Nigel and his sons continued to live a life of idleness. Occasionally they would leave the thousand-acre deer park on a foraging expedition, but their days were mainly spent playing bowls, practising archery, hunting in the park and generally amusing themselves. When it rained, they retired indoors while their relatives toiled in the fields and gardens, soaked to the skin. Safe from the elements, the Chatfield brothers and their father would amuse themselves playing cards, board games and billiards under the watchful eyes of the British aristocracy, whose portraits lined the oak-panelled walls.
‘Do we really need her hanging about all the time?’ Damian asked his father one day, pointing at Mary-Claire. The men were playing billiards. The little girl was sitting cross-legged on the floor, her chin cupped in her hands, the lead from her dog collar tied to the arm of a richly upholstered seventeenth-century chair.
‘She’s our insurance policy,’ Nigel grunted.
‘She gets on my wick,’ said Greg, who, unbeknown to his brothers, had been petitioned by Theresa for the little girl’s release.
Jasper, who had been promised ‘something you’ll never forget’ by Jennifer as reward for Mary-Claire’s return, seized the moment too. ‘There’s no way Mark and his crew are coming back now. Without their Kiwi relations stirring them up, the peasants are as docile as sheep — they’re not causing any more trouble. Mary-Claire’s not contributing anything tied up like that. She should be working like the rest of them.’
‘We can continue to call her up to the table at mealtimes to taste the food,’ Damian added.
‘I’ll think about it,’ Nigel said as he lined up his next shot.
In the Great Hall that evening, as the meal was drawing to a close, Nigel rose from his seat and banged his fist on the table. The chatter died down immediately.
‘Cheryl,’ he barked. ‘Get up here.’
Wondering what she had done wrong, Cheryl rose from the table and timidly walked up to the dais where Nigel stood, towering above her.
‘You can have this lazy little bitch back,’ he said, pointing at Mary-Claire. ‘We’ve had enough of her loafing around doing nothing. But just remember, if you or anyone else steps out of line, she’ll get a good thrashing, and she’ll be back on this lead.’ He jerked Mary-Claire to her feet and then held out the lead to Cheryl, who bowed and took it.
‘Thank you, Your Lordship,’ she said, trying but failing to hold back her tears of relief. Spontaneously the rest of the community, with the exception of Diana, began to clap. Diana was dumbfounded. All Nigel had done was to right his own wrong, yet her cousins were applauding him as if he had performed an act of unrivalled generosity!
Nigel slumped back down into his seat. ‘Stop your snivelling, woman. And by the way, you’re to send her up here every mealtime. Do you understand?’
‘Certainly, Your Lordship,’ Cheryl replied as the clapping subsided.
‘Well, are you pregnant?’ Damian asked when Cheryl arrived at his quarters that evening.
‘I’m working on it,’ Cheryl said.
‘Well, you’d better succeed — otherwise I’ll talk my father into taking Mary-Claire back.’
Cheryl didn’t argue — and decided not to threaten him again with the letter. There was no point. She was, however, worried. She knew her scarred body held little attraction for Jasper and Greg. Her options were limited to her uncle Duncan and to Nigel himself. Cheryl knew the other women were visibly shaken whenever they returned from Nigel’s room, and the young twins Amy and Beatrice were completely terrified whenever Diana announced that Nigel required their services. It wasn’t much of a choice.
‘Why doesn’t Nigel ever call on Theresa?’ Duncan challenged Diana angrily when his two nieces were summoned by Nigel for the third time in a week. ‘She should take her turn.’
‘It’s not my decision, it’s Nigel’s. I don’t know why he doesn’t want her. It’s probably got something to do with Miles — she was Miles’s girl, after all.’
‘Then why doesn’t he stop her sleeping with Greg?’
‘How should I know how his warped mind works?’ Diana didn’t feel inclined to tell Duncan that she doubted Nigel knew Greg was sleeping with Theresa. ‘Anyway, I can’t stand here gossiping all day — I’ve got work to do.’ She turned and walked away, bringing the discussion to an end.
Diana did have work to do, but not sanctioned work. Once again Nigel had drunk too much wine with lunch and was sleeping it off. It was an ideal opportunity to press on with her secret project, which was becoming increasingly urgent.
She collected her feather duster and hurried along to the library to recommence the painstaking task of systematically removing each of the antique volumes from the shelves and scanning the title and contents pages. Occasionally her heart would race as an illustration or chapter heading suggested she may have found the information she needed. But then, after careful reading, her hopes would be dashed. She was already two-thirds of the way through the volumes and was beginning to despair of ever finding what she was looking for.
The chimes from the clock on Cromwell’s Tower announced that it was three in the afternoon. She had already spent too long in the library. There was work to do in the kitchen preparing for dinner, and soon Nigel would be wandering around with a sore head. He had found her in the library a couple of times already and she was afraid that he was becoming suspicious.
There were only two small books remaining on the shelf she was currently reviewing. They were too small to be likely to hold the information she required, but her barrister’s training to meticulously check every single document relating to a case forced her to look at them too.
As she opened the second book, she gasped. Her doggedness had been rewarded. Elated, she stuffed the tiny book into her tunic pocket.
Everyone noticed the change in Diana’s demeanour over the following days. There was a spring in her step and sometimes even a smile on her face. Duncan was surprised when she first offered and then insisted she spend a couple of days working in the gardens and fields. He knew that while cleaning the staterooms and preparing the meals was hard work, it was not as strenuous as the manual labour required in the fields and gardens.
‘Why are you so cheerful?’ Duncan demanded after she returned to the courtyard after her second day in the gardens.
‘Nothing in particular — just good to be out in the fresh air for a change,’ Diana replied, sniffing the bunch of flowers and herbs she was carrying.
‘Well, I’ve got some bad news for you. Nigel’s found out you’ve been working in the gardens and says you’re to be employed on domestic duties only.’
Duncan was surprised when Diana simply shrugged her shoulders, smiled and said, ‘So be it.’
As a barrister, Diana knew the benefits of keeping knowledge to herself. But she also knew knowledge was power and, try as she might, it proved impossible for her to conceal the confidence that power brought her. Before the pandemic, this type of confidence had often been interpreted as smugness by her colleagues, and had irritated the other members of her chambers. Now her smugness was irritating Nigel and his sons.
The next morning, Diana delivered breakfast to the top table as normal. Mary-Claire had been summoned to the dais and was waiting to be fed. On the one hand the little girl had to suffer the ignominy of lapping milk from a dish and eating her food without utensils, but on the other she would enjoy a better breakfast than the rest of her family received.
‘What would you like her to taste today, Your Lordship?’ Diana asked cheerfully as she removed the lids from the serving dishes.
‘Give her some milk.’
Diana poured milk into Mary-Claire’s dish and put it on the floor. The little girl started lapping at the dish as Diana collected the other dish and a fork from the edge of the table.
‘Give her some of that,’ Nigel said gruffly, pointing at the scrambled egg, ‘and one of those meat patties.’ Diana took a generous helping of scrambled egg and then speared a pa
tty with a fork and transferred it to the dish.
Damian pointed to the beans. ‘Give her some of those too.’
Diana smiled as she ladled a forkful of beans into Mary-Claire’s bowl. ‘Would you like to choose something for her, Sir Jasper?’ she asked, but he dismissed her with a wave of his hand. She placed the dish on the floor beside Mary-Claire, bowed and backed away.
‘That woman’s getting on my wick,’ Jasper said, as Diana hurried back to the kitchens.
‘Mine too,’ Damian said. ‘I reckon she’s up to something.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll soon wipe the smirk off her face,’ Nigel said as he helped himself to an enormous breakfast. He glowered down at the peasants in the Great Hall below, eating their normal weekday breakfast of porridge, bread, butter, jam, honey and fruit. Peasants didn’t need eggs and bacon, he thought. There were plenty of calories in porridge and bread, and if they were lucky he would allow them an egg as a treat on Sundays — unless of course someone upset him. Maybe he could contrive a situation where Diana committed a transgression, causing him to cancel the egg treat? That would take the smirk off her face and put her out of favour with her cousins. But no, he needed something much better to put Diana in her place.
‘Well,’ Nigel demanded, glowering across the table at his three sons later that morning, ‘am I going to be a grandfather soon or not?’ Their card game had finished. Greg, Jasper and Damian had let their father win as usual and now he was bored and seeking fresh amusement.
They all felt uneasy. They knew the pressure was on, not only to produce children, but to produce a grandson in particular. They also resented the fact that he was calling their manhood into question in front of the servants — Theresa and Susan were on their hands and knees at the other end of the gallery, polishing the floor. Their heads were down and they appeared to be intent on their work, but the young men had no doubt they were listening to Nigel’s booming voice. They also sensed that Nigel wanted the women to hear him tormenting his sons.
‘I’m pretty sure I’ve got one up the chute,’ Damian boasted.
‘Are you indeed!’ exclaimed a surprised Nigel. ‘Who, exactly?’
‘Cheryl.’
Nigel was pleased. If it wasn’t for her scars, he’d have considered Cheryl for himself. She had, after all, already produced two sons. Nigel turned to Jasper, ‘What about you? You’re not still knocking off Jennifer, are you?’
‘The last time I thought I’d fancy a bit of slap and tickle with her, she’d already been booked.’ Jasper’s words were laced with sarcasm.
Nigel decided to bluff it out. ‘Are you screwing the old bird?’ he challenged Greg.
‘No, she’s ancient.’
‘Of course he’s not screwing Jennifer,’ joked Damian, who was well aware of Greg’s infatuation with Theresa. ‘The boy’s in love.’
‘I don’t need you falling in love, I need you to spread it around. We need more babies,’ Nigel said sternly. ‘Who are you hooked up with anyway?’
Embarrassed, Greg glanced down at the floor. Then he looked down the gallery. ‘Theresa,’ he said softly.
‘What!’ Nigel exploded, jumping to his feet.
All three brothers were taken aback by their father’s reaction. They had accepted that he wanted to preserve Miles’s room as a shrine after his death, but surely he wasn’t expecting them to respect Miles’s partner, given his edict that they produce children? Nigel had shown Theresa no sympathy since his son’s death, nor had he shown any interest in the two little girls Miles had fathered.
‘Theresa, get up here,’ he bellowed. ‘And you,’ he said, pointing to Susan, ‘get the hell out of here.’ Susan scrambled to her feet as quickly as her arthritic knees would allow and hurried out of the gallery.
Theresa, terrified and trembling, hurried along the gallery towards Nigel and his sons. The three brothers, like Theresa herself, were unsure quite what she had done to incur Nigel’s wrath.
‘What are you doing sleeping with Greg?’
‘He asked for me, Your Lordship,’ she said softly, shaking with fear.
‘And did you tell him you had the clap?’
‘The what!’ she exclaimed, indignation overcoming her fear.
‘I understand you’ve got the clap.’
‘What? Who said that?’ she demanded angrily.
There was no disguising the sincerity in her voice. The truth dawned on Nigel. ‘Go to my room,’ he said, his voice low and steely. There was the look of vengeance in his eyes. Theresa started trembling again. ‘Go straight to my room. Don’t you dare talk to anyone on the way. Get undressed and into bed and wait for me there.’
Meekly, Theresa turned and made her way from the gallery through the ballroom towards Nigel’s quarters. The stories she had heard of how Nigel treated the women who had been sent to his room terrified her, compounding her misery.
‘Right,’ Nigel said, turning to his sons. ‘Go down and send that bitch Diana up to me. Don’t tell her what’s just gone on here. I’m going to teach her a lesson she’s never going to forget.’
Diana hurried up to the gallery and found Nigel sitting, drinking a glass of wine.
‘Ah, the madam of the escort agency,’ he said as she approached. ‘Thank you for coming so promptly.’ She knew immediately that trouble was brewing. Nigel never said please or thank you unless he was being sarcastic.
There was no alternative but to play along with his game. ‘Yes, Your Lordship?’
‘I fancy a bit this afternoon,’ he said suggestively.
‘Yes, Your Lordship, who would you like?’
‘Well, I rather feel like the two-in-the bed routine.’
‘I’ll arrange Amy and Beatrice, Your Lordship,’ Diana said quickly, turning to leave.
‘No, I think I want a change,’ he said, sipping at his wine. ‘Who do you recommend?’
Diana turned back to face him. ‘Virginia?’
‘No, she’s a bit ordinary.’
‘Bridget? They tell me she’s very good. She’s recovered now from the gunshot wounds.’
‘What, that baldy-head!’
‘How about Cheryl?’ Diana suggested, thinking how clever Bridget had been to keep her head shorn. ‘She may have a few scars…’
‘A few scars? She’s covered in scars!’
‘Jennifer then? You like Jennifer.’
‘She’s fat.’
‘She’s just well-covered. You’ve always liked her in the past,’ Diana said desperately, quickly adding ‘Your Lordship’ so as not to annoy him.
‘I know, but she’s getting on a bit too.’
‘She’s not that old — she’s only a couple of years younger than you.’
‘And nor are you,’ Nigel said. Diana regretted her observation immediately. He rose from his chair and walked slowly around her, sipping his wine as he eyed her up and down.
‘You know, you haven’t got a bad little arse on you for your age. Tits are a bit small. But I think you’ll do.’
‘Me!’
‘Well why not? After all, who else is there?’ He looked up at the ceiling. ‘Let me think … there’s Amy and Beatrice, Kimberley and Rebecca, Virginia, Jennifer, Bridget and Cheryl — who have I forgotten?’ He paused, waiting for her to offer another name. Diana remained silent. ‘Of course,’ he said, when she didn’t answer. ‘I’ve forgotten Theresa. But silly old me, I’d also forgotten she’s got the clap, hasn’t she? So it’ll have to be you.’
‘Just me then,’ Diana said. The knuckles of her clenched fists were white as she tried her best to appear unperturbed. Inside she was terrified, but at least she had protected Theresa once again.
‘Oh no — it can’t be just you. Like I said, I fancy a threesome this afternoon.’
‘But you’ve already ruled out everyone else.’
‘Don’t you worry your pretty little head. Your partner is already waiting. Let’s get going.’ He signalled her to walk ahead of him.
‘Who’s my partner,
then?’
He didn’t answer. ‘Get a move on,’ he snapped.
As she began the long walk, Nigel’s heavy footsteps behind her reverberating on the wooden floors, Diana was consumed by a mixture of fear and anger. Her racing mind began thinking the worst. All the names had been exhausted. Surely the beast hadn’t sunk to new depths? As she neared Nigel’s room, she heard whimpering from within that sounded like the crying of a distressed child. Surely it wasn’t Mary-Claire?
Diana and Theresa’s ordeal lasted for over an hour. Echoing down the empty corridors came the sound of crying, sobbing and screams, interrupted by Diana’s voice pleading, ‘Don’t make her do that — let me.’
13
‘Told you I’d wipe the smirk off her face,’ Nigel boasted at breakfast the following morning, as a grim-faced Diana walked away from the table after delivering the first of the serving dishes.
Damian leaned over and lifted the lid of one of the dishes. ‘Good, trout,’ he commented. ‘I think we should extend the lake, so we can have fish more often.’
‘We could dig a new lake on the flat ground beside the current lake, then break through to make one big lake,’ said Jasper.
‘Massive job,’ Greg observed, keen to be seen to be contributing to the family discussion. ‘Maybe we could find some sort of scraper and hitch up the horses to gouge the hole out.’
‘Just get the scraper,’ smiled Nigel as Diana, carrying two bowls, a fork and the remaining serving dish returned to the table. ‘They don’t need horses.’ He nodded in the direction of the refectory table, where the remainder of the community sat obediently waiting for him and his sons to commence their meal before they could start. ‘Give the lazy bastards something to do.’
Mary-Claire was sitting patiently on the floor, waiting to be fed. She’d heard the conversation about the trout and for once wished she was eating with her mother at the refectory table. She didn’t like fish, but she knew she would have to eat it or she’d get a whipping from Nigel.
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