by Connie Mason
“She’s not much to look at now, but after she’s cleaned up you’ll be well pleased. She’s a damn sight better than those prostitutes we usually hire, or the timid little mice with no fight in them we steal off the streets.”
Dashwood took a pinch of snuff, sneezed several times and fixed Moira with a speculative look. “Can’t you talk, wench?”
“I can talk very well. I wish to leave.” Her bravado was commendable but not well taken.
“I thought you said she’d be willing,” Dashwood said sourly. “We can’t afford problems with the law. There’s already been trouble over the women we take off the streets, even though most of them are prostitutes who enjoy a good time and the money we give them.”
“Don’t worry, Moira won’t get a chance to talk to the law. I have plans for her after our next gathering.”
“Very well,” Dashwood allowed. “It will be rather refreshing to have someone other than whores to entertain us. Is she a virgin?”
Moira gasped, mortified by Sir Francis’s question.
“Are you?” Mayhew asked, squeezing Moira’s arm painfully.
Despite her precarious situation, anger exploded inside Moira. “None of your damn business! I want to leave, and I want to leave now!”
Dashwood chuckled, vastly amused by Moira’s outburst. “I like a woman with spirit. She’ll do, Mayhew. She’ll do very well indeed. I’ll place her in my housekeeper’s capable hands until we’re ready for her. Wilkes is scouring London for willing whores to join us, but little Moira will be our star attraction.”
Dashwood picked up a bell that had been sitting on a side table and gave it a vigorous shake. In due time, a tall, plainfaced woman of middle years appeared in the doorway. “You rang, sir?”
“Are you deaf, Matilda? Of course I rang,” Dashwood said ungraciously. “Take the wench and clean her up. She’s to remain locked in the guest room until she’s needed. Understand?”
“Understood,” Matilda replied succinctly. “Anything else, sir?”
“That’s all.”
“I won’t go!” Moira resisted. “You can’t keep me against my will.”
“You’re becoming tiresome, my dear,” Dashwood said, stifling a yawn. “Take her away, Matilda.”
Matilda sent Dashwood a look of unbridled hatred, then grasped Moira’s arm and pulled her from the room. Moira resisted to the best of her ability, but the housekeeper’s strength was formidable. When Matilda called for help, the butler joined her, and together they wrestled Moira up the stairs.
Once they were gone, Dashwood made a sour face. “Matilda gets more surly every day. If I didn’t trust her to do as she’s told and keep her mouth shut, I’d let her go.”
“How can you be sure she’ll not talk about what goes on here?”
Dashwood gave a nasty laugh. “Matilda is my dead wife’s cousin. Years ago I took her in when she was destitute and gave her a job as housekeeper. Without me, she would have gone to debtors’ prison long ago. She owes me her loyalty and knows what will happen to her if she doesn’t keep her mouth shut about our ceremonies. I need her to manage the unwilling women brought in for our pleasure. She’s become quite adept at keeping them in line.”
“Then I feel confident Moira won’t escape me this time,” Mayhew said. “I’ll return in two days time for our gathering.”
“I’m looking forward to it with anticipation,” Dashwood said, glancing toward the stairs.
Jack paced restively. Deep shadows defied the dancing candlelight as he strode the room from end to end and back. Sleep was a luxury he couldn’t afford. He hadn’t the foggiest idea how to get Moira away from the disciples of Satan, if indeed she had fallen into their hands as he suspected. He stopped to stare out the window, scarcely able to see the street through the damp mist rolling in from the river. He had just whirled on his heel to return to the opposite end of the room when he saw her. Truth to tell, he was never so glad to see anyone in his life. He had come to expect Lady Amelia in times of dire need.
“What should I do, milady?” he asked. His voice was so filled with anguish that the ghost reached out to him, stopping just short of touching him.
“I can’t just rush headlong into the caves and rescue Moira single-handedly. Talk to me! Bloody hell, no woman deserves being used for a man’s pleasure, unless it’s her decision.”
Lady Amelia seemed to glow from within, conveying her agreement.
“Moira insisted she loathed Mayhew,” Jack continued as the ghost cocked her head to one side and listened. “’Tis quite obvious he planted his mother’s necklace in Moira’s room in order to bend her to his will. I have no idea what happened that night I found her in the gutter, but I sure as hell am going to find out. The horror of it has kept Moira from confiding in me.”
Lady Amelia’s hands fluttered gracefully. “Are you trying to tell me something, milady? If need be, I’ll recruit a whole damn army to go out to Dashwood’s and rescue Moira.”
Use your head.
The words held no substance, but Jack heard them as clearly as if the lady had spoken aloud. “What are you talking about?”
Lady Amelia appeared perturbed at Jack’s inability to comprehend.
Don’t fight them, join them.
As before, the ghost’s thoughts were transmitted telepathically rather than spoken aloud. But the message was clear and succinct. Jack knew exactly what he must do. His smile lit up the room as he turned to thank his ghostly visitor. Being haunted by a determined ancestor certainly made for an interesting, albeit hectic life, he decided. And for some strange reason, after each visitation, perdition seemed farther away than the last time. Perhaps he wasn’t beyond redemption after all.
Alas, when Jack searched the room for Lady Amelia, she had blended into the shadows, leaving naught but a glowing ember of light in her wake. Jack sighed wearily and stretched out on the bed. There was nothing he could do until daylight except pray that Moira hadn’t been harmed. But each moment’s delay brought frightening pictures of Moira being forced to participate in the debauched rites practiced by the disciples of the Hellfire Club.
Jack pounded on the portal of Fenwick Hall until a disgruntled butler opened the door. It was two hours past dawn, an hour when fashionable people were still abed. “Lord Graystoke, ’tis uncommonly early,” the man complained. “Lord and Lady Fenwick are in the country, and Lord Spencer is sleeping. I’ll tell him you called when he awakens.”
Jack pushed past the startled man. “Tell Spence I wish to see him immediately. ’Tis most urgent. I’ll wait in the study.”
Seeing no way to convince a determined Jack to come back at a more reasonable hour, the butler acquiesced with good grace. “Very well, milord, I’ll tell Lord Spencer you’re here.”
Finding the study with little trouble, Jack threw himself into a wing chair, chaffing impatiently at slothful Spence’s habit of sleeping until noon or later.
“This better be good, Jack,” Spence said as he strolled into the room, pulling the belt of his robe tightly around him. “When did you get back? I know you must be angry at all the gossip circulating about Moira. Damn Mayhew! If he hadn’t returned from abroad and seen her at Vauxhall, our little prank would have succeeded. Moira should have told us about him.”
“I returned just yesterday. Did you know Moira was taken to Newgate?” Jack said without preamble.
“What! Lud, she can’t be sent to prison for the little hoax we perpetrated. We’re as guilty as she. What are you going to do?”
“She wasn’t taken to Newgate because of our prank, Spence. It’s more serious than that. She’s accused of stealing a valuable necklace from Mayhew’s mother while in their employ. He brought constables to the house, and they hauled her off to prison while I was gone.”
“Moira isn’t a thief,” Spence huffed indignantly.
“Indeed not,” Jack concurred. “I hied myself to the jail the moment I arrived in town and was told the charges had been dropped and she had gone o
ff with Mayhew.”
Spence frowned. “She did? I find that hard to believe.”
“She loathes the man, Spence. If Mayhew took her, it was by force.”
“But why? Mayhew is…Good Lord, you can’t mean…He wouldn’t dare take her to the Dashwood estate, would he? You know as well as I that Mayhew is involved in the Hellfire Club and that they participate in depraved rituals every couple of weeks out there in the country.”
“I think that’s exactly what Mayhew had in mind when he planted the necklace in Moira’s room. She refused his advances, and his revenge has taken an ugly turn.”
“What can we do?”
“Are you with me?”
“Damn right. Tell me what to do.”
“Nothing for the moment. I need more information. As you know, Dashwood and Wilkes have been after me for months to join the club. I’ve always refused, having no desire to hasten my journey to perdition by joining those scoundrels. But all of a sudden I find myself quite eager to join their ranks. I’m going to call on Dashwood and express my desire to attend their next gathering.”
“What about me? How can I help?”
“You’re too damn straight-laced, Spence. They’ll never believe you are interested in joining the group. But your help will be appreciated when I think of a way to rescue Moira. It can be dangerous. I understand that in order to protect their identities, the disciples dress in robes and hoods that cover all but their eyes. They won’t be expecting trouble. We’ll be armed and hooded when we go in. I’ll get you a robe, and we can decide how to proceed after I’ve spoken with Dashwood. I suspect that infiltrating their ranks is the only way of getting Moira out.”
“Count me in, Jack. This will be an even grander adventure than passing Moira off as a lady and watching the dandies make fools of themselves over her. When will you see Dashwood?”
“The sooner the better. It will take three or four hours of hard riding to reach his estate in Buckinghamshire. I heard somewhere that he’s ensconced in the country permanently, coming to London only on rare occasions. I’ll contact you as soon as I return so we can make our plans. I’ll do a little looking around while I’m there. Who knows what I’ll find.”
It was late afternoon when Jack approached the Dashwood estate. Even in the light of day, the house hinted of evil. A young servant came up immediately to take the reins from Jack’s hands, offering to stable the gray if Jack wished. Jack declined; he had no intention of remaining longer than it would take to join the blasted club and inquire about their next gathering.
Dashwood and Wilkes were in the parlor when a roughlooking servant ushered Jack into the room. Dashwood looked up, astonishment clearly visible on his coarse features.
“Ailesbury, what a pleasant surprise. Did you ride all this way to see me? Did inheriting a title change your views on…certain things?”
“Indeed it did,” Jack said, assuming a bland smile. “I’m a peer now, with sufficient funds to indulge my vices. I can understand why the Hellfire Club appeals to men of wealth and position. I recalled your efforts to recruit me into your ranks and decided to take you up on your offer. That is if it still holds.”
Dashwood and Wilkes exchanged uneasy glances. “Perhaps I was indiscreet in mentioning the club. At the time, I assumed a man of Black Jack’s reputation would jump at the chance to join the disciples. But now that you’re a peer, you might not be so willing to participate in our ceremonies.”
“Being a peer has sharpened my appetite for deliciously immoral pursuits. The Hellfire Club sounds perfect for my…er…tastes. How about it, Dashwood. Can I join?”
“Sit down, Ailesbury. You understand that utmost secrecy is required of our members, don’t you?”
Jack nodded. “I don’t carry tales, Dashwood.”
“Not all our members know one another,” Wilkes added. “We wear robes and hoods, which we don before entering our meeting place. Of course there are some who don’t care if their identity is known, but we offer our members anonymity if they so desire. To join, you must be willing to participate in initiation rites.”
Jack’s attention sharpened. “Initiation rites?”
“That’s right,” Dashwood attested. “All new members undergo some sort of initiation to test their loyalty.”
“Exactly what must one do to be initiated?” Jack asked cautiously.
“Don’t look so serious.” Dashwood laughed. “We exist for pleasure. We’re not evil. We’re not even devil worshipers. We just arrange orgies and indulge our fantasies with willing women.”
Jack yawned, as if bored with the subject. “I’ve heard stories about women being abducted off the streets. It’s happened enough times not to be true. But don’t get me wrong. I’m not against a little innocent sport as long as no one is hurt.”
“For the most part, we use whores for our orgies and ceremonies,” Dashwood explained. “Occasionally it becomes necessary to seek women where they are available. Surely no one could possibly miss those timid little mice we take off the streets on occasion. Usually we offer them money, and they’re perfectly happy to oblige us. If not…” He shrugged expansively.
Jack reserved judgment, knowing full well what happened to those unwilling participants. “Tell me more about this initiation. What will be required of me?”
“In our meeting room is an elevated stone slab, or altar, if you wish, upon which we conduct our sacrifices. No one is hurt, mind you. We try to find virgins for our initiations, but that isn’t always possible. When virgins are unavailable, we use real blood to simulate virginal blood. We’ll see that you have a vial of it to spill when you pierce the woman’s maidenhead, whether or not she has one.”
Jack tried not to register his disgust. “Am I to understand that initiation consists of taking a woman upon the sacrificial altar in full view of the membership? How droll.”
Dashwood and Wilkes exchanged pleased glances. “I knew you’d be agreeable once you learned what we’re about,” Dashwood exclaimed. “I’ve waited a long time to initiate you into the Hellfire Club. We live for pleasure; we exist to gratify our every fantasy, no matter how exotic. If you’re agreeable, your initiation can take place at our next gathering. We meet tomorrow night at precisely midnight, when the moon is at its fullest. We even have a special woman for you.”
Jack tried to hide his excitement. “Special woman? Some well-used prostitute, I expect.” He yawned. “I suppose if I must…”
“No prostitute, Ailesbury. This woman was brought in by one of our most trusted disciples. She may even be a virgin. After you’ve had her, the others will be worked up to such a pitch they’ll be fighting one another for her, but the privilege of taking her next belongs to the man who brought her to us.”
“The girl is willing, I assume.”
Wilkes laughed nastily. “She will be.” He was referring to the drugs they sometimes used to control a woman’s will. Jack didn’t like the sound of it.
“I don’t like the idea of using force. Nor will I take a woman who’s been traumatized or abused. I have to give a care to my reputation. I don’t want my name linked with a woman who leaves here in questionable condition. If you want me to join your ranks, you must promise not to harm the woman in any way, and that includes abusing her physically before I take her.”
“I must admit, Ailesbury, that numbering you among our disciples can only enhance our reputation,” Dashwood observed. “You have my promise that the woman will be harmed in no way. Can we count on you tomorrow night?”
“Aye. I wouldn’t miss my initiation for anything. Any instructions before the ceremony?”
“You’ll receive your robe and hood before you leave here tonight. I’ll give you directions to the limestone caves; don them before you enter. Just follow the passageway to the large cavern where the disciples gather. You’ll see the stone altar in the center. Mix with the others until the woman is brought in and I announce that the initiation rites are about to commence. When I strip the sacrific
e and place her on the altar, that’s your cue to take her in any way you choose. The paid whores will come in once the initiation is over, and you’ll be free to take your pleasure with any of them you wish.”
Jack stretched to his feet, clenching his fists to keep himself from smashing Dashwood in the face. “If that’s all, gentlemen, I’ll take my leave.” He was so relieved that Dashwood seemed unaware of his association with Moira that he couldn’t wait to get home and tell Spence what he’d learned.
Suddenly a commotion in the foyer captured Jack’s attention. Already on his feet, he strode swiftly from the parlor and into the foyer, both Dashwood and Wilkes hard on his heels. Suddenly Dashwood pushed past Jack, shoving him aside.
“How in the hell did she get out?” Dashwood thundered when he saw Moira struggling with his butler.
Moira’s heart sank. Desperate to escape, she had bolted from the chamber when the housekeeper opened the door to bring her dinner. She had shoved Matilda as hard as she could, then ran out the door and down the stairs. She heard voices coming from the parlor but paid them no heed when she noted that the front door was unguarded. But luck had deserted her. The butler came from the back of the house, saw Moira and grabbed her before she reached the door.
“Let go of me!” Moira cried. “You can’t keep me here against my will. There are laws against such things.”
“Good work, Plunket. Take her back upstairs,” Dashwood said. “As for you, young lady, the disciples are above the law. Our members are so powerful the law will not interfere.”
Struggling fiercely in Plunket’s cruel grip, Moira suddenly spied Jack. The shock of seeing him at the Dashwood estate was so overwhelming she went limp.
“Sweet Virgin. You!”
Chapter Thirteen
Jack stared hard at Moira, his gaze flowing over her face and form with quiet desperation, seeking assurance that she was unharmed. Her face was flushed, her anger and shock at seeing him here palpable. It was all Jack could do to keep from grabbing her and fighting his way past Dashwood and Wilkes and away from this evil atmosphere. He tried to convey that message with his eyes, but Moira was beyond understanding.
