Jacqueline & Other Stories

Jacqueline

&

Other Stories

Copywrite 2018 Sandra Maggs

Published by Sandra Maggs

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Table of Contents

Introduction

Jacqueline

The Cemetery Plot

The Pastures of Jordan

The Violin

Underneath the Radar

Arthur Tide

Splendid?

Whisper

The Hanged Man

Ursula Flynne’s Terrible Sin

When the Water Runs Blue

Roses Forever

About the Author

Contact

Other Books by Sandra Maggs

Introduction

Within these pages you may find a story that may satisfy your appetite. When I first put the collection together, I didn’t have a particular genre in mind, so it’s a mishmash of sorts. I love fantasy so it’s quite possible there are some stories in here that border on the realm of make believe, and others that you might find yourself believing.

From a dark place to a ridiculous hunt for the illusive beaverick, there’s sure to be something that will curb your curiosity. Perhaps you seek eternal youth, or you’re wondering how to keep a lover faithful. There may be those of you who just want to immerse yourself in the unreal and others who are seeking some sort of advice. Whatever the quest, the answer may lie within.

Along the way you’ll encounter many characters. Some have secrets to share with you and some have secrets they don’t want to share. But beware dear reader. I have a warning for you. Whatever you do, and this is very important, don’t eat any of Ursula’s biscuits!

Happy reading,

Sandra Maggs

Jacqueline

In life, there is opportunity to love, but with love comes responsibilities. Jacqueline Leville had the perfect life. In love with her husband Frederick, a reputable medical practitioner, she would do anything to maintain her perfect life, but in the autumn of 1888, their marriage ran into problems.

West London was bathed in an opulent, charismatic dusk as summer was coming to an end. The wealthy streets were far less crowded. People hurried a little more, eager to get home as the evenings began to cool and the season turned the leaves from green to brown, which fell in the traditional manner to carpet the drab sidewalks. Street sweepers continuously removed the debris from the pedestrian paths. It was the right of the rich.

Jacqueline patronized the windows of their drawing room and studied each of the carriages that passed along the avenue, eager for one to stop and deliver her husband home from his practice. As each clip-clop of horses’ hooves reached her ears, she peered into the street looking up from her delicate needlework. A floral sampler lay in her lap, the fine stitches lined up perfectly like soldiers with their arms crossed in the front. It was the ideal craft to fill in the long boring afternoons which were becoming frequent with time.

Frederick had been working late at the practice rooms in Harley Street more often and Jacqueline was left to fill the evenings with her own activities. When a partnership was offered to the young doctor, it was certainly a dream come true for the couple. Opportunities like this one didn’t come along very often, so he wisely accepted. Sadly, Jacqueline hadn’t realised the hours would stretch so late into the evening and she was beginning to regret her husband’s decision. Lonely hours were tedious. A child could fill the void, there was plenty of room in their spacious home, but working long days was taking its toll on Frederick and he was far too tired to join in the amorous activities they normally enjoyed.

Jacqueline’s sister Connie had not yet married and provided some company, but the single woman’s social life thrived. The younger sister’s bubbling spirit ensured her popularity, and evenings at soirees with handsome bachelors were regularly on offer. Many afternoons were spent shopping for fancy clothing to wear out to her numerous social events, and sipping tea with friends who liked to gossip about the goings on in the social scene they frequented. During a rare afternoon visit, Connie served up a slice of gossip to Jacqueline that seemed unlikely, but still quite possible.

On that very evening one week prior, Connie had attended a party. When she left the event, the carriage that had delivered her safely home from the evening’s entertainment had travelled through Whitechapel and Connie had spotted a man who resembled Frederick Leville cavorting with some women of ill repute outside a public house. At first, Connie wasn’t sure whether she should tell her sister, but Jacqueline had noticed a difference in her and forced the information from the girl. The truth was revealed and after extracting every tiny crumb from Connie, she started to wonder if this were the reason her husband was out so late.

Are you certain it was him? Frederick, the man she had promised to obey, the man she had given herself to, was he fraternising with the lowest of the low? It didn’t seem quite right. He told me he was working.

Well, I’m almost certain it was Frederick, but it was late, and I did drink a lot of champagne. The party was fabulous, Connie told her.

Jacqueline listened as her sister revealed the festive gossip from the night. But she didn’t care about Lord Whatshisname or Lady Thingamabob, it was the news about her husband she was interested in.

When left alone, her thoughts turned to Frederick. Surely, a well-respected Harley Street doctor wouldn’t be seen in a cesspool such as that. Clearly, her sister had been mistaken. But if he had been there, then why? A thousand reasons swirled through her head like a whirlwind, but not one of them feasible. If Frederick were questioned, would he deny it? There was only one way to find out for sure, she would have to visit the scene and investigate for herself. Arranging a carriage, the journey began, the journey towards the truth. Jacqueline needed to gather the information herself. If her husband had been there once, then he might return. Perhaps she could find the women he had been talking to and question them about the incident her sister had witnessed. The thought made her shudder. The East London area wasn’t nearly as attractive as West London and thinking she may have to leave the carriage and speak to people put her on edge. Society’s doomed wandered the streets looking for the faintest hope of a better future. Drabness and the smell of cooked offal drifted into the carriage and almost made her heave. A faint spike of courage jolted inside her and she remembered why she was taking the trip to begin with.

As the carriage approached the public house on the road Connie had described, she looked for a group of women who might be able to help her. When she spotted the women, her heart sank. Jaqueline saw him. Her beloved husband laughed with the rats that nosed around in the filthy east end of the majestic city. The offensive women of the night. She watched as he walked off with one of them, arm in arm. How could he do that her? Seething with anger, Jaqueline returned to her home. Confronting him in public would only embarrass them both and it might mean the end of her marriage. A more discrete conversation was necessary on this occasion.

Heartbroken, as the evening drew to a closed, Jacqueline once again retired alone. Unable to sleep, she waited for him thinking about what she had seen and decided there was only one definite solution to the problem that had developed.

Frederick kept several medical journals at home and as she read until she could no longer concentrate, she assembled the information that would help return him to their bed and hopefully keep him there. All sorts of instruments were listed, and she found recipes to brew remedies and potions that would quickly place their drinker into a deep sleep. Jaqueline had always been a quick study and as she read the medical text, the scheme evolved.

Fredrick slipped into bed in the early hours of the morning, she could smell the lewdness of Whitechapel. The cheap drink and stale cigar smoke had accompanied him home. Jacqueline lay quietly, mapping the plan in her mind, the plan that would stop her husband from straying. Her love for him far outweighed anything else and although he had been unfaithful, she was willing to forgive him. But for now, the knowledge of the situation would remain unsaid and Jacqueline would take matters into her own hands.

Throughout the day she worked away at her strategy and when evening approached, and Frederick arrived home at the expected hour, she prepared a nightcap for her husband with warm brandy and a few drops of a special concoction she had read of in one of his many medical textbooks. Her feelings towards him grew into despair and Jacqueline felt the heartache inside. It bubbled and boiled away and she found it difficult to contain her feelings. But nothing would take her love away. As Frederick slept, Jacqueline slipped out into the evening to clear her head.

Sluggishness appeared to render Frederick unworthy for work when morning arrived. He conceded it must be a cold of some sort which had confined him to his bed. Jacqueline doted on her husband persuading him to stay warm and comfortable and waited on him to help him regain his strength, knowing fully well she was responsible for his false ailment. When he felt as though he was over the imaginary illness, he returned to his practice. Jacqueline waited up for him, but he did not appear for dinner and as the clock ticked on and struck midnight, she went to bed alone.

Once again it was apparent the use of the sleeping draught was needed. After the evening meal on the following day, Jacqueline slipped it into her husband’s nightcap and after drinking the tonic, stumbling into bed, he plunged into a deep sleep. Night turned to day and Frederick slept well into the morning, a result of the strong drug he had taken without consent.

Frederick, it’s almost noon. Are you going to wake up at all today? Jacqueline nudged her husband gently.

Opening his eyes, he gazed at the pretty face of