Page 8 of Mayfair Madame
Except this evening, faced with that brute of a man, Benjamin, she’d returned with a vengeance, harbouring memories of an assault far worse than I’d endured this evening.
Over the years, I’d fought with everything I had to put the memories of that dark time out of my mind, but tonight the fears and sorrow she’d carried filled me with a gloominess that couldn’t be ignored.
I gazed out the car window; the streetlights illuminated the now dark sky. Night time had fallen over the city, and I was desperate for my bed. The events of the evening had tired me, and I wanted nothing more but to sleep for as long as I could.
A pill or two might be needed. I hated relying on sleeping tablets, but sometimes the whirlpool in my head refused to stop. Not all was bad. Some were everyday thoughts. Had I remembered to do something, buy something? When was my next dental appointment? Mundane issues I’d usually rely on my assistant, Melinda, to remember.
Other times, as I knew would happen tonight, the horror I’d endured would come back to haunt my dreams, leaving me exhausted and irritable the next day.
“We’re here, madam,” Emmeline’s driver pulled up outside Mayfair Heights, my home for the last five years, ever since I’d moved to London.
I thanked him and gathered up the ruined dress and my sandals. Emmeline’s clothes barely fit, but I’d needed something to replace the torn gown.
Wearily, I pushed open the door to the foyer. The doorman, Walter, ready as always, greeted me. Did he ever sleep?
“Good evening, Miss Reeves. How was your evening?”
“Hey, Walter. I’ve had better.” I pressed the call button on the lift and waited.
Walter had worked here longer than I’d lived here, and we’d become good friends.
“Dare I ask why you’re carrying your dress and wearing clothes that, if I may say so, are not what you would normally wear?”
I looked down at the ill-fitting baby pink jumper and white jeans. Definitely not my usual style.
“You really don’t want to know.” The lift doors opened with a ping, and I stepped inside. “Good night, Walter.”
“Have a good evening, Miss Reeves.”
By the time I reached the penthouse, I was dead on my feet. I closed the door and slid home the bolts, finally breathing a sigh of relief.
My haven and home—I felt safest here. No one entered without my say-so, not even my assistant, although she had a key.
As much as I wanted to sleep, I needed a bath first. The stench of my attacker clung to my skin. I needed to rid myself of all traces of him, to cleanse not just my body but also my soul.
I filled the deep tub with water as hot as I could stand and added a glug of bubble bath, frothing the water.
I hissed as I dipped a toe. Fuck, that was hot, but I slipped beneath the bubbles anyway and luxuriated in the warmth.
Slowly, I sank farther into the water and closed my eyes. My skin tingled from the heat, but the chill in my bones lingered.
I breathed in the scented steam, the calming lavender finally soothing my mind. I reached for a flannel and soap and washed every part of my body, the soreness of the bruises reminding me of his violation.
I’d told the detective I’d make him pay. Words spoken in the heat of the moment, but upon reflection, would I be able to stand up to a man like him? A lord, no less. A man of wealth and supposed good standing.
But he was a man with an outdated ideology. A man who thought women were to be used and abused. I was sure it didn’thelp that I was black, but no matter my colour, I didn’t deserve what he’d done to me.
No woman ever deserved it. How many men looked over their shoulders on a dark street? How many men had been shut away in a dark room aged fourteen?
I knew I wasn’t the first, nor would I be the last, but the shame and the memories still sat with me, especially on nights like tonight.
I shivered, the water now cool on my skin. How long had I sat here, thinking about the past?
Far too long.
I pushed myself up and let the water drip from my body, the soft suds gradually disappearing. I delicately touched the darkened bruises on my skin, wincing at the dull pain radiating through my breast.
They’d fade in time, but for now were a stark reminder of what had happened.
