Salvation

by Smith, Carla Susan

  “Now, let me see how splendid you are, my dear, and how well you have recovered from our last encounter.” Phillip pulled the sash tied around Catherine’s waist and slipped the robe off her shoulders.

  * * * *

  Lettie lay curled up in her bed, her mind safely locked in a faraway place where bad things did not happen to good people. She vaguely remembered Phillip coming to her room, handing her a glass and telling her to drink. For a moment she’d wondered if he had finally decided to be done with her. Did the glass contain poison? But as if reading her thoughts, Phillip had laughed.

  “No my dear, it’s just something to help with the pain, and to give you pleasant dreams. I promise.”

  Not daring to refuse him, Lettie had finished the contents of the glass and then gasped as a strange, numbing sensation began to steal over her. “Wh-what did you give me?” she stammered, her eyes already having difficulty focusing.

  “Only something to make you feel better,” he said stroking a hand down her cheek. “Now sleep, and let your worries fade away.” She was almost unconscious by the time he reached the door.

  Awash in a laudanum haze, Lettie forgot the horrors of her daily life. She willingly embraced the landscape of this new dreamworld that claimed her, drifting mindlessly from one pleasure to the next. Here she had no worries, no husband, no cruelty in her life. The grass was sweet and green, the sky a perfect shade of blue, the flowers an extraordinary mix of perfume, texture and color. Everything was perfect. Only now, something was trying to pull her out of her paradise and drag her back to the ugly reality she abhorred. Someone grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her, and no matter how hard Lettie tried to pull away, she could not free herself from the relentless grip.

  “No…no…” she mumbled into her pillow as she tossed her head back and forth. “Won’t go…can’t make me—owww!” This last was in response to the cold water that soaked her head and shoulders.

  Blinking furiously, Lettie sat up, and saw Grace standing by the side of the bed, worrying her lower lip and holding the empty ewer from the washstand.

  “What do you mean—”

  “Sorry, Missus,” Grace said urgently, “but you gots to come quick, and help the lady. I thinks the master means to do something bad to her.” She paused to catch a breath. “And I think he means to murder the man as well.”

  Grabbing hold of Grace’s thin arm, Lettie asked, “Man? What man?”

  “The one who’s come for the lady.”

  Lettie knew who the lady was, but the man was unknown to her. Had Phillip taken leave of his senses and brought a stranger into their home? Why would he do such a thing? But wait—Grace had said the man had come for the lady. Did she mean he was someone who had come to rescue Catherine?

  “Where is this man?” Lettie asked.

  “In the lady’s room.”

  “Yes, but where exactly?”

  “They gots him tied to the chair.”

  Tugging on Lettie’s hand, Grace got her out of bed, but the moment Lettie tried to stand she became dizzy and had to hold on to the bedpost until it passed. Once she was able to stand without falling, Lettie took Grace’s small hand in her own. “Tell me exactly what has happened,” she asked, and without hesitation Grace bravely told her all she had seen.

  Lettie had no idea how long she had been trapped inside her drug induced hallucination, but she was keenly aware that though she had stepped back to this side of reality, there was no guarantee how long she might remain. Time was of the essence, and she could waste no more of it. Too much had happened already while she had been unaware. She took a step forward, gritting her teeth against the terrible burning sensation radiating outward from her hip.

  Step and drag…step and drag…

  Refusing to give in to the throbbing ache, Lettie made her way to the bedroom door and pulled it open cautiously. Grace had told her about the two men she had seen leave, but she had no way of knowing if they might have since returned. She peered down the hallway, hearing nothing but an odd muffled sound coming from the direction of the room where Catherine was being held captive.

  “And the other man, the one who came for Cath—the lady—is in the room with her as well?” Lettie asked.

  “He’s tied to the chair,” Grace confirmed solemnly. “And I think he knows the lady.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Cos when he looks at her it’s like he wants to kiss her.”

  From the pocket of her apron Grace suddenly produced a wicked looking kitchen knife that she had had the foresight to fetch before waking Lettie. No one had seen her take it. Cook was gone, presumably deciding to make her escape while she could and taking the slow-witted Rosie with her.

  “Not to worry,” Lettie said with a quavering smile. “We two will be enough.” They would have to be.

  A moment of indecision suddenly rendered Lettie immobile. Fear snaked its way through her, and she almost succumbed to its poisonous charm, but then she thought of Catherine, who had managed to find someone to care enough for her that he had come to her rescue. Lettie could do no less.

  “I’m going to fetch a pistol,” she told Grace, pushing down her fear. “I know the master keeps one in his room, but I want you to stay here where it will be safe.”

  “But missus, you gots to go past the other room to get to the master’s room.” With a dirty finger, Grace pointed to the open doorway.

  “I will make sure I am not seen,” Lettie told her.

  “But you gots a bad leg.”

  Closing her eyes, Lettie took a deep breath. Bad leg or not, she was the only one who knew where Phillip kept his pistol. It would be impossible to save Catherine without it. Smiling with a confidence she did not feel, Lettie assured Grace she could make it down the hall without being seen. She did not add she was certain Phillip’s attention would be otherwise occupied.

  It was a torturous journey that took all of the courage Lettie possessed. At any moment she expected Phillip, alerted by the thunderous sound of her beating heart, to appear and demand she explain why she was out of her room. The dimly lit hallway helped to conceal her, and passing by the open door to Catherine’s room, Lettie froze as movement caught her eye. But the shadows being thrown upon the wall were too distorted for her to make out, and she closed her eyes for a moment before finding the strength to continue. Her leg was on fire, the throbbing pain encompassing every part of her from the waist down. Lettie willed herself not to fall. If she did she knew she would never rise again, for Phillip would surely kill her. It seemed that luck was on her side, for though her back was soaked with perspiration, and her hands shook uncontrollably, she reached her destination without mishap.

  Grace waited until Lettie disappeared. She had taken the knife from the kitchen for a specific reason. Now she, too, inched her way down the hall to the open doorway, ignoring Lettie’s command to remain in her room. Grace had seen a great many things in her short span of years. It made no difference to her that the master wore nice clothes, or the missus slept in a grand bed. People were people, and Grace had learned early to tell the good from the bad. More than once seeing the next sunrise had depended on it.

  She knew what was taking place in the bedroom was the same thing that her mother used to do night after night. Grace wondered if the lady in the room had also been promised a gold coin when the master was done with her. She thought not. Somehow this was different from what she had seen her mother do. Grace didn’t like the master. She hadn’t from the first time she had seen him, and she wished with all her heart her mother had sold her to anyone else but him. Rosie wasn’t as dim-witted as she made out, and she had told Grace about how the master had done things, horrible things, to the other girls that used to work in the house. Only all the girls had been sent away, leaving behind just Rosie and Grace.

  “He won’t touch me,” Rosie had told her with a knowing sm
ile.

  “Why not?”

  Rosie had tapped her temple with two fingers and mimicked a lunatic’s grin. “You best watch out for yerself,” she warned.

  But Grace hadn’t needed the warning. There was a mean streak in the master that made her afraid. It was easy enough to stay out of his way when there had been others to act as a shield. At first she had stayed in the kitchen, but then the master had said she was to look after the missus. He promised her a gold coin if she did, but the look on his face had made Grace’s stomach swoosh with a sick feeling. Her stomach was swooshing again now, but she knew she had to help the man and the lady. The missus was not strong enough to do it all by herself.

  Chapter 27

  The light from the flickering candles cast a golden honey glow on Catherine’s skin as she stood, waiting for Phillip’s command. Unable to bear Rian’s wretched expression as he watched another man look at her, she closed her eyes. Phillip walked in a slow circle around her, savoring the sight of her nude body. He spent a long time staring at the scar on her back, and Catherine wondered how many others he planned to add to it.

  Even though she had told herself to expect it, she still jumped when he took hold of her hand. His palm was damp, his fingers sweaty, and it took every ounce of her resolve not to snatch her hand away. But she wasn’t able to completely hide her disgust.

  “You do not welcome my touch?” Phillip murmured.

  It was the laugh that provoked her. The high pitched, schoolboy giggle that sounded obscene coming from the mouth of a grown man. With no regard for the consequences, Catherine opened her eyes and spat at her cousin, then calmly steadied herself for the blow she was certain would follow. But Phillip did not strike her. Instead he took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped away the gob of spittle from his cheek.

  “You will pay for that,” he told her as he moved behind Rian’s chair.

  Keeping her face as blank as she could possibly make it, Catherine watched her husband rein in his rage. She was not deceived by his calm exterior. He carefully flexed his arms against the rope binding, testing it for weakness. He was close to erupting like some fantastic volcano she had read about, spewing forth the molten lava of his fury, and giving no mercy to those who stood in his path.

  “Isn’t she captivating?” Phillip asked silkily as both men stared at the woman bathed in candlelight.

  Head held high, Catherine stared at an imaginary point in the middle of Phillip’s forehead. She did not try to cover herself. Instead she let her arms hang loosely at her sides, keeping her body as relaxed as possible.

  “To be able to partake of such forbidden fruit, inhale the sweet fragrance of her woman’s perfume, and feast on such succulent flesh…what would a man give for the chance to do all that, I wonder?”

  Rian made a low guttural sound in the back of his throat.

  “Tell me, my dear,” Phillip said, addressing Catherine, “what would you give to save his life?”

  Alarm flashed in her eyes. She didn’t trust her cousin, and she had no explanation for his strange obsession with her. But could it be used to her advantage? Would he, in his madness, be willing to strike a bargain with her? Keep her and let Rian go? If there was a chance, no matter how small, she had to take it. In a voice that was strong and unwavering, Catherine gave him the only possible answer.

  “Anything. I will do anything.”

  Rian felt his heart break. He knew what she was doing and why. It would do no good to tell her Phillip was lying. He would never allow Rian to leave this room alive. But his wife, his beautiful wife, was willing to give everything she had if there was any possibility, no matter how small, that she could save him. Rian had never been more in love with her than he was at that moment, or more proud to have her as his own. Or more filled with pain and anguish. He willed her to look at him, and, hearing his silent plea, she turned her head. His warm brown gaze held fast to her deep blue one.

  “Shall we put that to the test, cousin dear?” Phillip sounded sly and cunning. “Your willingness to do anything I ask of you.”

  “How do I know you will keep your word?” Catherine asked. “How do I know you will let my husband go once I have done whatever it is you ask of me?”

  “Grace is no longer here, is she?” It was true. He had allowed her to leave, and Catherine was grateful. She gave Rian one last, lingering look, hoping he would not hate her for what she was about to do. “Come here, Catherine,” Phillip ordered with a lascivious twist to his mouth as he stared at Rian’s face. “And get on your knees.”

  * * * *

  Grace crept closer to the open doorway, listening to the voices coming from the room. The master was speaking, saying things she didn’t understand. His voice sounded funny. A little like the cutpurse boys, excited and fearful all at once. The man in the chair was also talking, and though he did not yell or shout, Grace could tell he wanted to hurt the master. Good. She wanted to hurt him too. The master was leaning back against the bed, while the lady was kneeling in front of him. It looked as if she was praying, but Grace did not think so. Her ma had told her you prayed if you wanted to talk to God, but you could only talk to him in a church. And you wore a lot more clothes in church.

  Seeing Catherine’s fingers move to the fastenings of the master’s breeches, Grace put a hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp. She had seen her ma do this many times. One time a man said she bit him, and he hit her in the face hard enough to knock out a tooth and then wouldn’t pay her. The side of her ma’s face had swelled up something fierce. Grace didn’t want the lady’s face to swell up, but the smile on the master’s face reminded her of the man who hit her ma. It was the same smile that always made Grace’s stomach hurt. She didn’t like it, and she didn’t think the lady liked it either, but then the master closed his eyes and leaned back his head, giving Grace the chance she needed to slip into the room unnoticed.

  Thankfully the chair the man was tied to was big enough to hide her. Using the shadows and Rian’s body as an additional shield, she took out the kitchen knife and began sawing through the ropes.

  Rian jerked at the tug he felt on the ropes binding him. Phillip’s two thugs had not troubled themselves with securing his legs, and no one had reckoned with the determination of a ten-year-old girl.

  Catherine was in no doubt about what Phillip wanted her to do. A foul, rank odor assaulted her as she loosened his breeches, making her gag. She knew the moment Phillip forced himself into her mouth, she was going to vomit. The sound of his lustful moan made her freeze, and Phillip grabbed her by the back of the neck in a grip of iron.

  “Remember,” he warned her, “his life will be in your hands, or rather your mouth.” Pleased by the cleverness of his own wit, Phillip released his hold on Catherine’s neck so she could finish with her task. However, her fingers were shaking so much she was having a difficult time getting the fastenings undone. “Oh, for God’s sake!” Phillip declared as he slapped her hands away.

  When the flap of his breeches fell partially open, Catherine braced herself with her hands as her body fell forward. His body odor was more than she could bear. Accompanied by the most awful retching sound, she vomited all over Phillip’s lower legs and feet. Spitting and coughing, she trembled weakly as tremors ran through her. Kicking her in the side with a dripping foot, Phillip sent her sprawling.

  Rian could hear Grace panting from the effort of sawing through the ropes, and he prayed Phillip did not. He thought about making some sort of a disturbance to muffle the sound of Grace’s efforts, but that might draw attention to her instead. He stared at Catherine as she lay sprawled on the floor, noting the strange expression on her face. It took him a moment to realize that from her vantage point she could look beneath the chair, and could clearly see Grace kneeling behind it. Cautiously Rian flexed his biceps, and felt the rope give.

  The next few minutes brought complete and utter chaos, minutes that
would remain with Catherine until the day she died. With a primitive, deep-throated growl of animalistic rage, Rian launched himself from the chair and grabbed Phillip by the throat. He shook him like a dog with a rat, intent on choking the life from him, but Phillip fought back with a maniacal strength only those in mortal peril possess. He struck Rian about the head and temples with his fists, sending blood gushing down Rian’s face and momentarily blinding him. Seizing the moment, Phillip kneed him in the groin. Rian stumbled back as pain flared, and points of light danced before his eyes. Gasping for breath, he dropped to one knee.

  With a cry of rage, Phillip threw himself on his attacker, using the surprise of this counter attack to his advantage. Well aware that he was no match physically against Rian’s size and strength, Phillip fought like a demon. It was almost as if Lucifer himself had blessed him with a savagery to compensate for what he lacked in physical prowess. He clawed at Rian’s face, but Rian’s answering punch bloodied Phillip’s nose and split his lower lip. With an agonized shriek Phillip sprayed blood everywhere, but he still managed to hold on.

  Thinking he was never going to free himself from the disgusting piss-pot masquerading as a man, Rian redoubled his efforts. Now he gripped Phillip’s throat more tightly, sinking his fingers into the doughy flesh while ignoring the flailing arms and wildly aimed punches. Grabbing Phillip’s shoulder, Rian intended to flip him over onto his back, but he was suddenly deafened by a loud retort that made both men drop to the ground. Phillip jerked his head toward the open doorway, a look of almost comical surprise on his face before he slumped forward in an untidy heap. The acrid smell of gunpowder in the air told Rian all he needed to know. He stared curiously at the small woman holding a Queen Anne flintlock pistol with both hands; smoke still curled from the end of the barrel. Her long brown hair, threaded liberally with grey, fell to her waist in a loose braid. The shabby robe she wore was stained and torn, but it was her face that held Rian captive. He had never seen an expression that was more serene or more blissful, and she gazed at him with a smile that was positively beatific.