The Penmaker's Wife

by Steve Robinson

  As she drew close to the gates, she came face to face with the man who had spoken to her previously outside the pen factory. She had hoped their paths would never cross again, but here he was, clearly having gone to some lengths to find her. Seeing his face again, despite the familiarity, was no less shocking.

  ‘I didn’t m-mean to startle you,’ he said, politely removing his hat as he spoke. He had a grey suit jacket in one hand, his shirtsleeves rolled up as before, presumably on account of the warm weather, and perhaps because they were otherwise too long for his withered arm.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Angelica demanded, keeping her distance. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘That’s a very g-good question,’ the man said. He stepped closer, but remained outside the gates. ‘I remembered where we m-met.’

  Angelica’s breath caught in her chest as her hand tightened around her secateurs. Her eyes narrowed on him. ‘Do you indeed? And where might that have been?’

  The man swallowed a few times before he answered, as if having difficulty getting his reply out. ‘H-Hockley,’ he stammered. ‘I saw y-you and your little boy outside a h-house on Kings Terrace. You d-dropped your purse and I went to pick it up for you, but you b-beat me to it. I-I was going to the same house y-you had just left. When I knocked, I received no answer. Y-you are the lady I was g-going there to see that night, aren’t you?’

  ‘I most certainly was not,’ Angelica lied. ‘As I said before. You are quite mistaken.’

  ‘But I know I’m n-not,’ the man insisted. ‘Are you the lady of this fine house?’

  ‘I soon will be, as if that’s any business of yours.’

  ‘A m-marriage,’ the man said, smiling. ‘How l-lovely.’

  ‘Look, where is this leading?’ Angelica asked, growing impatient to be rid of the man, but not before she was sure he was satisfied that it was not her he had seen that night. She had to understand what he intended to do about it if he would not believe her.

  ‘I-I was just thinking that you’ve d-done very well for yourself, haven’t you? You wouldn’t want to r-risk it all now. I wonder who else m-might believe me if I told them that the lady of Priory House was a p-prostitute. Does your future husband know?’

  Angelica wanted to slap his face for his impertinence, but she did not. He was right, after all, and clearly he was not about to let the matter go. She began to wonder what else he knew. More specifically whether he was aware that a man had been murdered at the house on Kings Terrace just moments before their paths had crossed in the street outside. She suspected he did not know, or she thought he might at least have hinted at it by now. She also thought that if he suspected her for a murderer and knew what she was capable of, he would be more wary of her. To the contrary, his lopsided eyes, which seemed to consume her, told her that he was well and truly besotted with her. She thought if he started blabbing about her in connection with Kings Terrace, however, someone might eventually make the connection.

  She looked away and stared through the trees beyond the gates for several seconds while she thought what to do. It seemed that her past was not yet ready to let her go on with the happy life she was building for herself and William, and something had to be done about that.

  But what?

  She quickly decided that it was no use trying to appeal to the man’s sensibilities by telling him she had been forced into prostitution, on that occasion at least. No, she had to deal with the matter head on, and here and now, rather than later with Stanley if this wretched man followed through with his threats. Whether Stanley chose to believe what he heard or not, it would do nothing for her reputation. It could even jeopardise their marriage, and she could not risk that.

  ‘Very well, you’re right,’ she said. She saw no sense in prolonging the lie. ‘It was me. I was the woman you were going to see that night.’

  A childish grin slowly spread across the man’s twisted face. He looked excited beyond measure to hear Angelica admit it.

  ‘Do you need money?’ Angelica asked. ‘Is that it? How much will your silence cost me?’

  The man shook his head, still smiling at her. ‘I d-don’t want your money.’

  ‘Then what do you want?’

  ‘I w-want,’ he began, then paused to lick the spittle from his lips. ‘I w-want what I was going to get that n-night at the house on Kings Terrace.’

  Angelica laughed at the idea, but the man standing before her did not seem to share her humour, mocking as it was. His features twisted further as the light in his eyes darkened.

  ‘You’re n-not taking me seriously, are you?’ he said. ‘I don’t l-like to be laughed at.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Angelica said, not wishing to anger him. She had no idea what he might do if she did. ‘It was rude of me. I can see you’re very serious.’ She paused, thinking again. ‘If I agree to come to you, to a place of your choice, do I have your word that it will be just the once, and that will be the end of the matter?’

  ‘You have my w-word,’ the man said. ‘Just the once.’

  Angelica doubted that. There was no question in her mind that he would insist on seeing her again, and again and again for all she knew. That was, after all, the way of the blackmailer, but she went along with him.

  ‘What’s your name?’ she asked, speaking more softly now.

  ‘H-Hector,’ the man stammered, turning the brim of his hat in his hands. ‘Hector P-Perlman.’

  ‘Well, Mr Perlman, if I’m to go through with this, you’ll understand that I’d like to get it over with as soon as possible.’

  ‘Hector, p-please,’ the man said. ‘Call me Hector.’

  ‘Very well, Hector. I have no other engagements this afternoon. How does three o’clock suit you?’

  Perlman began to breathe heavily with anticipation. ‘It suits me v-very well,’ he said. ‘I have a h-house and a small w-workshop in the Jewellery Quarter, not far from where we m-met the other day. Y-you can come to me there.’

  ‘What about your wife? Your family?’ Angelica asked. ‘Aren’t you married?’ She stopped herself. ‘No, of course you’re not,’ she said, wondering who could love such an unfortunate, misshapen man. ‘Very well. Let me have your address and I’ll see you at three.’

  ‘You’ll w-wear a pretty dress, won’t you?’ Perlman said. ‘I like pretty things.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Angelica replied, shuddering at the thought of him pawing at her in one of her beautiful gowns.

  ‘Until three then,’ Perlman said, handing her a torn slip of paper on which he had already written his address.

  Angelica arrived promptly at the address Hector Perlman had given her. She had walked part of the way, and then taken a hansom cab into town, followed by an omnibus, getting off close to the Jewellery Quarter so that no one who saw her along the way could know where she was going. Having walked the last few hundred yards to Perlman’s house, she felt so hot beneath the dark green satin gown she had chosen to wear, and so stifled by the heavy black lace veil she had attached to her hat so that no one would recognise her, that by the time Perlman answered her knock she thought she might faint.

  Despite the appointment they had made between them, Perlman looked surprised to see her. ‘Y-you came,’ he said, his face beaming with joy.

  ‘Of course,’ Angelica said, eager to step inside and get in off the street, as much for the shade as for not wishing to stand so openly at his door a moment longer than she had to.

  She entered into a narrow hallway that was brightly coloured in shades of yellow above the dado rail, and blue beneath it. There were stained-glass wall hangings here and there that were obscure in their design; abstract, yet oddly appealing in their way.

  ‘I m-make those in my workshop,’ Perlman said. ‘Do you l-like them?’

  ‘Yes, they’re very beautiful. You sell them, I suppose?’

  Perlman nodded. ‘In a m-manner of speaking. Someone s-sells them for me, you see. He’s cheating me, I know, but who would wish to b-buy somet
hing so beautiful from someone who looks like m-me?’

  Angelica did not answer. She thought anyone else but her might have felt sorry for him, but she felt nothing.

  ‘This w-way,’ he said, and then he led her up a straight flight of stairs to a landing area that was similarly decorated with more of the same type of colourful wall hangings. There were none of the mirrors typically found in such in-between spaces of a house, but that was understandable. She suspected poor Hector did not like to look at himself any more than she did.

  They quickly came to more stairs and climbed them to the next floor, but that was not the end of the journey. Another, narrower set of stairs took them higher still, on to a landing area that was bright with sunshine from the skylights above.

  ‘Almost there n-now,’ Perlman said, stepping across the bare floorboards towards one of the attic rooms. ‘This w-way,’ he added, inviting her into another bright room that had no windows other than a single skylight above them. The room contained very little. There was no furniture at all. Just a single iron-framed bed and a mattress, with no linen or pillows, and a washstand with no bowl.

  ‘H-here we are,’ Perlman said, studying Angelica, taking in the lines of her gown all the way down to her shoes. ‘Splendid,’ he added, smiling. ‘N-now, remove your hat and veil, won’t you? I should like to see your pretty face.’

  Angelica took off her hat as instructed and set it down on the bed. Her hair was pinned up. She patted it to make sure everything was still in place.

  ‘N-now I’d very much like to undress you,’ Perlman said, stepping close to her.

  ‘Don’t you think my gown pretty?’ Angelica said, hoping to keep it on for as long as she could.

  ‘Oh, y-yes,’ Perlman said, ‘It’s very p-pretty, but I’m sure what lies beneath is far p-prettier.’

  Angelica drew a sharp breath and held it as Perlman moved behind her suddenly and began to unbutton her gown. She felt him clumsily tugging at it, impeded as he no doubt was by his withered arm. Several seconds later, she felt his hands on her shoulders, and then her gown was sliding to the floor. She heard his breathing then, coarse and excited as he began to unfasten her petticoats and crinolette. His actions became faster and faster as his excitement grew, moving on to the laces of her corset and then to the shoes on her feet, which he gently helped her out of, stroking each foot as he did so. Before long she was standing before him in nothing more than her chemise and drawers.

  Angelica took a step back. ‘I can manage the rest,’ she said, feigning a weak smile. ‘If you’d like to watch, I mean.’

  Perlman gave a nod. He smiled back at her, and Angelica continued to undress herself, feeling more nervous than she would previously have thought possible. She had stood naked in front of many men before now, assumed all kinds of poses and positions for their pleasure and their shilling, but this was different. She was not doing this for a shilling as she once had, and this man, Hector Perlman, was not the kind of man she would have taken money from. When she had finished undressing, she stood naked before him, making no poses, yet doing nothing to hide her dignity either. She was there for a purpose, and she wanted it over with as quickly as possible.

  She was surprised, however, when instead of launching himself at her, as she found most men in such situations usually did, he began collecting up her clothes.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asked, confused.

  ‘They m-make the room untidy,’ Perlman said. ‘I want a clean c-canvas for your beauty.’

  It was a flattering notion, if rather bizarre, Angelica thought, although given his penchant for pretty things, she understood his reasons. She watched him collect everything up, and then he left the room briefly while she stood there naked, waiting for him to return. When he did, her clothes no longer with him, he reached into one of his pockets and produced a key, which he turned in the lock without explanation before putting it away again.

  ‘There’s no need to lock the door,’ Angelica said. ‘We’re alone, aren’t we?’

  ‘Oh, yes, w-we’re quite alone. I rarely have visitors – only the m-man who comes to collect my work to sell, and he isn’t due for several days.’

  ‘Then why do you need to lock the door?’

  ‘Because I’m afraid y-you might not wish to continue once we’ve started.’

  As unpleasant as this man was to look at, Angelica had been with men in London who looked little better and smelled far worse, and for much less than she stood to gain now. ‘I assure you I have no intention of reneging on our agreement.’

  ‘G-good,’ Perlman said. ‘But just in case.’

  ‘I really don’t like being locked in,’ Angelica persisted, wondering just what this man intended to do with her once they had started.

  ‘It doesn’t m-matter what you like. This is about what I l-like, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, of course, but—’

  ‘Then p-please,’ Perlman cut in, ‘lie down on the bed. I w-won’t hurt you, I promise. Not unless you m-make me.’

  As vulnerable as Angelica was, she stood her ground. ‘Not until you unlock the door.’

  Perlman slowly lowered his head. When he raised it again he screamed at her, ‘Lie down!’

  The outburst startled Angelica. She felt a shiver run through her as her hands began to tremble. She had never before seen such raw aggression in a man’s eyes, not even from the likes of Tom Blanchard. She shuddered to think what this man was capable of, and she did not want to draw the beast within further out of its shell to find out. Still trembling, she sat on the edge of the bed, swung her bare legs up on to the mattress and lay down.

  He was standing over her in seconds.

  ‘That’s b-better, isn’t it?’ he said, smiling at her. ‘It’s just a door. I’ll unlock it again when we’ve f-finished, and perhaps one day, once you’ve become more used to me, I won’t feel the n-need to lock it.’

  ‘I knew it,’ Angelica said. ‘You lied to me when you said this was to be just the once.’

  ‘But you’re so b-beautiful, Angelica. How could it possibly be just the once?’

  Angelica gave no answer. Neither of them spoke again. Unable to look directly at him now, out of the corner of her eye she saw him roll his sleeves further up. Then he unbuckled his belt and dropped his trousers. He stood watching her for several long seconds, admiring her beauty as he became more and more aroused by it. He touched her leg, gently with the back of his hand, and she flinched. She turned away, and suddenly he was over her, forcing her legs apart. She knew it was no use trying to struggle. She wanted to relax, to make it easier, but she couldn’t. A second later, she felt his body jerk as he penetrated her, once, twice, and then without warning his hand was around her throat.

  Perlman must have thought himself fully in control of the situation – his far weaker prey lying naked and defenceless beneath him – but he wasn’t. Far from it. Angelica had to concede that things weren’t going quite as she had anticipated, but no matter. She reached a hand up behind Perlman’s ear and began to caress the back of his neck. She moved her hand higher and began to fondle the hair at the back of his head, which caused him to make little noises in his throat, like a cat purring on her lap. His grip around her neck lessened and she pulled him down into the soft cushion of her breasts as he continued to thrust and jerk, back and forth, his groans becoming more and more audible as he neared climax.

  But, for his lies, Angelica would deny him.

  When she sensed he was moments away from orgasm, she curled his hair around her hand and pulled his head back, at the same time reaching into her own hair for the dip pen she had used as a hair pin. She drew it out, took a firm grip, and before Perlman’s eyes opened again, drove the steel nib hard into his left eye socket.

  Perlman did not scream. He simply began to twitch and convulse on top of her as a line of blood ran like a tear from his eye. She rolled him off her, turning with him until she was on top, her hand still pressing on the pen, his body still twitching b
eneath her. When at last he was still, she tilted her head to one side and stared at his now-lifeless face with renewed fascination, thinking that she had given this man exactly what he would have received that night at the house on Kings Terrace had she been there.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Winson Green, Birmingham

  1896

  I shudder to think of the depraved things Hector Perlman would have had Angelica do for his silence, over and over again, had she not killed him. I knew nothing of his murder at the time, however. She told me about him much later. I was concerned only with my love for her then, and to hear that she was going to marry Stanley Hampton, as good a man as he was, upset me more than I could say, regardless of Angelica’s assurances that she was not marrying him out of love. But Stanley’s proposal had forced my hand, and it would prove to be a blessing, for a time at least.

  Their wedding was a quiet affair with only a handful of friends and close family in attendance. I do not believe Stanley could have faced a larger gathering, despite it having been close to three years since Georgina’s death. Even as the poor man stood there and said his vows before God, I am sure he felt racked with guilt and pain for the loss of his first wife, but what could he do? Stanley Hampton had fallen in love with Angelica Chastain, and I can tell you from my own experience that that flame, once kindled, could never go out.

  For myself, I would sooner have forgone the torment of attending their wedding. The intimate company of so few people made the proceedings all the more unbearable for me. There was nowhere to hide myself away, nothing to distract my attention from the happy couple when I was feeling anything but. If only I could have looked forward, and could have seen the life that was in store for Angelica and me. Then I might have rejoiced in their marriage for what it was. But it did take time. I am sure that, during those early years of their marriage, Angelica was too focused on making a good show of things, of keeping Stanley happy and safeguarding William’s future, to risk it all on us. We shared our moments, but they were so few and far between that they became sweet torture to me, never knowing when we would be together again, having to watch Angelica and Stanley in all their post-marital bliss.