The Highwayman's Lady (2 page)

“Mama, please, let us not speak of this today.”

My mother ignores my pleading. “Beatrice and I were close friends as well as cousins when we were children even though she was a few years younger than I was. She was a sweet girl, always kind, generous to a fault. She married for money, of course and for position. She was to be a countess. Her husband is older than she and a member of the Scottish aristocracy. We argued about her plans. I am a hopeless romantic, as you know, and married for love both times. It is ironic, indeed, that my dearest Arthur was also fourteen years my senior, the exact same difference in age between Beatrice and her Scottish earl. Beatrice was ambitious, though, and not to be swayed. She ignored my advice and went ahead with the wedding. I regret not having resolved our differences, especially after I remarried, but that will have no bearing on this matter. Blood is thicker than water. And for all I know, her husband has turned out to be a fine man. Their marriage has lasted these twenty years or so.”

“Mama, I have never even met Lady Beatrice. She may not even know of my existence.”

“She will recognise you at once, for you are so like I was twenty years ago. You have my blue eyes and your grandmother’s pretty brown hair. You must go to Beatrice. Go at once, explain that I am ill and not able to care for you and seek her aid. It will be all right, I know it.”

For myself, I am not so sure and I have absolutely no intention of leaving my mother here to deal with Sidney alone. But I recognise the lack of any better ideas and cannot really fault her logic. As soon as I reach the age of twenty-one and command my own affairs I will have choices, my own money. I will be financially secure and independent, but until that time, Sidney will not let up in his efforts to gain control of my fortune by bullying me into marriage.

The very idea revolts me. I have no real objection to the married state. Indeed, having witnessed my mother’s happiness with my stepfather I can see there is much to recommend it. But not with Sidney. As his wife, I would be under his cruel control for ever. My life would be a miserable existence, subject to his violence, his drunken moods, his vicious temper. Once he had control of my fortune, he would have no further use for me and I fear for my safety. I know this terror consumes my mother too, hence her determination to see me safe beyond his reach.

I stroke her hand, seeking to calm her. “Very well, I will go to Beatrice if and when I must. But not yet. I am staying here—with you.”

“But—”

“Mama, I will go, I swear it. But not yet. Now see? Matthews is here with the tea tray and he has brought us some sweet fancies too. Your favourites.” I bless the interruption of the butler as he enters bearing a tray, which he sets down on a side table. “Shall I pour you a cup?”

Suitably distracted, my mother agrees to shelve the issue for now. I know we shall return to it soon enough.

* * *

I was wrong. We did not discuss Beatrice again, nor did we return to the subject of my future. We had not the time. My mother passed away later that night, in her sleep. I like to hope that her death was peaceful in the end and that she is now reunited with her beloved Arthur.

In the days immediately following her passing, I was grief-stricken and so preoccupied with making the necessary arrangements for my mother’s funeral that I had no time to plan beyond it. I saw little of Sidney, though my occasional glimpses of his gloating, smug countenance as he slunk around the house were enough to sicken me.

Now, I stand alone to survey the mound of fresh earth under which lie the mortal remains of the one person in the world who loved me and whom I loved in return.

We were not short of mourners at her burial. My mother was liked and respected as had been my stepfather. Many of the merchants who had traded with Arthur came, along with several members of the local gentry. Even the archbishop turned out to conduct the service at our local church. All are now gone, dispersed, their expressions subdued but already moving on to continue their lives as though nothing much has changed.

I remain here, alone in the silent churchyard, to contemplate the unthinkable—a future without my dear mama. She was the one person I could rely upon, my only companion. I am on my own now. And I am in danger.

Sidney lurks. He will not go away and I have no doubt his strategy will alter. He will be bolder now that my mother no longer presents a formidable barrier to his plans. He was nasty before; he will be vicious from here on. Worse, he will consider himself unstoppable, which heralds real peril for me.

I set aside my misgivings at presuming too much of a family connection long abandoned. I have been overtaken by events and have no choice but to approach Cousin Beatrice for her aid and I must do it now. Thus resolved, I turn my back on the fresh grave and start the short walk back to our house. I need to pack.

I enter by the door at the rear and make my way through the kitchens and dining room into the main vestibule. I reach the foot of the stairs before I am accosted by Sidney emerging from the library on my left.

A flicker of resentment gives me pause. The library was always my stepfather’s domain and mine. As a child, it was the place I loved to go to listen to his stories and savour the homely scent of his cigars. When I grew older I came to adore the vast collection of books as much as Arthur did and I have added many volumes of my own. The library was always my sanctuary, my place of refuge, but in recent years Sidney has taken over the cosy room. He has no love of literature or learning and uses my precious library mainly to indulge his love of alcohol. I am convinced his choice of this room for his own leisure is driven mainly by the desire to discourage my enjoyment of it. Today his consumption of fine brandy has been even more excessive than usual, if his unsteady gait is any indication. I take a step to my right in an attempt to avoid him.

“Not so fast, slut. You and I have matters to settle.” His speech is slurred, the words no less stark for that.

He grabs my elbow and I instinctively seek to shake him loose. His grip tightens, to the point of pain.

“Let go of me. I have nothing to discuss with you.” I am indignant, outraged. It is years since he has dared to actually assault me though I was regularly on the receiving end of a spiteful slap or punch as a child.

He twists my arm behind my back and shoves me face first against the balustrade at the foot of the stairs. “That’s right, my sweet little sister,
you
won’t be discussing anything. Now
you
will listen. Now
you
will do as you are fucking told.”

I struggle in his rough grasp and he wrenches my arm hard. I let out a scream, which I fully expect to bring the household staff running. No one appears.

He sniggers. “That’s right, bitch. Scream all you like. This is my house now and my servants know their place. There is none here to aid you, unless I allow it. You will dance to my tune in the future.”

“Let me go. You have no right to—aagh!” He halts my protests with another sharp twist to my arm. My vision is greying; I believe I may pass out with the pain and shock of his violent assault. I grasp the post at the foot of the stairs and hang on, fighting to ride the pain.

My strategy works, after a fashion. He releases his vicious grip and flings me across the hall. I land on my knees at the door to my mother’s drawing room, clutching at the handle as I attempt to stand up again.

Sidney is across the hall in a moment and grabs my hair, twisting it around his meaty fist. He hauls me back onto my feet, forcing my head back so I have no choice but to stare up into his ruddy, hate-filled features. His eyes are bloodshot and there is spittle around his mouth. His thin lips curl up in a parody of a smile.

“At last, the usurping bitch is gone and my house is my own again. And so are you, dearest sister. I am the head of this fucking household. I
will
have your obedience, even if I have to beat it out of you. Especially then, in fact.” He pauses in his tirade to treat me to his twisted smile. I am convinced he is quite mad. “You will be my wife and even if I must endure your miserable face and your nagging, complaining voice, I shall have back that which was taken from me.”

“Never. I—”

I do not see the blow coming. He connects a hard backhanded slap to my jaw and I taste blood in my mouth. But for his unrelenting fist twisted in my hair, I would again be thrown across the hall.

Is there no one here to assist me? This house is full of servants; they cannot be unaware.

“That is the end of our little discussion, Imogen. I have obtained a special licence, just for you. We shall be wed tomorrow.”

“You cannot. Reverend Thomas would never agree. He knows—”

“We shall go to Leeds, where a more amenable class of clergy is to be found. For the right price. We leave tonight and will arrive in time for a private ceremony to be conducted before breakfast. By the time we return here tomorrow afternoon you will be my wife, wedded and soon to be bedded.”

Still grasping my hair, he starts to drag me back along the hall in the direction I came, toward the kitchens. The servants are conspicuously absent, the usually bustling nether regions of the house for once deserted. He manhandles me through the kitchen and the scullery and I realise where he intends to take me. I resume my struggles in earnest.

It is to no avail. He reaches the door to the cellars and flings it open. I am dragged down the stairs in pitch darkness until we reach the narrow passageway at the foot. I rarely come down here. I hate the dark and the damp stillness of such enclosed spaces terrifies me.

Sidney knows that and this is part of his plan to subdue me, to assert his will. He believes himself to be in power here now and everyone is to know it. He will incarcerate me in the cellars for no better reason than that he can.

He at last relaxes his cruel grip and I sink to the cold stone floor. He is standing over me, panting from the exertion of having hauled me down here. Were it not for his shortness of breath, I daresay he would land a kick or two to further emphasise his dominance.

“We leave after dinner. Well, after
my
dinner. You, my dear, will eat nothing until I decide you have earned sustenance. Your days of filling your belly with my victuals are over. There will be no more quenching your thirst with my wine nor will you take your ease on my furniture. And you will most certainly not be waltzing off wherever you please with money that is rightfully mine. Things are changing around here, sweet slut, starting now.”

He steps back and I hear him groping around to locate the handrail. His heavy footsteps thud up the stairs as I huddle on the floor in the dark. There is a brief sliver of light from above as he opens the door to the scullery, then closes it behind him. The lock scrapes and all is silent.

For several minutes I crouch, scared to move. My jaw throbs, my scalp stings where he dragged me by the hair. My shoulder still aches from his initial assault. I hate him. I loathe him. Above all, I am sick with fear. He will force me to marry him, I have no doubt of it. All that will be required is some vicar more greedy than godly, a witness conscripted from the street and well paid for his trouble and my future will be in his grasping, vile hands. As soon as the vows are exchanged, all that I own, or ever will own, becomes the property of my husband. Sidney will have my inheritance and with it, my freedom, my independence, all my hopes and those of my mother will be lost. If he succeeds in dragging me to the altar, there will be nothing I can do to prevent his perfidy.

I must escape.

Thus fortified with a resolve born of desperation, I scramble to the top of the stairs and start to hammer on the door with my fists. There must be someone within earshot; the kitchen is the most bustling part of the house. I pause in my efforts to listen and I know there is someone there. I discern low mutterings, whispers, the scrape of a chair. I recognise Matthews’ voice and call out to him.

“Help me, please. I am locked in the cellar.” I hammer on the door again. “Matthews, let me out. I know you can hear me. You must help me.”

I grab the handle and rattle it, my voice rising in my fear and frustration. “Matthews, Sidney means to force me into marriage. I must escape. I have to get away. It is my only chance. You cannot allow him to do this. You have to help me. Open the door and let me out, please.”

There is silence from the other side of the door but I am convinced they are there. I am surrounded by a houseful of staff, yet no one will lift a finger to assist me now.

“Miss, I am sorry.” Matthews’ tone does sound contrite, it is true, but there is little comfort for me in that fact.

“Mr… Matthews, open this door.”

“I cannot, miss.”

“Of course you can. You have keys. Let me out at once. Do you not understand—?”

“I am sorry, miss, truly, but I cannot help you. It is my job, you see…”

“Your job?
Your job?
Matthews, this is my life. That madman will kill me before he is finished. You cannot mean to stand by and watch it done.”

“I wish I could aid you, miss, I surely do. We, none of us want to work for Mr… Smethurst, but decent employment is hard to come by in these parts. Afterwards, when you come back, if there is anything I can do—”

“By then it will be too late. I will be raped, robbed, quite probably murdered. I will soon be beyond your help or anyone else’s, Mr… Matthews. You must act now.” I pound my fists on the door again as if that might serve to convince those on the other side of the severity of my predicament.

It does not. With a last murmured apology the butler takes his leave and I assume the rest of the servants shuffle off with him. There is no further sound from beyond my cold, dark prison. I sink to my knees and I sob.

I have lost track of time. As my eyes have become accustomed to the near total darkness, I can make out the shapes of packing cases stacked around me though I can hardly even guess at what may be contained within them. There is nothing else here, nothing to assist me in gauging the passing of time. Even the scratching and scurrying of a horde of horrid little rodents that inhabit the darkest corners cannot distract my attention, which is riveted to the door at the head of the narrow staircase. I will it to open, even though I am aware that it could only be Sidney, returned to complete his heinous plan for me. Even that would bring some respite from the cloying, blanketing darkness. Once I am out of here, there must be some chance of escape, however slim.