Elysia stood silent, facing the two men as they measured her up. Wondering if she would put up a fight, were they? Well, they would soon find out that she was no cowering faint-heart. If she was destined to die, she would go fighting.
But they had other plans for her first. She was not to die immediately, and not with any shred of dignity. Elysia felt her heart stop and start up sickeningly, as she understood what they were planning. She watched them run their tongues over their thick lips and rotting teeth expectantly.
"Ye'll not be givin' ol' Jack any trouble now, eh?" one of them said, noting her clenched fists. "We're to have our way with ye. Ain't nothin' ye can do about it, me pretty–and I reckon we might just enjoy ourselves with ye before we finishes ye off."
"Yeah, I was a-hopin' ye'd be a feelln' that way, Jack me boy:' his friend added, making a move forward like a hunter stalking his prey.
"Not, so fast there, laddie-buck. She's mine first," Jack warned his smaller companion.
"And who says so?"
"I do—and that should be answer enough, if ye knows whats good fer ye," he threatened in a growl.
Elysia took a step backwards. It was too much to hope that they might kill each other off in a fight over who would rape her first. If there were only some way she could escape–but they were too big and powerful. She didn't have a chance. She couldn't bribe them–what enticement could be great enough for them to risk their necks by hanging. Turning her loose would be endangering themselves with detection as smugglers–even worse, traitors, and possibly murderers. No matter how great a sum she promised, they would not risk it.
The one called Jack made a sudden lunge, grasping Elysia around the waist and pulling her into his arms. Her face was pressed into his shoulder, his shirt smelling of sweat and grime. Elysia gagged as the smell putrefied in her nostrils. He pulled at her dress, already ripped in the seams, revealing her shoulders.
Elysia felt faint, a thousand hammers were beating away in her head and his arms were pressing against her bruised sides. She prayed for unconsciousness to come swiftly and release her from this agony that was far worse than death.
"Oh, no ye don't, me pretty. Come on, fight me; he said thickly as his foul breath hit her nostrils, before his mouth closed down on her lips. She tried to struggle but his arms were like a vise, forcing her into immobility, lifting her off her feet, her halfboots causing little damage to his thickly booted legs.
His large hands pulled at her as he threw her roughly to the ground, following her down, his heavy bulk pressing against her painfully. Tears trickled from beneath her closed lids as she felt his fingers moving along her leg.
The fogginess in Elysia's brain was suddenly shattered by the sharp report of a pistol firing twice, the roar of the shot echoing from wall to wall around the cave until it drowned out the sound of the sea. The man above her gave a surprised cry and rolled from her, a stricken look of astonishment crossing his heavy features.
Elysia stared up into the coal-black eyes of the man standing over the lifeless body of her attacker, the pistol he held negligently in his hand still smoking.
"Mon Dieu!” he repeated in a voice of disbelief. "What are you doing here? I would kill the swine a thousand times over for this." He spat on the still form beneath his highly-polished, booted legs.
The Count knelt down and helped Elysia to her feet, removing his coat and placing it about her shaking form, his arms holding her steady as she swayed on her weak legs.
"Here drink this," he offered, drawing a Silver flask from his coat and holding it to Elysia's white lips.
She' coughed as she breathed the strong fumes of the brandy, but drank deeply of it. Elysia could feel its heat burning through her body, spreading its warmth like a flame. The dizziness passed and her legs no longer felt like quivering jelly. Taking a deep breath she looked at the Count who was staring at her with deep concern in his black eyes.
"I do not know quite how to thank you, Monsieur le Comte. I owe you my life," Elysia said humbly, her voice weak and shaken.
"That I could have been of service to you, c’est un honneur-mais, I do not think they would have killed you. As a woman of dignity, however, you would have wished it."
"No, you are mistaken—they had orders to kill me."
"Orders? C'est impossible. Pourquoi? Why should anyone desire that one so lovely as yourself should die?" the Count asked incredulously, still doubtful. He glanced about him at the stone walls of the cave and the stacks of goods piled up beneath its domed ceiling. "What are you doing here?"
"I was tricked into coming here—by Mrs. Blackmore. She's insane—mad with the lust for power, and she will stop at nothing to get what she wants." Elysia watched the look of disbelief on the Count's face. He may be working with the Blackmores, but he was entirely innocent of Mrs. Blackmore's murderous plans concerning herself, she thought. He proved that when he killed two of Mrs. Blackmore's hired assassins.
"Why should she want to kill you, Lady Elysia?"
"I am in her way. She had designs on the Marquis. She had hoped for a match between Louisa and Alex, but unfortunately, he chose me instead"
"Ah, je comprends. That is a woman to beware of. If it were otherwise . . . well," he shrugged, "I would have no dealings with her. It is always safer to know the enemy-then you are prepared-but if you do not think that one is to be feared, then how can you protect yourself from a blow that you do not expect? She is evil, that one, and very dangerous," He looked perturbed. "Even I did not know how dangerous."
"Then you know a great deal about Mrs. Blackmore, Monsieur le Comte."Elysia's thoughts were beginning to orient themselves once again, despite the aching in her head, and she realized that the Count had no idea that he had been detected, and that she knew the truth of his mission in England
"Oui, this is so," he smiled hesitantly, casting a look over his shoulder expectantly, "and I suppose that you must be wondering what I am doing here. It is true—now that you have seen that woman's true character—that she is a smuggler.·My involvement with her is only for the purpose of transportation. You see I must get to France, on occasion," the Count explained Sincerely. "You must believe me. I am not a Bonapartist. Non! I am a Royalist. I am fighting with the groups who oppose that tyrant, but I also must see to my estates. You do believe me?" he demanded, as if her trust meant something to him. "In fact, I have the sanction of your Prime Minister to do this work," he lied, trying to make her believe him.
If she had not already learned the truth about the Count, then she would have believed every lying word that he had so eloquently spoken just now. He was an accomplished spy, after all, and it was his job to deceive people into trusting him.
"Please, you will believe me?" he entreated. "You do believe me . . . you will not say of what you have seen . . . at least about me?" He seemed so sincere, so anxious for her to believe him, Elysia thought in puzzlement, until she noticed how his fingers were nervously handling the trigger of the pistol tucked into the waistband of his pantaloons. He did not wish to kill her—unless she did not believe him, and denounced him to the authorities. That was the reason for his insistence that she believe him. At least he was giving her a chance-which was more than Mrs. Blackmore had done. Very well Count, you shall receive my complete faith, Elysia thought, and we shall play this charade out.
"Yes I believe you, Monsieur le Comte," Eylsia finally answered him, noticing the relief on his face as he seemed to relax.
"You will for once call me Jean?" He lifted her hand and kissed the scratches softly, before glancing over his shoulder nervously again, towards the mouth of the cave, and pulling out his watch to check the time with a worried expression on his face. "I must depart at any moment now," he told her, staring at her with indecision.
What could she do, Elysia thought in confusion? He had saved her life, yet he was a traitor. He was planning to leave England with secret documents and she could stop him-or could she? Despite his
timely interruption that had saved her life, she had no doubt that he was as loyal to France as she was to England. If she tried to stop him, he would kill her without hesitation.
"It is a pity that our paths have crossed—and there it will end. I suppose that is the way of the world. Nothing is the way that I would want it. If you had been French . . . ah! But, alas, it cannot be. Come now, I shall escort you out of here, for I must meet a boat that is coming to collect me.” He looked at the suffering in Elysia's eyes, adding, "You had better leave here at once . . . and I shall deal with the Squire's wife in due time." He took Elysia's elbow and began to guide her to the steep flight of steps.
"Count . . . I must stop you," Elysia began, and would have reached for his pistol, but before she could, there was a disturbance at the mouth of the cave. The Count halted, turning expectantly at the .sound. His look changed to anger and watchfulness as he stared at the intruder.
Mrs. Blackmore came to a surprised stand-still in mid-stride. The sight of the Count and Elysia, and the two prone bodies of her henchmen brought. a look of concentrated fury that whitened her already pale face, tautening the skin painfully across her cheekbones.
“You!" she screamed looking wild-eyed at Elysia. "You should be dead! You deserve to die for what you've done to me with your damned curses," she said panting, a trickle of saliva dripping from the corner of her mouth.
Mrs. Blackmore smiled grotesquely and charged Elysia, snarling like a mad dog, but the Count stepped quickly in front of Elysia, shielding her with his body.
"Stop!" he warned as Mrs. Blackmore's hands reached out, claw-like, the nails looking as lethal as the fangs of a vicious animal. "You are insane. You jeopardize my whole mission! I shall, in future, recommend that we have no further dealings with you."
"You stupid Frenchie. You’ll never get out of here alive," she laughed diabolically. "The soldiers are right behind me. You've been betrayed!" she screamed, as she pulled a pistol from her cape, and before the Count could make a move she had fired. There was a look of surprise and disbelief on his face as he fell forward, the blood oozing from his chest.
Elysia stared, mesmerized by the glowing eyes of Mrs. Blackmore, and stunned by the cold-blooded shooting of the Count.
"Now you shall finally die—once and for all," Mrs. Blackmore promised, as she levelled the barrel of the pistol directly at Elysia's head.
Elysia took a deep breath. It would seem that she was really going to die this time. There would be no last minute effort to save her—unless she herself made an attempt—but she was drained of all energy. She could barely stand.
She tensed herself to spring. If she could just knock the gun from Mrs. Blackmore's hand. She was desperate, willing to try anything to save herself, hoping her strength would hold out, when she heard the sound of running feet and voices. They seemed to be surrounding them, from everywhere people suddenly converged upon them. Mrs. Blackmore glanced about wildly, the sounds echoing through the cave without direction, magnified over and over, until it was a confused mass of sound.
Elysia saw Ian come striding through the opening, a look of triumph on his face as he saw the cave and its storage of smuggled treasure. His triumphant look faded abruptly, as he caught sight of Elysia's tom and bloodied figure.
"My God! Elysia!” he gasped in surprise, momentarily taken off balance.
Elysia cried a warning, but Mrs. Blackmore had already turned and fired at Ian. Elysia screamed' as she saw Ian grimace with pain and stagger back to fall against the wall of the cave.
Other men had entered the cave now, halting, as they stood unsure of what to do, as they looked with surprise at the two women standing mute before them—one with a pistol smoking malevolently in her hand.
The opening of the secret door above them broke the spell, as the Marines' eyes were drawn upward to two-well-dressed gentlemen entering in a hurry, followed by a small, grizzled man waving a dangerous-looking blunderbuss.
Mrs. Blackmore screamed like a cornered animal, abusing them all with foul language, as she forcibly pushed her way past the bemused Marines, towards the mouth of the cave. Elysia's paralysis seemed to break and she rushed anxiously to Ian, who had slumped down upon his knees. As Elysia knelt down beside him, she was unaware of the sound of the booted feet hurrying down the steps behind her. Her only concern was for Ian.
Mrs. Blackmore had paused at the entrance, her hatred so insane and twisted that she aimed her pistol once more—this time at Elysia's vulnerable back, before the astonished Marines could anticipate her actions. But Alex had been quicker. He grasped the Count's pistol from the dead man's hand and fired it in one quick motion, without stopping to aim.
Mrs. Blackmore screamed as the shot winged her arm, making her drop the pistol. She grabbed her shoulder and turned in panic to escape, but her steps were uncoordinated, as she staggered onto the path. She stumbled as she hurried, losing her balance, and falling forward over the edge, her arms flailing the air futilely.
Inside the cave her blood-curdling scream echoed eerily in the silence, as she fell down the sheer drop, onto the sharp rocks below.
Alex dropped the pistol distastefully as he walked over to where Elysia knelt beside the wounded man. He stared in disbelief at her bruised and bloody appearance. He reached out to pull her to him, and only then did her voice reach him, turning him pale at her words.
"Ian, oh Ian. Are you all right . . . oh, please . . . don't die. You can't . . . now that I've found you again."
Elysia was touching Ian's face with gentle and loving hands, and was completely unaware of all that was going on around her—not seeing the outstretched arms drop, as Alex turned away unnoticed.
Ah, la belle chose de savoir quelque chose.
Knowledge is a fine thing.
Moliere
Chapter 16
"Oh, Lady Elysia," Dany scolded lovingly, "I just don't know what's to become of ye?"
She was helping Elysia dress after bathing her and seeing to her wounds, her exclamations of dismay and outrage unable to be contained as she saw the extent of Elysia's injuries. She gently towelled Elysia's long hair, the dust and blood painstakingly washed free from the shining strands.
Dany left Elysia sitting snugly before the fire, its glow spreading a warmth over the room. Elysia gratefully sipped the cup of fragrant, hot tea that Dany had prescribed for her and wrapped her fingers about the fragile tea cup. The warmth from the hot liquid warmed her fingers as she felt the paper-thin china beneath. How easy it would be to crush it, she mused–and how very easy it was to die. She had seen death happen swiftly and unexpectedly, taking with it something very special and precious that could never be brought back again. How quickly a life was snuffed out—as simply as the flame of a candle! She had come so close to it herself–yet she had escaped it.
And what would she have left behind her, had she died? All these days of anger and resentment would be her legacy. A bitter taste left in the memory of those she'd lived with. Life was too short not to take what happiness one could.
She would grab at it greedily if it was still within her grasp. Take whatever offer was given her by Alex—even if it meant sharing him with Lady Woodley—even if she only saw him occasionally, when he felt it necessary to visit her from London. She was, after all still his wife–and he would want an heir. It was one of the reasons why he had married her–to have sons to inherit. And she would have his sons to cherish and love, a small part of him to hold forever. In that sense, she was still necessary–even if he did not love her.
Alex had been very concerned and solicitous of her health, coming back from Blackmore, but she had sensed a wall between them—an indifference and coldness. It was as if he were telling her that he could feel concerned for anyone who had been injured and was in need of care—but not to make anything more of it than that—for that was all it was.
There was a hesitant tap on the door, before it was opened and Louisa entered the room. She was pal
e, and dark circles of grief accentuated her gray eyes, making them look enormous in her small face. Her hands were nervously clasping a damp handkerchief, wrinkled from constant wringing.
"Louisa," Elysia spoke softly, compassion for the other girl in her eyes. "I'm glad you've come."
"I was not sure of my welcome, a-after . . . " she paused as a spasm of pain crossed her face at her words, "what had been done to you."
"You are not to blame!" Elysia was indignant. "Surely you do not believe I could possibly blame you, or bear you any ill-will? Oh, Louisa, you are my dearest friend." Elysia held out her arms to the bewildered girl who looked as if one more blow might snap her in two.
Elysia held Louisa's shaking body, murmuring words of comfort which could not assuage the deep hurt Louisa must be feeling. But they seemed to have a soothing effect, for Louisa's sobs gradually diminished, until she leaned quietly against Elysia, taking deep, ragged breaths.
"Remember when first we met, and I told you we would have need of each other's shoulders to cry on?" Elysia asked, as Louisa mopped at her tears with her ridiculously-inadequate, lace-edged hanky.
"Yes I remember," she replied in a muffled voice, "but never did I dream that it would be under these circumstances. I still find it hard to believe." She looked at Elysia's bruised cheek in mystification. "That Mama would dare to try to kill you . . . that she was I-like that . . . that they are dead," she whispered struggling to understand the implications of it all.
“I never knew them. It was all a lie that they were living," she sighed with regret. "I was never close to them. Mama and Papa were not ones to show affection–in fact, I sometimes wondered if I was even wanted? I was always in the way as a child. I was with my Nanas more than my parents. It was only when I came of marriageable age that I had any worth or importance to them."
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