There was complete silence, then Owen said slowly, “She is very strong. You know her well enough by now. She tries to jest her way out of things, but I know that if she had to, she’d fight me and I would have to hurt her, even tie her down to get it done.”
“And?”
“And what, sir? I don’t even know if I could manage to do it.”
“You mean to tell me that my only son would be unable to perform his manly duty?”
“It would be touch and go.”
“You have disappointed me, Owen. On the other hand, you are quite right. She’s a spoiled, arrogant bitch, a haughty creature who needs to learn who is master here. She distrusts me and thus she distrusts you. It’s a pity, but there’s no hope for it, then.” She heard Mr. Ffalkes draw in a deep breath. “Very well, I will take her. She will marry me.”
“Good God, sir, Caroline as my stepmother? She’s not even nineteen!”
“She is a grown woman. Many girls have babes by the time they are her age.”
“That’s frightening. She’s not even motherly. She’s younger than I am. She’s very strong, sir.”
“So am I. What’s more, my son, I would enjoy that particular manly duty. I am not too old to perform it. I should delight in performing it again and again on her. I am also more crafty than she will ever be. She tried to outsmart me just this morning, but I turned it all about on her and left her looking like a fool. Don’t worry. She will be at my mercy. I will tie her down with no compunction at all. I will take her until she agrees to wed me and then I will take her until she is with child. Yes, that is the way it will be. Then she’ll be quite motherly, you’ll see, my boy. Should you like a little half brother?”
“I don’t know, sir. Can’t you just give her the in
heritance and we’ll leave?”
“No, I cannot. I won’t. I need that money, Owen. I’ve kept her fortune wonderfully intact, all legal and right and tight, waiting for her damned birthday. Now that it’s nearly here you expect me to turn tail and leave? Don’t you want that new hunter Bittington is selling? Yes, I can see well enough that you do. Well then, boy, if you can’t get it done, then I must do it. Enough now.”
It was more than enough. She turned, realizing that Morna was standing there, just staring at her, her face flushed with anger. Caroline had never seen Morna angry in her life. She nodded, took Morna’s hand, and ran back up the stairs. She would have to leave, there was no other option now. Mrs. Tailstrop wouldn’t do a thing. It was Mr. Ffalkes who paid her salary. She was on her own. The money would be hers regardless of whether she was here at Honeymead Manor or in Russia. But would she be safe from Mr. Ffalkes when she returned to claim her inheritance?
What she needed was a gun. Barring a gun, she needed a man who was ruthless and smarter than Mr. Ffalkes and would agree to protect her with his life, given enough of her money.
Where was Mr. Duncan when she needed him?
3
THE DOWNSTAIRS CLOCK began its twelve long, deep strokes that resounded throughout the manor. Over the years the booming strikes had become simply night sounds that didn’t rouse anyone, even Mrs. Tailstrop’s annoying pug Lucy. Except this night Caroline was wide awake, listening, waiting, wound as tightly as that clock, only she couldn’t toll or chime or make any noise at all.
When Mr. Ffalkes finally came into view in the entrance hall below, she slipped away from her hidey-hole behind a statue of Aristotle at the top of the landing and ran back into her bedchamber, carefully locking the door. She stood there, silent as the night sky, waiting, waiting. Soon she heard his heavy footfalls coming down the long corridor, closer and closer. He stopped. She could picture him reaching out his hand, but when the knob turned slowly, soundlessly, she jumped even though she’d expected it. She sucked in her breath and held herself very still. The knob turned again and again until he realized that the door was locked. She heard him curse. Then she heard nothing.
She could picture him just standing there, wondering what to do. She knew he wasn’t stupid; he’d do something. He knocked, several quiet knocks, saying, his voice as smooth as the seedless strawberry jam Cook made just that morning, “Dear Miss Derwent-Jones? It is I, my dear, do let me in. I must speak to you. It’s about your inheritance, and a serious matter. Let me in. Come now, let’s have no fuss about this. It really is to your advantage to speak to me.”
Ha, she thought. Letting him into her bedchamber would be like welcoming Napoleon to Whitehall. She said absolutely nothing, just waited, her face pressed to the door, waiting for him to go away, which he did after several more moments that seemed to stretch longer than the time her mother had wrapped a string around the doorknob to pull one of Caroline’s baby teeth many years before.
Finally, she thought, finally he had given up. She forced herself to stay still for another five minutes, surely enough time for him to be in his bedchamber, three rooms down the corridor, and prepare himself for bed. Then she pulled her valise from beneath her bed, pulled on stout walking boots, and slung her blue velvet cloak over her shoulders. Very slowly she turned the key in the lock, then just as slowly turned the knob. The door opened slowly. She slipped through and stared up and down the corridor. She saw nothing but shadows, night shadows she’d known all her life.
She turned and walked quickly toward the central staircase, her boots making not a single sound. When an arm went around her, jerking her back, she opened her mouth to scream, but then a big palm was flattened against her teeth and she knew he’d again outsmarted her. She felt his hot breath against her ear, felt his arm tighten hard across her ribs, squeezing the breath from her.
“Now, you little bitch, not a sound from you. You believed you’d dupe me, did you? No one beats me, no one, certainly not an arrogant little girl. Now, you and I will take a walk. We will celebrate your birthday, fear not, and my gift to you will be my seed. You will like being married to me, Miss Derwent-Jones, and if you don’t, well, I will have your money and it won’t matter. I do suggest that you not struggle, that you accept your future, for it is upon you, yes it is.”
She bit down hard on his hand. She heard him suck in his breath, felt a moment of sheer pleasure, until he whirled her about and struck her jaw hard with his fist. She crumbled where she stood.
The throbbing pain in her jaw brought her back. Her eyes opened and she blinked. There was only the flame from one small candle on a rickety wooden table near her. The rest of the chamber was in darkness. She tried to sit up but realized quickly enough that her hands were tied above her head to the slats of a narrow bed that didn’t smell too clean.
“Well, you’re awake. I didn’t mean to hit you so hard, but you deserved it. Think of it as a lesson, one that will be repeated whenever you fail to obey me with proper dispatch and eagerness. Your jaw isn’t broken, I’ve already felt it. Now, my dear, you are nineteen years old. You have come into your inheritance and you will shortly marry. What do you think?”
“I think you’re quite mad.”
“Then you can spend a lot of time on your knees praying our children won’t inherit the madness. Ah, yes, there will be children, my dear, as many as I can plant in your belly. I plan to keep you pregnant. A big belly tends to keep a woman lumbering along slowly, all her attention on the babe, on all her little aches and pains. It keeps her silent. Who knows? After birthing a good dozen children perhaps you’ll turn into a model wife. I doubt it, but who can say for sure?”
“Where did you get that idiot bit of wisdom?”