Devil's Desire

by Laurie McBain

  Elysia stared at Agatha in terror, and began to back slowly towards the door as she saw the insane look contorting her aunt's face.

  "Don't go, Elysia," Agatha said suddenly. "I've much more to tell you. Don't you want to know how pleased I was to have you placed in my hands? I told your solicitor how my beloved stepsister's daughter would be as welcome here in my home as her mother had been. He was more than relieved, as your other high-born relatives would have nothing to do with you.

  "It's been a joy to have you here—working some of that Demarice arrogance out of you, humiliating you, having you at my beck and call—you the fine lady, reduced to a scullery maid.

  "If, if only Charles and Elizabeth could see me now," Agatha sighed ecstatically, "with their pre­cious, beloved daughter Elysia, in my house that they had scorned, awaiting her coming nuptials with—dare I say it—anticipation?'"

  Elysia gasped., feeling a sickness rise within her. Agatha's eyes focused on Elysia with unyielding in­tensity.

  "Why, you look quite pale, my dear. Do go up and rest in your room for awhile. I do believe the news has been too much for you; and such a great honor too. So very seldom do we receive what we truly deserve in life, but you shall, Elysia—you shall!"

  Elysia gave a sob and ran from the room, tears streaking her face as she made her way up the stairs to the attic; hearing Agatha's loud, insane laughter echoing after her.

  Elysia paced back and forth in the small space of the attic, her head brushing against the slope of the roof as her steps guided her aimlessly to and fro. She must be a madwoman, Elysia thought. No one could carry such feelings of hatred for so long and not become deranged by it. Oh dear God, what was she to do? Where could she go? She had no one left in the world to turn to. She would rather go to the workhouse than do what Agatha commanded her to do—marry into the Masters family.

  She couldn't stay in this oppressive house any long­er. It pressed down upon her—trying to break her will—stripping her of her dignity and freedom. She moved toward the window where she could look out at the woodlands and hills in the distance to the south. A sudden gust of wind blew a fallen leaf up into the air, holding it for a moment, tantalizing her with its freedom, before floating away into the fad­ing light.

  Elysia made up her mind suddenly, resolutely; she would leave Graystone and travel to London, where she would seek employment of some kind. There was no other alternative. She couldn't con­sider marriage to Squire Masters, nor could she re­main under Agatha's roof when that woman hated her, and would keep trying to force her into mar­riage with the Squire. No, there was no other course open to her but to flee.

  Elysia suddenly felt completely exhausted. She was drained of all emotion as she stumbled wearily to her bed. She flung herself down upon it, resting her head against the pillow. There was nothing she could accomplish until darkness fell, so . . . Slowly her eyes closed, sleep creeping over her.

  Elysia awoke to a darkened room, illuminated only by a pale shaft of moonlight, streaking through the window onto her bed, spreading its searching fingers across her face.

  She sat up abruptly, her heart pounding. What time was it? She glanced out of the window at the silvery moon, peeking out behind slowly drifting clouds. It wasn't too high in the sky yet, so it couldn't be very late. She was relieved to see that the storm had temporarily abated. It would make it easier for her to travel across the fields and through the woods if she did not have to battle the storm in a rain-soaked cape.

  She leapt quietly to her feet, her plan of action foremost in her mind, clearing it of the haziness of sleep. She went around her room quickly gathering up her few belongings—her dresses, a nightdress, a warm shawl, and her mother's silver brush and comb set, which she had kept hidden from Agatha. She reached into the far corner of the dresser drawer and withdrew a small phial of scent—the jas­mine and roses her mother had loved so much, then retrieved the pistol which was tucked into a corner of the large, woven straw bag.

  Kneeling down and reaching under her bed, Ely­sia carefully pulled out a wrapped bundle. Unwind­ing an old, faded, blue shawl she lifted out her most cherished possession—a delicate porcelain doll. Its little pointed face with its brightly-painted blue eyes and small, pink, rose bud mouth stared up at her. Elysia's hands lovingly smoothed out the wrin­kles in the delicate lace dress adorned with rows of blue velvet bows. Her hands strayed to the plump round golden curls as she thought back to the day her father had returned from a month in London, his arms full of packages and presents as he regaled her with amusing stories of his adventures. He had placed the little doll in her small chubby hands, watching with enjoyment as she had crooned over it in a motherly fashion, her eyes as bright as stars.

  Elysia smiled sweetly as she re-wrapped the little doll, and placed it on top of her dresses, under the thick shawl in the straw bag. She had kept these most precious possessions from her past life care­fully hidden, guarding them from Agatha's watchful eyes, knowing that she would have thrown them out—as she had done with other mementos Elysia had been unable to hide away. .

  Elysia looked quickly about the room while swinging her heavy cloak over her shoulders. It was an ugly room, this servant's room, and she felt glad to leave it. She picked up her bag and reached for the door, quietly turning the knob.

  It wouldn't open! Elysia turned it the other way, but no movement. The door was locked. Agatha had not trusted her, and she had locked her in. She was trapped!

  Elysia's heart was pounding so loudly she thought the whole house would surely hear its deafening beats. She must not panic, she told herself. She must keep her wits about her, even though she felt her head swimming from the blood being pumped by her frantic heart. She hurried over to the window and peered down at the ground beneath. It seemed miles to the firm earth below. Elysia opened the window slowly, praying that it wouldn't squeak in protest. She would have to slide over the shingled roof to the edge, the dormer window giving her a platform to sit on as she climbed out.

  There was a large sturdy vine of ivy that had been growing unrestrained on the side of the house for years. The branches were thick and hard, and if she were careful, it would see her safely to the ground below.

  She reached for her straw bag, and yanking the cord from the curtains that hung limply beside the window, tied it to the handle, and lowered it over the window sill, past the edge of the roof and slowly down the side of the house until the cord would reach no further. She reluctantly let it drop into the darkness below, where it landed with a muffed thud as it hit the damp earth.

  Elysia climbed through the window casement and sat on the sill looking down as an uninvited and in­sidious thought came to her—what if she should slip and fall . . . ! Well, it had to be risked, and besides she really wasn't too worried, she reassured herself staunchly as she continued to look down at the ground. After all, hadn't she done quite a bit of climbing of trees and walls with Ian when she was a child? She always had perfect balance-what was there to fear?

  She climbed from the window, and slid across the roof to the edge, making as little noise as possible. She grasped a large vine, seeking a foothold as she leaned over the edge, and with a swift movement, swung out, putting her full weight on the vine. It held. She breathed a sigh of relief as she carefully searched for other secure spots to place her feet as she slowly lowered herself to the ground.

  Feeling a sense of exultation as she felt the soft firmness of turf beneath her feet, Elysia quickly un­tied the cord from her bag and hurried to the back of the house. She held her breath as she turned the knob of the kitchen door, knowing that the cook of­ten forgot to lock it.

  Elysia felt the door open a bit, creaking softly. Squeezing in through the crack, she moved silently about the large kitchen; taking a loaf of bread, cheese, a few slices of cold beef and ham, and two freshly-baked turnovers filled with sweetened fruit. She seldom had sweets, and these were for Agatha's early morning tea. She smiled as she thought of Agatha's face when she discover
ed the theft of the turnovers. But her smile quickly faded as the thought of being caught by her aunt chilled her to the bone.

  Wrapping the stolen food in a large checkered cloth she stuffed it in her straw bag, then moved over to a shelf where the kitchen money was kept to pay any deliveries ordered for the kitchen. There wasn't very much, Elysia thought in disappoint­ment, but there should be enough to see her to Lon­don.

  The moon had risen higher, casting a silver light over the fields and woods as Elysia left the kitchen as quietly as she had entered, moments before. She slipped wraith-like across the wide unprotected stretch of ground between the house and wood­lands.

  Elysia cast no last look over her shoulder at Graystone Manor as she reached the wood, but kept going at a steady pace until deep within the trees. Taking a deep breath, she mentally shed the shack­les that had held her in captivity. She must keep going and put as much distance between herself and Agatha as possible. She wanted no part of Aga­tha's rage when she found that her quarry had fled the trap.

  She wouldn't be able to return there ever, nor would she want to. Since she was homeless, she had no choice but to go to London. Agatha would prob­ably expect her to run home, to the familiar places that she knew, and she was not going to chance Agatha finding her. She could seek employment as a governess or companion; after an. she had been de­cently educated and brought up as a lady. She would not allow any self-doubts or nervousness to dissuade her from her decided course of action.

  She traveled as quickly as she could in the light from the moon, stumbling into thorny bushes, their sharp thorns catching at her cloak, holding her se­cure, until she ripped and tugged her release, her hands scratched and bleeding. She continued on­ward, putting more distance between herself and Graystone Manor. She hoped to reach the edge of the woods before dawn, and be across the road and open pastures to the safety Of another belt of wood­land, before the farmers started traveling with their produce on their way to market. She didn't want to be seen, for rumor traveled through the marketplace, from farmer to servant to master. within the space of a couple of hours.

  Elysia broke through the last part of the woods, and felt the hard-packed dirt of the lane beneath her feet, as the first light of dawn was beginning to break to the east. From behind her the sweet, melo­dious notes of a nightingale drifted into the fresh morning air, its nighttime revelry hushed by the golden rays of the sun.

  Elysia calculated that Graystone Manor was hours and miles behind her as she dashed across the lane, her feet barely touching, glancing about as she crawled into the thick hedge running along the far side of the lane.

  She would have to hurry if she wanted to safely reach the cover of the trees in the distance, before the sun rose, bringing with it its revealing light.

  Edging her way through the thick branches, Ely­sia was about to stand up and make a run across the field, when she froze. In the distance she heard the sound of wagon wheels, and the steady clop, clop; clop, of horses' hooves. Her heart pounded painfully as Elysia paused in indecision. It would be light any minute now and she must get across that field, but she couldn't risk being seen dashing madly across it be some local farmer who might know her.

  Elysia raised herself up slightly, and peeked through a leafy branch of shrubbery. A few yards away, coming down the lane, was an old horse pull­ing a loaded cart full of protesting pigs. A young boy prodded the old mare to no avail. She kept her leisurely pace, paying no attention to the impatient driver. Elysia recognized him as Tom, the son of a farmer who was a tenant of the Squire's. She couldn't reveal herself to him, of all people. But he was so slow! Time was running out. A faint glow of pink was beginning to appear in the sky as the loaded cart passed by her hiding place in the hedge. She allowed him to get a little further down the road, then hurried out from under the hedge and ran wildly towards the woods, hoping Tom wouldn't look back.

  Her lungs felt as if they were going to burst, and her sides ached as she reached the first concealing trees of the forest. Elysia leaned thankfully back against the trunk of a large oak as she gazed. back to enjoy the beauty of a glorious sunrise. The light Hooded across the fields, turning them from gray to green, the sky a prism of changing pinks and or­anges, fading into a vivid blue. She was safe!

  She smiled grimly as she thought of her wild rush across the field. When she'd been a little girl she had run gaily through the fields, never dreaming ­that one day she would be running in earnest for her freedom.

  By mid-morning Elysia's legs ached with fatigue, and she felt light-headed with hunger. She heard a stream gurgling nearby, and following a path to its bank, she knelt down on the edge and drank thirst­ily of its clear sparkling water, her cupped hands dripping water down her forearms, wetting the long sleeves of her dress.

  Climbing up to a mossy bank overhanging the stream, she took out the red and white checked cloth - wrapped around her small cache of stolen food, and unfolding it, spreading it out on her lap. Elysia broke off a piece of the bread, put a hunk of cheese on it and took a hungry bite. Elysia added some of the sweet-tasting pink ham, and then nib­bled at the fragrant turnover, savoring each mouth­ful of the fresh fruit filling. The hungry growling of her stomach began to stop as she finished the turn­over, and thought to herself that never had any meal tasted so good.

  Elysia began to hum a tune beneath her breath, snatches of verse from a long forgotten song coming to, mind. The lines of the old gypsy ballad rang in her ears, capturing her mood as she relaxed back against the slope of the creek, staring down into the crystal effervescence of the water.

  I be a-wanderer, a-wanderer,

  no ties to keep me still

  a silver moon above me head,

  the ground beneath me back

  I be a-wanderer, a-wanderer,

  between the val­ley and hill

  fair colleens by the dozen

  I've seen, they call me Gypsy Jack.

  Elysia sang softly, lingering over the words of the song. Free to wander. Yes she was free. Free to fol­low whatever path she chose; not a direction of her own choosing, perhaps, but she would make the best of it-now that she had nothing to return to.

  She allowed herself a few more minutes of rest then wearily rose and walked along the stream searching for an easy place to cross before heading deeper into the woods. The sun appeared, disappeared, and then reappeared from behind the clouds which had built up gradually throughout the day. A cool wind rose from the north, whipping Elysia's cape around her as she walked under the canopy of branches. By late afternoon she felt that she had gained enough distance to stop for' the night.

  The small bit of warmth fled as the sun's feeble rays faded and the shadows lengthened, bringing a cool crispness to the air. Elysia saw a large tree in the fading light and hurried over to it, feeling the ground beneath it soft with a covering of ferns. She sat down and took out her food, eating sparingly, not knowing how much longer she would have to make it last. She didn't believe she had much fur­ther to go; sometime during the following morning she should reach the main road.

  Elysia pulled out her-warm shawl, and taking off her cloak wrapped the shawl over her shoulders and head, then pulled her cloak back on over it, feeling warm and snug against the cold she knew would soon engulf her with the coming of night. She only hoped that the storm which had been brewing all day would not decide to break in the middle of the night.

  She curled up, hugging her knees to her chest, and rested her cheek on her arm. She slept in­stantly, oblivious to the cold creeping in, or to the sounds of the small forest animals as they foraged for food among the trees.

  Elysia awoke to a light drizzle falling from the leaden skies and, shivering from the cold and damp­ness, struggled to her feet. Her body was stiff and sore from running the day before, and the cold ground during the long hours of the night.

  She ate the rest of her food while a weak light spread across the cloudy skies, changing them from black to dark gray, and thunder rumbled threaten
­ingly in the distance. She re-packed her bag and be­gan to walk slowly through the trees until she came to her destination; the road cutting through the trees in a straight line toward London. She could see in the distance a crossroads, and hurried toward it as the rain began to fall in cold sheets against her face.

  Dear, damned, distracting town, farewell!

  Thy fools no more I'll tease

  This year in peace, ye critics dwell,

  Ye harlots, sleep at ease!

  Pope

  Chapter 3

  Sunlight streamed through the long window onto the green baize table where the last card had been played, and the victor was collecting his winnings.

  "Well, that lets me out. I'm an out-and-out beggar after that hand," one of the younger gentlemen de­clared, laughing dejectedly, trying not to show his remorse at having lost more than he could comfort­ably afford. He straightened the soft velvet of his new coat and wondered how he was going to pay for it. Charles hated to ask his father for another ad­vance on his allowance, and besides, he seriously doubted whether that stern gentleman would agree to yet another demand for funds.

  "You've had quite a run of luck tonight, Trevegne, but then you always do," Lord Danvers declared loudly, taking a large swig of brandy and downing it in one gulp. "Heard rumors you played with the Devil and I'm beginning to believe it now," he grumbled while making a mental note of his losses.

  He leaned back in the small gilt chair as he sur­veyed the others, his cravat crumpled and askew, his blue brocade vest unbuttoned to allow his ample stomach room to escape and relax as it overhung the tight waist of his breeches. "How about one more hand?" he inquired eagerly, his fever for play over­riding his empty pockets.