The Lady and the Locksmith (Victorian Romance)

by Cody Young

  ‘How 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.

  ‘It started when my mother died. I was beside myself with grief, I suppose. I made mistakes I have lived to regret.’

  ‘Tell me,’ he said, very gently.

  Susannah shook her head. ‘No. It will change things.’

  ‘I 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. ‘I apologized afterwards of course, but Father said the damage was done.’

  Carl was kind. ‘Grief takes us all in different ways,’ he said, ‘and you were just a girl. I suppose Fortescue was terrified you’d ruin his career?’

  ‘Yes. 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. ‘Why?’

  ‘My 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.

  ‘Susannah, 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.

  ‘Sweet Susannah,’ he said, reassuringly. ‘It’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.

  ‘Carl. Undo my dress. It buttons up the back.’

  He gave an appreciative sigh, and one last lingering kiss. ‘I must get you home,’ he said.

  ‘No,’ she said, and clung to him, burning with longing for him.

  Carl smiled at her, obviously enjoying the effect he had upon her. ‘If 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. ‘They want to see you, up at the Fortescue place, about that unpaid bill.’

  ‘I told you, sir, if you’ll wait til payday …’

  ‘Carl, you can’t play Tom Fool with Fortescue’s daughter and not expect there to be consequences.’

  ‘You’ve not said anything to him, have you, sir?’

  ‘No. 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.

  ‘Susannah,’ he breathed. ‘My 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.

  ‘Can 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.

  ‘Will you stop playacting, man, and explain yourself?’

  Carl looked up. ‘It has been sent to you in error, sir.’

  ‘In error?’ Mr Fortescue frowned.

  ‘Yes sir, I believe it relates to some work I did nearby,’ said Carl. ‘And it has been wrongly addressed to you.’

  ‘It 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.’

  ‘I cannot tell you that, sir, because I didn’t do this work for you. It was for someone entirely different.’

  Fortescue sighed. ‘Very well, I shall have every room searched until I find out.’

  Carl stared at him in disbelief.

  ‘Go 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.

  ‘Just 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. ‘For 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. ‘He made you this key, didn’t he? And tell me, what did he get from you?’

  ‘Papa, I did nothing wrong. Nothing that would embarrass you.’

  ‘Foolish, 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.

  ‘Susannah?’ he said, ‘Are 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. ‘Susannah?’

  ‘Go away. I don’t want you to see me like this.’

  Her voice came from the wardrobe.

  ‘Oh 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.

  ‘Mr 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.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ she said.

  ‘I 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.’

  ‘You’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. ‘First, we’ll get you dressed. Do you have some sort of travelling outfit?’

  She shook her head. ‘I haven’t had need of one, Carl.’

  ‘You need one now,’ he said ruefully. ‘Something that won’t draw attention to us, when we try to get on the train.’

  ‘The train?’ she said, with bright round eyes. ‘You’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. ‘Do 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. ‘There,’ she said, and turned to Carl. ‘Do I look less like a mad girl, now?’

  He gave a rueful grin. She knew. She knew what was said about her.

  ‘You are my girl, Susannah, that’s what you are.’ He gave her a kiss on the cheek.

  ‘Look,’ she said, and bent down to pick some sheets of paper off the floor. ‘My 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.

  ‘His name’s John Finnegan,’

  ‘And who is he?’

  ‘He’s my doctor,’ she confessed. ‘He has been helping me to see things more clearly.’

  ‘Susannah! We can’t go to him!’

  ‘Why ever not?’ she said. ‘He’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. ‘You think your do
ctor is your friend, sweetheart? Who do you think pays his bills?’

  ‘His bills?’

  ‘Yes. 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.

  ‘You must think me very silly,’ she said. ‘But 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.

  ‘Susannah tells me you’re an excellent doctor,’ Carl said, and the older man raised an eyebrow. ‘And you’ve had the decency to listen.’

  The doctor smiled. ‘But?’

  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. ‘But … 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?’