His Dark Obsession Read online

  “Stop your teasing and get out of that dreadful outfit,” scolded Elma.

  “What is the matter with my dress?” asked Sarah as she lifted her tweed skirt for inspection. “All it wants is a little brushing.”

  The filthy London streets were a plague to any decent woman’s attire. A simple afternoon visit for tea would easily mean at least a full hour of vigorously brushing the bottom six inches of ones skirts to remove the dust and dirt. In Sarah’s case it was usually worse since she seemed to have a penchant for bumping into every water cart around the city, guaranteeing the simple dust became thick mud.

  “You cannot be serious, Sarah!” laughed Victoria as she entered from the private drawing room.

  Victoria was a favorite of Mrs. Needham. Statuesque with honey-brown locks, she came from a titled English family who had fallen on very hard times. Her rather unscrupulous father had tried to force her to sell herself in a gambling hall to settle the family’s debts. It was all very sordid. Victoria was crafty enough to escape him and seek employment with Mrs. Needham. As if being English and having an acceptable complexion was not enough for Mrs. Needham, Victoria was her real name! Fortunately, her disreputable father had the good graces to die shortly afterwards so Victoria had been with Mrs. Needham ever since. Despite her tragedies, Victoria was unassuming and always thoughtful and kind with the other girls.

  “I think the dress suits the little savage.”

  The same could not be said for Florence.

  “Florence, please do not call Sarah a savage,” admonished Victoria as Florence sauntered into the room after announcing her presence with the sardonic remark at Sarah’s expense.

  Florence narrowed her eyes at Sarah’s knowing smirk behind Victoria’s back.

  Florence had taken an instant dislike to Sarah from the moment she arrived. Spreading rumors among the scullery maids and footmen that Sarah was a savage who would scalp them in their beds. No matter how many times Sarah tried to explain to the lower staff the difference between being an American and being an Indian native they still looked at her strangely and crossed themselves when she entered a room.

  Sarah knew it was because Florence was bitter.

  They were both petite with lush curves and thick black hair. If they were rivals for a suitor’s affections at a public dance, the similarity would be no bother but at an artist model studio, it meant a great deal. Until Sarah came along, Florence, or Florencia as Mrs. Needham called her, was in demand with the romantic classic artists who wanted drama and rich detail. Sarah’s more striking features and unique eye color had begun to draw away Florence’s regular clients. She was extremely resentful for it. No one really knew who Florence’s family was or where she came from but Sarah suspected it was someplace mean and low, like from a Dickens’ story. Florence might give the appearance of refined gentility but Sarah knew she was just aping her betters.

  “You are right, Victoria,” said Florence sweetly, too sweetly. “Here, Sarah. Let me help you dress.”

  Sarah eyed Florence suspiciously. At Victoria’s encouraging nod, Sarah reluctantly crossed the dressing room to where Florence was standing.

  “How about I lend you one of my best dresses? Won’t that be wonderful? We want you to look beautiful, don’t you? Mrs. Needham did say it was an important new client,” rambled Florence with false enthusiasm as she roughly spun Sarah to face away from her and began to rip the jacket from her shoulders.

  Sarah exchanged a confused look with Elma, who just shrugged her shoulders. Neither knew why Florence was suddenly being so nice.

  Tensing, Sarah tried to pull away. “I’m sure I will be fine.”

  “Nonsense,” answered Florence, smiling through clenched teeth as she clamped her finger’s down on Sarah’s upper arms.

  Uneasy about Florence’s sudden beneficence but unwilling to cause a fuss, Victoria inclined her head. “Very well, Florence. I will see that Mary has the proper instructions for the refreshments Mrs. Needham would like served.”

  “I’ll go with you!” offered Elma as she rushed after Victoria.

  “No, Elma!” called out Sarah.

  Elma mouthed a quick apology before disappearing through the front parlor door after Victoria.

  “Really, Sarah,” laughed Florence, affronted. “You would think you were afraid to be alone with me.”

  Giving a tense laugh in return, Sarah offered no other reply as Florence stripped her down to her thin cotton chemise.

  Crossing to her personal wardrobe, Florence chose a beautiful magenta silk day dress trimmed with bright gold passementerie.

  Reverently touching the dress, Sarah was impressed by the gesture. “Oh, Florence. I couldn’t. It is too beautiful.”

  “Nonsense. Besides, I couldn’t possibly wear it. I’ve been seen in it too many times,” responded Florence nonchalantly. “Although I’m afraid my waist is at least two inches smaller than yours. We will have to tight lace you in order for it to fit properly.”

  Sarah hesitated. Reluctant to break this sudden truce with Florence, she hated even the idea of tight lacing and had never tried it.

  “Perhaps there is a different dress I could wear?” she asked hopefully.

  Florence snatched the dress from Sarah’s grasp. Swinging violently away, she sniped, “Well, if my generous offer of assistance is going to be rejected with so little thought to my feelings…” Her voice laced with bitter disappointment, Florence let the rest of her words drop.

  “Oh, please…please! I did not mean to offend! Please, Florence!” Sarah ran across the room to hug Florence around the waist from behind. “Please dear, please do not take offense,” begged Sarah. Sarah genuinely wanted Florence to forgive her. Not only for there to be the possibility of a future friendship between them but because she did not want Victoria to think she had been churlish.

  “Very well,” acquiesced Florence. Sarah failed to notice her satisfied smirk. “You can wear one of my corsets. Yours is too shabby.”

  “Whatever you wish, Florence.”

  Sarah reluctantly let Florence wrap the whalebone-reinforced material around her ribcage.

  “Brace yourself against the post, while I pull on the laces,” instructed Florence.

  Sarah grabbed the soft polished edged of the heavy full-length mirror. Florence gave a sharp tug, almost knocking Sarah off her feet.

  “Sarah! Brace yourself!” she admonished angrily.

  “Sorry, Florence.”

  Sarah angled her feet forward and held on tighter.

  “Deep breath!”

  Sarah took in a deep breath. She could hear the scrape of the ribbons as Florence pulled them tight. The fabric wrapped securely around her middle. At first it felt comforting, like an embrace. Florence gave another tug. Sarah glanced in the mirror. Her figure took on a pleasing hourglass shape. She was already that shape for the most part but this was more refined…more defined. Her waist took on the sharper focus of the ladies in the fashion magazines.

  And oh my! Her bosom! Sarah was always a little shy about her bosom. There was something disrespectful about how it was so abundant. It seemed somehow wrong. Nice girls had small bosoms! She definitely did not look like a nice girl in Florence’s corset. Goodness!

  Then Florence gave another tug.

  Sarah could feel the breath being forced out of her body. Waving her hands, she gasped, trying to signal for Florence to relent. Sarah had never experienced such a gripping sensation. Usually the fabric would tear long before the rib cracking point, despite what men and the fashion cartoonists thought.

  “Oh didn’t I tell you, dear?” intoned Florence sweetly, too sweetly. “I’ve lent you one of my new corsets with the metal eyelets. It is such a marvel. You can tighten the laces as much as you like and you won’t tear the silk!”

  “But…but…Flor…” gasped Sarah.

  “Oh it does wonders for your figure and of course it is the only way you will fit into my dress which I have so generously offered to you,” express
ed Florence, having a difficult time keeping the malicious intent from her tone.

  Before Sarah could muster enough breath to protest, she felt the cool, heavy silk of Florence’s dress slide over her head and settle on her hips. Sarah looked at her reflection in the glass. If she could have summoned the breath, she would have laughed at the irony of it all. The corset was squeezing the life out of her and yet she never looked more beautiful or alive. The bold magenta color made her green eyes sparkle bright and clear. Her cheeks were flushed a flattering deep pink. Her figure was a perfect caricature hourglass. A large bosom, impossibly narrow waist and rounded hips.

  Surveying her handiwork with a jaundiced eye over Sarah’s shoulder, Florence roughly grabbed Sarah by the upper arm and dragged her over to the spindle chair in front of the vanity. “Sit down and let me fix this rag bin you call a chignon.”

  It took a moment for Sarah to adjust to the sitting position. It seemed impossible but the corset felt even tighter.

  “Why are you being so nice to me? Ow!”

  “Keep your head straight!” admonished Florence as she dragged a bone comb through Sarah’s tangled curls, ignoring her question.

  After several more painful pulls and tugs, Florence worked Sarah’s generous locks into an elaborate swept-up style with a long fringe and several small braids.

  “Why, thank you, Florence! You did a beautiful…ouch!” Sarah abruptly turned to give Florence a sour look as she rubbed the base of her skull.

  “Hair pin,” said Florence unapologetically with no other explanation. “Now, let’s take care of that swarthy complexion of yours before it ruins all my hard work.”

  Florence took a small key from her dress pocket and unlocked her polished jewelry box. Reaching into a small rectangular box with tiny writing on it, she took out a thin piece of translucent paper.

  “What is that?” asked Sarah.

  “Arsenic wafer,” responded Florence nonchalantly. “Rub it on your face.”

  “Are you daft?” Sarah slowly rose, backing away.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “So this was why you were being so nice to me?” Sarah was incredulous.

  “I’m being nice to you because Mrs. Needham promised me half a crown if I could make you presentable!” spat Florence.

  “So…so you’re not trying to poison me?” whispered Sarah, somewhat chastised.

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  Sarah gestured towards the wafers in Florence’s hand.

  Florence went to her jewelry box and grabbed the small rectangular wafer box. Marching cross the room, she angrily placed it in Sarah’s hand. Dr. Cambell’s Arsenic Wafers “The Secret of a Good Complexion”

  “This is what I get trying to civilize a savage.” With that disparaging remark, Florence stormed out of the room.

  Sarah tossed the box of poison wafers on the vanity. The English could be so strange she thought. Now she was stuck in the death trap dress till after the client left. With a resigned sigh and a last tortured attempt at a full breath, Sarah made her way to the front parlor.

  She certainly hoped this important client was worth all this trouble and fuss!

  Chapter Three

  “It is about time you graced us with your presence, Sophronia,” scolded Mrs. Needham.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Needham.”

  “Well, at least Florencia made you respectable although you could use some powder on your nose.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Needham.”

  For the next ten minutes, the girls suffered through being positioned and repositioned by Mrs. Needham in various tableaus she thought would be pleasing to her new client’s discerning eye. Unlike most parlors of the time, theirs was exceptionally uncluttered. Trinkets, porcelain figurines, walls filled with artwork and mirrors, windows covered with heavy velvet curtains…all inhibited movement, blocked the light and distracted from the natural beauty of her girls. Mrs. Needham knew what her clients’ needed most was to see her girls’ features in natural light. They needed to see how they moved and in order to do that the girls needed to move freely; unhampered by footstools, umbrella stands and funny little ceramic pug dogs.

  In the end, Mrs. Needham decided on the cakewalk pose. The girls would pose as if they were going through the steps of the popular cakewalk dance. It was a favorite of Mrs. Needham’s because with the arched back and high knees, it showed their figures to advantage.

  “Mrs. Needham,” interrupted Sarah. “I’m afraid I’m not feeling so well. I feel I bit lightheaded. Perhaps I could sit down?”

  All the moving about. Sit in the chair. No, move to the window. No, stand by the fireplace. No, now we’re going to do the cakewalk! Had taken its toll on Sarah. The tight lacing of the corset was digging into her sides. There was a slight sheen of perspiration across her décolletage that gave her a fresh dewy appearance. She could not remember the last time she had taken a full deep breath.

  “Nonsense,” objected Florence. “The little savage just wants to be shown to advantage on her own in front of the client!”

  Mrs. Needham waved her handkerchief in the air to signal she wanted quiet. “No one is going to be signaled out. Sophronia, you will stop your complaining and line up with the other girls. Really,” she snorted. “I thought you colonialists were supposed to be made of sterner stuff or some such nonsense. Don’t you eat raw meat as babies?”

  “We’re Americans not colonialists and…oh, forget it.” Sarah did not want to waste precious breaths educating Mrs. Needham on over one hundred years of British-American relations or on any of her other nonsensical misconceptions about Americans.

  Ever the calming presence, Victoria interjected, “I believe with the late afternoon sun, we would look to better advantage in our domestic poses.”

  Sarah gave her a grateful look.

  “Oh, very well,” agreed Mrs. Needham. At that moment Mary, the parlor maid, entered to announce Lord Warrington was in the entryway removing his hat and coat.

  The girls let out a small gasp as they all scrambled to find their places. Sarah sat by the fireplace with some prop needlepoint. Florence by the window with her chin artfully raised to catch the light. Elma, because of her slight stature, remained standing by the mantle gazing down at Sarah.

  Mrs. Needham could be heard greeting their exalted guest out in the hall.

  “Mrs. Needham, I presume.”

  “Lord Warrington, it is a pleasure to meet you,” simpered Mrs. Needham.

  “I’m looking forward to an introduction to the celebrated beauties in your employ.”

  Sarah froze at the sound of his voice.

  “You are too kind, my lord,” fawned Mrs. Needham as she led the way into the front parlor.

  During this entire exchange, Sarah was doing her best to disappear inside the thick upholstery of her chair. Of all the gentlemen throughout the entire crowded city of London why…why did it have to be him!

  Oh what a fine mess!

  At any moment, Mrs. Needham was going to introduce her and Lord Warrington was going to say “are you not the little strumpet who allowed me liberties in front of decent god-fearing folk out on the street?”. Then Mrs. Needham would start shrieking in indignation and throw the pot of clotted cream from the tea tray at her before tossing her out on her ear. She would have to return to America in disgrace. Well, it might not go precisely that way, but Sarah was certain she was close. The idea made her start to gasp in short agitated breaths…even more than she was already doing because of the blasted tight laced corset.

  Having already introduced Elma, or Euphemia as she was referred to in this setting, Florence was putting on quite a show for the Lord. Executing a perfect deep curtsy and batting her eyelashes, saying my lord this and my lord that in a suggestive voice. Sarah took that moment to try to sneak away. Slowly rising from her chair, she took one step before a cold boney hand clenched around her small wrist. A tight voice hissed in her ear, “Not one more step.”

  Sarah’s shocked gaze
met the angry one of Mrs. Needham. “I have no idea where Victoria has taken herself off to. I will not lose you as well.”

  Dragging Sarah forward, Mrs. Needham spoke with false eagerness. “Lord Warrington, please allow me to introduce Sophronia.”

  Sarah’s attempts to keep her chin down were thwarted when Mrs. Needham deliberately placed her thumb under Sarah’s jaw and forced her head back.

  Wary green eyes clashed with ice blue. Oh god, she couldn’t breathe!

  ~*~

  Pierce was genuinely amused. He was often entertained. Occasionally surprised. Easily angered. Never jealous but rarely genuinely amused. The little minx he met in the street earlier was quite engaging. He was encouraged when he saw her enter the green door of Mrs. Needham’s flat, hoping she would prove to be one of the models. It actually took a bit of effort to continue on with his prior engagement with a theater a few doors down before keeping his afternoon appointment with Mrs. Needham. His initial instinct had been to chase the saucy baggage down.

  As a member of the ton, he had the luxury of both wealth and time. He chose to spend both by combining his passion for art and culture with his curiosity for science and intellectual pursuit. They were living in the modern age. There were so many wonderful marvels of ingenuity. None more intriguing than the photographic camera. He found everything about the action of capturing life in the moment fascinating.

  He recalled earlier, when he saw her running down the fashionable avenue in West End London as if it were a country lane. Her unfettered ebony hair streaming behind. Her cheeks flushed from the exertion. Head tilted back on a laugh. Skirts held scandalously high showing off light pink stocking clad slim calves. His palms itched for a camera. He wanted to capture the moment. To capture the swing of her bonnet. The curve of her cheek. The sound of her laughter on paper. And then she opened her comely pink mouth…and let out the most satisfyingly disgraceful curse. He was amused.