Cauldron of Fear (36 page)

By the time
the grooms finally lifted her from the saddle, Sarah had lost all
sense of reality and it was some time before she could even begin
to take stock of her surroundings again. When she did recover
sufficiently to regain some perception, it was to find herself
sitting against a fencepost, a little way away from the large barn
structure, with her legs stretched straight out before her and a
set of manacles locked about her ankles, connected with a short
chain.

Several horses
stood grazing disinterestedly on the grass nearby, among them
Ellen's and the animal on which she, herself, had been mounted, the
thick dildo still projecting up from its saddle. Seeing this, Sarah
lowered her eyes, a wave of shame engulfing her, but she was not
left alone with her thoughts for much longer.

'Well, pretty,' Ellen exclaimed, emerging from the barn,
'that
was
lots of
fun, wasn't it? And how like you your dear cousin is. I hadn't
realised, not until I saw the two of you together. How I wish there
was more time, for I'm sure we could have had so much enjoyment
together, the three of us.'

'My cousin?'
Sarah tried to concentrate, grasping at fragmented images. 'Oh,
yes,' she said, remembering vaguely that there had been someone
else there, somewhere back there, in the woods. 'Yes, my cousin
Harriet. Where is she? What have you done with her?'

'Now, don't
you worry your pretty little head about Harriet,' Ellen giggled.
'She's in very good hands, I can assure you, and she'll be well
taken care of.

'Well taken
care of indeed,' she added, with another sniggering laugh.

The harness,
Harriet realised, was the same design as the one she had briefly
glimpsed on the unfortunate Matilda the previous day. It was
simple, but very effective, the broad waist belt cinching tightly
and the two straps at either side rendering her wrists immobile and
her arms and hands useless.

Only when the
two men had finished fitting it did they finally lift her from the
trestle, and she closed her eyes in shame as she saw that the
leather covered phallus now glistened with her intimate juices.

'Take her into
the main chamber,' Jane instructed Nathan. 'Put a collar on her and
fasten her to one of the posts, facing it. Then I want you to fetch
me a length of thin sheeting, soaked in water.'

Very soon,
Harriet found herself arranged as per Jane's orders, a wide collar
about her throat, a ring at the front of it tied to one of several
posts that were set in the ground of the larger room into which
they had taken her. As Artie finished the knot, Nathan reappeared,
carrying a crumpled piece of greying fabric, from which water
dripped steadily.

'Wring it
out,' Jane instructed, on seeing this. 'I want it damp, not sodden,
man!' It was quickly done and Jane took the sheet from him and
placed it carefully over Harriet's shoulders and back, tying two
corners about her neck so that it formed a crude cape.

'Not perfect,'
she whispered, as she leaned close to Harriet, 'but it will do for
my purposes. You see,' she explained, 'I'm now going to whip you
and this wet cloth will make the stripes appear less fresh, though
I'm afraid they won't lessen your pain.'

'You wicked
woman!' Harriet gasped. 'Haven't you done enough to me already?
Have you no pity, no conscience?'

Jane stepped
back and Nathan handed her a long, whippy looking crop.
'Conscience,' she said smoothly, 'is a luxury I long ago decided I
could not afford. I'll take my chances in the next world, if indeed
there is one, which I doubt. Now, Nathan, I shall give you a
demonstration of the real way to whip a slave and then you and
young Arthur can have your way with her, provided you are quick
about it.'

With careful
deliberation Jane stepped to one side, adjusted her grip on the
crop and raised it, drawing it around to the height of her
shoulder. Harriet tried to look back at her, but the collar and
tight leash prevented her from turning her head more than a
fraction, so that the first warning she had was when she heard the
low whistle of the braided leather as it scythed through the
air.

In almost the
same instant a bolt of agonising fire seared across her shoulders
and a scream tore from her throat as she writhed helplessly against
the post.

'About a dozen
in all,' she dimly heard Jane say. 'From what I saw earlier that
should look about right.' Vaguely, Harriet found herself wondering
what on earth the girl was talking about, but then, as the crop
slashed home again, such luxuries as thinking were banished in a
second, ear-splitting shriek of agony.

The iron box
was very heavy and James had to pause several times on their way
back to the cottage, in order to put it down and relieve the strain
on both his arms and his hands. Despite her evident desire for
haste, Hannah leaned patiently on her staff each time and waited
until James felt able to continue once again.

'Gold is more
damned trouble than it's worth,' she muttered as they finally
reached her gate. 'I think, when this is over, I shall use whatever
is left and take Matilda far away from this accursed village.'

'I hope you
will permit me to come with you both,' James said, between panting
breaths. 'After this I could not bear to let your granddaughter out
of my sight.'

'After this,'
Hannah growled, pushing open her front door, 'my poor Matilda may
not be able to stomach the sight of a man ever again.'

'I hope...'
James began, but the words died in his mouth as he saw the figure
slumped in the chair by the hearth. 'Dear God!' he exclaimed, his
voice rising an octave. 'Dear God, but it can't be!' He stood
frozen, staring in disbelief, but Hannah pushed past him, dropping
her staff on the floor and knelt stiffly beside the motionless
form.

'The
bastards!' she hissed through clenched teeth. 'Oh, the bastards!
What have they done to you, my sweet? How could I have even thought
to let things come so far?' She turned and raised her eyes to
James, who still had not moved since first seeing Matilda.

'Go to the
cupboard in the kitchen, man!' she cried. 'There's a bottle on the
top shelf, bring it to me - quickly! Don't just stand there! Can't
you see how badly she's fared?'

As James
finally stirred from his frozen shock, Hannah turned again to
Matilda, one bony hand stroking her hairless skull, the other
clasping her naked arm. Matilda gave a whimpering moan and
struggled to open her eyes.

'Grandma,' she
croaked. 'Is it really you? Is it over now?'

Hannah's own
eyes narrowed, but she forced herself to smile back at the
semi-conscious girl. 'Yes, my pet,' she crooned. 'Yes, it's over
now. They'll not lay another finger on you now, I swear it.'

Harriet stared
up through the narrow slits in the leather hood. The two men had
now gone, half dragging, half carrying the naked form of Matilda
Pennywise, who was still strapped into the leather harness which
was the twin of the one that had been put onto Harriet back in the
barn.

'You must be
mad!' Harriet croaked, fighting to stop her body from trembling.
'Crawley will know I'm not Matilda!'

Jane smiled,
her features taking on a spectral look in the flickering lamplight.
'I think not,' she retorted. 'You're about the same build and those
stripes on your back and legs now look much like the ones he put on
her - like enough to fool him, anyway, for I doubt he'll be looking
that closely, not at those parts of you, anyway.' She crouched
down, so that her face was level with Harriet's.

'He'll
doubtless give you one last fucking, though,' she sneered. 'He's a
man, after all. And I find that prospect almost poetic; the first
flesh and blood cock inside you will belong to the man who will
then take you out and hang you.'

Harriet shook
her head. 'He'll know, I'm sure of it,' she said, but with more
conviction than she felt. 'The whip marks on me are still too
fresh. They might fool him in here, where it's almost dark, but in
daylight, in the morning—'

'Except that
there won't be any morning for you,' Jane interrupted her. Harriet
looked at her in astonishment. 'You see,' Jane continued, 'Master
Crawley is going to take you out and hang you at midnight, with
three witnesses, as per the law. I might even volunteer myself to
be one of them.

'The great
shame of it is, though,' she said, 'that as I understand it you
won't feel a thing. Crawley's fellows have this quite unique
gallows, from which they drop you and the rope then snaps your
neck. Quite painless, they say, but never mind; at least you'll be
dead and out of my way.

'And then,
afterwards, when they remove this hood to bury you, that's when the
people of the village will realise that a great mistake has been
made. Crawley will protest his innocence, of course, but it'll do
him no good. I doubt whether they'll actually do anything to him,
but he won't be able to show his face around here again.

'And the same
will hold for that greasy little oik Wickstanner. He'll be
considered guilty by association and his damned church will have to
replace him here. That'll be one more meddlesome bastard out of the
way. Now, I have something for you to drink, before I leave
you.'

She held up a
small vial and removed the cork from it. Harriet drew back, shaking
her head violently, clamping her jaws firmly shut.

'Don't be afraid,' Jane said, her voice sounding like a cat
purring over the cream. 'It won't harm you, I can assure you. After
all, why would I seek to poison you when Crawley will be hanging
you in less than two hours, eh? He's already at the
Drum
, rounding up his
witnesses.

'No, this is
simply a potion that will relax you, perhaps make you feel a bit
groggy.' She leaned forward and seized Harriet's lower jaw through
the leather, her thumb and fingers biting cruelly. Harriet let out
a muffled squeal and tried to pull back further, but Jane twisted
her grip viciously and the sudden pain overwhelmed her resolve.

In an instant
Jane had forced the open end of the bottle between her lips,
tipping its contents in one go and holding Harriet's head back so
that, despite her staunchest efforts, when Jane dropped the vial
and gripped her nostril closed with the newly freed hand, Harriet
was forced to swallow the liquid, or suffocate.

'There now,'
Jane said, releasing her grip and sitting back, picking up bottle
and cork and tucking them away inside her jacket. 'That wasn't so
bad, was it?' She turned away and, when she turned back again,
Harriet saw she was holding the rusting scold's bridle.

'I think I
shall put this delightful piece of antiquity on you before I go,'
she said lightly. 'If my estimate of Crawley is right he won't
bother removing it before you hang, but even if he does, it won't
matter. Do you feel your tongue beginning to grow thick yet,
mm?'

Hannah gaped
at her, for indeed, almost as soon as she had swallowed the potion
a curious tickling sensation had begun at the back of her throat
and was spreading along the length of her tongue.

'It's a little
concoction of my own invention,' she continued. 'I shan't bother
you with the details, but I can assure you that it is most
effective, especially when used on slaves we don't want to openly
gag.

'As I said, it
will also make you feel a little groggy, which may, in fact, make
what is still to come easier to bear, but its main purpose is that
it affects the tongue, deadening it so that it is impossible to
utter intelligible speech for three or four hours after it is
administered.

'So, even if
Crawley does decide to remove this, you won't be able to tell him
you're not Matilda, will you? Now, open wide and let's put this
wonderful old contraption on you, eh?'

'That's close
enough, Master Crawley!' The figure on the far side of the bridge
was shrouded in a long cape and cowl, which in the darkness masked
its identity totally, but the voice, despite her attempts to deepen
it, was most certainly female. Jacob Crawley paused, two paces onto
his side of the bridge and leaned casually against the stone
parapet.

'I have to
tell you,' he said easily, 'that my men are hidden just back in the
trees, with muskets trained on you. At the first sign of any
treachery they will open fire on you and they are both first rate
shots.'

'Is that so,
Master Crawley?' the woman chuckled. 'I made it one man only, over
there, to the right, unless I am mistaken.' She raised her arm,
pointing in the direction where Silas Grout had hidden himself just
two minutes earlier. 'The range would be what - seventy paces? I
doubt your man could hit a barn door from there, but no matter,
there is no treachery here.

'However,' she
continued, lowering her arm again, 'there is great treachery in
this village, as you well know. Treachery, heresy and
witchcraft.'

'Indeed there
is,' Crawley agreed. 'Is that what you wish to speak with me about,
mistress?'

'It is, Master
Crawley,' she confirmed. 'The witch, Matilda Pennywise?'

'What of
her?'

'You will hang
her?'

'Yes. The
absolution tithe has not been paid. The hour specified has now
passed. Although, God in his wisdom may yet guide me to be
merciful.'

'It has not
yet been paid, nor will it be,' the woman said. 'The old witch
never did have any money.'

'And the
miller's boy?'

'His father
would not let him have the money.'

'Then the
wench shall hang in the morning.'

'Why not hang
her this night and be done with it?'