by Lucy Wild
“You have no choice in the matter.”
“Oh, I think I do.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pistol, pointing it towards Vanessa. “I thought you might not listen to me, that he might have warped your mind so much that you thought all this was normal. Look at yourself, in the dress of a child and acting like it’s not a sin, a crime against decency. Well it is indecent and you will wear it no longer. Take it off!”
“What? You can’t be serious.”
“Take it off or I shoot you. Your choice.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I have used this gun before, I am not afraid to use it again. I will give you to the count of three to take that dress off. You better decide quickly. One. Two.”
“All right,” Vanessa snapped as his mouth shaped the next number. “I’ll do it.” She reached down slowly, staring at the end of the gun as she lifted the dress up towards her shoulders, pulling it off over her head and dropping it to her side. “There, happy now?”
“Knickers too and your shoes and stockings. I don’t want you wearing his things anymore.”
“Please, don’t do this.”
“Get them off!” he shouted. “I tire of your whining.”
Vanessa slid her stockings down her legs, her hands shaking as she removed her knickers, stepping out of them as her heart pounded so hard, she thought it might explode.
“That’s better,” Mr. Forrester said, grinning wickedly as he looked down at her body. “Now I hear you’ve been taught how to obey so let’s see how you get on. Bend over that table.”
“Please, no.”
“Do it!”
A sob escaped Vanessa as she turned away from him, leaning down over the table, glancing to her left as she did so. There was a door there, hanging ajar. From it a draft entered the room, chilling her further as she remained in place, no idea what Mr. Forrester had planned for her. She yelped as his hand suddenly fell on her bottom, squeezing it roughly.
“Good girl,” he growled, pressing the gun between her shoulder blades. “Don’t move now, I’d hate to slip on the trigger and ruin that pretty skin of yours.” He kissed the back of her neck, making her shudder with disgust. She felt his free hand sliding down between her legs, feeling her thighs and then her core. His fingers found their way back up her bottom, delving into the valley between her buttocks, his breathing growing heavier. “I’ll look after you,” he whispered. “I’ll not hurt you like he did.”
She spread her legs, thinking hard through her terror, wanting to draw his attention downwards, away from the gun. “Take me,” she whispered. She was rewarded by the sound of him chuckling above her.
“You’re just like all the rest,” he said, the sound of rustling clothing filling the air. “Protest and refuse but you want it all the same. Curse it. Can’t get this deuced button undone.”
The gun slid away from her back and she glanced back in time to see him fumbling with his trousers. She knew she would never have a better chance. Lightning fast, she lashed upwards with her foot, catching him squarely between the legs. He crumpled to the ground at once, his mouth open in a silent scream, the gun falling from his hand.
Vanessa sprinted for the open door beside her, crashing through it and into the hallway beyond. Twisting left, she turned into a room that had once been a study. As she entered, there was an explosion of plaster behind her and a banging sound so loud it made her ears ring. He had recovered quickly then. She glanced frantically around her, seeing the window to the street that she had missed when she first entered, it was so covered in grime. She ran to it, jumping over a sofa to do so. She yanked at the pane, it slid upwards with a protesting squeal.
“Come back here!” Mr. Forrester yelled as she dove through the window to the street. He appeared in the doorway of the room, gun pointing towards her as she took a final look at him before sprinting away from the house. “Vanessa!”
She did not slow down until her lungs were burning and her legs too weak to go on. She stopped and looked around her. She had reached the last of the buildings before the countryside took over from the town. Still naked, she shivered uncontrollably, the rising sun doing little to warm her skin. Looking around, she noticed a pile of filthy rags in a pile outside a doorway. She grabbed the top few fragments, enough to wrap around her like a makeshift blanket. She had no idea where the rags came from and they stank hideously but at least she was covered for her walk out of town and into the fields beyond. She kept the road in sight but did not walk along it, afraid Mr. Forrester might appear with the carriage at any moment.
It took her so long to return to the school that by the time she arrived, she was almost dead on her feet. She stumbled through the door into the hallway, collapsing to the ground as she did so. “Vanessa!” Mr. Crow cried, emerging from his study to see her in a pile, the rags sliding from her body. “What on earth happened to you?”
“You murdered my parents,” she muttered before fainting dead away.
Chapter 25
“You deserve to know the truth.”
Nathaniel sat at his desk, Vanessa on the other side, sipping at a cup of tea, her fingers trembling as she gripped the cup.
“Why?” she replied. “You have not told me the truth up to this point. Why start now?”
“What happened to you, Vanessa? Where have you been?”
It had been three hours since she had returned to the school, and in that time, she had remained in bed, the school waiting for her to awaken. Once she opened her eyes to the world, she was brought to his study by Mrs. Carpenter. She sat there with weak eyes staring into the distance whilst every fibre of Nathaniel’s body made him want to hold her, to tell her he was sorry, to make it all okay. But he dared not touch her, not yet, not until he knew what had happened to her.
“You want to know where I have been?” she asked, putting down the cup on the tray, leaning towards him. “I have been with the man you framed for the murder of my parents.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“The new teacher, the one you hired.”
“What new teacher?”
“Mr. Forrester. Does that name mean anything to you?”
“Not a thing. But what do you mean new teacher? Since when has there been a new teacher working here?”
“Since Miss Pelham vanished without a trace and you hired a replacement.”
“Miss Pelham has vanished? That is news to me.”
The door to the office burst open and Mr. Forrester appeared, flanked by two constables.
“You do not keep track of your staff very well, do you, Mr. Crow?” he said, pointing across the room. “Arrest that man.”
“On what charge?” Nathaniel asked, slowly sliding open his desk drawer.
“Murder of course.”
“I see. I knew this day was coming, I’ve been waiting a long time to use this.” He reached into the drawer and before the constables had time to react he pulled out a letter, sliding it across the desk towards them. “Perhaps you might read this before you do anything you might regret.”
The first constable picked up the letter, tearing open the envelope before scanning through the contents. He coughed halfway through, his face turning red. “Apologies, sir,” he nodded, turning and grabbing Mr. Forrester by the arm. “We will disturb you no longer.”
“Hey, wait!” Mr. Forrester snapped. “What are you doing? Unhand me at once. Have you gone mad?” He continued to shout as the two constables started dragging him from the office. “You have not heard the last of this, Crow!” he screamed, his voice fading away as the front door slammed shut.
Nathaniel turned back to Vanessa. “Allow me to tell you a story,” he said with a flicker of a smile. “It is the story of a spy, sent to France to keep an eye on the ambassador. Whilst there he found out about a man and a bomb, a bomb set to go off before a meeting between France, England and Prussia. This spy told his employers about the bomb and they told him to let it go off, to pretend he knew no
thing. What was he to do? Well he made a stupid decision. He did as they asked. The bomb went off. The ambassador was killed as was his wife. The Prussians were blamed, the word getting round that an anarchist group wanted to bring about war in Europe. But while all the politicians were busy deciding who to blame, this spy found out the ambassador had an infant daughter, a daughter who vanished.
“He spent years tracking her down, finally finding her when she was an adult who had just arrived in York. He dared not meet her lest he put her in danger so he paid her bills for her, he kept an eye on her and when she was evicted, he brought her to his school to try and keep her safe.”
Sighing, Nathaniel, leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. “He failed,” he added. “Failed at keeping her safe, failed at not falling for her, failed at protecting her from danger.”
There was a long silence before Vanessa spoke. “What’s in that letter?” she asked.
“See for yourself.”
He watched her expression as she read it. When she was done, she set it down on the desk. “Is that true? What it says in there?”
Nathaniel leaned over and picked up the letter. He smiled as he looked at the familiar image that lay below the text.
Wanted—William Duchamp—Sought for the Paris bombing of 1849—To be approached with caution, believed armed and dangerous
The drawing that accompanied the words was faded but still clear enough to leave no doubt. “Looks a lot like the fellow who just left, doesn’t it?” Nathaniel asked.
“But the writing on the back? Did her Majesty really write that?”
“What, that I am an agent of the crown, to be helped in any way I see fit? She did write that and I have held onto that note for twenty years, just in case. Glad I did else I might be in custody right now. As for you, Vanessa, you have a choice to make. You can choose to either believe your Mr. Forrester, whatever tale he told you. Or you can believe me when I tell you that the man who just left planted the bomb and not for any noble purpose but for the basest jealous ones. Do you remember when I told you that you needed to control your emotions? Well, he’s proof of what happens if you let your emotions rule you. He wanted to marry you, begged the ambassador for your hand even before you were born, thought it would bring him into the noble life he so craved. When he was refused, he fell in with the anarchists, did their bidding, let them warp his mind. He killed them, Vanessa, not me. Though it is for you to decide which of us is telling the truth. No one can make your mind up for you.”
Vanessa got to her feet, tears rolling down her cheeks as she stumbled towards the door. “I have to think,” she muttered before vanishing.
Nathaniel rubbed his chin thoughtfully before picking up the note and folding it back into the envelope. So Duchamp had come back after all. Standing up, he walked through the school to Miss Pelham’s room, finding it locked. He retrieved the skeleton key from his desk before returning and unlocking the door. Inside, a letter was open on the bed surrounded by the signs of hurried packing. He picked up the letter, the handwriting was good but he could tell it was fake, the giveaway was in the swirl of the Rs. It was ostensibly from Miss Pelham’s mother, telling her she was mortally ill, come at once, everything planned to tug at the heartstrings and make her travel without telling the school first. Clever.
So he had intercepted the rental payments. He had set it all up just right, knowing Vanessa would likely end up at the school. Then when the time was perfect, he had moved. Timed for when Nathaniel was away, he had gotten rid of Miss Pelham and taken her place, getting closer to Vanessa, gaining her trust. Then he had taken her. But she’d escaped and come back. He hadn’t planned for that.
There were only two questions Nathaniel realized he did not know the answer to. What had happened to Vanessa whilst she was with Duchamp? And more importantly, who would she choose to believe?
Chapter 26
Vanessa could not tell him what had happened. She could barely even think about it without a pain building deep inside her. To think, he had a gun held to her and his hands between her legs, the thought repulsed her. What was worse was finding out his every word was a lie. She had no doubt Mr. Crow was telling the truth. He had never lied to her.
She sat in her bedroom after leaving Mr. Crow’s office, trying to decide what to do. She could not stay in the school; it was suffocating her. She did not want to look at the other littles, their uniforms a reminder to her of what had happened.
She wrapped her cloak around her and left minutes later, walking without direction, unable to stop glancing over her shoulder as she did so. She had seen Forrester arrested. The chances of her seeing him ever again were almost non existent and yet knowing that did not stop her thinking he might appear at any moment, drag her back to that house, force her to bend over that table again.
Stop, she told herself. Stop thinking about it. Think about something else.
Her mind went to Mr. Crow. He might not have killed her parents but he had not prevented their deaths. He had found out what was going to happen to them and he had done nothing about it. He had let them die. Could she ever stand to be around him, knowing that about him?
She spent the rest of the day walking and thinking, arriving back at the school as the sun began to set. She walked through the halls to Mr. Crow’s study, pushing it open and finding him standing looking out of the window.
“I have made a decision,” she said, sitting and motioning for him to do the same. “I do not want you to say a thing until I am done or else I might not get this out.”
“Of course,” he replied, slipping into his chair and looking nervously across at her.
“I wanted to leave you,” she began. “I truly did. To find out what happened to my mother and father, to find out the part you played, it was too much to bear. I wanted to leave here and never come back but I can’t. And do you know why? Because every minute I was alone with him, I was thinking of you, I was thinking of all the things you had taught me. I was terrified of what he was about to do to me but because of you I was able to control my fear, I was able to think, I was able to act, I was able to escape. Because of you, I am here now. I love you, Papa. I cannot escape that truth. No matter what has happened in the past, there is no escaping how I feel about you. I cannot run from it, I cannot ignore it, I can only accept it. I love you, Nathaniel Crow, and I hope you understand how hard it is for me to admit that after everything that has happened, to not just give up and run away from here, never to return.”
“I am glad you love me,” Nathaniel replied, reaching into his pocket and bringing out a small velvet covered box. “I’m not sure what I would have done with this otherwise.”
“What is that?”
“Open it and see.”
Vanessa took the box from him and opened the lid, looking down at the sparkling ring nestled within. “You mean…”
“I wish to marry you, Vanessa White. I wish for you to be my little wife forevermore. If you wish to marry me, of course.”
“Oh, Papa,” Vanessa cried, running round the desk and throwing her arms around him. “Of course I’ll marry you. I love you so much.”
“And I love you.”
She felt his arms slide around her and then she nestled into him, curling up on his lap, her head under his chin, her ear to his chest, hearing the slow rhythm of his heartbeat. There might be tough things to deal with, she thought. There might be hard times to get through, difficulties to overcome, but with her papa looking after her as her husband, she felt certain that there was nothing she could not overcome. “I am so happy,” she muttered, kissing his chest.
“As am I,” he replied. “And I promise no one will ever hurt you ever again.”
“What if I want to be hurt?” she asked, looking up at him and smiling. “From time to time.”
“Well, that’s different,” he said, smiling back. “That depends doesn’t it?”
“On what?”
“Whether or not you’re a good little girl.”
The End
About the Author
Lucy Wild
Lucy Wild was born on the Yorkshire coast in England. Growing up surrounded by ruined Victorian splendour, she would spend every spare moment exploring, walking in the footsteps of the fair ladies and stern gentlemen who once roamed the very same promenades and alleyways as she, the crumbling buildings whispering countless stories of a romantic world long since vanished.
As an adult, she never forgot those early daydreams, hoping to meet the right Victorian Master for the little she yearned to be, wanting to add her story to the others. After her heart was broken one too many times, she decided to throw herself instead into creating the world where she felt most at home, a world of starched collars and secret dalliances, a place where blushing brides were loved and spanked by their dominant husbands. In this way, she was able to write the happily ever afters she never had, bringing joy to her heart and pleasure to her readers in equal measure.
Lucy is a #1 bestselling author on Amazon, best known for her historical spanking and age play stories, where stern alpha heroes show submissive heroines that happiness can best be found in a consensual power exchange.
She still wanders the coastal resorts of her youth, photographing her adventures for research and pleasure. She also likes tea, cake, her energetic border collie, and collecting Victorian memorabilia.
Visit her blog here:
wildromance.co.uk
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