by H D Coulter
“What you did to me...” The words spilled out of her mouth, removing the smile on his face instantly. Her voice cracked as she blinked hard, appalled by his perspective. The images flooding back.
“I... cannot excuse my actions toward you – my mind wasn’t right... I drank a lot in those days.” His voice was low and had lost all form of laughter.
“And now – taking my daughter?” She gripped the knife until her knuckles turned white and glared at him.
“Our daughter.”
“Is your mind right now? Taking her away from me, forcing me to chase after her as though it were all some kind of game?” The tension rose between them as she allowed her anger toward him to express itself fully. “You think making me dance like a puppet is how to prove that you’ve changed and now, a father?”
“You must understand I needed you alone, to come here – and I knew you would not consider coming of your own free.” He placed down his knife and fork and tried to grab hold of her hand.
Bea snatched it away, out of his reach. “You do not own me, nor do you own my child.”
His tone became softer, with a hint of disappointment. “I do not wish for that – you shall see. Let’s not spoil a lovely evening now – give me a chance to prove it to you.”
“Prove what?”
“That you could be happy here, with me.” He picked up his cutlery and continued to eat the rest of the dinner in silence.
Her body trembled. He was insane, and more worryingly, unwilling to listen. She needed to continue, however; she was so close to reaching the moment she needed. Taking another gulp of wine, almost finishing the glass, she continued to pick at the roast beef in front of her, finding it hard to swallow.
“SHALL WE HAVE DESSERT and coffee back in the drawing room, where we might be more comfortable?” Hanley suggested in a pleasant tone.
“Let’s.” The kitchen staff cleared the rest of their plates as the footmen pulled back their chairs. Hanley offered his hand, and she took it.
The fire was still warm and welcoming, but the low candlelight gave the room a sultrier feeling than it had before. But that might be the effects of three glasses of wine, she thought bitterly. Albert stood guard at the sideboard, ready to serve them more drinks.
“I note, Beatrice, that I failed to mention earlier how beautiful you look this evening. I noticed in Boston how motherhood suited you, and seeing you again now, I can observe that it has made you into a true woman.” He gazed at her with unashamedly lustful eyes. Her cheeks blush but a tight pain rippled through her pelvis and into her gut. She gave no reply. He moved to sit down beside her. “Forgive me, I did not intend to make you feel uncomfortable – I forget you are unlike the other women.”
“I...”
“I still love you, you know.” He reached out and stroked the side of her face. She couldn’t hide the shock in her expression, and she turned towards him, shaking his hand away. “I know what I did to you was... unforgivable, and words cannot express the sorrow I now feel at the remembrance of my actions. I am trying to change, to bring back what we had.” He paused, remind her thoughts. “There is no excuse. I can only say that my old ghosts still haunted me back then, and I suppose I let them reign free.”
“Victor...” She knew he was almost where she wanted him, and she glanced pointedly at the few faces still staring at them. “May we be alone?” Without hesitation, he lifted his hand and gestured towards the door. She waited until everyone had left before continuing. “You sent me to the gallows, I had a noose around my neck; I still feel it there some nights. Thanks to the quick-thinking of my father, and the support of my husband, I lived - but I am only alive inside because of my child, because of Grace. She brought a light into my darkness. Then you stole her away too.” She didn’t fight back the tears or hold back the words. This was her last chance. Maybe due to the wine, she felt more confident. Regardless, they washed down her face and dripped onto his hand, clasped over hers. “I am... so very sorry for how I treated you - and maybe you are right; I judged you harshly after Joshua told me about your past, and I didn’t seek to know your side of the story. But – you raped me, beat me, and killed one of your men in front of me to frame me for murder, all because I fell in love with another man, and honestly and truly declined you.”
He sat motionless for a while, “hearing it from your lips... my actions... I hope in time you find it in your heart to forgive me. If you stay with me and be a family, then I can show I can change. Give me this chance you had refused me once before,” and then raised his hand slowly from her lap, and with the tips of his fingers, caressed the back of her neck and the top of her exposed shoulders, producing an unconscious shudder to course through her body. He leaned in and said softly: “But you loved me first, Beatrice, I know you did. He stole you away from me.”
She spun round, catching him off guard, their faces inches apart. “I do not belong to you.”
“I wouldn’t want you to be. But, you could be happy here, I see it in your face – you, me, Jessie and Grace, all together, all where we are meant to be. Grace deserves to be brought up by her true father - someone who loves her with every part of his blood, bones and soul. I have seen Joshua with her. Granted, he took on another man’s child when I could not, but that wasn’t for her sake - it was for you. He looks at her and sees me; when I look at her, I see love, and happiness. I couldn’t be without her now.”
“What are you saying?”
“Stay here with me. Love me.” He leaned in and kissed her tenderly. She closed her eyes and braced herself. Not long now. She blocked out flashes of that night the last time he had kissed her. It was all a game, she kept telling herself. For my family. He pulled her tighter against his body, and she felt the yearning building up inside of him. No. not again, not again... At the pressure of his groin against her corset it suddenly became too real, too sickening; not a game anymore, but a nightmare. Pain exploded in her mind at the touch of him, and at his smell. She pulled back, and he stopped.
“I... I need another drink – w-would you like one?” Her cheeks were flushed, and her lips were full and red.
“Of course! I’ll get...”
“No, allow me.” He smiled and handed her his empty glass. She returned the smile before heading to the sideboard. Carefully lifting the parcel out of her pocket, and shielding it with her body, and the crackling of the fire, she poured the fine powder from a yellow flower into his glass before adding a double measure of whiskey, giving it a brief stir. “Do you like ice - or water?”
“Neither – thank you.” She poured out another glass of wine for herself and made her way back to their seat.
She handed him the glass as he made to kiss her again. “Cheers.” She held her glass up, blocking him.
“What are we toasting to?”
“A... a new beginning.”
“Do you mean that?” She nodded her head, and watched him down the whiskey in one, in a joyous, triumphant motion.
He placed his empty glass and her wine on the side-table, then wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tight against him. “Say that you love me; that we will be a family here.” He transferred her smile onto his lips as he kissed her, with more passion this time. She closed her eyes and pretended it was Joshua’s lips, waiting with a thudding heart for the powder to take effect, pushing the dark thoughts into the corners of her mind. He paused for a minute, his body swaying a little.
“Forgive me...”
“Perhaps we have had a little too much to drink. We should retire now for the night and resume our talk in the morning?” She adopted a soft voice, as though talking to a child at the end of a long day.
He rubbed his head with his hand. “I... think you might be right.” She went to stand, but he grabbed onto her. “You know... no one has ever loved me. My father hated me, and I never knew my mother. I was told she was a house slave on an island plantation when my father was the overseer, her father was the master. So, I was a bastard, part slave
, in his eyes. - My mother died a few years after I was born and when I was old enough, they made me join him on the ships. Claimed, bought, I do not know. He taught me to hate them and myself. A monster who has this black blood in me, bad blood, I was told.” She sat down beside him. “No one knows. I have darker skin because of the climate and chestnut hair from my father. To be in constant battle with yourself. To see the hatred in the eyes of those who are meant to love you and believe their horrid words. – When I found you, I thought all of that would change – that someone might love me after all – that I was worthy of it.” Images of her own mother flashed into her head and realised that she too was crying until he wiped away her tears. “When you picked him and treated me with fear like I was a monster – I questioned it, that maybe I am, maybe it was all true... So, then I acted like a monster to you.” He held his hands up. “It doesn’t condone it but maybe if you knew the truth.”
She felt a form of pity. Knowing what it was like to have a bullying parent. “You are not a monster.”
“Maybe I am like that Frankenstein monster, made up of parts – always seeking love and never finding it?” He saw the surprised expression wash over her face. “– I saw you read it once, so I read it too.” Possibly it was the powder making him say such words, finally telling the truth, but it was all making sense. “Tell me now, you love me.”
She looked at him straight in the eyes; one last lie to say goodbye. “I love you Victor.”
“I love you, Beatrice. We are going to be... happy here...” His eyes closed as he spoke, the powder seeping into his bloodstream..
“We can talk more in the morning, now: let’s get you to bed.” She placed his arm around her shoulder and lifted him from the chaise longue.
“I should have spoken freely... long time ago... I am glad... yes... we have had this time...”
“So am I.”
Chapter 43
Bea’s bedroom door opened at midnight exactly. “You did it?” Sarah stood there, Grace still sound asleep, held against her body in a wrap created by pieces of a torn sheet. Bea had changed into a simple dress, in a blend of cotton and wool, with her boots on, ready for the journey. The taste of their kiss was still clear and bitter on her lips.
“It worked.”
“When the girls go to wake him in the mornin’, they will think he is sick, and send out for a doctor - that will buy us even more time.” Sarah smiled at her. “Here you take this.” She handed her a heavy pistol, and a worn leather belt.
“I can’t take this!”
“We don’t have time to argue, Bea. I cannot take a gun, not while I’ve got the baby strapped to me, and we be needin’ it! Do you know how to use it?”
“Da showed me once.” Bea studied the gun in her hand and remembered the deer she had shot one autumn in the woods surrounding Ulverston quarry when food had been scarce. After that experience, she had stuck to their snares.
“Put the belt around your middle and slide the gun in, tight against you.”
“And... shoot, if they come after us?” She couldn’t believe how serious Sarah was, the idea of shooting at someone. Flashes of the deer and Gregson, as the life faded from their eyes, filled her thoughts as she held the cold metal in her hands.
“They won’t hesitate, and neither must you.” She stepped out into the hallway, using only the balls of her feet, and gestured for Bea to follow.
THEY CREPT DOWN THE stairs and instead of going out the front door, bolted shut by Albert, they made their way through the cook-house. The rooms were dark and cold, the last sparks of life from the burning embers in the fire grates emitting a faint, warming glow. The moon cast shadows across the hallways, making Bea believe they were being watched. The cook-house still smelt of their dinner. She noticed the pudding and coffee sitting on the tray that had never been delivered. One cake exhibited a few surreptitious bite marks.
“Gabby?” Sarah called out in a low whisper.
A movement behind them caused both women to jump. Gabby stood there quietly, the low light cast through the shutters creating slices of light across her face, following the line of her scar. But there was no bag, no belongings on her back or at her feet. Bea swallowed hard.
“We have bought ourselves some time, Gabby. Are you coming?” Sarah stepped forward; there was a stern tone in her voice. She wasn’t wasting a second.
“How d’you know he won’t come runnin’?”
“We slipped him some herbs; he will be sick come morning, and too dozy to realise we are missing until it’s too late,” Bea reassured the girl, reading the worry on her face.
There was a moment of stillness, during which Bea could have sworn none of them took even the slightest breath. Then, without saying another word, Gabby suddenly turned and ran out the room and back into the main house. Sarah gasped, then grabbed Bea’s hand and hissed. “We need to go - now!”
GABBY RACED THROUGH the hallway and bounded up the stairs. Without knocking, she charged into Hanley’s bedroom to find him hunched over, half dressed, holding his stomach.
“Sir?” Gabby crouched down and rubbed his clammy back familiarly.
“I... need... to vomit...” He made a retching noise, but nothing came out. “Get me some charcoal... from a dead fire.” Gabby stared at the fire still burning in his room and knew she had cleaned the other fireplaces out. “Now!”
She dashed out the room and took the stairs two at a time. She made her way towards the kitchen. The traitor had gone. She sprinted out the back door to the hot-ash bucket and dug her hands deep into the powder until she felt a lump. Placing the charcoal on the counter, she smeared her filthy hands across her dress and grabbed a glass of water from the jug on the side.
On hands and knees in the centre of his bedroom, Hanley cried out in pain. “Sir, my love, I have it – eat.” Gabby bounded into the room and collapsed by his side, holding out the charcoal and water as she panted for breath. He chewed on the edges of the black lump, smearing a dark stain across his face and teeth. Next, she handed him the water, quickly fetched the chamber pot, and placed it underneath him. The blend of the water, charcoal and the sour stench caused his stomach to convulse as black liquid poured from his mouth, and the whiskey burned his throat once more.
He repeated the action three times before his stomach was fully emptied. The muscles in his chest and abdomen ached as it continued to cramp. “Where are they?”
“Gone, sir.”
“Call for the patrol... I am going to kill that Jessie myself...!”
“It was that harlot of yours, sir, who did this!” Hanley slapped the girl hard across the face before collapsing once more onto the rug, gasping.
“Don’t you dare... she loves me, she confessed to it... She would never... it’s that girl, that girl, causing trouble again... Grace? Where is she?” The realisation finally sank in.
“All three gone, sir... you don’t need that... woman. You have me and our child.” Gabby shuffled backward, fearful of another blow.
He staggered to his feet, struggling to straighten his back, fighting against cramping muscles. “You and that child mean nothing to me compared to her. Now, get me my horse, send word to the men, and to my brother, that Beatrice and my daughter are not to be harmed - they can do what they like to that Jessie... Go, now! Or you’ll get more than a scar for your trouble.”
Chapter 44
Outside, the air was crisp. The heat of the day had subsided for now. They had three hours to make it the first five miles if they followed Bea’s plan, but if they went Sarah’s way, that would add an extra three miles to their journey. With Grace strapped to Sarah’s chest, there was no way they would make it.
“We need to head east; cut through the cotton and sugar fields, towards the river where they are waiting for us.” Bea gestured out the path with her hands.
“They will track us faster if we go that way. Trust me, we must head north first, throwin’ them off, then east through the swap lands.”
“Bu
t now Gabby knows we’ve run, we won’t make it in time!” Bea stared at Sarah. She had made this journey before. She knew this alien landscape, and Bea trusted her friend. “But... if you say that’s what we need to do, then... lead the way.”
They cut along the side of the cotton fields and the manicured lawn in front of the house. They kept their heads down low and crept along the fence as Sarah searched for an opening. In the distance, footsteps sounded. With their hearts in their throats, they stopped. Bea watched Sarah wrap her arms around Grace, making little sounds of comfort in her ears and bouncing her on the spot to prevent her from crying. Bea placed her own hands across her mouth as she stared at the man strutting past them. The crunch of his boots on the dry earth was deafening against their silence. He stopped for what felt like a lifetime and gazed around the landscape for any sign of disturbance. He held his lantern at arm’s length out in front of him with his left hand and tightly gripped a handgun of some sort in his right. The firelight sprayed a flickering tinge of orange shadow across his face. Sarah held her hand up, indicating they should stay put until the man was out of ear-shot, and then they crawled along the fence once more. There was a notch carved into the top of a fence post, and with just a little push, it swayed on the spot, allowing enough room for them to slip through, one by one. She watched Sarah and Grace go first, saying a silent prayer as they dashed across the clearing and into the nearby woods. Sarah darted around one tree and then another, acquainted with the way already. The undergrowth became denser, making it hard for the moonlight to reach down and highlight their footing. Bea scrambled over branches, through bushes and fallen trees. She watched Sarah move without hesitation, her body turning like a dancer as Grace, still sound asleep, was rocked back and forth in the wrap. Then without warning she stopped, staring up at the night sky and the stars shining boldly above.