Diana removed the lids of the remaining serving dishes. ‘What would you like Mary-Claire to eat today, Your Lordship?’
‘Give her some of everything,’ grunted Nigel, ‘and plenty of fish.’
Diana sullenly forked out the portions of food into Mary-Claire’s bowl.
‘You don’t seem to be your usual cheerful self this morning,’ taunted Nigel. ‘Didn’t you get a good night’s sleep?’ Diana did not reply. ‘Lost your tongue, woman?’
‘Sorry, Your Lordship. No, I didn’t sleep very well.’ It was an understatement; she hadn’t slept at all. Diana and Theresa had been so distraught after their ordeal with Nigel that Susan had had to call on Bridget to help serve the evening meal.
‘Well, I had a jolly good night’s sleep — must have been the exercise I had yesterday afternoon. Which reminds me, I enjoyed it so much I think I’ll have a repeat performance tonight. Organise it for me, will you please? Same women as yesterday.’
Diana did not reply.
‘Stop being so insolent,’ thundered Nigel, his clenched fist smashing down onto the table. Startled by the noise, everyone at the refectory table looked towards the dais.
‘I’m sorry, Your Lordship. I’ll arrange everything, of course,’ Diana said hurriedly, pouring milk into Mary-Claire’s bowl.
‘Give her some of the fruit juice, too,’ commanded Nigel. ‘I’ve told you before — I want her to sample everything on this table.’
‘Sorry, Your Lordship.’ Diana obediently poured fruit juice into the milk and then placed both dishes on the floor in front of Mary-Claire.
‘Will that be all, Your Lordship?’
‘Yes,’ Nigel snapped. ‘Go and start getting yourself prettied up for tonight. The state you’re in, it’ll take you all day.’ As Diana hurried away, he turned his attention to Mary-Claire, who was looking miserably at the fish. ‘Eat it,’ he snapped. ‘It’ll give you curls — all over!’ Nigel and his sons laughed and watched the little girl start to force down the fish before tucking in themselves.
As they were finishing the last of their trout, Diana walked back into the Great Hall. She was dressed not in the regulation grey tunic but one of the Tudor dresses from the film-set wardrobe.
‘What’s she doing wearing that outfit?’ exclaimed Nigel. ‘Get up here.’ Not only was she was not wearing the grey tunic that he had decreed all the peasants wear, she was wearing Allison’s favourite dress, which only added to his anger.
Everyone in the room was dumbfounded.
Paul’s head was twitching nervously. ‘What’s she doing?’ he asked Duncan.
‘God knows,’ Duncan said angrily. ‘She’s just going to upset Nigel and then the rest of us will cop it.’
‘Typical of the Morgans,’ Bridget complained.
Diana sauntered up to the dais.
‘Go back to your mother,’ she said to Mary-Claire.
‘How dare you?’ yelled Nigel. The words sounded slurred.
‘Go on, Mary-Claire,’ Diana said gently. ‘Go back to your mother. He can’t hurt you anymore.’ Mary-Claire spat out the remainder of the fish and ran to Cheryl.
Nigel tried to stand up. His legs gave way and he fell back into his chair.
‘The bitch, she’s poisoned us,’ said Jasper, his speech garbled. He frantically attempted to unbuckle his pistol holster but his hands wouldn’t obey his brain.
‘Take care, you little shit,’ Diana said, taking a piece of the fish in her fingers. ‘I don’t want you shooting your balls off by mistake. I’ve got plans for them.’ She slipped the piece of fish into her mouth. ‘Nice piece of trout, this.’ Taunting them, she took a little food from each of the dishes and ate it.
Damian had managed to get his pistol from the holster. Now he was trying to lift it and point it in her direction, but he couldn’t raise his arm.
‘Nice fresh milk,’ Diana said, drinking from the jug. Greg was slumped unconscious in his chair, Jasper’s eyes were rolling and Nigel had slipped down onto the arm of his throne. He was struggling to right himself but his hand kept slipping uncontrollably.
‘We must try a little more grape in the fruit juice,’ she continued, sipping at the amber liquid in the jug. Damian made one last, huge effort to lift his pistol, forcing himself to his feet. But his legs slid from underneath him and he slipped, banging his head on his chair as he went down. He ended up spreadeagled under the table, his bright green tights sticking out from beneath the white tablecloth.
Those sitting at the refectory table rose from their benches and burst into cheers. Diana turned to face them and raised her hands.
‘Sit down,’ she said sharply.
Everyone, with the exception of Duncan, obeyed.
‘What have you done? Have you killed them?’ he demanded.
‘Not yet,’ she said. Her tone was almost as menacing as Nigel’s. ‘Now sit down, and I’ll tell you what I want you to do.’
Duncan wasn’t sure whether it was a request or an order, but he sat down anyway.
‘I’ve drugged them,’ Diana explained. ‘They’ll be groggy for about an hour. Duncan, I want you to organise their imprisonment. You’re not to take any chances. I want their hands tied behind their backs. I want Damian imprisoned in the treadmill room. As soon as he comes round, he’s to be put to work. He’s to operate the treadmill until he drops.’ Cheering broke out again.
‘What if he refuses to do it?’ Paul asked.
‘Use your imagination,’ scoffed Diana. ‘Beat him, whatever.’ There was a fresh round of cheering. ‘Strip him naked and chain him to the contraption,’ she added.
‘Leave him to me,’ Cheryl shouted. ‘I’ll make sure the bastard works.’
‘I want Jasper locked in the cell on the second floor of Cromwell’s Tower for now,’ continued Diana, ‘and Greg’s to be locked in the clock room on the floor above.’
‘What about Nigel?’ Duncan asked. ‘He should be tried for Aunt Margaret’s murder and for all his other atrocities.’
There was a murmur of agreement.
‘They should all be tried,’ Bridget shouted.
‘Pay attention,’ yelled Diana. The noise died down. ‘If you don’t do as I tell you quickly, you’ll end up with them back in charge. Duncan, lock Nigel in your workshop and bring me the key as soon as you’ve done it.’
‘My workshop?’
‘That’s what I said.’
‘But why my workshop?’
‘Just do as you’re told,’ Diana snapped. ‘The rest of you help get the Chatfields locked away and then get on with your work.’
‘We’re not working today, surely?’ Paul said.
‘Of course you’re going to work — this place isn’t going to run itself. Now get on with it, before these four wake up and take their revenge.’
The debate was over. Diana collected the pistols from slumped bodies and walked out of the room, steely-faced.
‘Get going, you pervert,’ Cheryl yelled as she jabbed Damian in the buttocks with a garden fork. ‘That’s for Mathew. And that’s for me.’
Damian screamed and tried to stand, but with his hands tied behind his back he lost his balance and fell down again. Bridget kicked him in the groin. With her shorn head, she looked every bit a skinhead thug.
‘Pervert, pervert,’ yelled the small children, copying Bridget and kicking him as he lay on the ground.
‘Don’t hurt me,’ he cried, tears streaming down his cheeks. Mary-Claire kicked him in the face. Still groggy, Damian frantically forced himself to his knees then stumbled to his feet.
‘I said get going,’ Cheryl said, jabbing him with the fork again. He yelped and staggered forward.
‘Where to?’
‘The treadmill, the treadmill,’ chanted the small children.
Damian stumbled out of the Great Hall and into Flag Court.
‘Over to the left,’ commanded Cheryl. Damian passively altered course. ‘Now stop. Do you remember what happened in this spot?’
&n
bsp; Damian shook his head.
‘This is where you executed Mathew and Aunt Margaret.’ Damian said nothing — he just looked terrified. ‘I’m looking forward to the next execution,’ Cheryl said.
‘Off with his head, off with his head!’ shouted Mary-Claire.
‘Off with his head, off with his head!’ chorused the other children. Cheryl thrust the fork into Damian’s green tights, now stained with blood, and Damian staggered forward towards the treadmill room beneath Cromwell’s Tower. Ahead he could see Greg and Jasper being kicked and punched as they were forced through the door of the tower ahead of him.
Theresa and Duncan supported the semi-conscious Nigel as he was led to Duncan’s workshop off Stable Court. At the workshop door, Theresa hurried away and Duncan was left to take Nigel inside and lay him on the floor. Duncan locked the door behind him and hurried to meet Diana in the ballroom on the first floor of Haver House.
It was an immense room, with panelled walls and a patterned ceiling. A great, carved, marble fireplace stretched from floor to ceiling, dominating one end of the room. Diana was seated on an enormous gilt chair, writing at a beautiful, inlaid Boulle table.
‘Is it done?’ she asked, without looking up.
‘Yes, they’re all safely locked up.’
He placed the key to his workshop in her outstretched hand. ‘What are you planning to do to them?’
At last she looked up. ‘I haven’t decided yet.’
‘We need to have a committee meeting, maybe a trial,’ Duncan suggested. Diana didn’t answer so he continued quickly, ‘You can be the judge if you like — given your experience.’
She looked at him contemptuously — there was no doubt she would be the judge if there was a trial. ‘We’ll see,’ she said evenly. ‘Now get everyone back to work.’
‘What about a committee meeting?’
‘I’ll let you know.’ Diana rose from the desk and motioned to him to leave. ‘By the way, your workshop is out of bounds until further notice.’
Nigel felt a hand on his penis. He wasn’t sure if it was a dream. He knew he was standing, but his eyes wouldn’t focus. He could tell it was a woman who was holding him — he could smell her, and it was a familiar smell. He had made love to her before — recently. She was leading him into her. He could feel the pressure on his penis as she squeezed her thighs.
Then slowly he began to wake up. His eyes began to focus. He thought he recognised the face smiling at him. Was it Diana? The woman was hurting him now.
‘Not so hard,’ he said, his voice still slurred. But still she was smiling. She was too far away from him for them to be making love, but he could still feel the pressure on his penis. Now it felt uncomfortable. What was wrong? Was Theresa there? Was he in his bedroom? What was happening?
Gradually the face became more distinct, the smile broader, the pressure on his penis greater. It was hurting. He tried to grab it, but he found his hands were tied behind his back. He realised he was naked. He looked down, his eyes struggling to focus and see over his naked, bloated belly. She was laughing at him now, holding up a mirror. He could see legs reflected in it — were they his legs? And he could see his belly resting on a strange metal contraption. At last his befuddled mind worked it out. He was standing, naked and bound, in Duncan’s workshop. The barred window had been covered with a sack, reducing the amount of light coming into the room. His penis was clamped in the woodworking vice. And it was Diana who was standing in front of him, still smiling.
She propped up the mirror on a pot of paint on the workbench so he could continue to see himself.
‘Good view?’ she asked.
‘What are you doing?’ he said, terror in his voice.
‘Just having a bit of fun. You like a bit of fun, don’t you, Nigel?’
He didn’t reply, so she just stood in front of him, watching him suffer.
‘How did you do it?’ he asked eventually.
‘I just put it in the vice and turned the handle.’
‘No — I mean, how did you manage to poison us?’
‘Very good library you have, Nigel — all sorts of interesting books. Our ancestors knew more about plants and herbs and poisons than we give them credit for.’
‘But you ate the food too, and so did Mary-Claire. Why didn’t it poison you?’
‘So many questions, so little time. You should have read more, Nigel.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Ever heard of Emperor Claudius and his wife Agrippina?’
‘What’ve the Romans got to do with it?’
‘Do you remember how Claudius was paranoid that his wife was trying to poison him? So he would only eat fresh fruit, direct from his garden. She rubbed poison on the fresh figs while they were still on the bushes and killed him that way.’
‘We didn’t eat any fruit.’
Diana rolled her eyes. ‘No, but you made a silly mistake. You forced Mary-Claire to eat like a dog, without utensils. And if you remember I picked up the food I ate with my fingers.’
‘You rubbed poison on our knives and forks?’
Diana had not intended to share her secret with anyone, but she couldn’t resist the temptation of adding to Nigel’s misery. ‘And your plates and the tumblers you drank from.’
She walked around the workbench and stood beside him. He tried to grab at her, but his hands were firmly tied. She looked in the mirror at his corpulent belly and squashed penis. ‘It’s an odd thing how much you men pride yourselves on the size of your penis,’ she said in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘It’s a bit daft really, seeing as when they’re erect most of them are about the same size.’
Nigel wasn’t in the mood for discussing penis size.
‘What are you going to do?’ he asked.
In reply, she cranked the handle of the vice a quarter of a turn. Nigel screamed with pain.
‘Oh, so you know how to scream too?’ she said sarcastically. ‘Who did you learn that from — was it Theresa, perhaps?’
‘For pity’s sake!’ cried Nigel.
‘Pity, pity — what do you know about pity?’ Diana moved the handle another quarter-turn and Nigel’s screams reverberated around Stable Court.
Running footsteps approached across the flagstones and someone rattled at the door.
‘What’s going on in there?’ Duncan called.
‘Help me,’ Nigel whimpered.
Diana saw the outline of Duncan’s head through the sacking as he tried unsuccessfully to peer into the workshop.
‘Go away,’ she ordered.
‘What are you doing to him?’
‘Never you mind. I’m just paying him back for what he did to your mother.’
‘Please help me!’ Nigel called as they heard Duncan walk away.
Diana turned the vice handle again and Nigel’s screams were joined by tears.
‘Well, that’s odd,’ Diana said. ‘You can cry as well. Do you remember Theresa crying yesterday afternoon?’ Nigel sobbed, shaking his head, his legs trembling with the pain. ‘In fact do you remember me crying yesterday afternoon, begging you to stop abusing her?’ She jerked the vice handle again. ‘Do you remember your rape of the twins? Do you remember the fear in their eyes?’ Nigel’s screams were louder than any that had been heard at Haver since his reign of terror had begun.
‘Oh look, your little willie’s started to bleed,’ Diana said, pointing to the reflection in the mirror. ‘Funny that. Theresa was bleeding last night too, after what you did to her.’
Diana moved away. Nigel was relieved she was no longer touching the handle, though he was still sobbing with a combination of fear and pain.
He watched her collect some wire from the shelf. ‘What are you going to do now?’
‘I’m just going to secure the vice handle.’
‘Why?’ Nigel whimpered.
‘So you can’t undo it of course, you silly man.’
Diana turned the handle a further quarter-turn, so that it was parallel to the bench. N
igel screamed and fainted, slumping forward across the workbench, and while he was unconscious she wired up the vice handle, taking care to tie off the loose ends well out of Nigel’s reach. Then she untied his arms and commenced the remainder of her preparations.
When Nigel regained consciousness, it was to the sound of his own sobs and the throbbing of excruciating pain. He found his hands were free, so he forced himself upright, trying to relieve the pressure on his penis. Then he saw himself in the mirror and the night mare started again.
There was a new smell that he couldn’t quite place. Then he saw Diana pouring kerosene on the wood shavings lying on the workshop floor. She discarded the empty container and returned to smile at him from the far side of the bench.
‘Let me go,’ he said pathetically.
Diana shook her head.
‘Please, I beg you. Remember your legal training. I have rights to a fair trial.’
‘Do you remember Theresa and I begging you to stop yesterday afternoon?’
Nigel didn’t answer, he just sobbed louder — sobs that became even more intense as she reached up to the shelf and took down a large knife.
A look of disbelief spread across his face. ‘You’re not going to cut it off, are you?’
‘No, Nigel,’ Diana said softly. ‘You are.’
She handed him the knife, making sure she was well clear of him in case he took a swing at her, then took a box of matches from the shelf and lit the shavings on the floor. As the flames followed the circle of kerosene around him, he tried frantically to cut through the wire. Diana simply walked to the door, unlocked it and left. The sound of her locking the door from the outside was drowned by Nigel’s screams.
She stood and waited until she heard him hammering on the door, then turned and walked slowly away.
14
A tense silence descended on Archangel as the boat sailed away from Manly. Steven was the first to break it.
Blood Bond Page 10