New York City, 1912
Delilah Morgan tossed and turned in her cell in the New York women’s prison. It was hard enough to sleep in here to begin with; now with this baby almost ready to be born, it was impossible. God, she hated this baby, even though it was the only thing that was keeping her alive. The state of New York, in its wisdom, refused to kill an innocent child, so Delilah would not be hanged until after the baby was born. She could picture his face now when she had told him she was with child. That beautiful angelic smile she loved so much had turned into an evil grin. “That’s absolutely perfect, Lilah, darling.” Then he had given her the small bottle to be poured into his wife’s morning coffee. Damn him! Damn those beautiful blue eyes! Damn those soft, oh-so-talented lips and even more talented tongue! Damn those skilful hands of his that had given her so much pleasure. She turned onto her side and sobbed.
Before she had met him, she had been the parlourmaid for a wealthy family in New York. Robert, the butler, had fancied her, and they had started “walking out” together. Then the mistress had come back from her honeymoon with her British husband. One look at him, with those ice blue eyes, that sculptured nose, that beautiful hair, and she was in love. It didn’t matter to her that he was not tall. In fact, he was about the same height as she was when she was wearing low heeled shoes. Poor Robert. He could tell that she had cooled off toward him, but he didn’t know why.
One day when the mistress had gone out visiting or shopping, and Robert had been sent on an errand, he came across her dusting in the parlour. He had just stood looking at her, and then he had kissed her gently, his hand on her cheek. That was all. He didn’t say a word but left the house for his club, as wealthy gentlemen, and gentlemen who married wealth, did.
A few days later, when they happened to be alone in the house again, he had kissed her a little more intimately. His tongue had parted her lips and swirled around hers. It had left her weak in the knees. Again, after one deep look into her eyes, he left.
As the days went on, he became more bold. One day he came up behind her, kissing the back of her neck while his hands gently caressed her breasts through the fabric of her uniform. Her nipples had hardened immediately. Evidently something else had too, as she could feel it against her buttocks. But again, he turned and left the room. She stood, unable to move, until Daisy, the housekeeper, came in to tell her that it was lunchtime.
One night he had come upon her in her room. The lady’s maid was dressing his wife’s hair for a ball, and the other servants were busy in the kitchen or elsewhere in the house. He had unhooked a few of the hooks on the top of her uniform, slipped one side off her shoulder, and freed one of her breasts. First he gently fondled it, his thumb making a circle of the nipple. Then he made the same circle with his tongue. Finally, he gently sucked on it while his hand caressed her between her legs. She thought she would faint. But he kissed her gently on the mouth and left. Damn him.
All she could think about was him. She could feel his hands, his tongue, his lips all the time. She wanted him so badly. Finally he found her alone. “On your day off, come to this address.” He didn’t write it down but told her to memorize it. It had turned out to be an apartment building in a middle class section of town. There he had finally made love to her. It had been all that she had dreamed it would be. They had gone there several times, but not on every one of her days off. “You must keep walking out with Robert until I’m able to divorce my wife. I don’t want her to know about you. We must keep up this pretense for a while until we can be together.” So she did.
About a week or two before she learned she was pregnant, the mistress informed the household that she was “in the family way.” That was one of the things that had counted so heavily against her in the trial. Not only had she murdered her employer, she had murdered her unborn child as well.
The day after she had put the poison into her mistress’ coffee, Robert had shot himself in his room, leaving a note saying that he regretted helping Delilah with her plan to murder his employers (her husband had unfortunately knocked his coffee cup on the floor with the morning paper, but an analysis of the remains showed poison in his cup as well) and could not go on living with the guilt on his conscience. He regretted leaving Delilah and her child behind. But she knew better. He had murdered Robert and left the note for the police.
At the trial, he had testified that Delilah had felt this unrequited love for him and that she had often importuned him to leave his wife and run away with her. But he adored his wife and was so happy about their coming child. Tears ran down his boyish, angelic face as he testified. At the end, before he left the box, he broke down. “Why didn’t I warn poor Phyllis about you? Why didn’t I insist on finding you another situation? Then my beloved Phyllis and our child would be alive. How could you have done this, Delilah?”
The judge pounded his gavel while her attorney objected fiercely, but the damage was done. Women in the gallery were sobbing into their handkerchiefs. Her attorney did his best, but no one believed her. She was found guilty in a very short time and sentenced to death by hanging. However, sentence would not be carried out until the baby had been born.
She learned from her attorney that he had sold the house and the jewels and gone away because, as he told the press, “I cannot stand to live here with all the memories of my beloved wife and all of the dreams that we had for our future with our child.”
Damn him! Damn him! Damn him! But if I saw him today, I’d jump into bed with him in an instant.
That morning a strange man in his late 40’s or early 50’s with light hair and a face that reminded her of a frog came to her cell. “Delilah, my dear, I’m here to help you. Not only can I free you, but I can arrange a long and successful life for you. You must cooperate with me fully. Do you agree?” She nodded. “Then sign here.” He produced a document. Pricking her finger, he dipped the point of the pen in her blood. She took the pen and signed. What have I got to lose, she thought. He put the document into the doctor’s bag he carried and gave her a small bottle to drink. About a minute later, she felt violent contractions starting.
Her visitor called for the guard. “Hurry, she’s in labour. I must get her to hospital now.” He picked her up in his arms and carried her to a waiting ambulance. The guard insisted on accompanying them, as was his duty. The ambulance was driven to a mansion on the outside of town. He carried her inside, the guard following.
As Delilah lay on her bed in the center of a large, strangely decorated room, her “doctor” led a group of people and strange creatures marching and chanting in a circle around her bed. She moaned and cried out in pain, but nobody did anything to help her until it was obvious that the birth was about to happen. Then a man guided the baby out of her body. She could see that it was a boy with dark hair. The man took the baby away and laid it on an altar. Then her visitor slashed the child’s throat and poured its blood into a chalice. “This child’s years will be added to mine.”
“This child’s years will be added to yours,” everyone chanted.
He carried the chalice over to Lilah and marked her forehead with the blood. “This child’s years will be added to hers.”
“This child’s years will be added to hers.” He raised her head and made her drink. She took a sip and gagged.
“Drink a little more, my dear, but leave some for me.” He took the chalice and drained it. “Now rest.”
The guard been dispatched by several of the demons, and his body was dumped in an alley near a hospital in the city. Delilah rested and was given medication to ease her pain and to dry up her breasts. Her benefactor came to her the next day with flowers.
“Will I ever see him again? I want my revenge on him. He used me, murdered his wife. . .”
He broke in, “Actually, my dear, you murdered his wife. He just provided the poison. And he murdered the butler. You are as guilty as he is. But you’re safe now, and I have big plans for you. And for him, too, but not just yet. We’ll come across him later.”
“I hate Edward.”
“But you still want him, don’t you?” She nodded. “By the way, Edward Lindsey is not his real name, and he’s not 25 years old either. He’s over 70.”
“How did that happen? It’s not just his face. His whole body is young.”
“I’m not going to tell you. Suffice it to say, I knew him then. In fact, I’m the one who originally brought out the devil in him. My real name is Lord Henry Manners Wotton, and his, the first of several so far, including Jack the Ripper and MacHeath, is Dorian Gray.”