Louisa Elliott

by Ann Victoria Roberts

  ‘Upstairs, Harris — and open that door,’ Robert muttered before picking Louisa up bodily. She was no small burden, but he carried her up the stairs, setting her down on the bed in his room.

  ‘Excuse me, sir,’ Harris said in an undertone, his normally impassive face troubled. ‘Oughtn’t you to er... persuade the young lady to... er, loosen her clothing? I mean – young ladies – fainting – clothing too tight, sir,’ he added hastily.

  Robert shot him a murderous look. ‘Shut up, Harris, and get the brandy.’

  Struggling to release the collar and top buttons of her dress, Louisa sat up. She took a few sips of the brandy Robert offered, coughing as the spirit went down.

  ‘Do you think I might have a cup of tea?’ she asked faintly, ‘I’m sure that would make me feel much better.’

  As Harris disappeared to see to it, she moved, revealing an ugly red mark at the base of her throat. Horrified, Robert stared at it, imagination providing too clear a picture of the cause.

  ‘Perhaps,’ he murmured, ‘you should do as Harris advised. I’ll see if he has any witch-hazel to dab on those bruises.’

  Left alone, Louisa ran fingers over her face and throat, feeling tenderness in places. With an effort she stood up, moving unsteadily towards the long pier glass by the window. There were livid marks either side of her jaw where Albert Tempest had gripped it. Revolted, she drew the back of her hand across her mouth and for the first time noticed the crimson bite at the base of her throat. With a hot wave of shame she realized that this was what Robert had seen before he turned away.

  Shuddering, her fingers fumbling with tiny buttons, she opened her bodice and saw another bite on the curve of her shoulder, and bruises where her camisole skimmed her left breast.

  Without warning her legs gave way and she was sick. She retched twice more, little more than bile, but all down the front of her dress. Shame and revulsion, a desire to run from the world and hide – but where? – battled with weakness and despair.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered as Robert returned. ‘Couldn’t help it…’

  ‘Never mind – it’s shock, that’s all. Don’t distress yourself…’

  Clutching the two halves of her bodice together, she weakly resisted his attempts to raise her. Almost angrily, he pulled at the restraining neck of his mess jacket and flung it off, together with the choking waistcoat, and bent to her in his shirtsleeves. His breath came in angry gasps, as roughly he clutched her to his breast; fierce, protective instincts battling with a rage so towering he wanted to yell at her: Who, and how, and why? Biting it back, afraid it would come like a second assault, Robert held her hard until the shuddering ceased.

  Like a frightened doe she stirred suddenly, and he relaxed his hold, breathing again, stroking her hair, kissing her forehead. ‘It’s all right – you’re safe now. Quite safe.’

  After a moment, helping her stand, Robert guided her to a chair. He soaked some lint with the witch-hazel, and held it gently to her jaw. ‘That should help,’ he murmured, soaking more so she could tend to the others herself.

  He went into his dressing room for a clean shirt. ‘Here, put this on – and let me take your dress. Harris will deal with the stain – you’ll never know it was there…’

  Turning away, he watched her through the mirror above the mantelpiece. He saw the marks on her arms and the curve of her shoulder as she slipped off her dress. Wanting to kill the man responsible, he forced some semblance of calm into his voice. ‘Who did this to you?’

  She tried to speak, but shook her head. He watched her buttoning the shirt, rolling up the sleeves, and saw her face was wet with tears.

  At Harris’s knock, Louisa wiped her eyes and calmed herself. With the butler’s tray between them, Robert poured the tea himself, persuading her to try a little of the bread and butter his servant had prepared. He forbore to question her until she had finished. Seated by the hearth, with the brandy decanter at his feet, he sipped at an overly generous measure and resisted the urge to down it in two swift gulps.

  The room was in shadow, the long summer twilight almost gone. He could just discern her face a few feet away, and yet part of him could scarcely believe she was here at all. How many times had he imagined her beside him in bed, easing needs only she could assuage? He had longed for her and castigated himself for that longing, telling himself it could never be. And now, by some terrible default, she was here in body, no longer challenging, no longer resisting, simply a fragile ghost of herself in white.

  He heard the cup rattle in its saucer as she set it down. With an attempt at lightness, she said: ‘He’s quite a magician, your man – that was excellent. ’ But her voice was far from steady.

  ‘Harris? Yes, he is. Silent too – he won’t breathe a word. I’ve told him I’m not to be disturbed, by the way – not even by Tommy.’

  ‘I saw him today,’ she said, ‘at the Bainbridges.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ he replied, suppressing impatience.

  ‘Something he said,’ Louisa began hesitantly, ‘made me anxious about you. I don’t really know what he was trying to say, but… Perhaps it sounds foolish, in the light of… But you see,’ she finished hurriedly, ‘I really came here to make sure you were all right…’

  ‘Me? To make sure that I was all right?’ he repeated incredulously. ‘Oh, my love, of course I am! Or at least I thought I was,’ he added ruefully, ‘until Tommy came into the Mess and told me he’d seen you. I wanted to punch him on the nose!’

  She gave a shaky little laugh. ‘Why?’

  With a gesture, he silently dismissed his anger at Tommy’s meddling. ‘Well, mainly because he’d been to the Bainbridges’ and talked to you, and I could have gone and wouldn’t.

  ‘I was angry because of you,’ he confessed. ‘I knew you’d be there and I longed to see you. But it was just – too difficult.’

  ‘I understand. I didn’t want to be there, either.’

  ‘And yet you’ve come to me now…’

  He did not entirely grasp the reason why, but it touched him deeply. There was perhaps a pace and a half between them, and he wanted to go to her, hold her in his arms, but there seemed an invisible line he must not cross. He bowed his head, nursing the glass in his hand. ‘Louisa,’ he began, and it was a whispered, begging plea. ’Will you not tell me what happened? I’m going half mad, wondering who – who would do such a thing. Was it on the way here? Some soldier? If it was, believe me I’ll find him!’

  ‘No, Robert. Nothing like that.’ She paused, swallowing hard, finding speech difficult. ‘This is very silly, I know, but every time I try to – start to…’ She took several deep breaths but her voice quavered alarmingly. ‘Oh dear – this isn’t me at all, is it?’

  He could feel the effort she was making, trying to keep control. ‘It’s all right. Take your time…’

  ‘It was after – after we left the Bainbridges,’ she got out at last. ‘When we got back…’

  At once he understood. ‘Your employer – Rachel’s father?’ Swamped by a wave of fury, he bit back a mouthful of curses. Unable to sit still, he paced the room, running fingers distractedly through his hair.

  At last, claimed by pity, he went to her, but she held him away. ‘No – you mustn’t think – I mean, he didn’t – he meant to, but he didn’t. I fought him, Robert – I got away…’

  ‘Did you? Oh, thank God,’ he sighed, feeling the fight go out of him. But he had to be sure. ‘You mean Tempest tried to rape you, yes? But didn’t succeed?’ As she confirmed that, he released his breath slowly, unable to speak.

  ‘I fought him,’ she repeated in a choked voice. ‘But that only made him worse. It seemed to go on for hours… I screamed, but he’d locked the door…’

  Holding her hands, he felt her shudder. ‘How did you get free?’

  ‘I don’t know – kicked him, I think.’

  ‘Good for you!’ he muttered grimly. ‘Right where it hurts, I hope?’

  ‘Perhaps, I’m not sure.
’ She shook her head. ‘I was too terrified to think. But I was lucky – the window was open – people were passing…’

  Amidst his anger, Robert was proud of her quick-thinking. Gradually, he learned a little more: their late return from Fulford; Rachel setting light to the fuse; the tension Louisa had sensed for weeks exploding into violence. Piecing the story together, Robert could see the man’s intent. But why? It seemed so inexplicable. Louisa was not provocative. She was calm and correct and in control of herself. He had seen that from the beginning: for him, it was part of her attraction; he loved that independent spirit.

  But then he wondered: was that the reason? Her self-containment, refusal to be cowed. Was it her pride that goaded Tempest? If so, he had used the oldest and worst form of humiliation. Bile rose at the thought.

  What he failed to grasp at first was why Louisa had come to him, instead of going straight home. But the blackmail he was inclined to dismiss as the reaction of a man hoist by his own petard. ‘It’s dirty but not surprising,’ he said with contempt. ‘I doubt he’ll do anything, he’s got too much to lose.’

  He did not take it seriously, or begin to understand her decision to come to him, until Louisa explained that Edward Elliott was also Tempest’s employee. Suddenly, much was clear.

  ‘All right,’ he said, ‘I understand that it must be hidden from your family – especially your cousin. You don’t want him to lose his job. But if he can’t do anything about it, Louisa, I can. And I will, I swear it!’

  ‘No, you mustn’t! Please, Robert!’ Alarmed, she gripped his shoulders, begging him to do nothing, say nothing, for fear Albert Tempest should fulfil those threats.

  ‘But you came to me,’ he declared. ‘How can I let this go, when this – this disgusting apology for a man tried to rape you. And very nearly succeeded!’

  ‘You mustn’t,’ she pleaded. ‘It would destroy my mother!’

  At mention of Mary Elliott, Robert gave in. Or rather, gave Louisa to understand that he would do nothing; but he carefully made no promise. Anger and the desire for revenge were too strong.

  Soothing her, he drew her close, breathing in the soft, sweet smell of her, feeling his anger disperse in the joy of her touch. For a while it was enough to know she found comfort in his arms, that she trusted him. Her fingers stroked his neck, his face; every sense was responding, and the step from tenderness to passion was such a small one…

  Longing to taste her lips, Robert pressed his mouth to the soft warmth of her cheek. ‘You came to me,’ he repeated softly, knowing that having taken the side of honour all those months ago, he could not abandon it now. Not now, not in these circumstances. Even so, the temptation to do so was almost overwhelming. Trembling, he relaxed his hold, stroking her hair and the silky nape of her neck.

  When he spoke, his voice was not quite steady. ‘You must be exhausted, my love. If you’d like me to take you home, I will, but I suspect that’s a not good idea. On balance, I think it would be better to face them in the morning.’

  Before she could protest, he added: ‘You can have my bed – there’s a camp bed somewhere, I’ll get Harris to dig it out and sleep in my dressing room.’

  ‘Are you sure? It seems…’

  ‘Of course I’m sure. We can talk again in the morning…’

  She was apprehensive, he could tell, and was at pains to set her mind at rest. Reluctantly, he rose to his feet, making a play of finding matches to light the lamps. As he turned, he thought how vulnerable she looked, small and white in her petticoats and that over-large shirt. The uncertainty in her eyes tore at his heart.

  ‘Don’t doubt me, Louisa,’ he whispered, gazing down at her. ‘I’m honoured that you came to me. I love you for that alone.’ As her eyes widened, a sudden flush of colour rose to her cheeks, and resolve almost deserted him. Wanting above all to take her to bed and wipe the memory of that assault from her mind, he closed his eyes and mind against it. He struggled to find the right words. ‘All I want right now is to go on holding you – but if I did, I know it wouldn’t stop at that…’

  Abruptly, he left the room and went in search of his servant.

  As the canvas bed and blankets were found, Harris said: ‘I’m sure you haven’t forgotten, sir, but you’re duty officer in the morning. It’ll mean an early start…’

  ‘Blast and damn it! I had forgotten.’ He thought for a moment. ‘I shall have to warn my guest. But I doubt she’ll want to leave at that hour. Will you be a good fellow and see she gets away all right?’

  He returned to explain to Louisa. When all was settled and his bed made up, Robert stood for a moment by his dressing-room door. For a long moment he stared at the decanter of brandy, and then with a weary sigh, closed the door on it. Alcohol might help him sleep, but it was far more likely to make him change his mind.

  Small, unfamiliar sounds disturbed her; in the midst of a dream Louisa turned, her eyes opening on a strange room with strange furniture, and beyond it an open door, framing a man’s naked back. She blinked several times, but he was still there, arms raised, muscles rippling as he moved. Robert: she had dreamed of him, holding her, kissing her, mouth warm against hers; the scent of him familiar now, and comforting. She stretched luxuriously, remembering the dream, smiling at the small splash of water, his attitude of concentration, the faint, masculine sounds of shaving.

  She looked around, seeing the room more clearly in the morning light. She had thought he would live luxuriously, but his bed was narrow and the furniture functional. The only clue to his interests lay in the shelves of books beside the fireplace, the photographs of family and, presumably, favourite horses, standing on his desk by the window. Robert’s one concession to rank seemed to be his excellent servant.

  There was, she saw with surprise, a cup of tea on the bedside table. But as she raised herself, memory came flooding in like an overwhelming tide.

  Albert Tempest: she had to go home: what was she going to say? Caught by panic, she reached out for the shirt, hastily covering herself as Robert turned.

  ‘How are you this morning? Did you sleep?’ As she nodded, he gave her a tender smile. ‘Would you like to stay there for a while? I have leave soon, unfortunately…’

  She was suddenly embarrassed, overly aware of the situation. What had seemed so reasonable the night before was reduced to bare facts: she had spent the night in a man’s room, and was now irrevocably compromised. ‘No – thank you, Robert, I’m much better this morning. I’ll get up now.’

  ‘All right, I’ll close this door while you dress. Let me know when you’re ready.’

  Clean and pressed, her navy cotton dress was laid carefully over a chair back. Harris had performed miracles, she thought: which was more than could be said for her bruises. The ones along her jaw were more noticeable this morning. Buttoning her bodice to the neck, she stared with dismay at her reflection in the glass.

  She tapped at the door and a moment later Robert emerged, smelling freshly of soap, his hair brushed and a white undershirt tucked neatly into tight, high-waisted overalls. His manner, she thought, was as crisp as his appearance.

  ‘It’s early, I know, but I must be present for morning stables at six. I’ll be back about nine, if that fits in with your usual scheme of things? Or would you rather wait until this afternoon?’

  ‘Oh, no,’ she said decidedly. ‘I can leave now. At this hour, there’ll be less chance of me being seen. If I idle my way around town, it won’t be much earlier than usual when I get to Gillygate.’

  ‘Won’t you wait?’ he asked doubtfully. ‘Later, we could talk.’

  But Louisa felt that she had imposed too long already. ‘Thank you, Robert – but no.’ Getting home, having a bath, finding some solitude, was uppermost in her mind. Waiting here, running the risk of being seen by someone else – particularly Tommy Fitzsimmons – was too risky. ‘Perhaps,’ she suggested tentatively, ‘we could talk some other time?’

  ‘We must indeed,’ he said. ‘And soon. What are your p
lans?’

  Before she could answer, Harris knocked and entered. Handing Robert a highly-polished pair of boots, he went through to the dressing room.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she said, which in the long term at least was true. She would have liked to say more, but Harris’s presence was inhibiting. Louisa wondered what he was thinking as he folded sheets and put away the camp-bed. He reappeared with the high-necked frock-coat which was Robert’s regimental working dress, helped his master into it, and brushed non-existent specks of dust from the shoulders with a small, stiff brush.

  Feeling awkward, Louisa looked out of the window. Both Robert and his servant seemed so undisturbed by her presence, she began to wonder if a steady procession of women visited these rooms and watched him dress in the mornings. A sharp pang of jealousy swept through her, together with regret that he had left her to sleep alone. Furious with herself, she lifted her chin and forced herself to be thankful that he was going to Ireland.

  ‘So,’ he said, breaking into her thoughts as Harris silently departed, ‘you don’t know what you are going to do with yourself.’

  She turned abruptly. ‘I had arranged to go to Blankney next Saturday, while – while my employers are on holiday. But I think I shall go sooner and stay a little longer. It will be good to get away for a while. After that,’ she added, ‘I have no plans. Probably, I’ll help out at home until something suitable presents itself.’

  ‘Blankney?’

  ‘A few miles south of Lincoln – just a small place.’

  ‘I think I’ve heard of it – a big estate?’

  She was surprised. ‘It belonged to the Chaplins.’

  ‘Ah, yes – bloodstock, racing – I know it now.’