“Claren! When did you become such a rude young lady? You know very well what we hope for you two.”
Sunday after Sunday the same discussion. But my parents also had their own reservations about Kurten. I could tell the way my father would question him, then raise his shaggy eyebrows at hearing the response. He would only do that when he did not approve of what was being said. I had faith that my father was seeing through his veneer of innocence and like me, waiting for someone better to show up. If that did not happen (I was not exactly keen on the idea of marriage as I mentioned before and I was not a social butterfly so I had limited encounters with men my age) then I would let the nasty, drunken, cat out of its putrid bag and let my parents know everything I knew about Kurten.
I knew I would never marry him, of course now that my parents were not alive, I would not have to endure him Sunday after Sunday. God forgive me, but if there was a bright spot to my parent’s death, it was not having to marry Kurten.
He picked his teeth at the table, he swore uncontrollably, ate till he vomited, drank until unconscious, womanized till he was diseased and he smelled bad. Parents are so blind sometimes.
Kurten looked at me hard, like he knew what I was thinking, like he knew that I despised him. His thick, liver colored lips pursing slightly.
For all your money and social standing, Kurten Wandsworth, you are still a pig.
“We should get married right away, tomorrow I should think.” He said in a sickly, sweet voice I knew as fake.
What I could not understand, was why he wanted me so bad. My family was respected, but not well positioned or political as his was. I was intelligent, but not a genius. I was not ugly, but I wasn’t beautiful. I was not easy, in fact at twenty I still had not kissed any male other than relatives. With that reputation, I wondered why Kurten didn’t stay far away, thinking he might as well not even try with me. But here he was coming every Sunday to my father’s house for close to a year, attempting to “woo” me. I shivered with disgust.
“That is something we need to discuss Kurten. The marriage.” He took a few steps to my father’s well stocked bar and poured himself a brandy.
Pig!
He didn’t even offer. He didn’t sip either; he threw it back like it was lemonade on a hot day. He poured himself another.
“And what exactly do we need to discuss pet?”
He put stress on the word “we” as if women do not discuss anything but knitting. I laughed inside, knowing he was as disillusioned as my parents were (or at least my mother had been). He thought that I was the subservient little mouse he saw at dinner while my parents were alive. Hah! My parents knew it was an act, but Kurten didn’t. He had never seen any other side to me other than the quiet, docile and polite side. Not to say I was a demon. But I had my own thoughts and feelings and views on things that were generally frowned upon by the men today. They thought women should do no more than bear children and cook. Perhaps host a party or two. Even though as a society we had progressed, it seems that the ancient study of feminism had dissolved and women liked being pampered and staying at home.
I was still planning on being nice to him, saying something along the lines of needing a week or so of solicitude. I needed time to think of my parents and their will. I did need time; time to pack my belongings undisturbed. I knew that I had to make quick arrangements to sell the house and leave it in the care of our solicitor.
It pained me to think of leaving my childhood home, but I inexplicably sensed danger all around me, like the air we breathe. I felt like running, now. A small voice was telling me to, Hurry! Run now! Run!
I knew when I “officially” broke off the “engagement” with Kurten, his parent’s would be outraged and insulted and he would just be enraged. The most absurd thing of the whole affair was that we were never engaged. He just started showing up Sunday after Sunday and now expected to marry me. I never went out alone (or chaperoned) with him anywhere, I never even smiled at him. If that is all it takes to be engaged then I could have been married off to a hedgehog if it showed up every Sunday. But no matter, I had to keep a clear head so that I could deal with these matters. The full impact of my parents passing had not hit me yet, and I very much wanted to act before it did. I did not want to be overcome with emotion and have that greasy little worm Kurten around to try and take advantage of me.
In fact, I had been telling myself that they were still alive, just away on a holiday. Robotically, I made my get away plans. I was planning on not being in St. Marhen when he came to confront me after he read my telegram that I would send him from somewhere far, far away.
“Answer me Claren. What’s there to discuss? You don’t have a dress yet? You women are so silly, send your housemaid to my Mother’s shop and have her pick you up something.” He poured another brandy and drank it all.
“That is, if you are too distressed to go yourself.”
He was implying to my lack of display of grief.
Oh no Kurten, you are wrong, I have oceans of tears waiting to be let loose. The pain in my heart is that of a thousand mortal wounds. If you were a real man, you would see this. What I refuse to do, is to show you my tears or any sort of weakness. You will never be my pillar of strength, my comfort.
I walked to the front window and watched the people going on about their daily business. I had to fight to push down the lump in my throat. How dare he accuse me of not feeling anything.
They are only away on vacation, a holiday. They will be back soon. I repeated this phrase in my head several times before answering him.
“No Kurten, it’s not a dress that I worry over. I just need time alone.”
“A woman should not be alone in the city, in a house by herself. It’s not proper. You do not have a chaperon or even a relative to look after you.”
He countered quickly, pouring from another bottle from my father’s bar.
“I am not alone, I have Beatrice.” Beatrice was a domestic we had employed shortly before the accident. My mother had a difficult time keeping maids or cooks. He scoffed at this, he knew as I did that Beatrice did not care who lived or died in this household.
“I mean, you need a man Claren.” I was filled with revulsion at what his tone conveyed.
Perhaps, but you’re no man.
“You’re making this very difficult for me. Please leave me. I need to be alone in my father’s house and with my mother’s memories.” My patience had run out.
He looked as if I had struck him. And perhaps I had, in his ego. He was not used to me being so vocal. He strode across the living room floor in two strides and caught my arm in his vise like grip. I thought he was going to strike me, but no, in his mind I am sure he was saving that for after the wedding.
“Now hear this pet! We’re to be married in the morning! I already spoke to the pastor about it at the funeral. You can be alone all you want after the wedding!”
His foul breath was making my eyes water. Perhaps he mistook this for tears because he seemed to be revitalized.
“Second! You don’t ask me to leave, I leave when I’m good and ready.” He looked down at me wincing from the pain of his grip and smiled menacingly.
“…And right now I’m ready...but not to leave.” He shoved me off balance so I fell to the floor. In a flash, I was up, but in shock. I knew he was a foul person, but I didn‘t know how foul. I stared on in shock as he deftly undid his trousers. I was naive regarding sex, but I knew he was going to rape me. I turned and ran. I scrambled up the stairs but he caught up with me and placed his foot on my long skirts, causing me to trip. I fell face first onto the steps. In a flash he was on top of me, turning me over, trying to kiss my mouth with his repugnant one. I hit him as much as I could and pulled his hair, but he laughed at my efforts. I screamed out loudly when I realized that defeat was around the corner and he tore at my skirts, raising them. Suddenly, I heard a ferocious growling from the stairs above me and my attacker was knocked backwards off of me.
I saw m
y old wolf hound, Naza, tearing into him. She had torn a gaping hole on the side of his cheek and was snapping at his face and neck. Kurten’s brown hair was quickly matted with his dark blood. He managed to grab her forepaw and with a sickening snap, break it. She yelped in great pain but continued the fight. I knew she would not last if I did not help her. I ran into the living room and grabbed a heavy iron poker from the fireplace. I heard her cry again and whimper each time a dull thud sounded. I ran back into the hall to see Kurten standing on shaking legs over my hound, kicking her as she held on to his leg with her teeth. I was filled with burning rage as I grabbed the poker with both my hands and aimed for the back of his head. He buckled to the floor, crying out in rage and pain as I moved on to his torso, thighs and kneecaps. I heard no sounds as I continued to smash his kneecap over and over with the poker. His cries of agony brought several constables though the front door. I immediately dropped the poker and ran to my wounded dog, Naza.
They took Kurten to the hospital and questioned me. I told them what happened, every word of it. They needed to get his statement, but he had slipped in to unconsciousness at the hospital. After a long discussion amongst themselves, the Constables let me stay at home that night when they learned my parents had been buried that day.
Later that evening the phone rang constantly. I only picked up when our family solicitors card popped up on the phone’s screen. He questioned me in a lighthearted manner.
Yes, I knew it would probably be brought to trial.
No, it was not attempted murder.
Yes, it would be difficult to defend because he after all was the Mayors son.
I hung up the phone feeling worse, knowing that there would be no way that I would be able to win. Even though I was a young woman with a good reputation, he was the mayor’s son and like most towns, unspoken favor belonged to those who had power, influence, and money. I would be left hung out to dry.
I knew when Kurten awoke he would not want to wait for the trial but would want his revenge quickly and intimately. I can’t say I blame him. I heard I turned his kneecap into pulp and Naza had ripped out a chunk of his cheek. The constables had said they would come around in the morning.
They could come, but I wouldn’t be here. I packed one suit case, one teapot and a lame dog and left.
I stayed in a small town an hour away from St. Marhen, twenty minutes outside of North Alcott. I don’t know if it was a conscious decision to stay near where my Aunt had taken her final breath or I was to weary to go on. Probably both, but Naza’s wound needed tending and I could not stop trembling.
I found a small, cheap boarding house by a creek that allowed dogs and I looked for work. I had not heard any word on Kurten’s condition, but I knew because of his father’s influence he would see me hanged. Yes, even though the grand Council made some things better, some still suffered injustice
My first week at the boarding house I stayed indoors nursing Naza. I wanted to continue to travel as far as I could away, but Naza was in no condition to travel. I was paranoid that someone would recognize me and turn me in so I only shopped for supplies in the evening. My sleep was poor and when I did manage to sleep, I had dreams the Constables were breaking down my door. If it wasn’t dreams of being caught, it was hearing strange sounds that kept me from sleeping. My neighbor was a loud snorer and kept me up most nights.
Naza would gratefully lick my hand when I would attend to her. I made her a poultice sling for her forepaw made out of frog root and mud mince. I collected it at night down by the creek. The frog root had numbing properties and the mud mince made it easy to apply. I made a makeshift splint from an old slip of mine and a strong piece of birch. I would also make us both some healing mushroom milk and garneeth mixture before bed. My Aunts teapot came in handy. After a week, Naza’s forepaw definitely seemed to be healing but I knew it would be a few months before she could leave off the splint.
I knew I was causing more talk amongst the permanent boarders by not leaving my room. I had to come out and be friendly or leave. I decided to leave.
I headed for North Alcott, my Aunt’s town. I roomed in a somewhat smaller boarding house with no running water, just a well that you had to draw from yourself. I was not going to stay there long.
I had just gotten Naza settled at the foot of my bed with her own little afghan that I purchased from an elderly lady on the road, when I heard a knock on my door. My heart stopped momentarily as Naza growled. Was it the moment that I feared? I was afraid to even look in the direction of the door, but they knocked again. I willed my feet to propel me forward and go to the door. My hand hovered lightly above the doorknob, uncertain.
“Hello?” A kindly, old voice called out from the other side of the door. Funny, it didn’t sound like a Constable.
I opened the door.
“Hello there, I was just wondering if you would like to join us for dinner?”
There stood the grandmotherly lady who had checked me in. Her white hair tucked up in a bun and soft wrinkles that formed a sweet smile.
“Oh? Is that so? Dinner you say?” I asked stupidly. I always ask a succession of questions when I feel stupid. I guess it’s to take the focus off of me and on to the question.
“Yes, dinner. We’re having a lovely roast and potatoes if you like.” She must have seen my indecision because she quickly added, “It’s included in the price of the room you know.”
“That sounds wonderful then. I’ll be right down.” She smiled kindly and nodded at Naza which I liked.
After she had left, I walked over to Naza and rubbed her behind her ears.
“See that, old girl? Nothing to worry about, was there?” She just smiled up at me, telling me in her own doggy way that everything was going to be alright.
When I went down to dinner my place was set. The table had been cleared away of any other settings.
“Well dear, hope you don’t mind eating alone, I’m afraid everyone’s gone off to bed.” There she stood again, setting down a glass of lemonade for me.
“Go ahead and set your dishes in the sink when you’re through.” She turned and was about to leave when she must have noticed my look of disappointment.
“I’m sorry dear, but we all go to bed early.”
I was disappointed that there was no one else to speak to, especially since I had worked myself up to it.
She then looked around quickly and pulled out a paper from under a cushion.
“Here is something to read though. It’s today’s paper.”
I took the paper from her and nodded.
“Thank you.”
“Good night and enjoy your dinner.” She shuffled off to her room. I sat there eating slowly and looking through the paper.
I came to the “positions wanted / people wanted” section. I skimmed through it with a lazy eye, never intending to actually find something. I did though, it jumped out at me, even the ink seemed a little darker.
Live in Secretary Wanted
Generous salary and bonuses. Large estate in the countryside. Total privacy and seclusion. Duties include: taking correspondence, small errands (fetching groceries, mail, etc.) and occasionally hosting. Please contact Mr. Brighton at 1322 Sac Larue, N. Alcott. Please come after 6 P.M.
Well that sounded wonderful. Everything about it was me Privacy? Yes! Countryside? Heaven! Bonuses? Fantastic! Occasional parties? Well, that was a different thing. I really had no experience in that, but how hard could it be right? Put a couple of platters of Vienna sausages out and things would take care of themselves. I could work for someone, doing things I did myself at home was no great challenge.
This “after 6” statement did bother me a bit. It was dark by 6 o’clock. Not only that, why was the address out here in North Alcott? The more I thought about it, the more suspicious I became.
I finished my dinner and washed my dishes, still thinking about the ad. Well, perhaps I’d take a stroll down that way a little earlier. A frantic thought seized me. What if the pos
ition was filled already!? Oh no! It couldn’t be. The paper was from today but who knows how long the ad had been running?
As I fed my leftover roast to Naza, I tried to decide what to wear, I had not brought much with me and taking foot taxis were inconspicuous but getting expensive, I could not afford a new dress on my budget. I was determined to go no matter what. If I could deal with the potential rapist of St.Marhen, I could deal with whatever lay ahead. I washed my face and got into my night dress. I snuggled deep into the covers as Naza snored lightly.
Poor girl, this was hard on her as well. I had had no choice though. I couldn’t leave her back there so they could put her to sleep. Who am I kidding? Kurten would’ve wanted her shot. He probably would have done it himself. I trembled as my thoughts began to drift back to the cause of her injury and back to Kurten. I knew if he was awake, he was telling them to bring me back. Not so he could see me and ask me why, but so he could humiliate me, hurt me. He knew I still had my parent’s house to deal with since it was in the Private Sector. The officials could not seize the property because it was paid off. Owned now, by a criminal but still mine. Kurten knew I would be back or at least in contact with my solicitor. I mentally paced. Could I walk away from any monies and my home? How would I survive to support myself and my Naza? Going back though would be facing a trial, and the fact that I left would look bad. That would not matter though since I would not have received a fair trial to begin with. No, the price of my freedom would be giving up my fortune and home.
His Black Wings Page 2