Jessica Read online

  “Slut,” he growled. “You bastard child of a harlot, open your legs for me.” He yanked the bedclothes back.

  She tried to push him away. Twisting and turning, bucking and pummeling his chest, she desperately fought for survival. She heard the material of her nightgown rip, felt cool air on her exposed breast, then his hot wet mouth on her nipple.

  “No. No,” she screamed. Her strength was ebbing. Enraged, he was too strong.

  “Arthur!” Mrs. Craven shrilled. “Leave her alone.” The old lady whacked him on the back with her walking stick, until with a virulent curse, he rolled away.

  “What did you do that for? The slut asked for it. Wanted it. She’s been fluttering her eyelashes and flirting with me all day.”

  “I didn’t, I didn’t. He…attacked me.”

  “Downstairs – now,” Mrs. Craven ordered. Without another word the Cravens left the room.

  Jessica’s teeth chattered, she felt ice cold even though it was summer. She couldn’t believe he would try to violate her in his mother’s home. If Mrs. Craven hadn’t appeared, she shuddered at the consequences of what could have befallen her.

  Weeping, she huddled under the blanket too afraid to move. The front door slammed so hard the sound traveled right up to the attic.

  “He’s gone,” Mrs. Craven called up to her. “We’ll discuss this further in the morning.”

  The house fell silent, and Jessica shivered under the blanket. Her whole body shook so much she couldn’t even get out of bed to inspect the damage Arthur had done to her nightgown. It hung off one shoulder so he had obviously ripped it. If Mrs. Craven hadn’t intervened, he would have raped her.

  How did the old lady manage to climb up the stairs? What would happen to her now? She bit down on her knuckles to stifle the screams gathering in her throat. Would Mrs. Craven send her away?

  It wasn’t her fault. She had done nothing to encourage his advances, didn’t even like him. He was her son, though, she a mere employee, a girl from the local orphanage. She had the princely sum of ten dollars saved up from her sewing because she had never received any wages. She’d had to be satisfied with the vague promise of being provided for in Mrs. Craven’s will. If she had to leave here, where would she go?

  Sleep was impossible, fear of what the future held weighed her down. Finally, the shaking subsided enough for her to climb out of bed. Arthur had not returned. On trembling legs, she stumbled to the dresser and lit the lamp so she could find another nightgown. The one she wore had all the buttons ripped off, hanging open to expose her breasts. On her neck was a large red bite mark. Already fingerprint bruises had started to show up on the white skin of her shoulder.

  A cup of warm milk might settle my nerves. She tiptoed down the stairs carrying the lantern to light the way.

  “Jessica.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Craven.”

  “What are you prowling around for?”

  “I can’t sleep. I thought warm milk might help settle me.” Any wonder I can’t sleep, your son tried to rape me.

  “Bring me one up too, dear. I’m too old for these upsets.”

  Down in the kitchen she threw a log on the stove and half-filled a pot with milk. It didn’t take long to warm the liquid up. She drank hers straight away, the warmth soothing her parched throat, bringing warmth to her freezing limbs.

  Carrying the lantern in one hand and Mrs. Craven’s milk in the other, she climbed the stairs leading to the old lady’s room. What could she say? Perhaps it would be better to wait and say nothing, let the old lady do the talking.

  She tapped on the door and entered. Mrs. Craven sat up in bed looking much older and frailer than usual.

  “Here we are,” Jessica said. “Would you like something to eat?”

  “No, sit here for a moment.”

  Jessica slumped in the bedside chair.

  “Arthur was drunk and it inflamed his male urges.”

  She turned her gasp into a cough. Mrs. Craven had never spoken so bluntly before. “It’s over and done with now. I don’t want you to mention this indiscretion to anyone. Forget it ever happened.”

  She would never forget that she had almost been raped. It would haunt her until her dying day. “All right.”

  “Good. I’m tired now.”

  Jessica stood.

  “Leave the cup, dear, take it down in the morning. Now off you go and get some sleep. Forget tonight. It never happened.”

  “All right, thank you. Goodnight.” She kept her voice even, and forced the tears burning the back of her eyes not to fall.

  Chapter Six

  A few days before her eighteenth birthday, Jessica found Mrs. Craven lifeless in bed when she went in to wake her for breakfast. The old lady’s face was cold and waxen. She had obviously died during the night.

  Jessica dashed out of the house and rushed to the doctor’s house. Tears poured down her cheeks. She had grown fond of the old lady, the only person who had treated her kindly in years. Olaf, the Swedish gardener, was the only other person in her whole life who had been kind. Now she had no-one.

  The next few days were terrible, the doctor was helpful, even though she had always had the feeling he did not really approve of her. He informed her Arthur and his family would be attending the funeral, and she was to prepare the house for them. “You move yourself into Bertha’s old cottage while they’re here. Won’t be enough room in the house for all of you.”

  “Yes, Doctor.”

  The cottage hadn’t been used since Bertha’s death, although anything was better than staying under the same roof as Arthur. Three years had passed, yet his attack was still vivid in her memory. She wanted to stay as far away as possible from him.

  After Mrs. Craven’s body had been taken away by the undertaker, Jessica went through the house like a whirlwind, cleaning and polishing, changing linen. She wasn’t giving Arthur any excuse to say her work was substandard.

  By the end of the day she trembled with exhaustion, the place gleamed from top to bottom, though. She placed a huge bowl of pink and white roses on a side table in the parlor, small vases of roses and lavender in each of the bedrooms to make sure there was no lingering smell of death.

  Locking the house up and with an arm full of linen and clothes for the funeral tomorrow, she trudged across the garden to Bertha’s cottage. Unlocking the door, she pushed it open and was greeted by a stale, musty odor. The place was dirty, she couldn’t even see out the windows because of cobwebs and grime. Setting to work she tried to make the place habitable. It was midnight by the time she collapsed into bed.

  ~*~

  Jessica met with Arthur and his wife at the funeral. He didn’t introduce her to his wife, a thin haughty looking lady wearing black silk. He stood next to the doctor, while a few other people milled around. No-one she knew or recalled ever having met was in attendance.

  Refreshments were being served at the doctor’s house for mourners after the burying. She had not been invited. One part of her was glad, the other part hurt, because her long friendship with Mrs. Craven had been ignored, and she was being treated as a mere servant. No fair minded person could say she hadn’t been a devoted companion to the old lady.

  Arthur’s cold eyes bored into her, so she turned her head away, seemingly concentrating on the preacher’s words. “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” he droned on.

  Arthur stepped forward and dropped a white rose on his mother’s coffin as it was lowered into the grave. His wife stood ramrod straight with not a flicker of emotion on her face.

  Jessica wiped tears from her cheeks with one of the embroidered lace handkerchiefs she had made. Her heart was heavy as she turned away.

  “You.” Arthur snapped his fingers at her, and she reluctantly inched toward him. Too many people here for him to try anything she consoled herself.

  “Go to the doctor’s house with the other mourners,” he ordered his wife. “This won’t take more than a couple of minutes.”

  The woman minced off.


  “Now. We’ll be coming back to my mother’s house – well, my house now, in a couple of hours. I want you gone.”

  “What!”

  “Stupid as well as insolent. You might have duped my gullible mother, not me. I know all about your kind.”

  It really wasn’t the time or place, yet Jessica stared him straight in the eye. “Your mother promised to leave me…”

  “Mother left you nothing. Why would she?”

  “Instead of paying my wages, she said…”

  “There is no mention of you in the Will.”

  “But…but…”

  “Not a word. I’ve got the Will here in my pocket. It was drawn up by my law firm, signed and witnessed. All legal. You can leave with what you came with – Nothing. Mother had no right bringing a whoring little guttersnipe like you into our home.”

  “I worked hard for your mother for over four years.”

  “It makes no difference. There is no mention of you in the will, so you get nothing.”

  “Please, I need time to find somewhere else to live.”

  “Well.” He stared at her breasts. “We might be able to come to a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

  “Whore myself to the likes of you,” she hissed. “Never. I’d rather sleep in the gutter.”

  Angry red rushed into his face, veins bulged in his neck. “If that’s the way you want it. If you haven’t removed yourself from my property by the time I return, I’ll contact the authorities and have you evicted. Ashley.” He snapped his fingers at a young man hovering in the background. “Escort this conniving whore back to the house to collect her belongings. Make sure she doesn’t steal any of my property when she leaves. After that, wait there for us.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Your mother was fond of me, she wouldn’t…”

  “There is nothing in writing. Care to ask the doctor what is written in the Will?” Arthur’s lips thinned and he gave a cruel laugh. “He was one of the witnesses.”

  Swinging around, he strode off leaving her standing in the graveyard scared and bewildered.

  “Come along, Miss,” the man called Ashley said. “Mr. Craven means what he says.” He stepped away and she stumbled after him.

  It was normally only a brisk mile walk, today it felt like miles. Her head throbbed, her stomach twisted up in knots. Like an out of control fire, fear raced through her. Fierce, unrelenting. What would happen to her now? Where could she go? Who would employ her without references?

  She had hoped at the very least to be able to stay in Bertha’s cottage. Why hadn’t she insisted Mrs. Craven pay her, or put something in writing? The thoughts churned around in her brain until she feared her head would burst open. Too trusting. Too gullible. Had Mrs. Craven deliberately lied to her? She couldn’t believe that. What if there was another Will? Maybe Arthur was lying? It didn’t matter, she didn’t have the money or power to do anything about it.

  By the time they made it to the house, her breathing was rapid, coming out in gasping pants. Taking the key out of her pocket, she unlocked the door. Ashley followed her inside.

  “Nice place,” he said. “No wonder he wanted it.”

  “Mrs. Craven promised me I would be well provided for after she passed.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “Because I worked for her for over four years and never got paid.”

  “You can’t trust the gentry. If you’re lowly born, they never forget it.” He grimaced. “Better hurry up, Miss. Mr. Craven will throw you out in the street with nothing. He’s done it before.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He’s married to my cousin. They’re both hard and ruthless. A perfect match.” Bitterness edged his voice.

  “What am I going to do? All I own are a few clothes and I only have ten dollars saved up.”

  “The first thing I’d do if I were you, is find somewhere cheap and clean to stay for a couple of days. Better to do that in daylight.”

  “I wouldn’t know where to look.”

  “O’Riley’s tavern in Wingard Street,” the young man said. “The widow O’Riley lets out rooms on the second floor. A bit noisy when the place is full at night with drunks, although cheap and clean.”

  “How do you know?”

  He grimaced. “I’ve stayed there a few times over the years. I usually drove Mr. Craven here when he visited his mother. I’m his driver and accounts clerk. Well, I do just about everything for him.”

  “You’re related to him.”

  “Doesn’t make any difference, he still treats me like dirt, they both do. I’m biding my time until I get a few dollars saved up, then I’ll be leaving them. And glad to do so. Look, Miss, hurry up for your own sake and mine.”

  Mrs. Craven had several carpet bags and small trunks in a cupboard under the stairs. Jessica picked out the largest carpet bag, a flower covered affair with brown leather trim.

  While the young man paced the hallway, she packed a couple of gowns, underwear and some of her sewing things. With a last look around the attic that had been home, she closed the door and traipsed downstairs.

  Still in her funeral clothes, a navy-blue gown and straw bonnet trimmed with matching ribbon, she stepped up to Arthur’s lackey and handed him the house keys. “Goodbye, thank you.”

  “I’m sorry about this, nothing I can do about it, though. Good luck.”

  He opened the door. She stepped on to the porch. The door banged shut and she was homeless. She would try O’Riley’s tavern like he suggested, and hopefully get a room. Ten dollars wouldn’t go far. She had to get work quickly. She was young and strong, and within reason was prepared to take anything.

  It didn’t take long for her arms to start aching. Even though there wasn’t much in the carpet bag it kept getting heavier and heavier with each step she took.

  After about an hour, she found Wingard Street, which was on the seedier side of town. A couple of hundred yards from the corner a sign swayed in the breeze – O’Riley’s. Thank goodness she had found the place.

  Stopping for a moment, she watched a woman sauntering toward her. She was young, well dressed, even if her green gown was a little on the garish side. Her hair under a matching green bonnet was auburn in color. A memory suddenly stirred. “Amy?”

  The woman stared at her. “Jessica?”

  They both laughed. “Yes, I’m Jessica.”

  “I’m Amy. What are you doing here? I thought you’d died in the laundry.”

  Jessica shuddered. “I would have except Olaf got me back with him in the garden.”

  “He was the only decent person in that hell-hole.” Amy’s lips thinned. Bitterness clearly etched her heavily made up face. She looked prosperous now, but it was obvious life hadn’t been easy after she’d escaped from the orphanage.

  “There’s a little coffee place in that side street across the road, why don’t we go there. You look like you’re running away from home.” Amy’s laugh held no humor.

  “I…I haven’t got much money, I can’t afford…”

  “I’m paying.”

  “All right, thank you.”

  They walked over to a little shop with grubby lace curtains hanging listlessly on the one large window.

  “Doesn’t look much,” Amy said. “The coffee is good, though. They serve the best flap-jacks I’ve ever tasted.”

  Amy led her over to a corner table. “Two coffees and two serves of flap-jacks,” she called out to the woman behind the counter.

  “Now, Jessica, tell me what you’re doing here.”

  “I was hoping to get a room at O’Riley’s for a couple of days.”

  “You might as well tell me the whole story. I might be able to help.”

  Jessica told her the whole sorry saga.

  “Typical gentry,” Amy snapped. “Always thinking poor girls are there to satisfy their lust. You were lucky the old lady stopped him. If he’d gotten you with child they’d have kicked you out.”

  Jessica’s
heart rose up into her mouth. She hadn’t even thought about that. “Over four years I worked for Mrs. Craven. The old lady treated me well, taught me a lot yet I never got paid.”

  “What!”

  “She kept saying she was going to leave me money in her Will.”

  “The son could have been lying.” Amy’s eyes hardened.

  “I wouldn’t put it past him.”

  “You can’t do anything about it. No-one would believe your word against his if you don’t have any proof.”

  Jessica’s shoulders slumped. “I know.”

  “He has money and influence, you’d just as likely be thrown into jail if you said anything.”

  Jessica poured cream into her coffee and took a sip. Amy hadn’t been exaggerating, it was good. “What am I going to do?”

  “I’m called Scarlett now, Amy disappeared years ago.”

  “You look prosperous. What do you do?”

  Amy took a sip of coffee and bit into a flap-jack. “I run my own, um, employment agency.”

  “You do? Maybe you could find something suitable for me?”

  “I’m sure I could.” The strangest expression flashed across Amy’s face. It disappeared so quickly Jessica couldn’t work out what it was. Bitterness? Cunning? Stop imagining things. They had been friends, as much as one could have a friend at the orphanage.

  “Don’t go to O’Riley’s, stay with me.”

  “That’s kind, only I couldn’t impose on you.”

  “You wouldn’t be imposing; I’ve got a house a couple of streets away.”

  “You own a house?” Jessica asked in amazement. Amy had certainly done well for herself.

  “I told you I was doing well. Play your cards right and so can you.”

  Jessica bit into a flap-jack, taking small mouthfuls even though she was hungry enough to gobble it down.

  “I can’t pay you, Amy.”

  “No need, and it’s Scarlett. Remember?”

  “All right. Thank you, um, Scarlett.”

  “The name matches my hair.” She gave a girlish giggle, reminding Jessica her friend was only a couple of years older than her.

  “How did you escape from the orphanage?”

  “In the laundry basket. Les hid me under the clean linen and wheeled me out.”