Captive Embraces

by Fern Michaels

  The coach was following a direct route to the outskirts of the city, and Sirena wondered where Stephan was taking her. He had given his instructions to the driver after she had climbed into the coach, so their destination was still a mystery. Out, past Charing Cross, along the Pall Mall to Whetstone Park on the High Holborn. The driver took a sharp left onto Gray’s Inn Lane and Sirena looked at Stephan with puzzlement. They were nearly out of the city.

  “If you’re wondering, darling, we’re nearly at Codpiece Row at Clerkenwell Green.” He watched her face carefully to see if his words held any meaning for her. She turned him a blank look and Stephan smiled.

  The carriage pulled up outside the gates of a dark gray, stone building and, in the ironwork over the gate was the sign, Bethlehem Royal Hospital. As the coach drove under the high arch, Sirena craned her neck to read the plaque. When she looked back at Stephan, she saw his amused grin. She was horrified, terrified. Bedlam!

  She sprang to her feet, knocking her head on the cab’s roof, striking with her hands, seeking to gouge out his eyes.

  Stephan defended himself by grabbing Sirena roughly and slamming her against the seat, pinning her arms to her sides.

  “Control yourself, darling, else they will think you mad and take you from me to pen you in a cage.” His breath was hot against her cheek.

  “Let go of me! You’re the madman! There’s not a soul in all Bedlam more crazed than you!”

  “Control yourself!” he ordered. “We only came for a visit. That is all, I promise you. I often come here of an afternoon to take in the sights. It’s an inexpensive form of amusement. Many do it. Only a ha’penny and you’re admitted into another world.” He laughed, the sound cruel and maniacal in the confines of the coach.

  Presently, the vehicle pulled up at the heavy, ironbound doors, and when they entered, Sirena noticed the only latch was on the outside. A guard admitted them and smiled at Stephan with recognition. So, it was true, the bastard did come here to entertain himself by watching the pathetic, soul-less creatures.

  Stephan tugged a linen square from his vest pocket and held it to his nose. She saw him hand several coins over to the guard, and she thought she saw the glint of a gold guinea.

  The odor was putrid. Sirena was assaulted by the stench of rotting fruit and human waste. Down the dark passage Stephan led her, the smell becoming more fetid with each step. The guard stopped to lift his neck cloth over his mouth and nostrils. When he saw the expression on Sirena’s face, he laughed coarsely. “You’ll soon get used to it.”

  As they descended into the bowels of Bedlam, the stories she had heard about the place accosted her mind. She heard that if the lunatics became too quiet, retreating into a world of their own, the guards would tease, starve, prod and abuse them until they were unmanageable. Only in a wild, tormented state would they draw a paying audience of peasants and gentlefolk who came to sightsee.

  As Stephan held her tightly by the arm, Sirena came to believe every rumor she had ever heard about the infamous Bedlam. She heard the shrieks and moans of the patients. The gruntings, growlings, ravings, rantings were awful, but worst of all was the deadly silence of some of the cells they passed. In these cells the poor creatures sat, contaminated by their own filth; vacant-eyed hollow shells of people who used to live within healthy bodies.

  As she was led past a tiny, thin window cut into the stone wall, Sirena realized they were going even further below ground. The smells were even more acrid and horrible, if that was possible. The stench made the air rank, pinching her nostrils and causing her to choke for breath.

  “How do you like it here, darling?” When Stephan received no answer, he continued. “No one likes it at first, but some learn to live very well here. Provided, of course, they have someone on the outside to insure they are cared for by supplementing the guards’ income.”

  Sirena was silent, closing her eyes against the cubicles on either side of her, keeping her gaze straight ahead, dreading each step she took.

  Stephan veered off to the right, dragging her with him. “This way, Sirena. There’s something I want you to see.” Down the corridor and through double bolted doors, which the guard opened, Sirena stood in the entrance to a high-ceilinged room furnished with peculiar-looking items. At first her befuddled mind couldn’t conceive any use for them, but then as Stephan pointed out several fine points—leather straps, canvas jackets, muffs and handcuffs, chains and dousing buckets—she felt herself retch.

  A chair, solid and built low to the floor, was equipped with manacles and straps to tie the victim firmly. Thankfully, none of these torture devices was in use, but as Stephan described them, Sirena realized he had come to see their effect on some human wretch.

  Unable to stand it another moment, Sirena pleaded, “Please, can we go now?”

  “Go?” Stephan asked, taking his pocket watch from his waistcoat. “Yes, it is time to go. Guard!”

  Gratefully, Sirena stayed close to Stephan, trying to hurry his steps.

  “There is something else I thought would interest you. It is over here,” he said, pulling her arm. “Come.”

  Unwillingly, Sirena followed, hoping that if she gave him no resistance he would take her out of here. They stopped before a dank cell. “This is where the first Lady Langdon spent her last days.” His eyes pierced hers for a reaction.

  Suddenly, his hands were clasped around her wrists, holding her firmly. Before she realized what was happening, the guard’s key was clanging against the iron bars. “Stephan! No! Stephan, you can’t! Stephan, please!” she shrieked.

  Her cries resounded throughout the cell block, stirring the inmates and causing them to echo her screams. “This is madness! Stephan!”

  Rough hands threw her into the blackness at the rear of the cell. Before she could recover her footing, the door shut with a clank of finality, and the last thing she saw was Stephan’s face before he sauntered away.

  In one section of the cell straw matting rustled, and when Sirena’s eyes became accustomed to the dark she realized she had been placed with three other prisoners. There was no telling how long these women had been confined, but from the looks of them she ventured to guess it had been quite some time since they had seen the light of day or had a breath of fresh air.

  They were emaciated creatures, bathed in their own filth, ragged and pest-ridden. Her flesh crawled and she prayed that she would be removed immediately or else lose her mind in short order. They watched her shrewdly, and one of them began to laugh shrilly, cowering in the corner like a primitive animal as she scrutinized Sirena with hate-filled eyes.

  Sirena backed away, taking up a position in the single unoccupied corner. The dim light cast by the torch in the corridor allowed her to survey the surroundings; stone walls sweating with the damp, dirt floor strewn with filth and excreta, and a moldy hay heap, soaked with urine that served as a bed. Pitifully, she wondered how long it would be before she, too, succumbed to these conditions. Every nerve in her body was taut.

  Without warning, she was jumped upon and had her thin capelet seized. Another inmate, apparently the oldest, knocked the wind from Sirena in addition to stripping the slippers from her feet.

  The third followed her cellmates’ example and tore at Sirena’s gown, ripping it from her shoulders, while emitting half-human sounds.

  Sirena tensed and stood her ground and, as if by some unspoken command or understanding, they all came at her together. She found herself fighting for her life.

  They scratched and beat her, and pulled her hair. She swung, cracking one of them hard on the head. The inmate whimpered like a whipped dog and skulked away. But, the other two persisted. Sirena swung out again, knocking another of them backward, hearing the breath escape in a loud whoosh. The last, being denied the protection of her cellmates, merely retreated. Sirena stood in the center of the cell, glaring at them, ready to defend herself further if need be.

  Silently, she advanced on each in turn, taking back the garments they ha
d ripped from her. They made no protest, seeming to respect her strength. Sirena supposed they had not expected to find that she was stronger than they. She only hoped they wouldn’t try to overpower her again.

  It was many hours later when the wardens brought slops and water. Sirena could hear the banging of the small grids through which stale bread, soaked in an unidentifiable gravy, and wooden mugs of water were passed. Sirena’s companions had also heard the commotion the meal hour had created and, even as she watched them, they slavered in expectation of their ration.

  Hour after hour Sirena huddled against a wall, not daring to sleep or move lest she incite another assault. A sole desire burned through Sirena’s being—to get out of this lunatic asylum and run as far away as possible.

  Again the guards delivered rations. Again, came howls and shrieks, and the awful sound of iron scraping against iron. When she saw the bowls of thin gruel passed to her cellmates, she realized it must be morning. She had spent the entire day and night staring into the dark, her eyes constantly returning to the dim flare of the torch in the corridor. Her body ached; chills racked her spine and still she sat, quietly, silently, praying for a divine miracle to release her from this place.

  Wondering how Stephan explained her absence to Frau Holtz, Sirena realized with a feeble ray of hope that Stephan could not leave her here. He could not! The sightseers! Instantly, she calculated on her fingers. Tomorrow was Saturday! Curiosity-seekers would be coming to pay their ha’penny. Surely, someone would recognize her. Surely, she could promise to pay someone to bring a message to Frau Holtz. Jan and Willem! They would get her out! Somehow they must!

  Then a fatal tremor of fear shook her. Why should anyone believe her when she told them who she was? They would see she was locked in an asylum for the insane! It was hopeless!

  Sirena shut her eyes, sensing the three madwomen were watching her, waiting for their chance to attack again and steal her clothing—strip her naked if possible. She did not care. Nothing mattered. Let them kill her. Death would be a welcome visitor compared to living out the rest of her days in Bedlam.

  When the key sounded in the lock, she did not even hear it. Suddenly, a bright light blinded her, and strong hands gripped her arms, pulling her to her feet. A voice she recognized and would hate for the rest of her life spoke. “Have you had enough, Sirena, darling? Will you come home and be a good, obedient, little wife or shall I leave you here for another day or so?”

  Sirena hung her head in complete dejection and humiliation. She would be his slave.

  “Come along, then. Don’t be offended, but may I say you sorely need a bath! I hesitate to ride in the same carriage with you. Really, Sirena, you must learn to take better care of yourself, else you’ll drive me to the arms of another woman.” He chuckled, loud and harsh. It had the familiar ring of the lunatic laughter she had heard during the night.

  Later, gratefully at home among her own things, Frau Holtz bathed her and put her to bed. The old woman had tears in her eyes but was lovingly silent. And when Sirena at last fell into an uneasy sleep, it was the Frau’s arms about her that chased away the nightmares which came to taunt her.

  Time and again, Stephan would waken Sirena and insist she go through the intricate fencing maneuvers. Endless nights would pass in sleeplessness, waiting for him to drag her out of bed and down the long staircase into the ballroom. It seemed to the dispirited Sirena that whenever she waited in anticipation of him he would not come. Yet, no sooner would she close her eyes in exhausted sleep than Stephan would be beside her, pulling her from the bed, stating it was time for another lesson.

  Sirena never objected beyond a grimace. She remembered Bedlam all too well. Telling her that a husband reigned supreme was not enough for Stephan. He had shown her. She remembered his perfidiousness and was powerless against it.

  She spent her days pacing her suite in distraction. Indecision was her downfall. She found it impossible to choose between an egg for breakfast or sweet rolls. The choice of which gown to wear was completely beyond her ken. This terrifying hold Stephan had over her left her confused and tearful. Sirena was totally demoralized, confused and disoriented.

  Frau Holtz, who had never seen Sirena this way, not even when a captive of Chaezar Alvarez, was at a total loss for an answer. She knew what Stephan had done to Sirena. She knew the effect being imprisoned in Bedlam had on her mistress, and the old housekeeper decided patience and loving care would bring Sirena out of this state of malaise. Even Wren had difficulty breaking through Sirena’s depression and rarely was able to draw a word from her benefactress.

  The Sea Spirit was nearly ready to sail, but when Frau Holtz related this to Sirena, the green eyes became distracted. Each time the Frau tried arousing Sirena’s interest in escaping with Wren and the crew, Sirena would burst into tears and wring her hands in pitiful helplessness. She feared Stephan would find her and place her in Bedlam. At last the Frau desisted, feeling she was doing more harm than good by forcing Sirena to a decision.

  One night Stephan had come for Sirena, bringing along a pair of breeches and a boy’s shirt for her to wear. Obedient to his wishes, Sirena had donned them and they had become her regular costume for the lessons Stephan pressed on her. The breeches were tight, hugging her hips and thighs like a second skin, and the shirt was far too small and could not be laced over her ample breasts. Soft, lisle stockings and flat-heeled, kid slippers completed the costume.

  Sirena had stood in the center of the ballroom waiting for his first move of offense. The night was warm and he had opened the long windows which looked out over the parklike front drive and into the street. Occasionally the clatter of carriage wheels on the cobblestones could be heard along with a “Yah!” from an impatient driver to a recalcitrant horse.

  For a moment Sirena stared outside, a winsome expression lining her face. Angry, Stephan made a sudden move to catch her attention and tossed her the rapier. “Don’t look so stupidly toward the window, darling. You’ll have me thinking you’d rather be out there instead of in here with me. Now take your stance!” he ordered harshly, the light in the room glancing off his eyes, giving them a hard, silvery appearance.

  Resignedly, Sirena tightened her hand around the hilt of the weapon and knew again a fierce compulsion to pierce his heart. She would enjoy seeing the life flow from his body and onto the shining floor.

  “That’s the spark I want to see in your eyes,” Stephan cooed, “the fire of a winner. I hope you’ll be worth the effort tonight. You haven’t been putting to use all I’ve taught you.”

  Wordlessly, Sirena glared at him and with a toss of her head to throw her gleaming dark tresses over her shoulder, she made the first thrust, hoping to catch Stephan off guard. But he was too much the master, too quick. His reflexes were superb and he was ready for her. “You’ve forgotten to say ’en garde!’ darling,” he said condescendingly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you meant to kill me!” His feeble attempt at humor seemed to please him and he threw back his head and laughed, all the while keeping a careful eye on her.

  With the gesture he exposed the flesh of his throat and Sirena could almost feel the tip of her rapier slitting his neck in two. Several more times Stephan drew her into a parry and Sirena defended herself admirably. “So, it would seem these lessons have been serving you well, darling. Your agility impresses me.” Feinting to the left, but striking to her right side, the hilts of their weapons meshed and locked. Before Stephan could force her arm down, Sirena was ready for him and made an upward slice. Her weapon was free and she swiftly touched his midsection with the protected point.

  Stephan seemed startled and pressed another attack. Sirena realized he was trying to discover if it was mere luck on her part or if she had become a truly able student. Wisely, she allowed him the advantage this time, smiling to herself that the master of fencing had a flaw after all.

  Time and again he pressed her into the same position, repeatedly she allowed him the win. But her heart was beat
ing rapidly and a small feeling of triumph sizzled through her veins. It had been worth being dragged from bed, she thought. Stephan was becoming too sure of himself, too certain of the win. By keeping alert she was learning his habitual reactions to her actions. Reactions which could prove fatal to him if she ever sought his life. For the first time in weeks, Sirena knew hope.

  The session over, Sirena pleaded thirst. While he was putting his prized weapons back in their rack on the wall of his study, Sirena went into the kitchen. What she had learned during the lesson had exhilarated her and she knew it would be difficult to fall asleep. Perhaps warm milk would help.

  While she was waiting for the liquid to heat, she turned and was surprised to see Wren sitting at the table munching on a thick slice of cake. “What are you doing here at this hour? You should have been asleep hours ago.”

  Wren’s wide, amber eyes took in Sirena’s strange attire, but she said nothing. “I couldn’t sleep and I was hungry.” She would never tell Sirena how she had been hiding in various places so the master would not find her in her bed.

  The fine hairs on the back of Sirena’s neck seemed to rise when she saw a shadow near the doorway. Stephan! Carefully, she poured the milk into a heavy mug and sat down beside the child.

  Stephan stepped into the kitchen, a smile on his face. Sirena saw the reflection of fear in Wren’s eyes and something in her became alive again. The girl dropped her cake on the floor and drew her breath in what sounded to Sirena like a stifled sob.

  “You’re a nasty piece of baggage,” Stephan sneered as he stood over Wren. “Were you born in a pigsty? You dropped your cake, now pick it up and eat itl”

  “No, Wren, I’ll cut you another piece,” Sirena said quietly. Both Wren and Stephan seemed shocked that Sirena had spoken; she had been silent for so long.

  “No, Missy-ma’am, it’s all right,” the child said in a strange voice as she stuffed the cake into her mouth.