A Scandal Most Daring

She could hear the distant clip-clop of horses’ hooves and suspected they came from the main high street at the far end of the small mews they were in. It was too dim to be sure.

“Let’s go out onto the main road,” Tahlia suggested. “We should be able to see something in the passing traffic. If not, we shall have to walk and hope for a break in this smog so we can find something.”

Tahlia knew it was risky to walk anywhere in London, especially with the smog so thick, but there was little she could do. She tried to plot where they were but had little recall of the solicitor’s offices at all. She wished now she had asked Mr Kibble to assist her. It was too late to back now, though. If she returned she doubted she would leave Mr Kibble’s office for another hour and she couldn’t bear that. She had never concentrated so much in her life and right now needed a stiff drink.

“Let’s go this way, I think,” Tahlia whispered and hurried toward the noise filtering through the dank air.

When they started to move, their situation swiftly became considerably worse.

“I can’t see anything,” Cecily cried as she tried to peer at the ground beneath her feet. “Let me go and see if I can find a carriage.”

Before Tahlia could say anything, Cecily vanished into the fog.

“Cecily?” she called, but her maid didn’t hear her.

Tahlia’s heart lurched as a sense of helpless isolation swept through her. The small hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She shivered beneath the strength of the wave of foreboding that hit her; something was wrong, she just knew it. Being in the smog all alone was hideous, but her fear didn’t stem from that. It came from something entirely more sinister. The atmosphere had just shifted, as though waiting for something.

“Hello?” she called tentatively.

She let out a squeak when an elderly lady carrying a basket suddenly materialised at her elbow.

“I wouldn’t be standin’ there if I were you, dearie,” the woman cackled before she disappeared again.

Tahlia opened her mouth to reply only to whirl around when another gentleman appeared behind her.

“Sorry, ma’am,” he growled as he side-stepped around her and vanished just as quickly.

Disorientated, confused, and growing increasingly scared by the second, Tahlia realised she must be standing in the centre of the pavement. Stepping to one side, she bumped into a solid wall of masculine chest.

“Sorry,” she muttered awkwardly.

To her horror, rather than mutter something and disappearing like everyone else had, this man grabbed her roughly by the elbows. She gasped in protest when she found herself unable to move. Fear clogged her throat. Her nostrils were assailed by the stench of the grime on the grubby hand which clamped hard over her mouth. Terrifyingly, Tahlia found her scream was reduced to nothing more than a feeble squeak of surprise. She kicked and writhed in protest when the man started to drag her toward an alley she hadn’t even realised was there.

Her slight weight was no match for her attacker’s strength, and she swiftly lost the battle to gain purchase with her feet and prevent him from dragging her anywhere.

“Cecily?” she gasped when she did manage to loosen the man’s hold. But of course, she received no answer.

The cry for help resulted in the man’s brutal hold over her mouth becoming harder. She clawed cruelly at the ruthless fingers to get some much needed air into her lungs. In a bizarre twist, the sight of the blissfully unaware pedestrians walking mere feet away without a care in the world rendered her even more desperate. She began to claw, kick, and hit the man behind her in any way she could, but was dragged into the darkness void beside them.

Nobody heard her scream.

Where are you, Cecily? She thought desperately, her eyes scouring the smog for someone to help her.

Nobody even glanced in her direction. It fuelled her paralysing fear that nobody knew where she was. Anything could happen to her now and nobody would know until the fog lifted. She couldn’t see anything to use to help her free herself. The only sound she could hear once in the alley was the heavy breathing and occasional grunt of the man behind her. She tried to kick out with her feet but only succeeded in unbalancing herself. Digging her boots into the cobbles, she could find very little purchase to delay the inevitable. Stars began to dance behind her eyes with the need to draw in much needed oxygen. When sickness loomed, she dug her nails into the softer flesh of his hand, tugging and pulling with all of her might.

“Give us yer jewels,” her attacker

growled.

The menace in that heavily accented voice gave her the chills. Before she could do anything to comply with his demands, she felt the sharp tug of her necklace against the back of her neck. She knew immediately that this was a mugger, and would have given her assailant all of her jewels, if only he let go of her. But she couldn’t speak. All she could do was tug at his hands and try to get her mouth free so she could breathe and speak to him.

When the edges of her world began to fade, she pulled desperately at two fingers, and finally succeeded in drawing in a much needed breath.

“I said give me yer jewels,” the man repeated. “And yer bag.”

Her fingers tightened instinctively on her bag. While she was happy for him to take the wretched jewels if he seemed so determined to have them, he would not get his hands on the bag. No matter what he threatened her with, she couldn’t part with that. It had the mysterious key in it for one. Thankfully, the man hadn’t pulled a knife on her or anything, and that renewed her determination to fight him with everything she had.

Aware of pressure against her wrist, she glanced down in time to watch her pearl bracelet disappear off the end of her fingers. She instinctively clenched her fists and watched the bracelet snap showing pearls onto the cobbles beneath their feet. Strangely, the man didn’t pay any attention to them. He continued to drag her deeper into the alley.