“Tell me about yourself, Julia,” Mercy urged her, ignoring the question.
“My father is cousin to an earl. I begged him to take me to London this year, even though I’m not due to come out until the year after next. I had hoped to persuade Mama and Papa to allow me to be officially presented next year instead. I’m in love, you see – but I think I’m going to die here. I can just feel it.” The tears spilled down her cheeks again, and this time there was no stopping them.
“Tell me about this man,” Mercy said, trying to calm her.
“Well, he’s called Charles. I know I’m only fourteen, but I want to marry him as soon as the queen allows it. I should have stayed in the country with my younger brothers, but I so wanted to go to London and see the sights. My father gave in. I don’t want to die!”
“Did you see your Charles? Did you like London?”
“Yes, London is wonderful. I wanted to see him. That’s why I was so desperate to go to the capital. He wrote to me and told me he would be there. He’s a viscount.” She cried again.
Mercy looked at the servants and saw they were busy with other girls. She had to get Julia to stop crying, else they’d come over and shout or even hit them both, and that would make Julia cry even more.
“Julia, stop crying, please – you have to stop. Concentrate on my questions. Tell me, how were you abducted? Were you not chaperoned?”
“I should have been, but I had secretly arranged to meet Charles in Hyde Park. I persuaded one of our family’s coachmen to take me. I promised not to stray from his sight, but when we got to the park, I ordered him to stay with the carriage whilst I took a stroll around the lake. Appleby – that’s the coachman’s name – was very hesitant at first, but I insisted. I was to meet Charles behind a boathouse at the side of the great pond. After a short walk on my own, I found myself trapped by the two horrible men who brought us here.”
Mercy had lathered and rinsed Julia’s hair and dipped her own head under the water. When she sat up, she wondered about something: had Sam and Eddie’s presence been a coincidence, just terrible bad luck, or had they been stalking Julia?
When she asked Julia what she thought, Julia had no answer, but she told Mercy that apart from her stupidity on that day, her biggest regret was that her coachman would, without a doubt, be on the street now without a job and the lodgings that went with it. “I am so ashamed now. Appleby was a good man, and because of me, he will be in all sorts of trouble. I was a very selfish, stupid girl.” Julia wept again.
She’d somehow managed to get through washing Mercy’s hair, but there was no consoling her now. She was far too young to be here, Mercy thought. She was just coming out of childhood!
Mercy played with her own thoughts. She had already decided that she was not the same as the other captives. She had heard them whisper, speak a few words. She had seen their graceful steps and felt their unworldly innocence. Even in the mayhem and chaos, she’d noticed their breeding, something she lacked. Their naked bodies were unblemished, creamy, soft, and white as milk. Their smooth, silky hands had probably never washed a dish or piece of clothing.
She had also concluded that they were not all from London. She listened to whispered conversations and was quite surprised to learn that most of the girls were in fact from country estates and had never set foot in London before. They had, like her, been exploring, albeit close to where they were staying, but alone, and this had been their downfall, just as it had been her own.
Great families of dukes and earls, landowners, and gentry had misplaced daughters. This information gave Mercy hope, for she was sure these families would never give up looking for them. They had the resources to scour the entire country, and when the girls were found, she would be too.
These wealthy families would also pay an impressive ransom for their daughters’ safe return. Was this why they’d been taken? She gave herself another theory.
She looked at her own hands, rough with scrubbing and washing clothes with hard soap. Her skin was slightly tanned from the summer sun, for she had no carriage or parasol to keep its rays at bay.
Her abductors had obviously thought her a lady because of where they’d found her and how she’d been dressed. But if this was about ransom money, she would never be returned. Would they punish her or kill her for being useless to them? Her family had not a farthing to give for her safe return.
She looked around her again and decided there and then that to stay safe, she’d have to try to fit in, both in speech and in the way she walked. Oh God, it seemed a bleedin’ impossible task after a lifetime in the Elephant and Castle!
Chapter Thirteen
Once again, Mercy stood in line in the stable. This time she had clean skin, and her hair, drying, flowed in waves down her back. She was barely clothed. They wore silk shifts with thread-thin straps. The material was almost see-through. Her nipples peeked out just above the plunging neckline, and her rounded bum cheeks were also visible.
Mercy’s anger and frustration were elevated even further now due to exhaustion and painful muscles. She was no longer afraid. She was angry and starving. She had gone through the most humiliating experience of her life, apart from the time some boys had made fun of her dad for stabbing himself. They had followed her home from school, calling him “a bloody lovesick coward” the entire way. “Sissy daddy, sissy daddy!” they’d taunted her. She had never forgotten that day.
She decided that she would take it upon herself to look after Julia. This act would help the young girl, but it would also give Mercy something to focus on apart from her own sorry state. She held Julia’s hand in her own.
Another theory flashed into Mercy’s mind. She stood thinking about it whilst looking at the other girls. She believed because of their attire that they were going to be sold into slavery. Was it possible? she kept asking herself. Slavery? She’d heard that slavery was for black people and those convicted of crimes and sent to Australia on prison ships. She had never seen a black man. Did slavery still exist?
She was feeling faint, but she would not fall down as a couple of the other girls had. She was determined to stand tall. She was already thinking about escaping. If she got the chance, she would make a run for it to anywhere rather than remain here. She searched her mind for possibilities. There were the stable’s double doors, but they were locked. There was another side door and one behind that, sitting atop two steps that led to God only knew where. There were no windows to slither through. But she would find a way out. What other torture was going to be inflicted upon them now? She shuddered, changing her train of thought completely.
The clip-clopping sound of heels came from behind them. Mercy had heard the door open and then slam shut again a moment later. She tightened her grip on Julia’s hand and squeezed it, a comforting gesture without words. Julia’s teeth were chattering, and heart-wrenching sobs tore from her mouth every time she exhaled. She was going to pass out if she didn’t start breathing properly.
No one dared turn to look at the new arrival. Time stopped as the sound of rustling petticoats filled the expanse behind. The three servants in front of the line-up curtsied. A woman came into view and stood before them.
“Have you had any problems?” the woman asked Parker.
“None, madam. Everything is in order.”
“Where are Sam and Eddie? They’re late.”
“They’re on their way. Jimmy has just been dispatched to get them.”
Mercy stared at the mysterious woman, who seemed quite at ease giving orders and in a tone of voice that clearly stated she was in charge of everything that went on. Mercy didn’t know whether to be happy or furious that the woman ignored all the captives as though they didn’t exist.
She was a strange-looking female, Mercy thought. She had thick mannish arms bulging out from the confines of her elbow-length blue puff sleeves. Her figure was rounded, and her corset didn’t do her any favours at all. In fact, if anything, it accentuated her somewhat large waist. Her huge
bosoms rippled like waves every time she moved an inch. They had trouble remaining within the top frill of her blue silk gown’s plunging neckline. Her hair was bright red with well-defined ringlets and was adorned with various ornaments in gold and ivory. It was a wig, of course. The colour, texture, manicured hairline, and perfection of every curl could not possibly be natural.
Whilst the woman spoke some way away from the line of girls, Mercy took the opportunity to study her even further, this time concentrating on her face. Her double chin and layered neck sat beneath a painted doll-like face that was old. Even the thick layers of powder and rouge couldn’t hide the fact that she was well past her prime. In fact, her Grandma Sylvie was more attractive and looked younger.
The round pink patch on each of the woman’s cheeks might have appeared quite comical to Mercy under any other circumstances. She looked like a clown with her perfect bow lips painted on, probably double their real size. However, comical as she appeared, the woman she was studying scared her. Never had she seen such a dispassionate expression. The woman’s eyes held a glint of evil, devoid of emotion and kindness.
The servants were afraid of her too, Mercy decided. If those who worked for her were afraid, then what terror would she inflict on her captives?
The woman turned her attention to the girls for the first time. Mercy involuntarily sucked in her breath and prayed that her concentrated, personal deliberations on the woman’s physical attributes had gone unnoticed. She hung her head, hoping to stand invisible among the other girls. She watched through her eyelashes.
The woman began her inspection at the far end of the line, stopping in front of each girl, lifting chins, opening mouths, checking teeth, and running her hands through newly washed hair. She too ventured far across any line of decency with her physical roughness, behaving like a common farmer looking over horses rather than “the madam”, so called by her cohorts.
Mercy steeled herself for what was to come.
The madam stood in front of her now. Mercy’s nostrils took in the scent of her perfume that didn’t quite manage to conceal the smell of alcohol and stale body odour. She stared back at the woman with a defiance that had been absent earlier. This caused the madam to pause after her inspection. Mercy’s cocky glare had not gone unnoticed.
“What’s your name, girl?”
Mercy didn’t answer. She wanted to speak, but the madam’s ugliness hypnotised her. She stared back stupidly, noticing now a hairy wart just under the madam’s chin.
“Answer me, you! What’s your name?”
Mercy jumped at the grating screech of anger. “Mercy – Mercy Carver.”
“Well, Mercy Carver, I’ll start with you for your insolence, so I will, and you best not give me any trouble. I can smell trouble a mile off. Take off the shift.”
“What?” Mercy said in a daze.
“I said take off the shift – now!”
Mercy’s lips quivered. “No, I won’t,” she told her.
The slap to her right cheek stung, but Mercy squealed from the shock of it more than any pain caused. She held her head high, and her eyes met the madam’s cold stare. She was determined not to beg and not to cry. The mad woman staring at her possessed not a compassionate bone in her body. “I’m not stripping off,” she said.
Madam Du Pont’s fat fingers gripped Mercy’s jawline and dug into her skin, still stinging with the slap. “Take off the bloody shift now or I swear to God you won’t see another day.”
Mercy’s eyes locked into Du Pont’s painted face. She held her breath, afraid to breathe or utter a sound. Her trembling fingers reached for the silk straps. She pulled one down her arm and over her hand, and then the other followed. The silky material slipped off her body, down her legs, and rested on top of her bare feet. She gasped for air and for a second stared at her nakedness.
Her arms, by her side, shot up to cover her breasts and her newly trimmed pubic area, but they were quickly wrenched away and held behind her back in a tight grip.
Parker punched her inner thighs and pulled them open like gates.
Mercy freed her feet from the shift as she desperately tried to keep her balance. Breathless with fear and humiliation, she stared into Du Pont’s victorious smirking face. She wanted to die. If only death would take me swiftly, she thought, for I couldn’t live with the memory of this torture.
The madam was handed a black cotton glove, which she put on her right hand. She used her bare hand to push the material all the way to the tips of her fingers and then wriggled them about in front of Mercy’s face. The cotton index finger was twice as long as the other four. Mercy stared at it, realizing that it had something other than just Du Pont’s finger inside it. Her eyes followed the gloved hand moving towards her lower body. She moaned pitifully, knowing instinctively what was to follow. “Please – please don’t do this,” she begged.
“Shut your trap, girl,” Du Pont said.
Outrage and complete despair led Mercy to lose all semblance of control. This woman was going to examine her. She was going to poke inside her hole and violate her most private parts! She couldn’t allow this to happen. It would be the end of her. Her bruised body, swollen lips, and grazed wrists and ankles she could abide, but this – no, not this! She had taken as much as she would take. She wanted answers and wanted them now. She wanted to go home!
She suddenly heard her own voice shout out, “Why are we here?”
The madam’s gloved hand sat in mid-air, stopped in its tracks by Mercy’s defiance.
Mercy swiped the gloved hand away with eyes that shone with hatred. “What do you want with us? Let us go. We want to go home! You can’t just abduct us like this! You stay away from me with that hand or I’ll bleedin’ bite it off your arm, you ugly old tart!”
Mercy was panting, breathless after her outburst, but she continued to stare into the face of her torturer. She thrust her head forward. “Don’t you dare touch me down there. Don’t you dare. I swear I’ll kill you!”
The madam nodded, looking past Mercy.
From behind her, Mercy felt hands encircling her throat. She was then kicked on the backs of her knees, which made her legs buckle instantly. Her body lay twisted on the ground. The madam bent down and stared into Mercy’s terrified eyes. Du Pont’s double chin and layered neck were even more evident. Her cheeks hung like flaps swinging about her face, and her ugly scowl took any semblance of womanly softness away from her altogether. Mercy looked past the madam and saw the arrival of her two abductors.
The madam’s guttural-throated growl resonated around the room. “Where the bloody ’ell have you been?” she screamed at the two men. “I said eight o’clock, ya couple of lazy good-for-nothin’ gits! Well, what have you got to say for yourselves?”
Sam gave her a shallow bow and took off his cap as a mark of respect. Eddie said, “Sorry, madam. We just slept a bit longer than planned. It was a hellish journey. London’s gone stark raving mad, digging holes everywhere. We tried to make up time. It won’t happen again.”
“It bloody better not. You know I hate being kept waiting. You get paid to do my bidding, not to take advantage of my kindness. You should both know that by now.”
“Sorry, madam. I’m really sorry,” Sam told her meekly.
“Well, now that you’ve finally showed up, I need your help. I’m going to have to make an example of this one,” Du Pont said, pointing to Mercy lying naked on the floor. “She’s a good catch, I’ll grant you that, but she’s a fighter … and a cheeky bitch into the bargain.
“Sam, hold her feet nice and tight. Eddie, take hold of her wrists above her head and squeeze them so it hurts her.
“Parker, you take a leg.” She gestured to the head servant. “And you,” pointing to another servant, “take the other. Spread them as wide as you can – and for God’s sake, make sure she doesn’t move. If she so much as twitches and gets damaged down there, I’ll thrash the lot of you.”
Madame du Pont turned her attention back to Mercy.
She appeared unaffected by Mercy’s tears; if anything, they seemed to irk her. “Now you listen to me, girl. You don’t speak to me unless you’re spoken to. You don’t even look me in the face. If you ever question me or anyone else in my employ about anything, I’ll have your bloody head on a platter! You’ll be told what you need to know when I say it. And as for your cheek – well, just wait and see what you’ll get for that! Now, nod your head like a good girl.”
Mercy complied.
“Good. I want the rest of you to watch this. When it’s your turn, I don’t want to hear a bloody sound coming from your spoilt upper-class pouting mouths or you’ll be on your backs like this one. You all just remember that.”
The madam got on her knees with some measure of difficulty due to an abundance of petticoats, which made her even angrier. She checked the glove, wiggling her fingers and making sure it was on nice and tight. She then inserted her index finger inside Mercy’s vagina and pushed it in, slowly touching the inner sides and stretching her finger upwards as carefully as she could. She pushed it in and pulled it out a couple of times, then smiling with satisfaction.
“Seems I’ve got my first virgin of the day. Tight as thick thread through the eye of a needle – just how I like ’em.” She stood up.
Mercy was pulled roughly to her feet. Her inner thigh muscles hurt. Her vagina was stinging, scratched, and hot, and her entire body felt like wobbly jelly.
Eddie and Sam held her by her underarms. The madam removed the glove and turned her attention to her breasts. “How old are you, girl?”
Mercy sobbed like a baby.
“Aw shut it! Not so cocky now, are we?”
“I just turned eighteen – a couple of days ago.”
The madam nodded, fondled Mercy’s breasts, and smiled. “Good. Nicely developed tits with big nipples. You’re a good one, all right. Just like a perfect ripe apple, ready to have the first bite taken out of it. You’ll fit in nicely, as long as you keep your trap shut. I hope you’ve learned something today, Mercy Carver.”