Loving Lucy by Lynne Connolly

She had seen love bites - red marks caused by passion - but this wasn’t circular. It was long and thin, and stretched from Lady Lucy’s shoulder down under the covers.
    In a daring movement, Potter twitched the bedclothes aside. She told herself that if her ladyship awoke, she would say she was merely making her more comfortable, and hope she could get away with it.
    But what she saw took away all thought of concealment, of her own safety, and forced her to use a word from the street at home, one which rarely passed her prim lips.
    Her young ladyship was a mess. Her back, bottom and thighs were striped with livid red welts, many strokes, increasing in depth as they approached the more intimate parts of her anatomy. He had drawn blood. Some of the stripes had congealed blood over them, and one had caught on the sheet as Potter drew it back. Not even that had woken Lady Lucinda up. And there was other evidence too. Blood soaked into the sheet underneath showed where he had raped her.
    Potter stood and stared at the terrible thing in front of her before she heard the door to the room open, and a new light come in. She started back in shock, and began to think frantically of what excuse she could give for being here.
    It was Miss Honoria Simonson, clad in night-gown and a frilled cap, firmly tied under her chin. Her thin brown hair was done up in two braids which draped limply on either side of her shoulders. The single candlestick she held illuminated her narrow face eerily. “My goodness.” She had the sense to close the door quietly behind her. “Potter. Whatever are you doing here?”
    She came over to the bed and then she saw. Lady Lucinda was totally still, only her breathing making her move a little. Miss Simonson stood stock-still, and stared. Her mouth opened slightly and her pale eyes opened wide. “Dear God.” she managed at last. “What has he done?”
    “Beaten and raped her,” said Potter in an emotionless tone.
    Miss Simonson determinedly brushed away a tear. “No time for repining now,” she said, in as firm a tone as Potter had ever heard. “We must do something.”
    “Yes. We must.”
    Miss Honoria gave her a sharp glance. “More than clean her up, I mean. You’ve worked here for some time now; you know how things stand in this house.” Without waiting for a reply she continued; “Once her ladyship realises Lucy has been - has lost - is no longer pure, she will insist the marriage goes ahead. No scandal must ever cross this threshold, you know.” Her bitter look at her niece showed what she thought of that. “But I can’t see her marry that man. She tried to break it off tonight. This is the result. We know she doesn’t want him any more, we know that. So we must help her get away. Or I must.” She stared at Potter. “I am hoping you won’t tell what you’ve seen here tonight. Can I trust you?”
    After that, Potter couldn’t disagree. She nodded.
    “Good. Then I’ll contrive to get us out of this with the least hurt to either of us. Lucy must be saved from this man. But where can she go?”
    “I have a place I can take her.”
    “Where?” Miss Simonson looked at Potter but then said, hastily, “No, don’t say. I have a good idea, but don’t say. That way I can truly say I don’t know. But you can get there quite easily?”
    “Yes madam.”
    “Good. Then we have to get Lucy ready and into some clothes.” She looked around and saw the remains of Lucy’s clothes on the floor. They looked as if they had been torn off her, the expensive, heavy blue satin ruined; creased, torn and stained. “I think I’ll keep these,” said Miss Simonson thoughtfully.
    She set her candle down on the night stand. “There’s some water in the jug. It’s cold but it’s better than nothing. If we need any more I’ll fetch mine.”
    So saying the two women set to clean Lucy up a little. There wasn’t much they could do with the unconscious girl, but as they were applying another damp cloth