Scarlet Shadows

by Elizabeth Darrell

  He silenced her cries with his mouth, he suppressed her struggles with his strength, he forced her to accept the passion he could hold back no longer. Victoria was conscious only of blackness, fear and utter humiliation. The nightgown had gone completely, leaving her shamefully uncovered. Her head was spinning from the shock of feeling his hands exploring her body. Her heart was full of the horror of his inexplicable madness.

  Just as she felt it was impossible to stand any more, her body was subjected to a tearing pain that surpassed any she had ever known, and Charles gave a sharp cry that matched her own. In the minutes that followed, her feverish brain could think only of getting away from the torment he inflicted on her, wondering wildly where she could hide so that he would not find her again. Where she could hide so that no one would ever find her again. Where she could hide that would cover up her humiliation.

  Gradually Charles relaxed his hold on her and rolled away, so that she was free except for an arm covered with thick hair that lay across her breast and made her skin creep. For a short while she lay hardly daring to breathe, then, when he appeared to be sleeping, edged from the bed and seized up the counterpane to cover her burning body. She had reached the center of the room when Charles said thickly, “Where are you going, Victoria?”

  Unable to move or speak, she remained where she was, clutching the brocade cover and shivering from head to foot. She heard the rustle of bedclothes as he got up.

  “You cannot go anywhere wrapped in a bed cover, my dearest,” said the hateful silken voice. “Besides, you look far more beautiful unadorned. Come here to me. Our wedding night is yet only half over.”

  She was vaguely aware of his unclothed body in the candlelight as he came toward her before she surrendered to the oblivion of darkness and slipped to the floor.

  *

  The Stanfords returned to Brighton on a gusty April day that sent the sea crashing over the promenade in white-edged rolls of gray-green water. The house Charles had rented in Brunswick Square was eminently suited to a man of his standing, its elegant interior lending itself to entertainment on a select but generous scale and the stables big enough for the new residents by dint of the fact that three of the major’s horses were kept at barracks. Renata, the black mare Victoria had found waiting for her at Brennen Lodge as a wedding present, was stabled at the house with the charger, Caliban.

  Delightful though the house was, Victoria was imprisoned in it for a week after their arrival, as the dreadful weather continued to rage. The bride would normally have received callers as soon as she took up residence, but, although Colonel Rayne and Lieutenant-Colonel Hallett, the second-in-command, braved the elements out of courtesy, the fainter-hearted females would not put the toe of a satin slipper outside the front door when the elements were all trying to outdo each other.

  Victoria welcomed their absence. She did not wish for company. An attack of influenza in the Castledon household mercifully relieved her of the obligation to drive out there, so she spent each day in the blessed interior of her own house with Glencoe as her one source of comfort. She felt ill and exhausted, desiring only to curl up with the puppy on her lap until the click of the door told her Charles had returned and she must begin the duties of marriage once more. During that time in Brennen Lodge she had considered each day as it came; now she was in Brighton she forced herself to face the prospect of an entire week. Later, it might be possible to think about a whole month.

  Her belief that Charles had been attacked by a vicious form of madness on their wedding night proved wrong. When she recovered to find herself back in the double bed, he had explained that a woman’s first experience of her husband was sometimes a little painful, but it was never so again. He had then repeated the entire terrible ritual. By morning she had been made to understand that one of the duties of a wife was to give her husband the pleasure he demanded; if she was to bear him a son it was necessary to consummate the marriage.

  As time went by, the mirror showed a pale gaunt face and lifeless eyes. Charles’s confident expectation that she would find ecstasy in the nightly union of their bodies planted another fear into a mind already fermenting with confused thought. Could she be suffering from some abnormality that made her different from others? Was she a failure as a wife? Would Charles be forced to abandon her for another? Would she be branded in the eyes of the world as one of those unfortunate creatures to be found behind barred windows in gray fortresses?

  Desperate though this idea might be, it was impossible to banish the fear she now had of her husband. Since they had been in their new home, however, she had tried to appear bright in his company and to endure his attentions without tears or struggles. As she watched the wind swirling the smoke from chimneys and the rain chasing across her windows, she hugged Glencoe and allowed herself to contemplate the coming seven days as another milestone to be passed.

  On the eighth day the sun came out with springtime surprise, and the wind died away to leave the seaside town sparkling like the blue English Channel. Victoria waited for Charles to leave, then went to her room for a shawl.

  “Rosie, we shall take Glencoe for a short walk,” she said. “This sunshine is not to be resisted.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” replied the maid, glad of a chance to go out. A month at Brennan Lodge and a week in the continued gloom here at Brighton had lowered her own spirits. Looking after a bride was not the joyful task she had anticipated. Mrs. Stanford was no longer the laughing girl she had been at Wychbourne, and the major appeared remarkably short-tempered these days.

  They set out, with Glencoe trotting happily between them, but Victoria insisted on turning away from the popular walking places and following a road that led away from the sea.

  “Ma’am, suppose we get lost?” wailed Rosie, disappointed at not seeing the promenade.

  “We shall inquire our direction” was the lifeless reply. “I do not wish to meet all the world and his wife. We shall pursue this pathway to its end, then see where we shall go.” They walked for ten minutes, smiling at gentlemen who raised their hats and nodding their bonnets to the ladies who cared to notice them. The area they entered was genteel but not the hub of society smartness that Brunswick Square represented. The houses were very pretty, however, and Victoria occupied herself by noting the gay colors of the front doors. Here was a blue one, there a green. The road bent in a curve and they followed it with interest.

  A few yards ahead, Victoria saw a military man descending the steps of a house with a gay yellow door. His uniform proclaimed him as an officer of Charles’s regiment, and she slowed her steps. She did not wish to encounter anyone she knew. He reached the pavement and turned to wave gaily to someone at the window before starting to untie his horse. Then something made him look up, and she caught her breath.

  “Victoria!” He said her name in an incredulous voice, half beneath his breath, and hurried forward, his horse forgotten. “My God, whatever is wrong?”

  She was completely overcome. Her legs began to crumple beneath her. Longing to turn and run, she could only remain where she was as he came up to her and put an arm around her waist as support.

  “You are ill. How fortunate that I am here. Come inside to my friends where you can rest and recover.” Over her shoulder he told the maid with sharp authority, “Take the dog back. I will escort Mrs. Stanford to her home when she has recovered.” He bent his head to the wilting girl, finding it difficult to control the steadiness of his voice. “Can you manage to climb these few steps?”

  She nodded, feeling her eyes fill with tears. Why, oh why had she not walked in any direction but this one? She had known it would be painful each time they met, but this was her final humiliation. What would he think to see her looking so pale and lifeless? Where had all her courage gone that she should collapse at the sight of him? He was a man and would guess what ailed her. In that moment she wished the earth would swallow her up.

  Letty opened the door herself and Hugo led Victoria through to the parlor, kno
wing if he ceased to support her she would fall. He settled her in a chair before the fire. Letty offered a vinaigrette, but Hugo from his squatting position said, “I think a noggin of brandy would be more useful, Jack. She is about to pass out.”

  The fiery liquid was poured, and he urged her to drink it, his hand over hers on the glass. Several sips passed her lips at his persuasion, but as his eyes dwelt on her face the fury inside him mounted to explosive proportions.

  “Should I fetch a doctor?” asked Jack in some anxiety.

  “No, I think not,” Hugo replied. He could guess only too well what had brought about such a drastic change in this young girl and was filled with throbbing, blood-red impotent pain. Charles had always been inflexible. His understanding of sensitive creatures was limited to the “whip and spur” method of persuasion. A child of not yet eighteen would not have the sophistication his brother was used to expect in his women, but, dear God, whatever had he done to reduce her to a state of near collapse?

  Letty brought a rug to wrap around the shivering girl, and when Hugo took it with a quick upward glance at her, she saw in his face the answer to something that had puzzled her for three months. It shocked her — not because a man should be in love with his brother’s wife but because of the magnitude of that love. Jack adored her, but he had never been driven to such desperate emotion, because everything had happily conspired to bring them together.

  She put her hand on Hugo’s shoulder. “Let me attend her. Another woman is a greater comfort at such a time.”

  He nodded and stood up. “Victoria, may I introduce Mrs. Letty Markham? I think you have already met her husband. He is with the regiment.” He turned to Letty. “Victoria is my brother’s wife.”

  She knelt down beside the chair. “Please drink a little more brandy, Mrs. Stanford. It is doing you so much good.”

  Jack offered Hugo a draught of spirits. “How fortunate that you were there as she passed, old fellow. Shall I send a servant for the major?”

  “No” was the lightning answer. “No…need to alarm him. When she has recovered I shall escort her to her house.” He tossed back the drink in one movement.

  Jack looked past his friend to where his wife was persuading Victoria to sit up to gain full benefit from the fire. “She does look dashed ill, Hugo. Are you certain we should not call a doctor?”

  “For God’s sake, Jack, leave it alone!” flared Hugo. “I have already stated that I shall cope with it in the best way.”

  Jack looked considerably surprised. “Sorry. I was only trying to be helpful.”

  Within a short time Victoria was composed enough to apologize for putting them all to so much trouble.

  “Not at all, ma’am,” Jack assured her. “We are only thankful you were near friends when faintness overcame you. Hugo could not have paid us a visit at a more opportune time.”

  “We have met before, Mr. Markham — last summer at the military review on the Downs. You spoke of Hugo with great enthusiasm, I remember. You also had a very beautiful chestnut mare that I much admired.”

  He smiled. “I still have her. If you intend attending the cavalry races next week you will see her in action…and if the results show the usual winner I shall not be speaking of Hugo with enthusiasm.”

  Letty took the empty glass from Victoria and sat on the fender seat beside her. “Gentlemen are so loyal to each other, are they not? Jack and Hugo vie constantly for racing honors and Hugo invariably wins, yet if they were two women one would not now be speaking to the other out of pique.”

  Victoria looked at the pretty brown-haired girl in surprise. “I never thought I’d hear another woman make such a remark, Mrs. Markham. It is so true, of course.”

  “And thankfully so,” declared Jack with a wicked grin. “If ladies were not forever falling out with each other they would not turn to us for consolation.”

  “Would they not?” asked Letty with suspicion. “How many ladies have you consoled recently?”

  He held up a protesting hand. “None, my dear…but did I not discover Hugo patting your hand in commiseration last week because you had broken the glass epergne?”

  “No. He was patting my hand in commiseration because you had not bought me another,” she told him cheekily.

  “So much for that loyalty of which you spoke,” declared Jack. “He did not offer to make you a gift of one, although I am completely out of funds.”

  “For the simple reason that I am also out of funds.” Hugo realized his friends were allowing Victoria to relax while the attention was taken from her, and he could have kissed Letty for her shrewdness. He went on. “What I win at the races next week will go a long way toward improving the state of my finances.”

  “Mrs. Stanford,” complained Jack, “are you certain I spoke of him with great enthusiasm?”

  She managed a faint smile. “Quite sure. Perhaps you were in better funds when he was away in Vienna.”

  “I certainly was,” said Hugo. “The Austrians are very hospitable. Their cavalry regiments are full of princes and counts who do nothing by halves.”

  “I should hope not, old fellow. It is of no use half killing an enemy.”

  “Or half winning a race, as you are bound to do next week,” countered Hugo.

  “Gentlemen, please,” implored Letty. “Mrs. Stanford will be reporting to her husband that there is dissension among the junior officers. Neither of you can afford to displease the colonel any further.”

  Hugo smiled at Victoria, but there was an element of darkness in it.

  “It is not the colonel we have to please. Victoria is to become the patroness of the regiment when she is Lady Blythe. It is to her we must cast our eyes for approval.”

  A tiny hint of color crept into the girl’s cheeks at the reference to something so personal between them. “I see now, sir, why you are being so solicitous today,” she managed to reply. “It is all for your own advantage.”

  Jack laughed and clapped his friend on the back. “It is the first train back to Vienna for you, my friend. You are found out!”

  Letty had just had another shock. Victoria Stanford was as desperately in love with her brother-in-law as he was with her. What a terrible predicament to be in! Her soft heart ached for them. Was the major aware of the situation? she wondered. No wonder Hugo had left Wychbourne with such haste!

  They chatted for ten more minutes before Letty suggested Victoria might like to retire to the bedroom to tidy herself before returning. Victoria liked this girl very much indeed. She made no gushing apologies for the smallness of her house because she was in no way ashamed of it. There was something of Aunt Sophy’s honesty about Letty Markham that appealed to Victoria. There was also an enviable relationship between the Markhams and Hugo that reminded her of how she had been all last summer with the love of her family and young men like Harry Edmunds to provide laughter and youthful freedom of spirits. The pomp and dignity of Wychbourne had been unknown then…and so had Charles’s brand of love.

  Jack insisted on Hugo taking Victoria home in their gig, and when they took their leave the grateful girl thanked them and begged Letty to call on her.

  “I should be very pleased to do so,” replied Letty politely.

  “Soon, I hope?”

  Letty gave Jack a quick glance. The wife of an impoverished lieutenant did not make casual social calls on the major’s lady, especially when the major was next in line for a title. But Jack gave a barely perceptible nod, and Hugo encouraged her by adding, “Since you are both so well attuned over your opinions of ladies who constantly fall out through the pique, I challenge you to prove you are exceptions.”

  Letty laughed. “The challenge is accepted. May I call on Tuesday, Mrs. Stanford?”

  Victoria nodded. “I shall look forward to your company. And if we should fall out at any time, I vow I shall not let either of these gentlemen know of it.”

  The relaxed atmosphere vanished the minute they set off in the gig, each being too aware of the other in t
he confines of the small carriage. They traveled for some minutes in silence until Hugo said, “I regret not having called on you since your return. Duty has kept me over occupied this week.”

  She dared not look at him. “I understand. I…I must apologize for…”

  “No, Victoria,” he said swiftly. “Never apologize for anything to me. There is no need.”

  Concentration was needed to negotiate a bend until the horse was trotting along to Brunswick Square on high-stepping hooves.

  “I am glad you asked Letty Markham to call on you. She is a very worthwhile person who has been a good friend to me — they both have.” He glanced quickly at the pale profile beneath the bonnet, and his anger flared anew. “I think you need a friend, Victoria, and Letty will answer the need.” God knows it cannot be me, he added silently.

  Chapter Six

  Charles Stanford sat through the court-martial hardly listening to the evidence given in military staccatos. It was only too obvious the trooper was guilty; the trial was a formality. The fellow was a drunken insubordinate bastard at the best of times, and Charles was quite ready to give him the maximum penalty of fifty lashes. Such summary judgment was easy; the case of his wife was less easy to dismiss.

  Victoria was tormenting him by day and night. At thirty-eight he had had vast experience with women, yet where his wife was concerned nothing went according to plan. The junior officers had probably raised their eyebrows and muttered about buying a child bride with a title, but Victoria had so captivated him with her fresh beauty and innocent brand of frankness he would have used anything to win her. That very youth still subjugated him, despite everything.

  After five and a half weeks she had still not learned to surrender willingly, but the very uniqueness of her reaction only made her even more exciting to him. He was used to courtesans who would oblige a man in any way he wished; Victoria’s opposition heightened his pleasure, much as he tried not to admit it. On their wedding night, her absurdly martyred offer to let him see her ankles so affected him it halved his age and doubled his virility, and the impetus had not slackened since. His brief determination to break her vanished beneath the revelation he was still loath to acknowledge — that taking her against her will was the most exciting sexual experience he had ever had.