an idiot in front of him. I had learned in class that Harry Poole tailors were considered the founders of Savile Row. The area of London where all the best bespoke tailors in the world had shops. He is considered the creator of the modern dinner jacket. Anyone who was anyone had a suit from Savile Row but only the especially wealthy had access to Harry Poole’s services.
Thankfully at that moment, a server walked by with a tray of canapés.
“May I offer you a lemon mille feulle with toasted meringue and candied lemon?”
I had no idea what any of that was but it looked like a cute little lemon meringue pie so I reached for one. As I took a bite and let the tart sweetness soothe my tattered nerves, another server approached.
“Good evening, your grace. May I offer you and your guest a cocktail?”
Before I could respond with my usual order of a Cosmo martini with extra cranberry, Richard spoke. “The lady will have a small glass of champagne. I will have a glass of the 2016 Lafite. I believe a bottle has been decanted for my use.”
Pouting like a petulant child, I at least waited till the server bowed and departed before turning on him. “I wanted a martini.”
“That is all well and good but you are getting a discreet glass of champagne,” he said darkly in that composed tone that screamed authority.
With a huff, I turned back to the party. Snatching up what I was told by the server was a smoked haddock croquette with crispy capers and a chive emulsion, I took an angry bite.
Once he was spotted there was an endless stream of people who lined up to speak to Richard. Several times I tried to inch away but each time I was prevented by a possessive arm around my waist. Setting the empty flute of the champagne I didn’t even want on a passing tray, I waited for my moment.
A server brought Richard a fresh glass of wine just as someone reached out to shake his hand. With both of his hands occupied, I used that moment to bolt deeper into the crowded room.
Risking a glance over my shoulder, I could see his angry scowl but I knew I was safe with so many witnesses… at least for now.
Making my way through the crowd, I found Jane talking with Jack Hutley, our director.
“Congratulations, Lizzie, on a stellar performance!” said Jack enthusiastically as he gave me a half hug and kissed me on the cheek. “Where’s your drink? We need to toast.”
“I’ll get you one,” said Mike from just behind me. “It’s a free bar so take advantage!” With the noise from everyone talking and the loud music I didn’t hear him approach. Instantly I was nervous about what Richard would think about Mike standing so close to me. I then chided myself for the thought.
The man didn’t own me!
Placing a flirtatious hand on his arm, I leaned up to say into his ear so he could hear me over the din, “That would be awesome! I’ll have a Cosmo.”
Mike nodded and gave me a thumbs up. Jane told him to get her a Cosmo too.
The satisfied smirk at my slight show of disobedience died on my lips when I saw Richard’s thunderous expression from across the room.
Jane switched places with Jack so she could stand by my side.
“What the fuck is going on with you and the duke?”
Unsure of how many people at this event were friends of Richard’s, I squeezed her hand to signal for her to be quiet. “I’ll tell you later,” I mouthed. She winked to show she understood.
Just then, Mike returned with two Cosmos. As I reached for the one in his right hand, he stopped me. “Not that one, here,” he said as he handed me the one from his left hand. I gave him a questioning look. Shrugging me off, he explained, “That one has extra cranberry like you asked.”
I didn’t remember telling him extra cranberry but I was probably just being hypersensitive and paranoid. Ever since my first meeting with Richard earlier, I had been tense and on edge. I needed this party to be over so I could head back to my flat and a nice hot bath.
I needed some solitude to go over in my mind the crazy whirlwind of events from this evening.
Half listening as Jack talked animatedly about his next directing project and when auditions would start, I drank my martini a little too fast. Between the champagne and vodka on my mostly empty stomach, I immediately started to feel lightheaded.
Breathing heavily, I tried to stem the rising panic as the room began to tilt and spin. Everything started to get fuzzy. The music and voices around me sounded as if they were far away in a tunnel.
My eyelids felt heavy as they started to close. As I felt my body start to pitch backward, a pair of strong arms circled my waist from behind. A deep-timbred voice murmured in my ear, “Don’t worry, my love. I’ve got you.”
Chapter 5
Lizzie
Groaning, I rubbed my eyes and forehead in a futile gesture to make the pain stop. This had to be the worst hangover ever. The weird thing was I didn’t remember drinking that much. As I tried to calm the throbbing in my head, I thought back on last night. I remembered drinking a glass of champagne and then downing a Cosmo way too quickly. I groaned again.
The Cosmo must have been stronger than usual and on an empty stomach the alcohol hit me hard.
Oh, god, I hope I didn’t embarrass myself last night.
With my eyes still closed, I reached out for my phone where I usually kept it on the nightstand. I felt only air. Barely opening one eye, I was alarmed to see the room in complete darkness.
Did I sleep through the entire day?
Fuck, why didn’t Jane wake me for class?
Again, I thought back on last night.
Richard.
It all came back to me in a rush. The dress. His kiss. The possessive way he escorted me to the cast party. I tried to remember what happened after I drank that Cosmo but everything was a blank.
Crap. I really needed to talk to Jane.
God! What if I got drunk and had sex with Richard?
Reaching my hand down, I felt between my legs and was surprised to realize I was wearing a nightgown instead of my usual pajamas of yoga pants and a t-shirt. I couldn’t see in the darkness but it almost felt like my Victorian nightgown costume from the bedroom scene in The Lady Protests. I guess anything was possible if I was drunk. It wasn’t completely unusual for the cast to return to the theater after getting drunk at the wrap party to steal little souvenirs and mementos from the play. I waas surprised I’d chosen a boring white nightgown. If I were more sober, I definitely would have taken one of those cool enamel hair combs or a corset.
Pushing those thoughts aside, there didn’t seem to be any soreness between my legs. Something told me sex with a man like Richard would leave me feeling bruised afterwards. From the preview I had gotten yesterday during his kiss, when he pressed against my stomach, I already knew the man had a big cock. Scary big.
Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I immediately curled my feet back after they encountered ice-cold concrete.
What the hell was going on here?
My bedroom had carpet.
Oh, fuck! Was I not even in my own room?
What the hell happened last night anyway?
Gritting my teeth as my feet once more touched t
Nothing felt familiar.
My fingers traced the outline of what felt like a cinderblock wall. The room was very small, almost like a cell. As my eyes slowly started to adjust to the darkness, I thought I could only make out the white sheets of a small twin bed. There was no other furniture in the room.
Panicking, my palms slid along the wall, searching for a door. I encountered smooth cold metal. Blindly reaching down, I felt for a handle.
It was locked.
I began to pound on the door.
“Let me out of here! Hello! Hello! Is anyone there?”
After several minutes, I could hear footsteps on the other side of the door. I stood back as I heard the scrape of a key. The door swung open and a woman stepped inside.
She was dressed in some kind of old-fashioned black gown with her hair piled high on top of her head in a tight chignon. Holding up a candle to look into my face, she scolded, “You stop these hysterics straight away, Lady Larkin, or I’ll have to summon the doctor!”
What?
“What are you talking about? I’m not Lady Larkin. My name is Lizzie Larkin. Where am I?”
“You know perfectly well you are at St. George’s Hospital, my lady. These hysterics will not be tolerated. If you do not compose yourself, I will summon the doctor for a cold therapy session.”
“Wait… I know you! You’re that homeless woman who sits on the corner near the theater!”
She looked different standing up with a clean face but I recognized the bulbous, slightly misshapen nose and her watery grey eyes. “It is you!”
“I have never been homeless in all my days. How dare you make such an accusation toward a hard-working, god-fearing woman such as myself!” she fired back, her voice quivering with rage.
“You’re fucking crazy. Let me the fuck out of here,” I screamed as I started toward her.
For an older woman, she moved surprisingly fast. As she took a step back into the hall, the metal door was slammed in my face and locked tight before I could find the door handle in time.
“Let me the fuck out of here!” I yelled as I pounded on the door.
“Such blasphemous language! The doctor will hear of this!” she admonished through the door.
I watched as the sliver of light cast by the candle disappeared from under the door.
Pacing the room, I tried desperately to focus. Try as I might, panic and the aftereffects of alcohol or maybe even some drug muddled my memories of last night.
The Cosmo. I remembered the Cosmo. With a gasp, I also remembered Mike encouraging me to take a specific Cosmo from his hand. Had it been drugged? Was this Mike’s doing? His idea of a joke? He was known for liking to play little practical jokes on the rest of the cast but usually it was stuff like putting real brandy in a prop cup instead of iced tea so the actor had no choice but to drink it while on stage or changing out a portion of your costume for something that was too big or too small. Harmless pranks.
I knew he had a small crush on me and I was often a focus of his pranks as a rather childish way to get my attention, but this was taking things way too far.
Seriously? Drugging my drink? Hiring a homeless woman to play some kind of deranged jail keeper? He had definitely taken this prank too far. I was going to kill him when I got out of here. And if Jane was in on it, I was going to kill her too!
With renewed anger, I began to pound on the door again. “Mike, if you’re out there, this isn’t fucking funny! Open this door, now! Jane?”
Silence.
Rage had replaced fear. Marching over to the area with the bed, I started throwing the sheets and thin blanket off it, searching for my own clothes or cellphone. After finding nothing, I flipped the frame on its side, not caring about the terrible clatter the metal made against the cold concrete floor. Lowering to my knees, I swept the floor with my hands, hoping to find something under the bed. There was nothing.
I returned to banging on the door and screaming till I was hoarse.
Finally, it opened… and my real nightmare began.
“Take your hands off me!”
“Lady Larkin, please compose yourself.”
“Stop calling me that! Let me go, you assholes!”
“Vulgar language like that will only get you a longer session, my lady.”
Two stout women had me by the arms and were dragging me down a long, dark corridor. The only relief from the gloom was an occasional sconce with a flickering candle casting soft weak light.
Where was I?
Why didn’t this place have electricity?
Following us was the scolding homeless woman who first answered the door, calling herself Mrs. Higgs, and a man dressed in a rather dated-looking suit who identified himself as Doctor Swede.
Finally, we entered a much brighter room. Stationed around the room on alternating tables were several gas lamps. The room was covered in white and emerald green tile, from the floor to the walls. In the center of the room was a large wooden chair with evil-looking leather restraints attached to the arms, legs, and back. Along the far wall was a long table, its surface covered in rough-looking metal buckets.
“Undress her,” ordered Doctor Swede.
“No! No! Stop!” I shrieked as I renewed my struggles to free myself.
All at once I realized this was not some prank.
This was real.
I was in very real danger.
The fabric of my nightgown tore as both women began to claw at me.
“Stop! You can’t do this! Help! Help!” I screamed as I tried to fight them off.
In seconds I was standing stark naked in the middle of the tiled room. Desperately, I tried to cover myself but once more the two women grabbed my arms and started to pull me backwards. As I was forced to sit in the rough wooden chair, Mrs. Higgs wrapped a heavy leather belt across my shoulders and began to fasten it.
“No!”
I swung my arm out, connecting with one of the women’s nose. Blood gushed from her nostrils.
“Harlot!” she yelled before slapping me across the face.
My head snapped to the side as pain burst across my cheek. Through pain-blurred eyes, I watched as Doctor Swede struck the woman on the head with some sort of truncheon.
“She is the ward of His Grace the Duke of Winterbourne. A lady, and one of your betters, no matter her mental state. Never strike her again or you will find yourself cast out onto the streets,” he raged.
“I’m sorry, Doctor,” whined the woman as she wiped the blood from her nose onto her sleeve.
Ignoring my kicks and punches, they restrained me onto the chair. I have never known such fear and helplessness in all my life. Strapped naked to a chair with a bunch of lunatics.
I started to cry. “Please don’t kill me. Please.”
Doctor Swede approached me. I flinched as he raised his hand, thinking he meant to strike me with the same heavy truncheon. “Lady Larkin, we have no wish to harm you. This is all done for your own moral good. You are in a highly excitable state. This therapy is based on science and will help calm your mind. Our own Queen Victoria has approved of its use for the mentally deranged such as yourself.”
Struggling against the thick leather restraints, I shook my head. “None of this makes sense. Please, just let me go. I promise I won’t tell anyone. I promise I won’t call the police.”
Mrs. Higgs laughed. “The constabulary have no authority at St. George’s, child.” Turning to Doctor Swede, she said, “Doctor, we are ready to begin the therapy.”
“Proceed, Mrs. Higgs.”
Not knowing what was about to happen, fear took over. I opened my mouth and screamed in holy terror.
Because of my screams I did not hear the two women approach me from behind. Soon, a cascade of frigid water was poured over my head. My lungs seized as the cold took my breath away. Before I could recover, another bucket of ice water was dumped over my head.
“There is nothing like cold water to soothe an overheated, hysterical mind,” shouted Doctor Swede over my screams.
My whole body was going numb. The leather restraints cut into my skin as I shook uncontrollably. The tip of my tongue was sore from my chattering teeth accidentally biting it. My voice was gone from my repeated cries for help and mercy. Despite desperately trying to keep from passing out, I could feel my mind and body shutting down.
“What is going on here?”
It took extreme effort to raise my head, I could barely see past the wet strands of hair that clung to my face.
Richard had stormed into the room, looking like a vengeful god.
I was saved.
Dressed in some kind of old-fashioned formal tuxedo with a top hat, cravat, opera coat, and cane, he looked extremely out of place in the stark asylum room.
“Release her this instant,” he growled.
“Your grace, I assure you this is all very humane. Asylums across the country have adopted this treatment as the preferred method to correct your ward’s obvious hysteria and over-action of the mind.”
Richard crossed to the chair where I was restrained. His hand felt blessedly warm as he cupped my cheek.
“Help me,” I whispered.
“My love, I’m here.”
Tossing his cane aside, he worked at the heavy buckles on the restraints. The moment the leather harness across my shoulders was released, I sagged forward. Standing, Richard took off his opera coat and draped it over my exposed body. Immediately I was wrapped in the warmth and scent of him as the silk lining clung to my wet skin.
Lifting me in his arms, Richard carried me out of that dreadful place without another word to the doctor or Mrs. Higgs.
Pressing my cheek against the solid warmth of his shoulder, I started to cry as the terror, danger, and pain began to set in and overwhelm me.
“Don’t worry, my love. I’ve got you,” he soothed as he carried me out into the night.
Chapter 6
Lizzie
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