The Flawed Mistress (The Summerville Journals)

by Margaret Brazear

  The jewels that I sold were all we had and I had to budget carefully until I could find out what to do. Lucy was the only one who remained with me, bless her heart. She refused to move from my side, even though there was no money with which to pay her. I hung on for weeks, hoping that a message would find Richard, but nothing was heard except confirmation that he was in France.

  He had been my last hope and now there was only one option left, and it was not one I was looking forward to.

  “Lucy,” I said. “I will have to appeal to the King. There is no other way.”

  “The King? Will he help us?”

  I smiled at her use of the word ‘us’. She never once varied from the united front she had set up for us.

  “He might, given the right incentive,” I replied with a shudder.

  “My Lady, is there no other way?” She asked quietly. “Surely Lord Summerville can be reached somehow.”

  “I daresay, if I had the funds to send people to France to find him."

  I thought then how ironic it was that this beauty that had caused me so much pain, could have saved us had it not already caused my destruction. I am quite sure that many beautiful women had happily sold themselves rather than starve but that option was not open to me.

  “I will venture into the street myself, My Lady,” Lucy declared firmly, “see if I can find some work to help us.”

  “Lucy, why would you do this for me? You can go, find work, keep your pay to yourself. I will appeal to the King; perhaps at long last this face will help me survive.”

  “I daresay, My Lady, but that is not what you want is it? I would have starved or frozen to death were it not for your kindness. I will go now, see what I can find. You must let me help.”

  But Lucy found no work, at least not enough to help us. Even if the house were sold, according to my uncle’s lawyer, the money it fetched would go toward his debts. The only reason it had not been sold over my head was because of a special entail he had set up. There was no help for it; I would have to throw myself on the mercy of the King.

  My message to the King’s private secretary produced a response that I neither wanted nor expected, but it seemed it was the best I could hope for. I had steeled myself to offer myself to him, despite my revulsion, but it seemed that he was besotted with yet another woman. While I had appealed to the King, it had not escaped my notice that he was presently without a wife and I hoped he would not take my interest as an invitation to elevate me to that position. The reply I received was that His Majesty had a husband in mind for me.

  My heart sank. Although he was no longer my servant, Harry was kind enough to make a few more enquiries for me in the hope that Lord Summerville had returned to London, or even Suffolk, but no one had heard from or seen him. I could only hope he was safe and look to my own interests. I felt sick to think about it; I knew that Richard would help me if he only knew my plight.

  Damn my uncle! Why could he not have been honest with me? Had he only told me that this might happen on his death I could have been prepared, even sought help from my only friend before this. I could curse the day I had ever met Uncle Stephen, but it went back farther than that. I cursed the day I was ever born.

  It was a quiet and hasty service, no preparations made at all and it seemed I was to be wed to yet another man who had no desire to meet me first. I thought I knew what to expect, a repeat of my time with Lord Connaught, another nobleman who wanted only an heir except this one was a marquis, a little higher up the ranks. But I would not be telling this one that I was barren. Whoever he was or whatever he wanted of me, I needed this marriage far more than he did.

  I only wondered if there was some sleeping draught I could take so that I slept through the whole, disgusting ritual. I made a mental note to ask Lucy to try to get some poppy juice. I could give it to him, but I would rather take it myself.

  I may be lucky this time, perhaps, I thought. This one might be kind, have some consideration. If I was really lucky he might even be impotent.

  The church was dark and I did not look at my bridegroom. I could tell by the way he walked that he was not a young man, and from the corner of my eye I saw grey hair. But when the service was over, I turned and looked at his face and I thought my heart would stop in my chest, I thought I must be asleep and having one of my nightmares – along his cheek he bore a scar, an ugly t-shaped scar.

  It seemed that God had a sense of humour after all. I had just married my tormentor, the monster who had stolen my innocence, stolen my childhood and turned me into an incomplete woman. I could not believe it!

  Why did he want a wife? I was a grown woman, not a little girl which was more to his taste. I looked across the church to see if his friend were also there, but there was no sign of him.

  Tears gathered in my eyes then, tears of despair. Perhaps his tastes had matured and he now wanted a full grown woman. I wondered if he had done this deliberately, if he knew who I was and this was giving him some sadistic pleasure.

  I was shaking as I placed my hand on his arm and was led along the aisle and out of the church.

  ***

  The festivities began at once with many guests congratulating the Marquis on the acquisition of such a beautiful wife and I gathered from their words that despite his advanced years, I was his first. I also gathered that I was probably the only one who knew why that was.

  He said nothing to me as he shook hands and accepted good wishes and I was sure he had no idea who I was. Why would he? He must have done the same to many children, so why should I be memorable? I could not bear to look at him. Every time I tried I was reminded vividly of the horrors of my tenth birthday and I wondered just how I was going to cope with the consummation of this cruel match.

  I reminded myself that I had married for one reason and one reason only – I could not survive without it. I had to do as he wanted, did I not, or I would be starving on the streets.

  Lucy had come with me and now she met me in the bedchamber, ready to perform the ritual of undressing me. I must have looked awful; I was still in shock.

  “My Lady?” She said with a puzzled frown. “What is wrong? You look as though you had seen a ghost.”

  “I have," I replied, "the ghost of my innocence. Lucy, I..............” But my voice was shaking so much I could barely speak.

  She did something then for which I will always be grateful. She put her arms around me and held me close as though I were a frightened child, and that is just what I felt like – a frightened child once more, indeed a terrified child just wanting her mother. But there was no mother, there was no one and I thanked God for Lucy.

  The Earl did not come. I had my sleeping draught ready, but as I suspected, he had no interest in raping a full grown woman and after an hour or more of waiting, Lucy lie down beside me intending to sleep with me.

  “My Lady,” she said. “It does not look as though His Lordship is coming tonight. Would you like me to stay with you?”

  I nodded. I still did not feel confident enough to actually talk, my voice shook every time I tried, but I found comfort with this simple servant girl that night. I did not sleep though; I was afraid that the monster might come in the night. I could not think of him as anything else, only ‘the Monster’.

  In the morning he came and dismissed Lucy with a snap of his ugly, gnarled fingers.

  “My Lady,” he began as soon as she had gone, “I expect you are wondering why you were left alone last night.”

  I made no reply. He obviously had no idea that I knew why I had been left alone, he obviously had no idea who I was.

  “I have managed without a wife my entire life and the only reason I have one now is that I need the help of a woman. There will be no bedchamber activity between you and I.” He paused and frowned at me, looking for a reaction but I kept my face impassive. “Don’t you want to know why?”

  “Perhaps because I am a little older than your normal taste,” I replied harshly. I did not bother with his title as I did
not think he deserved any such courtesy.

  He looked startled as though that was the very last thing he expected to hear. Perhaps it was.

  “Have we met before?” He asked at last.

  “Oh, yes, we have met before. I believe you cheated my drunken father out of his property as well as his little daughter,” I replied, watching him carefully. “I believe you killed him.”

  He looked horrified for a moment, then he frowned as though trying to remember.

  “Rachel, is it not?” He asked at last. “You see, I do remember you. You were a beautiful child, absolutely stunning. Well, well, well, fate certainly moves in mysterious ways.” He smiled then, showing gaps between his blackened teeth. “It was not I who murdered your father, by the way. It was my colleague, Mr Carter. He is dead now and the house had to go to pay off debts.”

  “So, it seems I owe a debt of gratitude to Mr Carter then,” I said sarcastically. “What do you want with me, Sir?”

  “I need the help of a woman, I told you. You will see.”

  Then he left me to wonder what he wanted help with. I could imagine though and the idea terrified me.

  When Lucy returned, and while she helped me to dress, I decided it was time I confided in someone.

  “When I was a child,” I began hesitantly, “just ten years old in fact, I was taken in exchange for one thousand gold pieces paid to my father.”

  I stopped, wondering if I would be able to go on, but Lucy said nothing. I felt her hand clasp mine though and give it a comforting squeeze.

  “I was raped repeatedly that day by two men. One of them was my new husband.”

  “Oh, My Lady!” She cried in disbelief. “This must be the worst day of your life.”

  “Not quite,” I replied. “But I think I know what he wants from me and I cannot do it, I really cannot.”

  “What do you think he wants, My Lady?”

  “I know not where he is getting his supply of little girls, but I imagine he wants me to help him in that.”

  The conversation was interrupted by the Monster striding into the chamber and tossing a cloak at me. It was the black velvet hooded cloak that Richard had given me and I suddenly felt angry that he had soiled it with his deviant’s hands.

  “You can leave,” he told Lucy and when she had gone he turned to me. “I have been thinking and I am quite glad that I do not need to explain anything to you. When I go to orphanages alone, the people in charge are suspicious. That is what I need you for. We will go this morning; there is one not far from here. If they believe that you want to adopt a daughter, it will make things very much easier.” He paused and his eyes swept me from head to foot, then he smirked. “No one will believe that you mean any harm.”

  I had not yet decided what I was going to do to evade the journey, but I carefully avoided the velvet cloak and selected a red one from the chest. That cloak was chosen for me by someone who cared and I would not taint it or its memories by wearing it for this mission. I closed my eyes as I tied the ribbons at the neck, praying that Richard would come and rescue me.

  In the coach on the way to the orphanage I tried to plan a way out for myself and whatever poor child he decided to take. I had to be careful. I had married for survival and nothing had changed; I could not afford to be without him. He drove the coach himself, so he obviously did not care to trust a coachman with this mission, but that could well be to my advantage.

  “What do you intend to do with the child when you have had your fun?” I asked bitterly as we alighted the coach.

  “She is just an orphan,” he replied with a shrug. “No one will miss her. It was different with you; you were important and had to be returned. That’s why Mr Carter made your father think he was taking money. I did not want to use you, it was him that was obsessed. I thought it was too dangerous.”

  “So you intend to kill her?”

  “What else? Once soiled she will be of no further use to me.”

  I could not believe that anyone would talk like that and mean it. I had no weapon with me, though why I had not thought to bring one I could not say. I was desperately afraid of being alone and penniless, of being destitute, but who was more important? Me or another helpless child? I had not had anyone to rescue me, but this child would be different.

  I said nothing as we entered the orphanage, as my illustrious husband introduced himself and his Marchioness and expressed a wish, a deep desire to adopt a little girl.

  “Alas,” he said quietly to the warden in charge, “Her Ladyship is unable to conceive. We thought a little girl would be a good choice, someone she can share her feminine skills with.”

  The warden suspected nothing, but took us down some stairs into a large room with many beds, on which sat many little girls, some as young as only two or three. They were each of them filthy dirty, as though nobody bothered to see to their hygiene, and all looked thin and underfed. A couple had lice running through their hair and I shivered and wanted to scratch.

  “What do you think my dear?” The Monster said, turning to me. “You choose. You are to be her mother.”

  Me? He wanted me to choose which child would suffer the same horrors that I had suffered? It could not happen; I could not let it happen. But what could I do? If I gave him away, the warden would likely not believe me. A man with such a beautiful wife would never need to do such a thing. That is what he would think and that is the reason he married me. Not only would it not work, but I could expect a savage beating on returning to his house; then I would be of no use to this child or any future ones.

  Over the years I had dreamed of killing him and his friend, but now I hated him more than ever. If I had a knife, I would have plunged it into him with no regrets.

  I reached out my hand and pointed to a blonde child of about twelve years old. I chose a blonde child so that the Monster could better see the lice running around her scalp and give me time to form another plan.

  “A little old, perhaps?” He said with a frown, knowing that I had deliberately chosen an older child.

  “I think not. A child of her age will be better company and more use around the house,” I insisted.

  He could do nothing without arousing suspicion and so I felt satisfied. I sat inside the coach with her while he drove the horses and when we arrived back at the house the first thing to do was to wash her hair and bathe her.

  “Very well,” he said impatiently. “Though it is hardly necessary.”

  While Lucy boiled water and took the child to her own chamber to bathe her, I went to the kitchens and looked about for any sort of potion that might put the Monster to sleep. I had little knowledge of herbs and the like but I knew poison when I saw it but I could find nothing so I settled at last on the poppy juice I had taken for myself. That would at least send him to sleep; given enough of it, he might even not wake up.

  I mixed it with wine and took it to him. Had our positions been reversed, I would not have drunk anything prepared by me, but he was arrogant enough to believe that I would obey him as the law demanded. If the law were half as concerned with the welfare of children as it was in making sure that wives remained in their proper place, monsters like him would be put to death. I was only doing what the law should be doing. Did thou shalt not kill apply when it came to a freak of nature such as this one? I only knew one thing: I was not going to let him hurt that little girl nor any other little girl in the future, even if I had to kill him myself.

  I had no qualms about the idea of murdering him. It was something I had longed to do for years after all, and here was the perfect opportunity and the perfect motive. He drank the wine and fell asleep in his chair, while I wondered what I could do to stop him from waking up.

  Lucy had finished with the child and brought her to my sitting room.

  “There, My Lady,” she said. “Her name’s Louisa, so she tells me. She seems to have little to say and she is scared stiff, but who could blame her? What now?”

  “He is sleeping,” I told her. “P
erhaps Louisa would like something to eat. She does not look as though she has had much before this.”

  She took the child down to the kitchen where she served cheese and bread and the little girl fell upon it ravenously. So I had been right; she was half starved. But I had to find a way to keep the Monster asleep, preferably permanently, and I had to do it without Lucy finding out. I did not fear she would betray me, but I did not want her involved.

  I need not have worried; when I returned to the Monster’s bedchamber, he was dead. I knew I had not given him enough poppy juice to kill him, so it seemed that his heart had given out and the mixture was just enough to tip him over the edge. I knelt beside him and gave a silent prayer of thanks.

  But what to do with his body? I could hardly bury him all by myself and I could not trust the servants. They would want to report his death to the authorities and I would be left penniless once more, as I doubted he would have made a will or even if he had, I doubted he would have included me in it. My only hope was to hide him, tell the servants and neighbours he had gone away, and carry on living there.

  But I could not stop Lucy from entering the room and seeing his foul body slumped in the chair.

  “My Lady?” She enquired in a low voice. “Is he dead?”

  “I am very much afraid he is, Lucy,” I replied without really thinking about it. “He seems to have suffered a heart attack.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  I smiled slightly. Trust Lucy to be thinking of how she could help me, and not how she could help herself.

  “I have no idea,” I replied. “I do not want to involve you.”

  “Well, it is late in the day for that.” She said, striding forward and putting her fingers on the Monster’s wrist to feel for a pulse. “What shall we do with him?”