by Jane Ashford
Bess, flailing at him with her free arm and trying to bring her knee up to strike, had no more luck. She missed a step and pivoted clumsily on one foot. Fenton laughed again, and in a flash transferred his grip to their waists, pulling them close against him on each side.
He dragged them down the hall to another bedchamber, this one furnished with surprising opulence. A massive four-poster bed stood out from the far wall. On the threshold, he thrust them inside so hard that they both fell, turned, and locked the door behind him, reaching to place the key on a high shelf near the ceiling. By the time Julia and Bess had stumbled to their feet again, he was facing them, hands on hips. “What a lovely pair you are,” he exclaimed. “So like, yet so unlike.”
Bess launched herself at him, but her muscles had lost their usual suppleness, and she had to catch herself on his arm to avoid falling again.
“So eager?” asked Fenton, burying one hand in her black hair and twisting.
Bess cried out in pain, and the pins fell from her hair, bringing it down about her shoulders. She clawed at his hand without effect. Fenton reached into his pocket and pulled out a small knife with a curved blade. Julia, who could see it, gasped and ran to restrain his arm with both hands. She could not hold him with the drug sapping her strength, however, and he shook her off with another laugh. Before she could move again, he had inserted the blade in the bodice of Bess’s gown and ripped quickly downward, slitting the cloth so that the dress fell off her shoulders. He twisted his other hand again, eliciting another cry of pain, then flung Bess from him and turned to Julia. Bess fell, clutching her head, tears running down her cheeks.
Julia backed away, her hands held up in front of her, her eyes following his every move. If only she could think…but her mind was as useless as her muscles under the effect of the drug.
Her back touched the wall, and she pressed herself against it, looking from side to side in search of a weapon. But there was no such thing in the room—no candlestick, no fire tongs on the hearth. The small lamp was out of her reach. Fenton reached her with a sudden quick stride, and ripped her gown as he had Bess’s. Julia caught the edges and held it to her, but the man grasped a sleeve, then pushed her back toward the center of the room, tearing the dress off and tripping her again with the uncut hem.
She fell more heavily this time, and lay there in her shift and thin stockings. Bess pulled her up with an arm about her shoulders. They sat gazing up at Fenton, who stood above them exultant.
“Take off the rest,” he commanded them, “or I shall do it for you.”
Bess stood as quickly as she was able and struck at him. He replied with a backhanded blow that flung her halfway across the room and left her stunned for a long moment.
“Do you wish to argue the point?” said Fenton in a tone that mocked by its smooth pleasantness. “I am quite willing.”
He looked down at Julia. She half walked, half crawled to Bess and raised her gently, terrified that she might be badly hurt.
“All…right,” was Bess’s slurred response. She shook her head and blinked.
“The clothes,” said Fenton. “Now.”
Sitting up, Bess pushed her torn gown off her arms. “Got to,” she said wearily to Julia. “Time.”
Even in her fogged state, Julia understood that they must hang on until help arrived. Even so, she could not bring herself to follow Bess’s lead. Her face flamed, and she crossed her arms on her breast.
Bess was removing her shoes. She saw this involuntary movement, and Lord Fenton’s answering grin. “He likes hitting you,” she told Julia, her voice somewhat clearer now. “Don’t give him an excuse.”
“I…I can’t,” Julia whispered.
Bess nodded. “You can, though.” She eased off Julia’s shoes and took her arm. Together, they rose shakily. “Come on. It’ll be worse if he hits you.”
“A practical approach,” declared Fenton. He went to lean against the wall, one arm negligently on the mantle. His eyes moved slowly up and down their bodies.
Bess pretended to ignore him. She slipped off her stockings with her back to him and threw them on top of her ruined gown. Trembling and blinking back tears, Julia followed suit.
“The shifts as well,” he commanded, his voice thickening with excitement. Bess froze, then started to pull her shift up. Fenton stared at the hem as it inched along her leg.
Julia ran for the door, or ordered her body to do so, at least. But the drug was by now at full strength, and she stumbled to her knees after two steps.
Refusing to give in, she dragged herself the remaining distance and used the doorknob to pull herself upright again. At every moment, she expected to feel Fenton’s bruising grip. He did not move to stop her, however, and Julia stretched her hand up for the key.
The shelf was out of reach. Strain as she might, she could not get her fingers over it. Lord Fenton laughed.
And then he was right behind her, pressing his body against hers, his breath hot on her neck. She felt the cold touch of metal, and her shift was ripped down the back and roughly pulled away. She cried out, and felt the impact of another body hitting Fenton and trapping her against the door panels.
Fenton twisted, his hands reaching high to deposit the knife beside the key and then whipping back to grasp Bess, who had thrown herself at him from behind. His free arm encircled Julia, and in the next moment he was propelling the two toward the bed.
He pushed them down across it. Julia instinctively tried to cover herself with her hands.
“So beautiful,” breathed Fenton, pulling his shirt open and off.
There was a grinding crash, a hollow booming in the corridor, and a heavy thud on the door. With another splintering crash, the door burst open, and Sir Richard Beckwith entered, a pistol in his hand and Michael Shea right behind him.
Twenty-two
For an endless moment, the tableau was frozen thus, the two rescuers transfixed with shock and fury. Then both moved at once, bearing down on Lord Fenton with murder in their eyes.
He was quicker, however. He jerked Julia to her feet and held her between his body and the pistols, one arm crooked about her neck and exerting a dizzying pressure. Julia hung limply against him, all her remaining energy concentrated on getting enough air. Unconsciousness hovered close, but she had not even the strength to raise her hands and pull at his arm. Nor could her nakedness embarrass her as she fought for her life.
“I’ll kill her,” hissed Fenton. “Believe me, I will.”
“We can pull you down first,” retorted Shea, and started to move.
“Can you?” He pressed harder, and Julia blacked out as Sir Richard shouted, “Stop!”
She recovered consciousness near the doorway. Lord Fenton still held her, but his grip had eased enough so that she could draw an inadequate, gasping breath.
“She’s alive,” said Michael Shea.
Julia blinked and focused bleary eyes on the room. Bess still lay on the bed, but she had pulled the coverlet over herself and was watching the scene with a wide, too bright gaze. Sir Richard and Shea faced the door, their pistols still in hand, but lowered now. Both looked furious, but Sir Richard’s jaw was clenched, and veins stood out on his forehead with the effort he was exerting to remain still.
Fenton’s hand shot up and retrieved the knife from the shelf by the door frame. He whipped it down and against the side of Julia’s throat. “Stay back,” he warned. “I can slice her jugular with this in an instant.”
Michael Shea cursed vividly. “We should have moved before.”
“I won’t have Julia endangered,” replied Sir Richard tightly. He looked at her, then away, as if the sight pained him physically.
“Exactly,” said Lord Fenton, smiling without a trace of humor. “And the only way to ensure that is to stay where you are.” He started to back into the corridor, dragging Julia before him.
&nbs
p; On the bed, Bess pulled herself up like one swimming against a heavy current. She stared at the doorway. “Thomas!” she cried.
Fenton half turned, jerking Julia violently with him. His arm tightened, and blackness threatened her again. She felt something sting the side of her throat, and then was shaken by a deafening explosion before she slid helplessly into the void.
* * *
When Julia surfaced again, she was lying in bed in an unfamiliar room. She looked about it, trying to recall where she was and how she had come there. It was not home, nor the house in London. It was sparsely furnished, and the corners were not particularly clean, though the sheets that enveloped her seemed fresh enough.
Her head ached fiercely, and she was terribly thirsty. Seeing a tumbler and jug on the table beside the bed, she reached out, and was immediately stopped by two things. First, she was so weak she could scarcely hold up her own arm, and second, she wore a man’s nightshirt instead of her own lace-trimmed nightdress.
Memory flooded back. Julia’s arm dropped to the bed, and she crimsoned with rage and shame. Where, she wondered, was Richard?
The door opened, and Bess’s head appeared around it. “You’re awake! Wait there.”
What else could she possibly do? Julia wondered.
In a very short time, Bess was back with a tray which held a steaming bowl of soup, half a cottage loaf, and a pot of tea. Julia’s hunger revived insistently at the rich scent, and her worries were temporarily forgotten as she began to eat.
When the bowl was half-empty, however, she looked up to find Bess smiling at her. “Where are we?” asked Julia without putting down her spoon.
“The same place. Lord Fenton’s house.”
Julia stiffened and straightened, nearly spilling the contents of the tray over the bed.
“He’s gone,” added Bess quickly. “There was nothing else to do. You couldn’t be moved, and I was only a little better. They settled us here and brought Mrs. Hanlon to look after us.”
“Mrs. Hanlon?”
“Michael’s aunt. You’ll like her. She made that soup.” Bess’s green eyes twinkled.
How could she be so happy? wondered Julia. She hesitated, then asked the question foremost in her mind. “Where is Sir Richard?”
“London. They had to go.”
“Oh.” Julia’s heart sank. The memory of Richard’s face as he came into the room where Fenton stood over them remained vivid among a jumble of confusion. Had he gone because he could not bear to see her?
“Because of Lord Fenton,” added Bess, in response to her bereft expression.
Julia looked down at her soup. She didn’t want it now.
“How much do you remember?” inquired Bess. “Shall I tell you the whole story? I had it from Michael yesterday.”
“He was here?”
“Oh, yes. He can’t do much. Sir Richard must attend to most of it. But, Julia, my plan worked.” She looked very pleased with herself. “And that means it was the right thing to do, doesn’t it?”
“I am certainly glad of it.”
“There! Michael still refuses to see. But let me tell you the tale. Thomas fetched Sir Richard and Michael, as I told him to, and they rode here at once. Michael found a door he could open.” She dimpled. “How he learned to do such a thing, he won’t say. The three of them crept inside and went to the kitchen. They had pistols, you know, and had no trouble convincing those two hired bullies to do as they said. Thomas tied them up, while Michael and Sir Richard came up. Didn’t they look splendid when they burst in!”
Julia winced, but Bess didn’t notice.
“Well, I don’t know what you remember after that, because the beast had you by the neck and kept squeezing.” She looked inquiring.
“Very little,” managed Julia, the sight of Richard’s face too clear.
“Well, he tried to use you as a shield to get away. He was choking you, and then he got the knife.”
“I remember that,” said Julia shuddering. She put a hand to the side of her throat and discovered a small bandage there.
“He nicked you a bit,” acknowledged Bess, “when I shouted ‘Thomas’ to distract him. Sir Richard was furious, but it worked, didn’t it?”
“Furious?” echoed Julia, hope reviving.
“Well, what was I to do, then? Just lie there and let him go? Not likely! Anyway, he turned, and Michael and Sir Richard fired, and that was that.”
“I remember a loud noise,” said Julia.
“I should say it was loud. What a pleasure it was to see him fall bleeding!”
Julia had to smile a little at her vehemence. “Where have they taken him?” She straightened again. “He is not here?” The thought that Fenton might be recuperating in the same house was insupportable.
Bess stared. “Why, he’s dead!”
“Dead!”
“Of course. They were in no mood to miss.”
“I didn’t think,” replied Julia slowly.
“He cut you as he fell, but it was only a scratch. Though I thought for a while that Sir Richard would shoot me because of it. And then, of course, everyone was running about throwing blankets over us and swearing.” She giggled.
Julia, who had felt warmed by her description of Richard’s anger, was chilled again by the picture.
“After that, I fell asleep, too,” finished Bess. “’Twas funny. Our brave rescuers come, and all we could do was sleep.” She smiled at Julia, who could not respond.
“And now they have gone?” she asked.
“Yes. Well, they had to do something about the corpse, of course. And there was those two in the kitchen.”
“Oh.”
Bess looked at her. “You can’t just kill an earl, even such a blackguard as he was. And they can’t tell what really happened either. But Michael says Sir Richard is doing very well. He says he has unexpected talents for deception.” She smiled impishly. “They’re going to pay off the bullies and send them to Australia.”
Though this sounded eminently sensible, Julia was not comforted. The fact that Richard had not come to see her compounded her shame at the way he had found her. Perhaps he would never be able to forget what he saw in this house, and all was at an end between them. He wouldn’t wish to say so, after her ordeal; he simply stayed away so that she would take the hint.
“You are still tired,” said Bess sympathetically, misinterpreting her silence. “You haven’t finished your soup.”
“No,” declared Julia. “I want to get up.” She held out the tray, and Bess took it. Julia threw back the bedclothes and looked down at the nightshirt.
“They couldn’t get your clothes just yet,” explained Bess. “Mine are here, and some new things. They’re going to tell your servants some story, but they had to deal with Fenton first.”
Tears filled Julia’s eyes. Somehow, this seemed worse than all the rest, that she could not have any of her own things.
“You can put on one of my gowns,” added Bess, looking worried and perplexed. “I left one for you.” She hurried to the corner of the room, picking up a pile of clothes draped over a chair.
Julia turned them over in her hands. “What became of mine?” she couldn’t help but ask, shuddering a little when she thought of her torn shift.
“I burnt them,” replied Bess fiercely.
She looked up quickly, then nodded.
“Shall I help you?” offered Bess diffidently.
“No. I’ll come downstairs in a few minutes.”
Picking up the tray, Bess went out, and Julia slowly dressed in the unfamiliar garments. She must go at once, she thought. She could tell the servants something, and she needed her own things and people she knew well. The pain would be less there, she thought.
Thus, when she went downstairs and was introduced to Mrs. Hanlon, her first question was about trans
port.
“There’s the carriage Sir Richard sent Mrs. Hanlon in,” replied Bess dubiously. “But—”
“I must get home,” argued Julia. “It will be hard enough to explain my absence as it is.” Something occurred to her. “How long has it been?”
“Three days since you were taken. You slept a long time.”
Julia nodded. “High time I reappeared.” She froze suddenly. “My parents!”
“Michael says they don’t know of this. Sir Richard prevented the country servants from sending to them. He told them you had a bad fall out walking, and some travelers picked you up and took you to an inn miles away. He convinced them you were being seen to.”
Julia breathed again. “They will think me quite mad, of course, to have gone off without telling anyone, leaving my own carriage, but at least they may not suspect the truth. I will send the carriage back to you,” she promised.
“Am I not to come?”
Julia looked down, feeling guilty. “If you don’t mind, I should prefer to go alone.” She didn’t want anyone around to remind her of this experience.
Bess stiffened, then shrugged and turned away. “I’ll tell them to bring the carriage.”
“I can,” protested Julia, feeling even worse.
“It’s all right.”
She went out, and Julia struggled with herself. But she could not bear to stay here. Too, the visits of Michael Shea would be too painful when she herself was alone. By the time Bess returned, Julia was composed.
“Ten minutes,” said the other.
“Thank you.”
They stood together in silence. To Bess, it appeared that Julia was withdrawing into the privilege of her class, and though she had told herself as she walked to the stables that this was only to be expected, Bess was still stung by the apparent rejection.
After a while, they heard the carriage and turned toward the door. Julia had nothing to take, so they went out as it was pulling up. “I’ll send your gown back with the carriage,” said Julia. “Is there anything else you want?”