*
As I stood before my father’s study my heart pounded with anxiety. It upset me to think that a man who was almost unknown to me had made himself at home in there. The room held so many memories for me; both good and bad. As a small girl I had played in there with the little wooden figures that my father had carved as a young man. If I had made my father angry, his study had been the room in which I got to hear my telling-off. My father had been very strict but I had still loved him beyond measure. In contrast to my mother I had never been afraid of him, just full of respect. Everyone had had respect for William Graham. Now here I was and I did not know what I should do: knock or simply walk straight in? The house still belonged to me so I decided on a compromise: I gave a quick, firm knock at the door and simultaneously opened it and marched in, before I could change my mind.
*
With a pile of letters and documents in front of him, Uncle James was sitting at the huge desk made of polished walnut, at which only my father had ever sat. It made me angry to see that next to him my uncle had a carafe of my father’s favourite brandy and a half empty glass. He clearly already considered himself to be the master of the house. He looked up when I entered and looked at me out of small, beady eyes. They were green, like a cat’s. There was no warmth in them. I immediately felt a discomfort that crept into all my limbs and I actually seemed to shrink. James Atkins was big, probably even bigger than my father had been as far as I could judge from the figure sitting behind the desk. He was massive with large hands and a rather fat, extremely red face and bulbous lips. Uncle James had the unhealthy appearance of a scoundrel who lived to excess. His short, reddish-brown hair was already quite sparse; he would definitely soon be bald.
“Good day, uncle!” I greeted him timidly.
There was something very intimidating about this man. He gave off an aura of brutality coupled with physical strength.
“Elizabeth! How nice of you to finally decide to greet me,” he said sarcastically. “It’s fortunate that your poor parents no longer have to experience this impertinence.”
I turned bright red at this criticism. How could he say something so hurtful to me when my dear parents had just been buried. I felt tears rise within me and my upper lip began to tremble.
“Sorry, uncle. I … I did not think that you would be here so early …” I stammered and I faltered as I shrank a further few inches under his ice-cold stare.
I could not utter the remaining words, as Uncle James thumped the table with his fist and leapt up, his face red with anger. Threateningly he leant over the desk and glared at me out of his bloodshot eyes. In shock I stepped backwards.
“You spoilt brat! You have no respect! I had actually expected that my brother-in-law’s offspring would be used to discipline. He was after all a respectable man of high standing. Apparently he was too lenient with you and pampered you. But now you’re going to be raised differently. From now on you only leave this house with my permission. No more rides of your own accord. Understand?”
I nodded, intimidated, but inside a rebellious anger was brewing. I suppressed the words that lay on the tip of my tongue, as it was clear to me that any attempt to openly defy my uncle would be in vain and in fact even dangerous. I could easily imagine him putting me over his knee like a small child to smack me. And so I remained obedient, just as mother always was – a role in which I felt anything but happy, but somehow I had to survive the next six months.
Chapter 1
22th June 1888
My uncle had already been living under my roof for three months. By now I had found out that he had two sides to his personality. He could be loveliness itself. In the presence of guests he played the nice uncle who was concerned about his charge and only wanted the best for her. Then he could be moody and hot-tempered, and the servants were afraid of him – especially all of the females with a certain appearance. Uncle James pursued the young girls and made no attempt to hide these immoral activities from me. He even teased me with obscene suggestions and laughed at me when I blushed with shame. I did not feel safe with him, either. Several times already he had taken hold of me in a way that was anything but acceptable, and I tried to keep out of his way if at all possible. There was no one there who would protect me from his advances. I had to rely entirely upon myself – a frightening thought.
One evening we were sitting together in the small drawing room. Uncle James insisted that I spend an hour in his company after dining. I hated this forced togetherness, but I was glad that he did not appear to expect any conversation from me. He was not a particularly talkative man anyway.
Lost in my thoughts I was staring at my embroidery without having done a single stitch. Needlework was not exactly my forté but Uncle James insisted that I conduct myself like ‘a young lady’. Mother had often tried in vain to introduce me to needlework, but I did not seem to have very much skill in that area. I found it terribly boring and would have preferred a good book. Our library was well stocked and there were still so many books that I had never read. My father had always encouraged me to read and had often discussed various books with me, as well as business and politics.
Uncle James was sitting in my father’s favourite armchair, reading from the Bible, as he did every evening. I had already worked out that my uncle was almost fanatically religious, although he did interpret the Bible to suit himself. He seemed to regularly miss out the parts about drunkenness and debauchery. And yet, for me, he kept on finding verses that described the desirable virtues of a woman. I had had to listen to my mother, often enough, telling me that I was much too unladylike: women were simply not to think for themselves and they were most definitely not to criticise a man. At least that was the way my uncle understood it.
On a small table next to him there was, as usual, a carafe of brandy and a glass. I had noticed that my uncle liked to drink and he drank a lot, especially of my father’s most expensive brandy. When he drank a great deal he always fell asleep in the armchair, which was why I asked Molly to give him brandy in the evening. This evening, however, to my disappointment, he had not even drunk the first glass.
I was lost in my thoughts, imagining a life without my awful guardian. I saw myself married to an attractive and charming man, with a large number of sweet children, filling the whole house. I would gallop over the blooming fields with my husband and enjoy the wind in my hair. I would be free to do what I wanted and would not have life made hard for me by a horribly moody tyrant. The only problem was that I had still not met my dream man – if he even existed.
“I’ve been thinking,” my uncle’s voice suddenly tore me from my sweet daydreams.
I looked up in surprise. Uncle James had set the Bible aside and was sipping on his brandy. His piercing, tiny eyes were directed at me with a strange expression. I felt like a deer trapped by the bad wolf. Around his mouth lay a horrible trace of smugness. The skin on my arms crawled and made me shudder. I felt his evil aura as an invisible being that was creeping around the room, bearing its teeth and leering, ready to grab me and put its fangs into me. With difficulty I suppressed the desperate impulse to jump up and run out of the room.
“I don’t think you’re in a position to run this house and the businesses in London. It’s impossible for you to manage your money yourself. Within a year you would be bankrupt and everything that your father has built up would be gone,” stated Uncle James.
Despite my fear I felt outrage rise within me. I had learnt a lot from my father about the businesses and moreover there were very capable managers who had continually enjoyed the full trust of my father. I did not need my uncle. In three months I would take the reins of my life in my own hands, whether he liked that or not. Nevertheless I considered it better to remain silent. I was aware that I was not an adult to him. At the moment he had an advantage over me and I had no support. As soon as I came of age I would get myself a lawyer and send my uncle packing.
“What you need is … a husband,” he continued. His ton
e had something repulsively patronising about it that I detested.
I felt sick. I tried to make sense of what his words meant for me. He clearly wanted to marry me to some man who was of use to him. My uncle definitely never did anything unless it was beneficial to him. Gone was the dream of my prince who would allow me complete freedom. In my mind I could already see myself shackled to an old, toothless man who would treat me in the same appalling way as my uncle. That could never happen. I wanted to choose a man myself – especially as I was just finally coming of age. With great effort I managed to control my multilayered emotions and look him in the eye.
“Thank you very much for being so concerned about my future. I do appreciate that, but I’d like to choose the right husband myself when the time comes. First of all I’d like to enjoy my freedom a little longer.” I said. I hoped that he would not have heard the slight shaking of my voice.
Uncle James leant forward a little and laughed cynically.
“You see? That’s exactly what I mean! – Enjoy your freedom! Puh! – Only a slut talks that way. – Irresponsible, yes, you’re unbridled. You need a man to keep you in your place as decreed by the Lord God!”
“You can’t force me to marry any man if I don’t want to!” I rebelled. Now that really was enough obedience. Under no circumstances would I allow myself to be married against my will. If I ever married then it would be to a man that I loved and I had not yet found such a man.
“We’ll see about that,” snarled Uncle James and poured himself a drink before continuing: “Moreover I was not thinking of any man. I have come to the conclusion that you need a proper, experienced man, and not some young thing who’s affected by your pretty blue eyes. It should be a man who’s interested in your father’s businesses and in Blue Hall, and who knows how to manage the estate responsibly.”
“And which man do you think that should be, uncle?” Again the old man came into my mind. It seemed that I had come pretty close to the truth in my ponderings. I fought in desperation against the feeling that I was going to faint. Flashing lights were dancing before my eyes and I dug my fingers into the arms of my chair.
He, on the other hand, was leaning back, relaxed, into his armchair, looking at me with a smug expression.
“Yours truly,” he declared in a tone that suggested that he was the only person that came into question. “I think it would be mutually advantageous if we were to marry.”
My mouth stood open in shock and my blood seemed to freeze. I must have misheard. He simply must be making a sick joke.
“You’re not being serious?” I gasped, my heart pounding. “You’re my uncle!”
“But we’re not blood-relatives.” He laughed benevolently, yet the laughter did not reach his cold eyes. “I’ll give you three days to consider my offer. You should now go and sleep. It’s late and a respectable young lady should go to bed early.”
I jumped up and pushed my needlework into its basket. My lower lip was trembling with rage and infuriation. I was close to tears.
“I don’t need any time to consider it! I will nevermarry you! In three months’ time I will be of age and then you will leave this house.”
With these words I swept out of the room, distraught.
*
During the next few days I was on my guard against my uncle. To my amazement he seemed to be distracted by other concerns. Nevertheless I continued to avoid him whenever possible and kept on locking myself in my room so that he could not trouble me there either. I felt increasingly uncomfortable in my own home which had otherwise always given me a sense of security. As the day of my uncle’s ultimatum passed I became still more anxious. However, nothing happened for a further two days.
We were sitting together at supper when he raised the subject again. I was unenthusiastically picking at my food because I completely lost my appetite in his presence. I actually really liked quails but since the death of my parents, and all the more since Uncle James had moved in, everything simply tasted uninteresting to me. In fact the smell of the crispy roast bird was more disturbing to me than enticing.
“Have you considered my offer, my dear?” Uncle James asked with marked politeness. He did not notice my lack of appetite.
I startled and I choked on the food that I had just put into my mouth and which now threatened to remain stuck in my throat. I quickly washed it down with a glass of wine, then I raised my head, my heart pounding, and l looked him in the eye. Again and again I was amazed by the absolute coldness in his eyes. I had never before seen this expression in any other person. And just like numerous times before, a shudder ran down my back.
“Well?” my uncle probed a little impatiently.
“I’ve already said what I have to say,” I answered, my voice weak.
“I could force you.”
I shuddered. I did not want to imagine everything that he could force me to do. I had recently caught him, by chance, doing unspeakable things with a kitchen maid. I would not forget that image in a hurry. The girl was lying on her back on the dining table, her skirts pushed up and I could see the girl’s hairy sex. Uncle James was standing, with his trousers pulled down, between the girl’s spread legs, with his penis thrusting inside her again and again. Whilst doing that he was making repulsive grunting noises. Fortunately he had not seen me and I had stepped back very quickly. I really had no wish to become his next victim.
Uncle James got up and walked round the table. My stomach cramped and my forehead was covered in beads of sweat.
‘God in Heaven, help me! What should I do?’
I jumped up and moved away from my uncle until I felt the big walnut sideboard in my back, which brought an abrupt end to my attempt to distance myself from him. A small scream came from my lips and Uncle James grinned triumphantly.
“I’ll soon work out how to tame you, my little bird. I’ll teach you how to serve me. Come and give your uncle a kiss, my little dove.”
I screamed as he grabbed me by the upper arms and his face got closer and closer to me. I turned my head to the side so that his mouth only touched my cheek. And that was bad enough. Revolted, I fought against his attack. Sheer terror seized me as his rough maulers painfully squashed my breast whilst his fleshy lips placed disgusting, wet kisses on my neck, gradually moving towards my shoulder. I was trapped in a nightmare and my thoughts were colliding in their attempt to find a way out of this frightful situation. I knew that I was physically inferior to him. His brutal clinch left me no room to move although I tried with all my might.
“Don’t fight me off, my little dove. You’ll like it,” he mumbled into my neck.
“No! Leave me alone! I don’t want this! Stop it!” I demanded, defending myself desperately.
There was no point, he was simply too strong. I had to do it another way somehow. In order to lure him into a sense of security I stopped struggling and, shuddering, did not stop him. As I expected, he released my arm and, with my freed hand a felt round for something to use as a weapon. Finally my fingers closed around a massive candle lighter. I pushed all scruples aside and mustered all my courage. With all my strength I hit him on the head with the lighter. He shouted and staggered backwards. Blood was running down his face and at first he looked at me in disbelief, then in anger. I knew that I had very little time, as I had not hit him hard enough to knock him out. I gathered my courage and fled from the dining room and up the steps to my room. Completely out of breath I closed the door behind me and pushed the heavy bolt across. My heart was pounding with fear and I felt shaky and close to fainting. Tears were running down my flushed cheeks, blurring my vision. I leant my back against the door and slowly collapsed. The shock from what I had just experienced, along with the deeply-seated pain of my loss, made me sob violently.
A banging at the door pulled me together and my sobbing ceased.
“Elizabeth! Open the door this minute!” ranted my uncle.
“No! Go away!” I answered, my voice shaking. I felt sick. I stopped myself urging
, but tasted the sour bitterness of bile. For a while there was silence. I listened breathlessly. Had he gone? I had not heard any footsteps moving away. All I could hear was the beating of my heart and the roaring of my pulse in my ears.
“It’s all for your own good,” Uncle James’ voice was finally calm, almost soothing. “You’re just a weak woman and it’s impossible for you to run the estate alone. – I won’t hold your little attack just now against you, either. I was too forceful and I’m prepared to give you a little more time to get used to the idea. Let’s talk it all through. Open the door. – Be sensible!” he added.
“My answer is no! I’m not considering it at all! And I will not be compromised! I will be of age in three months and then you’ll disappear from here. I can look after myself perfectly well!” I answered, infuriated.
I was still trembling with fear and anger. What if I had not managed to escape from him? If he had been successful in his attack and compromised me, then I would have been forced to marry him. That does not bear thinking about! The very thought made my blood run cold and I shook involuntarily.
“You can’t lock yourself in your room for three months, Elizabeth! Sooner or later you’ll have to come out and then I’ll get you!” he threatened.
I closed my eyes in horror. He was right! I could not hide from him in here for three months. I had run away blindly and now I was sitting in a trap. That meant that I had to flee, right away from here, and hide – somewhere where he could not find me – this very night!
*
I tied my skirts up high and opened the window quietly. Pleasantly cool night air entered the room and I took a deep breath of the fresh air, then, with determination, I climbed onto the window ledge and swung my legs out. I was glad that bustles had recently gone out of fashion so that I was not hindered so much whilst climbing.
For a short time I sat there, my heart pounding and my hands damp with sweat. It was a foolhardy plan but I could not see any other way if I was not to fall into my guardian’s trap.
The Untamable Rogue Page 2