Time After Time (88 page)

At dawn Emily rose and went to the window. The soldiers had camped on the beautiful lawns of the manor. The horses had dug up the grass and made a mess of the flowerbeds. Emily sighed and let the curtain drop. She stretched and looked at Will in envy. He slept peacefully unaware of the threat lurking just outside.

Emily went down to breakfast, not feeling hungry, but knowing she must eat for the child she carried. She had felt its determined movements again, making its presence known. That and the hope of Jonathon being alive filled her with a swelling feeling of joy. But the ominous presence of the British tempered her elation.

Dulcie was laying out the ham and bread when Emily entered.

“It’s no good, Miss Emily. No good at all. Them soldiers all over the place, eatin’ all our food,” she shook her head in dismay.

“They will be gone soon, Dulcie,” Emily said, not believing it herself. She looked up feeling the woman’s eyes on her. “What is it, Dulcie?”

“They sayin’ that Master Jonathon is alive,” Dulcie replied gently.

“Yes, I know.”

“How can that be, Miss Emily, when you saw him die yourself?” she asked in a whisper.

“I saw him shot. I saw him fall into the sea. I saw the British pull him into their skiff. I do not know; he must have still been alive,” she answered, her heart soaring at the thought, but remaining calm in appearance.

The officer entered and greeted them.

“Good morning, Mrs. Brentwood. I trust you slept well?”

“When do you leave, sir?” she asked, ignoring his question.

“We leave when I give the order,” he stated flatly.

Emily glowered at him.

“I realized this morning that I have not introduced myself. I am Captain Arthur Walters,” he bowed before sitting at the head of the table.

“Captain,” Emily said disinterestedly.

“Come, Mrs. Brentwood, the hospitality of the Brentwoods is known far and wide. Surely you can do better than that.”

“Your presence is an intrusion, Captain. You are not invited guests, and your continued stay is most unwelcome. Surely you can see why my welcome is less than warm.”

Rising, he walked over to her chair and stood behind it. Emily froze as she felt his presence so near. He placed his hand on the back of her chair, his fingers just touching her shoulders.

“Perhaps if your welcome were warmer it would be easier on Captain Brentwood when we catch him,” he said in a smooth voice.

Emily felt sick; she shivered.

“Well, I see my words have some effect on you. You may seem cold on the exterior, but I imagine there is a passion that burns within you,” he said as he leaned nearer to her ear.

“That is something you can imagine for the rest of your life, if you so choose, Captain. But it is not something you will ever know for certain,” Emily said coldly.

“Do not be so sure, …” he began, but pulled away and returned to his chair as approaching footsteps sounded in the hall.

Joanna entered and noted the look of repulsion that was in Emily’s eyes. She looked from her to the officer and silently understood. The man bowed to them and left.

“Joanna, do not leave me alone with that horrible man!” Emily cried.

“What did he do to you?” Joanna asked.

“Oh, he said vile things. He tried to seduce me in exchange for leniency for Jonathon. Oh, he is repugnant!”

Joanna put her arm around Emily’s shoulder, and Emily shuddered, recounting the exchange. The women ate breakfast quickly and sat together in the parlor. They contemplated ways to get rid of the soldiers, even knowing they were powerless to do so.

“When is David due back?” Emily asked. “Do you think he will be able to do anything?”

“He would be one man against all of them. Perhaps he will see them in time to go back for reinforcements. Oh, Emily, when will this end?”

• • •

For Emily and Joanna, the next few days were filled with tension and fear. The soldiers had obviously set up a camp for a long stay, and the grounds were being ruined. Food supplies were dwindling fast, and the women wondered how they would feed everyone on what little remained.

Emily went to the smokehouse to check on supplies. The day was unusually mild, and it felt invigorating to be out in the sun even for this short walk. The promise of spring floated in the fresh scent of the air.

When she entered the smokehouse, no one was there, so she began to take stock of the supplies herself. A sense of being observed overcame her, and she hurried through the remainder of her task. She had an unusual urge to run, to get out in the sun and be where other people were. Then she heard a twig crack outside as if it had been stepped on, and she abandoned her counting and went to the door. As she reached for the handle, the door swung open. Standing before her was Captain Walters. Emily gasped and stepped back.

“So, I see you are ensuring our comfort,” he said. “Making sure we are well fed and comfortable? The perfect hostess. However, Mrs. Brentwood, one of your guests has a particular request and only you can be of assistance.”

As he spoke, he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Emily backed up to keep her distance from him. He approached her slowly.

“I think you should cooperate, Mrs. Brentwood. It might save your husband’s neck from the gallows. Just think — you might save him from swinging in the wind. Have you ever seen a hanging? It is not pleasant, but most interesting the way the body jerks when it drops, the snapping sound of the neck breaking … But, no more of this kind of talk; our conversation should put us more in the mood to become better acquainted.”

He stood before her, his breath brushing her hair as he spoke. His eyes roamed up and down her body making her feel undressed.

“I have no wish to become any better acquainted with you, Captain. The only thing I wish to see is your back as you leave my home,” Emily snapped, trying to still her trembling.

“You shall see more than that before this day is through,” he whispered.

He pulled her to him and bent his mouth to hers. Emily turned away, and he grabbed the back of her head, pulling her by the hair until she faced him.

“You can be kinder to your guests than that, Mrs. Brentwood,” he seethed.

“I hate you!” she screamed at him.

“I knew there was fire in you,” he laughed.

He pulled her close and forced his mouth down on hers.

She tried to turn away, but his grip on her hair tightened until she thought he would pull it out. She struggled to get away from him but he tightened his arm around her. Finally, he pulled away and let her go so suddenly that she stumbled backward almost losing her balance. Steadying herself at a table behind her, she reached back and her hand touched the wooden handle of a tool. Her fingers clasped it instinctively, though she could not identify what it was.

He moved toward her.

“So, you like rough play?” he sneered. “I can play rough games.”

He drew his hand back and slapped her across the face. She cried out at the sting of the blow, her cheek ablaze where he struck her. Anger flared in his eyes, and Emily’s heart pounded.

He reached back again, and she steadied herself for the next blow. But he stopped.

“This is no good,” he said hoarsely. “I must try something else.”

His hands reached for the clasp on her cape. Deftly he unfastened it and let the wrap drop to the dirt floor. He ran a finger from her jaw, down along her neck to the top of the swell of her breasts. He traced the swell and stopped. Emily’s breath was shallow, but she tried to hold her breath so her bosom would not move against his finger.

“That is more suitable, Mrs. Brentwood. Calm yourself and allow your guest his pleasure,” he taunted.

“I will allow you nothing!” she spat.

He placed his finger in the top of her bodice.

“Then I will simply take what you will not give,” he threatened.

With one movement he ripped the top of her dress roughly grabbing her breast. Emily grabbed the tool in her hand, brought it around and swung it at his head. He was taken by surprise and moved into it. She struck him with the meat cleaver on his shoulder near the base of his neck. The leather strap of his uniform impeded some of the impact, but the blow was still severe. Stunned, he fell to the floor. She turned the cleaver to the blunt side and hit him soundly on the head.

Blood oozed from his shoulder, and he tried to rise. He teetered dizzily, and then fell to the dirt floor, unconscious. Emily flew to the door and stepped out. She fastened the latch from the outside and raced to the house clutching the bodice of her dress to her, her knees so weak they could barely support her. She stumbled and fell once, covering her dress with dirt. She rose and wiped the tears from her eyes so she could see where she was going, streaking more dirt across her face. When she reached the house, she called frantically for Joanna.

Dulcie saw her first and exclaimed in shock.

“Miss Emily, what on earth happened?”

Emily collapsed into a chair by the hearth. She felt faint from running and tried to catch her breath. Her chest heaved and the torn material dropped. Dulcie sucked in her breath, her eyes filled with horror.

“Who did this to you?” she demanded.

“Dulcie,” Emily gasped, “get Joanna quickly!”

Dulcie hurried toward the front of the house calling Joanna’s name. Soon the two women rushed back into the room. Emily had recovered enough to realize the impact of what she had done. Her body trembled as a result of the encounter with the captain, and in fear of its ramifications.

Joanna ran to her and held her quivering form.

“Was it Captain Walters?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

Emily nodded dumbly. Dulcie brought a basin of warm water and began to wash the dirt from the girl’s face. The girl winced when Dulcie brushed the spot where she had been struck. Dulcie gasped in horror when she saw the bright red bruise under the smeared dirt.

“What did he do to you?” she exclaimed. Joanna saw the mark too, through tears of outrage.

“We must do something about him. Joanna. Send for Dr. Anderson quickly,” she demanded.

Joanna nodded to Dulcie and the woman hurried off. Joanna took over cleaning Emily’s face and gently dabbed the tender area.

“We must check on him,” Joanna said.

Emily nodded and the two went back to the smokehouse. They peered into the window and saw the officer lying on the floor.

“Is he breathing?” Emily asked.

“I cannot tell from here,” Joanna answered. “Emily, we must go in and tend him. If he dies, they will hang you.”

Emily looked at her with eyes wide with fear. “All right,” she assented.

They unlatched the door and entered the room. Emily picked up the cleaver that lay where she had dropped it. Joanna bent down over the captain and felt his pulse; it was weak. Noting that he was still alive, she breathed a sigh of relief. Quickly she unbuttoned his coat and ripped open his shirt, tearing it into strips and pressing them against the gaping wound.

“He has lost a great deal of blood,” she observed. Emily could barely look at him.

“We have to move him inside, Emily; we have to get some of his men to move him.”

“They will punish me for this! Joanna, I am so frightened,” Emily cried.

“If we can save his life, it will be better. Emily, he attacked you. That is plain to see. Even they have a code of conduct to uphold.” She looked sympathetically at Emily. “We must go to them with you in this condition.”

Emily began to protest, holding the material closer to her bosom.

“Emily, they must see what he has done to you … and what he intended to do.”

Dulcie found them and informed them that someone had gone for the doctor.

“Them soldiers want to know who is sick. I told them Miss Emily was feelin’ ill. They’re on their way to the house, Miss Joanna. What should I do?”

Joanna thought a moment. She looked at Emily for a time. Finally, Emily nodded.

“Bring them here, Dulcie,” Joanna said firmly.

“Miss Joanna, you think that’s a good idea?” she protested.

Emily nodded. Dulcie shrugged her shoulders and left. Soon she returned followed by two soldiers. They entered the smokehouse and took in the scene. One of them dropped to his knees beside the captain and began to tend his wounds. The other looked at Emily and then back at the wounded man. It was clear what had happened.

They carried the captain to the house and up to one of the bedrooms. Dulcie brought water and clean linens, and the one who tended him in the smokehouse gave her instructions on preparing some items he needed. She hurried off, and he rolled up his sleeves and turned back to his captain.

The captain’s breath was shallow, his face ashen. Emily and Joanna stood aside watching the soldier’s ministrations. He worked quickly, cleaned the wound and bound it. When Dulcie returned with the items he had requested, he made a thick poultice, applied it to the wound, and then bound it again. When he was finished, he turned to the women.

“I do not know if he will live or not. There is another regiment nearby. We have sent for the officer in charge there. He will have to make the decision about what charges will be brought,” he explained.

“Charges?” Joanna asked.

“If he dies, ma’am.”

“He attacked her!” Joanna cried out, enraged.

“He is an officer of the king, ma’am. She is the wife of a traitor.”

Joanna looked at Emily whose eyes were filled with fear. The other soldier who had come upon the scene stepped into the room.

“Tim, here, will stay with you ladies at all times until the other officer arrives,” he said.

Tim opened the door for the women to exit the room. They went to Emily’s room where Dulcie had fresh water and linens laid out for her. As Emily washed and changed into a fresh gown, Joanna stayed with her and they spoke in low tones, knowing that Tim stood just outside the door.

“Joanna, I am frightened,” Emily cried softly.

“It will be all right. Everything will be all right. That soldier seems to know what he is doing, and Dr. Anderson will be here soon. Captain Walters will live, Emily.” Joanna comforted her.