All Chapters of Painted Pearls: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

 She sipped delicately at her tea, her back straight, her hair immaculate, her winning and courteous smile false. But still, there was nothing quite as lovely as a hot cup of tea in the morning.Little joys kept Liziwe sane, and this was one such pleasure. She kept them, and counted them, and bitterly guarded them: a spoonful of honey, snuck from the scullery in the dead of night. The hot lapping tongues of water that caressed her skin as she laundered the lies clean. The secret vengeance she wreaked upon her husband in her mind, slow and convoluted, as she lay in her narrow cot of a bed. And, of course, tea. Good, brown tea, that she enjoyed with a simpering smile to disguise the fact that inside, she was screaming. In short, Liziwe Matiwane was going mad.‘‘I do hope you will excuse me, my dear; I will be out late tonight. Don’t wait up,’’ Andile beamed at her genially from across the long table, his eyes twinkling

 He glanced at her, snuffing at the cold air through his corpulent red nose. "I did," he replied matter-of-factly, fluttering the paper over his head. "What's it to you, my dear? Got a mystery that needs solving? Lost your lover, perhaps?" He leered down at her, then cupped his hand around his mouth, shouting, "Papers! Paaaapers! Get your papers here!"She tugged at his sleeve again, in a panic that throbbed desperately through her veins. "Sir, please! If you would- where can I find Mr Edward Skweyiya?"He dropped his arm then and looked directly at her, his face breaking into an incredulous smirk. Bending down to have a better look at her, he chortled; a short, breathy thing that was rank of garlic and goat meat. Barely containing her disgust, she raised her voice, asking once more, "Mr Edward Skweyiya! Where can I find Mr. Edward Skweyiya!"He straightened, and guffawed down at her, wiping a frayed coat sleeve cursorily across his n

  She could not help it; her brow furrowed, her lips parted in a chortle as she exclaimed, "Come now, Inspector, a scoundrel? I grant you, he is an arrogant man, and undoubtedly an egotist to boot, but scoundrel is hardly the word I would choose!"The inspector stood abruptly, his eyes flashing furiously down at her. "Madam, he said stiffly, the coarse hairs of his beard bristling, "I did not present myself to discuss matters that are beneath me. I came to have a look at the lady who has caused us so much anxiety this afternoon. I was led to believe that you were some lovely young thing, but I find the same could be said of any harlot that spends an evening within these walls. Now, if you would, Miss Matiwane," and he extended his hand, white and hefty and possessive of all the subtleties of a meat cleaver, "I will have the two pounds and six pence."Liziwe stared at him incredulously, impati

 He scrutinised her, taking in every curve of her form; every line, every crease, every movement. Through a dim fog of disbelief she waited, her awareness wavering on a knife's edge. He seemed to be before her, and yet, he did not seem real; a threatening mirage, a reminder that reality was only the counting of physical hurts. Did she live, did she breathe? His eyes were burning coals; bright, burning circles, burrowing into her, consuming her…"Liziwe, my dear," he said finally, as if she were a little child who had done something very naughty. "You have cost me a pretty penny, did you know? The keeping of a woman is not cheap… nor was this little jaunt of yours today, this… little adventure. Did you not think I would find you? You are mine, Liziwe; you are my wife. The sooner you understand that, the better it will be for you." His words lapped at the edge of her reason, and still she stared, h

    The afternoon light glanced down like a slice of gold through the billowing clouds, scattering through the streets of Sterling in dispersed glints and flashes. People skittered this way and that, pausing to hail a passing cab, to inspect a broken lace torn free from a shoe, or to simply stop and chew the fat with a fellow. In short, it was that time of day, after the small meal has been taken, when people seem most relaxed in their digestion and less wary of their surroundings. That is to say, it was the opportune moment for a scallywag such as our little mongrel Mylo to pinch a rogue penny from an unattended purse, or to lend a helpful ear to those whose tongues perpetually wagged. On this particular day, our lad had within his possession a commodity which he knew might spark the imagination of his occasional-master: a curious story, which he himself had witnessed first-hand. And with this choicest of morsels tucked neatly away in his shar