“I love you,” she whispered. His arms tightened around her, his leg moved over hers to clamp her close, although no declaration of love fell from his lips. He doesn’t love me she thought with a feeling of incredible sadness. He enjoyed her body, was pleased about her carrying his child, but nothing else. Perhaps he did not have the capacity to love a woman.
Lack of material possessions would never be a problem now. Being wealthy, he could afford to buy whatever she asked for. I want his love. I don’t want him to tolerate me because I’m the mother of his child. I need more from him. I want to be the most important thing in his whole life. Madness to expect such things, her brain told her this while her heart yearned to believe otherwise.
* * *
Next morning when Martin woke up silence reigned as the storm had obviously blown itself out. Moving carefully, he supported himself on one elbow. How young and vulnerable Elizabeth looked.
Almost demented with need, he had expected far too much last night. Being deprived for too long of the taste of her soft, scented skin, like a starving man, he had gorged himself on her beauty, selfishly thought of his own carnal need and not her welfare.
He ran a hand across her belly, and it pleased him to know his seed had ripened inside her. A child would love him unconditionally, and never betray him. Could this baby with Campbell blood erase the stain from the Mulvaney name, take away the bitterness weighing down his heart?
He ached to take her in his arms and make love to her again, but forced himself not to. She needed to rest, for her own sake and that of their child. Moving carefully, he slid out of bed and tucked the covers around her naked shoulders.
Beth woke up alone in the huge bed. The clock on the side table showed the time to be half past ten. The imprint of Martin’s head on the pillow remained evidence of what they had shared last night. A satisfying lethargy pervaded her limbs, the scent of his skin clung to the bed linen, infusing her with warmth. He must love her; no man could show such passion to his wife otherwise. Still wrapped in a euphoric daze, she stretched like a contented cat. By the time she washed, dressed and wandered downstairs to the kitchen, the hall clock had struck the eleventh hour.
“Good morning, did you sleep well?” Mrs. Irvine smiled.
“I slept in, someone should have called me.”
“Mr. Mulvaney said not to wake you.”
“Has he come back yet?”
“No, there’s been a lot of damage outside. A pine tree blew down across the racetrack, just missing the stables. Sam rushed over to get the boss because they can’t shift the debris.”
* * *
Martin came back at midday. Beth heard his booted feet in the hallway.
When he entered the sitting room, she glanced at his mud-splattered pants. Even before he shrugged out of his damp coat, she rushed up to him. “Is the damage bad?”
“Bad enough. Don’t worry your pretty head about it, though. Is lunch ready? I’m starving.”
“I’ll go and check.” She darted off.
In the kitchen, Mrs. Irvine said. “I heard the boss arrive back. I can serve the stew now if he’s ready.”
“If you wouldn’t mind, thank you, he complained about being hungry.”
Meeting up with Martin again outside the dining room, Beth hoped he might kiss her; he did not, merely stepped aside to let her enter first. He pulled out a chair for her before taking one of his own and within seconds, Mrs. Irvine arrived with hot stew and warm bread.
“This is good, I’m famished.” He bit into a slice of bread. “The wind is bitterly cold, gives a man an appetite.”
Of the carnal variety, she hoped he would say, and when he did not, disappointment surged through her, crushing in its intensity.
On finishing his meal, he pushed back the chair. “Well, best be off, see you at dinner time.”
“Can I come with you?”
“No, it’s too wet and cold out there. Anyway, there’s not much you can do except distract my men.”
“Is it dangerous?” she asked fearfully.
His laugh held no mirth. “Not if one is careful, and I’m very careful. There’s a pathway I must tread before I depart this life.”
After he strode off, she stared after him, gnawing her lip. What a strange thing to say.
Beth selected a book from the library and sat by the fire in the sitting room to read. Was grandfather safe? She rubbed her thumb up and down the spine of the book. Martin would not go over even if she pleaded with him because he was too busy. If something bad had happened, surely she would have heard by now.
That night he was brusque to the point of rudeness, and they shared a silent, uncomfortable meal. After dinner, he departed to his study, leaving her alone. In the end out of sheer boredom and loneliness, she decided to go to bed. Light filtered out from under the door of his study, but she did not want to risk a rebuke by going in.
Mrs. Irvine always kept the fire going in the bedroom and the room felt cozy; she missed the warmth of Martin’s body next to hers, wanted him to make wild passionate love to her again, to whisper endearments, and call her his storm girl. She needed to be warmed by the heat of his passion. Slipping on a dressing gown, she darted downstairs to the study.
“Martin,” she called out before pushing the door open. “Why don’t you come to bed?”
“What do you want? Surprise registered on his face. “You’ll end up catching pneumonia.” He shoved aside a pile of ledgers, yawned and stood.
“I got tired of waiting for you.”
“I’m sorry, there’s a lot of bookwork to catch up on. I have to make some kind of sense out of this paperwork Ollie sent me from the Black Stallion. His records are a mess.”
“Why do you have to look after the affairs of the Black Stallion?”
“I just help him out,” he hedged, wondering why he didn’t admit to being a partner with Ollie. She would never understand, would be horrified to think they made money out of women selling their bodies to men. A profitable business bringing in excellent returns, nevertheless, he would speak to Ollie and work out a way of discreetly dissolving the partnership. After all, he was a married man now, and would be a father in a few months. Owning a brothel would not enhance the Mulvaney name if anyone found out. “Let me take you back to bed, you’ve distracted me. There’s only one thing I want to concentrate on now.” He picked her up and strode upstairs.
* * *
Martin worked from daylight until dusk and on the fine days, Beth took long walks to fill in time and allay her loneliness.
Returning from a stroll this one particular day, she heard the strangest sound coming from behind a bushy area near the creek. This tortuous, sobbing moan could not be human; it must be a wounded animal. Without hesitation, she plunged into the bushes. Martin would call her mad, would say nature must take its course, but how could you ignore an unfortunate creature’s pain when you might be able to ease it’s suffering.
Proceeding in the direction of the terrible sounds, she focused on the noise and suddenly stumbled over an object, automatically putting her hands out to save herself. One hand hit the ground, the other came in contact with a bundle of dirty rags. The rags moved and she was shocked to discover a human, if you could call such a bleeding mess human.
“Don’t let him find me. Have mercy, please,” a boy croaked.
Pushing herself into a sitting position, she bit down on a scream as horror shuddered all the way through her. Beneath the blood and dirt, hazel eyes, filled with pain and terror, pleaded with her. He was so emaciated she could not tell his age.
“What happened to you?”
She tried to help him up, but he screamed in agony when her arm contacted with his shoulder. The remnants of what she had thought to be a red shirt, turned out to be a blood soaked blue one.
“I’ll get you some water.”
Beth darted to the creek, and ripping a strip from her petticoat dipped the material in the water. She had no container to carry the liquid in
, but he could suck the moisture from the saturated cloth. When she returned he had not moved and his eyes were closed.
“Here you are.” She knelt down beside him. “You’ll have to suck water from the cloth.”
When she pressed the dripping rag to his swollen lips, he sucked thirstily. She returned to the creek twice more to wet the cloth, and after he sucked off the moisture for the third time, she gently wiped his face. Once she cleaned away the dirt and grime his face showed numerous scratches. His back looked like ground up raw meat.
“What’s your name?” She helped him into a sitting position, letting him lean sideways against her to protect his back.
After hesitating for a moment, he whispered. “Toby.”
“Well, Toby, what happened?”
“He whipped me. Don’t let him catch me. He’ll kill me next time.”
Vomit rose up in her throat and she swallowed it down. “I won’t let anyone hurt you, you’re quite safe here. I’m Beth Mulvaney.”
Fear darkened his eyes. “Martin Mulvaney?”
“Yes.”
“Mulvaney will turn me in to the police,” he sobbed. “I’d rather die than go back to Mueller.”
“Mueller?”
“Jeb Mueller, my stepfather.”
“Your stepfather did this to you?”
“Yes, he’s always hated me. Now ma’s dead there’s no one to protect me. Can you hide me and give me food for a couple of days until I get stronger? I’ll leave then, I swear.”
“I don’t know.” She nibbled at her lip. Dare she tell Martin?
“Don’t tell Mulvaney. He’ll turn me in, knows Jeb through the horses. Please,” he pleaded. “Jeb will beat me to death.”
“Is that what happened to your back?”
“Yes, he used a horsewhip on me.”
She stifled a shocked gasp. How could a man do such a heinous thing to a child?
Toby’s breath came out in short labored pants, his eyes turned wild, desperate “Please, please.”
“All right, I’ll help you.” She would not leave a dog outside in this condition, let alone a boy.
Martin would not give Toby up to such a monster, but Mueller with his wealth and power, moved in the same social circles. Born into wealth Martin didn’t know how it felt to be poor and oppressed, frightened and powerless. Not that he would condone such cruelty. Mueller could deny any wrongdoing, or maybe say it would never happen again.
What kind of bestial person would flog a boy to within an inch of his life? How lucky she and Alistair had been to have grandfather to love and protect them. If he and granny had not taken them in, they could have ended up in the foundling asylum.
Even though Toby’s eyes were closed, his clammy hand clutched hers in a death grip. I’ll help him. I couldn’t risk him being sent back to a sadist. Where to hide him though. He would be safe with grandfather, but would never survive the journey over there alone. Panic almost overwhelmed her. I’ll have to hide him here until Alistair comes over.
Desperation forced her brain to function. After a few days of decent food, rest and attention to his wounds, he would be strong enough to make good his escape, even if Alistair did not come. If she could find a way to get him to their hut in the hills, Toby could hide out there for weeks, months even.
Whilst Martin had plenty of empty sheds, a hiding place would need to be far enough away from the castle to lessen the risk of discovery, yet close enough for her to get food to Toby. If only Sam was here, he would know what to do and could be trusted.
Toby was either asleep or unconscious, his breathing ragged and harsh. His hot, work roughened little hand still clung to hers. Probably starting a fever. Dare she tell Mrs. Irvine? She was a good woman, but Martin employed her, so her first loyalty would be to him.
She remembered a small hayshed, which Martin kept as an emergency store. At this time of year with plenty of feed in the paddocks, no one would go there. If for some reason they did need hay, they would go to the main one.
She could not come up with anything else for the moment. When she was not so distressed, a better idea might present itself.
“Toby, wake up.” She shook him until his eyes half opened. Even this small movement caused him to moan with pain.
“Sorry if I hurt you, can you get up? I’ve thought of somewhere I can hide you.”
To help him stand she grabbed his upper arms rather than his lacerated back.
“There’s a hayshed not far from here. If I can get you there, I’ll have time to walk back to the castle and bring you some food.”
Since it was mid-morning, she could tell Mrs. Irvine she wanted to have a picnic lunch by the creek. It was about a quarter of a mile to the hayshed, and a cold wind had blown up. Please don’t rain, she prayed, helping Toby struggle along. A weak sun still shone through a gap in the banked up clouds, it gave out little warmth, though.
They stopped every now and again for Toby to rest. He was not only exhausted, but also weak from the horrific beating he had received.
“Come on, keep going,” she pleaded. “It’s not much further.”
“I don’t think I can.” His breath came out in strangled, wheezing pants.
“Yes you can. Just a little further and you’ll be safe.”
Finally, they made it to the hayshed. It had a slab roof, with three of the walls covered with strips of bark, tied to a wooden frame. The interior, though dim, nevertheless, felt quite warm.
She shifted the bales of hay to make a place for Toby who slumped on the ground, exhausted. He managed to crawl into the little nest she built for him and laid on his stomach.
Pulling off one of her petticoats, she folded it up for a pillow, so his cheek did not have to make direct contact with the hay.
“Thanks. Promise you won’t tell,” he panted.
“I promise, Toby. I won’t tell a soul. I’ll be back soon.”
Easier than she thought. Mrs. Irvine had gone into town with one of the men for supplies, according to the note propped up on the kitchen table.
Beth snatched a couple of towels and a clean sheet from the linen closet to use for bandages, and stuffed them into a carpetbag. She ripped a blanket off one of the spare beds, also a pillow.
In the kitchen, she grabbed up bread, cake and a handful of raisins. Milk would be good for him. She tipped some into a bottle and filled a second bottle up with water. Once all the items were stowed in the carpetbag, it bulged. This would be her best chance of getting things to him in a hurry. Later on, she would have to be more careful and would not be able to cart much stuff out of the castle.
Please, God, don’t let anyone see me; she hurried along. I’m not doing this for myself. She had no way of knowing whether God answered her prayers or whether luck walked beside her, as she made it back to the hayshed without mishap.
“Toby, I’m back.”
The boy stirred on hearing his name, and struggled to sit up.
“Have some food before I see to your back.”
He wolfed the food and gulped down the milk. Poor boy must be starving. No wonder he looked so thin.
“Save the water,” she instructed. “You might need it later.”
“Thanks.” He paused from devouring the food. “Why did a rich lady like you help me?”
“We were never hungry, even though my family was poor. I wasn’t rich until I married Martin.”
“I always felt hungry after ma died. Jeb only gave me scraps. A couple of times I pinched food from the dogs.”
“How awful.” Mueller was a sadist. “I want to get you over to my grandfather, he would help you get away, but I can’t until you’re stronger. I’ll see to your back now.”
With infinite care, she lifted the blood soaked shirt away from his pulverized flesh. Bile rose up in her throat. From his shoulders down to just above the waist, his back had the texture of chewed up raw meat.
“Oh, Toby, what kind of fiend would do this?”
She gently applied the salve,
yet he still cried out with pain.
“I’ll never let you go back to him, with God as my witness. How old are you?”
“Twelve.”
After applying a thick layer of salve, she ripped up a sheet and bandaged his broken body. They can burn me at the stake, but I’ll never betray him. It would take days for him to get well enough to leave here on foot. If only Alistair would come over.
“I’ll leave you now. There’s a blanket here and a bottle of water. I’ll come back some time tomorrow with more food. You’ll be safe if you stay hidden here.”
“I’ve got an Aunt in Bendigo who runs a hotel. She wanted me to go there after ma died, but Jeb lied and said he’d look after me,” he finished on a sob.
“What a horrible man. Rest now. I’ll be back tomorrow, I promise.”
Halfway home her luck departed. Martin strode up to her.
“Where have you been? I’ve been searching everywhere for you.”
“Sorry, I went for a walk and forgot the time.”
“What have you done to yourself?”
Beth knew she must look disheveled. All she wanted now was a bath and change of clothes.
“You look like you’ve been rolling around in the dirt.”
“I know. I fell over.” She averted her eyes. Lying did not come easy and she was not very good at it.
“Fell over? Where?”
“At the creek. I wanted to collect a few of those pretty white pebbles.”
“You’d risk drowning yourself over a few stones?” He snorted his annoyance.
* * *
Over dinner, Martin stared at her with speculative, puzzled eyes. Did he suspect something? The food almost gagged in her throat.
Later that night she lay in his arms listening to the storm raging outside, she wanted to tell him about Toby, but dared not.
“Do you know Jeb Mueller?” She twisted a whorl of his chest hair around her forefinger.
Savage Possession Page 12