by Kirsty Ferry
‘Genevieve! Out of that room. Now!’ he shouted. The door groaned on its hinges and her heart fluttered again. She had to go and she had to go now. She didn’t know where to, and she didn’t know for how long, but she knew she couldn’t stay locked in her room. There was only one place she could think of. She prayed that he wouldn’t have left yet.
***
Genevieve scrambled over the window ledge and stood on the tiny balcony that jutted out over the gardens. There had been a trellis there earlier in the year, but it was gone now, thanks to her brother. The old, gnarled branches of a climbing rose tree still clung onto the side of the house, thick stems of rosewood intertwining with strong, twisting ivy; she thought she might just manage it. The idea of rose thorns hooking into her flesh was preferable to what she would have to face from her brother if he caught her. She stepped over the balcony and grasped one of the ivy branches. The door to her bedroom rattled again and she heard her brother’s raised voice. Thank goodness the locks were solid. She eased the rest of her body over the balcony and somehow managed to clamber down. She jumped the last few feet, landing awkwardly, but firmly. She ran around to the stables and quickly opened the door of Star’s stall.
‘Come on, girl,’ she said and mounted the horse. She rode bareback, as Will had taught her years ago when they were children. She dug her heels into Star’s flanks and turned the horse’s head in the direction of Hartside; Will’s home.
***
Genevieve didn’t feel the cold. Star was warm beneath her and she knew the way to Hartside. Genevieve galloped across the moors, past the ruined chapel and tried to quash the thought of what had happened there in the summer. To be fair, it was more the thought of what had happened afterwards that she tried hard to forget – but that day was the one day that stood out quite clearly in her mind.
Will had met her there as usual and the chapel had been mellow in the sunlight with purple flowers trailing down the walls and green, velvety grass that seemed to wrap itself around the stones. She couldn’t recall how it had all started, or how they had suddenly decided that the time was right and they wanted to explore every inch of each other’s body. She remembered cloudless, blue sky and the scent of pollen and fresh grass. There was the nearby humming of a bee as it flitted from daisy to clover and back again and a sense of shock and realisation as her childhood playmate suddenly turned into a man and the object of her desire.
It should have been perfect. It would have been perfect, had she not discovered a few weeks later that she was carrying a child. She hadn’t been the only one who learned that. Her brother had already guessed. He was waiting for her in the hallway. He had dragged her into his study and beat her until she confessed. He had beaten the whole story out of her: the place, the time, the father... Her mother had been outside the door, shouting, what seemed like encouragement, to him. She was a bad girl, a terrible daughter, a slut. By then, the room was spinning. Genevieve collapsed onto the floor and the world turned black. She assumed that she been had taken to her room afterwards. She woke up three days later, no longer pregnant and barely able to move without pain. It was a further week before she was allowed out of her room. During that time, Joseph had the trellis removed from the wall, just in case she tried to escape or Will tried to come in. Will had stayed away of course, and Genevieve was oddly pleased about that. He, at least, was safe. She discovered later that he had gone to London until the dust settled. Her bruises were written off as a ‘riding accident’ and the incident glossed over. It was horrendous that she knew the truth and could never tell anyone. It preyed on her already fragile mind. What was worse, she wondered – a riding accident or the pregnancy of an unmarried eighteen year old member of a respectable family? There was no option; she had to let the riding accident story spread. Genevieve knew, though, that the servants had no such compunction. They loved gossip; and they knew people in other houses who also loved gossip. Miss Genevieve’s ‘riding accident’ was the talk of the county. Not once during that time did anyone ask her how she felt about it. She saw Will afterwards, eventually, at the chapel. She told him what had happened and never spoke of it again.
***
Genevieve cantered across the moors until the gates of Hartside appeared on the grey horizon. A flash of something caught her eye in a cluster of trees by Hartside. She glanced across at the woods and saw a black figure. She made a small noise in the back of her throat and dug her heels into the horse. If that was her brother, she was as good as dead.
‘Oh, thank God!’ she cried as she approached the house and saw that the gates were open. She raced through them, along the carriageway and up to the front door, pulling Star up at the steps. Dismounting, she stumbled up the steps and hammered on the door. It seemed like an age before it was answered. The door was barely ajar, and she was pushing her way through it. ‘Where’s Will? Where’s Mr Hartley?’ she shouted, running past the butler.
‘Miss de Havilland!’ cried Wheeler. ‘Mr Hartley is...’
‘He’s gone? He’s already left?’ she shouted, swinging around to face the elderly man. ‘When did he go? Can I reach him before he leaves the country?’
‘Please, control yourself, Miss!’ said the butler. ‘Calm down! He hasn’t left. He’s in the drawing room.’
‘I must see him!’ cried Genevieve. Will was here, he would protect her. Everything would be all right. She ran across the hall to the doorway leading into the drawing room. She knew her way well.
‘Miss Genevieve!’ Wheeler snapped. ‘You cannot go in there, the family have guests. I will have to find Sir Harold.’ The butler turned and shuffled off to the other wing of the house, presumably to find Will’s father.
Genevieve launched herself at the drawing room door and threw it open, bursting into the room. ‘Will!’ she cried. ‘You have to help me! My brother...’ she stopped short as two people turned to face the door at exactly the same moment. One was Will.
The colour drained from his face as he stared at her. ‘Genevieve!’ he said. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’
She saw his eyes travel up and down her body, taking in the dishevelled hair, the ruined ballgown and the filthy satin slippers. Along with Will, was a small, slim girl, beautifully dressed in emerald green; she had clear, blue eyes framed by long, dark eyelashes. Her hair was a coppery colour, piled up onto her head with tendrils falling in loose waves onto her shoulders. She looked young and fresh-faced, her rosebud mouth a perfect ‘o’ as she stared at Genevieve.
‘Will?’ she asked. ‘Who’s this?’ She continued staring at Genevieve.
‘She’s a friend of the family,’ Will said, still looking at Genevieve. ‘I’ll deal with her, don’t worry.’ He moved towards Genevieve. ‘Come on. Let’s go into a different room.’ He put his hand on her arm and Genevieve snatched it away.
Genevieve matched the girl’s stares, her face thunderous. ‘Who is she?’ Genevieve demanded. ‘How dare she ask who I am?’
‘Excuse me!’ said the girl. ‘I have every right to ask. Will is my fiancé.’
***
Genevieve felt her precarious little world tilt on its axis. Fiancé? Will? Her Will? ‘You lying...’ she began, turning on the girl.
‘No!’ interjected the girl. ‘Why would I lie about it? I met Will in the summer in London. He proposed to me and I accepted. We are to be married next week. Will is about to travel back to Kent with me. I think you should leave now. Will doesn’t need your kind of friendship anymore.’
The girl glared at Genevieve with such hatred that Genevieve felt something inside her snap. Nobody except her brother had ever regarded her like that and she was not going to take it from this stranger. She let out a cry which would have brought a lesser person to their knees and flew at the girl.
‘Genevieve!’ shouted Will. The strange girl jumped out of her chair and backed away. Will again tried to steer Genevieve out of the drawing room. ‘I need to talk to you.’
‘Oh no, Will Hartley, I don’t thin
k you do!’ shouted Genevieve. Her voice dropped, dripping sarcasm. ‘Does she know where you were last night? Does your fiancée know that?’ She began to laugh. ‘How ironic, Will. I’m not surprised you didn’t want to take me with you on your travels.’
‘Out! Now!’ said Will. ‘Cassandra, don’t listen to her. We’ll go into the...’ He never finished his sentence, his words interrupted by a loud bang. The copper-haired girl began to scream as Will slumped to the floor, blood spurting from a wound in his chest. Genevieve stood over him shaking. A small, pearl-handled revolver was in her hand. She had brought it with her from the house, from her dressing table, where she had hidden it for the last few months. She had always intended using it on Joseph. She had brought it with her today for protection from him, should he choose to pursue her to Hartside.
‘Ah Will,’ said Genevieve, staring at him, half-wondering what he was doing on the floor. It had been extraordinarily quick, quite astonishing, really. ‘Will, remember when you showed me how to use this little beauty?’ she murmured. Then she turned to the strange girl who was terrified, panic and tears choking her as she cowered behind the piano. ‘Your turn,’ Genevieve said, quite calmly. She smiled sweetly and fired the pistol at her. The girl gasped, her eyes opened wide and she dropped to the floor. Genevieve stared for a moment, then came to her senses. She felt the gun in her hand; she saw two people lying on the floor. She felt the bile rise into her throat and the room began to swim.
Genevieve backed out of the room and heard footsteps pounding through the corridors. People had been alerted by the gun shots. She ran to the doorway, still clutching the gun and headed out of the house. Star was waiting for her, looking confused and unsettled.
‘Star – we have to go now! She cried and swung herself onto the horse. The white horse threw her head back and galloped out of the driveway.
***
As they left the gates of Hartside far behind, Genevieve suddenly realised that she was trapped. What was left for her now? Will had gone; even if she hadn’t done...that... he was as good as dead to her. Genevieve couldn’t go home. That was as good as suicide; she knew without a doubt that her brother would kill her.
She began to shake. ‘It didn’t happen,’ she told herself. ‘It didn’t happen. I didn’t go there. He wasn’t there...he’s in London now.’ She almost managed, but part of her couldn’t quite understand that she hadn’t killed Will. Or his fiancée. She jolted back to reality as Star stopped at the ruined chapel.
‘What is it Star? I don’t think he’s coming today,’ she said. She dug her heels into Star’s flanks again and tried to make her move, but the horse obstinately refused. Instead, she raised her head and gave a cautious whinny. Genevieve noticed a figure standing amongst the ruins. It walked across the chapel grounds towards her. Was it Joseph? Or Will? No, it was neither of them.
‘So this is the chapel,’ said Montgomery, looking about him. The building was grim and foreboding against the white landscape and Genevieve felt an unreasonable anger boil up inside her. She wanted to protect the place that she and Will had spent so much time in.
‘You shouldn’t be here,’ she snapped. ‘It’s for Will and me. And besides, it doesn’t look its best today. It’s very drab. In the summer, you have beautiful...’ her voice died, remembering the summer just gone. She felt sick and dizzy and the ruins began to blur out of focus. Damn Will! Damn him to Hell and back! Rage bubbled up inside her. Pure, evil, venomous rage. ‘I hate him,’ she said to no-one in particular. ‘I hate him.’ She turned to Montgomery and lifted her shoulders. ‘I do. I hate him.’
Montgomery smiled. ‘Nobody could speak of such a person or such a place with so much passion unless they had truly happy memories of being here, perhaps together,’ he said.
‘I did have good memories of this place,’ said Genevieve with some surprise. ‘Or at least, they used to be good memories.’
‘Have the memories been tainted in some way?’ pressed Montgomery.
Genevieve stared at the stained glass window wall. Was it really only yesterday she had seen Will here? ‘I did have good memories,’ she reiterated, ‘but yes, my brother tainted them. I can’t remember those feelings without remembering how it felt to have my brother’s fist smashing into my face. And now there is nothing at all, nothing good. He has finally erased it all. Every last bit of it; everything.’
‘Your brother?’ asked Montgomery.
‘Will Hartley,’ murmured Genevieve, still staring at the stained glass window. ‘He has spoiled it all. My brother would be so proud of him.’
‘And what has Mr Hartley done?’ asked Montgomery curiously. ‘Surely, it can’t be that bad. What could possibly have changed?’
‘Oh! You think you know so much, yet you know so little,’ said Genevieve. She dismounted and stumbled over to Montgomery. The cold and the shock were beginning to bite. ‘Tell me, Sir, are all men alike?’
‘It depends on what you are referring to,’ said Montgomery. He touched his hand to her face and stared into her eyes. ‘Has Mr Hartley dishonoured you? Has he cast you aside?’
‘He has taken another lover.’ Genevieve suddenly laughed. ‘It’s not even funny, is it? Yes, he’s at present with a delightful young lady he met in London. Do you know, he ran off there? Yes, I nearly died at my brother’s hands and my lover went to London and found himself a fiancée. Oh, forgive me, Sir Montgomery,’ she said. ‘I don’t mean to speak ill of your dear friend. Dear Joseph.’
Montgomery shrugged. ‘He is no friend of mine,’ he said. ‘I don’t have friends.’ He leaned closer to her and his eyes were dark in his pale face. ‘What’s happened? Can you confide in me at all?’ He searched her face, trying, it seemed, to see into her very soul.
‘He used to call me Veva,’ she said. ‘And this morning, he didn’t.’ She looked over Montgomery’s shoulder, her mind’s eye seeing the drawing room at Hartside once more. They would be coming soon, combing the moors, looking for her. They would know she was responsible. At least the snow was melting. Her tracks wouldn’t be too visible. She felt in the small pocket of her cloak. Once it had contained little treasures like smooth stones or jewel-bright feathers Will had picked up for her when they were together. Now it held the instrument of his death. She could easily use it here; use it on herself, perhaps. She began to hum that strange little tune, just wondering what it would be like to die.
‘Ah, there is something you aren’t telling me,’ said Montgomery.
‘It’s quite simple,’ Veva said eventually. ‘He’s dead. I killed him. Oh, and I killed his fiancée. There. Now you know.’ She flinched, half expecting him and even, dare she say it, wanting him to lash out at her and knock her to the ground. Her brother would have done that. Maybe if Montgomery did that, she would feel alive again. At this present moment in time, she was simply numb. Shouldn’t she be screaming or still running away? She started pulling the pins out of her hair and dragging her fingers through it, agitated.
‘I see,’ said Montgomery watching her. He was calm, unruffled. ‘Then I dare say he deserved it. I imagine you are feeling torn at the minute, unsure of which way to turn, perhaps?’ He raised his hand and caught her hands in his. He lowered his face to hers and kissed her softly on the lips. ‘I can perhaps help. He nuzzled into her neck, his skin even colder than hers. He pulled away and smiled at her. ‘What’s to stop us getting revenge in our own sweet way, my dear? Who’s to stop us?’
The breath caught in her throat. ‘What? Here? You’re suggesting we..?’
‘Why not?’ asked Montgomery. ‘I repeat, who is to stop us?’
‘I just killed two people,’ said Veva distractedly. ‘I should be feeling something. I’m not.’
‘Only two?’ said Montgomery. ‘You can do better than that. How about your brother? Isn’t he on your list?’ His eyes bored into her.
Veva stared back, mesmerised. ‘Perhaps,’ she said. She raised her face to Montgomery’s, feeling his closeness, inhaling his scent. She relea
sed her hand from his and fingered the back of his cloak. ‘I am very tempted, Sir,’ she whispered, ‘yet I fear we have little time. I think they’re coming for me. Look – just over the brow of the hill. Can you see them?’ She smiled a little and pulled away from him. She faced the dark shadows which were appearing over the horizon, her hair loose and rippling down her back. She relaxed her shoulders and held her head high. ‘It will soon be over,’ she said. ‘You’d best leave. I might have enjoyed your company more under different circumstances.’
‘I can stop them,’ replied Montgomery. ‘Or rather, I can stop them from hurting you.’
Veva shook her head, not taking her eyes off the oncoming horsemen. ‘It’s over. I’m ready to die, if that is what they intend,’ she said. ‘What’s done is done.’
‘You recall I told you I had to make some difficult decisions?’ he said. ‘Allow me to present you with your options.’ He leant over her and whispered in her ear.
Veva’s eyes widened and she turned to face him. ‘Do it,’ she said. ‘Now.’
Montgomery smiled at Genevieve; a slow, thoughtful smile. ‘Are you sure? You do understand the consequences?’ he asked. ‘Swear to me that you understand and only then shall I help you.’
‘I understand perfectly,’ she said. ‘I have no choice. This way – your way – I can be free. I can disappear and leave them all. How long will it take?’ She searched his face anxiously.
‘A matter of seconds,’ he said, taking hold of her shoulders. ‘Then when they find you, you will no longer be of concern to them.’
‘What will happen?’ she asked slowly. The sounds of the horses’ hooves were coming closer. ‘Will you come and get me afterwards?’
