by Ashe Barker
I set aside my misgivings at presuming too much of a family connection long abandoned. I have been overtaken by events and have no choice but to approach Cousin Beatrice for her aid and I must do it now. Thus resolved, I turn my back on the fresh grave and start the short walk back to our house. I need to pack.
I enter by the door at the rear and make my way through the kitchens and dining room into the main vestibule. I reach the foot of the stairs before I am accosted by Sidney emerging from the library on my left.
A flicker of resentment gives me pause. The library was always my stepfather’s domain and mine. As a child, it was the place I loved to go to listen to his stories and savour the homely scent of his cigars. When I grew older I came to adore the vast collection of books as much as Arthur did and I have added many volumes of my own. The library was always my sanctuary, my place of refuge, but in recent years Sidney has taken over the cosy room. He has no love of literature or learning and uses my precious library mainly to indulge his love of alcohol. I am convinced his choice of this room for his own leisure is driven mainly by the desire to discourage my enjoyment of it. Today his consumption of fine brandy has been even more excessive than usual, if his unsteady gait is any indication. I take a step to my right in an attempt to avoid him.
“Not so fast, slut. You and I have matters to settle.” His speech is slurred, the words no less stark for that.
He grabs my elbow and I instinctively seek to shake him loose. His grip tightens, to the point of pain.
“Let go of me. I have nothing to discuss with you.” I am indignant, outraged. It is years since he has dared to actually assault me though I was regularly on the receiving end of a spiteful slap or punch as a child.
He twists my arm behind my back and shoves me face first against the balustrade at the foot of the stairs. “That’s right, my sweet little sister, you won’t be discussing anything. Now you will listen. Now you will do as you are fucking told.”
I struggle in his rough grasp and he wrenches my arm hard. I let out a scream, which I fully expect to bring the household staff running. No one appears.
He sniggers. “That’s right, bitch. Scream all you like. This is my house now and my servants know their place. There is none here to aid you, unless I allow it. You will dance to my tune in the future.”
“Let me go. You have no right to—aagh!” He halts my protests with another sharp twist to my arm. My vision is greying; I believe I may pass out with the pain and shock of his violent assault. I grasp the post at the foot of the stairs and hang on, fighting to ride the pain.
My strategy works, after a fashion. He releases his vicious grip and flings me across the hall. I land on my knees at the door to my mother’s drawing room, clutching at the handle as I attempt to stand up again.
Sidney is across the hall in a moment and grabs my hair, twisting it around his meaty fist. He hauls me back onto my feet, forcing my head back so I have no choice but to stare up into his ruddy, hate-filled features. His eyes are bloodshot and there is spittle around his mouth. His thin lips curl up in a parody of a smile.
“At last, the usurping bitch is gone and my house is my own again. And so are you, dearest sister. I am the head of this fucking household. I will have your obedience, even if I have to beat it out of you. Especially then, in fact.” He pauses in his tirade to treat me to his twisted smile. I am convinced he is quite mad. “You will be my wife and even if I must endure your miserable face and your nagging, complaining voice, I shall have back that which was taken from me.”
“Never. I—”
I do not see the blow coming. He connects a hard backhanded slap to my jaw and I taste blood in my mouth. But for his unrelenting fist twisted in my hair, I would again be thrown across the hall.
Is there no one here to assist me? This house is full of servants; they cannot be unaware.
“That is the end of our little discussion, Imogen. I have obtained a special licence, just for you. We shall be wed tomorrow.”
“You cannot. Reverend Thomas would never agree. He knows—”
“We shall go to Leeds, where a more amenable class of clergy is to be found. For the right price. We leave tonight and will arrive in time for a private ceremony to be conducted before breakfast. By the time we return here tomorrow afternoon you will be my wife, wedded and soon to be bedded.”
Still grasping my hair, he starts to drag me back along the hall in the direction I came, toward the kitchens. The servants are conspicuously absent, the usually bustling nether regions of the house for once deserted. He manhandles me through the kitchen and the scullery and I realise where he intends to take me. I resume my struggles in earnest.
It is to no avail. He reaches the door to the cellars and flings it open. I am dragged down the stairs in pitch darkness until we reach the narrow passageway at the foot. I rarely come down here. I hate the dark and the damp stillness of such enclosed spaces terrifies me.
Sidney knows that and this is part of his plan to subdue me, to assert his will. He believes himself to be in power here now and everyone is to know it. He will incarcerate me in the cellars for no better reason than that he can.
He at last relaxes his cruel grip and I sink to the cold stone floor. He is standing over me, panting from the exertion of having hauled me down here. Were it not for his shortness of breath, I daresay he would land a kick or two to further emphasise his dominance.
“We leave after dinner. Well, after my dinner. You, my dear, will eat nothing until I decide you have earned sustenance. Your days of filling your belly with my victuals are over. There will be no more quenching your thirst with my wine nor will you take your ease on my furniture. And you will most certainly not be waltzing off wherever you please with money that is rightfully mine. Things are changing around here, sweet slut, starting now.”
He steps back and I hear him groping around to locate the handrail. His heavy footsteps thud up the stairs as I huddle on the floor in the dark. There is a brief sliver of light from above as he opens the door to the scullery, then closes it behind him. The lock scrapes and all is silent.
For several minutes I crouch, scared to move. My jaw throbs, my scalp stings where he dragged me by the hair. My shoulder still aches from his initial assault. I hate him. I loathe him. Above all, I am sick with fear. He will force me to marry him, I have no doubt of it. All that will be required is some vicar more greedy than godly, a witness conscripted from the street and well paid for his trouble and my future will be in his grasping, vile hands. As soon as the vows are exchanged, all that I own, or ever will own, becomes the property of my husband. Sidney will have my inheritance and with it, my freedom, my independence, all my hopes and those of my mother will be lost. If he succeeds in dragging me to the altar, there will be nothing I can do to prevent his perfidy.
I must escape.
Thus fortified with a resolve born of desperation, I scramble to the top of the stairs and start to hammer on the door with my fists. There must be someone within earshot; the kitchen is the most bustling part of the house. I pause in my efforts to listen and I know there is someone there. I discern low mutterings, whispers, the scrape of a chair. I recognise Matthews’ voice and call out to him.
“Help me, please. I am locked in the cellar.” I hammer on the door again. “Matthews, let me out. I know you can hear me. You must help me.”
I grab the handle and rattle it, my voice rising in my fear and frustration. “Matthews, Sidney means to force me into marriage. I must escape. I have to get away. It is my only chance. You cannot allow him to do this. You have to help me. Open the door and let me out, please.”
There is silence from the other side of the door but I am convinced they are there. I am surrounded by a houseful of staff, yet no one will lift a finger to assist me now.
“Miss, I am sorry.” Matthews’ tone does sound contrite, it is true, but there is little comfort for me in that fact.
“Mr… Matthews, ope
n this door.”
“I cannot, miss.”
“Of course you can. You have keys. Let me out at once. Do you not understand—?”
“I am sorry, miss, truly, but I cannot help you. It is my job, you see…”
“Your job? Your job? Matthews, this is my life. That madman will kill me before he is finished. You cannot mean to stand by and watch it done.”
“I wish I could aid you, miss, I surely do. We, none of us want to work for Mr… Smethurst, but decent employment is hard to come by in these parts. Afterwards, when you come back, if there is anything I can do—”
“By then it will be too late. I will be raped, robbed, quite probably murdered. I will soon be beyond your help or anyone else’s, Mr… Matthews. You must act now.” I pound my fists on the door again as if that might serve to convince those on the other side of the severity of my predicament.
It does not. With a last murmured apology the butler takes his leave and I assume the rest of the servants shuffle off with him. There is no further sound from beyond my cold, dark prison. I sink to my knees and I sob.
Chapter Two
I have lost track of time. As my eyes have become accustomed to the near total darkness, I can make out the shapes of packing cases stacked around me though I can hardly even guess at what may be contained within them. There is nothing else here, nothing to assist me in gauging the passing of time. Even the scratching and scurrying of a horde of horrid little rodents that inhabit the darkest corners cannot distract my attention, which is riveted to the door at the head of the narrow staircase. I will it to open, even though I am aware that it could only be Sidney, returned to complete his heinous plan for me. Even that would bring some respite from the cloying, blanketing darkness. Once I am out of here, there must be some chance of escape, however slim.
As long as I remain locked in this tomblike prison, all is hopeless.
He said we were to leave this day for Leeds. That is a trip of at least two hours, maybe more at night. Sidney ranted about having arranged a wedding ceremony to take place before breakfast, so the time of our departure cannot be far away. He must come soon. He must.
I allow my forehead to drop onto my knees as I sit on the floor, leaning against a packing case in the middle of the cellar. I wrap my arms around my legs, close my eyes, and determine not to listen to the rustling sounds from the pools of absolute darkness just feet from where I crouch. I hate rats, mice too and I dread the scamper of their tiny paws as they venture closer in search of food.
I whimper, battling now to hold terror at bay. It will do me no good at all to surrender to the aching fear that threatens to consume me, but retaining my composure becomes more difficult with every passing moment. I grit my teeth and resolve to remain staunch.
At last the lock scrapes above me and the door is flung open. I blink, shielding my eyes from the brutal light that streams in. I peer up through cracks between my fingers to see Sidney silhouetted there. He has on his finest cloak and his cane is in his hand. He brandishes it at me.
“Get up here, bitch. I’ll not soil my clothes coming down for you.”
I contemplate defiance, but only for a moment. My need to be out of here is considerably more powerful than any desire I might harbour to obstruct Sidney’s plans, at least for the immediate future. Once away, I will re-assess. I get to my feet and make my way up the stairs with care, still unable to see properly.
By the time I reach the top and sidle past Sidney into the scullery, my eyesight is well on the way to being restored. I spot Matthews, and Mrs. Lawson, our cook. Two kitchen maids are lurking also, making themselves busy by the huge fire grate. I level a look of disgust in Matthews’ direction and he does at least have the grace to drop his gaze. So he well might, the craven bloody coward.
Sidney grabs me by the hair again and drags my head back, forcing me to face him. “Our nuptials await, dear stepsister. Let us be on our way. It would not do to keep the good vicar waiting, would it?”
“You are vile.” I could summon far more vitriol to heap upon him, but I prefer to retain my strength for escape. My chance will come. It has to.
“Aye, if you say so. And you, my dear, are a money-grabbing slut. We are well suited, a match made in heaven.”
“Forged in the stews of hell and your drunken imaginings, rather. May you rot for this!” So much for my sensible intentions. Another vicious backhander stops my mouth and I land in heap beside the kitchen table. Matthews steps forward, seemingly intending to assist me to my feet but scurries back at an outraged bellow from Sidney. I manage to drag myself up unaided, swaying on my feet as I face Sidney again.
“Would you drag me to the altar battered and bleeding, stepbrother? What would your bought-and-paid-for vicar make of that?”
“I doubt he would care any more than I do,” sneers Sidney. “Come, I have a coach waiting.”
He grabs my arm and bundles me out of the kitchen door into the yard at the rear of the house. Looking over the top of our wall, I can see the roof of a hired coach waiting in the narrow back lane beyond. The snort of horses and clatter of hooves signal their readiness to be off.
Sidney is cloaked against the evening chill, but I am not. That fact seems to be of no consequence to him as he marches me out of the back gate and into the lane, then drags me through the narrow space between the carriage and the wall. He reaches past me to open the door to the conveyance and shoves me unceremoniously inside. I land on my knees between the two seats, which face each other.
Sidney follows me into the coach and sits down on one of the upholstered seats. I shift away from his feet, which I consider to be perilously close to my ribs, and drag myself onto the opposite cushion. I glare at him across the space that divides us.
“You must be quite deranged if you believe a scheme such as this can possibly work.” I inject all the contempt I can muster into my words.
He makes a production of looking first to his left, then to his right. He even leans down and affects a search under my seat before leaning back, his arms folded across his podgy belly. He leers in my direction. “Pardon me, do you see anyone here who might gainsay me? For I do not.”
“You are wicked—quite, quite evil. Your father would spin in his grave if he could see the monster you have become.”
Sidney laughs out loud at that. “What care I for the ramblings of a demented old man? You should curse him, not me, for it was his ridiculous will that set this situation in motion. He should have left well enough alone and not interfered with what was mine. I won’t stand for it. I will not.”
He reaches up and raps his cane smartly on the roof of the carriage, the signal for the driver to move off. With a crack of a whip and the jingling of harnesses, the horses break into a trot and we are on our way.
I lurch for the door of the carriage, my head filled with some wild notion of flinging it open and hurling myself into the street before he can take me too far from the places I know. If I can just get out—
Another vicious punch, this time to my ribs, puts a stop to that particular campaign. “Keep still. I’d be happy enough to tie you to the seat if I have to. Or perhaps you prefer to make the journey unconscious?” He shoves his fist under my nose, the threat clear. I subside back into my seat, gnawing on my lower lip. I must bide my time.
The next half hour or so passes in silence. Once or twice I even suspect Sidney may have fallen asleep, but any slight movement on my part brings him back to wakefulness with a jolt. He may be a drunk and a greedy, bullying fool, but he is cunning and determined, driven by some innate sense of self-seeking avarice. He will not doze off and allow his fortune to scramble out of the window, however much I might wish for it.
Another half hour passes. York is far behind us and we are surrounded by open countryside. The light of an occasional farmstead pierces the otherwise inky blackness. Even if I were to escape out here, where would I go? With no cloak or warm clothing I might not survive the night.
It is only November but already the weather is cold and snow threatens. Perhaps my best chance now is to wait until we reach Leeds and make a run for it there. I rack my brains for the name or direction of any of my stepfather’s associates in the city who might be prevailed upon to assist me. I can call none to mind.
“You think you’re so clever, do you not? Little Miss High and Mighty, the simpering princess. You are not laughing now though, are you?” He leans forward, thrusting his face into mine. His breath is as foul as his countenance
“I have no notion what you are talking about.” I tilt my chin away, determined not to give him the satisfaction of so much as looking at him, let alone breathing the same air.
“Conniving bitch! You and that witch of a stepmother, always sneering, always thinking you were too good for me.”
“Sidney, the rats in your cellar are too good for you.”
I should have guarded my tongue. The moment the words are out he gives a shriek of rage and pounces on me. I roll onto the floor, curling up into a ball in a vain attempt to evade his slaps, his kicks, his murderous punches. The blows rain down on my body as I bury my head under my arms, convinced he is finally going to kill me and wondering if perhaps that is preferable to the fate worse than death he has in mind.
Just as I am convinced matters could get no worse, they actually do.
“Stand and deliver.” The curt command rings out, plunging dark terror into my already despairing soul. I cringe, dreading the harsh report of a pistol, perhaps the scream of our coachman as he tumbles from his perch.
Instead, the carriage lumbers to a halt. Sidney, amazingly, seems oblivious to this terrifying turn of events. He continues to punch me, cursing my very existence as he lays in with boots and fists. I manage to scramble partly under the seat and thus gain some measure of protection. Sidney is intent on dragging me back out, presumably in order to continue his beating. He kneels on the floor and yet again wraps my hair around his fist and yanks hard. I let out a scream but am powerless to avoid being dragged back within his reach.
