The Devil and Ms. Baxter - Part The Final

A Story by Mark Wallace

An exciting climax; a melancholy conclusion; the moral to be gained therefrom.

It was in a state of some emotional turmoil that Lucy entered her sister’s drawing-room that evening.

“Sister, you look very pale”, said Jane. “Are you quite all right?”

“Yes. I’m just a little fatigued.”

The truth was, that at this point Lucy was still considering asking her sister for the money, rather than taking the awful step of stealing it. But, no, she knew she could not do that: Jane would certainly refuse, and would prevent her from seeing Aleister again. What was it to Jane that Aleister’s life was endangered? She had no liking for him, and she would be angry to find out that Lucy had been seeing this person she regarded as undesirable.

“Lay down, dear,” Jane said, leading her to the drawing-room sofa. “You don’t look quite well.” Lucy lay obediently down on the sofa, as Jane arranged a pillow beneath her head.

“You are so pale, dear. You look like a ghost. Can I get you anything?”

“Could you get me a glass of water, please?”

As Jane left the room to fetch the glass of water, Lucy was starting to her feet. She was going to waste no time. She was, it was true, feeling light-headed, dazed, and not herself, but she had one overwhelming purpose: to get the money for Aleister.

She stuck her hand behind the portrait of the Duke of Wellington and began to feel around for the cranny. Inside was a bag bursting with banknotes. She withdrew her hand quickly, when disaster struck. The Duke’s portrait came crashing down onto the floor, the frame splitting and an almighty thud resounding through the house. Almost instantaneously, Jane appeared in the doorway. “What on earth…” and she trailed off, seeing the broken picture on the floor and Lucy holding the bag of money in her hand. Jane’s eyes opened wide in shock, and her hands went up to her mouth.

So they stood, simply looking at each other, for some moments. “What are you doing?” said Jane finally.

“I must have this money.”

“Are you mad?”

“I mean to take it.”

“Sister, you are not yourself. Have you lost your senses?”

“A man’s life hangs in the balance.”

“What?”

“Aleister Gordon. He must have this money-“

She broke off as at the mention of that name Jane’s sense seemed to reawaken and she began to advance towards Lucy.

“I should have known,” she spat angrily.

“Do not approach me. I mean to have it,” said Lucy. Her hand moved towards the poker on the fireplace.

“You may still turn back with your honour intact,” said Jane, but whatever she meant to say next remained unsaid, for Lucy raised the poker and brought it down with the full force of her body on Jane’s head. Blood welled at her temple, and streamed down her face. After a moment of stillness, she fell to the ground.

“Oh, dear Lord, is she dead?” thought Lucy, but she did not wait to check. Carrying the money she raced from the house, up towards Penn’s Point on the moors, where Aleister was waiting for her.

She saw his dark figure outlined against the sky as she neared the spot. When she had come close enough, he said: “Well, do you have it?”

“Yes”, she said, brandishing the bag. She moved as if to embrace him, but he held her at arm’s length. “Your face,” he said. “There’s a spot of blood.”

“My sister.”

“What of her?”

“She came upon me?”

“Came upon you?”

“Yes. I hit her with the poker.”

“You little fool!” said Aleister, shaking her body between his powerful arms. Then, “Is she dead?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“Give me the bag.”

She handed it to him.

“Yes”, he said, looking through its contents. “This should do very nicely. Now I must flee.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“Certainly not. You’ve caused enough trouble as it is. You may be wanted for murder.”

“We must go together.”

“No. you would only slow me down. I thank you for what you have done for me from the bottom of my heart, but now we must part. They must not know of our connection, or I will become implicated in your crime. For you all is lost but I am as yet untainted by association.”

“I will follow you, even to the ends of the earth.”

“No, that cannot be. I will send for you later, of course, but now I must take this money and flee.”

And so he fled and Lucy tried to follow, stumbling over the hard, uneven ground of the moors. He disappeared somewhere into the falling darkness, and she could not follow. Great was her misery to think upon what she had done. Insensate with grief, she curled up under the shelter of a large stone and fell into a troubled sleep, while the cold wind and the lashing rain chilled her to her bones.

And it was thus that they found her, in the early morning. By this time she was wanted for murder. She made to answer to the charge; her eyes were glazed, her skin pale as death, and her lips, blue with the cold, trembled violently. She seemed to be whispering feverishly to herself, but none could decipher the words. And, indeed, she was never to speak coherently again.

Reader, they hanged her. On a cold March morning at Newgate, she was despatched to meet her maker. How much of her there was left to suffer that ordeal, is unknown; it is said that she had lost her mind completely. In recounting her sorry tale in these pages, I hope it will serve as a warning for young maidens everywhere, that they will not fall into error in this manner. For it is certain that somewhere in this world, under, perhaps, some assumed name, Mr. Aleister Gordon is employing his nefarious charms to the detriment of some poor unhappy creature, whose fate may be no less melancholy than that of the foolish and impressionable young lady, Ms. Lucy Baxter.

Thus ends the ballad of Lucy Baxter

Though not the end that you or I would wish

A morbid fit of nerves, it seems, attacked her

And summoned forth that imp from the abyss

He sensed her weakness and he soon entrapped her

With honeyed words that tumbled from his lips

Helpless was she to repel his advancement

Caught in the grip of a strange enchantment

The business came to quite a tragic end

Poor blameless Jane paid with her very life

To Lucy she had ever been a friend

Her one wish that she make herself a wife.