Old Sins Long Shadows (28 page)

Miss Petherbridge placed the footstool into the already crowded lumbar room. It had been a favourite of the late master but now it had become an object of annoyance as Lady Brockenshaw repeatedly tripped over it. In an unusual fit of despair she had ordered the housekeeper to
remove it at once
.  In the absence of the Carhart girl, who was taking her ladyship’s dog out for his daily walk in the grounds, Miss Petherbridge had removed it. Casting a last look at the furniture stored in the dark room in the female servant’s quarters, she left just in time to see Janey returning from her walk and entering her room. Janey Carhart, thought the housekeeper, the sole cause of her pent-up jealousies and resentment. A chit of a girl with no experience, who had walked in with ease to a position she was not qualified for. She had endeared herself to staff, including Mr Tallock, became a favourite of her ladyship within months and now appeared so close to her that she was granted liberties that she, as loyal housekeeper, had never been given. Not only that, but she was blessed with the looks men found attractive, a blessing that Miss Petherbridge had never possessed. At one stage she had threatened her position as housekeeper, stepping into the role with apparent ease when she herself lay sick with the fever. On her return she had not been greeted with a warm welcome but to hear the praise for Carhart’s abilities in a time of crisis. The housekeeper had spent the past months worrying about how Carhart would use the situation to her advantage. At first she thought she would be replaced by her, but then it transpired there was a very real threat she may become Mr Brockenshaw’s mistress and reap the rewards that went with it. Now that seemed to be not the way the scheming girl was going to advance. She had made herself a favourite of Lady Brockenshaw, taking advantage of her bereavement and grief to make herself indispensable to the old, blind woman. Miss Petherbridge could not understand why no one else could see the vulture in their midst, waiting to turn any situation to her advantage and the detriment of others, to the detriment of her.

Miss Petherbridge’s festering mind examined the facts as she saw it, like a prosecutor at a trial her thoughts lay forward the evidence against the girl as she made her way down the corridor and the stone spiral steps to the servant
’s quarters below. Suddenly she was face to face with James Brockenshaw, who was smelling of alcohol and a little unsteady on his feet, their paths blocked by each other and both as equally surprised and shocked to see one another. James could not meet her gaze. He was sweating and had been taken off guard by her sudden appearance. He knew he had no right or reason to be on the female servant’s staircase. There was no excuse for his advance up to their rooms. His thoughts had been so focused on his intention that the sudden appearance of the housekeeper had knocked him off his stride. He struggled for words but none came forth, like a child caught stealing he faltered in his intent.

From the higher step Miss Petherbridge looked down on him from her superior position in height if not in hierarchy
. She had known James since he was a spoilt child, she was not intimidated by his title or inheritance. Her initial surprise soon gave way as she quickly summed up the situation. The physical signs of guilt that poured from his body and the feverish glint of danger in his eye made it plain to the housekeeper that his reason for being there was illicit. He was on his way to see Janey and Miss Petherbridge felt that no good would come of it for the girl. Realisation dawned on the housekeeper that she was the gatekeeper to events that would affect Janey’s future. That she, as housekeeper and overseer of the welfare of her staff, should refuse him entry to the female quarters.

‘
Sir, may I help you?’ James struggled once again to find the right words. ‘Perhaps you are on your way to see the lumbar room for a particular piece of furniture?’

James
’s eyes lit up at the life line of an excuse. He nodded enthusiastically.

‘
Yes, Petherbridge, I am!’  The whisky on his breath wafted across her face. The housekeeper nodded shrewdly, observing him with distain.

‘
Then perhaps I can take the liberty to remind you, as you so rarely enter this area,’ she smiled a smile which did not reach her eyes, ‘that the lumbar room is the last door on the right. I only tell you this as your mother’s maid is up there alone and her door is the last but one on the left. I should not like to think you would mistakenly enter her room, sir.’

James
’s eyes lit up and for the first time met her gaze. Not quite believing his good fortune at being told the whereabouts of Janey’s room, something he had not considered when he had acted on his thoughts some moments earlier, he gave the housekeeper a charming smile.

‘
Of course, Miss Petherbridge, thank you for your consideration.’

Miss Petherbridge looked at him, observing and recognising
the glint of lust in his eyes when he realised his prey was still within reach. She felt power pump through her veins as she stood blocking his ascent, knowing that she had the control to bar his way and save Janey from a horrible fate or step aside and allow Brockenshaw to carry out his shameful intentions.

Miss Petherbidge smiled, inhaled deeply savouring the moment and stepped aside.

Janey stepped out of her day dress and hung it on the rail
. The house had been in mourning for six months and although Lady Brockenshaw would remain in black for the next two years she had decided Janey could once again wear her day dress to walk her dog. For appearances sake however, she was to remain on the estate grounds as her ladyship still required her staff to dress in black whilst undertaking duties outside the estate. She had conceded, however, that keeping a uniform clean whilst dog walking was not an easy task and had decided that Janey could change into her day dress once more for the duty.

She heard footsteps outside but thought no more of it until the door burst open and James stumbled into the room, slamming the door shut behind him for effect
. Janey turned in horror, shocked to see the new Lord Brockenshaw standing in her room. He looked dishevelled and whisky clung to his breath. For the remainder of her life the spirit would be linked with the events that were to follow. No matter where she was or what she was doing, the smell of the spirit would provoke memories that would rear up with a violence in her mind, as clear and as detailed as if it was happening to her all over again. Her body would retch with nausea and the nights that followed would be broken with terrifying dreams - but that was in the future. At James’ sudden entrance Janey was not at first scared, in disbelief of his presence in her room, she was simply confused.

‘
What’s the matter? You shouldn’t be here,’ she said. On seeing his glance raking her body she carefully picked up her uniform and held it in front of her, feeling her vulnerability for the first time as she stood in just her undergarments. He did not answer, his breathing had quickened and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘I think you should leave. You should not be here.’

Suddenly he became angry,
‘This is my home!’ he said thumping the door, ‘I can be anywhere in this house I choose to be!’

Fear started to grow inside Janey as she realised his presence was not a mistake
. He had been drinking and had risen quickly to anger. She decided to placate him.

‘
James,’ she said softly, using his name as he had often asked her to do in the past, ‘you don’t look well. Perhaps I can get you something. Let me dress and I will get you a cup of tea.’

He laughed harshly,
‘James.
Now
you call me James!  Only a few days ago I was not
good enough
for you!’

‘
Please, sir, let me go downstairs and get you something to drink.’

‘
I know your little plan,’ he said wagging his finger at her then tapping his nose, ‘You want to escape. Frightened are you?  Do I scare you?’ Janey’s mouth felt dry, his behaviour was unpredictable as he swung from anger to a menacing whisper. ‘You think I don’t know about you and Kellow. Making eyes at me when you were bedding him!’  Janey shook her head in disbelief at his words. ‘You are a whore Janey Carhart and whores should be treated as whores!’

Janey backed away.

‘Please, sir, I don’t know what you are talking about. Please leave.’ He grabbed her arm and she pulled it away. ‘Please leave me alone. Don’t touch me,’ she begged again. He ignored her and pulled her bodice away exposing her to his eyes. Janey stepped back in retreat feeling the metal frame of her bed form a barrier at the back of her legs. She saw for the first time what Miss Petherbridge had seen just a few moments before – lust - and it terrified her. She realised in that moment that politeness would not save her. She would have to fight or be lost. She ran for the door but he grabbed her around the waist, holding her tight as he tried to kiss her. His stale breath filled her nostrils and invaded her throat. She hit him, slapping and thumping with tightly balled fists, some hitting his body, some wide of the mark before he grabbed her arms and pinned them to her sides. She tried to kick, but her stocking feet made no impact, she tried frantically to avoid his mouth but he pulled her hair, dragging her neck back to a painful degree. Suddenly her arm became free and she reached up blindly to attack his eyes but his thundering smack caused her head to whip to the side, dazing her and making her head spin. She turned in disbelief, not quite believing he had hit her, another followed and blood flowed into her mouth. Her vision blurred and she felt herself roughly pushed onto the bed to be covered by his heavy body. As she lay stunned he ripped at her clothes, kneeled on her limbs and violated her body with his hands. In a last attempt to escape she tried to push him away but he was too heavy, too strong, too drunk on power and control. His rough groping hands tore at her tender flesh and exposed her breasts to his eyes. Humiliation at her degradation overwhelmed her. With each exposure and grope of her body, her spirit withered a little more. She no longer had any strength or will and she withdrew from reality in order to survive. She became detached from her body and searched for something to focus on as he attacked her person. Her safe little room, all that she owned in the world about her, was her only witness to the attack. Her notebook lay discarded on the floor beside the bed. Its contents lay open, displaying her girlish writing, evidence of her fledging love for him - silly, naïve love for a man that now took joy in degrading her. Something rolled across the floor and spun around and around until it came to a halt within her view on the wooden floor. Daniel’s button from the harvest dance that she had been unable to throw away lay before her, in her mind, numb with shock, it appeared to invite her to focus on it for strength. She stared at the little object. It was a symbol of the outside world, something to keep her mind off her humiliation. Suddenly he entered her with a rasping violence, causing pain and tearing, stripping her of her virginity, her naïvety and her joy of life.

As he rutted her body she was no longer there
. Her spirit had withered, her soul had died. Time no longer existed as the ordeal seemed never ending. Finally the deed was done and he withdrew to stand and look down on her, leaving her exposed, her limbs twisted like a broken rag doll. He spoke as if all was normal but she did not listen, she did not care. She felt used and discarded as if she was no more than sacking tossed aside to rot away. She was vaguely aware of his departure but she remained still as if dead, an empty carcass with nothing left inside. After some time she tried to move her bruised limbs, the action bringing her back to the reality of her room and the evidence of the violence about her. Slowly and tentatively she drew her knees up and rolled on her side, hugging them tight to her she started to rock rhythmically to self comfort. Her lips crusted with dried blood, her aching body tender and sore, she finally let go of the emotions she had held back to survive. Tears spilled from her eyes as she silently sobbed like she had never sobbed before.

Despite the warm autumn sun shining down on her skin through the sitting room window, Lady Brockenshaw felt troubled. Something was wrong. Her sense of foreboding had grown since yesterday and despite wanting to know the cause of it she also dreaded finding out. The feeling had started yesterday when Janey had not returned to her duties following Charlie’s walk. Miss Petherbridge reassured her she just had a headache and that she had insisted Janey went to bed. Her duties were filled by Charlotte for the remainder of the day. Was it the fact that Janey had succumbed so quickly to a mere headache or Miss Petherbridge’s unusual leniency that lit the flame of her concern, she did not know but if she was unsure of the legitimacy of her feelings her uncertainty disappeared this morning.

Lady Brockenshaw
did not need to see her maid’s swollen lip to know something was wrong. She did not need to know that Janey had avoided being seen by any of the other staff during the morning to hide her bruised cheek. She knew something had distressed her by what she didn’t say and noticing the tremble in her hands. Janey hardly spoke while she attended her mistress’ needs that morning. She appeared distracted and forgetful and for the first time Lady Brockenshaw had to direct her to her needs. When the door to her rooms opened and other staff entered to attend the fire or remove trays, she felt and heard Janey jump at her side. Usually a proficient hair stylist she suddenly found the task impossible and Lady Brockenshaw, unable to bear witness to her distress, told her to stop and undertook the chore herself. When asked to reveal the cause for her change in behaviour she would not say. When pressed further she begged not to be asked and on the edge of tears swore she would never tell
anyone ever.
Lady Brockenshaw was at a loss and felt Janey’s distress as if it was her own, but her distress multiplied when James entered the room and Janey fled.