MY STORY AFTER TITANIC SANK
Chapter Eleven

Three weeks had passed since my miscarriage, and Cal had kept me tied to the bed every day while he was at work. He untied me when the doctor came to visit, and after I had recovered somewhat, he allowed me to participate in the social events of the upper class—so long as he was there to keep an eye on me.

He hadn’t touched me since the miscarriage, perhaps because I had been bleeding. For some reason, that seemed to put him off, though nothing else did. Whatever the reason, although he slept beside me, he made no effort to have intercourse with me. I was relieved, but I dreaded the time when he would touch me again.

One morning, as I lay tied to the bed, Trudy came in with my breakfast and an apologetic look on her face. We had discovered how Cal kept me tied down so that I couldn’t get away about a week earlier—he glued the knot so that it couldn’t be untied, and he always cut me loose when he wanted me to be able to get up and do something. Trudy had tried soaking the glue off one morning just after Cal had left, but to no avail. Luckily, the rope had dried before Cal came home, but Trudy, fearing for both of our lives, had refused to try to cut me loose herself. If she did, and Cal found out, he would see to it that she was killed—and there was no telling what he would do to me.

"What’s wrong, Trudy?" I asked as she helped me sit up and put the tray in my lap.

"Ma’am…Ellie, the cook’s assistant, is ill, so I have to go to the market for her today. I don’t want to leave you alone, but Mr. Hockley will be very upset if he doesn’t have a proper dinner waiting when he gets home, and the cook doesn’t have time to go herself."

I hated the thought of being left alone and helpless, but Trudy was right. Cal became very abusive if things weren’t just the way he wanted them, so she had to go out to the market.

"I’ll be back as soon as I can, Ma’am," she assured me. "I’ll make sure you’re comfortable before I leave. It…it isn’t likely that anything will happen while I’m gone. You’re doing much better, and of course if there’s a fire or something one of the servants will make sure you get out of the house all right."

"I’ll be fine, Trudy," I assured her, though I dreaded being left alone, tied up as I was. Cal would be furious if one of the other servants discovered how he was keeping me in line.

"Of course you will, Ma’am." Trudy fluffed my pillow and placed the chamber pot where I could reach it. "I should be back long before noon—everything should be fine until then. Now, is there anything you need before I leave?"

"Besides my freedom and a divorce, you mean? No, Trudy. Everything is fine. I have a book to read and my pillow is comfortable. You can help me bathe when I get back."

"All right." Trudy moved towards the door, ready to leave. "I’ll be back as soon as I can, Ma’am."

With that, she left.

*****

Trudy left the market, her heavy shopping bags in her arms. She was worried about Mrs. Hockley. For all that her she pretended to be all right, pretended to be getting better and learning to live with her situation, Trudy knew that she was desperate to get away, terrified of what her husband would do to her next.

She wished that she could call the police and get them to help Mrs. Hockley, but she knew that it would be pointless. What happened between a man and his wife was their business, and the police wouldn’t interfere, even if someone was being hurt. Until someone was killed, or so badly hurt that they would never be the same, the law wanted no part of a domestic dispute.

Mrs. Hockley’s comment that morning about wanting her freedom and a divorce, though lightly spoken, had indicated further to Trudy just how unhappy she was. She didn’t wonder why. No woman should be kept tied up unless she was dangerous, and certainly her mistress was not. To be sure, she liked to go out and visit her young man—Mr. Dawson—but with the way Mr. Hockley treated her, it was no wonder she wanted to be in the arms of someone who cared about her.

Trudy had met Mr. Dawson, of course, and thought he was much better for her mistress than Mr. Hockley could ever be. If only he knew about Mrs. Hockley’s predicament—he might find a way to save her.

This thought gave Trudy an idea. On those occasions that she had accompanied Mrs. Hockley on shopping trips, they had often stopped by the park so that she could see her young man. He always seemed to be there—so there was a good possibility that he would be there now.

Looking quickly at the watch pinned to her apron, Trudy turned towards the park. If Mr. Dawson was there—perhaps she could tell him what was happening to Mrs. Hockley. Mr. Hockley would kill her if he found out, but she couldn’t continue to let Mrs. Hockley suffer.

*****

Trudy stepped through the park’s gate, looking around casually. She couldn’t let her intentions be known, in case someone associated with Mr. Hockley was watching, but there was no reason why she couldn’t stop at the park, enjoy the sunshine for a few minutes and talk to other servants from the fine families of Philadelphia.

Her eyes moving around the park, Trudy stopped and bought a lemon ice from the vendor, looking to anyone who was watching as though she was taking a few minutes for a treat and a stroll in the park—lazy, perhaps, but hardly any threat to Mr. Hockley’s interests.

As she was nibbling lightly at her ice, her eyes caught sight of a young man with sandy blonde hair. He was sitting on a bench not far away, his attention focused on a toddler playing in the grass. An open sketchpad was in his lap, and as she came closer, she saw a sketch of the child on the paper, the lines slightly blurred because the little girl kept moving.

Looking around to be sure no one was watching, Trudy approached him. "Mr. Dawson?" she asked softly. When there was no response, she spoke a little louder. "Mr. Dawson?"

He turned, startled. When he saw Trudy standing behind the bench, he quickly looked around her, hoping that Rose was there, too. She gave a quick shake of her head, indicating that she was alone.

"Mr. Dawson, I…I need to speak with you for a moment."

Jack looked at her, then back at the toddler, who had found a patch of mud and was busy smearing her dress with it. Abandoning his drawing, he turned his attention to Trudy. "What is it? Where’s Rose?"

"Mr. Dawson, I…"

"Jack. Please call me Jack. You’re Trudy, right?"

"Yes…Jack. Yes, I am."

"Where’s Rose? I haven’t seen her in weeks."

Trudy bowed her head. "That’s what I needed to speak with you about."

Jack set his sketchbook aside, alert now. "What is it? What’s happened to her? Is it the baby? Or did her bastard of a husband hurt her?"

"It…it’s both. Mr. Hockley was very upset when he realized that she’d been seeing you, and…I think there was a terrible fight. He said that she was attacked by a man outside their house, but…somehow I don’t believe him. She…she lost the baby, and…and Mr. Hockley…he’s been keeping her tied to the bed when he’s at work."

"What?!" Jack looked at Trudy, his eyes filled with anger. "He’s been keeping her tied up?!"

"Yes. He told me that it’s for the good of her health, but he’s really afraid that she’ll leave him, or tell people what he’s done to her. It…would be quite scandalous, you know."

"I’m sure. Tell me, Trudy…you’re her maid, aren’t you?"

"Yes."

"Why haven’t you tried to help her?"

"I tried to get the knot in the rope undone—he glues it so that she can’t untie it—but it wouldn’t come loose, and he’s threatened to have me killed if I let her go."

"And you believe him?!"

"Mr. Hockley doesn’t make threats lightly, Jack. If he says he’s going to do something, he does it. There’s something wrong with him…he’s crazy…bad. Don’t underestimate him."

"Is she still tied up?"

"She was when I left. Mr. Dawson…Jack…you’re the only one who can get her out of there. Please…you’ve got to help her. I don’t know what Mr. Hockley is going to do to her."

"What will happen to you?"

"I’ll leave, go somewhere that he can’t find me. I’ve saved a little of my salary, so I’ll be all right."

"Where do Rose and Cal live?"

"Come with me, Jack, and I’ll show you. Mrs. Hockley will be grateful to see you, I’m sure."

Chapter Twelve
Stories