Page 47 of Wicked Games

Looking down, I watched as one of the hulking women pulled a lever.

“No!”

With a sickening rush, the chair flipped backward straight into the frigid water. I was completely submerged. Water surged up my nose and into my mouth as I thrashed and screamed. Then I felt tremendous pressure against my chest as the chair was once more heaved upright.

Water surged over the edge of the tub in a whoosh as it sluiced over my body. Gagging and spurting, I started to cry as icy shards of pain pierced every muscle.

“Once more,” said the doctor with a calm demeanor that belied what was happening to me. This may have been a common treatment for the mentally insane a hundred years ago but now we called it torture.

“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Still giving into those flights of fantasy, I see.”

I hadn’t realized I vented all that out loud. Before I could respond, the chair jerked backward again. Being more prepared for what was about to occur did not make it any less horrifyingly painful or traumatic. Once more the water rushed up my nose and over my body, which now spasmed and shook violently from cold and shock.

This time when I was pulled from the water, I remained quiet and subdued. Too shaken and beaten down to react anymore.

“There now. Isn’t that much better, Lady Larkin? I see the cold water has cooled your heated and agitated mind, as it should,” said the doctor, exchanging a pleased and knowing look with Mrs. Higgs.

“I believe you will find her a much more agreeable patient for this next part, Mrs. Higgs.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

My head lolled to the side as I tried to clench my jaw to stop the clattering of my teeth. I was so numb from the cold, I barely felt the harsh tugs and pulls on the buckles of my restraints, freeing me from my temporary prison.

Strong hands supported me under my arms, as my legs collapsed out from under me as I tried to take a step. I half walked and was half carried back into the other room. There they marched me over to one of the empty wooden tables. With no effort from me, I was lifted and placed facedown onto the table. Some sort of bolster was put under my hips, forcing my ass into the air. I could only manage a whimper when my arms were stretched over my head and I once more felt the familiar scrape of leather against my chilled skin as the wrist restraints were buckled tight. I felt the same tugging on my ankles.

I was now facedown on the table, half lying, half kneeling with my wrists and ankles securely bound. My body still trembled but for the first time I noticed a small wrought iron potbelly stove in the corner closest to me. The walls surrounding it were black from coal dust. Still, comforting warmth radiated from it, bringing my body back to life.

As I tried to focus on the warmth, I felt intruding hands pry open my ass cheeks.

I tried to ask what they were doing but my teeth were clattering too badly for speech.

“His Grace has been remiss in his duties to your care. Every young lady, especially one with your hysterical harlot tendencies, should receive a daily enema each and every morning. It is not healthy to keep all that filth and sin in your body.”

I felt her fat finger probe and prod at my anus.

Warm tears trickled down my cold cheeks at the humiliation of it all. I knew protest was pointless. I could only cry harder as I felt something hard and long being pushed deep inside of me.

“Wait for the click.”

At first it was strangely comforting as warm water rushed into my body, thawing me from the inside out.

Then the piercing cramping pain began… My cries echoed off the chamber walls, falling on deaf, uncaring ears.

CHAPTER 18

LIZZIE

After enduring the vile ministrations of Mrs. Higgs, I was led into a sparsely furnished bedchamber. There they sat me before a small but roaring fire, as two attendants brushed my hair till it shone. Unlike the dirty and torn sackcloth the other inmates were given, I was wrapped in a fur-lined dressing gown made of gorgeous cobalt blue taffeta. On my feet they slipped fur-lined matching silk slippers with thin calves-leather soles.

Throughout it all, I remained silent and docile, all the fight having left me.

For the first time, I longed for the comfort and security of Richard’s estate. I wished I was snug in my bed with Parker bringing me a silver tray filled with sweets from Cook and a pot of chocolate. I also thought of the beautiful, floral-filled warmth of the conservatory. Trying to imagine myself surrounded by the lush, clean smell of the greenery and flowers instead of antiseptic tile and bare walls. I couldn’t wait to return to the peace of that room where I would nap bathed in sunlight after a lazy afternoon of no more cares than whether I wanted to read or draw.

With a shock, I realized I was thinking entirely of the new life Richard was forcing upon me and not of my real life in London. It was startling to realize in my weakest moment when I longed for the security of home, I thought of Richard’s home, not my own.

Angrily I tried to think about the life I had risked everything to return to. I tried to think of my cramped flat in the same terms as the conservatory but it was useless. A bitter, lukewarm coffee from Starbucks in a paper cup with a cold, day-old muffin eaten out of a bag didn’t compare with hot chocolate served in delicate china cups and serving dishes filled with fresh baked poppy seed cakes and preserves.

Sitting under fluorescent lights in a windowless classroom being forced to listen to a professor drone on and on about textile patterns from the 1970s didn’t hold a candle to drawing whatever historical fashions I wanted, as well as the idea that they would not only become a reality in all their intended glory, but that I would also be the one to wear them. It was a designer’s dream.

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