Free Edgar Allan Poe and the London Monster by Karen Lee Street

high as I could and running to catch it, I noticed a small child approach my Auntie and tug at her dress. This I found impertinent and was shocked when my Aunt gave the child a bag of chestnuts. But before I could voice my childish rage, the very ground disappeared from under my feet, and I found myself being conveyed at speed through the park, clutched by some stranger whose face I could not see. A dirty rag was stuffed into my mouth, cutting short my yells of anger and terror. I could see little but the ground bouncing beneath my abductor’s feet, which were encased in broken-down boots made from grubby, brown leather—men’s boots, but worn by a woman with legs like a plough-horse. The reek of her much-patched dress wassimilarly equine, months of sweat woven into the fabric and arising from its threads like fumes of manure on a hot day. She wheezed with the effort of carrying me, and as the shock began to subside, I struggled in her inordinately strong arms.
    â€œHold still, you brat,” she commanded, but I kicked and thrashed like a caught fish until at last we both went tumbling to the ground. I scrambled to my feet and wrenched the filthy kerchief from my mouth as I ran back to Nancy, who threw her arms around me.
    â€œCatch her!” Nancy shrieked as the beggar woman and the child ran for the gate. “Catch her!” But the beggar woman and the child eluded capture. I clung to Nancy, unnerved by my experience. She had lost all color, and I could feel her quivering. “You must not tell your parents of this,” my Auntie said. “Your Ma will be dreadfully upset.”
    However, once home my fear dissipated, and I could not help but brag of my bold behavior in staving off my abductor. My tale did not have quite the effect I intended. My Ma fell into a faint and my Auntie immediately burst into tears.
    â€œIt was that beggar woman who has been sitting outside our doorway all the week,” Nancy sobbed.
    â€œAnd outside my school since before Christmas,” I added.
    Silence took hold of the three of them as they stared at me.
    â€œYour school? Are you quite sure?” Pa asked sternly.
    I nodded. “She is there most every day, selling flowers.”
    My Ma started her weeping again, and I was very quickly sorry that I had not listened to my Aunt.
    â€œTo your room, Eddy,” my Pa commanded.
    â€œBut Pa, it is not my fault.”
    â€œNow,” he answered.
    After a day or two of much hushed discussion and tearful interludes, it was decided that I would go to a new boarding school in the countryside immediately after the holidays.
    â€œYou will be safe from the rabble there,” my Ma whispered before kissing my forehead. “I could not bear for any harm to come to you, darling.”
    â€œNor I you,” I whispered.
    And so I was sent away from my dear Ma to keep me safe from all the wretched flower sellers of London town.
    The Cooper’s Arms
Rose Street, Covent Garden
12 April 1784
    My Rose, my Daisy, my Columbine,
    Every flower makes me think of you. I would give you scented violets and pansies to secure your thoughts. I should send you rosemary for remembrance. Pray, love! Have you forgotten me? I wear my heart upon my sleeve for daws to peck at, but have had no word from you since Thursday. Am I but a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more? Have your affections flitted elsewhere?
    A pair of star cross’d lovers we may be when under your father’s hand. Saturday is the day to make our own fate. Come away with me—to liberty and not to banishment. Your father will forgive you when you return a wife. What father can ever refuse the truest desires of his only daughter?
    I await your letter and kisses,
    Henry
    20 Upper Brook Street, Mayfair
13 April 1784
    Henry, my darling,
    Do you think me so inconstant that I would forget you? My heart is yours only, but think not of Juliet orDesdemona or