I considered making a run for it, but how far could I really get? And wouldn’t that condemn me further? No, I would not give them the satisfaction. I was also done with pleading my case. With my head held high I made my way down the few steps towards the men making me a captive. My fingernails dug into my palms to distract me from the stinging in my eyes. I was determined not to cry. Not again. Instinctively I turned back towards the house and noticed the countess perched by one of the second-story windows watching her devious plan unfold like someone might watch the climax of their favorite show. What goes around comes around, I thought to myself.
“Thank you for your kind hospitality.” I bowed slightly to the earl as I’d seen Isobel do whenever addressing someone above her station. With the use of a mounting block I got up in the saddle.
Mr. Jacob didn’t trust me either as he kept hold of my mare’s reins. Another setback in my plot to escape.
“Safe journey,” the earl said before turning towards the house, clearly relieved to be done with the altercation.
I stared straight ahead until we were almost at the end of the drive where the house would soon disappear forever. Only then did I dare to turn back. There was movement in my old room—probably Miss Barnsby doing an inventory to make sure nothing else was missing—but no sign of Henry.
As we walked past the stables I allowed myself one last thought of him and our evening together before I set about the exhausting task of paying attention where we were going in case I ever found my way back.
After the second hour of riding we stopped briefly to give the horses a break. I hadn’t uttered one word to my captor the entire time. He offered me some bread and cheese from his nasty-looking saddlebag which I refused with the smallest hand gesture. My stomach rumbled. For a moment I wondered if I was being ridiculous. However, it was unlikely I could keep anything down.
Mr. Jacob seemed more than happy not to have to engage in conversation with a woman and sat chewing with his mouth smacking open like a child who hadn’t yet learned manners. He washed his meal down with what smelled like home-brewed whiskey. Moments later we were back on the move.
We hit a fork in the road and took a path that ran along a wide creek. I was grateful for the small landmark as up until that point it had been rolling hill after rolling hill and forest canopy after forest canopy, all looking indistinguishable from the other.
A creek was something different and we followed it for another forty-five minutes before turning off a path that led to a small wooden shack maybe slightly larger than our two-car garage back home in L.A. There was a small turnout ring for the horses next to a run-down hen hut where five chickens pecked at the dirt rhythmically like those golden Maneki-neko cats they sold in Chinatown who continuously waved one lazy arm.
The cottage had only one tiny window in the front, with a shutter to close it but no glass. It was a far cry from Dormer House.
So this is to be my prison.
How long would they try to keep me here? Until the wedding, maybe, or else until… my thoughts trailed off to Lord Henry’s lifeless body lying at the base of the creek near the White Hart. I took two large gasps of air as his demise became more of a reality.
Mr. Jacob looked over at me as if noticing me for the first time. “Cheer up, little hen, it isn’t that bad. I’m an easy man to keep.” A lecherous grin revealed the extent of his tooth decay.
He took another long swig from his flask. I wasn’t sure how many he must have gone through on the journey. With any luck he would simply pass out. In the meantime I got hold of my emotions and decided to play along.
“Oh, it’s every bit as I imagined it,” I said, flashing him a smile. He looked at me like I had suddenly grown another head. “Shall I fix us a meal, husband?”
This time he almost fell off his horse. During the ride I’d had a lot of time to think about tactics, and what better way to ward him off than by making him slightly afraid of me? What if he thought I was crazy?
He watched me tentatively, waiting for my head to spin around full circle.
I jumped off the little mule, whose name I’d learnt was Maybelle, and stalked over towards the shack. The strong musty smell of body odor, stale beer and general rot filled my nostrils when I stepped inside. Going from daylight to darkness, it took several seconds for my eyes to adjust and when they did the place left even more to be desired.
There was an unmade bed in the far corner, with only a wooden crate standing in as a makeshift night table. One oil lamp stood in the center of it, unlit. A dusty-looking terrier scampered my way, barely able to bark. He wheezed like an old man with emphysema. Poor thing. I bent down to pet his wiry coat. He could not be blamed for any of this. He had to be at least a hundred in dog years.
The kitchen consisted of a fireplace with a stone hearth and a wooden table for chopping and preparing. A large cauldron of boiling water hung in the center of the fireplace. It was already two-thirds empty. Three different-sized pots hung from nails in the wall above. Root vegetables lay scattered on the table, becoming limp.
Moments later, Mr. Jacob came in, barring the door behind him and locking it from the inside. The key, which hung from a ragged string, was placed around his neck and tucked into his shirt. Without a word he heaved his heavy saddlebag onto the only table and emptied some of its contents. There were cured meats, fresh cheese, a loaf of bread, a small bag of apples and even a bottle of the whiskey made at Dormer House.
“I’ll just have some of this, love,” he sneered at me. With an apple and some cheese in hand, he headed to one of the two chairs in the cottage.
“Sure.” The way he leered at me made my skin crawl. I found the book I’d brought, my only possession, and went to sit by the single window.
The sun hung low, getting ready to make its final plunge. This was going to be a long night and I hoped that my friend wasn’t going to get any funny ideas. It was bad enough to be abducted by this stranger, but I was still trying to figure out what he might have been promised for this little exchange.
I stared at the words on the page but nothing registered. The best I could do was pretend to read as my mind raced. How could Henry have allowed this to happen? Could this connection I’d thought we had be nothing more than a physical attraction? Men were pretty good at keeping those things separate. It felt much deeper than that for me. Had I been so credulous? I mentally reprimanded myself for it.
Now what? As a swell of panic started to take root I touched my heart to help stop it beating so quickly in my chest and felt the crunch of paper. In all the craziness of the afternoon, I’d forgotten the letter that Isobel had handed me earlier in the day. At the time, it had seemed so irrelevant as I’d had much bigger problems at hand, but now, all alone, I clung to it as some might cling to a Bible in their darkest hour. It could only be from one person. The only friend I had. Miss Crabtree.
Chapter 27
Claustrophobic
All night the words in Miss Crabtree’s letter kept fluttering around in my head. The part that troubled me the most was the last line of the letter when she said to take care, because she feared I was in danger.
How could she have known what the countess was plotting against me? If it wasn’t this, could there be some other danger she was referring to? Either way, I doubted if I’d ever know.
At least Mr. Jacob had left me alone. He snored soundly from the safe distance of his bed. After consuming an entire flask of some foul-smelling liquid, he’d passed out. Dangled over the side of the bed, his legs twitched occasionally and his chest heaved with every breath. Sometimes he paused mid-snore as if he’d run out of air before resuming.
His dog, like his master, had collapsed in a heap on the small bundle of straw near the door. He farted continuously, like the sound of a limp half-full balloon punctured with a needle. The door was locked from the inside with a key that Mr. Jacob had made sure to hide before he lost consciousness. I’d searched every inch of the place in the dark and came up with nothing. My only cha
nce of escape was either in the early morning hours when he was still groggy or once he was sufficiently drunk. I didn’t know if I could wait for the latter.
Sometime this morning Lord Henry would be leaving for the hunt and if I wasn’t able to get to him in time he would die. Part of me wanted to stay angry at him for allowing this to happen but I couldn’t. Even to my own ears, the planted evidence against me was persuasive. Despite what I might or might not be to him I knew what he meant to me. I could not allow him to die. Miss Crabtree’s warning to leave things ‘as they were’ did echo through my mind, but surely I could be afforded this one exception.
So for now, I sat uncomfortably in the wooden rocking chair, mulling over the words in Miss Crabtree’s letter and plotting my escape.
At some point I must have fallen asleep because I woke to the sound of meat frying in a pan. Mr. Jacob reluctantly agreed to let me use the outhouse in the backyard but he stayed outside to feed the chickens and unearth another bottle of golden liquid from a hidden stash.
Dense fog had settled in during the night and now visibility was next to nil. The sun had yet to rise, so with any luck he’d drink himself into oblivion before breakfast.
What was in this for him? The countess must have given him a pretty penny to take me off her hands. But how long was he expected to keep up this charade? Maybe until Henry was married. Did she consider me that much of a threat?
During these early morning hours, Mr. Jacob watched my every move. Outside, the fog drifted like smoke over the pasture. The air felt thick with anticipation. As the minutes ticked by and I felt no closer to my departure, panic crept along my conscience.
The thought of attacking Mr. Jacob did cross my mind, but while he was a short man he was incredibly muscular and would bludgeon me before I even threw the first punch. The confines of the small space felt smaller by the second. Having no doubt been raised in a barn himself, by the looks of him, Mr. Jacob was as attuned to my nervous energy as any animal would be and his own instincts were heightened.
“Would ya stop fidgeting, lass?”
“Sorry.” I wondered whether I’d even be able to find my way in the thick fog should I get away.
“If you’ve got energy to burn then I can relieve you of some of it.” He jeered at me with rotten teeth and my heart flipped at the violent turn his mood had taken.
Even when my father drank he was never violent, just neglectful. The night usually culminated in me struggling to help him sway to bed.
“No, I’m good.”
Once again I wished that an invisibility spell was real and not just in stories. I avoided eye contact like you did with aggressive dogs, hoping that would serve to calm his interest. Other than the dull gray light coming from the window, the only other light in the cabin came from an oil lamp on the bedside table, making the room feel claustrophobic.
“I’ve no doubt that you’re good.” He stood and adjusted himself. “I only wonder how you’ll look on top of me cock.” He laughed, clearly arousing himself with his dirty words.
My heart was beating so fast that I could virtually feel it trying to break out of my chest. “Please don’t.” But my protest was ignored as he started to sway towards me.
I was armed with nothing but my book. The worst I could do was give him a paper cut. I did a quick scan of the room and I noticed a small cast-iron pan ten paces away. If I dashed…
But the thought must have been written all over my face, because he looked the way my eyes went and blocked my path. There was nowhere to go. I dashed to one side just to avoid having him grab me where I stood and his stubby, dirty hand caught the back of my hair and I crashed to the floor.
“You have no right to touch me,” I yelled and tried to get up before the next blow.
“I have every right. I am your husband, remember?” He laughed at this.
“That’s a lie.” I was on my feet and he was circling me now, trying to figure out the best way to proceed, as I was clearly not going down without a fight.
“I’d have done it for free if I’d known how bonny ya were.” He licked his lips as if anticipating a delicious meal and then made a move to catch me.
I dodged him and was now using a chair as a shield.
“Yes, well, I’m sure the countess paid you well, but once Lord Henry finds out you’ll be in serious…”
His laughing cut me off.
“Aw, it wasn’t the countess who paid me, it was her daughter. A wicked lass, she is,” he said with admiration.
“What? Isobel?” My whole body went numb. How could that be?
“Lady Pembrooke, to the likes of you.”
With my guard down from the shock, he shot forward and disarmed me of my chair, grabbing me before I could dodge him again. His arm closed tight around my arms and body like a vice. My legs were no longer touching the ground and I kicked violently at anything they could touch. The smell of cheap whiskey and bad hygiene was enough to make me gag. His forehead cracked me hard in the face, most likely breaking my nose and nearly knocking me out completely.
With little effort he flung me down on his bed. The metallic taste of my own blood filled my mouth. Excruciating pain made my eyes sting and face throb. A woozy feeling came over me and threatened to pull me into the dark. His body fell on me hard, pinning me under his weight.
“Well, yer not much to look at now, but no matter.” He caught his breath from the exertion of our struggle. At this moment I realized that he would rape me. I had given a good fight but the shock of it and the violence paralyzed me. Never in my life had I imagined that this would happen to me.
Chapter 28
Life or Death
I flashed back to all the times April’s father had warned us to be careful when we went into Hollywood together. April and I used to laugh at his protectiveness. Nevertheless, we never walked down dodgy roads at night, always sticking to more populated areas. We even took some self-defense classes, each taking turns to be the assailant. April always liked to play the ‘pervert with the puppies,’ as she used to joke, and I would pretend to be a Ted Bundy sort of bad guy, the one you didn’t see coming.
None of the roleplaying had ever prepared me for this. My heart thumped hard, making it difficult to breathe or even think straight. Adrenaline pumped through my body with such intensity that I could scarcely feel my limbs. Pungent smells of soiled sheets assailed my nostrils and threatened to overwhelm me.
Mr. Jacob’s dirty, sausage-like fingers poked between his legs as he tried to release his eager member. I was not ready to accept my fate and give up the fight. My knee rose up hard between his legs and he gasped.
“You bitch!” he spat and his open palm crashed against my face.
My right hand broke free and I grabbed the only thing within reach: an oil lamp on the bedside table. With every bit of strength I could summon I smashed the lamp hard on his head, covering him in oily flames.
His body erupted in fire and went limp. I shoved hard and wiggled out from underneath him. My right sleeve dotted with fire and I dropped to the ground and rolled.
The flames were spreading quickly. I threw a dusty blanket over Mr. Jacob’s body but now the whole cabin was a tinderbox ready to go up. Without any water, I couldn’t control the fire as it quickly engulfed the furniture.
I dashed for the door, but of course it was locked. The dusty old dog stirred from his straw bed and started to waddle around anxiously.
The key!
Where was it? Had he hidden it somewhere? With the light from the fire I ran around trying to find it but it was useless. The air was already difficult to breathe and soon I would pass out myself from the fumes. With the cast-iron pan I smashed at the wooden shutter until the wood splintered enough to break it open.
Farting from the excitement, the dog circled my feet. Of course I couldn’t leave the helpless thing so I scooped him up in my arms. He yelped and tried to nip but I shoved him through the small opening.
The sound of the fire had r
isen to a roar. What did I do about Mr. Jacob, my jailer and attempted rapist? Part of me was satisfied letting him burn for what he had done, but the other part, the one which nagged continually at my conscience, could not allow a man to die like this, no matter how vile he was. With an eye-rolling sigh, I ran to the bed and tugged as hard as I could, sending him tumbling to the ground with a thump.
The fire had climbed the walls and soon the ceiling would be compromised. With all my strength I dragged his limp body as far as the window, heaving and coughing from the smoke.
Lifting the small dog through the window was one thing but I could never manage a grown man. I slapped him hard to see if I could get him up, but it was useless. He was unconscious. Now the smoke was thick and with each passing second it became more difficult to breathe. I had to leave now. I jumped onto the chair and pulled myself through the small window, landing on soft dirt outside. The old dog had hardly moved from where he’d landed and gave me one single lick of gratitude.
With the dog in hand, I hurried away from the house towards the small farmyard. When I put him down he tried to waddle back towards the house, no doubt in search of his master, but I stopped him and tied him to a fence post with a piece of rope.
At this point I collapsed. Tears and blood flowed from my face, dripping onto my white top like a Jackson Pollock painting. Despite Mr. Jacob’s wretched manner, I felt ill leaving a man to his death. I knew these horrific events would take time for me to work through but that would have to wait. I wasn’t sure what upset me more: my near rape, near death by fire, the taking of a man’s life, Isobel’s betrayal and then there was Lord Henry. My anger towards those who had betrayed me now paled in light of the realization that soon Lord Henry would take his last breath. This thought catapulted me into action. I could not allow myself to succumb to shock.
I needed to get away from this place as soon as possible. There was a trough of water for the horses that I used to wash off the damage to my face. Using a rough burlap sack, I gently patted it dry. Its coarse fibers felt like a Brillo pad. My nose had stopped bleeding and I wondered if it had been broken after all.
The Wayfarer: A Time Travel Romance (The Wayfarer Series Book 1) Page 17
