Chapter 6
Part of keeping Marie safe entailed taking her with me as much as possible whenever I left the house. Unless I was able to bring her along, I went out only when truly unavoidable. I did not want to leave her with her nursemaid; I did not completely trust her capacity to keep Marie safe from harm.
Gregory had tried to strike our daughter several times, but I have always stopped him. It meant that his angry hand landed on me instead, but I did not care as long as I can protect my baby. I rarely went out anymore, even with Marie, because of all the bruises on my face. Gregory and I argued constantly, usually about the “unusual” amount of time I spent with her every day. It was beneath the dignity of his wife to “do the job of the nursemaid to her own child, he said; I believed his real reason was that he felt it somehow reflected poorly on him.
One morning, I left our kitchen after imparting instructions on cooking duck to our main cook, Natalie. The meat is not very common, even to our wealthy household, and I hoped the exotic food would please Gregory and ensure some tranquility for me and my daughter.
“Mistress Juliana, the baby is being quite cantankerous today. No matter what I try, she just will not stay quiet,” Emma said, meeting me in the hallway leading to my bedroom and my daughter’s nursery.
Marie’s wet nurse looked exhausted. Dark rings circled both eyes and she had not been hit. “I believe she is just tired of this stuffy air,” I said as Marie continued crying. “Get some rest, Emma. I shall take Marie outside with me for a while.”
“Mistress Julia, you really should not . . . Master Gregory will not . . .”
“Marie needs her mother and some fresh air,” I replied as I gathered my skirts with one hand and stepped past her into the nursery. “Mama’s here, Marie. Shh, it is all right,” I cooed as I reached her crib.
Marie quieted as I spoke. She turned her head and stared at me with large blue eyes, sparkling from tears even as she reached up a tiny hand to grab mine. I smiled and picked her up, wrapping a blanket loosely around her.
My daughter laid her head on my shoulder as I turned and walked out of the nursery and down the hallway to the door. I think some time in the gardens would do both of us some good. “Mistress Julia, I must implore ye to think of what your husband has told you. He does not think you should spend so much time with the baby. Please . . .” The wet nurse begged as she followed me.
I turned towards her. “You are exhausted, Emma. I shall have time with my child. You need some sleep. I will worry about my husband later.” Emma sighed. I stepped outside and followed the path into the gardens.
I inhaled the heady scent of lilies, irises, carnations, and roses as I carried my daughter deeper into my little walled-off paradise. She glanced curiously at the yellows, pinks, and violets of the various flowers but did not seem drawn to any of them in particular.
As we turned a corner, my favorite stone bench come into view. I loved this spot. Stone walls covered with ivy blocked the line of sight of the house, and several rose bushes surrounded the bench. Across from the bench was a small pool of clear water.
As I sat down, Marie perked up and smiled. I turned her around in my arms and she instantly reached out towards the red petals of the nearest rose. Her fingertips touched the silky smoothness and she chortled.
She stretched to reach a second bush with white flowers on it. I smiled as I smoothed my hand over her short black hair. She glanced back at me a moment. A smile broke over her face and lit her beautiful blue eyes as she grabbed my finger and cooed.
“Do you like those pretty flowers, Marie?” I asked softly. “They are called roses.” Marie tilted her head and made more cooing noises before turning her attention back to the red roses.
I shook my head in happy bewilderment. I really did not know what fascinated her about those roses. She seemed to like only the red and white ones. We had one bush of pink roses and she paid not the slightest attention to it. I gazed at the little pond and listened to Marie’s contented babbling. This was our refuge.
A sudden sharp cry made me turn back to my daughter. Her tiny hand was partially wrapped around the stem of a red rose. “Nay, Marie! Do not touch that part!” I scolded as I pulled her hand away. She whimpered, and a tiny drop of blood dripped down her thumb. The blood was as crimson as the flower she had pricked her finger on.
I pressed the corner of her blanket against the small wound as I whispered reassuring things to her. What had possessed her to touch that part of the flower? I supposed I should have foreseen that possibility, but she never had done it before, and we had enjoyed this fragrant little nook many times.
Before I could ponder the oddity any longer, I heard a sharp, demanding voice. “Juliana, are ye out with that fool-born urchin? Where is my dinner?”
Marie’s wail pieced the air. I winced. Gregory was home.
***
The next day, I sat in the parlor playing with our daughter, listening for the sounds that would warn me Gregory had arrived. I always try to have Marie safely tucked away in bed by the time her father returned home. When I heard the wheels of the carriage, I picked her up and whisked her off to her nursery. Marie looked up at me with wide eyes as I laid her in the crib and cooed softly. I felt a smile tug at my lips. Truly, she was my joy, the only source of happiness I had had in months. I pulled the blanket under her chin and left the room. I had high hopes for my daughter; yes, I often saw her as “my” daughter rather than “our” daughter, and no wonder. I vowed to keep her as safe and happy as I could. I wished to teach her to read and write, teach her that she was worth something. I did not want my daughter to just be another “female around the house.”
Gregory had entered and was hanging up his coat. Seconds after I had sat down, Marie began to cry loudly. He turned to me, clearly annoyed. He must have had a hard day, I thought.
“Can’t you ever get that child to be quiet, Juliana?” he snarled.
I rose and turned towards the nursery. “That child has a name, dear. And she was just fine until you came home,” I snapped back. I was tired and annoyed too, though not with Marie. I heard him move closer to me and steeled myself for the blow.
As I wiped the blood from my mouth he said, “If you don’t get that girl to be quiet I swear I’m going to kill her one day.”
My hands and feet suddenly felt like ice. But I was determined not to show him my fear. It seemed to me that if I did, he would be more likely to carry out his vile threat. “If you would stop hitting me, I could go calm Marie down.” He looked ready to strike me again and I regretted my words and the scorn with which I had spoken them. “Please don’t. Just let me go to her,” I said, trying not to sound as though I was pleading.
Gregory snorted. “Go then,” he said, and I retreated to my daughter’s side. I lifted and rocked her, crooning a lullaby. As I did, I thought of Crystal, Damien, and surprisingly Adam. I hadn’t seen Adam at all since last year, and had only seen Crystal twice, once with Damien. It was Crystal who had first remarked on the difference she noticed in me. My personality had changed, she said — it was rare that I spoke with sarcasm as I did so often before, nor did I do much of anything without Gregory’s approval.
She was right. It just wasn’t worth it anymore. I had surrendered any hope of freedom, in an attempt to protect myself and, more importantly, to protect Marie. I barely remembered any other way of life now. I had tried to flee several times over the last few months, but someone sent by Gregory always hunted me and Marie down. Most of the time I was beaten even worse before. So I gave up trying.
Finally, my daughter fell asleep in my arms. I laid her in the crib and went back into the parlor, instructing her wet nurse to stay with her and not leave her alone for even a moment. Gregory was drinking when I sat down. “She is asleep now. But Gregory, it pains me when you speak of her as you did. She is our daughter.”
“Be quiet, Juliana.” I went back to my needlework and said nothing.
For almost two weeks Gregory conti
nued reacting to Marie in this way daily. He had never been kind to her, but neither had he ever been this ugly towards her. One night I was awakened in the middle of the night by Marie’s screaming and Gregory’s swearing. I ran into my baby’s nursery with terror in my heart. Gregory was standing next to Marie’s crib, shaking her, and yelling at her to be quiet. Marie’s wet nurse was pleading for him to stop, saying she would nurse Marie to calm her. “Stop!” I commanded as I pulled Marie from his arms and cradled her protectively against me. “You are going to hurt her! Go to bed. I will stay up with her.”
By this time I only dared to raise my voice at him for my own baby’s sake. Gregory snarled, “You spend too much time with that child,” and stamped off. When I heard him get back into bed I carried Marie to the parlor and paused. Without thinking, I grabbed a handful of baby blankets and my cloak. I wrapped Marie in the blankets and nestled her against my shoulder, raised the hood of the cloak against the cold, and silently left the house. My desperation compelled me to make one last attempt to escape with my daughter. I walked down the street a short distance, then hesitated. Marie whimpered in pain and this impelled me to continue. I hastened away from town, thinking that Marie must surely feel the thudding of my heart.
I don’t know how far we had gone when two lone figures appeared on the street, walking in our direction. I eyed them warily, but did not stop. Who were they? Nighttime is a dangerous time to be out away from town But as I neared them I saw it was Crystal, accompanied by a dark-haired young man.
“Crystal! What are you doing out here?”
“What are you doing, Juliana?”
“I am leaving,”
“And I am here to stop you.”
I looked at her in angry disbelief. “You were the one who told me to leave.”
“A long time ago I did. But things aren’t that simple anymore. When Damien and I tried getting you and Marie out a month ago, Gregory tracked you down and Damien had to pay a fine. Gregory threatened to have us arrested if it happened again. You have no food, money, or clothing. You have nowhere to go without those things. They’ll track you down again, Julia. Go home before he hurts you both.”
“Why are you out so late? And who is that with you?” I asked. Too late, I realized the harshness I heard in my own voice would not help my situation.
“This is one of Damien’s friends. Damien was in the area and saw you leave the house. He sent me here to stop you. Julia, don’t you see you cannot leave?”
I walked home unwillingly, Crystal and her companion watching me the entire time. I entered the house as quietly as a cat stalking a mouse, and hung up my cloak. I did not realize until I turned towards the nursery that Gregory was sitting behind me. I stared at him coldly. A single candle cast a faint light.
“Put the child to bed, Julia,” Gregory said in a deceptively calm voice.
I would not argue. I didn’t want Marie near him if he was going to become violent. I took her to her room and laid her in her crib. When I returned to the parlor Gregory rose. “You should not have done this, Juliana.”
“Did you think I was going to watch you hurt our child and not do anything?” I asked.
“The girl means nothing to me. She’s just an inconvenience.”
“I can see that,” I muttered in a bitter voice.
Gregory glared at me and grabbed my arm in a bruising grip. “The point was for you to bear a son, Juliana,” he whispered.
“Are we back to this again?” I said wearily. Gregory responded with his fist. As it made contact with my right eye, I felt the pain, but strangely I did not cry out, nor did I flee. By then I had learned to live with the pain. I even smiled. “You know Gregory. With all the beatings you’ve put me through you should be happy I was able to bear a child at all. God only knows how many children I may have lost through these beatings without even knowing I was pregnant. There could have been several. Maybe sons. And if you continue, you may never get another child — son or daughter,” I said mildly.
Gregory struck my other eye. “If you will not be quiet and do not stop running off, I swear I will kill her.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” I said through gritted teeth, squeezing my eyes shut.
“Go to bed, Juliana. It is late,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
I retreated to my bed chamber. My eyes were already swelling shut. I requested the wet nurse to come to my room. When she arrived, I made her promise to protect my daughter, then fell asleep.
The following week was terrifying for me in an entirely new way. My eyelids remained so swollen I could not open them. Though I was unable to see anything but patterns of light through my unopened eyelids, I tried to get out of bed to help care for Marie the next day. I shivered as I slid the blankets off. When I tried to place my feet on the floor I stumbled over the hem of my nightgown and hit the cold floor with a thud. I heard footsteps and blindly turned towards the sound, wondering who it was.
“Mistress Juliana, you shouldn’t be out of bed! You are going to hurt yourself!”
I recognized the voice of my closest personal maid. “I need to help care for Marie. Please help me to the nursery, Anne,” I said, holding a hand out.
“Oh, but you mustn’t, I think, Mistress Juliana. With your eyes as they are, unable to even see the baby, you might drop her,” Anne replied.
I bit my lip. Tears welled up in my already sore eyes. Anne was right, and I reluctantly allowed her to help guide me back into bed. She draped the blankets over me ,infusing warmth into my legs.
Anne spoke again. “Natalie brought up some soup for you. Please try to eat it.” She guided my hand to the spoon and curled my fingers around it. I attempted to bring the spoon to my mouth, but most of the soup spilled. Anne heaved a sigh that sounded exasperated.
Humiliated, I turned my head away. I couldn’t even feed myself. Worse yet, I had spilled the hot liquid down my nightgown. The top of my chest felt uncomfortably hot. “Please, help me change,” I said. Anne pulled the covers off and did as asked. The rest of my soup was cold by the time Anne finished dressing me, but I ate it anyway, with Anne’s help. I had to keep my strength up for Marie’s sake.
Since I couldn’t see, I had to trust Marie’s nursemaid and the wet nurse to care for Marie. The only one I trusted was Emma, the wet nurse and Marie’s frequent wails only heightened my fear. I cried constantly through closed eyelids and no one could calm me unless they bought my daughter to visit.
The first day that I could see properly was the day of my eighteenth birthday. I slowly walked into the dining room and found Gregory watching Marie’s wet nurse trying to quiet her. “Let me,” said, reaching to take her into my arms. There was a bruise on her face. I sighed and rocked my daughter to soothe her. It seemed no matter what I did, what I tried, there would be no way for Marie and me to be free from Gregory’s violence. A single tear slid down my face. I couldn’t help it. If he or any of the servants noticed, they didn’t show it.
It was my daughter who looked concerned as I began to eat with her on my lap. Marie reached forward and grabbed my finger. “Mama,” she said. She looked up at me, her wide blue eyes shining.
Delight filled my being. Mama. Her first word, though she was only eleven months old. “Aye, Marie,” I said, smiling back at her. “I am Mama.” I kissed her small chubby hand. What a delight to hear that word on my birthday!
Marie squealed in happiness and repeated, “Mama!”
Gregory frowned and I stood, holding my daughter. “We’ll be in the gardens,” I said, and left before he could protest.
The next three days passed in peace throughout the house, although I began to fear it was not peace at all, but rather an ominous lull portending evil. When we ran out of supplies in the kitchen, I sent our servants to get them. I spent all the time I could with Marie. Gregory did not rebuke me for the behavior, which was very strange indeed.
On the third night, I was awakened by Marie’s scream. I wondered why I did not hear the v
oice of Marie’s wet nurse. Instead, I heard Marie scream again.
The second scream had me racing into the nursery. I was shocked to see Marie on the floor, instead of in her crib. I didn’t see Emma anywhere. “Marie!” I screamed, seeing my husband towering over her. “Gregory, leave her alone!”
He picked Marie up and slapped her. I lunged for both him and Marie — whomever I could grab first. “Stop! Let her go! You’re hurting her!”
Gregory knocked me aside. I fell face-first on the floor, coughed, and looked up. I saw a flash of metal before another coughing spasm made doubled me over again. Marie shrieked. It was the most terrifying sound I had ever heard.
The next thing I knew Gregory yanked me to my feet. “Damn you, woman!” he yelled. “What did I tell you before?” My face was still bruised from his last attacks, and now blood was oozing out of my mouth.
I did not know what he meant by his question, and it did not matter at the moment. I had to protect Marie. But it was too late. My baby lay in a pool of blood with a large carving knife plunged into her back. “Marie!” I screamed, fighting to free myself from Gregory’s grip. I ran to her. I couldn’t seem to get enough air, as if I had been hit forcefully in the stomach.
I pulled out the knife and swung it towards Gregory. I slashed at him, desperate to keep him away from my daughter. I caught the side of his forearm before he wrested the knife out of my hands, cutting me and breaking a couple of my fingers in the process. He threw the knife out of the room. I lunged at him again, hitting and clawing at him. I tore at his shirt, oblivious to the pain in my arm. I was going to keep him away from Marie at all costs.
Gregory punched me and then threw me to the floor. I landed near where she lay and crawled to her. Marie’s cream—colored dress was crimson, soaked with her blood. She was terribly still. I turned her over; her blue eyes stared blankly. I wailed in utter despair as I cradled Marie against me and rocked from side to side. After a long time, I rose and gently laid her lifeless little body in her crib. I looked at Gregory with deepest hatred, such as I did not even know I could possess. “You killed her,” I whispered.
Lost Soul (War of Destiny Book 1) Page 6
