by L. J. Greene
“Careful,” he said. “Take your time.”
“So you’ve been drugging me all along,” I huffed. “Is that it? That’s what gets me so hot for you? Because I can’t see any other reason I’d let you do the things you do to me.”
He was quiet until I looked up, and by that time he’d schooled his face into polite distaste, like I’d made an off-color joke at a dinner party. “If it helps you to believe it, then I suppose you shall.”
I wanted to believe it. Oh, how I wanted to. I wanted to pin the blame on him, on his drugs, on witchcraft or the weather or the phase of the moon.
“Where’d you really meet him?” I demanded.
“I told you. I met Reggie during the war, when we—”
“For Christ’s sake, knock it off,” I said, exhaustion making me sway where I stood. “You, fighting for your country? You’re no patriot. Besides, I know where you got the tale. Betts was regaling me with his own history and it sounded mighty familiar. Tell me truly, now: where’d you meet your owner?”
There was a long moment during which I regained my balance, and Leo stared at my feet, his brows still drawn together. “Why, of course it wasn’t the war,” he said at last, looking up. “I’m surprised you ever believed me. He picked me up one evening in a London club. Satisfied?”
I shrugged. “It may be another lie, but it sounds about right.” He ignored the dig, and I felt a shallow, childish pique that I couldn’t needle him like I wanted. “Well, then, Pinocchio, what are we going to do about—”
“We’ll discuss it tomorrow. For now, I’ll see to Reggie.”
“See to him?”
“See to him.” He piled my robe and pajama pants across my arms before pushing me to the door. “Goodnight.”
“Don’t…” I turned in the corridor outside, naked and shivering, unsure what I wanted to tell him. I said it because I felt I ought, though I wanted him to do terrible things to the man: “Don’t do anything foolish.”
He smiled then, eyes hooded and teeth clenched tight. “I never do, if I can help it.”
Part VIII
D.O.A
Chapter 39
Given the way I’d left him, it was something of a surprise the next night when Lord Cresswickham turned up for dinner alive, if not quite well. Leo, Alice and I were gathered and waiting at the foot of the grand double staircase, watching the time tick by on the grandfather clock. At any moment I expected Leo to make some remark about punctuality, and send Gabriel to find a corpse, or go himself. But just when I couldn’t stand the waiting any more, a shadow bloomed across the upstairs landing, followed by the man himself.
Cresswickham shambled downstairs like a zombie. This must have been, I thought, what it was like to witness Lazarus wandering out of his tomb. The Englishman looked worse for wear, and there was a gray cast to his face. But he was whole and breathing, and lucid enough to snap at Gabriel for taking too long to pour the wine once we were seated.
Leo wouldn’t look at me the whole night. It was just as well. I was sick with disgust—at him, at Cresswickham, but most of all at myself. What kind of man had I become that I was disappointed by a lack of murder? Yes, Cresswickham was a demon, a beast, a monster. He plagued people with misery wherever he went and no one would mourn him.
I could feel something evil settling comfortably into me like dry rot. Since I’d met Mancini, I’d gradually tossed aside every moral I had, even the dusty ones from the forgotten corners of my heart. If murder seemed like a reasonable way out, what other horrors were lurking inside me, just waiting to be freed? It occurred to me that maybe it had been the same for Cresswickham. Alice had once had a different experience of the man, after all: kind and compassionate.
All I knew was, I wanted out. I had to find a way. Even if it ended with me choking on my own teeth in a dark alley courtesy of the Walker Boys, at least I could hold on to my soul. I began to think longingly of a place I’d never been, never seen even but in one grainy photograph my sister had sent Ma early on in her marriage: Katie and her husband and their fat firstborn, standing in front of an enormous barn. Katie had her hair tied back under a kerchief and a grin so broad that, like Ma said, you could whet an ax on it. First time I saw that picture I’d shrugged and thought, Good luck, big sis. Out in the middle of nowhere and nothing but hard work to look forward to for the rest of her life.
After living among the idle rich, it seemed like an Eden to me.
For the next few days I did my best to avoid everyone, trying to air out my soul and come up with a workable plan. I took long walks around the estate and spent some time staring at the pool. The weather had turned in a sudden about-face so that it was uncharacteristically cold and wet for Los Angeles. One morning I asked Gabriel, when he woke me with my customary coffee and toast, whether the wood-burning fireplace in my room was functioning.
“Yes, sir,” he said quietly. “I’ll see that it’s cleaned and stocked by this afternoon.” I noticed then that his ring and middle fingers were taped together, and wondered about it.
“Hey,” I said, and pushed myself up to sit against the headboard.
He paused in opening the curtains, the bandaged hand raised to draw them apart. “Yes, sir?” But still he wouldn’t look at me. I searched for something to say, while he stood with the kind of tension a man gets in his back when he’s holding his breath.
“I’ll bet Mr. Mancini was pleased his laundry was seen to,” I tried at last, and reached for my coffee cup.
He yanked aside the curtain so hard that the hooks screamed along the pole. “Yes, sir,” he said; only two words, but his voice broke on them.
“Hey,” I said again, startled. “Hey, now, what’s got into you this morning, Gabriel?”
“I beg your pardon, sir,” he muttered, and made to leave the room.
But I’d seen his face then, the paroxysm of terror that twisted it. I sprang out of bed, naked as the day I was born, and grabbed at his arm. He shrank back against the wall, but I kept his wrist. I held his hand up and saw that while this one wasn’t bandaged, it was marked in red stripes with a welt clear across the middle of his palm.
“Who did this to you?” I demanded, my stomach twisting.
He pulled his hand from mine. His lips trembled and his eyes were blinking rapidly, rolling around as though he was embarrassed about my nudity. He shook his head, but what he meant I never knew. He raised clumsy hands to unbutton his shirt, pulling it out of his pants. He got all the way to shrugging it off before I could speak past my astonishment.
“What the hell are you playing at, you dippy kid?” I snatched at his wrists again.
He looked at me, bewildered. To my horror, he sank to his knees. I let go my hold on him, and he got one injured hand on my prick before I shoved him away. He scrambled backwards until he was pressed against the wall, as hard as if he wanted to sink into the wallpaper.
I sat on my haunches over him and put a hand to his shoulder. He was shaking fit to rattle his bones. I said gently, “Just tell me who laid into you, and then you can go.” I needed to hear it from his own lips.
But he wouldn’t say the name. He sat there curled in on himself, eyes squeezed shut and leaking tears, until I was too full of disgust at myself to keep him any longer. “Oh, get outta here,” I growled, and he fled.
I avoided my face in the mirror through my morning wash, afraid of what I’d see. After I drank my cold coffee I decided I’d better get myself out of the house, because if I saw Mancini, I might try to break his fingers right back, and that wouldn’t help anything. I wandered down to the pool. It was overcast and cool, although I’d warmed up with my walking, and the pool waters looked grey and murky. There was a collection of bilious green scum in one corner. In the distance, I could see Alice on her horse, making her way back to the stables. I couldn’t face her, either, and so I slunk off to the side of the estate, where there was a small, enclosed rose garden and a gazebo with buckling flagstones.
And there I sat and
thought about whether I was ever going to get away from the place.
I stayed out until the temperature got too cool for comfort, and the sun was low on the horizon. I’d not seen a soul all day, except for poor Gabriel that morning, and I was still feeling black about how that interaction had gone. I snuck up the back stairs from the servants’ entrance and managed to get to my room without seeing anyone.
When I slipped inside my room, it was very warm. Gabriel had been as good as his word; the fire was stoked up high and blazing away with a comforting crackle. With a start, I noticed Alice sitting on my bed, shadowed by the soft red firelight. She gave me a wan smile.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I’ve been to see Reggie. He’s been quite unwell recently. But then as I was passing your room on my way back, I came over quite faint. I thought I’d better sit here quietly and wait for it to pass. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not,” I said, and crossed the room. “Would you like a glass of something? I’m afraid I only have bourbon, or water, of course—”
“No, thank you. I’m afraid there’s not much I can do. It will pass, or it will get worse.”
“Is it one of your migraines?” I asked, hushing my voice.
“I’m afraid it might be.” She looked up at me and gave a brave smile. “Do you know, I might have some water after all? It’s jolly hot in here, isn’t it?”
I brought Alice a glass of water and a damp washcloth to hold to her brow. She was still seated on my bed, clutching at the nearest post. It put me in mind of the last time she’d been hanging on to a bedpost, and I tried to thrust the memory away.
“Lie down,” I suggested, as she pressed the cool cloth to her neck. “Here, let me—” I arranged the pillows for her and leaned over her to brush her hair back.
“You’re very kind,” she murmured. She gazed at my mouth, a flush creeping across her cheeks. “Very kind, Cole. One forgets that people can be kind when one lives so close to wickedness. I feel quite…safe with you.”
The door burst open. It was like a B-movie villain making his entrance: Cresswickham was framed in the doorway with the landing light behind him making him more silhouette than solid.
“What in God’s name is going on? I told you—” he began at once.
“Keep your voice down,” I said sharply over my shoulder. “Can’t you see she’s sick? Why are you busting in here like that, anyhow?”
I’ll admit it wasn’t the best way to speak to him, not when I could hear the fury and the passion shaking the timbre of his voice, but I was in no mood to deal with the tantrums of Lord Reginald Cresswickham. Betts skulked in behind him, and I began to wonder if we were going to make a French farce of it.
But: “Hold him,” Cresswickham hissed, and immediately, Betts dragged me off the bed. The glass in my hand fell with a faint thud to the floor. The water soaked in immediately, turning the burgundy carpet a deep rust red. With brisk competence, Betts twisted my arm behind my back, up, up, until I danced on my toes for him. It happened to be the same arm I’d damaged the other evening. I was completely and painfully immobilized.
“What in the—” I began.
“Settle down, boy-o.” Betts sounded calm and reasonable, and I stopped struggling with him. He let up on my arm some, and the relief kept me obedient. “Are you alright, your Ladyship?”
She sat up on the bed and shuffled to sit at the edge. “Of course I am. I felt faint, so I came in here. It was the closest room. Let poor Cole go, for goodness’ sake.” My heart swelled at her immediate leap to my defense, and I tried to catch her eye, but she was shielding her face from the light coming in from the landing.
“Hold him,” Cresswickham said again. “Let him go, Betts, and it will mean your job.”
Betts’ hold stayed vice-like on me, but I could hardly fault the man. “He’s not going anywhere, your Lordship; I’ve got him. But Lady Alice does seem unwell and I think—”
“I don’t pay you to think. And you’re the one who reported this clandestine meeting to me, Betts. You have your suspicions as well.” He strolled to the fireplace, where he laid a hand on the mantel and looked deep into the flames.
My sense of the ridiculous kicked in, and I gave a chuckle. “If you’re so sore at me, Reggie, just throw me out.”
Alice stood, swaying a little, and said, “I’m going to my room.”
Cresswickham whirled around, just about clicking his heels together as he stopped, and suddenly I could see the martial training, the rigid posture, the exact placement of his hands crossed behind his back. His eyes were hooded and black in the meager light from the fire. “Sit. Down.”
Alice kneaded her temple. She sank onto the bed again, and clutched a handful of the duvet so hard I half-expected it to pop and fill the room with a flurry of duck feathers.
“None of you have any idea what it’s like to live with the kind of responsibilities I have. My family’s lands, my family’s title, my family’s fortune: they rest on my shoulders alone.”
Even Betts gave a little sigh when Cresswickham started up. I felt like pointing out that Lady Alice Cresswickham had just as much claim to the family lands, title and fortune as he did, and in fact she wanted to take her rightful share, but I didn’t want to prolong the scene. Alice looked fearful.
“Do you know what a job it was to guard my sister’s virtue in London? And now living here in this hell, the devils are inside the gate. My God, some nights I fancy I should chain you to your bed, Mr. Fox, just to make sure you sleep in it. You think I don’t know what you get up to behind my back? It’s not enough that you try to take Leo from me, but Alice, too?” He paused to smile at my spluttering denials, and then swept on. “Yes, oh yes, I know all about your fumbling attempts at seduction with my sister. And I know just how far you see yourself climbing. I dare say you think ruining her would be the quickest way to marriage!”
I sneered; I couldn’t help myself. “For Christ’s sake, I just told you I’d leave. I’ve no burning wish to stay in this place.”
“You’ve no burning wish,” he repeated, and ambled to the fireplace.
“Makes me sick the way you swan around,” I told him, “flashing cash like it solves every problem in the world, accusing us all of perverted things you just wish you could do yourself!”
“Silence!”
“Please,” Alice murmured. “Please don’t, Cole.”
“You all need to learn some self-control. Not to mention showing some gratitude,” Cresswickham blew on, pacing in front of the fireplace. He stopped by my desk, on which my typewriter sat, with my neatly stacked draft papers next to it. “Show some appreciation for what I do for you, each and every day, without expecting anything in return. Why, without me this wouldn’t exist.” He stabbed his finger down on my draft novel.
The back of my neck prickled, and it had nothing to do with the way Betts was breathing open-mouthed at it.
I said: “You’re right, Reggie. You’re right, absolutely, yes, we should be much more grateful.”
“Yes, Reggie,” Alice said weakly. “We are, you know. Very grateful to you, Reggie.”
I pressed Betts’ toe with my heel. “Oh, er, yes. Very grateful, your Lordship.”
I began to wish I’d kept my trap shut when Cresswickham got a gleam in his eye. “At least Betts here shows me some respect. It’s more than the rest of you bother to do. Tell me, is this what you’ve been playing at writing, Cole?”
I had to answer, had to try to placate him. “Yes. I’m afraid it’s not very—”
“Perhaps I should see what fruit my investment has sprouted.” He picked up the first few pages and flicked through them.
I stood very still. It felt to me as though he were cradling my first-born in loose arms. Hire a typist to whip you up a copy, soon as you can, Scribner had advised me, but of course I hadn’t listened, and now my enemy held the only draft in his thin-fingered hands.
Chapter 40
Cresswickham leafed through my
manuscript. “Oh, dear me, no. No, no, no, this is terrible dreck. What can Leo have been thinking?”
“It’s a first draft,” I said desperately. Alice was blinking at her brother through her pain, almost curious.
“There is really nothing redeemable here,” Cresswickham said, and wandered back to the fireplace. “Best to put it out of its misery.”
The room was much too hot. “Reggie,” I gasped. “Please. Please don’t.”
He looked across at me.
“Lord Cresswickham,” I tried. “Please, sir. Please, your Lordship—”
“It’s much too late for that,” Betts murmured in my ear, just as Cresswickham let the first page fall from his fingers and on to the low-burning fire. There was a flash of yellow as it touched, and it burned up quickly.
It was only the front page, I told myself. Just my name and A Novel, because I hadn’t settled on a title yet. “What do you want?” I asked.
He smiled at me as he laid on the next few pages, delicately and carefully so that they caught immediately and flared. From beside me, I heard Alice sigh. Cresswickham turned back to the desk and collected a large handful of my papers.
“Whatever you want, I’ll do it,” I said. “You have all the power here, Lord Cresswickham, so whatever—no—no—you son of a bitch!”
Once I started screaming at him, I couldn’t stop, even when Alice pressed her hands over her ears. Cresswickham didn’t even acknowledge me. I managed to grapple free for a moment, my fury giving me strength, but Betts grabbed me back and this time crushed his forearm across my throat, as well as twisting my wrist up behind my back. He was like stone, stoic as I kicked my heels against his shins and thrashed around.
A voice finally cut across my caterwauling.
“What the devil’s going on here?” Leo stopped in the doorway, staring at us all like we were actors in an absurdist play. He must have been in the process of undressing when he heard the commotion, for his shirt was untucked and his cuffs free. He was shoeless, which explained why we hadn’t heard him running down the corridor. Of course, my shrieking had probably muffled it some, too.
