Disclaimer: Not mine.

Chapter Ten

Mary had never lied to John. Not in all the time she had known him, before and during their marriage. As a matter of fact, she didn't lie as a rule. Until this moment.

She had lied to John; she had looked him in the eye and calmly told him something which she knew wasn't true. She hadn't flinched or blushed. Lying had come very naturally to her, which both surprised and dismayed her. She hoped very much that today would be the last time she would have to lie to her husband. Telling him of her impromptu journey to visit her nonexistent 'second-cousin' had been in the name of the greater good. She felt as though he was slipping away from her. And she was determined to know why.

There was a hotel close by their house. It wasn't fashionable or popular so it had been easy to find a room facing the road. From her window she could comfortably see the corner of their street. There was a lone street lamp near it, sending a circular glow of watery yellow light in a perfect ring around it.

She paid a boy who had been selling eel pies by the door of the hotel to keep watch over her house. She had told him that the moment someone stepped outside the front door, no matter what time of the night, he was to run to that street corner and signal to her. She didn't care if it took until dawn, she would wait. She had had to pay him more than she could really afford but she was sure that it would be worth it. It was in the name of truth.

She sat in a chair by the window, partly hidden behind the curtain, watching the corner and feeling her heart beat restlessly in her chest. She hardly dared to remove her eyes from it for one moment. She was anxious that something would go wrong and the boy would not stick to his part of the deal. But she was also frightened that if he did and he appeared on that street corner it would mean that her suspicions had been correct. It was almost unbearable. She drank some wine to calm her nerves but it hardly helped, it just made her drowsy and she knew she could not sleep.

Since their marriage, now months beforehand, John had been cold and distant from her. He was no longer interested in what she spoke about. He no longer cared about petty things like where they would go on holiday and what wallpaper would look best where in the house. He didn't even attempt to humour her these days. When they made love, he didn't hold her as he had on their first night together. He seemed absent. As though he had mentally removed himself from the scene. She was terrified that he had taken a mistress.

If he had, she would confront him and attempt to bring him back into her arms. But if it was something worse...

In the darkness her mind conjured up hideous secrets. Deformed or lunatic half brothers, illegitimate children, opium dens, prostitution. If it was something worse than a mistress, she was hardly sure if she was strong enough to take it. She loved her husband but she did not know if she was prepared.

But she had to know. She had to know what had caused such a change in her husband's disposition. What had changed her once generous, loving, warm husband into someone cold, dismissive and indifferent. She had to know.

The hours dragged past, torturously slow and silent. She shivered by the window, leaning deeper and deeper into the curtains, keeping a shawl tightly about her shoulders and gazing at the street corner. Every shadow, passing carriage, stray animal or passing drunkard made her jerk in fright. Every footstep, distant voice, creaking floorboard, groaning pipe made her heart flutter in alarm.

Finally, soon after midnight, just as her eyes were becoming heavy and sore with tiredness, out of the corner of her eye she saw movement at the street corner. She jolted upright, staring as the young boy slunk from the darkness, staring up directly at her, though she knew he couldn't have possibly seen her lurking behind the curtains, and let out a low whistle.

Mary froze. She knew that was the signal. Someone had left the house. It had to be her husband. No one else would venture out alone at this late hour. No one with honourable intentions.

She didn't waste another moment. She dragged herself from her chair, ignoring the pain in her unused legs and fleeing from the room and down the stairs, through the deserted lobby to the street. Even at this late hour, cabriolets and hansoms were lurking about, waiting to be of use to drunks and dollymops.

She hailed one without difficulty and told the driver to wait. As she had expected, moments later a cab turned out of her and John's street and from the window of her own carriage she could see John's familiar figure within the confines, wrapped in his coat.

Her heart leapt in her chest. Not allowing herself to think for one moment, she roused the driver:

"Quickly! Follow him, and don't you dare lose sight of him!"

Mary felt frozen to her seat as the cab hurtled along the darkened streets. She kept her face close to the window, watching the cab a few metres in front of them, in which her unknowing husband now sat. Her heart was beating so hard in her chest that it was painful and she had broken out in a cold sweat all over her body. She was in terror. Terror of what she was about to discover.

The area did not look familiar. Everything looked different in the dark. The buildings loomed over her black and ominous, figures lurked just out of reach of the lamplight. There were a few other carriages on the road that the driver seemed to have to swerve often to avoid colliding with, though whose fault that was, Mary could not tell.

After it seemed they had been riding for at least twenty or even thirty minutes, the driver slowed down noticeably until they were almost coasting. Mary peered out of the window and saw that John's carriage had put some distance between itself and their carriage but had also slowed its speed. Mary realised that it was about to stop.

The driver called to her: "It's stopping up ahead, ma'am."

Mary hesitated. This was her chance. She could step down onto the dark footpath, follow her husband and discover his secret. She could also, easily, tell the driver to turn back and take her home. She could.

She twisted her hands in her lap. She didn't know what to do. She had come this far. Dare she go further? Did she dare venture deeper? She knew she had to. She couldn't go back now.

She stepped down onto the stones, shivering violently from fear and the cold. She looked up at the driver. "Please, sir, if you are kind enough to remain here until I return, I'll pay you whatever sum you wish."

The driver grunted, which she took to be acquiescence.

She tied her shawl tightly about her shoulders and walked on. John's carriage was only fifty metres or maybe less up the road. She could see her husband stepping down from the cab, speaking with the driver and adjusting his coat.

She paused, terrified that he would turn and see her. She looked about. The road was deserted. She glanced at the street sign. And then jerked. And did a double take.

Baker Street.

To be continued...