Dawn was never so bleak. It was a glory of purple and gold but Angela’s eyes didn’t see it stretching over the bay. The small coffin was lowered into the ground beneath the spreading branches of the wattle tree and the only sounds were awakening birds and the soft crying of the Murrays.
Angela stared at the hole in the ground dry eyed and didn’t even hear the words spoken by the minister. Ezra’s arm was about her waist holding her up. She felt nothing, an empty void residing within her. This wasn’t real. Lorna was not in that box that would soon be buried beneath earth and grass.
But when she returned to her room there was no small bed, no trace of her daughter, as if every tangible evidence of her had been obliterated. Only the music box on the table, the gift of a traitor, remained. She lifted the lid and the melody tinkled delicately reminding her of Lorna and Clyde. With one finger she slammed it closed, then picked it up and hurled it through the window.
Crashing glass and a Scottish air that ended abruptly brought Ezra to the room. She was all right! He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but not the calm white face she turned on him.
“I’m going to Thornhill. Scott must be told.”
“I’ll go, Angela. Write a note if you want but—”
“No, Ezra. Do you think I could let a stranger deliver a note? I must go, I have to be with him.”
They rode hard and fast all day, approaching the Hawkesbury by mid-afternoon. They hadn’t stopped to eat or rest, only to water the horses. There was a chill in the air and lowering clouds threatened rain later in the evening but Angela didn’t notice it.
How odd, she thought, that when her beloved, firstborn child was dead she felt nothing. No tears, no outburst of grief—just nothingness. Everything was the same: the sky and sea, Sydney, the people around her, with exception of one. How in the world could she tell Scott?
When they reached the estate Ezra asked one of the foremen where Scott could be found and they set out in that direction. He was inspecting part of a gum tree forest, with the prospect of clearing the land in mind. It was a long way off in the deserted seclusion of unreclaimed acreage.
It took another hour to find him and as he saw Angela and Ezra approach, Scott sat stock-still on his big chestnut stallion. He was dwarfed by the tall shimmering eucalyptus trees, their trunks a silvery-white in the afternoon sun.
“Ezra.” Angela hesitated, unsure of her course of action.“I will meet you back at the big house. We have to be alone.”
“Are you sure you will be all right? I don’t trust him when he’s angry and surely, even after all this time, he still is.”
“We have other things to talk about besides ourselves. But how will I find the words to tell him? No matter—I must! I will see you later.”
Ezra watched her close the distance between the hill where they had stopped and the fringes of the forest. He was uneasy but respected Angela’s decision. The knowledge that this was going to be one of the most difficult things she had ever done made him turn and retrace the way back.
His face was grim and Scott said nothing as Angela approached him. She wanted to take him in her arms and smooth the burnished hair that ruffled slightly in the breeze. But his eyes were so harsh and distant as they coolly appraised her that she stopped some feet away, just looking at him beseechingly.
She looked fatigued, drained, as if all her lust for life had gone out of her suddenly—like a candle extinguished, only the glowing wick and spiraling smoke evidence of the once bright flame. She deserves to suffer, he thought heartlessly, looking at her white face. Even her lips were pale and her huge, shadowed eyes were lackluster, haunted by sadness. She was painfully thin, as if she hadn’t eaten since their last meeting and the only reminder of the old Angela was her shining crown of glossy black hair.
“I told you never to come back. No, don’t speak, I know why you are here. You have come to seduce me back into your life.” He laughed sardonically. “As if you could. You are as skinny as a skeleton, Angela, you look like death warmed over.”
She winced almost imperceptibly at his choice of words, his misunderstanding of why she had sought him out. Wearily she said, “You are wrong, Scott, as usual. I haven’t come to seduce you or even to speak of us and what we once had. I want to talk about,” she choked slightly, “Lorna.”
“The children! It’s always that bond you use to try and entrap me. You heartless bitch, you unfit mother! I told you before that I wouldn’t be responsible for what might happen if I saw your face again!”
With no warning he jumped from the saddle, grasping her around the waist and dragging her forcibly from her mount. He was surprised that she didn’t even attempt to fight him off as he crushed the flesh of her shoulders under punishing fingers. Angela even seemed to welcome the pain, a trace of color returning to her face.
“Now that you have proved your superior strength and your capacity for cruelty, it is your turn to listen.” Things were not going well, certainly not as she had foreseen. If only he would let go of her. She squirmed against the iron bite of his hands, pushing feebly at his chest. “Let go. What I have to say is important—it affects us both!”
Scott struck her across the face and her mind reeled. “I will not listen to any more falsehoods from you! I’m sick and tired of your unimaginative stories, weary of your lies!” His voice was harsher than the slap he had dealt her.
“You, my dear wife, are a slut, you have been one from the beginning! I despise you and everything you stand for!”
His fingers pulled at the fastenings of her skirt, quickly loosening it, pushing it and her undergarments down over her hips.
“Wh—what are you doing?” she stammered trying to tug the material back up.
“I’m going to prove once and for all just what I think of you!” She kicked him but he didn’t seem to feel it. “You are a whore opening your legs for any man that has the equipment to do the job! Well I, Duchess, am amply equipped and when I’ve finished with you, you will wish you had never come here today!”
“Stop it, you can’t! Not today, not after what happened!”
He stopped her words with his mouth crushing her lips against her teeth until they bled, ripping her skirt off. Jerking her hair free of its pins he hurled her to the ground, watching her eyes widen in frightened disbelief as he unbuckled his belt.
Angela tried to escape, she screamed, beating at his face and body with clenched fists but she was weak from the sleepless nights, the hard ride and most of all grief.
The air was cold against her bare legs and hips; he hadn’t even bothered taking off her blouse. Scott’s weight held her still and then he released her for just a moment and flipped her deftly onto her stomach. Sharp dry leaves cut into her face, belly and thighs and still he pushed her down until she thought she would disappear into the ground the way that small coffin had just this morning.
“I’m going to lay you in the only way a well-used whore should be taken! Maybe you will understand how much I hate you then, maybe you will give up and stop sniffing around me like a little bitch!”
She screamed, a muffled sound in the quiet forest, as his fingers spread her firm buttocks and she realized what he was going to do.
“Whore!” Scott growled as he impaled her shrinking flesh and a searing pain knifed into her body.
That he, her beloved husband, should commit such an atrocity upon her, hurt more than the rending of her flesh. A kookaburra laughed uproariously at her from high above and the laughter was Laporte’s. He had subdued and vanquished Angela by the same cruel method, taking his pleasure from her suffering.
“Whore!” he said it loudly in her ear, punctuating each savage thrust with the word. “Whore! Whore! Whore! Whore!”
Time stood still, flowed swiftly backwards. It wasn’t Scott’s voice she heard, but a French accented one, humiliating her, tearing her apart. “Whore!” Gaston whispered hoarsely, foreign obscenities bursting from his lips. “Tell me what you are, chérie.”
&nb
sp; The attack was lasting forever. Angela’s gloved fingers dug into the grass, clawing deep scars into the earth—the badly healed ones of her own mind and spirit ripping apart. A black velvet void encompassed her, silver embroidery threads twined around her throat and limbs, as strong and entrapping as a huge web.
Scott finished with her but the fury was still in his heart. Quickly he pulled on his pants looking at her limp, unmoving body sprawled among the fallen leaves. The perversion of the act disgusted him and he hoped it had revolted her just as much. Maybe now she would know better than to accost him.
It surprised him that there had been only a token struggle at the beginning. He had expected a spitting, clawing wildcat screeching in humiliation, but instead she had given in almost too easily. Scowling he walked over to her touching her side with the tip of his boot, shaking her slightly. Had she fainted? If she had, he couldn’t leave her in the forest alone.
Squatting down Scott turned her over, brushing the hair from her face. He had thought her pale when they had first met but now there was absolutely no color to her face and slightly parted lips. Her eyes were wide open, staring at nothing, the pupils so dilated that only a thin rim of aqua edged them.
So he had shocked her! At least she was conscious and probably playacting to get his sympathy. He picked up her skirt and threw it over her nakedness, frowning at the huge green stone wrenched from the concealment of her blouse. Why would she wear something that extravagant with riding clothes, and why with the gold locket he had given her a lifetime ago?
She moved, her fingers fastening on the emerald, eyes unblinking in the bright afternoon sun. With a curse he got up and went to his horse. What an actress! She should have played in tragedies. Without a backward glance he rode away.
Where he went, he couldn’t say, but long after sundown Scott rode the exhausted horse up to the house. Wearily he walked into the foyer and Celeste burst from the sitting room hurling herself into his arms.
“Oh, my poor, poor Scott!”
“You are ruining your clothes, I’m filthy.” A loud crack of thunder boomed and the sky opened in a cloudburst.
“It’s terrible, just awful!” Celeste said. “Let me get you a drink.”
“Dear, we will have children of our own, one day. I want to give you dozens, as soon as we’re married.”
“It might take a little longer, unless you plan on delivering litters,” Scott said scowlingly. “What’s gotten into you, Celeste?”
“We can talk about it later, after you have had a nice hot bath and dinner. You must be very upset. Where is she?”
“Who?”
“Why—your wife, dearest. A person by the name of Ezra is waiting for her in the library. He is most disturbing, I wasn’t sure where to put him.”
“Ezra is still here?” Scott went over to the library door and flung it open. The big mulatto got slowly to his feet, face ravaged with grief.
“If we could borrow your cabin for the night,” Ezra said, “we will leave first thing in the morning. I don’t think Angela is up to an all-night ride in the rain in her condition.”
“In what condition? Everyone is talking in circles,” said Scott, exasperated. “Yes, by all means stay at the cabin, she’s probably there now. But keep her out of my sight!”
Ezra glared at the unfeeling brute who was so unaffected by the death of his own daughter. Couldn’t he have at least a little compassion for what Angela was going through?
“You bastard! Would you rather have heard it from a stranger? Angela was so concerned about you that she rode all the way here, right after the funeral. She hasn’t slept in two days! Yet her first thought was you, always you! She pushed her own feelings aside in deference to yours. She had to tell you herself—had to be with you!”
“I don’t know what you are talking about. Who’s dead?” Scott’s question left Ezra genuinely puzzled.
“Lorna!” Ezra burst out, tears clouding his eyes.
“Lorna?” Scott repeated the name as if he had never heard it before.
“Your daughter, you fool! Lorna Harrington died last night. She was buried at dawn. Didn’t Angela tell you?”
“Lorna?” His tone was incredulous.
Very slowly, as if all of the bones in his body had suddenly disintegrated, Scott sank into a chair. Lorna, his little girl, dead? Angela had come to tell him what? His thought processes seemed to have stopped. He was having difficulty assimilating the disjointed words that chased each other through his mind.
He saw Lorna, two and a half years old at their first meeting. Her hands had been full of cookies and she had offered him one. His daughter with her quick smile and quicker temper, learning how to ride a pony in the Highlands, sailing a toy boat on the lake. Trusting little arms clinging around his neck as he put her to bed, guileless eyes looking solemnly at him—just like Angela’s.
Angela! He had raped her! She had been devastated and he had—no—he couldn’t even put it into words. It didn’t matter that she was a slut and he hated her, that he had caught her with Clyde; Lorna was her daughter too. And if he felt like this what had she been feeling when he had attacked her without provocation?
“I didn’t know,” Scott whispered, the words leaving his lips like a moan.
“She didn’t tell you?” Celeste asked.
“No, I—I— Ezra?” Scott’s deeply shocked eyes searched his face. “I wouldn’t listen, I was angry.”
What happened?” Ezra wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.
“I think we had better find her!”
They went into the stormy night that lashed at them like a wild creature. It only took a few minutes to reach the darkened cabin. As they dismounted Scott felt dread enter into his heart. She wasn’t there! They stood dripping cold rainwater onto the floor, staring at each other like antagonists.
“What did you do to her, that she couldn’t tell you about Lorna?”
Scott stared into those compelling amber eyes and knew he couldn’t tell him what had happened. “I hurt her. Let’s just leave it at that.”
“Son of a bitch!” A powerful fist knocked Scott right off his feet and sent him sprawling onto the floor. Pain and dancing lights exploded in his head. “I’ll kill you!” They wrestled silently together on the floor until Ezra got his hands around his opponent’s throat. His powerful fingers began squeezing but suddenly he stopped. “I’ll kill you after we find Angela. Now let’s get going!” He hauled Scott to his feet and dragged him back into the rain.
It took two hours to find the forest in the dark and the rain was slicing down harder, churning the ground to mud, dousing the lanterns they carried. They were both bone tired, freezing in the torrent that went on without ceasing.
“She’s not here!” Scott looked at the place where he had violated his wife. The storm had washed every trace of the encounter from the earth.
The branches of the gum trees whipped over their heads, slashing the low clouds. They had to shout to be heard over the tempest. Well after midnight Scott and Ezra dragged back to the cabin after a partial search of the woods. It was no use, hardly able to see a foot ahead they would have had to trip over Angela to find her.
In silence, they dried off in front of the fire, brown and amber eyes clashing in a wordless duel. But until she was found they must join forces and work together. Afterwards there would be time for fighting.
A week later the massive effort of searching the bush for a lost duchess was abandoned. Virtually every man in the district had joined in and small parties had combed every inch of the explored territory and not a little of the unexplored. They were tired and dejected. Because of the intermittent rain not one clue as to her whereabouts had been found. It was as if she had vanished right off the face of the earth.
“But everyone has given up!” screamed Celeste. “She’s dead—dead! You can’t go off all on your own to search for a ghost!”
“I can do what I damn well please!” Scott turned on his heel and went for th
e door.
“You are bound to me, Scott Harrington, and I order you to stay here!” Her voice changed, wheedling, “Please, my love, stay with me. Your wife is dead and you are free at last. Go get your son in Sydney and bring him back. We can get married now. I will be a good mother to him and an even better wife to you.”
“I’m going to Sydney,” Scott declared. “Now Ezra will have to tell me her dark secret. I must see Robert.”
“Yes, yes! But return soon. I will be waiting, dearest, waiting to make a home for you—and Robert!”
ten
Unseen eyes watched the woman from the safety of the bush. She was alone riding atop a strange beast and they had followed her progress for days. Her skin was a fiery red and her hair was the color of their own but her eyes had amazed them most. They were large, the color of the sky at dawn or the shade of the sea where it was very shallow over the coral formations.
Only once before had they seen such people, the two that lived right beneath the Blue Mountains, but they rarely went near there. Bad spirits lived in the mountains and they kept clear.
The beast stumbled and the woman swayed perilously but righted herself. The sun sparkled on a stone hanging about her neck. It was big, the color of certain leaves and plants. They had never seen anything like it before. There was a fire inside it and they wondered if a spirit was trapped within. These strangers were as colorful as the birds in the trees and her clothes were the color of high clouds and wild berries.
Abruptly the beast stopped and the woman flew through the air, head over heels, landing with a crash in the bush. The beast collapsed to the ground twitching and thrashing, then silent. They watched and she didn’t move. Finally the bravest of the men darted over to where she lay, ready to run if danger threatened. He held his spear in readiness and looked down at the sprawled body as small and thin as his own. Her eyes were closed.
Very slowly the shy band of men, women, and children emerged in a thin trickle from behind trees and bushes. Was she dead? The beast seemed to be. Would it be good for food? The woman moved and made a sound and they fell back, afraid.
Toward Love's Horizon Page 18
