The Dread Penny Society, page 1
Other Proper Romances
by Sarah M. Eden
Ashes on the Moor
Hope Springs
Longing for Home
Longing for Home, vol. 2: Hope Springs
Savage Wells
The Sheriffs of Savage Wells
Healing Hearts
Wyoming Wild
The Dread Penny Society
The Lady and the Highwayman
The Gentleman and the Thief
The Merchant and the Rogue
The Bachelor and the Bride
The Queen and the Knave
Cover art: © Extezy/Getty Images;
MagicPics/Shutterstock.com
Book design: © Shadow Mountain
Art direction: Richard Erickson
Design: Heather G. Ward
Illustration on page 390 © 2023 Katherine Eden
© 2023 Sarah M. Eden
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the publisher, Shadow Mountain Publishing®, at permissions@shadowmountain.com. The views expressed herein are the responsibility of the author and do not necessarily represent the position of Shadow Mountain Publishing.
This is a work of fiction. Characters and events in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are represented fictitiously.
Proper Romance is a registered trademark.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Eden, Sarah M., author. | Eden, Sarah M. Dread Penny Society.
Title: The Dread Penny Society: the complete penny dreadful collection / Sarah M. Eden.
Other titles: Proper romance.
Description: Salt Lake City: Shadow Mountain Publishing, [2023] | Series: Proper romance | Summary: “The complete collection of penny dreadfuls from Sarah M. Eden’s Dread Penny Society series. Also includes three new stories”—Provided by publisher.
Identifiers: LCCN 2023006846 | ISBN 9781639931545 (hardback) | eISBN 9781649331922 (eBook)
Subjects: BISAC: FICTION / Romance / Historical / Victorian | FICTION / Romance / Clean & Wholesome | LCGFT: Romance fiction. | Novels.
Classification: LCC PS3605. D45365 D74 2023 | DDC 813/.6—dc23/eng/20230313
LC record available at https: //lccn.loc.gov/2023006846
Printed in China
RR Donnelley, Dongguan, China
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
To the nineteenth-century writers who pioneered, perpetuated, and perfected the penny dreadful, bringing immeasurable delight to generations of readers
Contents
Introduction
The Lady and the Highwayman
The Vampire’s Tower
The Gentleman and the Thief
Higglebottom’s School for the Dead
The Merchant and the Rogue
The Dead Zoo
The Bachelor and the Bride
Bodies of Light
The Queen and the Knave
Posie and Pru
The Governess and the Fugitive
On a Sea of Glass
Terminus
About the Author
The Dread Penny Society
Introduction
by Sarah M. Eden
The nineteenth century brought unprecedentedly high literacy rates to London. For the first time, working-class individuals, and even some amongst the poorest of people, could read. Changes in paper manufacturing and printing brought down the cost of publishing broadsheets. In the wake of these changes, a group of enterprising publishers and authors took a chance on stories written and priced for readers who did not belong to the wealthy and privileged class.
Thus, the penny dreadful was born.
Since I learned about this facet of literary history, I have been utterly fascinated. Who were the authors who took up these tales? Where did they find their ideas? Were they celebrities in their day? Did they write for the poor and the laborers because they cared about this often-overlooked group of people, or perhaps because they were part of that overlooked group themselves?
Thus, the “The Dread Penny Society” was born.
Creating and writing about a fictional group of penny dreadful authors has been even more gratifying than I could have predicted. And to try my hand at writing penny dreadfuls fulfilled a dream I didn’t even know I had.
Each story was written in the style and voice of the character who is credited as its author, with nods to the vocabulary and story structure that epitomized the literature of the time. I would often find myself rethinking and reworking a story because I realized I was telling it the way I would, rather than the way its “author” would. Never have I found myself so closely following the well-known writing advice of putting myself in my character’s shoes. I learned a lot and grew a lot as a writer, and I had a tremendous amount of fun doing it.
The penny dreadfuls interspersed throughout the five volumes of the Dread Penny Society series were broken up, the installments spread throughout the novel in which it appeared. In this collection, each of those penny dreadfuls is presented unbroken and whole for the first time, along with three new stories written specifically for this edition.
Just like the original serial stories, some of these are adventures, others are stories of crime and justice, some have a touch of the supernatural, and some end “happily ever after.” The nineteenth-century stories were varied, and so are the stories in this collection.
I hope you enjoy this taste of the literature of Victorian-era London. Happy reading!
Installment I
in which our admirable Heroine finds herself at the Mercy of a dastardly Highwayman!
On a dark, windy night, hours after the sun had slipped below the horizon, its warmth little but a memory to the poor souls left to brave the thick chill left in the air by that amber orb’s departure, an ancient traveling carriage, its ill-kept wheels screeching with every revolution, flew at tremendous speed down a road most people avoided toward an estate no one had lived in for decades. Inside the dilapidated vehicle, Lucinda Ledford sat with clasped hands pressed to her breaking heart.
She had long since resigned herself to this fate. All her life, she’d known that, upon her parents’ deaths, she would be sent to live on this obscure family holding, far from every person or place she had ever known, alone, grieving. As she moved ever closer to her unavoidable future, the prospect weighed ever more heavily upon her.
“Oh, that Providence would choose to smile upon me!” whispered she, expecting no answer beyond the forlorn howl of the unfeeling wind. “I, who have been the recipient of nothing but Her cruel frowns!”
No matter that she was no longer a child, she was now an orphan, relegated to the loneliest corner of the kingdom, without a soul to care what became of her.
She sighed, blinking back the tears taking up residence in her eyes. How very unkind Life had chosen to be.
A voice carried on the ceaseless wind, its words indistinguishable. Hands still clasped over her breast, she listened, straining to hear this unexpected evidence that another human life existed in this abandoned corner of the world.
The carriage shook to a stop. Had they arrived so soon, so quickly? Perhaps her unasked-for new home was not so isolated as she’d feared. Oh, hope! Oh, blessed fortune!
The tension lessened in her tightly woven fingers. She lowered her clasped hands to her lap, the smallest whispers of cheer restored to her aching soul.
Outside in the darkness that same voice called again, this time discernible, clear, and sharp. “Stand and deliver!”
Those three words struck cold fear into every knowing heart. To hear them shouted on a lonely and isolated road could mean but one thing: the travelers were soon to find themselves dependent upon the questionable mercy of a ruthless highwayman.
“Oh, dear departed Father,” she whispered. “How I need you here with me.”
His absence—his permanent absence—was the very reason she was on this dangerous road bound for a home she knew not. Her only hope lay in the knowledge that the would-be thief of the night would discover his prey had nothing of value with which he could abscond. His nefarious efforts would be thwarted by her poverty.
She closed her eyes and forced a slow breath as she counted deliberately. The driver could surely make this highwayman aware of her state before she reached the number ten. Surely.
Her fortune ran short before she’d whispered, “Six.” The handle of the carriage door turned, protesting the interruption to its rest. The coachman had never, during their two-day journey, failed to knock first before opening the door. Highwaymen possessed no such commitment to civility.
Cold, biting air rushed inside. A wide silhouette filled the empty space beyond the open door.
“You’ll be stepping out, miss,” a gravelly voice declared.
A shiver of apprehension slid over her from her hair to her boots. “No, I thank you.” She kept her voice steady despite the tremor inside.
“I weren’t askin’ for your thanks. I’m requiring your cooperation.”
“You will have only the former,” she insisted.
To someone farther in the darkness, the man said, “We’ve a stubborn on e this time, cap’n.”
“You, Smythe, don’t know how to talk to ladies.” The courtliness of this new voice surprised her. Whoever the second man was, he did not seem to be the rough and uncouth villain his comrade was.
The first man stepped aside, and the shadow of a tall, lean figure assumed his place.
“M’lady,” came the graceful voice once more. “I would be most obliged if you’d step from the carriage. You’ve my word no harm will befall you.”
“Of what value is the promise of a criminal?” Fear made her bold, though her bravery was unlikely to last. If only this dastardly duo would hastily retreat before the danger of the moment overwhelmed her fragile fortitude.
An extended hand entered the carriage, lit by the dim spill of light through the opposite window. He wore no glove. No matter that he spoke with propriety, here was a reminder that he was not, in fact, a gentleman. That he currently demanded she step out into the cold night air whilst he pilfered whatever he chose from amongst her paltry belongings served as a strong indication as well.
“You’d best do as we bid, m’lady,” the man behind the hand said. “Your carriage’ll be ransacked with or without you in it.”
Alas, she hadn’t the slightest argument against that logic. Stubbornness was insupportable when it simply added to one’s suffering.
“I will alight,” she said, “but without your ungloved assistance.”
He laughed, the sound deep and rumbling and warm. Oh, the sinister pitfalls that awaited the unwary. Such a laugh might convince the ill-prepared to think well of a man with such contemptible intentions. She was not so easily deceived.
Hand pressed to her heart and head held high, she slid to the end of the bench. She set her free hand on the doorframe and took careful step. Despite her care, despite the fortitude with which she maintained her dignity, her ankle proved fickle. She stumbled.
An arm slipped about her, keeping her upright and unharmed. “Forgive my ungloved assistance,” the gallant thief said with another of his rich laughs.
Lucinda pulled free. She turned slowly, assuming her most disapproving and regal expression. No matter that she was afraid, no matter that her ankle ached, no matter that the cold of the late autumn night sent frigid shivers over her, she would prove to this vagabond that she could be strong.
Her assailant wore a broad-brimmed hat, set so low on his head as to cover all his features except his mouth. Despite herself, her heart fluttered. His smile, not subtle in the least, produced a pair of dimples one could not help but find fascinating. She would do well to focus on his dastardly undertaking lest she be fooled by him.
“Proceed with your pilfering,” she said. “Your efforts will yield you nothing beyond wasted effort and time.”
He appeared not the least admonished. “That is a risk I embrace, my lady.” He removed his caped outercoat.
She gasped, hand pressed once more to her heart. Did highwaymen regularly undress whilst undertaking their robberies? Surely not! With a flourish, he spun the coat around and rested it on her shoulders.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“Perhaps November is a warm month in the area of the kingdom you’ve called home, but in this corner, the weather is bitter.”
“I do not need your coat,” she said.
“Alas, my lady, I suspect what you mean is you don’t want it.” He turned to his shorter comrade. “Do not neglect to maintain the watch. I will search inside.”
Weapon drawn, Smythe eyed the road, the cluster of nearby trees, and Lucinda herself. As the highwayman climbed into the carriage interior, Lucinda cast her eyes, now adjusted fully to the dark of night, about the area. They were not so alone as she’d believed. Several mounted men watched the encounter, though they were just far enough away that she was afforded no more details. Despite the warmth of the highwayman’s unwanted coat, she shivered.
Oh, the cruelty of Fate to take away her home and parents only to send her to this dark and dangerous roadside. Was it not misery enough that she should be alone and in so unfamiliar a place? Must she also be thus accosted?
The highwayman emerged from the carriage, his face still hidden. “It ain’t in there,” he told his associate. “Best let the lady be on her way.”
An odd turn of events to be sure. “What isn’t in there?” Clearly, he sought something specific.
“Never you mind, miss.” He produced another of his dimpled grins.
“You have importuned me and slowed my journey,” she declared. “I will indeed mind.”
He stepped nearer her. “You are new to this area, my lady. You know not the dangers that reside here.”
“I have been made intimately aware of one local danger,” she insisted, eyeing him with pointed accusation.
Did all highwaymen laugh as often as he? She would not have assumed them a jolly sort. Neither would she have assumed this road to be a path through treacherous waters.
“I am not the danger you should fear,” he said. “On the contrary. I am all that stands between this neighborhood and a fate far worse than any of its residents comprehend.”
This was not a declaration one wished to hear upon arriving in one’s new home.
The highwayman took back his cloak and handed her up into the carriage. “You’d best not stop again until you are safely arrived at home.”
“I had not intended to stop this time,” she tossed back with greater courage than she felt.
Again, he laughed. She liked the sound, despite herself. Oh, the fickleness of a heart, finding pleasure in the warm sound of an unwanted laugh.
He slipped something into her hand, closing her fingers around it. “I found this during my ‘pilfering.’ Guard it, miss. It wouldn’t do for you to lose it.”
The door was closed. After a hard rap against the side of the carriage, the team of valiant steeds resumed their journey. Lucinda opened her fingers. A necklace lay inside, one upon which she had never before laid eyes. Had it once belonged to the distant cousin from whom she’d inherited her new home? Likely the jeweled pendant was merely paste and not an actual gem. Otherwise, the highwayman would most certainly have kept it.
She sighed, closing her hand once more. Life had too often been like this bit of worthless jewelry: the promise of something beautiful that proved nothing but an illusion. How was she to endure it?
Installment II
in which the actions of the Dastardly Highwayman are spoken of by All and Sundry!
The dreariness of Calden Manor, where Lucinda was to make her home now, could not possibly be overstated. The crumbling remains of long-abandoned wings of the once stately home sat in the shadow of imposing towers with parapets and arrow slits that spoke of violent days gone by. The corridors were long and winding, dark and foreboding. The staff numbered but two: a housekeeper nearly as ancient as the house itself, and the rheumatic coachman, who also served as gardener and butler. She had no neighbors near enough for spotting from the windows of the house, no promise of companionship, and little beyond the nightly moan of the wind to break the silence of her new residence.
Day after day, she watched the front drive in vain, longing with all the fervor of her tender heart for a neighbor to call. The local village must have included a church. Would not even the vicar welcome her? Had she been so abandoned by all in heaven and on earth?
“I should very much like to call upon my nearest neighbor,” she told the coachman after a week of loneliness. “Do any estates lie within walking distance?”
“One mustn’t walk through the forest, Miss Ledford,” he answered with trembling voice. “One mustn’t!”
That dastardly highwayman had undertaken his villainy on the road running adjacent to the nearby forest. Had the encounter left her coachman so rattled? Poor man. Poor, poor man!
“Have I no neighbors in the direction leading away from the fearful forest upon whom I might safely call?”
“One is not safe anywhere near the forest.” The coachman shook his head as he spoke.
“Am I never, then, to have the company of a neighbor or friend? Am I forever to be alone in this place?”
The question repeated in her mind as more days passed with neither sight nor sound of anyone beyond the three unhappy inhabitants of the manor. The nights stretched long against the cacophony of the howling wind and rustling leaves of the forest.
