by Lucy Langton
***
The following night, the Baron was out again with his friends, drinking and gambling. It was another great opportunity for Rachel to carry out her plan. This time around, she had a great hope that he would comply and she would have her way. She sat at the patio waiting for lord William’s arrival. It was almost past midnight, and he was not home yet. It was a normal thing, though.
Earlier on, Rachel had gone to visit a friend in a far place and had lost her way. It made her experience a stressful day, though she had managed to return early. Upon the discovery that her master had gone to the bar like before, she got her weapons of destruction together, ready to strike. That night, just as Rachel was about to doze off, she heard a sound from the stable. She became awake and alert. She heard footsteps advancing from the portico characterised by a staggering sound. It became louder and clearer. She was sure he was drunk again. She smiled to herself and rushed towards him to help him out.
“My Lord!” she screamed, holding him by the hand in a bid to steady him. She found him in a different physical state. His vestment was torn, like someone who wrestled with a wild animal. He tried to talk, but his voice was slurry and almost inaudible. A closer look revealed a broken lower lip and black right eye, evidence that he did more than gambling and drinking, he fought. She was not so much interested in whom he had an exchange of fist with. All her attention was to get him to comply with her that night and allow her to have peace of mind afterwards. She would not mind getting rid of him as long as the world knew that his seed was growing inside her, an outcome that would be decided upon how she played her cards that night. She was going to put all her feminine prowess to action just to achieve her aims.
“Step back, Rachel!” a voice spoke, snapping her out of her reverie. It was Isabel’s. Rachel became so furious but had to obey unless she wanted to lose her job, or even her life as well. Hatred filled her heart against Isabel. She almost left the Baron to hit his head on the wall, save for Isabel’s timely intervention. Perhaps, she had been awake all night waiting for the return of the same man, her target.
The Baron, upon hearing the voice of Isabel regained partial consciousness. He knew what awaited him. Just the other day, he was seen resolving not to return to his old self. Now, he didn’t just return to his vomit; he got himself into trouble. Rachel wanted to lend a helping hand to Isabel, but her master banished her from his presence.
“Obey her order and give way for her!” he thundered.
He still had a vague idea of what she had tried to do to him the other night, though he was not so sure. Nonetheless, she did not go too far. She felt Isabel looked so immature and unskilled to know how to tend to his wound.
The other servants emerged, helping Isabel to steady him on a chair.
“My Lord, I implore you, I am a better person to tend to your injury than My Lady,” Rachel said from where she stood, close to the wall.
Isabel cast an angry look at her, then proceeded with what she was doing.
“Get me some alcohol!” Isabel ordered immediately. One of the servants rushed to get it.
“Get me an ointment and cotton wool!” she ordered Henry, another servant.
Isabel could recollect a certain time, during her adventure with the horses, how she fell off a speeding horse. It was a great fall. She incurred bruises and had a deep cut in her upper arm. Due to lack of proper treatment by the physician in charge, she almost lost her arm. As a result, she vowed to know how to treat little wounds and bruises, and since then, had been treating people with such a condition, herself inclusive.
As Rachel uttered the statement, Isabel laughed inwardly, trying hard to suppress it. She needed to be in charge and so had to do everything within her jurisdiction to do so. She placed alcohol on a cotton bud and applied to the affected area. The Baron winced. She ignored him and proceeded to clean up the other areas. She applied an ointment on the wounds before leading him to his room. The servants cleared up the place and retired to their rooms, exhausted and weary.
Rachel was angry with Isabel for so many reasons. Isabel had made her mission impossible until further notice, of which the opportunity might not present itself again. She could see from the way Isabel cared for the Baron that both of them were in love. There was nothing much else she could do to stop them, except if another opportunity was to present itself on a platter of gold. All the servants were already aware, and they talked about it in hushed voices. Rachel wished seriously that she was the one being spoken about. Imagine her being the one ordering the servants around and giving them instructions as Isabel did. She would have been afloat with pride. She knew and understood what it meant to be the mistress or wife of a Baron and be addressed as ‘the Baroness’ or ‘My Lady’. It would be such a great honour. But instead, she was losing everything to Isabel, and in the process, watching her plans crumble. She was not going to allow that. It was a battle she had started and had to fight to the end, even if someone should die at the end. She was going to shatter every wall of obstruction standing in her way. She watched as Isabel took the Baron to his room and felt a surge welling up in her throat. She quickly rushed to her room and fell on the bed, weeping her eyes out.
The Baron was ashamed of himself and his behaviour. He tried several times to avert Isabel’s angry gaze. She was not happy with him at all, but she was not going to give up on him until she had satisfactorily seen a great improvement.
She stood before the Baron, hands akimbo as she scolded him. “I can’t fathom how a man of noble origin should be involved in fighting like a rascal,” she remonstrated, though her voice was not loud enough for someone outside the bedchamber to hear.
He kept quiet as she continued, “Just the other day, you were sober and resolved not to get involved in fighting or drinking or even gambling. Now, tell me, how do you give up on such a lifestyle when you keep going out there and meeting your friends?” As long as you are seeing them, you must behave like them. It is a fact!”
Again, he was silent.
“I don’t want to give up on you. However, I can’t continue to tolerate this lifestyle. It’s quite appalling and disgusting. It doesn’t befit a man of noble identity. Probably, you are comfortable with this behaviour; I am not. Your sister is not. No one is. The earlier you advise yourself, the better for you,” she concluded and put him to bed.
She sat beside him to make sure that he slept before she went to her own chamber to catch some sleep before dawn. Suddenly, she felt a palm caress her thighs. It was gentle and firm. She froze and became limp as she realised the direction the palm was coming from. Upon seeing her reaction and knowing the impact of his touch, he stood up and helped her to her feet. Then, he drew her closer, enough for her to feel the heat of his body and the sturdy frame down there. He caressed her thighs again with his right hand, while his left hand supported her body. She could feel his breath against hers and his mouth advancing slowly towards hers. Their eyes met and clicked. The heat of the passion took its toll on her as she parted her lips to receive his. He was not there yet. Inside her fresh flames burned rapidly. She lowered her guards as his face finally met hers, lips against lips. Breath against breath. He kissed her.
She whimpered and then, responded. Slowly. Then, with great rhythm and intensity. He reached for the buttons of her gown and ripped them off their roots. There was a great crumple; everything dropped down, covering her legs. She quickly stepped out of her clothes. His hands explored her body, and she responded with a soft moan, an assurance that she was in agreement with whatever he intended doing with her slender body. His mouth left hers, and he tasted her body with his lips, lingering on the two mounds of flesh on her chest. She responded with an intense moan. He was glad she reacted that way. He was a professional in the game and exploring and caressing her body was a higher level of professionalism. He needed her to enjoy every bit of it.
Just as the heat of the passion escalated and she laid down her guards completely, his hands strayed down her waist. She whimpered and wriggle
d out of his hold, leaving him a helpless loser.
“I can’t just do this!” she told him with a shake of her head.
“Why?” he demanded.
“Not as you remain a drunkard and gambler, fighting and getting into trouble. Your lifestyle disgusts me, William!” she blurted out, putting back her gown.
He couldn’t believe his eyes as he froze, watching her put the last bit of her gown on, covering the torn parts with her left hand. But what could he do? For the first time, she called him by his name. It sounded so good in her mouth instead of insulting, but not so good to bring him back from the shock. Still in awe about her action, he watched her walk away, taking a part of him with her.
He laid back on the bed, hissing intermittently while the sleep vanished from his eyes, leaving him to wander around in his mind and allowing his conscience to murder him. Just then, a servant walked into the bedchamber, causing him to pull himself together.
***
She slammed her door as she entered her room. That whore was taking her man and ruining her plans. That was supposed to be her; she was supposed to be the one the Baron longed for not her! Who the hell did she think she was? To waltz into their estate and steal his heart away within weeks!
It was obvious that she had cast a spell that had Lord William drooling over her like a stray dog; everyone had seen the way he doted after her, even the servants had been talking about it. She was supposed to be the one they were talking about behind the shadows, not her.
She was so close to executing her plan that would free her from the clutches of helplessness.
She kept on hearing the sound of men laughing, drunk again, taking her back to the place she so badly did not want to be in.
“No! I am not helpless anymore!” she repeated to herself as her mind took her back to the little girl she swore she would never become again.
The sound of loud music filled the air alongside the smell of cigars and alcohol. She did not know how she ended up here at the tender age of fifteen, but life had never been fair to her. She was serving tables, in the demeaning piece of cloth. As she was passing, now and then she would get a smack on her half-exposed bottom, and whistles alongside catcalls.
She ignored them as those were the normal routine for prostitutes in the community. She had it worse than her counterparts, as she was more curvy and fuller in the right places than they were.
They always came forward to patronise her, and sometimes she partook when she realised the pay for the night was not going to be enough to fend for her bread and shelter that day.
“Hey, young missy, how ’bout we go a few rounds,” an old man that could have been her father called out holding a wad of money in his hands.
The offer was tempting, but she was still sore from last night’s client.
“I think I’ll pass sir,” she said, walking to serve wine on another table.
“Who the hell ya think ya are to refuse me?” he snapped smacking her bottom. The men in the room paid no mind to what was going on within the pub.
“Sir please, I cannot tonight, take another pick,” she said rubbing her sore bum and fighting back the tears.
“And I don’t want another pick you whore!” he said dragging her to the corner of the room.
“Let me go you bastard!” she screamed. “Let me go! Let go of me!”
He dropped her on one of the beds in one of the rooms, ripping off her underwear and ramming himself into her.
She screamed and struggled, but no one came to her aid.
“Whore! Who do you think you are to refuse me? You’re a nobody!” he spat flinging the money at her and walking out.
Her womanhood hurt, as it throbbed terribly. There was no one she could tell who would believe her; she was a whore after all, and a nobody. She was no man’s child or wife; she was just a piece of flesh that no man would want.
She had made an oath to herself after that – no one would ever make her feel like a whore again, and she was not going to die a nobody. She was going to make a name for herself no matter how hard it was for her.
She had quit the job and decided to be a servant in the house of a bachelor of noble blood. She stayed there for three months then started plotting. He had a fiancée who was in the way, and she had tried everything she could to separate them, but it did not work until she slipped poison into the food of the woman which eventually led to her death.
Making the bachelor fall in love with her was quite easy, that was until he died by hanging himself. Apparently, his fiancée’s death was not one his heart could handle.
She decided to change targets. She found a Lord of a good reputation and managed to lure him in with what she knew every man always wanted; sex.
She let him enjoy her body for as long as he wanted, yes and it was worth it until she saw him walk down the aisle with a different girl who was most definitely not in her plans.
She had once again felt the sting of rejection and her title as a whore had remained with her despite her struggle to let it go. The lady was all but an innocent bystander in the way, to kill her would have been pure wickedness, and she was not one to be unjust.
She set out to poison the Lord; in this case, she felt she was playing God, protecting the woman from a long spell of heartbreak and trauma. Of course men were nothing but vile creatures who wanted to dominate the earth and treat women the way they desired, she knew that it was always the woman who had the power to do and undo whatever they willed, with their wit and their bodies.
He was just the second victim of her many quests to become a noble. She travelled around from state to state within England after many failed attempts, that was until the Manchester incident where she was caught once, just once, with her special bottle just after the Lady of the house fell terribly ill.
They had come at her with pitchforks and torches, sending her straight to prison, forgetting that she was a woman who knew how to make a man grovel at her feet. They always wanted the same thing all of them; a woman’s body.
That was how she managed to escape prison and run down to Lagos where she met Lord William, who had agreed to hire her since some of his servants had left.
***
A few days back...
Aunt Mariam had left a note with Richard, the chef, and taken a few of her belongings out of the estate. She got to the park where her lover, Silas, was waiting for her and together they left the county in a chartered cart. They found themselves in Sheffield, south Yorkshire where they settled and began a new life.
Silas was Aunt Mariam’s childhood friend and lover. Theirs was made in heaven, it seemed. They had been secretly seeing each other and playing their love until it came to a point where they could not hide it anymore. Her family got to know about it and refused them from consummating their love. He was the son of a nobody, while Aunt Mariam was from a noble family. His parents were working for gentry and were paid a stipend at the end of the day. He grew up to join the family’s business.
When her family insisted on her getting married to a man from a noble background, she refused vehemently. Her friend whom she grew up with, the mother of Isabel, tried to match-make her with her friend’s son who was a knight, but she ran away a week to their wedding. She only returned a few years later after the gentleman had gone ahead to marry her bosom friend. She was about twenty years then. She and Silas had continued seeing each other secretly afterwards, especially during the London Season.
Then, on her twenty-fourth birthday, they decided to cement their love. Aunt Mariam had gone to meet him on their farm. Fortunately for them, his parents were out of town for an important get-together. They bought some drinks and pork, ate and drank to their satisfaction. After enjoying their little party in his room, they cuddled each other on the bed with his hands doing wonders to her body. Afterwards, he had carnal knowledge of her and devoured her innocence.
Barely three months later, she noticed some unusual changes in her body. Her breasts hurt her at each touch, and the
y swelled a bit. It was then she remembered that her monthly flow was so light the previous two months and nothing came out the previous month at all. Furthermore, it was four days past the due time. She was not prepared for what was before her, but what would she do? She broke down in her room and shed uncontrollable tears, and her eyes became swollen. She almost cursed the day she allowed Silas to penetrate her. She remembered the unbearable pains she passed through that day but endured because of love. The tears flowed uncontrollably and consecutively for two days. She neither left her room nor ate any food.
