Penny for the Guy
Growing up during the late nineteenth century in London's East End had left an indelible mark on Millvina Hodder. Forced to work in a sweatshop from the young age of seven, the girl had no formal education and could barely read or write. Her mother was an alcoholic who was known to prostitute herself from time to time for a tot of gin, and her father—if her mother's word could be taken as truth—had been lost at sea. However, Millvina thought it more likely that he had simply abandoned his family shortly after his child was born.
Fortunately, what the young woman lacked in book-learning and social graces, she more than made up for in physical beauty. Her red hair and green eyes hinted of an Irish ancestry.
"Lot of good 'er looks will do 'er," Dagmar, her mother, often drunkenly commented.
It was the older woman's belief that a beautiful face in the London slums was like an exotic flower growing in the desert. Neither would last very long.
When Millvina was sixteen, a local boy who had aspirations of joining the Metropolitan Police Force, asked her to marry him.
"What would you want to go and marry 'im for?" Dagmar demanded to know. "Why would you want to waste your life being married to a bloody peeler?"
"And what's wrong with that?" Millvina argued. "Being a bobby's an honest living."
"Oh, if my old mum could see what's becoming of 'er family!"
"And what's your mum got to do with anything?"
"She was something special—that's what. She 'ad the powers."
"What powers?"
"There were some people claimed that she was a witch."
"I'll bet they did," Millvina declared sarcastically. "You should 'ear what they say about you and me."
"I'm serious! She could make things 'appen like magic."
"If that's so, why is it we're living 'ere in Spitalfields and not the more fashionable side of London?"
"Because she went and married beneath 'erself, and before you know it she was dead."
"Well, you and I don't 'ave any powers, so what difference does it make?"
"Leastways I don't, but they say the gift sometimes skips a generation. You might be different. You might be like 'er."
"A witch? Blimey! I think the gin's gone to your brain, Mum."
"Go ahead and laugh, but if I was you, I wouldn't be marrying no peeler."
Although she did not believe her mother's bizarre claims of magic running in the family, Millvina put off the amorous young man temporarily, claiming she wanted to consider his proposal before giving him an answer.
* * *
One evening as Millvina was wandering through the maze of East End alleyways searching for her mother, she came across an unusual shop selling second-hand goods. The shop's inventory was diverse, consisting of a wide variety of items, many of which had probably been stolen. As the red-haired young woman admired a jade and ivory hair comb on display in the grimy shop window, the proprietor, an elderly gypsy woman known only as Appolonia, appeared in the doorway.
"What interests you?" she asked in a low, gravelly voice.
"I was just admiring that hair comb," Millvina replied.
"Why don't you come in and try it on?"
"Oh, no. I could never afford it. Besides, I 'ave to find me mum."
"No need to worry about her. She'll be all right," Appolonia said and took the girl's arm to lead her inside.
"Really, I can't."
"Yes, you can, Millvina."
"Look 'ere, 'ow do you know my name?"
The old woman smiled, an action that made her look more menacing than friendly, and answered, "I always know one of my own kind."
"What? Me, a gypsy? I don't think so."
"It's not your ancestry I'm talking about but your gift. I can see you have a great deal of magic in you," Appolonia declared after taking the girl's hand, turning it over and examining her palm.
Millvina angrily pulled her hand away.
"Don't think you'll be charging me for 'aving my fortune read. I never asked you to do it."
"I want to be your teacher, to help you develop the abilities you were born with."
"I've 'eard enough! I'm going to go find me mum."
"Wait!" the gypsy cried as Millvina headed for the exit of the shop. "Take this."
She reached into the window and scooped up the ivory and jade comb.
"I told you. I can't afford ...."
"I don't want your money. It's a gift."
Millvina wanted to refuse the woman's generosity, but the offer was too tempting. She took the comb, put it in her pocket and left the shop without so much as a word of thanks. At the end of the street, however, she stopped, turned and looked back. Both the old gypsy woman and her shop had vanished.
Later than evening, after literally picking her mother up off the street, Millvina took her parent home. Upon entering their run-down, one-room flat, Dagmar collapsed in a drunken stupor on the bed the two women shared. Most likely, she would remain there, snoring loudly, until morning.
Before getting ready for bed herself, Millvina reached into the pocket of her dress and removed the comb the gypsy had given her. She ran her fingertips over the intricate jade inlay that decorated the delicate off-white ivory. A strange tingling sensation surged through her when she placed the delicate comb in her long red hair. It was as though every cell in her body became energized.
Still wearing the comb in her hair, she turned at the sound of her mother coughing.
She'll be dead before the end of the week.
The unbidden thought terrified the girl. She reached up her hand and pulled the comb from her hair. All sense of the strange power immediately left her.
Two days later the premonition Millvina had earlier that week came true. Dagmar Hodder, as usual having had too much to drink, stumbled out of a pub and into the path of an oncoming carriage. After her mother was unceremoniously tossed into a pauper's grave, the daughter returned to the one-room flat where she spent the remainder of the day grieving her loss.
Dagmar left few belongings behind when she unexpectedly departed the world: two dresses, both of which had seen better days, a clean change of underwear, a pair of shoes, a hat and a purse with a hole in the lining. If she had ever owned any jewelry, it was gone now—most likely pawned to pay for a drink.
"She lived 'er 'ole life with not a bloody thing to show for it!" Millvina cried, her voice thick with bitterness. "When it comes to that matter, what 'ave I got? I ain't much better off. If I was to die tomorrow, what would I leave behind?"
From its hiding place beneath the mattress, she removed the one thing she had of value: the ivory and jade comb. When she placed it in her hair, her emotions abruptly changed. She no longer felt self-pity at her lot in life or even sorrow at her mother's passing.
You don't need to live in poverty like your mother. You have the power to gain riches you never dreamed possible.
This time the strange voice in the girl's head did not frighten her.
* * *
Again Millvina Hodder walked through the maze of East End alleyways. However, she was not searching for her mother on this occasion but for signs of the gypsy woman's shop.
"I thought sure it was right around here," she said to herself as she read the signs above each of the buildings.
"Can I help you, miss?" one Good Samaritan asked when he saw the look of confusion on the girl's face.
"I was in a shop the other day that sold second 'and items."
"I don't remember ever seeing such a place in this neighborhood," the man replied.
"It was run by an old woman, a gypsy named Appolonia."
"No. I've never heard of anyone by that name around here."
Millvina walked into a dark, narrow alley between two buildings where, unobserved by the passersby, she took the comb out of her pocket and put it in her hair. The moment the ivory came into contact with her head, the sensation of power coursed through her veins. Her eyes gazed across the street where she saw the gypsy standing in the doorway of her shop. The old woman smiled as though she had been expecting a visit.
"You've decided to take me up on my offer," Appolonia said when Millvina stepped across her threshold.
"Does this comb possess magic?"
"No. The magic is in you. The comb only helps you tap into the source of your natural abilities. I can teach you to use your powers without the need for such a tool."
"Me mum died," the young woman announced unemotionally.
"I know. You will come live with me now, and I will open up many doors for you."
"I 'ave a job ...."
"You will no longer have need of it."
For the next two years, Millvina proved to be an excellent student, grasping all the arcane knowledge that the old gypsy had to impart. Finally there came a time when the pupil was as accomplished as the instructor.
"There is nothing more I can teach you," Appolonia announced one day as the two women enjoyed a midday cup of tea.
"What do you mean?"
"I'm saying it is time for you to leave, to go out into the world and put your newfound knowledge to good use."
The thought of striking out on her own terrified Millvina.
"I don't know what to do or where to go."
Like the post-Henry Higgins Eliza Doolittle, her voice revealed no hint of her lower class upbringing.
"You might consider finding a husband. You don't want to spend your life telling fortunes for a living, do you?"
"The only man to ever want to marry me has wed someone else."
The gypsy cackled like a witch.
"Do you think I went to all the trouble of training you so that you could go marry some bobby from the Metropolitan Police? You were meant for better things, perhaps a baron or a viscount."
"Don't be ridiculous!" Millvina said.
"Between your natural charms and your magical abilities, you ought to be able to snag an earl if you put your mind to it."
In the end, the beautiful redhead did better than that. Within a year of leaving the gypsy's shop, she had bewitched Lord Edwin Fortescue, the Marquess of Essex, into falling in love with her.
* * *
Millvina and Edwin enjoyed five years of wedded bliss and had two children, a boy and a girl, both red-haired and green-eyed like their mother. The marquess, a man of great wealth, owned a grand home in the finest neighborhood in London as well as an immense country estate that had been in his family since Elizabethan times.
As usual, the family spent the Christmas holidays at the Fortescue family's manor house where they hosted a lavish party to which more than a hundred friends and neighbors from across England were invited. On such occasions, Millvina wore the latest fashions from Paris and was bedecked in jewels befitting Queen Victoria herself.
On the night of the party, one of Edwin's old friends from his Oxford days, who had been living in India, made a surprise appearance.
"Marley Grantham!" the marquess exclaimed when he saw the familiar face. "What a wonderful surprise! What are you doing back in Britain? I assumed you were to be a permanent part of the Raj."
"My father is ill," his friend explained. "I came home to be with my mother until he recovers. I see you're a married man now."
"Yes, and a father, as well. Have you had the chance to meet Millvina yet?"
"Briefly when I first arrived. She's lovely. You're a lucky man."
"Thank you."
"Where on earth did you ever find such a rare beauty?" Marley asked with more than a slight touch of envy.
"We met at the Ascot Derby. She was a vision of loveliness, and I was instantly smitten."
"I don't suppose she has any unmarried sisters."
"I'm afraid not. She was the only child of the late Earl of Kent."
A perplexed look darkened Marley's pleasant face.
"I knew the old earl. He was a distant cousin of my father's. I wasn't aware he had any children. That's why his title passed to his nephew."
"That's primogeniture, for you. Everything goes to the next male in line."
Later that evening, Marley had the opportunity to dance with his hostess.
"When do you plan on going back to India?" Millvina asked, trying to make polite conversation.
"Not for several months yet. Edwin tells me your father was the late Earl of Kent."
"That's right."
"He was an old friend of the family. I was sorry to hear of his passing."
"Thank you."
"Tell me, how is your brother holding up under the strain of being the new earl?"
No sooner were the words out of Marley's mouth, than he regretted uttering them. He knew perfectly well that the earl had no son, and he felt guilty trying to trap his friend's charming wife in a lie.
"As good as can be expected," Millvina replied. "He's not my father, but I'm sure he'll be an excellent earl."
When the dance came to end, Marley thanked his partner and headed toward the refreshment table. He wondered why she had lied about her family history.
I don't know who you are, he thought as he watched Millvina sipping a glass of wine from the Fortescue family crystal. But I intend to find out. This is just the kind of mystery I need to pass the time while I'm in England.
* * *
When Edwin Fortescue returned to London, he was surprised to find a message from Marley Grantham asking his old friend to dinner. Since Millvina and the children were not due to join him for another two weeks, he readily accepted the invitation.
"How is your father?" Edwin asked when the two men met at the Criterion.
"Much better, thank you."
"So it's back to India, then?"
"I sail in three weeks."
"Let's stay in touch, shall we? After all, we can't let an old friendship like ours fall by the wayside."
Marley took a sip of brandy, trying to summon the courage to continue.
"Perhaps you won't consider me such a good friend when you hear what I have to say."
"Oh?" Edwin asked, curious as to what momentous piece of news might destroy their amicable relationship.
"How much do you know about your wife?" Marley asked hesitantly.
"She is a beautiful woman, a loving mate, a devoted mother. What more do I need to know?"
"Her true identity, for one thing."
Edwin was torn between anger at his friend's impertinence and the desire to hear him out.
"She is the daughter of the late Earl of Kent."
"No, she isn't. I visited the current earl recently. He confirmed that his uncle had no children, neither a son nor a daughter."
"Perhaps she was illegitimate then. What of it? I won't hold that against her."
"You wife was born right here in London amidst the poverty of the East End."
"You're mad!" Edwin shouted, rising from his chair to leave.
"After her mother Dagmar Hodder, a drunk and a prostitute, died, she went to live with an old gypsy woman. To support herself, she told fortunes—that is until she married into one."
Mention of a gypsy stirred the marquess' memory, and he abruptly sat back down.
"Millvina has a comb for her hair made of ivory and jade. It's not worth very much, but she won't part with it. She said it was a gift from a gypsy who had done her a great kindness.
"I've talked to many of the people who knew your wife before she was married," Marley continued. "I know it sounds ridiculous, but they claim she was a witch."
Several bizarre events came to Edwin's mind. There was a woman who had snubbed Millvina at the theater and later fell down the stairs, seriously injuring her back. Another woman had flirted with him at a party, and she had come down with a mysterious illness and nearly died. He wondered how many other people had crossed his wife's path and later lived to regret it.
"She always knew what horse would win a race," he said, clearly considering his friend's claims. "And whether a woman with child would give birth to a boy or girl. She claimed it was intuition, but she was never wrong."
"How soon after you met were the two of you wed?"
"I asked her to marry me the next day."
Marley Grantham pursed his lips and hung his head, but said nothing more. He preferred to let Edwin Fortescue draw his own conclusions.
* * *
Policeman Howard Jarrett was walking his beat late one evening when a scream rent the previously peaceful night. With his right palm on the handle of his club, he ran toward the sound. Suddenly, a young woman came out of the front door of one of the grand homes near Piccadilly and flew into his arms.
"Please help me!" she cried.
"What seems to be the problem?" the bobby asked.
"My children's nanny has been murdered."
Jarrett immediately reached for his whistle and signaled for assistance from other police officers in the area.
"The children are all right," he announced after checking the nursery. "They're both sound asleep."
The other two bobbies went from room to room, looking for the killer, but the man had escaped through the back door.
"Can you tell us what happened?" Howard inquired.
"I was upstairs sleeping when a noise woke me up. I came downstairs to see what it was and discovered Miss Bradbury lying on the kitchen floor. I screamed, and then he turned on me."
"He? You mean the killer? Did you see him?"
"Yes. He tried to kill me, too."
"Would you be able to recognize him if you saw him again?"
"Of course, I would. It was my husband, Edwin Fortescue, the Marquess of Essex."
Because British nobility was involved, Scotland Yard conducted a thorough investigation into the case. Edwin could not be found, so there was no arrest or trial. However, there was little doubt of the marquess' guilt. Most people thought the worst: his lordship had been having an affair with the pretty nanny, an adulterous relationship that led to murder. It was further assumed that after the heinous deed he fled to the continent where he was living under a false identity. In the decades to come, despite frequent reported sightings of the murderous aristocrat, his whereabouts remained a mystery.
That is, it was a mystery to everyone except Lady Millvina Fortescue.
* * *
On the evening of November 4, Hope and Colton Fortescue, Edwin's two children, unwilling to go to bed, plied their mother with questions about the following day's festivities.
"Who was Guy Fawkes?" Hope asked. "And why does he have a day named after him?"
"He was a man who tried to blow up Parliament," Millvina replied.
"With fireworks?" her brother, the younger child, inquired.
"No, with dynamite."
"Then why ...?"
"That will be enough questions for one night," their mother insisted. "I know you're excited about your first Bonfire Night, but you must get your rest. You don't want to stay up all night and then be so tired that you fall asleep early tomorrow and miss all the excitement."
The thought of a premature end to their Guy Fawkes Day celebration did the trick. The children obediently went upstairs and prepared for bed.
An hour later, with the children and their new nanny sound asleep, Millvina poured herself a glass of wine and sat beside the fire, her eyes closed in contentment. Hers was a life of comfort and luxury. How different it was from her unhappy childhood when she was forced to live in a squalid East End flat with her drunken mother.
The footsteps were so soft that most people would never have heard them. Millvina, however, was not like most people. She had the keen instincts and senses of a witch. Her eyes opened to see her husband standing above her.
"You thought I'd left for good, didn't you?" Edwin asked when he saw the startled expression on her face.
"You should have. Scotland Yard is looking for you. If they find you, you'll hang for murder."
"I wouldn't mind hanging, as long as it's for murdering the right victim," he said, his hands reaching out for his wife's neck. "Poor Miss Bradbury, I never meant to harm her. When I saw her in the dark kitchen, I thought it was you."
Although Millvina never laid a hand on him, a sudden, excruciating pain immobilized her husband.
"You fool!" she said with contempt. "Did you think you could kill me, too?"
"Witch!" he uttered through his clenched teeth. "You tricked me into marrying you."
"We were happy enough until Marley Grantham turned you against me."
"That's because I was living under the spell you cast upon me."
"I feel sorry for you, Edwin. Believe it or not, I actually came to care about you. I was willing to let you live despite your previous attempt to kill me."
"I don't want your pity—or your love."
"Good, because I have no intention of letting you get away with it this time."
Millvina stood and took down the couple's wedding photograph from off the fireplace mantel. She removed it from its frame, tore it in half and tossed the half with Edwin's likeness on it into the fire.
* * *
The following evening, November 5, London was alive with revelers as bonfires burned brightly in the streets. Celebrants hidden behind the evil visage of Guy Fawkes masks wheeled carts containing effigies of the Gunpowder Plot conspirator.
One figure whose features were concealed behind a mask of the smiling, mustached and bearded traitor, accompanied two children to the bonfire. The squeaking of the barrow's wheels was barely heard over the youngsters' cries of "A penny for the Guy!"
Amidst the laughter, the singing and other sounds of merriment, the spectators cried, "Remember, remember, the Fifth of November," as each effigy was thrown into the flames.
As the two children clapped their hands in anticipation, their masked mother lifted her effigy out of the wheel barrow. With the superhuman strength of a witch, Millvina threw her own life-size figure of Guy Fawkes—the body of her husband, Lord Edwin Fortescue, the Marquess of Essex—into the bonfire.
To the children's delight, brilliantly colored fireworks filled the London sky as the fires crackled on the ground. Once the pyrotechnic display was over, the two young Fortescues climbed into the cart and their mother wheeled them home. Only after she entered the front door of her house, did Millvina remove her mask, revealing a smile more malevolent than the one painted on her Guy Fawkes façade.
The crime in this tale is inspired by that of Lord Lucan who disappeared after allegedly murdering his son's nanny.
Salem went to a Guy Fawkes Day bonfire. Rather than burn an effigy, he toasted Nathan's hot dogs over the fire!
