Devil’s Cove (Tortured Souls)

by R. C. Matthews

  She shook away the ridiculous thought. “I’m Grace, and this is Brother Anselm.”

  “Just Grace?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Just Grace.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Grace. And you, Brother.” Again, the swish of fabric, a slight breeze on the air. They were shaking hands. She was certain of it. Brother Anselm would speak of it for days, to be sure, having shaken the hand of a pirate.

  “May I be of service to you?” Brother Anselm asked.

  “No,” the pirate said. “However, I hope Miss Grace will consider an offer of employment, room and board included, of course. She comes highly recommended from my cook, Mrs. Abigail Stevens. I’m afraid my servants are not settling well into Devil’s Cove Manor and would rest better if Miss Grace would extricate our”—he cleared his throat—“unwelcome guests.”

  Grace ran her hand along her neck and chest, where a dull pressure pulsed against her breastbone. Live at the mansion? The man was crazy if he believed she would consider it. Her own mother had been carted away to the insane asylum after the disastrous events that took place in that manor fifteen years ago. An entire party of guests and every single servant massacred, left lying in the pool of their own blood. Grace could only imagine the level of unrest that reverberated through the walls. Absolutely not. It might be the death of her.

  “Thank you for the offer, Captain,” she said, holding her chin high. “But I’m afraid there isn’t an offer high enough that would entice me to accept. You’re mad to live in that mansion.” She shook her head with a disbelieving huff. “And the villagers call me insane.”

  The jibe clawed its way out of her like a demon escaping the fires of Hell. All of her senses were on high alert, warning her that accepting his offer would be the height of folly. The man was dangerous. She felt the raw, powerful energy radiating off of him deep within her bones. Perhaps more dangerous even than the evil spirits lurking in his home.

  “Name your price, and it shall be done.” A waft of sandalwood filled her nostrils, and she gasped. The warmth of his next words caressed her ears. “I don’t take no for an answer. Ever.”

  A sheen of sweat coated her palms. He would dare to threaten her? A blind woman most likely half his size. The man was despicable, and apparently deaf. She’d spoken quite plainly but found the need to repeat herself in case he hadn’t heard the first time. “I’ll not do it for any price. I must ask that you leave us alone at once.”

  “God’s grace go with you,” Brother Anselm said, but the warning was clear in his tone. Though a man of the cloth, he wasn’t small of stature, and he had proven on more than one occasion his willingness to rise to Grace’s defense. She felt safe in his presence, though a niggling worry tugged at her gut, for her champion was getting on in years and had never faced such a formidable foe. Still, she placed her faith in God as Brother Anselm often begged her to do, but held her breath all the same.

  She sensed the frustration building in Captain Limmerick, so great it threatened to squash her existence, but she would not yield. Battling against evil spirits for years had stiffened her spine and filled her with the knowledge of her own inner strength. The man would learn he could not bully her into bending to his will.

  “This is not over.” His words cut through the silence. “I bid you good evening, for now.”

  He stormed away, the heels of his boots pounding against the floorboards. He wasn’t happy about her refusal. That much was apparent. The last ounce of her courage seeped out of her, and she slumped into the bench seat.

  “Don’t lose your bravado quite yet, my dear,” Brother Anselm whispered. “It seems your services are required by more than one tonight.”

  Grace sat up and rubbed her forehead. What in the devil was going on? Monday evenings were quiet at the tavern and offered the respite she and Brother Anselm enjoyed so much. One evening a week. That was all they allowed themselves for venturing into the village center to partake of a glorious meal. And now that odious pirate had ruined it. Who else dared to threaten her peace of mind?

  She didn’t have to wait long to find out. Stale ale and fetid fish washed over her, and she knew instantly that Willie Jackson stood glaring down at her. Or at least she imagined he was glaring. The perpetually snide tone of his voice always gave her the impression he was glaring at her. Just like he had that afternoon when she was a young girl of seven, too innocent to know that when a boy glared in that manner, one should run screaming in the other direction.

  Willie had blinded her. Perhaps it was unfair to lay that charge at his feet. An infection had taken her sight, but he had held her face down in the sand and rubbed it into her eyes. She should’ve ignored his disparaging comments about her mother. But he wouldn’t stop taunting her, screaming over and over that her mother belonged in the nuthouse. After years of listening to the whispers and jabs at her beloved mother, she’d lost control and attacked him with her ineffectual fists. And how Willie had reciprocated would forever plague her mind.

  Grace’s throat closed up at a flash of memory. Seawater filled her mouth and choked off her air supply. She couldn’t breathe. Her eyes were on fire, filling with a molten heat no icy North Sea waters could douse. And then, in a trice, the vision was gone. Air flooded her passageway, and she balled her fists, taking a gulping breath.

  Brother Anselm claimed she was lucky that day, for she hadn’t died. But Grace knew it was not luck. No, she had been saved by the heroic actions of a young man of at least fifteen years. He’d come storming across the beach on his white steed and leapt on Willie, tearing him away. Her savior had beat Willie within an inch of his life, to be sure. And God help her, but Grace hadn’t cared. Willie was a horrible bully, forever tormenting her simply because he could.

  “So you finally showed your true colors,” Willie sneered now. “Killed a young girl and then tried to pawn it off on an evil spirit. Don’t think I haven’t heard about what happened with Mrs. Evans. The poor woman went stark raving mad when you led Brother Anselm right to your murder victim in the forest outside the Evans’s cottage.”

  Grace bit her bottom lip and silently cursed. She would have to confess her sin to Brother Anselm on Sunday, but she had reached her limit. May the Lord forgive her for what she was about to say. “You’re a bloody idiot! That child had been dead for weeks. I gave the constable her mother’s name. I’m sure they will discover the truth soon enough.”

  “We’ll see about that!” Willie cried. “You try to make people believe you’re good by exorcising the demons from their homes, but I know you’re like your mother. Bad to the bones, through and through. She killed those people at Devil’s Cove Manor.” He lowered his voice, and the stench of his breath gagged her. “We all know it. Why else was she the only one to walk away?”

  His chuckle filled the empty space between them, the depth uneven and sickly to her ears.

  “Enjoy your last meal while you can,” he continued. “The caretaker will be here to collect you soon. People are real scared of you now. Dug your own grave, you did, finding that girl’s dead body. And may you rot in the asylum. Or better yet, I hope you go as insane as your mother and prove your evil nature. She killed the last caretaker, you know. Hanged for it, she did. Her blood runs through your veins, Grace. Remember that.”

  Bile rose to her throat, and she reached for her napkin to staunch the flow. She wouldn’t embarrass herself that way, nor give Willie the satisfaction of knowing how much his threats terrified her. Her father had been scared witless of her mother, whispered about the wild yet blank stare in her mother’s eyes, and with a heavy heart, he’d committed her to the mental institution. Even Grace had heard her mother stalking about their living quarters, murmuring nonsensical words. It was disturbing, to say the least. Did the good people of Devil’s Cove truly see her the same way despite all her efforts to the contrary?

  A choking sound broke through her thoughts, and she stilled.

  “Is this man bothering you, Miss Grace?” Captain L
immerick asked, his voice low and on edge. “I’d be happy to remind him of the importance of good manners, if you’ll accept my earlier offer.”

  She clenched her jaw and gripped the edges of the bench seat. How she wanted to say yes and teach Willie another lesson! There was no doubt the captain would deliver a thorough beating, imparting a clear message. But she couldn’t bring herself to say the word, because moving into Devil’s Cove Manor was out of the question. Whatever was there may have driven her mother over the edge. And as much as she tried to ignore it, her mother’s insanity might be as hereditary as her powers as a medium. If Grace inherited the one, she may also be bound to the other. She couldn’t risk going to Devil’s Cove Manor. Brother Anselm must get her out of the tavern before the caretaker came, if he came at all.

  “I thank you, but no,” she said, rubbing the knot forming at the base of her neck. She placed her hand on the table, inviting Brother Anselm to calm her with his soothing touch. All she asked for was a quiet existence, the small comforts of the home Brother Anselm provided, and the peace of mind she received when the cool breeze of the ocean greeted her.

  The doors to the tavern creaked open, and Grace felt the warmth of Brother Anselm’s hand over hers. He gripped it tightly, and a small gasp emitted from his lips. “God, help us.”

  “What?” Grace asked, leaning into the table. “What is it?”

  Willie snorted in glee. “The caretaker has arrived with his guards. Though I daresay I’m more than willing to assist him in escorting you into the carriage.”

  Willie, that sick toad, had not been bullying her with idle threats. Perhaps she’d just made the biggest misjudgment of her life.

  Chapter Four

  “Pity you cannot see the bars lining the windows,” Willie sneered. His voice grew frenzied, and she imagined a dog spinning in circles around the ground where his bone lay hidden. “Though perhaps you recall it from when your mother was carted away.”

  Willie grunted, and a whoosh of air expelled from his lungs. Grace snapped her head in his direction.

  “Say the word, Grace,” Captain Limmerick repeated, “and I’ll take you away from here. Keep you safe. I promise. No one would dare storm the manor.”

  She opened her mouth to reject his offer, but a clammy grip on her wrist stilled her. Pure fear coursed through her veins, and she wanted to yank her wrist out of the strong grip tugging at her, but she couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

  “It’s time to go.” The man’s voice was cold and unyielding, and though she didn’t recognize him, she knew deep inside it was the caretaker. “Come quietly, and I promise I’ll not harm you”—his lips caressed her ear—“too much.”

  “Say it,” the pirate said in a low growl.

  Her throat was dry as a desert, and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She wanted to say the word. But more than that, she wanted a hole to open up in the ground and swallow her whole. Take her far from here, where she wouldn’t have to choose between the threat of insanity within the walls of the asylum and the threat of the unknown within the walls of Devil’s Cove Manor.

  “Please, sir,” Brother Anselm said, the sound of his habit rustling as he stood. “Allow me to escort Grace home. I’ll keep her under my watchful eye. She’ll not disturb the good people of Devil’s Cove.”

  A flicker of hope burst through the fog surrounding Grace’s brain. Yes, of course. Brother Anselm would save her from having to choose.

  “I’m afraid not.” The caretaker cackled, yanking Grace to her feet. “I have a petition here, signed by her father.”

  The man was lying! Her father loved her, had put her in Brother Anselm’s care to ensure she lived a blessed life and used her skills of “sight” for good so that no one could threaten to commit her to the asylum.

  “Let me go,” she wailed, yanking her hand out of her captor’s grip. “I’m not insane. If anyone is insane here, it’s Willie. Take him.”

  Whispered voices of the patrons rose higher and higher as the argument ensued, and a feeling of desperation stole over her. No, she wouldn’t succumb to the fear, but her body ignored her command and she began to tremble. The tremors inched from her hands, up her forearms, and over her shoulders, until her whole body shook.

  “Say the word, Grace.” The captain’s plea was bolder this time, piercing through the fevered pitch of the tavern.

  Hands gripped her shoulders and pushed her in the direction of the entrance. She dug her heels in, but her nemesis was stronger.

  “Brother Anselm, please!”

  The firm pressure on her shoulders subsided as Brother Anselm shouted for the caretaker to release her. Grace held her breath. The cracking of a jaw sounded, followed by another, and then a loud thud reverberated through her as someone hit the floor.

  “Brother Anselm?”

  Nothing.

  She cried out again, this time falling to her knees and searching in the direction of the scuffle. “Brother?”

  Her hands came in contact with the coarse wool of his robes at his shoulder, and the pressure of tears built up in her tear ducts. She roamed higher until her hands cradled his face. Her fingers slid through a wet spot and grazed his lips. A sob wrenched out of her. He was bleeding.

  “I’m sorry, child,” he whispered.

  She was torn from the floor by the same set of strong hands that held her captive earlier, but she would not surrender without a fight. Turning, she smashed her fist through the air, praying she judged the height of her assailant accurately, and was rewarded with the pounding of rough skin and hard bones against her knuckles. Pain shot through her fist, but she continued her attack.

  “You can’t win, you stupid bitch,” Willie taunted, his hot breath on her cheek. He grabbed the bun at the nape of her neck and tugged hard, snapping her head back.

  “Say the word, Grace.” The captain’s voice was strong and calm, cutting through the ringing in her ears.

  Anger welled up in her until she felt she would explode. A deep hatred flooded her, and she screamed, “Yes!”

  “Hatchet,” the captain bellowed, “put her somewhere safe and don’t let anyone near her. Victor, now!”

  She found herself shoved onto a bench, and all hell broke loose around her. Tables crashed, and dishes clattered to the floor while grunts and curses ripped through the air. A splash of liquid doused her cheek; she flinched before wiping it away with the sleeve of her gown. The unmistakable clang of steel on steel reached her ears, and she pushed herself deeper along the bench until her back pressed hard against the wall of the establishment. Her heart fluttered madly while butterflies took flight in her belly. She would surely be sick.

  A part of her wished to press her hands to her ears and drown out the battle cries. Yet another part needed to experience the atrocity taking place all around her, for she was the cause. Damn Willie to Hell for robbing her of her sight and dignity. She opened her mind and willed a vision to come to her, to see what transpired in the tavern. But her visions lay outside of her control and did not see fit to come to her in that moment.

  Fists pounding against flesh assailed her over and over and over. Willie grunted and groaned under the assault. The beating he was taking now surely rivaled the one he’d taken at the hands of another on the shore of Devil’s Cove all those years ago.

  “Come,” Brother Anselm said, with impatient hands tugging at her. “We’re getting you out of here and into the safety of the captain’s carriage.”

  Thank God her mentor had recovered enough to engineer an escape. He guided her with infinite care, warning her when to step higher to avoid the obstacles in her path. His large frame shoved into hers and she stumbled, throwing out her hands as a precaution, but he righted them quickly. Within seconds they pushed through the door, and fresh air greeted her. Grace inhaled greedily. She would’ve stopped to indulge in the invigorating breeze, but her companion threw her cloak over her shoulders and ushered her forward.

  A latch sounded, and then she was urged
to step up once, twice, and into the warm carriage, where her hand sank into plush velvet as she scooted across the bench seating. The faint scent of a cheroot lingered in the air along with sandalwood—Captain Limmerick. She took a deep breath and smoothed the skirt of her dress. How was he faring in the tavern? What if he didn’t succeed, and the caretaker carted her off to the asylum anyway? Only minutes earlier when faced with the choice of the asylum or Devil’s Cove Manor, she had believed the alternatives equally appalling. However, now, as she sat in the relative safety of the captain’s carriage with Brother Anselm at her side, she knew without a doubt that his offer was far better.

  In that moment, the carriage door flew open and snapped hard against the carriage wall before slamming shut. Grace stifled a gasp with one hand and grabbed hold of Brother Anselm’s thick bicep with the other. A vision of a man clouded her brain until it jolted into clarity. Fierce blue eyes glared from a face handcrafted by God himself. With a golden halo of hair and a jaw carved from granite, Grace knew it must be none other than Captain Devlin Limmerick. She pushed back into the bench seat and bit down on her bottom lip. The man was enormous. And angry as the devil.

  A cane rapped on the ceiling of the carriage, and it lurched forward, jostling Grace against the wall, and the vision faded into blackness. She gripped harder on Brother Anselm’s arm and pushed her feet against the floor to steady herself.

  “Where is your priory, Brother?” The captain’s deep voice resonated with an air of impatience in the small space. “Quickly, now. We need to return to the manor posthaste.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Brother Anselm replied. Grace recognized the firm delivery and braced for a battle of wills. Her mentor could be tenacious for a man of God.

  “No.” The captain’s response was harsh and final.

  Grace bit the inside of her cheek. She knew better than to place herself in the maelstrom of testosterone, and this was far from over.