The Nightingale Legacy (4 page)

“Now, I see that you’re silent again. Women should be silent, you know.” He rose then and she realized he was wearing only a dressing gown. It was a royal blue brocade with heavily stitched cuffs, and he’d belted it around his fat stomach. He pulled on the belt and the dressing gown parted. His belly was whiter than a nun’s wimple, hard and protruding. Lower, there were tufts of grayish-brown hair, and embedded in that hair was his man’s sex. She thought she’d gag.

She stared at his sex, at the thin legs. She didn’t gag. She laughed. At first the laughter sounded forced and strangled with fear, but then she got it right and laughed and laughed. Soon she was choking on her laughter, seeing him now standing there rigid, the thick vein throbbing in his neck, his face tightening, becoming florid.

“You,” she gasped on her laughter. She couldn’t point at him so she jerked her chin toward him. “That thing—it is so pitiful. You’re pitiful, and you’re fat as a stoat. You’re
an old man, this is ridiculous.” And she kept laughing.

He lunged at her then, throwing himself atop her, his weight crushing her down into the thin mattress.

“You bitch, you damned bitch. Close your mouth. Shut your damned mouth!” He straddled her, then struck her once and then again. He was panting hard and now she was silent. She wished she could insult him more, but words were beyond her now, far, far beyond. He ripped the bodice of her gown to her waist. He stared down at her chemise, then very slowly he ran the end of his blunt finger along the top of her breasts. “Very nice,” he said. “You’re doubtless a virgin. I haven’t had a virgin since Owen’s mother over twenty-five years ago. How very quiet you are now, my dear Miss Derwent-Jones, or should I now call you Caroline? I hate your name, but I will make do. There was a girl, you see, and her name was Caroline, and she wouldn’t have me. She wanted your father. Ah, the triangles of life. He loved your mother, so that was the end of Caroline’s dreams. I wonder what your mother was thinking when she named you Caroline, for your dear father must have resisted. Perhaps the other Caroline believed your father had done it because he regretted not wedding her? A question with no answer. Ah, but that’s neither here nor there, is it? Shall we continue, my dear?”

“Continue? That is nonsense and well you know it. I should better call you father or grandfather.”

He slapped her again, not hard, just enough to make her head hit back against the thin pillow.

“Now, let’s see the rest of you.” He jerked the chemise to her waist, but didn’t seem interested in looking at her breasts. She felt the cool night air on her flesh, saw his old hands on her, and wanted to scream with the horror of what she knew was going to happen to her. He got off her and stood looking down at her, then he nodded, as if deciding
something, and stripped off the rest of her clothes.

“Very nice,” he said, then shrugged out of his dressing gown.

She closed her eyes then, felt his hands on her belly, kneading her, stroking lightly over her pelvic bones, stretching his fingers over her, measuring her. “You’ll bear many children before you die of it. My poor Ann died with her second, the babe with her, but it was only a daughter, of little use to me.”

“If you rape me I will kill you.”

His head jerked up. She was staring at him. She said again, “If you rape me I will kill you. Believe me for I am deadly serious. Know, too, that I will never wed you, never.”

“Yes you will. There will be no choice. You will be ruined if you refuse. No one would speak to you. You would be a pariah, your child a bastard, spat upon by the world.”

“I don’t care. I will have my inheritance. You can’t force me to wed you.”

“Actually,” he said slowly, “I can. Now, let’s get it done.” He began to stroke his hands over his sex, pulling on it, his head thrown back, his eyes closed.

She tugged on the bonds that were tight around her wrists. There was just a little give, not much, but enough so that she could twist and turn and loosen the rope even more. She heard his gasping for breath, but she didn’t look at him. She’d retch if she did.

Then he was over her, shoving her legs up, and without thought, without hesitation, she brought her knees to her chest and kicked him in the groin as hard as she could. He toppled off her backward onto the floor, holding himself, crying and moaning, cursing her, but he was helpless, at least for the moment. Ah, but not for long.

She felt the slickness of her own blood on her wrists, but
she continued to work and twist the ropes harder and faster. Oh, God, she had to hurry, if he got hold of himself before she was free… She wouldn’t think of it, wouldn’t consider it. Finally, with the slippery blood on her hands, she managed to ease a hand free. Then the other. He was sitting up now, still holding himself, still moaning.

“You damned bastard!”

She picked up the small wooden table and struck him hard over the head. The single candle went flying but she managed to catch it before it struck the dirty floor.

“Oh my God, what have you done?”

There was Owen, his hair sticking up on his head, barefoot, his shirt hastily tucked into a pair of breeches. He stared at her, then down at his father. “I told him not to try it with you,” Owen said, not moving, sounding strangely pleased. “Good God, Caroline, you’re naked.” Surprisingly, he looked away from her down to his father, who was now lying on his side, his hands still cupping himself. He was unconscious. “My poor father. You did him in. I came to stop him, you know.”

“Did you now?”

“Yes. But you didn’t need me. I don’t think you need anyone. I told him you were strong.”

“I know. I heard you telling him. He isn’t dead, although if I had a gun I would shoot him. Now, turn your back to me, Owen, I must dress.”

It was quickly done, her cloak covering her ripped bodice.

“What are you going to do, Caroline?”

“What do you care, you spineless worm?”

“I’m not spineless. I was coming to save you. He’ll come after you, Caroline. He won’t stop. He needs the money. He will have you.”

She gave him a long look, then tossed the rope to him. There was blood on the rope, her blood. “Tie him up,
Owen, and I mean do a good job. If you don’t, I’ll hit him again on the head with this stool. Then I’ll hit you and it will hurt.”

Owen did as he was bid. Indeed, if she wasn’t mistaken, he appeared to be enjoying it. Suddenly his father’s eyes popped open and he looked up at his son, then at his bound wrists. “Owen, my dear boy, what have you done? Have you subdued that damned bitch? Untie me now, boy, quickly. Ah, a son shouldn’t see his father unclothed. Give me my dressing gown.”

“No, Owen, I will need that dressing gown. Your dear father in all his fat glory will cause a good deal of consternation, depending upon who comes here first, but that is just too bad. Yes, Mr. Ffalkes, I realize we’re in the stables in a miserable storage room that hasn’t seen the light of day for years. But it’s good. I rather hope every servant at Honeymead Manor gets this treat. You may be certain that I’ll leave the door wide open.”

Mr. Ffalkes looked over at her, his eyes red with fury. “You damned bitch, you’ll not get away with this. I’ll have you and then you’ll regret doing this.”

She laughed. This time it wasn’t clogged with fear. She laughed freely and for a nice long time. Then she looked over at Owen. She blinked then, for he was holding a pistol loose in his hand. Bless him, he
had
come to stop his father. But why had he pulled out that pistol now? Quick as a snake, she grabbed it from his hand and shoved him back.

She turned back to Mr. Ffalkes. She enjoyed having him at her feet. “You actually put a bed in this poor storage room. How enterprising of you. I thank you for it. Now, Owen, I will say this only once. You will go back to the manor. You will doubtless find my valise in my bedchamber. Fetch it and bring it back here. I will expect you in five minutes. If you don’t come back or if you bring someone,
I will shoot your father. Then I will come after you. I’m feeling very mean, Owen, believe me.”

“She won’t, Owen, she’s a female, they have no appetite for killing, don’t believe her—”

She raised the pistol, saw that it held two bullets, aimed it and fired. Mr. Ffalkes screamed. The bullet tore up the wooden floor not two inches from his slippered feet.

“Go, Owen, now!”

She turned and looked down at her erstwhile guardian. “I wonder, sir, if my finger were to slip, then who would be my trustee?”

“You’ll not get away with this savagery, Miss Derwent-Jones. I’ll send the Bow Street Runners after you. They’ll haul you back here—”

“Why?”

“Why what, damn you?”

“Why would anyone—other than you, of course—want to haul me back here? I’m now nineteen and I will deal with you to gain my inheritance after I’ve settled into my new, ah, home.”

“What home? You don’t have another home. Where do you think you’re going, you idiot girl?”

“You honestly think I would tell you? I would be an idiot if I did.”

“It won’t matter. I’ll find you quickly enough, and then you’ll be sorry.”

“You sound like a child making silly threats,” she said, staring down at him, “but you’re not, are you. How I wish the pistol held three bullets.”

Owen suddenly appeared in the doorway, holding her valise. He had also pulled on a pair of boots and a cloak. He’d pulled an old felt hat over his ears.

“Now, Owen, you and I are going to do a bit of riding.” She turned to Mr. Ffalkes. “I’m taking your son as a
hostage, sir. If you try anything, I will remove his right arm. Owen needs his right arm. He needs everything he’s got. Even missing one part, he would be in bad shape. Do you understand, sir?”

Roland Ffalkes cursed.

“Father, really, you shouldn’t speak so in front of a lady.”

Caroline thought Mr. Ffalkes would expire in apoplexy right then, but he didn’t.

Owen just shook his head and preceded Caroline from the storage room, the pistol aimed at his back.

Owen said nothing for a full two hours. They were riding along a country lane, the air dry, just a bit chilly, but very fresh from the rain of the past days, the silence absolute. He said at last, “I shouldn’t have left my father lying there naked. The servants will find him and it will be awful, both for them and for him. He is not a pretty sight, Caroline.”

“He struck my face several times. He was quite ready to rape me, Owen. Didn’t he deserve something for that?”

“You kicked him in the groin. You’re not a man, Caroline, so you wouldn’t know what that does. It’s really quite dreadful.”

“Has a young lady kicked you there, Owen?”

“Oh no, one of my friends hit me with a ball when we were boys. How did you know to do that?”

“Actually, my mother taught me when I was quite young. You see, one of our maids had been raped and it made my mother furious. She said no female was ever too young to know how to protect herself. I believe she got all the details of the kicking technique from my father. After she taught me, he smiled at me and patted my head. He said, ‘Now I’ve a little Amazon. It’s good.”’

“It does draw a man up short. When I was hit, I thought I was going to die.”

She grinned, even knowing he couldn’t see it, for it was quite dark, save for the quarter moon that sliced through the trees onto the narrow lane. “I’m glad your father suffered. He isn’t a nice man.”

“What are you going to do? Where are you taking me?”

“You’ve been silent as a stick since we left Honeymead Manor, not deigning to say a word to me. Why the questions now?”

“It took me a while to think of what I wanted to say and in what order.”

She believed him. He was Owen and it was the way he was. She was beginning to believe herself quite mad to have brought him along. If he tried to bolt, she knew she wouldn’t shoot him. Good Lord, she hadn’t even bound his hands. If he wanted to, he could kick his horse in the ribs and ride away from her right this minute.

“You and I, Owen, are going to Cornwall.”

“Cornwall? I was there once, in St. Austell, and it was really quite backward. Why that godforsaken place?”

“My aunt lives there. I haven’t seen her for three years now. She’ll take me in. She was my mother’s sister. Your dear father didn’t allow me to leave Honeymead Manor, you know, so I was never able to visit her, nor, I add, was she supposed to visit me, but she just laughed at that and came to see me several times at Chudleigh’s Young Ladies’ Academy, that prison your father incarcerated me in for more years than I care to remember. Your father is really a toad, Owen.”

“Do you have any idea how many days it will take us to reach Cornwall? What part of Cornwall?”

“We’re already in New Forest, Owen. Only about three or maybe four days, I should say, maybe less. I won’t tell
you exactly where we’re going. You might decide to escape me and tell your father. Now, we’ll ride at night and rest during the day. I stole money from your father so I know we have enough.”

“What will you do with me if we reach Cornwall unscathed?”

She appeared to ponder deeply. “I don’t know yet, Owen. Perhaps with you as my hostage, your father will be more reasonable. Perhaps he will agree to sign all the papers—or whatever it is he has to do—to put me in possession of my fortune.”

“He won’t do it, Caroline.”

“Then I’ll begin to send him your body parts, Owen.”

“You mean like a finger?”

“Yes, or a toe or an ear.”

He said nothing more. He fell into a profound silence, saying after they’d skirted the town of Steepleford, “I never did want to marry you, Caroline. You’re pretty and all that, but still, you’re not what you’re supposed to be.”

“And what is that?”

“What do you mean ‘what’? It’s obvious. You weren’t crying or begging or pleading or lying there like a dead martyr, like any modest young lady would do. I had come to save you and you didn’t need me. You actually had the gall to hurt my father and he was just trying to do his manly duty.”

“Manly duty? Is that what you call rape?”

“That’s what he called it.”

“Yes, I remember now. I overheard nearly all of your conversation in the estate room. If your father hadn’t been so wily, I would have escaped, and he wouldn’t be lying naked in the stable ready to terrify a stable hand.”