Author's Note: Sorry for the delay on publishing this chapter, although people aren't clamouring for it to continue and requesting an update. Apparently others have been busy with Christmas/New Year stuff, so I guess I need not be too concerned about taking longer than usual. I have actually still been busy publishing my Christmas story, so that was my focus, if any of my readers here would care to read any of my other stories. There are four more chapters after this one. If you really do like this story and would like to see an update more than once a week, your reviews could persuade me to bump up my publishing schedule, so make sure you let me know if you are anxious to see what happens, (that includes guest reviewers too). If once a week is better, I'll begin publishing a different story concurrently with this one.
Molly gave a last wave to Sherlock, then turned and walked with John to the waiting carriage.
A coachman assisted her to step inside, and John followed, seating himself across from her. Once they were settled, and the carriage had begun moving, John remarked, "You have certainly transformed my friend over the past several days. I have never seen him look so happy."
Molly beamed at him, her hands smoothing the skirt of the grey gown she had received from Mrs. Hudson several days earlier. She couldn't wait to have new gowns with which to allure Sherlock. Of course, he seemed to enjoy it most when she wore no clothes at all. She blushed at the wayward thought and lifted her eyes to respond to John's comment.
"Sherlock is everything I could have wished for in a man. He is handsome, intelligent, and he listens to what I have to say about things, without trying to force his own opinion upon me. We have had several lovely debates and I'm pleased to say that I have even won some of them." She smiled, recalling the way Sherlock had finally acknowledged that God was real, and that everyone had a purpose in life.
John leaned slightly forward in his seat across from Molly. "What is your secret? How is it you were able to capture the heart of the most unattainable man in London?"
Molly shrugged and folded her hands in her lap, smiling slightly. "I have done nothing but love him. The mystery is why he loves me in return. I am certainly no great beauty."
John gave her a considering look. "You may not have the golden hair or black tresses that so many women aspire to, but I believe you have an inner beauty that shines through. I am thinking that is what Sherlock noticed about you, and obviously you are an intelligent, well-read woman as well. Sherlock does not suffer fools lightly, and I am sure he would never have had an interest in one of those women who knows nothing of life beyond hosting dinner parties and gossiping with her friends."
Molly nodded. "It is true that I have been well educated. My mother was a nurse. If not for my father's insistence that I remain well read on a purely intellectual rather than practical level, I would have liked to find a similar position as my mother." She looked down, and a shadow crossed her face as she remembered how loving her mother had always been, even when she had been in her last days.
"And what, may I ask, happened to your dear mother?" asked John gently.
Molly raised her eyes to his. "She contracted tuberculosis from one of the patients at the hospital where she worked. That was one of the reasons my father refused to allow me to take up a profession. He blamed himself for allowing my mother to continue her work after their marriage, and he said he did not wish to lose me." She gave a little sigh, then added, "I am very grateful, however, that my father allowed me to at least be educated in more than what ladies of fashion usually receive instruction in. I should have been bored stiff with lessons only in comportment, hostessing and embroidery. Of course I did have these lessons as well, but they were in addition to mathematics, English literature and science."
John smiled at her, then turned his head toward the window as the carriage slowed, then stopped. "Ah, it appears we have reached our destination. It is fortunate that The Fox is so close to the harbour," he remarked.
Molly felt a prickle of apprehension run through her again. She still feared that her stepmother might be nearby and very angry.
The coachman opened the door to the carriage and helped Molly alight from it. She looked around the coachyard a little nervously. There were only three other carriages in the yard, aside from their own – a phaeton, a barouche, and a rather dirty, nondescript-looking closed carriage. Lady Florence's brougham was nowhere in sight. Molly breathed a sigh of relief.
Having exited the vehicle, John came to stand beside Molly. "I am assuming none of these belongs to your stepmother?"
Molly shook her head. "No indeed. My stepmother has a brougham with quite distinctive yellow markings on it."
John nodded. "That is good to hear. Let us go into the inn now and see if our rooms are ready." He offered his arm to Molly and she took it, walking with him into the inn.
John inquired about their rooms and was informed that they were being cleaned, and would be ready in an hour or so, so he suggested to Molly that they have a meal while they waited.
Molly was quite pleased to accept the offer, because she and Sherlock had not had time to eat before disembarking from The Sherrinford, and she was indeed quite hungry. It was very quiet in the dining room and the tables were almost empty. Molly was pleased to enjoy a quiet meal with Sherlock's friend.
Afterwards, they went upstairs to their rooms, which were now ready. John left Molly at the door to her room and said, "I will make some inquiries about your stepmother and then I shall return and let you know if she has indeed left the vicinity."
Molly touched his arm and smiled gratefully. "Thank you, John. That would make me feel much better. I will be glad when we are able to leave this place and return to London."
John left her then, and Molly entered her room. This one was obviously the biggest and best one the inn had to offer. She noticed that the coachman had already brought in the luggage, most of which belonged to Sherlock, of course. Her gaze drifted over to the king-sized bed and her heart gave a great thump at the thought of spending the night in it with Sherlock. She missed him already and was anxious for his return.
She went to the washbasin to wash her face and hands, then sat upon the bed, thinking dreamily of her husband. When a knock sounded on the door ten minutes later, she opened it immediately, anxious to know what John had discovered about her stepmother.
But it was not John who stood at the door.
Before she had a chance to react and try and close the door, it was pushed open. Even as she opened her mouth to scream, she felt a cloth with a sweet smell being pushed against her nose and mouth. She struggled against the immediate sense of dizziness that overwhelmed her, even as she recognised the fish-like, dead eyes of Charles Magnussen. In her last moments as the world darkened around the edges of her vision, she struggled to remove the ring Sherlock had given her as a wedding ring and dropped it on the floor. Then she knew no more.
Molly opened her eyes to darkness, feeling suffocated. She immediately grasped the fact that her face had been covered by some sort of material, and that she was in a moving carriage. She was laying sideways on a seat, and she heard voices speaking across from her. She strained to listen, keeping very still, so as not to alert anyone to the fact that she was awake.
"We should be there any minute at the church," came the voice of Florence Hooper.
"Good." came the reply. "I assume you have greased Smith's palm enough to make sure the date of our marriage is listed as the night before your stepdaughter's disappearance?"
"Of course I have, darling," responded the woman with a caressing note in her voice." He is being extremely well paid, and he understands how important it is that the date listed proves your marriage to have taken place at that point."
"It is indeed fortunate that we were able to discover from that half-witted stable boy, what your stepdaughter had done."
"Yes, I am only sorry that she had already departed on that ship before we were aware of what was happening," came the peevish response. "If only I had thought to check on her after we returned to the inn - of course we were otherwise occupied with more interesting things at the time." There was no mistaking the throb of passion in Florence's voice. Molly felt sick at the thought of her stepmother being intimate with that horrible man, and then expecting her to marry him.
"It was clever of you to ask around the inn and discover that those men were looking for a replacement cabin boy," remarked Magnussen admiringly. There was a short pause, and Molly could hear the sound of them kissing, which repulsed her.
When the voices started speaking again, Molly was filled with fear at her stepmother's next words. "It is quite fortuitous that I overheard that man yesterday mentioning to someone else that his brother had somehow managed to get himself married aboard ship. I suppose the little chit thought she would be able to escape her fate by revealing herself and begging that lord to marry her. I will show the little strumpet that she should never have thought to cross me."
There was a cold, hard note in Florence's voice, and Molly felt her heart pound with terror. Her stepmother was ruthless. She remembered the conversation where the woman had talked about using a special medicine on her to prevent her from escaping her fate, and now Molly feared that this was inevitable. If the marriage certificate claimed she had been married already for over a week, her real marriage to Sherlock would be invalidated.
With the corrupt parson's willingness to lie about the date of the nuptials and having his claim backed by Florence and Magnussen, it would be three against one. No court in the land would take the word of a young girl above that of three other people, including a titled lady. Although Molly felt like screaming, she remained silent, waiting to hear more.
"It is as well we were able to watch for your stepdaughter's return, and to find that back exit from the inn, so I could smuggle her outside to the carriage we were able to procure. Thank goodness for easily bribed maids and a few words of flattery which enabled us to discover the room the girl was in. I am very glad we shall soon have the money from my future wife's inheritance. I will certainly need it after spending almost my last guinea on this plan of yours, Florence."
Horror washed over Molly, as she realised there was nothing she could do to save herself. All she could do was pray that Sherlock would find her in time. She hoped he would find the ring on the floor and guess that something had happened to her.
Please God, she prayed silently. Help Sherlock to find me and save me. She had saved him once, now it was his turn to do the same.
She forced herself to push down the waves of fear assaulting her to listen again as Florence said, "Charles, we shall soon be rich beyond our wildest dreams." There was a note of triumph in the woman's voice.
Molly felt the carriage slowing down, and moments later, it halted.
"I presume you have the special medicine with you that will make your stepdaughter agreeable to signing her name on the marriage register?" came Magnussen's voice once more, as Molly heard the sound of the coachman climbing off the box in front.
"Of course I do," purred the evil woman. "As soon as she causes any sort of trouble I will force her to drink it. Speaking of which," she added, "Shouldn't she be waking up soon?"
"It should be anytime now. It really depends on how much of the chloroform she inhaled." came the response.
There was a churlish note to Florence's voice as she said, "I would hope it will be soon. It has taken us an unconscionable amount of time to reach the church. I do wish you could have hired a carriage with more than two horses."
"It was all I could afford, my dear," was his apologetic response. "Besides, you cannot blame me for these terrible roads and the mud we had to travel through. It was unfortunate that blasted wheel was stuck in the mud for thirty minutes however. If hat farmer hadn't come along and offered his assistance when he did, we might still be stuck." Molly heard the sound of the carriage door being opened.
She decided her best option, in order to give Sherlock as much time to find her as possible, if indeed he were even able to find her, would be for her to remain still and pretend she was still unconscious.
"Thank you, Barnes, please return to your seat on the box and I will call you when I need your assistance. Remember my promise that you will be paid double if everything goes as I expect it to," said Magnussen to the coachman.
"Yes sir," said the man respectfully, and he closed the door to the carriage once more.
Molly remained still, listening intently. What was Magnussen planning on doing next?
Her question was answered, when she heard the sound once more of him kissing her stepmother. Florence made several gasps of pleasure as presumably her lover was using his hands to touch different parts of her body. "Oh, Charles," the woman said in a breathy tone, "You always feel so good."
"I want you, Florence, my love," came the husky response and Molly shuddered internally, horrified at the thought that they might decide to Indulge their passion for one another even as she lay there.
To her great relief, Florence eventually said, after some more sounds of kissing, "Now, now Charles. Not here. Once you've married my stepdaughter, you can spend your wedding night with me in my bed. The drugs will leave her insensible for hours after the wedding."
"You are too cruel to me," whined Magnussen. "My body is aflame with desire for you."
Molly could hear the sound as he let out a soft exhalation when Florence obviously pushed him aside. Her voice was stern as she told him in no uncertain terms, "We do not have time for this now, Charles. Smith will be ready and waiting in the church and we need to get this done. I must see that Molly is awakened so that we can get into the church and I can administer the drugs."
And with that, Florence pulled off the cover that had been over Molly's face.
Molly could not help the cry of pain that escaped her lips from the unexpected stinging slap to her cheek that immediately followed, and her eyes opened, blinking at the sudden light.
"Oh good, you are awake," said Florence in a tone of grim satisfaction. Then she slapped her again and Molly whimpered, as tears sprang to her eyes. "You have caused me no end of trouble, you little harlot," hissed the woman. "How dare you try to escape me! I am the one who is entitled to your father's money, and now you will pay for your little act of rebellion."
"Please…do not do this, Stepmama," Molly begged even as she knew the woman would not listen. She only knew she should keep her talking as much as possible before she was forced to take the medicine. Perhaps she could convince her stepmother that she would cooperate?
"I am sorry, Stepmama, I was frightened. Please don't hurt me anymore. You… you can have my money. I will sign it all over to you." She sat up and rubbed her cheek, which was still stinging.
Florence gave her a cold stare. "It is too late for that. Perhaps if you had said something earlier, we could have come to some arrangement. But now you will do exactly as I say. I will have your money and you will cooperate." She turned to Charles. "Tell your coachman we are ready to bring her into the church now."
Magnussen nodded, then rapped his knuckles on the roof of the carriage to alert the coachman, who appeared moments later, opening the door once again.
"Help me get the girl into the church," ordered Magnussen.
Molly tried to struggle as Magnussen grabbed her and pinned her arms behind her back, then continued to hold her as the coachman bent down to take her feet. They managed to exit the carriage, bumping Molly's back painfully in the process as the coachman alighted first, and slipped slightly.
Molly observed that it had been raining quite heavily apparently, because the ground was extremely wet and muddy, although the rain had lessened by now to a mere drizzle. Small wonder the coachman had slipped.
Save me, Sherlock, she whispered again in her heart, save me. She remembered the way he had come to her rescue that night on the deck of the ship. But in that instance, he had been close by. This time he had to be miles away and may not be able to find her in time. All of a sudden she was no longer able to contain herself and she heaved a great sob, allowing the tears to fall from her eyes, mingling with the rain that fell gently upon her face.
The men were carrying her towards the church entrance, and Florence was standing beside her, complaining bitterly all the while that the ground was muddy and her slippers were being ruined. Molly felt rather wildly that if there was one silver lining in this horrible mess, it was that being carried meant her own slippers were being kept from the mud. The older woman looked at her contemptuously, almost as if her discomfort was Molly's fault, as Molly continued to cry silently, even as the light rain caressed her face almost in sympathy. She tried once again to struggle, to no avail. The men were too strong.
Finally they reached the door of the church and Florence pushed it open. The coachman set Molly's feet down onto the floor. Molly thought about asking him for help, but the man had a hard look about him and she realized he did not care about anything except what he would be paid.
Another man approached them then and Molly bit back an exclamation of fear. The person had an ingratiating crooked-toothed smile. He was not a tall man, but she saw the evil in his eyes and knew he too cared nothing for anyone. He wished only for money.
"Everything is ready, Lady Florence," he announced grandly, gesturing behind him. Molly could vaguely see an altar at the front of the church with two lit candles, one on either end of it.
She struggled again, but was slapped viciously once more by Lady Florence. Because her arms were still being restrained, she was not even able to put her hand to her cheek to lessen the sting, and her tears continued to flow.
"Will you walk down the aisle without protest or do I make you drink your medicine now?" asked Lady Florence with a smirk, reaching into the depths of a small reticule she had brought with her from the carriage.
Molly's lips trembled. "I... I will walk," she whispered miserably. Time was running out.
She walked slowly down the aisle, with Lady Florence on one side and Magnussen still holding her arms behind her in a cruel grip that showed he would not allow her to escape. Smith had hurried down the aisle to take up his position in front of the altar.
Molly walked as slowly as she dared, only moving faster when Magnuson pushed her in the back and almost made her stumble. Her back also ached from where it had bumped against the base of the carriage when the men had carried her out of it. She counted the wooden pews as she walked, twelve on either side. The church was barely more than a chapel. Yet both sides had two long stained-glass windows through which pale sunlight filtered. One window showed an angel and the window next to it had a cross. On the other side there was a nativity scene while the final image was of Jesus. How had a holy place like this become a place where corruption was evident in the person of its parson, Smith? Molly wondered.
And then she was standing in front of the parson, as Lady Florence held that concoction in her hand, ready to force it down her throat at the first sign of a struggle. Magnussen still held Molly's arms behind her in a restraining grip. Molly knew that her only hope lay in not signing the register, confirming the false date of the nuptials, but she knew despairingly that she would be forced to do so as soon as the marriage service was over.
"Dearly beloved," began Smith in a stentorian voice, as he held open a book which contained the words for the marriage service. As he intoned the words, Molly thought of how beautiful her own simple wedding ceremony had been, because she had been with the man she loved, even though he had not yet known he loved her. She imagined that it was Sherlock standing next to her but was pulled out of her reverie as the parson reached the point in the service to where he asked if there were any objections.
And then came a voice from the back of the church, a voice she knew so well, deep, rich, masculine and full of authority. "I object."
Author's note 2: Of course, I had to address the evil step-mother thing. I hope you liked the machinations of Florence and her lover to try and manipulate things so that it would appear Molly was married to Magnussen instead. I could have ended with them standing at the altar, about to be married, but I felt compelled to add that little bit of hope at the end. I mean, we knew Sherlock was going to come after his beloved, didn't we? Did you enjoy the addition of Culverton Smith? He's always a good villain too.
How did you find this chapter? Are you eager to see how Sherlock will save Molly, and how he was able to find her?
I crave your feedback, dear readers! If my type of Victorian Sherlolly is something you really want to see more of, make sure you let me know. Right now, it is way down on my list of priorities, but if enough people really want more of this kind of story, tell me so and I may begin work on another of these. Right now I have no more of this type of story written, although I have a title, and a cover photo if I decide to write it - "The Duke and the Preacher'sDaughter." Would you read it? Would you help support me in my writing aspirations with your favourites/follows and reviews? You have the power to determine my future direction!