Wilde, Jennifer

by Love's Tender Fury

  Lighting the lamps, I sat down at the dressing table again and arranged my hair, forcing myself to concentrate. I cleaned my face and applied powder and lip rouge sparingly, and when I had finished there was no sign of the tears I had shed, no sign of the bruise. My blue eyes were dark with emotion, but my hand was steady as I applied a touch of coral rouge to each cheekbone, rubbing it in until there was only a suggestion of natural color.

  I removed the robe and crumpled petticoat I had been wearing all day and dressed slowly. Twenty minutes later I was ready. The dress Helmut had chosen was a brown-and-orange-striped taffeta. It was a bold garment, and I was pleased with the total effect. I might be trembling inside, but on the surface I looked composed and attractive. That helped considerably.

  It had already begun to grow dark before Helmut returned. I could see that he had been drinking even more; his cheeks were ruddy, his hair damp with perspiration.

  "Ready, my dear?" he inquired.

  "Quite," I retorted.

  "You look ravishing. I'm sure they'll appreciate it."

  "They?"

  "I've arranged a little surprise for you. Come, the carriage is waiting. Oh, by the way, I think I should warn you not to try anything. If you do, if you try to break away and run or do anything foolish like that, then I'd be forced to act accordingly. I've no desire to damage the goods, but I wouldn't hesitate."

  "I believe you," I said coldly.

  "Just thought I'd warn you, my dear."

  He took my arm and led me out of the room and down the hall. He seemed charged with energy, and his eyes were alight with perverse anticipation. I tried to maintain the surface calm, but it was growing more and more difficult. His hand gripped my arm tightly as we went downstairs and outside. A closed carriage was waiting. The black coachman sat on his high perch in front; four horses stamped restlessly between the shafts. Helmut opened the door and thrust me roughly inside. He said something harsh to the coachman and then climbed in himself, pulling the door shut with a loud bang. He settled beside me, his arm around my shoulders, and a moment later we were off.

  "I suppose you're curious," he remarked.

  "A little."

  "I couldn't quite decide what to do with you," he said, speaking in a casual, chatty voice. "I wanted to kill you, of course. I could have done it the other morning—what pleasure it would have been to take your throat between my hands and squeeze the life out of you—but that would have been too quick, too final. I want you to suffer, my dear. I want you to suffer for a long, long time."

  He was insane. He was as deranged as those gibbering madmen they kept in cells deep in the bowels of Newgate, even if his madness took another form. I shuddered in spite of myself. His arm tightened around my shoulders, drawing me closer.

  "You've been wanting a lover," he continued in that same chatty tone. "I've arranged for you to have one—to have several, in fact. Madame Rose recently lost one of her girls. Seems one of the sailors was a bit rough. The poor thing died of her injuries. Rose has been begging me to get a replacement. She's wretchedly understaffed."

  I felt I was listening to something in a nightmare. The clopping of horse hooves, the shaking of the carriage, the man beside me in the dark interior, his voice so smooth... None of it was real. I began to tremble, all my strength and resolution melting away. Helmut drew me even closer, turning his head so that his lips almost brushed my ear. He seemed to croon.

  "I've arranged a room for you. You'll begin tonight. I've no doubt you'll take to it with relish. You'll work in the house for three or four days, and then I've arranged for you to take a little trip. There's a ship leaving for Rio de Janeiro—a fine city, became the capital of Brazil only twelve years ago. I have property there, including a house even more understaffed than Rose's establishment—"

  "I'm your wife," I whispered. "You—you can't—people will—"

  "People will ask questions, yes. I shall inform them that you've taken a trip to England to visit your people. A little later I shall inform them that, alas, you've died of the fever. I shall be the disconsolate widower. I shall go around with a very long face. I've no doubt they'll feel a great deal of sympathy."

  The horse hooves pounded. The carriage shook. The man beside me chuckled quietly to himself. I could tell that we were moving downhill now. I could smell the river. A few moments later, I began to hear loud music and raucous laughter. Through the window of the carriage I could see brightly lighted buildings, the verandahs filled with drunken men and brassy, vividly dressed women. Two men were fighting on the steps of one of the houses. A group of shrieking women cheered them on. Helmut gave my shoulder another squeeze.

  The carriage stopped. Helmut opened the door and climbed out, reaching in to help me get out. I drew back, shaking my head. He clamped his fingers around my wrist in a brutal grip and jerked me forward. I stumbled out of the carriage. I fought then. I slammed my free hand against the side of his face. I kicked. He swung my arm out, gave it a vicious twist, and wrenched it up between my shoulder blades, slinging his other arm around my throat. People on the verandah applauded and shouted encouragement, and he jerked my arm up even higher, forcing me ahead of him up the steps and into the hall of the building.

  An enormously fat woman in a green velvet dress rushed from one of the side rooms to meet us. Her hair was the color of brass. Her lips were a bright pink. She wore dangling jet earrings. Her small black eyes were wide with alarm.

  "Christ, Helmut! You said you were bringin' a new girl, but you didn't tell me she was a bleedin'—"

  "Shut up!" he thundered.

  I tried to break free. He tightened his hold, his forearm crushing my throat. I gasped, fighting for air, and the woman in green velvet began to quiver like jelly from fright. Several women in peignoirs crowded into the doorway of the side parlor, arching their necks to see what was happening. I could feel the blood rushing to my head. I could feel my throat begin to collapse beneath that brutal pressure.

  "You're chokin' her!" Rose shrieked.

  "Is the room ready?" he barked.

  Rose nodded, her jet earrings shaking, and then I closed my eyes and saw black and orange shadows on the backs of my lids. I was swimming in darkness, but the nightmare went on and on. I was half conscious of being carried, half heard the loud, excited voices and the sound of doors slamming. As darkness claimed me. I prayed that it was over. I prayed that I was dead.

  He was talking to me. His voice was loud. I opened my eyes. I was in a small room done all in shades of red, lying on a large brass bed with a scarlet covering. A gilt mirror ran along the wall opposite. I could see my pale face, my disheveled hair, my crumpled gown. The bodice had slipped down until my breasts were almost exposed. I wasn't dead. It wasn't over. He was talking to me, calmly now, and I turned to see him standing by the door, his blue eyes gleaming.

  "—in just a few minutes," he was saying. "I'll be sure he's a strong, husky fellow, one of these rough chaps who work on the docks, perhaps. He'll be delighted to discover such an attractive whore awaiting his pleasure. You can fight him if you wish, my dear. He'll probably like that, though he might be less than gentle. Enjoy yourself, whore. I shall. I'll probably come up and watch after a while."

  "You're insane," I whispered hoarsely.

  Helmut curled his lips in that familiar sardonic smile, and then he stepped out of the room and closed the door and locked it. My head seemed to spin, and black wings flapped viciously, threatening to close over me. I sat up, rubbing my arm. The pain still shot through it, but I could tell it wasn't broken. Every muscle in my throat ached. But after a few minutes I was able to get off the bed and stumble over to the table beneath the mirror. I poured a glass of water and drank it, my hand trembling violently. I set the glass down and closed my eyes, holding onto the edge of the table for support.

  Several minutes passed before I was able to control the panic, though I was still far from calm. I began to look for Some kind of weapon. Stumbling footsteps came down the hall
. I heard a gruff voice calling merrily to someone downstairs, and then a key was inserted in the lock and the doorknob began to turn. I seized the water pitcher and backed against the red wall, as far away from the door as it was possible to be. The door opened. The man stepped inside. He gave a raucous whoop of delight and slammed the door shut.

  "Tonight's my lucky night!" he roared.

  He lifted his index finger to his lips, motioning me to be silent; his blue eyes urged me to play along. I felt every bone in my body dissolve, and I began to slip down the wall as the black wings closed in. He caught me before I reached the floor. Wrapping his arms around me, he held me close, and I seemed to be spinning in darkness. I heard hoarse, tormented sobs and wondered who could be sobbing like that. He drew my head against his shoulder and stroked my hair, and eventually the dizziness subsided. I gave one last sob and raised my head to look into his eyes.

  "Oh, God," I whispered. "Oh, dear God—"

  "Hush now. It's all right. I'm here."

  "I'm not dreaming. Tell me I'm not."

  "You're not dreamin'," he said in that rough, amiable voice. "I saw 'im bring you in 'ere. I 'ad an idea what was goin' on. I 'urried inside an' Rose was sayin' she 'ad a new girl and it'd cost th' lucky fellow twenty bleedin' pounds—"

  "Jack—"

  "I didn't 'ave that much. One o' my mates was gettin' ready to come upstairs with Tessie. I made 'im loan me enough to make up th' twenty, told 'im I'd kick 'is bleedin' teeth in if 'e didn't 'and it over. Your 'usband came down then. I wanted to fly at 'is throat, but I figured it'd be smarter to get you outta 'ere before I kill 'im."

  "It—it's like a nightmare—"

  "It's over now—almost over. There's a back stairs. I'll sneak you down 'em and take you to my place."

  "I've got to—I can't stay in Natchez. He—he was going to—"

  "There's a boat leavin' first thing in th' mornin'. I'll take you to New Orleans myself. Don't you worry about anything. I'm gonna get you outta 'ere, an' then I'm comin' back to kill him."

  "He's insane. He's—"

  "Hush," he said. "Stop your tremblin'. Jack Reed is 'ere, and there's no man gonna lay a finger on you while I'm around. Pull yourself together now. Ya 'ear me?"

  I nodded, and Jack held me until the trembling finally stopped. He let go of me than and stepped to the door. Opening it cautiously, he peered up and down the hall. He closed the door quickly. There were footsteps; a man muttered something unintelligible; a woman laughed boisterously. After a few moments passed, Jack opened the door again, again surveyed the hall, and then motioned for me to join him.

  "We gotta be quick," he said, "an' we gotta be fast. No tellin' when one of them doors might open. Think you're up to it?"

  I nodded. Jack took my hand and we hurried down the hall, down a dark, narrow flight of enclosed stairs. As he opened a heavy wooden door the fresh night air rushed in, sweeping away the dreadful fumes of alcohol and cheap perfume and sweat. Jack peered out, and when he was satisfied that the coast was clear he gave my hand a tug and we stepped outside. The music was still blaring. The shrill voices and laughter spilled out into the night, but here in the back there was very little light. All the houses were built only a few yards from the steep bluff that rose directly behind them, forming a natural alley-way which was littered with garbage.

  We moved quickly past house after a house. A dog barked. Jack scooped up a rock and hurled it at the animal. We hurried on. I stumbled and almost fell. My heart was beating rapidly. I was still in a state of shock, and this seemed as unreal, as dream-like as that hideous red room and all that had gone before. Clearing the last house, we turned and moved toward the river, and then on toward the docks, leaving Natchez-under-the-hill behind us. I was panting now, almost out of breath, and Jack deemed it safe to slow down a bit. I could see the warehouses ahead in the moonlight, see the dark silhouettes of ships and a moving yellow light as someone walked along the docks with a lantern.

  "We're almost there," Jack told me. "You all right?"

  "I—I think so—"

  "The docks'll be alive with activity in a little while. The last boat from New Orleans is due to arrive in less than an hour. That's the one we'll be takin' in th' mornin'."

  We were moving past the warehouses when we heard the carriage rumbling down the road behind us. Jack let go of my hand. I whirled around, instinct telling me who it was. I don't know what had happened to the coachman, for Helmut was driving himself, his pale blond hair gleaming in the moonlight. I screamed. The horses seemed to be charging directly toward us, and then they reared, hooves waving in air. The carriage almost toppled over.

  Helmut leaped off the driver's seat. A horrifying roar emerged from his throat, an inhuman bellow of rage. He propelled himself toward us, his face distorted in the moonlight, the face of a madman. Jack shoved me back against the warehouse wall, and then Helmut was upon him. They began a bizarre, murderous dance, locked together, staggering, reeling, finally crashing to the ground to become a tangle of thrashing limbs. The horses stamped and neighed in terror, and I could hear the terrible grunts and groans and the sound of flesh pounding flesh as the two men rolled out of a patch of moonlight and into the shadows.

  I could barely see them. Two dark silhouettes grappled in the darkness. I was unable to tell which was which. One was shoved aside and the other reached down and picked up a piece of lumber that looked like a club and slammed it against his adversary's skull. There was a hideous crunching noise, and the piece of lumber snapped in two. The man who had been hit sank slowly to his knees and then fell face forward on the ground. The other stood there for a long time, breathing heavily, chest heaving, and at last he turned, stepping out into the moonlight.

  Panting, unable to speak, he stared at me with crazed blue eyes, and I shook my head, sobbing with fear. He strove to control his breathing, his chest lifting and falling, his hands balled into tight fists, knuckles bruised. He finally managed to speak. His voice was a hoarse growl.

  "I came to watch. The room was empty. One of the whores said she'd seen the two of you heading toward the back stairs in a hurry. She told me where the bastard lived—"

  "You've killed him," I whispered.

  "I certainly hope so. Now it's your turn—"

  He moved slowly toward me. I cried out, and the next moment I flew into the darkness, running as I had never run before. I could hear his footsteps thundering behind me, closer and closer. Then he made a flying leap and both his arms encircled my waist. I pitched forward, crashing to the ground. Bright lights exploded inside my head like shattering stars as the breath was knocked out of me and I went careening into unconsciousness.

  I awoke to find myself on the sofa in the parlor at Roseclay. The blazing candles hurt my eyes. I groaned and tried to sit up. Instead I sank into darkness again. When I finally fought back to consciousness, I felt the pain of bruised flesh and aching bone. Bright golden flames flickered as I lifted my lids, wondering why I wasn't dead and wishing desperately that I were. I struggled up into a sitting position, shoving my tangled hair away from my face. My gown was torn in several places and covered with dirt.

  Helmut stood in front of the gray marble fireplace, drinking. He must have been drinking for a long time, for the bottle on the table beside the fireplace was almost empty, and he was weaving just a little as he stood. He had removed coat and waistcoat, and his shirt, moist with sweat, was beginning to pull out of the waistband of his dirt-streaked gray trousers. His right cheekbone was badly skinned. His eyes were glazed, and they were full of anguish.

  Finishing one glass of whiskey he poured another, staggering slightly as he did so. He emptied the bottle and, scowling, hurled it angrily into the fireplace. The sharp, splintering explosion caused me to jump. He must have seen the movement out of the corner of his eye, for he turned and stared at me, but he didn't speak. He drank the whiskey, watching me all the while with lowered brows. I caught hold of the arm of the sofa and, using it for support, got to my fee
t, surprised to find that I could stand.

  "So you brought me back to Roseclay."

  "Couldn't risk you getting away again. Men would help you. Men like that one I knocked out." His voice was thick, his words slurred. "Couldn't risk that. Brought you back. I'm going to kill you."

  I stared at him with a level gaze, feeling oddly detached. He tilted back the glass and downed the rest of the whiskey.

  "She's gone," he said. "I did it all for her. She was everything. I loved her. I loved her! Meg's gone. You helped her. You helped rob me of the one thing in life that mattered. Nothing means anything now. This house was for her. Everything I did was for her. Meg, my Meg—"

  For a moment I thought he was going to cry. He stared down at the carpet with anguished eyes that beheld only the beloved face, but when he lifted his head the anguish had vanished. Replacing it was a look of hatred so venomous that it seemed to crackle like blue fire in his eyes.

  "I'm going to kill you!"

  I stood very still.

  "Drink—first I want another drink. Then—then it's going to be such pleasure—"

  He burst into laughter. It came rumbling up from his chest, and it was horrendous, inhuman. He shook with it, and I realized that the last vestiges of sanity were slipping away from him. The laughter died down to a barely audible chuckle, and Helmut lurched across to the liquor cabinet that stood in front of the windows. I turned to watch him jerk out a bottle and try to open it. He couldn't get it open. He hurled the bottle to the floor, and whiskey splattered all over the draperies hanging behind the cabinet. He pulled out another bottle and smashed the neck across the edge of the table. Even more whiskey splattered, covering the draperies with dark stains. He seized a glass and, weaving back and forth, splashed whiskey into it.

  "Going to make you beg," he said. "Going to make you plead. Going to crush you—crush you—"