Lizzie slept most of the time. But when she awakened, Samson arranged for there to be an outlet for her violence. Without victims she would perish, and I told him that I feared part of me would die with her. I think he feared I would diminish in mind and spirit as his wife had, and he enjoyed my companionship. He has always been kind and gracious to me and considers me a fine lady, but of course untouchable. His figurehead on his grand ship, he calls me.

Well, the victims need not be child molesters at this point. Lizzie was beyond that, as someone used to dining on roast beef will eat beef hash if necessary. It was an urgency in the blood. He could tell the signs of agitation that began well in advance. But with the drug’s continued application, I found that Lizzie could be released when the time was appropriate and then—with a bit of effort—confined again. She doesn’t like it but she has to live with it. As I say though, I don’t know what the effect will be without the drug. Samson thought that particular gathering would be entertained by the show of the constables, as such a display would impress upon them the fact that he disdains the law of small men and that his ambition is on a greater scale. It was good business, and Lizzie needed the exercise.

My story. I consider that Lizzie put to death six men who might have preyed upon the mill children in Spitalfields, and they would’ve been back for further victims. She could not save all the innocence of those children, which was likely already lost, but she could keep the corruption from spreading and destroying more of them, body and soul, as it had very nearly destroyed me.

My story.

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Seven

At Elizabeth’s final two words, Matthew felt the coach slowing.

Firebaugh made a muttering groan from his huddled bundle of tormented flesh.

“We’re stopping,” said Elizabeth. “Why?”

Matthew peered out the porthole to his left. He felt a twinge as he turned his attention away from the woman and he figured the back of her neck was tingling aplenty. Through the falling snow he saw only dim gray light and the further blue darkness of a forest.

The coach stopped with a crunch of wheels.

“I think we’re in the middle of nowhere,” Matthew said. “Do you see anything out there?”

She looked out the porthole on her side. “Woods,” she answered. “Nothing else.”

The doors on the right side opened and Julian stood there shivering. “Spell me on the reins, Matthew. I’m freezing and my back’s a wreck. God knows how these drivers do it.”

“Me? Spell you? I’ve never driven a coach this size or handled a four-horse team!”

“Understood. It’s time for you to learn.” He motioned with a thumb for Matthew to get out.