Free Tilly True by Dilly Court Page A

groaned in protest and for a moment Tilly felt as though her neck had snapped. She lay for a moment, dazed and in pain, watching helplessly as Bert came towards the bed. This was it, she thought, there was no hope of escape now.
    Lunging forward, Bert tugged at her blouse and the buttons flew off in all directions. Tilly tried desperately to fend him off, but Bert’s face was set in a mask of desire as he ripped her skirt, exposing her bare legs. Instinctively, Tilly wrapped her arms across her chest and brought her knees up to protect her body but, instead of throwing himself upon her, Bert stood looking down at her, swaying on his feet and frowning.
    Lurching away towards the tallboy, he began pulling out the drawers and tossing garments onto the floor. With a satisfied grunt, he seemed to find what he was looking for and tossed a pile of clothes at Tilly.
    â€˜Here, put these on. Let’s see what you look like dressed up proper.’
    His large body was between her and the door and Tilly abandoned her first impulse to make a run for safety. Luckily the key was still lodged between her breasts, but the look on Bert’s face made his intentions all too clear.
    â€˜Put them on, or do I have to dress you meself?’ Bert’s frown turned into a scowl and he took a step towards her.
    Knowing better than to argue with a drunken man, Tilly slid off the bed and, stepping into a flounced petticoat, she slipped a faded print frock over her head.
    â€˜Here, I’ll do that,’ Bert said, as she struggled with the buttons at the back of the bodice. ‘This was her Sunday best. I kept it all these years.’ Having done up the last button, he took a step backwards. ‘Let’s look at you.’
    With her mind racing, Tilly turned to face him and was shocked to see tears well up in his eyes as he looked her up and down.
    â€˜Walk about a bit.’ Bert sank down on the bed, watching her.
    Humouring him, Tilly paced the floor. Stopping in front of the washstand she glanced up at the picture of the sad-faced young woman.
    Bert mopped his eyes with the bed sheet and heaved a sentimental sigh. ‘You could almost be her, if your hair was flaxen like little Emmie’s. She were a looker, my Mary, she were a real good-looker.’
    Leaning against the washstand, Tilly lifted her foot beneath the voluminous skirt that twenty or so years ago would have been worn over a crinoline, and slipped her fingers into her boot, feeling for the scissors. Bert was obviously getting to the maudlin stage of drunkenness, but if she offered any resistance he would undoubtedly turn to violence. He was smiling at her now, a silly drunken smile as he lay back against the pillows and unbuttoned his trousers.
    â€˜Come over here, pretty. I won’t hurt you.’
    Her fingers latched onto the cold metal of the scissors. Tilly forced her dry lips into a smile and moved slowly towards the bed.
    â€˜Come closer.’ Exposing his manhood, Bert held out his arms, grinning at her and winking. ‘Come and let old Bert make a woman of you, like I done to little Emily.’
    Tilly’s fingers curled around the scissors; hearing Emily’s name on his lecherous lips filled her with white-hot fury. How dare this disgusting old man expose himself to her and think she would walk willingly into his embrace. Trembling with fear and revulsion, she stood by the bedside, frozen into a statue.
    Bert patted the bed. ‘Sit down.’
    Perching on the edge of the bed, Tilly clutched the scissors beneath the folds of her skirt.
    â€˜Let’s see your titties,’ Bert said, licking his lips.
    Tilly didn’t move; couldn’t move. She wanted to plunge the scissors into his evil heart but it was one thing to want to kill a man and another to carry out the deed. He was fumbling with her breasts, his fingers probing her soft flesh; any moment now he would discover the key and his mood would erupt into