The Lady and the Locksmith (Victorian Romance)

by Cody Young

  Carl kissed her forehead and thanked God it wasn’t another man, who held her in his arms tonight. ‘I know what I want to give you for our first anniversary, Susannah.’

  ‘You 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. ‘On 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.’

  ‘A lovely idea,’ she said, smiling in pleasure. ‘But don’t make me wait a whole year. Make me a key tomorrow.’

  He laughed. ‘My 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.

  ‘Woman 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. ‘The daughter of a prospective member of parliament disappeared from her home on Tuesday, and fears are mounting for her safety …’

  ‘She is unlikely to understand what has happened to her,’ Susannah read, with a growing sense of outrage and anger, ‘as she is of unsound and feeble mind!’

  ‘The culprit must be apprehended and brought to justice,’ read Carl, and his voice remained steady, but his hand shook a little handling the newspaper. ‘Anyone with information about his whereabouts must contact the Police straight away …’

  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.

  ‘Now 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. ‘You think he told them?’

  ‘I know so.’

  She berated herself for her innocence and stupidity. ‘What do I do now, Carl? Tell me what I must do?’

  The more senior of the two policemen interrupted. ‘You 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. ‘My love, forgive me – it was an ill-conceived plan!’

  ‘It 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 naïve 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. ‘If 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.

  ‘She lived like a lonely songbird, locked up in a tiny cage. I could not leave her there,’ he wrote, ‘for 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.

  ‘Toby?’ she said, giving him what she hoped was an appealing, doe-eyed glance. He seemed pleased that she’d remembered his name.

  ‘Yes, Miss Fortescue?’

  ‘Take me downstairs so I can have a word with Dr. Finnegan.’

  ‘Yes, 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 t
he 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. ‘Have you ever considered how much your professional reputation would be enhanced, Dr Finnegan, if you were to have a few successes?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Dr 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. ‘Word 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.

  ‘People 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.

  ‘If 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. ‘There is some … lucidity in your arguments,’ he said pleasantly. ‘But what about your illness, my dear?’

  ‘I am convinced that it was only my grief over my mother’s death that made me seem so … 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.

  ‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘You 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.

  ‘Never!’ he cried, in a hostile tone.

  The telephone call ended abruptly, and the doctor sighed.

  ‘I 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.

  ‘Your 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…’

  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.

  ‘Broderick’s the name,’ the man said tersely, ‘and 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!’

  ‘You are Carl’s employer,’ said Susannah, rushing forward to greet them, and then hesitating in the middle of the room. ‘And … I am the cause of your pain.’

  ‘Miss 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.

  ‘Have you?’ Susannah said, with a sinking feeling in her heart. Her reputation as the town freak seemed to follow her everywhere. ‘From whom?’

  Mr Broderick smiled. ‘From Carl, my duck. He says you’ve stolen his heart.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mrs Broderick. ‘The boy is in love.’ She turned and looked sternly at Dr Finnegan. ‘And when, may I ask, was that made a criminal offence?’

  Mr Broderick went to stand right in front of Finnegan’s desk. ‘We’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. ‘Poet 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.’

  ‘No, not the police,’ said Susannah resolutely, surprising even herself. ‘We’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. ‘Well, 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.

  ‘Just one more thing, Doctor,’ Susannah said, tilting her head on one side. ‘How long must a woman wait before she can be sure she is … with child?’

  ‘Oh my dear!’ exclaimed Mrs Broderick, and touched Susannah’s arm.

  ‘Nice one, Carl,’ Mr. Broderick murmured, beneath his splendid moustache.

  Finnegan’s face bristled with anger, which he endeavoured to control. ‘You 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.

  ‘Keys 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. ‘Your fellow’s in here, Miss. So they tell me.’

  ‘Yes, yes! Here he is!’ she replied. ‘Can 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. ‘What’s all this?’ he said delightedly, nuzzling her ear until he noticed that the guard stood right beside them, grinning in amusement.

  ‘I am sent with news of your release,’ she said. ‘If you will only agree to the terms.’

  Carl cocked his head to one side. ‘What terms might they be, lady love?’

  She pushed him backwards, and gave him a level gaze. ‘People 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.’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘They 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. ‘You didn’t fall for that one, I hope.’

  She gave just the slightest hint of a smile. ‘It has even been suggested that you are- in fact - a supporter of my father’s cause, an
d you have done all of this to get his name, and yours, in the papers.’

  ‘The author of that pack of lies was never in love,’ Carl pointed out. ‘Never in love in his life.’

  That pleased her, he could tell. Her eyes sparkled with hope. ‘But people need to be convinced, Carl…’

  ‘Then 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, ‘You 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.

  ‘Who’s paying the bail?’ he whispered.

  ‘My father,’ she replied.

  ‘No! Has he seen reason at last?’

  She nodded.

  Carl gazed down into his wife’s warm hazel eyes. Admiration and awe in his soul. ‘How did you do it?’

  ‘I 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. ‘A locksmith! A prison! It’s outrageous,’ the man said, though he had nobody to blame but himself. ‘My daughter’s marriage certificate will bear the name of that man, and a dreadful place like this!’