by Amy Cross
To emphasize my point, I press the knife's blade against his belly. I honestly don't know whether I'll carry through with that threat, but I might if he lets slip another lie.
“Daniel...”
“Choose your next words carefully,” I sneer. “They may well be your last.”
He stares at me for a moment, his eyes filled with fear.
“He's placed a bounty on Elizabeth's head,” he stammers finally. “And on yours, too. From what I heard, he's sent news of the bounty as far as Bristol, Portsmouth, Liverpool, even London. You know what he's like, he has friends and allies everywhere. He wants the pair of you delivered to him, alive if possible but...”
His voice trails off.
“But dead if needs be,” I mutter.
“I warned you,” he continues. “I told you to stay away. If only you'd listened, he -”
Before he can get another word out, I knee him hard in the gut. He slumps against me, letting out a gasp of pain, but I twist the knife and press it harder against his gut, forcing him back against the wall.
“If I'd listened to you,” I tell him, “I'd be far from here by now, and Elizabeth would still be starving to death in her grave. Do you still think that's what I should have done?”
“She's not good,” he splutters. “Please, Daniel, you have to understand... Her uncle used her to gain favor. He invited people to his home, powerful people, and he entertained them and... He let them use Elizabeth for an hour or two at a time. Don't make me explain it any further, the details don't matter. I would have sent word, I would have tried to tell you to come and fetch her, but I didn't know how to contact you.”
“So you stood by and ignored what was happening,” I continue, “even though you knew. You and this whole village, you just let Sir John do whatever he wished”
“How was I supposed to stop him? Go up there and try to save her? I thought you'd come back before it was too late!”
“I want a list,” I tell him. “I want to know everyone who took advantage of her uncle's offer.”
“I don't know the names! I swear!”
Joe has never been much of a liar, and I think that right now he might actually be telling the truth. He's always been a lowly tradesman, the kind of person who skulks about at the edges of polite society. Still, there's one final thing that he might be able to do for me.
“You have a horse,” I say finally. “I will take it.”
“I need that horse,” he stammers. “For my work, I must -”
“I will take it!” I hiss, pressing the knife harder against his gut. “Is that understood?”
“Yes!” he gasps. “Take the horse! Please, just don't hurt me!”
I hesitate for a moment, wondering whether I should drive the knife into his belly and end his miserable life, but finally I pull him away from the wall and force him to the ground. I take a step back and watch as he gasps for air, and then I kick him hard in the chest, sending him clattering toward the door. There is a part of me that dearly wants to spill his blood, but I could not in good conscience face Elizabeth again if I allowed myself to become a murderer. The prospect of revenge is sorely tempting, but – as God is my witness – I shall not allow my soul to be so consumed. Taking a deep breath, I turn to walk away.
“You won't get far,” Joe gasps, still down on the floor. “Can you even imagine how many men will be after you? Sir John has powerful connections. However far you run, you'll never be able to stop looking over your shoulder!”
Stopping in the doorway, I glance back at him.
“That man will never get his hands on Elizabeth again,” I say firmly. “Even if it means us fleeing the country, I will keep her safe.”
“After taking your revenge?”
I open my mouth to tell him that Sir John Marringham should hang for what he did to Elizabeth. Before I can get the words out, however, I realize that revenge can wait. What matters now is that I get Elizabeth away from here and find a way to heal her broken mind. Sir John's soul shall be judged by the Lord, and I have no doubt that his miserable mortal life will be followed by an eternity spent burning in the flames of Hell.
“Revenge be damned,” I tell Joe finally. “It is more important that I get Elizabeth away from this infernal place.”
***
“Night is falling now,” I tell Elizabeth later, as I kneel before her. “Once the land is fully dark, we can get out of here. We shall never come back, and I swear that your uncle's men will never find us.”
I wait for a response, for any sign that she recognizes me and understands what I'm saying. Instead, however, she simply continues to press the pieces of bone into her belly, although I think I detect a little less ferocity in her work. Fresh blood is still dribbling down her skin, but she seems tired, and I feel that once this mania has passed, I shall be able to bring the real Elizabeth back.
I still have hope. She's in there somewhere, behind these dark eyes.
“Do you remember the day I left?” I ask, hoping to prompt her a little. “Do you remember how you told me that you'd wait for me, no matter how long it took?”
I wait.
No reply.
Still her fingers twitch.
“And do you remember the promise I made to you that day?” I continue. “About our life together? About the fact that one day I'd return and take you far from your uncle? You thought I was a dreamer, that my head was filled with fancies beyond my reach, but I did everything I promised. I built myself up from nothing, I gained a trade, I established myself and I came back, Elizabeth. It took me two years, but I kept my word, I came back to you and now I'm ready to take you away.”
Again, I wait.
Her lips are trembling slightly, and I think she might be whispering to herself. Still, though, there is no hint of recognition, no sign that she even knows who I am. I lean closer, hoping to make out some of her words, perhaps to hear that she is praying. Instead, it seems that she is babbling to herself in some invented tongue.
“What did he do to you while I was gone?” I whisper. “What could turn you into such a...”
I take a deep breath, struggling to hold back tears. After a moment, feeling that I must try some other tactic, I reach out and take one of her hands in mine. Her fingers continue to move, even as I ease her hand away from the pieces of bone that protrude from her belly.
“Do you remember my touch?” I ask, squeezing her hand a little tighter even as it continues to twitch. “Elizabeth? Do you?”
I wait, and this time her hand falls still. A moment later, I feel a very faint, almost imperceptible tightening of her grip, and I cannot help but think she might in some small way be starting to recall our time together.
“That's a start,” I tell her, even though I know I might be wrong, that I might be expecting too much. “You'll remember eventually, I know you will. And soon we'll be in Bristol. You'll love the city, Elizabeth. There's so much life there, so much opportunity. Not like this miserable place, far from the rest of the world. The city is our future.”
I watch her face, hoping for another sign that she remembers me. Her eyes seem so dark, as if they're in constant shadow, and I can't even begin to imagine what she must have been through. As much as I want to know everything, however, there's another part of me that knows we must focus instead on the future. The past will be hard to slip, but we shall succeed eventually.
“I'm going to make sure the horse is ready,” I say finally, getting to my feet. I'm loathe to let go of her hand, although finally I do so, and she quickly goes back to her work with the broken pieces of bone. “I'll just be a few minutes,” I add, hoping to reassure her. “Don't be scared. Wait right here.”
Once I'm outside, I take a moment to ensure that the horse's saddle is properly in place, and then I look out toward the west. There's still a tinge of red and orange in the sky, but night is falling now and soon we'll be able to start our journey. Bristol is several hundred miles away, but I feel certain we can be safe there,
that we can lose ourselves in the crowd and never even hear the name of Sir John Marringham again. And if not...
If not, then we shall keep going for as long as it takes. Abroad, maybe. Perhaps I shall take my dear Elizabeth to America, and there we can really start again.
I should go back inside and keep Elizabeth company, yet at the same time I feel that I should give her time to think. I work with the horse for a while longer, even once the sun has fully dipped in the darkening sky, and almost an hour passes before I recognize that I'm delaying matters. Perhaps I'm fearful that once we start our journey, Elizabeth will show no sign of improvement. At least now I have hope, whereas the journey might lay bare the despair of our situation. Still, I have to try. Turning, I wander back into the barn.
“You'll take the saddle,” I tell her, “and I shall -”
I stop suddenly as I realize that Elizabeth is gone. Looking around, I hope for some sign of her, but the barn is entirely empty.
“Elizabeth?” I call out, hurrying over to the other door. “Elizabeth, where are you?”
I peer out and look along the desolate road. She must have come this way, but I don't see her at all. Gripped by a growing sense of panic, I try to work out where she might have gone, before realizing that there's only one possibility.
In her madness, she must have returned to Blackwych Grange.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Hurtling through the darkness on horseback, I finally spot Blackwych Grange in the distance, silhouetted against the night sky. There are lights in some of the windows, but the surrounding area is swathed in darkness and I have no hope of seeing Elizabeth. Still, I am certain she is out here somewhere, and that she is making her way back to the house. She had a head-start, so she could be here already if she moved fast.
As soon as I get closer, I see that the front door has been left wide open. I slow the horse and dismount, but when I reach the top of the steps I find the body of Sir John's manservant Lionel resting in a pool of blood.
“Elizabeth,” I whisper, staring into the house's candle-lit interior. “Dear God, what have you done?”
***
“Elizabeth!” I call out as I get to the top of the stairs and look along the corridor. “Elizabeth, where are you?”
I wait, but there's no reply. Having already checked downstairs and found no signs of life, I've come now to the house's upper floor. Whatever Elizabeth is planning, she will be no match for Sir John, and I must get her out of here before she brings more pain upon herself. I can only hope and pray that I'm not already too late.
“Elizabeth!” I shout, hurrying along the corridor. “It's me! It's Daniel! You must come out at once!”
I push the doors open, but there's no-one in any of the rooms. The entire house seems strangely quiet, and when I get to the window at the far end I look out, expecting to see someone in the garden. It's hard to make out much, but after a moment I spot the empty grave. Whatever Elizabeth is doing, she must still be inside somewhere.
“Elizabeth!” I shout again, turning and looking back along the corridor. “In the name of God, where are you?”
I listen to the house, and after a moment I hear a very faint bumping sound coming from one of the other rooms. My heart is pounding as I make my way along the corridor, and sure enough I hear another bump just a moment later, clearly coming from the room on the other side of the staircase. I make my way around until I reach the door, and then I cautiously take hold of the handle. There's definitely a muffled sound coming from the other side, perhaps a struggle, and finally I push the door open.
Immediately, I see that Sir John Marringham has an arm around Elizabeth's neck, holding her tight and choking her as she struggles to get free.
“Leave her alone!” I shout, hurrying forward. “You've done enough already!”
In the darkness of the room, the bastard raises his right hand toward me. At the very last moment I see a glint of metal, but there's no time to react. He fires the dueling pistol, hitting me square in the chest and sending me crashing back against the wall. I let out a gasp as I feel blood bursting between my shoulder-blades, and I quickly slump down to the floor as Elizabeth lets out a horrified scream.
I immediately try to get up, but a heavy pain fills my chest and keeps me down, almost as if I'm pinned to the wall. I try again, and this time I feel damaged ribs crunching against one another, digging into my flesh until the pain brings a grunt from my lips.
Nearby, Sir John Marringham is laughing at my efforts.
“This is all very romantic,” he says as I once again fail to stand. “Digging up the woman you love, and then rushing to her aid. Tell me, Mr. Lester, did you think you could save her? Did such a ludicrous idea truly cross your mind? Or did you come here to keep her from seeking her revenge?”
Elizabeth lets out a pained cry, still struggling to free herself from his grip.
“Leave her alone,” I gasp, tasting blood at the back of my throat.
“Or what?” he asks with a grin.
“Leave her alone!” I stammer again, as the crushing sensation continues to spread through my chest.
I watch as Sir John forces Elizabeth to her knees and takes hold of her head, holding her cheeks with his large, calloused hands.
“She's insane,” he mutters. “She killed my manservant and she aimed to kill me. Fortunately, she made far too much noise. I thought burying her would be enough to get rid of the little fool, but now I suppose I shall have to burn her body.”
“It's okay, Daniel,” Elizabeth gasps, as a faint smile crosses her face. “I'll be stronger soon, and then I can make him pay.”
“Stop!” I hiss, but – as I reach toward him – I'm too late.
He jerks Elizabeth's head back, breaking her neck and bringing one final gasp from her lips. He holds her in place for a moment, before releasing his grip and letting her lifeless body fall to the floor.
“Elizabeth!” I shout, crawling toward her and placing a hand on the side of her face, even though I know I'm too late.
Blood is dribbling from my wound, spattering against the bare floorboards.
“The girl was weak,” Sir John continues, stepping around us as I stare in horror at Elizabeth's dead eyes. “If she'd been just a little stronger, she'd have been able to withstand the tasks I gave her. I never set out to kill her, you understand. Merely to make her useful to me. We should all try to be useful to others, should we not? Her upkeep was rather costly, and I felt she owed me something in return. Still, she served her purpose well enough, for a time. I gained great favor from men of power in the neighborhood, and -”
Letting out a cry of anger, I lunge at him, but he pulls away. I try again, but the pain in my chest is intense and I'm already starting to feel weak. Looking down, I see that the pistol hit my left shoulder, blasting bone and meat away. My shirt is covered in blood, and I fear that before long I shall succumb. Even anger – pure, unbridled anger that burns white hot in my heart – cannot counter the invisible hands of death that are already pulling me to the ground.
“Father?”
Hearing the child's voice, I turn and see Sir John's son Matthew standing in the doorway, staring at Elizabeth's dead, naked body.
“Go back to your room!” Sir John roars at him, hurrying over and pushing him back out into the corridor. “This is no business of yours!”
“But Father -”
“Your cousin got what she deserved!” he sneers. “Do not question me, boy! In time, you shall understand that I am right!”
Matthew hesitates, still staring at Elizabeth's corpse. Finally, he turns and looks up at his father.
“But Elizabeth never hurt anyone,” he stammers. “She was always so -”
Before he can finish, Sir John strikes him hard across the face, sending him stumbling back. The boy steadies himself, but his father hits him again and this time knocks him to the ground.
“Do not test my patience, boy!” the bastard hisses, raising his hand again, only
for the child to scramble away. “You are to go to your room and wait for me. Your insolence has earned you twenty strikes of the cane. For every second you delay now, another strike shall be added to that total.”
“I'm sorry, Father!” Matthew gasps, turning and running away, his footsteps echoing along the corridor until finally there's the sound of a bedroom door being slammed shut.
Slowly, Sir John turns and looks down at me with a hint of great satisfaction in his eyes.
“The boy will learn,” he explains, allowing himself a faint smile as he steps closer to me. “For now, though, I must consider what to do with you, Mr. Lester. You do not strike me as the type of man who can be trusted to keep his mouth shut.”
“You killed her,” I gasp, struggling to keep my eyes open. “You're a... You're a murderer...”
“Don't be so melodramatic,” he groans. “Her death was an act of charity. Yours, on the other hand, might count as murder.” He raises the dueling pistol, aiming at my face. “Then again, I shall not publicize these acts. Your body can burn alongside Elizabeth's, and no-one shall be any the wiser. Does that, perhaps, satisfy your lust for romance?”
He smiles, but a moment later there's a loud bump from downstairs and he looks toward the doorway, clearly concerned.
“Sir John!” a voice calls out, sounding frail and panicked. “What in the name of the Lord is happening here?”
“That silly old fool,” Sir John mutters as footsteps hurry up the stairs. “What does he think he's doing?”
A moment later, Father Sutter Carlisle comes bumping into view, although he stops in the doorway as soon as he sees the horrific scene. Instinctively, he starts to back away, although his shocked eyes remain fixed on the sight of Elizabeth's naked body.
“Why are you here?” Sir John asks. “You have no further business in my house, and certainly none tonight.”