The Flow

by Effrosyni Moschoudi

  She rushed to the wash stand in the corner of the room just in time to throw up. After washing her mouth and splashing cold water on her face, she stood before the mirror like a lifeless statue, just watching hot tears of anger and self-blame roll down her face, burning her cheeks. Then, as if she had received a jolt of electricity, she snapped out of the trance, took the bathrobe she found on a hanger, slipped it on, and went out in search of the bathroom.

  She found it at the end of the corridor and locked herself in, then turned on the taps to run a hot bath. The time this took felt like an eternity to her. She began to cry again, but other than angry and upset, she felt uncomfortable too. Her own skin repelled her. It felt dirty and vile, as if her body was a festering mass of crawling maggots. When the bath was ready, she got in the tub and sank in the water like a lump of lead.

  The sound of trickling water from the tap and the warmth of the steam calmed her senses for a while. Gradually, her violent sobbing subsided. She lost track of time sitting in there, just letting the hot soapy water seep through her every pore. Then, she started to scrub herself ferociously with a sponge. On and on, she scrubbed every bit of skin she imagined Charles had touched the night before while she lay there defenceless, absent and deceived.

  When she returned to her room, she stood by the window and wondered what to do next. It was dry and bright outside but neither the perfect stillness of the lake nor the fluffy white clouds helped to lift her spirits. All she saw before her was blank through empty eyes, as if overnight she had turned into one of those Greek statues in the drawing room below.

  She turned around and threw a cursory glance at her silk blue dress lying in a heap on the floor with her underwear. A wry smile crossed her lips at the fond memory of the morning in London when she had bought that dress from a fashion outlet in Oxford Street. Little did she know then that one day, it would stand witness to a rape by the very man who was accompanying her at the time. Of course, she had bought it with her own money and not his. She was never to be bought. She had decided from the start his money would never grant him her affections.

  I was right not to let him get too close . . . But he deceived me! And now? How does he hope to get away with this? Surely, I should go to the police! But then . . . everyone would know! My mother would die of shame. And Christian . . . Oh God! Christian would surely go insane and seek revenge . . . What can I do? Her mind was a whirlwind of panic. She needed time to think, but first, she had to get away from this viper nest, to go back to her own house. Maggie would surely have the best advice, as always.

  “You bastard! You’ll pay for this, I swear!” she blurted out through gritted teeth. She sprang forward, and then, as if shoved by an invisible hand, paced determinedly to the ornate wardrobe that stood in a corner of the room. Inside, she found two blankets, three pillows, and some books placed at the bottom. Various garments were on hangers: a few shirts, a handful of ties, some sweaters and a pair of cotton slacks. She put on the slacks and a sweater, along with her high heel shoes, but never gave her blue dress a second thought as she left the room in a rush.

  She steeled herself out on the landing, a nauseating feeling churning in her gut. The whole castle now carried the stench of Charles’s breath on her and the guilt of his crime. The young maid from the night before was milling about opening windows and drawing back curtains. “Good morning, miss! A lovely sunny day, isn't it?”

  Laura ignored her and rushed down the stairs. Half way down, she met another maid coming up with a vase of fresh flowers.

  “Good morning, miss! Breakfast is being served in the conservatory. It’s via the drawing room, then turn—”

  “That won't be necessary!” Laura cut her off abruptly, never breaking her stride. As soon as she got to the ground floor, she rushed to the front door and was about to open it when she heard a man’s voice behind her.

  “Can I help you with anything, miss?”

  Laura turned around to face a tall man dressed in a fine uniform. His expression was inquisitive.

  “I’m all right, thank you. I was just leaving,” she said and made to go.

  “If I may say so, your hosts will be sorry to hear you’ve left so soon, Miss Mayfield . . .”

  “How do you know my name?” she snapped at him taking two steps towards him. She was aware she looked a fright, with her long hair stuck on her face, wet and unkempt, wearing a man’s sweater and a pair of slacks that were too big for her. Not that she cared in the least how she looked but what struck her as extraordinary was that this servant did not look puzzled at all by her appearance. On the contrary, he seemed rather amused and this made her livid.

  “You’re a local celebrity, miss,” he replied, grinning. “Everyone knows who you are!” he added with a shrug from his big, rounded shoulders.

  “What’s your name? Wait, I remember you . . . you’re the valet, aren’t you?” she demanded, walking up even closer to him. She was a midget before a giant, but she didn’t flinch in the least. She was angry beyond caring to even consider how threatening or rude she sounded.

  “That is correct, miss. I’m Harold, the viscount’s valet. Shall I get him for you?”

  “No, that won't be necessary. You don’t have to get me anything. I’ll be the one doing all the getting today!”

  “Whatever do you mean, miss?”

  “I’m calling the police! And you can say that to your master!” She turned around, then opened the door and marched out into the glorious sunlight. She had no idea how she was going to get to Brighton on foot, but she was going to try. She was going to stop any car driving down the road and ask for a ride if she had to.

  ***

  “Sir,” said Harold seconds later when he rushed to the conservatory to find Charles sipping his tea. His parents hadn’t emerged yet; none of the other guests had either. Charles had been wondering if he should go to Laura’s room to talk to her before she encountered anyone.

  “Yes, Harold?”

  “I just saw your new girlfriend. She’s up,” he said, sniggering. He and Charles had developed quite an intimate rapport over the years, which was quite unbefitting to normal relations between master and servant. But Harold had proven his loyalty and discretion repeatedly during service. By now, a relaxed familiarity and the odd private joke were the norm between them. They had turned into two close friends who shared every secret.

  “Right,” said Charles jumping to his feet, and wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Thank you for informing me. I’d better get to her before she talks to anyone.”

  “A bit late for that, sir!”

  “What do you mean? Mother is not up yet, is she?” A shadow of panic crossed his face, pinching his features.

  “No, sir. Nothing as crucial as that. I’m the one she spoke to.” He gave a soft chuckle.

  “And?”

  “She said she’s fetching the police. She’s over there,” he said dispassionately, leading Charles to the side of the conservatory to point towards the path running past the lake. Laura was walking away briskly on it, a lank figure bobbing in the midst of a vast expanse of green pastures.

  “Crikey, I’d better hurry and get her!” said Charles, making to go.

  Harold sniggered. “Careful, sir. She’s rather vicious this morning!”

  “Don’t fret, Harold! She’ll be as harmless as a kitty when you see her again,” he said, then rushed outside.

  ***

  “Laura, wait!” cried Charles a few seconds later when he caught up with her. It had been easy seeing that she was managing pitifully, walking in the wilderness in high heels.

  When she heard him, she turned around and faced him with the ferocity of a wild animal.

  “Don’t take another step!” she warned him putting up a hand. “Don’t come any closer or I’ll scream!”

  “Why?” He stopped short, obeying, but only to mock her. “What are you afraid of? What else do you have to give that I haven’t taken already?” he taunted her, his hands on his hips.<
br />
  “You bastard!” she screamed. Changing her mind, she lunged at him, her hands in fists and claws pounding his chest.

  He grabbed her arm, but she managed with the other to attack his face. She dug her nails into his cheek, drawing blood, and he felt it trickle warm on his skin. It took just a fraction of his strength to push her back and pin her to the ground with one hand. With the other, he wiped his cheek and stared unbelieving for a moment at the crimson smears on his fingertips.

  Surprisingly, he gave a relaxed smile then that didn’t belong to the moment. He shook his head and his lips pulled back to reveal a set of pearly white teeth, his fangs long and ominous like a wolf’s.

  “You wildcat!” he burst out, darting his eyes at her as she squatted beneath him, pray to his powerful muscles that kept her there still, in his grasp, against her will. “Pity you didn’t have this spirit last night! It would have been more fun, but then, there’s always next time!” he sneered at her, his blue eyes glinting in the sunlight, cold like steel.

  “How dare you? You disgusting beast! You drugged me and raped me! I’ll tell the police! You’ll go to jail for this!” she wailed, trying to stand up and reach him with her hands, but he continued to overpower her and all her efforts were futile.

  “Let me go! Let me go, I said!” she demanded and when he didn’t oblige her, she started to scream calling for help. He put one hand over her mouth and this time it took all the might he could muster to keep her under control.

  “Shut up!” he demanded. “Listen to me! You will sit here quietly for a minute and hear what I have to say, and then I’ll let you go and you can do whatever you like. I’ll even drive you home or to the police myself, if this is what you want.”

  “I don’t want anything from you! I can go home by myself,” she said when he risked freeing her mouth. Although she didn’t scream this time, her hands lashed out to him, but he caught them in time and squeezed them roughly in his own against her chest.

  “Listen to me now!” he repeated. “Just listen quietly and then you can go home or you can go to the police or wherever else you want. But just listen first!” he ordered her and finally she relented and calmed down.

  “Now, sit!” he said letting go off her hands. “I’m going to sit next to you here by the lake, and whoever is likely to see us from the castle, they’re going to think we’re merely having a romantic interlude, a nice friendly chat. All right?” he asked, but in reality, he was ordering her again.

  Laura sat on the cool grass without a word, and he sat next to her at the edge of the lake. It was a beautiful setting and quite a contrast to the mountains of ugliness that now stood between them.

  “You raped me!” she burst out through gritted teeth. “How the hell did you expect to do this and get away with it?”

  “I think you’ll find that I can!” he answered cockily, putting up a finger to stop her from speaking again before he’s done. “First of all, it would be your word against mine. Who would believe you? I am the son of Earl Fenshaw, a respectable member of the local community. And who are you? A singer? An entertainer? Not even a local! Just some poor girl who’s out to mar my name to earn a bit of money. That’s what I’m going to say! That you tried to seduce me, having your eye on my fortune, and that when I didn’t give in, you cried ‘rape’! Get the police! See who will believe you!” he mocked her. “Oh, I could sling mud at your name that wouldn’t come off in a million baths!” he added triumphantly when he realised his threats had sunk in. She’s clever. She has sense. This is going to be easy.

  “Are you quite finished? Can I go now?” she asked, sounding breathless. Her heart had sunk at the thought of the odds against her if she were to report him after all, but for now, all she wanted was to get away from him.

  “I’m not done yet, darling. I haven’t even mentioned your precious mummy yet!”

  “My mother? What does she have to do with anything?”

  “Have you not wondered how conveniently her convalescence has been arranged? And at that, in a private, luxurious castle in the Welsh mountains?”

  “Dr Barnett explained to us—”

  “What did he tell you? That he sends every single TB-contracting peasant to a private sanatorium? Are you serious? Oh, that’s precious!” he chuckled. “Come on, I thought you were a clever girl!”

  “You? That was you all along?” she muttered, a feeling of dread washing over her. It all made sense now.

  “Of course! You see, my efficient valet, Harold . . . you have met him, haven’t you?” he paused to ask, but seeing that she was speechless, he carried on with glee. “Well, he makes sure to make the payments for me to Wales once a week. I don’t suppose it’s hard to imagine how awkward it would be for you should he suddenly, shall we say, ‘forget’ to make the next payment?”

  “What are you saying?” she blurted out with indignation. She tried to stand up then, but he stopped her with a firm hand.

  “Now, now! Don’t you forget, keep up appearances, darling!” he said, shooting a glance at the multitude of windows on the castle. “Anyone could be watching, dear! We must appear civil now. It is in your favour too.”

  She yanked her hand free and served him a cold stare. “Don’t touch me!”

  “Fair enough.” He heaved a deep sigh. “As long as you stay here and listen until I’m done.”

  “Done doing what? Threatening me? I will go to the hospital right now, and I will sort this out with Dr Barnett. I will remove my mother from there immediately!”

  “Are you insane? Do you know how dangerous this would be for your mother? You expect her to travel back here in the middle of a treatment only to wind up in a dreary state sanatorium? You know, one of those that look like prisons, from where the most probable way to leave is in a coffin? Can you imagine your mother in one of those? It wouldn’t be posh enough now, would it?” He scoffed.

  “Don’t you speak ill of my mother! You’re not even fit to mention her!”

  “How pitiful an argument . . . I’m bored! Is this all you have?” he responded crossing his arms in front of his chest, his look expectant.

  “We don’t need your money. You deceived us! We never asked for it. But what I don’t understand is why you even did it.”

  “I guess I was hoping it would go a long way . . . that it might please you. I wanted to make you mine. That’s all I’ve wanted right from the start,” he confessed, taking her by surprise. Under any other circumstances it would have made her feel awkward, but now of course, she had no trouble turning him down.

  “You insidious bastard! You arrogant, self-centered lunatic! What do you think I am? A lifeless rag doll? Putty in your hands? Doesn’t it matter what I want? What I choose? You wanted me, so you just took me? Is this how you treat people? Like . . . things?”

  “Yes, that’s right! And I think you will agree that I’m good at it! I’ve got you cornered now, don’t I? Admit it, you have nowhere to go,” he sneered. He was a bully without a doubt; the worst, the most dangerous kind. The airs and graces he had to put on because of his family, the pretence of chivalry, they were but a mere front to him, a mask that had always felt to him unfitting and unbecoming.

  He knew well how the world worked. To the rich, everything had a price. The way he saw it, he was only cutting corners, saving time. In a way, he was relieved he could finally stop pretending and tell Laura everything he had to say, without the unbearable boredom of niceties.

  “Are you blackmailing me?” she scoffed setting her jaw in response, her eyes bright with defiance. “Are you actually suggesting I should do as you please just because you’re paying for my mother’s treatment?”

  “I’m saying you don’t want to put mummy in danger. The clever choice is to be with me, to accept to be my girl. Surely, I’m not such a bad choice, am I?” He stood up then and offered her his hand to help her up but she ignored it. She stood up too, unaided.

  “Let me remind you, Charles, you put me to sleep and you raped me,” s
he said under her breath, her face contorted with abhorrence.

  “Only because you didn’t realise that I always get my way. Yes! I wanted you, so I took you,” he said shrugging his shoulders. “You have no choice now but to let this happen.”

  Laura leaned towards him, a look of defiance in her eyes. “You know, I woke up this morning thinking you’re a monster, but now I think you’re more than that: you’re mad! Stay away from me!” She turned to go.

  “NO!” he growled, moving quickly to grab her by the arm. “You don’t understand! Have you forgotten that peasant of yours? That pathetic man you keep preferring over me?”

  “Christian?” she whispered, unbelieving.

  “Yes, that’s right,” he replied, nodding ferociously, his blue eyes hostile and cold, impenetrable and unforgiving, like an arctic glacier. “Harold can be very good at a multitude of things. Breaking legs is one of them, making people disappear overnight is another.”

  “You wouldn’t . . .” she mumbled, visibly shaking.

  “It’s amazing, really,” he continued, undeterred, cocking his head, “how many possibilities the countryside provides for someone to simply vanish into thin air . . .”

  “Stop it! Just stop it!” she yelled shutting her ears.

  “Just for that day when I saw you holding hands with him outside the Society . . . just for the way he offended me when he spoke to me, as if we were equals . . . just for that, I ought to have his face beaten to a pulp!” he barked.

  Laura recoiled, her defences spent, her growing dread overbearing. “Please . . .” she said, her eyes pleading, her voice reduced to a quivering whisper. “I beg you, please don’t hurt him!”