A Cry For Nemesis

By Glenda Archer

Five influential women, heartsick over the trafficking of children for the sex trade, decide to take matters into their own hands and answer the children’s cry for justice. These elderly women show courage and daring as they come to grips with the ugly world of paedophilia.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley
• Release date: Apr 20, 2018

Glenda Archer

Glenda Archer was born in Canada. She is a retired librarian. Upon her retirement, she moved to England, where she is fortunate enough to hold citizenship through her father. She has fallen in love with England and its people, often referring to Canada as the land of her birth and England as her heart's land. She loves to learn and to travel and is happiest when she has ‘a ticket to ride’. She has a very close relationship with her daughter and son. This her first book. It came to her over a six-week period in a series of dreams.

Book preview

About the author

Glenda Archer was born in Canada. She is a retired librarian. Upon her retirement, she moved to England where she is fortunate enough to hold citizenship through her father. She has fallen in love with England and its people, often referring to Canada as the land of her birth and England as her heart’s land. She loves to learn and to travel and is happiest when she has ‘a ticket to ride’. She has a very close relationship with her daughter and son. This is her first book which came to her over a six-week period in a series of dreams

Dedication

This book is dedicated to I AM

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A CRY FOR NEMESIS

Published by Austin Macauley at Smashwords

Copyright 2018 Glenda Archer

The right of Glenda Archer to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the

Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All Rights Reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted save with the written permission of the publisher, or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright Act 1956 (as amended). Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is

available from the British Library.

www.austinmacauley.com

A CRY FOR NEMESIS

ISBN 9781788785068 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781788488648 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781788488655 (E-Book)

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd.

First Published in 2018

AustinMacauley

CGC-33-01, 25 Canada Square

Canary Wharf, London E14 5LQ

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Lady Elspeth Grosvenor fussed over the dining table, rearranging the Waterford crystal glasses, refolding the linen napkins. Her four-weekend guests would be arriving shortly and she, thinking that this opening meal was important, always took special care with it. Kate, she called to her housekeeper, did the flowers arrive? Kate, smiling, as she entered the dining room, wondered at how Lady Elspeth with all her status and public functions always seemed nervous when these particular four came for a weekend.

Yes, my Lady, they arrived about an hour ago. I placed them in the bedrooms as instructed. You will be pleased to know that they were able to supply magnolias.

Oh, that is good news indeed. Mary Brooks will be surprised and pleased, Elspeth responded.

Lady Elspeth wandered over to the window and looked out into the garden. The late afternoon had turned grey. Large dark clouds drifting in from the west threatened yet another storm.

I hope this rain holds off until everyone arrives. We have had so much of rain lately that I fear the road from the village will flood. Hopefully, they will arrive shortly. I will go up and change. Taking one last look at the dining table, Elspeth smiled nervously at Kate and left the room.

Kate thought about Lady Elspeth and why she had these meetings, why she was part of it all when she so clearly disliked it. She was a gentle soul, much loved in the village for her caring ways and charitable works. Oh well, I mustn’t question, I must just watch over her, help her as best as I can, she said to herself.

She hurried off to the kitchen to see how the cook was getting on with the meal.

Lady Elspeth, meanwhile, could not decide what to wear. She always felt dowdy in the presence of the foreign women. Only with Jane, her fellow countrywoman, did she feel that the status quo was upheld. She selected a navy coloured dress. Her motto was: whenever in doubt, wear navy and pearls. She abhorred black and felt that too many of her compatriots wore far too much of it. She descended the stairs just as Kate was opening the door to a tall, slender woman with long flaming red hair that belied her sixty-odd years.

Mary Brooks-Carter, a former Miss South Carolina, fought hard against the ravages of time. The divorce settlement she had received from her philandering billionaire ex-husband ensured that she could finance her various spa treatments. While it was said that diamonds are a girl’s best friend, Mary Brooks thanked her lucky stars for Texas oil.

Hello, darling, she enthused as she saw Elspeth on the stairs, you are looking well and Grosvenor Hall is as gorgeous as ever. What pray tell is that delicious smell? I hope it is our dinner. I am just starving. My plane is in for servicing and the food on these commercial flights in not even fit for pigs!

Elspeth, always a little in awe of Mary Brooks and her seemingly boundless energy, assured her that it was indeed their dinner and it would be served just as soon as the others arrived. Would she care for a sherry while they waited?

Comfortably seated in the Georgian drawing room, Mary Brooks and Elspeth chatted of non-consequential things as they both kept an ear open for the sound of a car in the drive.

Shortly after seven o’clock, just as the storm broke, Elspeth’s sedate black Bentley pulled in under the portico. Thomas, Elspeth’s chauffeur got out and assisted three women to the door. The first to alight was Sophia, an elegant, dark-haired woman in her early sixties. She spoke with a slight Italian accent. Hello, Elspeth, it is so lovely to see you again and please let me thank you once more for the most generous baptismal gift you sent to my grandson. It was so unexpected but will always be treasured. My family was truly touched by your thoughtfulness and generosity. My brother-in-law even said that I must invite you to come and stay. After these words and a quick kiss on each of Elspeth’s cheeks, she made her way into the drawing room to greet Mary Brooks. Jane Penrose and Claire Gardier, the other two women, after greeting Elspeth also made their way into the drawing room.

Kate ensuring that the maids placed the luggage in the correct bedrooms, was amazed at how much luggage these women brought with them for a mere three-day weekend. Only Jane Penrose seemed to have the ability to travel lightly.

Once everyone had greeted each other and caught up on frivolous bits of news, Kate announced that the dinner was being served.

They all happily proceeded toward the dining room. Mary Brooks explaining once again at how absolutely famished she was. My dear Elspeth, I am so hungry tonight that I think that I will break with tradition and have dessert! Oh, I’m sorry, I mean pudding. Although why you call it pudding when it is a tart or a cake is beyond my comprehension; well, not to worry, ‘vive le difference’ hey Claire. Claire, completely in awe of Mary Brooks and her larger than life persona, merely smiled.

The dinner, as usual, was well prepared and beautifully presented. The women happily set about enjoying it and each other’s company. Everyone, well aware of the coming and going of servants, ensured that the conversation was kept light and frivolous.

After dinner, Elspeth announced that they should all withdraw to the library where drinks would be available and the meeting could begin.

The library was Jane’s favourite room in this beautiful house. The room was forty-feet long and thirty-feet wide. The north and east walls were lined with oak bookshelves. The other walls were oak panelled. The room was well lit with a large window looking out over the front aspect and down the long tree-lined drive. The west wall had two sets of French doors that opened into the conservatory. In contrast to the library, the conservatory was furnished with rose and green chintz soft furnishings and white wicker-tables. There was a profusion of plants. Jane was aware that most people enjoyed the conservatory on a bright sunny day but she best liked it on a night like this with the lightning flashing across the sky and rain dancing off the glass roof. Turning back into the library, Jane once more admired the beautiful horseshoe-shaped desk in front of the large window. It was situated so that the front of it looked out into the room. It was oak and completely carved with flowers and other creatures. Jane could see bees, butterflies and even a mouse. She didn’t think that Mousy Thompson created such ornate pieces of furniture; however, she must remember to ask Elspeth about it.

As she admired the room, she realized that she had come to a decision. In the early ’70s, she had purchased, as an investment, a block of flats in Battersea. She herself owned the flat in which she lived in Chelsea. Last year, before the housing market began to fall, she had sold the block of flats. She knew that if she sold her Chelsea flat as well, she would have more than enough funds to purchase a little cottage in Chipping Norton. She had grown up in a Cotswold village and now longed to return to what she considered to be the most beautiful part of England. She was tired of the crowds of London and lately her once quiet, upscale neighbourhood had been overtaken by the nouveau riche and their spoiled screaming children. She admired Grosvenor Hall, a beautiful Georgian mansion in the Wiltshire countryside, but she was realistic enough to know that she could never afford to purchase a place like this nor maintain it if she did. She would be content with a small cottage in a village that could provide all the necessities of life. Chipping Norton was just such a village.

She was interrupted from her musings by a touch on her elbow. Are you all right Jane? Sophia asked in her beautifully modulated voice.

Yes, I am well, thank you Sophia, she responded. Then come, the meeting is about to begin. We mustn’t forget why we have come here. When she said this, Sophia was no longer smiling. Her face had a determined, almost a crusader look. Jane realized that the social evening had come to an end. The conversation now would be far from pleasant.

As she took her place at the table and opened the dossier in front of her, she glanced around at the other four women. Although they were all in their senior years, they were all, in different ways still beautiful. Elspeth, with her gentle, aristocratic features and perfect accent, Mary Brooks-Carter, flamboyant, brashly American with the figure of a twenty-year-old, then of course Sophia and Claire with their chic European flair, she could not help but admire them. She, in her bulky size 18 frame, was definitely the goose to their swans. When God created her, he had given her a brilliant mind and a plain face. Luckily for her, she had inherited her mother’s genes and as a result, her brown hair was relatively free of grey and her plump face showed few lines. Many people assumed that she was in her fifties rather than the 64 years she owned. Her career as a lawyer and her early elevation to judge had been challenging and rewarding. She knew that if given the choice of obtaining great wealth as three of these women did by using their looks and marrying well or using her brains and earning her own way in the world then she would always choose her way. She would, however, like to improve her appearance and perhaps before the weekend was over she would have a few words with Claire.

Claire looked across the table at Jane wondering why she appeared to be so preoccupied. Not for the first time, Claire wondered why Jane and Lady Elspeth were part of this group. The English women lacked the enthusiasm for the task. They seemed to look upon it as a regrettable duty. The American seemed to think it was an amusing sport like hunting big game. Ah the Americans and their guns. Mary Brooks had once confided in her that when at home in the States she always carried a gun. Only she and Sophia seemed to approach the task with a purpose. Although they got no pleasure from it, they were secure in the knowledge, that like Don Quixote, they were dispensing a justice that society seemed unable or unwilling to do. Perhaps Jane, with her background in law was ashamed of the failings of the British legal system.

The fairness of a country’s legal system held no illusions for Claire. She recalled all those years ago growing up in Rouen. Her father was a handsome man with an easy laugh and a ready smile. Women adored him; men admired him and welcomed his friendship. Their comfortable home was a meeting point for anyone who was anyone in the city. Her mother was vivacious and outgoing, the perfect hostess.

This gaiety and charm, however, hid ‘Le Secret’. The secret that came in the dark, her father’s whispers in the night as he groomed her to do the things that gave him pleasure. She felt disembodied, alien from her classmates. One day, when she was twelve, she had told her mother. That was the first time she had ever seen her mother show any emotion. Her mother flew into a rage. Claire remembers that day as the day her soul died.

Her mother did not believe her. And surely if her own mother thought she was lying, no one would believe her. While the anger grew inside her, she kept her own council.

On her thirteenth birthday, her monthly periods began. Her father no longer came to her. There was the talk of sending her away to school. For the first time, Claire thought there was hope for her. However, one afternoon when her mother had