“I’m going to tell John you tried it on with me,” Mary threatened. She found Simon’s advances infuriating and repellent.
“You can tell him, if you like, but don’t expect him to do aught about it,” Simon replied.
“And why wouldn’t he? He’s my husband, like it or not.”
“Because I hold his life in my hands, Mary dear. Sodomy is a crime, a serious one. If Reverend Edison, or the governor, for instance, were to get wind of our John’s proclivities, things wouldn’t go well for him. John has to keep me sweet if he wants to hold on to what’s his.”
“If you’re not a sodomite, then why do you allow him to use you?” Mary asked, wishing she could slap the sly smile off Simon’s face.
“Because allowing him to have his way with my body is a small price to pay for a master who treats me well and loves me above his own wife. And when my indenture is up, John will help me set myself up. I’ll be wanting my own parcel of land to work, and John will see that I get it.”
“You mean you will blackmail him, you heartless scoundrel?”
“Mary, the minute John unlaced his breeches and penetrated me, he put himself at my mercy. He knew it as well as I did. I allow him to make use of me. I even enjoy it from time to time, when he’s in the mood to pleasure me, but I won’t walk away from John without taking what’s owed to me. I’ve suffered enough at the hands of people who had power over me. I like how it feels to finally have a bit of leverage over someone else.”
“Is this what this is? Leverage?” Mary demanded, hands on hips.
Simon inched his hand up her thigh and grabbed hold of her bottom, cupping it suggestively. “I won’t force you, Mary. I’m not a bad man. But know that I can have you any time I want, and John will not lift a finger to help you. Now that you’re his wife, you belong to me as surely as he does. You can thank him for that. John thinks he’s working for himself and his future children, but he’s working for me, and mine. Make no mistake, mistress, I won’t let this opportunity pass me by.”
“You’re despicable,” Mary gasped. She pressed down on his wound, making Simon cry out and let her go. She took a hasty step back, getting well out of his reach. To her, Simon no longer looked handsome. He was ugly and twisted, and she’d seen the eyes of the snake behind his innocent blue gaze. “What’s made you so cruel?” she asked, shaking her head in dismay.
Mary was surprised to see Simon’s features crumple. Gone was the manipulator, replaced by a man who wanted her sympathy. All the bravado seemed to go out of him, leaving behind a weak, injured man. Simon’s eyes grew misty, as if he were remembering something painful.
“I wasn’t always like this, Mary,” Simon said at last. “I was an honest man, doing honest work. I served a fine lord, looking after his horses. My father was the head groom, but once he grew too old to do his duties, the position would pass down to me. My family had worked for Lord Denton’s family for generations. My grandfather had been a serf, as was his father before him. My father was a free man, but he continued to serve the family, for a fair wage. My younger brother worked in the house, and my sister started in the kitchens when she turned twelve.”
“So, what happened?” Mary asked, curious despite her anger.
“Lord Denton’s wife, who had fulfilled her marital duty and produced three fine sons, ceased to interest him. He took a mistress in the village, a girl younger than his eldest son. The poor lass wanted no part of him, but her family didn’t give her much of an option. Lord Denton owned the village, and everyone in it. If the girl dared to refuse, her family would suffer, and their only recourse, the minister, would side with his lord.”
“Did you stand up for her?” Mary asked, hoping she’d misjudged Simon.
“There was naught I could do to help her. Besides, her family benefited nicely from having their daughter warm the master’s bed. They never ate so well, nor had coin to spare on minor luxuries before he took a liking to her.”
“So, how did any of this affect you?”
“Lady Denton, who was a proud woman, didn’t take kindly to being set aside. She’d always been partial to me, but once her lord strayed, she took to coming into the stables, hoping for something more than a spirited gallop.”
“People just can’t keep their hands off you, can they?” Mary said bitterly. “So, did you service her and get caught by her husband?”
“I refused. Told her I was courting a girl from the village and we were to be married that autumn.”
“Did she leave you alone?”
“She was angry and humiliated that a lowly groom would reject her. She told her husband I’d stolen a ring from her, and he turned me over to the constable. There was no proof. They found nothing on me, but her word was enough to convict me. I was to be hanged for a crime I didn’t commit. The day before I was to be executed, Lord Denton petitioned the magistrate to commute my sentence to indentured servitude. I think Lady Denton had a change of heart and told him the truth of what she’d done.”
“She told her husband you rejected her advances?” Mary scoffed.
“Of course not. Probably said I was insolent to her and she wanted to see me punished.”
“Why would she change her mind?”
“Likely didn’t want my death on her hands. She wasn’t a cruel woman, just a scorned one.”
“So, that’s how you came to be here in Virginia?”
Simon nodded. “I spent two months aboard a ship, treated no better than vermin. All they fed us was gruel, and we weren’t allowed up on deck, not even for a breath of air. Do you know what a hold with two dozen men who haven’t washed in months and filled with slop buckets overflowing with shit and vomit smells like, Mary? I swore to myself if I made it to Virginia alive, I’d do whatever it took to survive. Whatever. It. Took. I won’t be leaving my service empty-handed.”
“What Lady Denton did to you was cruel, but John doesn’t deserve to be punished for her actions.”
“I’m not out to punish him. He’s a good man, John. He’s been kind to me. But I’ve lost everything, Mary. Even if I had the means to return to England, I’ve nothing to go back to. My family was shamed. My father and brother lost their employment. And my beloved likely married someone else. My life was stolen from me. I just need a helping hand to start a new one, and after what I’ve been to John these past years, he owes me.”
“He should help you because he wants to, not because you hold exposure over his neck like a sharpened ax,” Mary argued.
“Mary, do you honestly believe John will simply give me a portion of his land, or enough coin to buy a plot of my own? You’re more naïve than I thought. No one gives you anything in this life. If you want it, you have to take it.”
“That’s an awfully self-serving view.”
“It’s the self-serving people who prosper in this world. Now, if you won’t give me a well-deserved kiss, then give me a piece of bread. I’m hungry, and all this talking’s given me a mighty thirst. You promised John you’d take good care of me. And believe me, he will ask.”
Mary returned to the table to fix a plate for Simon. She was angry with him, and wary of his advances, but what he’d said about John resonated in her mind. Was John a kind master who had romantic feelings for his servant, or was he a predator who took advantage of a man in no position to deny him, and used him to satisfy his carnal urges? Had he done Travesty a kindness by purchasing her contract when no one else wanted it, or had he seen an opportunity to get her cheaply and taken a chance she wouldn’t die? Had John married Mary because he longed for a family and companionship, or had he simply used the opportunity to hide his own proclivities and possibly produce an heir?
Sadly, she didn’t know John well enough to answer those questions. John was an enigma to her, one she wasn’t sure she cared to solve. She was bound to him for life, and whether he was the soul of kindness or a ruthless manipulator, she had no choice but to do his bidding.
Chapter 36
February 2015
Kabul, Afghanistan
A tremor went through the room, startling Rhys. The bed had moved several inches away from the wall, and the entire room shivered violently before the lights flickered off and on several times, and then went completely out. Rhys jumped to his feet, wondering if there was an earthquake. It was only when he yanked the earbuds out of his ears that he heard the screaming and the unmistakable sound of shattering glass.
He grabbed his wallet and mobile and raced downstairs. The foyer was crowded, and several people peered anxiously through the glass doors, or what was left of them.
“What happened?” Rhys asked an employee who stood calmly behind the reception desk, looking on with interest.
“There was a suicide bombing nearby,” he replied, his tone as casual as if he were telling Rhys it had started to rain and he should take an umbrella.
Rhys stepped away from reception and looked around, unsure what to do next. Remaining in the foyer seemed pointless and, in this instance, there was no safety in numbers, but his lonely room didn’t beckon, so he remained downstairs, taking the opportunity to chat with a few people he knew. After a time, the group of reporters adjourned to the hotel restaurant and ordered a round of drinks.
Ahmad set a glass of red wine before Rhys, his eyes anxious. “You find your friend?” he asked softly.
“Not yet. How’s Ali?”
“Same.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Rhys replied.
Ahmad didn’t answer, but went on to take orders at the next table. The restaurant was doing brisk business in the wake of the bombing.
“This is retribution for the six militants who were captured in Nangarhar Province this week,” said a reporter whose name Rhys didn’t know. “They’re responsible for the 2014 school massacre in Peshawar.”
“How would you know?” asked an American reporter named Deborah Carter. “There are suicide bombings nearly every day. Are they all retribution for some specific act?”
“This bomber managed to get into the center of the city despite all the checkpoints. He must have had a network of operatives to rely on, unlike the amateurs who use homemade explosives and detonate themselves anywhere they find a large gathering of people.”
“Jesus Christ, I can’t wait to get out of this shithole,” Deborah exclaimed. “I miss my kids.”
“Worst assignment ever,” someone from the next table said. “After this, I’ll happily cover dog shows and bakeoffs. Hey, waiter, bring another round of beers.”
Rhys tossed a bill on the table and left the restaurant, walking toward the internet café. While everyone was busy discussing the bombing, there’d be free stations. He only hoped the explosion hadn’t disrupted internet service. He logged on and searched for a flight home. He would try to leave by the weekend. He still hadn’t heard back from anyone at Camp Eggers and didn’t really expect to. General Hewitt had probably forgotten all about him, just as he’d forgotten about Jo Turing. Rhys was just about to book a flight when his mobile vibrated in his back pocket.
“Yes?” He hadn’t meant to sound brusque, but he was tired, frustrated, and scared out of his wits. The pulsating pain in his stomach and lower back reminded him every minute that he was lucky to be alive, and despite his failure to find Jo, his conscience was clear. He’d done everything in his power. It was time to go home.
“Mr. Morgan, it’s General Hewitt.”
Rhys sat up straighter, stunned the general had called him in person.
“I did say I would call,” the man said, as though taken aback by Rhys’s silence.
“I’m grateful, General. Have you any news?” Rhys felt his chest tighten as he waited for Hewitt to speak. He wasn’t calling with good news—Rhys could tell from the tone of his voice and the lengthy pause. “General?”
“You were right, Mr. Morgan. Several American troops came across a burned-out vehicle on their way back to base on December sixteenth. They’d heard the explosion and assumed there would be casualties. They found the young man close to the site of the explosion. It was a crude device that wasn’t nearly as deadly as a landmine, but still powerful enough to cause grievous injury. The young man was unconscious. He’d lost a leg, as you already know. They found the woman about fifteen feet away from the vehicle. She must have been thrown clear when the explosion went off. She was still alive.”
“Where is she?” Rhys cried. “Where did they take her?”
“Mr. Morgan, when the IED exploded, the woman’s bag caught fire and the contents perished. She had no identification, and the memory card in her camera had melted. The young man didn’t have any identification on him either. Our boys had no idea who she was, so she was referred to simply as Jane Doe. They brought her back to base for an evaluation by our medical staff. Subdural hematoma, I’m told, as well as some other non-life-threatening injuries. Since Jane Doe was a civilian and we had no way to contact her next of kin, we flew her out to Landstuhl Regional Medical Center in Germany. It’s located a few miles from Ramstein Air Base.”
“Why was no one notified? Surely, you had the resources to find out who she was.”
“Mr. Morgan, as you know by now, we have a lot on our plate right here in Kabul. I gather you heard the explosion a few minutes ago. The bomber detonated very close to your hotel.”
“Yes, I heard the explosion.” And felt it as well, Rhys thought angrily.
“Perhaps someone in Germany has been working to identify your friend, but as far as I know, you’re the only one who’s come looking.”
“Will they let me in to see her?” Rhys asked. He could hardly just waltz into an American military medical facility and demand to see Jane Doe.
“There’s a flight leaving for Ramstein tomorrow afternoon. You can be on it. You will be provided with the necessary travel documents, and someone will meet you once you get to the medical center. I’m afraid that’s all I can do.”
“That’s more than enough, General. Thank you. I’m very grateful.”
“Someone will be in touch. Good day to you.”
Rhys disconnected the call. Jo was alive, and she was at one of the best facilities in the world. General Hewitt had said nothing about her current condition, but Rhys was optimistic. He stared at the phone, wondering if he should call Quinn.
Chapter 37
February 2015
Ramstein Air Base, Germany
Rhys zipped up his coat, slung his carryall over his shoulder, and followed Lieutenant McBain off the aircraft. It was bitterly cold, and a hazy winter sun shone from a nearly colorless sky. The light reflected off the silver airplane, making Rhys wish he’d worn his sunglasses. Two ambulances approached the newly arrived aircraft, the paramedics ready to transport the patients who’d been brought over from Kabul to the medical center.
Lieutenant McBain gestured to an army vehicle waiting at the edge of the airfield. “You’re with me,” he said to Rhys. “I’ll drop you off at the hospital. I hope your friend’s doing okay. I was there the day she was brought in. She was a mess, let me tell you. We all thought she was a goner. She must be a tough little thing.” Rhys inwardly cringed at the insensitive words but didn’t say anything. The young man meant well. “She was lucky to be alive. The kid that was with her took a beating. Lost a leg. He’s lucky he didn’t lose both.”
“I don’t think he sees himself as being very lucky,” Rhys replied as he buckled his seatbelt.
“Well, that’s your ‘glass half full’ versus ‘glass half empty’ conundrum,” Lieutenant McBain replied with a grin. “There’s many a soldier that’ll take losing a leg over getting blown to bits. Of course, there are injuries that make being blown to smithereens look appealing.”
“Like what?” Rhys asked, genuinely curious.
“There’ve been a couple of boys who stepped on mines. The blast hit them right between the legs, blew their private parts off. It’s bad enough to lose your legs, but to lose the family jewels is really adding insult to injury. They had to have
reconstructive surgery, but from what I hear, their new equipment is nothing to write home about. Man, can you imagine having to tell your wife that bit of news? I’d rather be dead and buried.”
“Are you married, Lieutenant?”
“Married, with two kids. This is my third tour, and if I sign up for another one, my Sherry will castrate me with a kitchen knife. Can’t say I’d blame her. Our third is due at the end of May. I’ll be home by then, God willing. It’s a boy this time. I can’t wait. You got any kids?”
“No.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing, man. My heart melts when I see my girls. This is why I’m doing this. For them. I want to leave them a better world. Not sure I’m making any difference though. Sometimes it’s hard to see the big picture when you see your friends dying and their families suffering. Well, here we are. Good luck, buddy. See ya ’round.”
Lieutenant McBain dropped Rhys off in front of the medical center and drove away. The two ambulances from the air base were just pulling up, and medical personnel were already on standby outside the facility, ready to receive the wounded. Rhys walked in through the main entrance and approached the visitors’ desk.
“Hello, I’m Rhys Morgan—”
“Mr. Morgan, you’re expected. Just take a seat and someone will be with you shortly,” the guard informed him. “Shouldn’t be more than a few minutes. Oh, and you can leave your bag with me. You can’t bring it inside.”
Rhys took a seat and looked around. He appeared to be the only civilian. Everyone looked busy and purposeful, but there was a cheerful atmosphere that he found surprising. The medical personnel were relatively young, and everyone smiled and exchanged friendly comments as they went about the business of looking after their wounded comrades. Rhys gazed out the window. Gentle snow had begun to fall, huge snowflakes twirling merrily before settling on the ground in a blanket of pristine white.
The Condemned (Echoes from the Past Book 6) Page 23
