The Black Coach

By Nickie Fleming

Strange things are happening in the village of Pickering, Yorkshire. Two girls are found murdered, and there is talk about strange going-ons at night. Caught in the middle of this turmoil is Maggie Thompson, an orphan, who needs to fence for herself. Running away from an employer who maltreated her, she nearly dies during a winter storm. She is rescued by a man who lives in a nearly abandoned house. Neil Harrington has his own secrets however. Maggie will have to trust on her feelings to know what is right or wrong. And she can’t forget there is a killer on the rampage...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rogue Phoenix Press
• Release date: Jan 30, 2017
• ISBN: 9781624203114

Book preview

The Black Coach

Nickie Fleming

Published by Rogue Phoenix Press

Copyright © 2017

ISBN 978-1-62420-311-4

Electronic rights reserved by Rogue Phoenix Press, all other rights reserved by the author. The reproduction or other use of any part of this publication without the prior written consent of the rights holder is an infringement of the copyright law. This is a work of fiction. People and locations, even those with real names, have been fictionalized for the purposes of this story.

Foreword

Those who have read my collection of short stories, Face in the Mirror and Other Stories, might remember the last tale. It's the one about the mysterious black coach. In it, the inhabitants of Pickering speak about a legend concerning a black coach which rambled through their village at night, and of the consequent disappearance of some village girls.

This novel goes back in time, to the nineteenth century. It is a time in which in all truth a black coach was seen in the village and some girls were indeed murdered...

One

Maggie drew in her breath as her courage threatened to leave her. She couldn't be weak now, even though the unknown was impossible to grasp. Slowly, to avoid any noise, she turned the handle of the front door. There. It opened without as much as a squeak. Darkness loomed before her, not disturbed by any light from one of the adjoining houses. Stillness reigned.

She took a step forward and looked carefully around. No, there was really nobody walking through the street. Not so strange, as the clock just went past two in the morning. Who would want to be outside on such a cold night?

Using up the last of her courage, she stepped outside and silently closed the door behind her. She waited several more seconds to make sure nobody heard. At last she carefully walked into the street.

An icy wind rushed the dead leaves along the sidewalk and she hurried to close up her cape. Little good it did. She felt the draft going through the thin material. She steeled herself not to shiver. The small bundle of her possessions tucked under her arm, she began to hurry down the street, making the distance between her and the house greater and greater.

Only three streets further away she dared to pause for a while and heaved a sigh. She'd done it. She'd left behind all the hurt, all the abuse. No man will ever touch me again, she swore silently and the whispered words seemed to give her the drive to continue her walk.

The darkness hid the nasty bruises on her face, the rest of them were covered with clothing.

Maggie still felt his hands come down on her, this time because she'd forgotten to snoot the candle in the kitchen. Tobias Hadley always had an excuse to punish her for wrongdoings.

When she came to him from the orphanage, he spelled out what she could do and what not. The smallest transgression of these rules brought her a spanking on her backside. And the violence increased as she grew older. It reached a peak when his wife died and he needed another woman to warm his bed.

A couple of hours ago he'd not only nearly beaten her to death but also tried to violate her sexually. In her despair, she grabbed a silver candlestick and knocked it down on his head. There he lay, completely still.

She realized immediately she couldn't stay in his house any longer. What if she had killed him? She needed to get out of this town, needed to find another place where she could work and earn her stay anonymously. Although she was afraid, her mind was set. The time spent with the Hadleys was a bad one.

As she hurried along the deserted streets, a vague image popped up in her recollection. It was the image of a pretty house where a woman held her in a tender embrace. Had it been her mother?

She didn't recall much of those early years. Her first memories were of the orphanage of Mrs. Culver, who was a decent person all in all. She took care of those little ones who had nobody to look after them, and she provided food as well as an education in exchange for small duties in the house.

Of course, once you reached the age of fourteen, you couldn't stay. Mrs. Culver would then seek out a fitting employment. In Maggie's case, it was as household help with the Hadley's, who appeared to have a good reputation in the town of York. Little did people know what happened behind the couple's closed curtains.

She bit her lip. She shouldn't think of what was in the past. She hurried on and finally reached her destination which was the postal inn in the center of town. Everything was dark inside, but nevertheless she banged on the door.

Mind the noise, an angry voice above her head snapped.

A second later a man's head covered with a nightcap looked out of an opened window. What's your business?

I need a room for tonight, Maggie whispered. Please…

You have money?

I've got five shillings.

Ha, it won't buy you a stay here, the angered innkeeper sneered. We have no room for beggars.

The window closed with a bang, and Maggie remained on the street.

What must I do now? I want to go to London.

Of course, there was no answer. At long last, she decided to continue walking toward the next village or town and try her luck there. It was the only thing she could do. She certainly could not stay here.

The first hour went by without a problem, although the chill crept into her bones. Her clothing was threadbare and not resistant to the low temperatures. The Hadleys never spent too much money on her well-being. They fed her just enough not to starve and only gave her one set of clothes to do with, a hand down from Mrs. Hadley's younger sister.

Maggie continued her walk. It became harder and harder, as snow was falling now. The thin soles of her work boots gave little protection against the wetness underneath. She felt how wet and icy her feet were becoming. The sharp wind kept blowing her hood off, adding more to her discomfort. Shivering, she removed one hand from the sparse cover of the cape and tried to pull the hood tighter against her face. One foot before the other…

A bit further away something caught her sight. Was that the road sign for Pickering? She couldn't be sure, as snow was hiding the lettering on it. She thought it must be, though. She knew Pickering was a fairly sized village with farmland around. Perhaps one of the farmers there had a hayloft or a shelter for the animals where she could sleep until morning?

The snow was falling harder and now it was nearly impossible to see where the road ran. Maggie hesitated for a while. Was it wise to continue?

Her conclusion was to go on, as remaining here would certainly be bad. There was no place to take cover, no trees, only heather.

She struggled ahead, shielding her face with her hand. Still she couldn't see where she put her feet. She stumbled once, twice. The third time she fell on her knees. With all the effort she could muster, she got up and continued on. She stumbled once more.

She tried to get up, but the exhaustion took its toll. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't get up. Tears of desperation ran down her cheeks, turning into ice almost immediately. In desperation she closed her eyes. Soon she didn't feel the cold anymore.

~ * ~

The black coach drove along the Yorkshire roads, threading its careful way to Harrington Manor, where it belonged in the stables. A sturdy coachman tucked into a warm coat and wearing a shawl around his head sat upright in the driver's seat; inside a lone passenger tried to feel more comfortable.

Neil felt exhausted after the night's work. He leaned his lanky frame against the threadbare cushions of the coach, rubbed his stubby cheeks and put his feet up on the other bench. Finally, he closed his eyes. He needed some sleep. He knew he slept too little these days, but it couldn't be helped. If he wanted to succeed in his mission, he needed these nightly excursions.

It wasn't to be. It appeared he'd only closed his eyes for a second before a loud banging ended his short rest. Master, please wake up.

By instinct his eyes opened immediately. Amos wouldn't disturb him without reason, he felt sure of it. He sprang up and opened the shutter so he could talk to his coacher.

What's the matter, Amos? he asked.

The coacher pointed his whip toward something further along the road.

There's something there.

Neil popped his head out of the window and tried to focus his sight. They were in the middle of nowhere, between villages, and under normal conditions you would be able to see ahead for miles. Now it was a lot harder because snow drifted in thick drifts and turned the landscape into a winter tale. He peered harder. Yes, there it was. Somewhat to the right he distinguished a huddled form. Something brown covered by snow.

Might be a dead sheep or goat, he offered. The form would fit.

Shall I have a look? Amos asked.

Yes. A couple of minutes won't make the difference, Neil responded. If it is a dead animal, we can let the farmer know where to find it.

The servant jumped down on the road and waddled through the snow. Kneeling down, he used his big hands to wipe away the snow which covered the brown shape. Involuntary, he let out a loud gasp.

Master, his urgent voice then came. You must come. It's not an animal.

Neil shot into action. As tired as he felt, his dedication for his chosen profession urged him to forget about sleep and help those in need. He quickly donned a cape over his coat then jumped out of the coach and strode toward the place where his servant had bared the face of a young woman. His breath caught, not because of the cold, but because of what he saw. No, this could not be.

His mind wrestled with the puzzle, but then his professionalism took control of his action again. He sank down on his knees beside Amos and placed a finger into the girl's neck to feel for a pulse.

She's still breathing, he stated, concentrating on what was necessary and trying to forget some unwanted yearnings. Yearnings he'd been trying to forget for the past years because they caused too much pain.

Hurry up, Amos. Go and fetch a blanket from the coach. We must wrap her up and see to it she gets warm again.

While Amos got to his feet and hurried to obey his master's order, Neil began to rub the girl's hands, which were white from the cold. He also removed his cape to cover her provisory and lifted the ice cold body into his arms. She felt almost weightless.

Amos was already running toward him with the blanket. Together they made certain the poor wretch was completely covered by it. Neil then proceeded to carry the still form into the coach.

Make haste, Amos, he ordered as soon as he set foot on the step. We don't have much time.

Amos didn't need encouragement. Despite the ghastly weather conditions, he goaded his horses into a full stretched gallop.

Neil carefully arranged the young woman, who definitely hadn't reached twenty years of age, on the bench opposite his and continued to rub her limbs. It was all he could do for the moment.

Nevertheless, his administrations began to look like one prolonged caress. He had to bite his tongue to regain his composure and concentrate on the task on hand.

Once they reached his home, he thought, he could have her in a hot bath and then put into bed with lots of covers. Only, he would let Martha undress her.

Her eyelids fluttered for a while. Yes, it was a good sign which gave him hope. He felt confident now she would live and regain her health.

He wiped away the strands of blonde hair out of her face and then only noticed the black bruising which covered the left side.

She had been a victim of rough treatment. Who could have done this? Had it been a father, a brother, a husband, a lover? An unwanted pang of jealousy shot through him.

Now her eyes opened. W-what? she croaked.

Don't worry, he hurried to reassure her. You're safe here. We're taking you to a place where you can rest and get better.

The sound of his voice seemed to calm her and the eyes shut again.

Not much later, the coach reached its destination. Harrington Manor, standing amidst deserted heather and woodland, loomed like a dark block against the night sky. No light was to be seen and gave the place an utterly deserted outlook. Nobody would suspect people lived here.

Amos brought the coach to a standstill and was quick to help his master bring the young woman into the house.

Mrs. Stanton, whose habit it was to wait for the return of the master even in the middle of the night, readily opened the front door to let the men into the hall. There a single candle shed its light. Once inside, it became obvious why no light could be seen outside. The windows overlooking the yard were all blackened.

You are later than usual, master, the woman said reprovingly as Neil passed through the doorway. Only then she noticed he was followed by her son, who carried a covered-up bundle into his arms. Amos normally never entered the house through this entrance.

Now, what do we have here?

We found a girl in trouble, Martha, Neil answered. She almost froze to death. I can't phantom why she chose to walk the Pickering road in the dead of night, but she was lucky we were passing there.

At least something good comes of your marauding, Martha sniffed, making her unhappiness with her master's chosen profession duly noted. She'd worked long enough in the house to be allowed such attitude. She shrugged her shoulders. Well, lads, don't take too long and bring the poor lass upside.

First, fill a bath with very warm water, Neil ordered. Let her soak in it for some time, and then give her one of your nightgowns. In the meantime, you can make a bed for her and see to it there is a good fire burning in the hearth.

As if I don't know what to do, she said under her breath, while having a better look at the girl. She's barely grown up. What happened to her?

When she's better, she can tell you herself, Neil said. The only thing I know is she needs our help to get warm once more.

You just have to offer that help.

Yes, Martha, I have to.

With those last words Neil strode out of the hall and went looking for his own bed. He knew well enough Martha would care for the lass and see to it she was made comfortable.

~ * ~

Martha did indeed know what to do. Having grown up on a farm she'd witnessed more than one accident and she knew how to treat most wounds. She signaled her son, Amos, to carry the girl to the second floor, where the bedrooms were situated.

Set her down in that chair and then you hurry and fetch the tub, she ordered her son, Afterward, you can go to sleep like the master.

Won't you need me anymore, Ma? Amos asked.

No lad. I'm strong enough to put the lassie in the water. You just do as I say.

It did not take long before her son returned with the wooden bathtub and only moments before he brought two buckets of hot water.

"Should I bring