She could not take her eyes off of him, and when he reached her, his rough hands pushed her skirts up, and pulled away her under things, with the sound of sheer material shredding beneath his fingers. She could hear the lace ripping even more, as he tugged at anything that blocked his access to her. Then he was climbing up on the bed, forcing her legs apart as she attempted to stop him, that horrible thing of his, touching her delicate skin, leaving it’s dampness in its wake, against her leg. She was surprised at his strength for such a small man.
Max’s body was weighing her down, and the full skirt hampered her, as she tried to push him off of her, to no avail. The feel of him, jabbing and pushing against her, caused her to cry out in terror, as, she squirmed to free herself, but the more she squirmed, the harder he clutched her against him, and she could hear Max laughing, telling her how good it was feeling, and to keep moving like that, so she suddenly laid still, and as she did, she felt him plunge, and she screamed out in pain. “The maiden head has been breeched,” he informed her. “Now for the best part.” The sound of his vulgar voice repulsed her, and she thought she might lose her breakfast, which would serve him right, she thought.
Lavonia felt him moving, hard and fast, as she pushed against him relentlessly, and was screaming for him to get off of her. She resorted to beating against his back with her fists, but nothing seemed to stop his assault. She could hear his labored breathing, as he worked harder at his task, making her feel like she was going to split inside. Having seen the size of him, frightened her, and now, feeling the bulk of him, invading her, terrified her beyond endurance.
Suddenly he let out a groan. His body shuddered, and he fell on top of her, not moving any longer, and she thanked God he was finished. “Get off of me,” she grunted as she pushed against him, but he did not respond. “For God’s sake, you had me, now remove yourself!” she demanded, as she tried to sit up. When she did, his limp body, rolled to one side of her on the bed. “I will not sleep with you, tonight,” she informed him, as she tried to pull her skirt out from underneath him. “Did you hear me, Max?” she asked as she pushed his shoulder. But he did not respond. “Max?” she said, turning his head to face her.
Lavonia stared down at his still body. “Max!” she called, but his eyes did not open. She patted his cheek, but he still did not respond, and then she noticed that he was not breathing. “Oh, holy mother of God!” she wailed. “I think he’s dead!”
Lavonia scrambled to the door, almost tripping over her long skirt. “Somebody! There is something wrong,” she yelled. The butler came running up the stairs.
“What is it Mrs. Paddington?” he asked.
“I….I think Max is dead,” she whimpered.
“What happened?” he asked, as he raced into the room.
“He was on top of me, consummating the marriage, and then he suddenly went limp, and stopped breathing!”
The butler put his fingers against Max’s neck. “I don’t feel a pulse,” he murmured. He turned max over, and Lavonia shuddered as she looked at his shriveled manhood. She could not believe the drastic difference it now displayed, and she turned her head away. “For God’s sake. Cover him up,” she told the butler, and he pulled the sheet over Max.
“Where is his mother?” she questioned.
“She was staying with a friend, since this was your wedding night,” The butler informed her.
“I need to change,” She said suddenly. “Send someone for his mother.”
Lavonia went to the room, where she had changed into her wedding dress, and found the dress she had been wearing before the wedding. She practically ripped the wedding dress off, in her haste to change her clothes. She did not want to stay in the house. She did not want to be here when his mother came back. It was not her fault he dropped dead, but that is exactly what she wanted him to do, the moment he locked her in the room. Now she knew why she never wanted to be married. No matter how exciting Grange’s kiss had been, the rest of it was not worth a million kisses, she told herself.
As soon as she was dressed, Lavonia, raced out of the house, and down the street. She knew that Grange’s newspaper office was not far away, and he would be there late, setting up the type to report on her wedding, and what other news he was printing for the morning sheets.
When she arrived, and saw the light shining through the window, she started pounding on the door. “Lavonia!” Grange exclaimed as she threw herself into his arms.
“I didn’t know where to go,” she breathed. She had run all the way and was out of breath, as she clung to him, her breasts rising and falling in her effort to catch her breath.
“What has happened?” he questioned.
“He’s dead, he’s dead. He died while he was…..was….God, Grange, it was horrible! Why didn’t you tell me it would be like that? Why didn’t you warn me? I asked you and you didn’t tell me anything! But you were right about the pain,” she said as tears continued to streak down her face.
“Slow down, Lavonia. You are speaking nonsense. How in the hell did he die?”
“How am I supposed to know? One moment he was on top of me, destroying every shred of dignity I possess, and then he gasped, and fell limp. I just thought he had finished, but he didn’t move, and he wasn’t breathing, and the butler said he didn’t have a pulse. I didn’t know where to go. I couldn’t stay there, not after…..” she hid her head against his shoulder.
“I guess I am going to have to change my type,” Grange mumbled. “You sure you didn’t do anything to cause his death?”
“Of course not! What do you take me for?” she shuddered, as she pulled away from him. “Though if I had had it in my power, the moment he touched me, I think I would have,” she admitted.
“I just had to be sure,” he murmured. “You look terrible. There is a cot in my back room where I sometimes sleep, when I have stayed too long to make it home without falling asleep. Go lay down, and I will go back to the Paddington’s and get to the bottom of what happened. Don’t go anywhere, Lavonia, until I get back.”
“There is no place to go,” she told him.
He took her to his back room, and watched her as she lay down on his cot. The poor woman had gone through two traumatic experiences today. She must be falling apart inside, he thought. When he was satisfied, that she was comfortable, he left and closed the door, heading in the direction of the Paddington’s. He knew it was sacrilegious but he thanked God for Max Paddington’s death, just as he was sure Lavonia had done.
CHAPTER FOUR
“You have found a way to murder my son,” the old woman accused, as Lavonia stood before her. “You said yourself he would rue the day he ever married you!”
“That was a figure of speech,” Lavonia defended. “I can’t say I regret he is dead. I would rather have him dead then be married to the brute, but I am not the one who caused his death, unless you consider that his act of assaulting me on our wedding night, is to blame. The doctor did confirm that he had a heart attack. Serves him right for what he put me through!”
“How dare you speak of my son in such a manner!” The old woman cried.
“How dare your son treat me in such a manner! What he did was unthinkable! Had I been his first wife, I would have killed myself to escape him. Perhaps that is just what she did.”
“Leave my sight at once! You do not have a civil tongue in your head.” The old woman dabbed her eyes with a limp looking handkerchief, she had pulled out of her sleeve, and then glared at Lavonia.
“Gladly,” Lavonia returned. “I will stay as far away from you as possible, but I am your son’s widow now, and have every right to remain here, and after you die, I am going to tear every ghastly piece of interior from this house and erase the memory of both you and your son forever! The first thing to go will be those god awful gargoyles over the windows!
Mrs. Paddington took in her breath, as her dogs yapped at Lavonia from under her skirts, and Lavonia left the room, with a rustle of her skirts, and a slam of the door.
She was glad the funeral was over with, and she did not have to deal with Max any longer, either alive or dead, but she also knew that she was stuck in this tomb of a house with Max’s mother, and her life would be miserable. Considering that she would be wearing black for the next year, and could not attend any functions, except as an observer on the side lines, she knew her life as she once knew it was over. One turn of a card had changed everything for her.
She had already been reminded several times by the old biddy that she was not going to leave her a penny, and Lavonia knew that once the old lady was gone, she would have nothing but this dreary old house to show for that one evening of sheer trauma, on her wedding night. Her future was as bleak as ever, considering now she could not entertain herself with being a flirt at the functions, and having her name written up in Grange’s paper every week.
The only joy she found was riding, Max’s black stallion. She would dress in Max’s clothes, putting her hair up under a cap, and ride out of town onto the moors, for hours. The horse was spirited and not easy to handle, but she was getting used to him, and he was getting used to her. She called him Thunderbolt.
No more riding in the park, simpering and gossiping along with Marybeth, or Jane, or even Grange. She realized that she actually missed Grange. His taunts were always stimulating, and thinking of witty ways to counter them, kept her on her toes. Therefore, she was pleased when the butler came to inform her that Grange had arrived to visit her.
“I came to see how you were holding up,” he said, as she asked him to sit down in the drawing room. “I haven’t seen you about lately.”
“I am supposed to be in mourning.” she told him. “It is amazing that you wrote about my wedding and my husband’s funeral all in the same week,” she murmured.
“I can’t say I am sorry about his death,” he admitted. “I have a feeling that you merely asked him to drop dead, and since you have a way with charming a man, he did it just to please you!”
“That is a terrible thing to say,” she pouted, “but I did wish him dead after what he had done to me. God must have felt I was justified in my plea,” she stated. “However, now you have nothing to write about, since I do not grace your column any longer. You will have to discover some other outrageous woman to write about, or find a highwayman to report on,” she laughed.
“Considering you are the only outrageous women in these parts, and there are no highwaymen about, my column is going to be rather dull for awhile.”
“Do write about Marybeth. I am sure she is dying for the attention. It will put her right on the charts to have the men falling after her, which you know is just what she wants.”
“I never thought you would say a kind thing about Marybeth,” he said, looking at her more closely. “I think I liked you better when you were all spit and vinegar.”
“My life is going to be a complete bore, being cooped up in this house all the time,” she sighed.
“You can still come to the functions,” he insisted.
“But I can’t dance or flirt, or be my old self ever again.”
“Being a widow, does have it’s perks. You could always take on a lover,” he smiled, “and then I would have plenty of things to write about, trying to guess who you are abed with.”
“Really Grange! After my experience with Max, I wouldn’t ever let another man touch me again. It is horribly disgusting. I don’t know what ever possesses the women of the night to want a man like that!”
“There are some pleasures involved,” he smiled.
“For the man, of course,” she frowned. “Max was bragging about how good it was feeling, before he dropped dead,” she sneered.
Grange merely laughed. “Well, unless you take on a lover, you may never know.”
“I am perfectly happy not knowing,” she informed him.
“I am sorry Max ruined that for you,” he said sincerely.
“Your kiss was nice though,” she said, laughing.
“You thought so?” he asked. “I didn’t think there was anything you liked about me.”
“I liked the kiss,” she said, lowering her eyes, because she hated admitting it.
“Perhaps you would allow me to become your lover then,” he suggested, with a chuckle.
“There you go teasing me again,” she sighed. “Apparently your women of the night aren’t enough to keep you occupied. Go find a highwayman to interview.”
“Perhaps you can persuade someone to be one. All you have to do is bat your eyes and flip your fan at him, and he would gladly take the risk,” he laughed.
“You have too much faith in my charms,” she chuckled. “But if I did have the ability to persuade someone to start the life of a highwayman, it would make life more exciting around here, don’t you think?”
“You would do it too, just to give me something to write about,” he laughed good naturedly.
“Perhaps,” she smiled.
“Well, darling, if you ever change your mind about taking on a lover, just let me know,” he said as he stood up. “I must take my leave though.”
“You will be the first to know,” she promised, “but don’t hold your breath.”
“I’ve been holding my breath for seven years. A little longer won’t hurt,” he laughed.
“You make me sound horrible,” she accused.
“You are,” he said, kissing her nose. “But I forgive you.”
“Good-bye, Grange. It has been nice visiting you again.”
“I’m telling you, Lavonia, you are getting soft. I don’t think I like it.”
“Maybe you are right,” she smiled, as he turned to the door.
Lavonia turned back to the drawing room, and sat down on the settee. What Grange had said about her persuading someone to become a highwayman, started wheels turning in her head. Her life was boring. She had to stay cooped up in the house, except when she was out riding Thunderbolt. She needed money, for when the old woman finally did die, and she had nothing but a stuffy old house to show for her disastrous marriage.
What if she became a highwayman? The very thought intrigued her, and her heart started to speed, at the thought. No one would ever suspect her. She could ride good enough, and all she had to do was learn how to use a gun. Max had a pistol in the gun cabinet. She could go out on the moors to practice shooting. That would liven up her boring days, she thought with a sly smile. Then Grange would have something to write about, she chuckled to herself.
She knew all the wealthy gentry, and what functions they attended, and which roads they would take returning home late at night. Old dowdy women and spineless men. It would be like taking candy from a baby. It was a perfect idea. She would be able to get the money she would need when the old lady died, and then claim it was Max’s inheritance. Grange would have something to write about, and life would start to be exciting for her again. Lavonia started tapping her foot impatiently, at the thought, wishing she could start her new occupation instantly.
The next morning, Lavonia went to the gun cabinet and pulled the pistol from the drawer. There were plenty of bullets for it in a container in the same drawer. She held it lightly in her hand, almost afraid to touch it, in case it went off accidentally. The longer she held it though, the more comfortable it felt, with her small fingers wrapped around the butt, and the trigger so close to her finger. She wondered if she had the strength to pull the trigger? There was only one way to find out.
Lavonia let the gun drop back in the drawer, and went upstairs to change into Max’s clothes. It was lucky that Max was such a small scrawny man, because his clothes fit her well enough. Just baggy enough to hide her alluring curves, and well formed breasts. She always wore a vest, along with a shirt and coat to hide as much of her figure as possible. When she was dressed, she returned to collect the gun, putting a handful of bullets in her pocket, and the gun in the other pocket. Then she went out to mount Thunderbolt, which she had asked the groom to saddle for her earlier.
The groom was a young man. Young
er than Lavonia herself, and he seemed to like her, always telling her how well she handled the horse. “You off riding alone again, Mrs. Paddington?” He asked.
“Please, Patrick, I detest the name Paddington. I have told you several times to call me Voni, or Lavonia, or even Von. In fact when I am dressed like this I think you should call me Von. And don’t breath a word that I am a woman. I have given up that flirtatious life style. I hate being a woman!”
“It just doesn’t seem right me calling you by your name,” the boy complained.
“You are my only friend in this place,” she said sweetly. “Consider me your friend, not your employer. The great Mrs. Paddington, is your employer, not I,” she insisted. “Do you know anything about handling a gun?” she asked suddenly.
“Why Mrs…..I mean Von, do you need to know about a gun?”
“I was thinking that if I am riding out on the moors alone so much, I should have some sort of protection. So I took my husband’s, gun.” She hated calling Max her husband, even though he was dead. “I am going out on the moors to practice shooting it. If you could give me any pointers, it would be helpful.”
“Well, you just point and shoot. It takes awhile to get used to it, though, because if your target is too far away you could easily miss, especially with a hand gun. Just wait until the person is close enough for you to wing him, if you are in real danger. But remember. Don’t put your finger on the trigger, unless you are prepared to shoot. If you go around holding the gun with your finger on the trigger, it may just go off when you don’t want it to, and you, or someone else may get hurt.” The boy looked a little sheepish, after instructing her.
“Thank you Patrick,” she said, as he started to give her a leg up. “I’ll let you know how I do. You know though, I am going to have to learn to mount a horse on my own, if I get down in order to practice shooting,” she mentioned.
“Well you are so short, it would be hard for you to reach the stirrup. So if you have trouble, just grab your horse’s mane, to sort of pull you up some. If you have some time later, I could show you how to just swing up without using the stirrup.”
Highroad Page 4