Slave of Darkness

by Francesca Lewis

  After her terrifying experience, Marianne spent the next three days trying to work on her book. She felt that if she could only become immersed in it, using her imagination to bring her characters to life, then perhaps the history of the house would lose its strange power over her. However, she quickly realised that it didn’t work that way. No matter how hard she tried she simply couldn’t make her novel come to life in the way she’d expected.

  She took regular walks on the moors, enchanted by the clear spring water and revelling in the feeling of the dark green turf beneath her feet, while around her birds sang as they darted to and fro over the heather. Even outside her thoughts wandered to the past as she realised that the young Brontë children had grown up only a few miles away and that they, too, had spent their time on these very moors.

  Originally, her intention had been to write a modern version of Wuthering Heights. She’d felt certain that living in this beautiful house, in exactly the same setting as Emily Brontë had lived, would make her task simple. But it seemed to be working in the opposite way. It was proving more and more difficult for her to live in the present because everything about the house and the moors reminded her of the past. She couldn’t understand it, and neither could she understand her obsession with the man known to her only as Sir Edward, whose brief, supernatural appearances had had more effect on her than any man she’d met in real life.

  The day before Steve was due back, Marianne finally decided to give her book a rest and went up into the attic to sort through some of the boxes that were still unopened from the move. Beneath the sloping eaves, tucked away in a corner, she found an old wooden chest. For some reason the discovery of the chest excited her and she opened it with trembling fingers, certain that within she would find something important, something she needed to know.

  There was a lot of old letters and photographs that had belonged to her great-aunt, along with lengths of material and some old shoes. But finally, buried beneath all this, she drew out a book. Glancing at the jacket, she saw it was a history of her new home, Moorhead House.

  She opened it carefully, her eyes scanning the pages. The house had been built by Henry Holland in seventeen ninety-four, designed specifically for the original owners, a local industrialist and his wife. After but a few moments it was clear to Marianne that this had been before Sir Edward’s time and she moved hastily to the next chapter. It was here, at last, that she was able to read about Sir Edward.

  ‘In eighteen twenty-six Moorhead House was purchased by one Sir Edward Sharpe, for his widowed sister, Judith Fullick. Sir Edward appears to have spent a great deal of his time in London while his sister looked after Moorhead House for him, with only a couple of servants and her companion, Miss Marianne Clifford, for company. Very little is known about Sir Edward Sharpe apart from the fact that he had inherited money from the wool industry and spent quite a lot of his time at Moorhead hunting and fishing. It appears that he and his sister were considered strange, and local gossip about them was considerable. During the years Sir Edward owned the house there were very few visitors, and his death in eighteen thirty-eight in London meant that the house passed to his nephew, one Richard Broadbeck. It is not known what became of Judith Fullick or the other members of the household.’

  Marianne closed the book and hugged it tightly. Now it made more sense, and the words had confirmed what she’d suspected – namely that Sir Edward and his sister really had lived in this very house some hundred and seventy years previously. The reason she was able to see and hear them as they were at that time must be connected to the fact that she and Judith Fullick’s companion, by some strange twist of fate, shared the same name. This was the key, the reason behind everything, and she felt almost elated.

  The words she’d read emphasised that there was something bizarre about the couple. There’d been an air of danger surrounding Sir Edward Sharpe from the very first time he’d appeared to her. And after the scene she’d witnessed a few days earlier involving the girl, Tabitha, she’d become even more certain that, despite a strange charm, he was a man of dark secrets. Local people at the time had been aware of this, but she doubted if anyone could have known what had really gone on in the house.

  ‘Perhaps I’m the first person to know apart from them,’ she said to herself. ‘Maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll find out all their secrets.’

  The prospect excited her to the extent that her real life seemed boring and unsatisfactory. Every time she entered a room or evening approached she found herself half-hoping that Sir Edward would appear to her again.

  Marianne wondered if she could use her feelings for Sir Edward in her book by changing the historical setting but keeping the intensity of emotion she was feeling, however ridiculously, for this spectre from the past. Encouraged by the thought, she hurried down to the study and once again sat herself in front of the computer.

  Now, at last, the words began to flow, because she could understand her heroine better, even though she herself was obsessed with someone who’d been dead for over a hundred years and the heroine of her book was obsessed with a modern-day man. She lost track of time, pausing only to switch on the light as the words poured out. As she reached a point where her heroine was sitting in her parent’s front room, waiting for her lover to arrive, the study became dark, as though the bulb was failing. Stopping abruptly, Marianne glanced excitedly around her and saw that everything had changed.

  The walls were now lined with bookshelves, the books on them having real leather spines. The furniture was of the kind she’d only ever seen in antique shops and the walls were papered instead of painted. There was a rocking chair in one corner of the room and a table with a tumbler and a decanter of port on it, while the old fireplace glowed with burning logs. Marianne pushed back her chair, unable to believe she was going to see him again.

  ‘Please sit down,’ said the deep voice she remembered so well. ‘I’m sorry we kept you waiting but my sister was explaining to me what had occurred today.’

  Marianne’s hands brushed at her skirt. The material felt different, coarser, and when she glanced down she saw she was now in a long, rust-coloured woollen dress which prickled against her arms. And her blonde hair had grown in length, some of the curls reaching to her shoulders.

  ‘It looks as though Marianne has been asleep,’ said Judith Fullick, appearing behind her brother’s shoulder. ‘I’m beginning to wonder if she’s going to prove a suitable companion for me after all.’

  Sir Edward’s dark eyes surveyed Marianne coldly. ‘It will be better for her if she does not disappoint me,’ he said slowly. ‘I trust you have not forgotten, Miss Marianne, the things we discussed at your interview?’

  Marianne shook her head. She had no idea what he was talking about but realised that she was now her nineteenth-century namesake, caught up in the lives of this strange brother and sister and unable to escape because she didn’t know how the transformation worked. In any case, she felt different, as though she was indeed nothing more than a companion to the young widow standing watching her.

  ‘I had expected gratitude,’ continued Sir Edward. ‘Since you are totally alone in the world it is very foolish of you to behave in an indiscreet fashion so early on in your employment.’

  ‘Indiscreet?’ asked Marianne.

  ‘I call going out for a walk alone, and failing to return for nearly an hour, indiscreet,’ said Judith Fullick. ‘It would be different if I’d sent you on an errand or if you’d had any explanation when you returned but, as I told my brother, you failed to give me any satisfactory answer as to why you went out for so long.’

  ‘I simply wanted some air,’ said Marianne, acknowledging the magnetic attraction the moors had held for her ever since she moved into this house.

  ‘It is up to my sister when you do and when you do not take air,’ said Sir Edward. ‘The sooner you start to learn your place here the better it will be for you. Judith, remove
her gown.’

  Marianne stared at him, suddenly remembering Tabitha and the terrible things this man and his sister had done to her. Instinctively, she put her hands across her breasts and backed away from the approaching Judith, only to knock against a horsehair sofa.

  ‘My dear Miss Marianne, please stand still,’ said Judith. Marianne realised she had no choice and, to her horror, the other woman’s fingers began to unfasten the buttons until the gown was open from throat to waist.

  Sir Edward glanced at the log fire. ‘You look a little warm. Remove the gown.’

  Marianne shook her head. ‘Please don’t make me,’ she whispered, feeling incredibly shy.

  He raised one eyebrow. ‘You see, Judith, it isn’t difficult to subdue young women like this. She doesn’t look defiant now.’

  ‘Remove the gown,’ Judith whispered in Marianne’s ear. ‘My brother has a terrible temper.’

  Marianne felt all fingers and thumbs as she fumbled at the coarse woollen dress, finally managing to remove it so that she was standing in an unfamiliar bodice, petticoat and stockings. Her skin felt hot and damp. She’d never been so nervous and yet at the same time she was excited by the expression in Sir Edward’s eyes. Reaching towards her, he slowly unfastened the ribbon that was threaded through the front of her bodice, peeling the garment off her. His eyes shone with pleasure as she trembled in front of him.

  Judith, who Marianne could tell was no stranger to scenes like this, assisted her brother in stripping her totally naked. She was finally exposed to his gaze, trying hopelessly to cover herself with her hands while all the time his eyes burned into her.

  ‘Such lovely white skin,’ he murmured, walking around her. ‘No doubt it marks very easily...’ She felt him trail a fingernail down her spine. She jumped, and he gave a low laugh.

  ‘I think Miss Marianne has eaten too well since she joined us,’ he said slowly. ‘There is more flesh on her than I expected.’

  ‘That’s because you’re used to Tabitha,’ explained his sister.

  Sir Edward nodded. ‘Possibly so.’

  The heat from the fire was warm against Marianne’s buttocks and back and she could feel a sheen of perspiration on her breasts as Sir Edward continued to walk around her, occasionally running the palm of a hand over her hips. Mostly, though, he contented himself with looking, and his gaze was so penetrating that she felt certain he could tell the effect he was having on her.

  ‘What’s this?’ he asked sharply. Marianne realised he was looking at her breasts. Glancing down at them she was horrified to see her nipples were erect, a clear indication that his leisurely examination of her body was affecting her.

  ‘It seems I’ve brought a loose woman into our house, Judith,’ he said quietly. ‘No real lady would respond in this way.’

  ‘She must be punished,’ said Judith, her voice full of satisfaction. ‘Perhaps it’s fortunate that she’s come to us. At least here she can learn discipline.’

  Marianne’s legs were beginning to shake but the longer she was left naked with the pair of them watching her, the more her body swelled and tightened with arousal. And when Sir Edward finally ran the flat of his hand across her breasts such piercing pleasure streaked through her that she couldn’t suppress a moan.

  ‘Dear me,’ said Sir Edward, one corner of his mouth lifting in amusement. ‘The first thing we must do is discipline these...’ he pinched her left nipple. Pain shot through her and she gasped. ‘Hand me your hairbrush, Judith,’ he said.

  Marianne watched as his sister handed him a silver-backed brush. His eyes locked on to Marianne’s. ‘This should teach you not to take pleasure from punishment,’ he said coldly. ‘You are to stand perfectly still and keep looking into my eyes, do you understand?’

  ‘Y-yes,’ whispered Marianne.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ he corrected her.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ she said hastily, and her blue eyes made contact with his almost black ones.

  ‘Remember, you are not to move,’ he repeated, and she felt her mouth go dry as the bristles of the brush were drawn around her left breast, circling lightly at first but with increasing pressure.

  The sensation wasn’t disagreeable to begin with, but then Edward brushed harder until her skin started to burn. ‘You’re hurting me,’ she cried.

  ‘Be silent!’

  She tried to flinch away from him but he gripped her waist savagely before starting to brush her other breast. This time there was no gentle start; instead, the bristles were moved briskly over the tender surface of the sensitive flesh.

  The sensation was extraordinary. It was a burning feeling that made Marianne’s breasts ache. She felt as though she wanted to shrink away from him but, at the same time, her breasts felt tight and her nipples were so hard. She was shocked to discover that she was aching between her thighs as well, and when she saw the expression in Sir Edward’s eyes she knew he had guessed what was happening to her.

  He continued to torment her breasts with the brush until she felt she could bear it no more. ‘P-please, I beg you... stop now,’ she cried falteringly. ‘I’m truly sorry for whatever it is I’ve done, and I’ll never do it again.’

  Edward tossed the brush away and grasped her scarlet nipples between his fingers, squeezing them lightly at first. His touch caused pleasure to flood her body, and she felt her vagina growing moist. ‘You’re still enjoying this too much,’ he said, and his fingers tightened.

  Marianne’s breath caught in her throat as terrible streaks of pain darted over her flesh, but still the tightness within her grew and she longed for him to cover the sore flesh with his mouth, to cool the burning heat with his tongue...

  She shivered, ashamed at her own thoughts.

  ‘Do you think she’s learned her lesson?’ Edward asked his sister. Judith shook her head. ‘I agree,’ he continued. ‘Should we continue this elsewhere? The outhouse, perhaps?’

  Instinctively, Marianne knew she mustn’t allow this to happen or her body would be subjected to something truly terrible. She tried to twist away, but his fingers were still holding her aching nipples and she cried out at the pain. ‘I’ve learned my lesson, I have,’ she blurted, desperately hoping that this would be enough to appease the couple.

  To her relief the pressure on her nipples eased, and he turned to his sister. ‘Do you not agree that she has over-eaten?’ he asked teasingly.

  Judith moved closer, reaching out one small hand and enclosing it around Marianne’s right breast, which her brother relinquished to her.

  Marianne remained motionless, not daring to move without permission, while the brother and sister played with her breasts, their fingers so different in the way they touched her that she found the experience unbelievably erotic.

  ‘She’s not as large as Tabitha,’ said Judith at last.

  ‘True, but the rest of her body is more rounded,’ countered Sir Edward.

  ‘I’ll watch what she eats,’ agreed Judith. ‘Perhaps I have been too generous.’

  Sir Edward moved a hand down over Marianne’s belly and she whimpered with a mixture of trepidation and desire. ‘I think we should visit the outhouse,’ he said firmly.

  Strange and frightening visions flashed through Marianne’s brain. ‘No!’ she screamed. ‘I won’t go! I won’t go...!’

  Abruptly, everything changed again. Sir Edward Sharpe and his sister disappeared. The furniture became modern once more and Marianne was standing by her computer. She was fully dressed, but her emotions still percolated. Now, when it was too late, she wanted to call them back. Her body needed satisfaction, and although part of her had sensed the outhouse she would be a place of punishment, she also knew beyond any doubt that, like Tabitha, she would finally have been allowed pleasure. As it was, she was alone with only her computer for company and she felt totally bereft.

  ‘What on earth’s the matter with you?’ she
asked herself. ‘The man’s a sadist. How can you possibly respond to him?’ She didn’t know. She didn’t understand anything, certainly not what was happening to her. All she knew at this moment was that she would have given anything in the world to go back to the past and learn the secrets of the outhouse.

  The sound of the phone ringing made her jump out of her skin. She sent books and papers flying as she scrabbled to pick it up. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Marianne?’

  She sank on to her chair. ‘Steve! Where are you?’

  ‘In Leeds, of course. Are you all right? You sound strange.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said weakly. ‘You startled me, that’s all.’

  ‘Were you asleep?’

  ‘No, writing my book.’

  ‘Glad to hear it.’ Steve laughed. ‘How’s it going?’

  Marianne couldn’t remember. Nothing seemed real to her now except the incredible scene in the drawing room with Sir Edward and his sister. ‘Okay, I think,’ she said slowly.

  ‘You don’t sound very enthusiastic.’

  ‘Well, it’s always difficult to tell early on.’

  ‘I just rang to say I’m missing you and I’ll be back by four tomorrow afternoon.’

  ‘Oh, that’s great.’

  ‘Well you might sound as though you mean it.’

  Marianne could tell that Steve was hurt. ‘I do mean it, honestly I do.’

  ‘So you’re lonely without me?’

  ‘Not really lonely,’ she said carefully. ‘There’s a lot going on here.’

  ‘I find that rather hard to believe.’

  Marianne realised she’d slipped up. ‘I’ve got the book and the house to get in order,’ she explained.

  ‘Oh, that! You made it sound as though you’d got a flood of people coming in and out of the place. You haven’t met our neighbours yet, have you?’