Neither moved to turn on the lights or close the curtains to keep the darkness at bay. They simply sat until the moment Lizzie gasped. She was staring straight ahead into the furthest corner of the room, the darkest corner. The coldest corner. Lydia followed her gaze.

 

'What do you want?' asked Lydia. At moments such as these, both women knew they were sharing their home with something greater than themselves. It wasn't just a sensory experience – there was a third person – but while Lydia and Lizzie spoke, their visitor never did. There was no sound, but both women listened intently. They sat, eyes closed, each with an arm outstretched on the table, reaching for the other's hand. The chill in the room deepened. The air seemed to move around their faces.

Then, as quickly as the chill came, it went, and the room warmed. They opened their eyes, and the mood lightened a little.

 

'Oh dear,' whispered Lizzie. She looked at Lydia. 'I don't know how long I can do this.'

Lydia reached for her hand. 'I know. It's difficult.'

'Can we do it?'

'I suppose we must try our best. After all, these are not our actions. They are hers.' Lydia's tone was soft and comforting. Lizzie smiled.

 

'Do you remember what she said?' asked Lydia.

Lizzie nodded. 'Well, if I'm honest, not all of it.' That was the truth. She couldn't remember all of it because of the drinking, to ease the heavy daily emotional burden she carried. She tried to blank out the pain of her humiliation at the hands of a man who had abused her and other men - his friends - praised him for handling his woman the way women should be.

 

If she questioned his actions, he raged and hit her.

If she ever tried to deny him sex – no matter how often he demanded - he hit her, sometimes so viciously she felt she was losing her sanity and sometimes even her life. Once he left her unconscious on the kitchen floor. He vanished for hours before turning up at the pub with his friends.

 

If she asked for money for food and home, he would hit her and even humiliate her in front of people.

Lydia and her mother, both fearful for Lizzie's life, stopped using his name. They simply referred to him as The Brute.

 

Eventually, Lizzie did as well. The women's hostility towards him didn't go unnoticed in the village. The people of Lower Winden held divided opinions. Sex equality, emancipation and domestic violence – these were all words rarely expressed and barely understood in Lower Winden. Mostly, the women thought The Brute was a brute, but Lizzie should learn to obey. That would save her from a beating. The men thought The Brute was a man in control of a woman. But there came a day when even the staunchest allies of The Brute and the many people who turned a blind eye couldn't ignore what he did to Lizzie for much longer.

 

The Brute's drunken rage came quickly, Lizzie later explained. The beating was short and extra vicious. She was lying on the kitchen floor, awash in blood that seeped from stomach. He hit her once because he didn't like what she provided for lunch. It was then Lizzie blurted she was pregnant. The Brute's eyes filled with fire and he grabbed the meat knife from the dresser. He was standing over Lizzie when her mother walked in.

 

Rage took its turn to fill the mother as she looked at her daughter lying stricken on the floor. The Brute fled, but she would find him later. Lucy was not really fit to be moved, but neighbours gently lifted her and took her to her mother's small cottage on the edge of the village.

 

While her mother bathed her and applied what natural remedies she had to hand, Lizzie was also attended to by the local doctor, who confirmed she was no longer carrying a child.

 

'So he had to go, really, didn't he?' That had always been Lydia's mantra. Lizzie always agreed. But about what followed? Well, that was another thing altogether, and Lizzie wrestled with it every day.

​

They found the Brute slumped over his kitchen table. Someone had stabbed him in the back. Reluctantly, the police were called, but they weren't really welcome in Lower Winden. No strangers were, especially those asking awkward questions.

 

All eyes fell on Lizzie's mother, but no one publicly suggested it was her. In public or when being interviewed, everyone shook their head and said they'd not seen anything suspicious. They knew nothing about other people's business.

 

The police spoke with Lizzie's mother. During the interview, she remained mostly silent, leading one detective to believe that her age caused her to be "a little absent". This suited everyone in the village and to this day, some 20 years later, the case remains unsolved. A murder committed by a person or persons unknown.

 

But Lizzie and Lydia knew the person. They had listened to the confession made shortly before Lizzie's mother died. They sat silently and listened to a dying woman confess her deed and ask her daughter and Lydia to make her a promise.

'It wasn't just him, was it, Lizzie?'

 

Her daughter hesitated. 'No mother, it wasn't.' She bowed her head, as though in shame. 'He shared you with them, didn't he?' Her mother's voice was weak. 'I know he did, so it's no use denying.'

Tears rolled down Lizzie's cheeks.

'You didn't know whose child that was, did you?'

Lizzie sobbed. Her body shook. Lydia moved to comfort her, folding both arms around her shoulders and repeatedly planting little kisses on her head.

 

'You both must make me a promise.' Lizzie and Lydia stared at the dying woman. 'Get them, get them all. Whoever they are and wherever they are now. Get them and end their days on this earth.'

 

They all held hands. Lizzie and Lydia made a vow.

The older woman's dying words were chilling. 'I shall know because I shall be watching.'

Later, as Lizzie and Lydia lay in bed, Lizzie turned and asked, 'When will it be over?'

 

Lydia looked at her. 'Soon, my darling, soon.' She raised herself up on one elbow and moved her face towards the other woman. 'There is an ambition for power, one she couldn't achieve in life. Sadly, that power means she also needs revenge. She must see it through. We must see it through for her.'

Lizzie looked worried. 'You won't let me drink again, will you?'

 

Lydia smiled. 'Not up to me. It's up to you and I don't believe you want to drink any more, do you?'

Lizzie shook her head. 'No, never. It was just something that happened.' She looked at Lydia. 'We're nearly finished.' She won't have to be with us much longer,' she whispered.

 

'We promised each other we wouldn't rush. It draws attention to us if we do.'

'I know,' agreed Lizzie. 'I just get frightened.'

Lydia pulled back the covers and looked down at Lizzie's body. She moved her hand to trace the outline of the large scar on her abdomen and continued her trace lower.

 

Lizzie gasped. She looked deep into Lydia's eyes and touched her face. They kissed, a deep passionate kiss that roused their senses. Lydia's hand explored and Lizzie's body responded, so much so that she reached the height of her passion quicker than ever before.

 

Moments later, Lydia was enjoying Lizzie's caresses and intimate kisses. When they were asleep, Lizzie dreamt about Lydia and love and flowers and orchards.

 

Lydia, a faint smile on her face, dreamt about what she'd done that afternoon.