Weeks passed and Laura had an imperative need to confide in someone, her renewed relationship with Sarah giving her confidence to speak out. She found Sarah seated at her bedroom mirror.
“Sister,” Sarah’s tone was patronising, “I cannot believe that you have learned nothing of men and their ways that are so very different to our own.”
“Sarah, I do not think –.”
Sarah held up her right hand, indicating to Laura to cease her efforts.
“You must listen to me Laura. While I wholeheartedly sympathise with your predicament, all I ask is that you stop and think the situation through to its natural conclusion.” Sarah did not plan at being evil, it just happened. “If this man loves you, then pray state his purpose for leaving you without hope? Surely, any gentleman of his calibre would have written of his intentions?”
Laura widened the opening between Sarah and herself, the gap designed to help buffer her from the ongoing verbal assault.
“For goodness sake, Laura. Stop blinding yourself to the man’s flaws. Forgive me for my forthrightness, but I cannot share your views on the subject of class. I believe, had he truly loved you, he would not have hesitated in expressing his desire to take you as his wife.”
Sarah was good. Compunction did not fetter her words, and she harboured no unease at their conclusion for her part in her sister’s abject misery.
Had Lord Ashley been extremely wealthy then Sarah might have come to benefit from their match, but she had seen his hovel and could not be expected to exchange Marlbrook for the Manor. Besides Lord Ashley’s bed did not beckon her as Lord Henry’s did, and she had no plans to swap the warmth of the one she currently occupied for the remote possibility of another.
Laura’s journal entry expressed finality.
“Thoughts placed in one’s mind can fester, and time has a trait of allowing corrupt notions to gain in credibility. I have succumbed to its entreaties. Doubt has surfaced as to Thomas’ real motives, emotion feeding on the reality that his title is one of “Lord”.
I am, as Sarah states, naïve and it appears that affection may not have been Thomas’ driver. I must now strive to reconcile my thoughts and feelings if I am ever to sample peace again.”
#
Lady Catherine sensed that something was amiss with Laura; she could smell trouble, but so far all her attempts to pry information loose from the girl had failed, her endeavours for the most part going unnoticed. She could only assume that Laura was exhausted, as an aftermath of the excitement, and had a need to be left alone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR – Complications
The library at Marlbrook featured subdued décor, yet validated the term grand in the same breath. A wealth of history occupied the walls, row upon systematic row of books standing to attention. The measure of work caged upon the shelves defied calculation.
Laura first wrote of the Library.
“The Library is a place that serves to renew my strength when my spirits are low, and when surrounded by the ghosts of famous writers, it spurs me to want great outcomes from my own humble beginnings.”
Laura awoke feeling claustrophobic and on the verge of tears, the state a familiar one and the reaction routine.
Sleep eluded Laura on occasion. Irrational phobias surfaced to keep her awake, scars from her recent upheavals. On nights such as this, Laura used the Library to absorb the gap.
Casting her feet to the floor, Laura sampled the cold before snatching her shawl from its resting place. Confident that the household slept, Laura crept quietly along the polished corridors, a cocoon of wool sheltering her from the lingering winter chill.
On arrival, Laura surveyed the familiar territory of the library. Four colossal leather-bound seats dominated the scene, with tables strategically positioned to either entertain a book or a gentleman’s glass. The giant chairs enticed Laura to settle within their welcoming confines. She did so, inhaling the characteristic smell of leather, while her hands savoured the touch that only leather can provide.
When Laura vacated the seat, she made her way to the large expanse of drapes that covered the furthermost wall. She assembled the sumptuous fabric to hang like sentinels at the windows’ fringe.
Marlbrook’s manicured grounds were coloured in ebony and ash, the unearthly grey accentuated on occasion by portions of straggling white snow. The darkness failed to disguise the landscape’s impressive beauty.
Laura discarded her shawl, her arms temporarily freed of its weight. As she selected a book, Laura saluted the unknown patrons who had painstakingly categorised the inmates, her limited time here enhanced by their labours.
Inexplicable incidents call upon logic to prevail; the standard churches fear these formations. The history of Ashley Manor lay within Laura’s grasp to cherish or discard; either way, the conclusion was hers. Thomas’ history might have been joined with Laura’s, and she wondered how many ill-fated lovers had declared this same melancholy sentiment.
“Ashley, Lord Thomas Ashley.” Laura whispered his name and, as recollections surged, private wounds reopened. The flood of emotion became too great for Laura to bear. She drew the book close, clutching the object to her, as if the action somehow recreated a link.
Behind Laura, the library door silently opened and then closed without her agreement. The moon poured light in through the unrestricted glass, the wooden surround conducting itself as a frame for an artist’s dream. Laura was at the picture’s centre. Blond-white hair overflowed to waist length, capping a prudish nightgown that was even whiter still, the pale backdrop donating a fragile quality to the scene.
Lord Henry likened his craving for Laura to an exacting thirst. Thomas was at fault. If his friend had been more obliging in the beginning, then he would have sampled the woman and been done with it. Though, on reflection, he somehow doubted his last thought.
Under normal circumstances, he preferred a lusty wench to satisfy his cravings, one proficient in entertaining him, not a woman burdened with complexity like Laura. Inexperienced in affairs of the heart, Lord Henry was well versed in penetration and those words summarised his self-assessment.
Laura’s sister, on the other hand, had behaved like most of the other women in his life. Her ripe body was his for the taking, which of course he had, but she was easy to pluck and pretty girls like her were everywhere.
Sarah had become demanding of late. Her childish tantrums constantly forced him to be on guard, and tonight he had witnessed a particularly aggressive attack. Sarah wandered down a predictable path, the one that all his mistresses eventually travelled - agreeable enough in the initial stages but ending up desirous of more than was reasonable. He had a wife, and therefore he had no want to be troubled by a lover and her nagging.
Marriage had taught Lord Henry a few of life’s uninvited lessons. The true character of his wife had appeared from day one, the vain, selfish creature demonstrating no more worth than a decorative showpiece.
While Emily meant nothing to him, the exact opposite could be said of Laura, who goaded him with her saintly ways. Common sense told Lord Henry to walk away. Women like Laura could capture and trap the best of men, but he found that he could not.
Laura, as always, was hesitant to leave the intimacy of the library, but tonight she required the privacy of her chamber to deal with the memories she knew would arise. Laura retrieved her shawl before making her way to the door.
Lord Henry remained unmoving, unsure of what would happen next, as Laura came to a standstill before him, the Master of the house.
Laura’s sharp intake of breath could be heard reverberating throughout the chamber, along with the thud her book made as it collided with the floor.
“My Lord, you startled me.” Once the allegation had aired, Laura calmed, but it was not long before her newly formed smile faded.
Laura cursed herself. Her negligent behaviour had obviously placed Lord Henry in an awkward predicament. Hastily, in a series of poorly co-ordinated moves, she repositioned her shawl a
round her. Then, unconsciously, she bent down to retrieve her book. Irritating Lord Henry seemed to have become habitual.
“I am sorry that I have bothered you, my Lord, but in all honesty, I had no idea that you had use for this room at such a late hour. Your mother did sanction my request, although in hindsight, perhaps it was your authority that I should have sought.”
Lord Henry focused his full attention on Laura during her lengthy and totally uncalled-for explanation.
Laura added in quick succession. “I bid you goodnight, sir.”
Lord Henry did not move from Laura’s path as she had expected. Fright resurfaced and it appeared with just cause, as Lord Henry reached out to bar her retreat.
“My Lord, I have apologised?”
Lord Henry’s protracted silence was sinister, the quiet unnatural and alarming. Fear protected Laura by temporarily removing her ability to think.
At length, Lord Henry yielded. His voice escaped from the shadows, the noise raspy and hostile. “I see you have uncovered a book to entertain you this fine evening.”
The comment published as harmless, but in conjunction with his conduct, his words were menacing. Roughly, he snatched the book from Laura’s hands, leaving her stunned by his insolent action.
He censured Laura. “I am certain that you won’t mind sharing the topic that has caught your fancy. I would give more than you can imagine, Laura, to obtain insight into that which has penetrated your defences when I cannot.”
Lord Henry’s remark aired as caustic and reproachful. He controlled the moment.
Lord Henry carried out the pretence of scanning the pages, making no attempt to hide his aversion to the subject of Laura’s choosing.
“Well, madam, it appears that you have formed an attachment to the ruins at Ashley Manor, so much so that you gad about in the middle of the night reading about the hovel.”
Lord Henry’s sarcastic delivery was intentional. Baiting Laura endorsed his anger, thus preventing any disquiet from forming.
“Pray satisfy my curiosity. My cynicism has reared and tells me that perhaps it is the owner that interests you and not the historic value of the site.”
Without warning, Lord Henry reached out and wrenched Laura to him, the strength used to carry out the deed sufficient to make her cry out. His mouth completed the assault. Merciless in its hunt, Laura’s lips were bruised in his pursuit of conquest, his hold cruel in its method of constraint.
Powerful arms enveloped Laura but her captors lacked affection, and when Lord Henry’s lips finally departed hers he stayed close. His lingering sneer articulated his sordid story.
Lord Henry relaxed. The demonstration of his prowess had delivered Laura a strong message. He governed her, and his wishes dominated hers.
Laura’s hand met Lord Henry’s face with force, the slap disturbing the quiet and disproving his version of events.
Laura retrieved the book that had been thrust from his hands during the scuffle, and too late she saw the harm her trivial undertaking had caused. The mistake made, she knew not how to rectify it.
Lord Henry observed Laura, as she focused her attention on the tiresome volume. Her efforts obliged him to stand with his pride in tatters while a servant got the better of him.
Laura made to leave, but Lord Henry no longer held any patience with her. Laura found herself slammed against the oak entry, the exquisite panelling digging into the soft flesh of her back. Lord Henry pressed his body hard against hers and denied her any form of escape.
“Come, madam,” Lord Henry mocked. “Let us not fight. There are better uses for a night like this.”
Lord Henry’s coarse whisper added dread to Laura’s mounting fears. She had been eight years old the last time that she had experienced physical abuse, and with the left over memories, tears stung her eyes.
Lord Henry could taste Laura’s terror. His manhood had become erect in anticipation but with the onset of her tears his purpose divided, and he discovered a rarely used conscience nagged at his mind.
For a short interlude, Lord Henry sampled torment, but just as disgust had begun to take shape, Laura squirmed beneath him. He deemed her movements to be seductive and any traces of sympathy were removed.
Laura’s apprehension donated a temporary strength to her slight body, which was unable to govern what happened to it next, but to no avail.
Laura spoke, the release barely audible, her plea directed at any decency that might reside within the man.
“Please, my Lord! Do you not remember that you condemned your friend in this very house for trying to take what was not his? I held you in high regard for that deed.” Desperation showed. “If you release me, I give you my solemn word that no one shall ever hear of this night.”
Laura willed herself to look at Lord Henry, but she had misjudged her enemy. Her appeal had been designed for a rational human being, but the strong smell of alcohol made her realise the hopelessness of her situation.
“Madam, I think your appraisal of me is incorrect, for my behaviour clearly portrays that of a gentleman with a servant girl, especially a maid that provokes her master without promise of reward.”
Laura tried to turn away, but Lord Henry would have none of it. He held her firm.
“You are shaking my dear. Come, come! We should not quarrel you and I. I am sure Lord Ashley would have no qualms about sharing you with a friend. Thomas has had his fun. You see Laura, men are not afraid to share a good find when it presents the opportunity. If your consideration is Thomas then you may discard your concerns.” Lord Henry’s madness grew in proportion. “Enough! Let us dispense with the acting shall we, particularly since you are what I consider “used” goods.”
Laura’s anger reared instantly, momentarily driving her fear to one side. Lord Henry’s stinging words struck hard. She tried to lash out at his wrongful accusations, but she soon learned that they played this game on his terms.
Lord Henry began his assault in earnest. “Scream if you like. You seem to have forgotten your position in this household, which is a fault of yours that I have noticed often during our conversations. That failing, madam, needs rectifying, and I think of myself as the one chosen to chastise you.” Power over another human being is a strong aphrodisiac. “There is one last thing you should consider. If you had thought to inform anyone of this night’s activities, the story I shall convey will go something like this – I discovered your propensity for stealing and threatened you with dismissal, hence your lies. If made public, I shall be forced to lodge a complaint with the local constabulary and have you put up on charges. And let me assure you Laura, prison is not a place you would enjoy. Instead of a Lord, you would have to satisfy any man that offered his services, just to survive.”
Lord Henry’s trap closed in around Laura, and a wave of physical sickness passed over her.
“Your sister did not put up a fight - she came most willingly to my bed. If you are only half as skilled as her, I should still look forward to the experience.”
Laura’s reaction told Lord Henry that he had triumphed. He had exposed Laura’s vulnerability, a very valuable piece of information that he would store. Her weakness was Sarah.
Laura shook her head in denial of his accusations, her own predicament temporarily forgotten. But Laura's turmoil made her heart weep, knowing that his repulsive words rang true, and what fight she had left dispersed.
Lord Henry resumed his onslaught, sensing Laura’s defeat. He used his weight as a weapon to constrain her. Freed, his hands began to trace the outline of her body, ignoring the coarse fabric of her gown.
Laura tried an appeal one last time. “I beg of you, do not…,” but the words trailed away.
The curve of Laura’s hips enticed him, the narrowness of her waist a tantalising torture before he moved to sample the breasts that quivered under his touch. Laura had always promised beauty, and she did not disappoint.
Lord Henry lost patience with the material that dared bar his way. The sound of rippin
g, as the cloth of Laura’s gown parted company, added to his excitement, the luxurious soft surface of her cool skin his reward. He pulled Laura closer, ecstasy mounting as he moulded pliant breasts, a forerunner to his sadistic mouth that gnawed on them and caused Laura pain. Any resistance from Laura spurred him to greater heights.
The floor became Laura’s bed. Lord Henry used his body to cease the bulk of her fight. He took his time. He wanted to admire his trophy.
Laura’s nakedness, on view in the sparse light, illustrated perfection, his free hand conveying to him the pleasure a woman’s body can bring. Lord Henry parted Laura’s thighs. Any attempt to hinder his actions, he made known would not be tolerated.
Lord Henry would not be thwarted in having her. Selfishly, he lunged deep and hard within Laura.
Laura’s cry identified her suffering, but callously Lord Henry stifled the pitiful sound before it could raise his conscience. Fierce in intent, he smothered the mouth that repelled his advances. Unmerciful thrusts increased in tempo until he knew there would be little delay in finishing with her.
Lord Henry had ignored previous assessments of Laura’s innocence, and any evidence she had put forth to support the theory had been guarded against. His wife had never cried virgin, and frankly, the state held no relevance for him.
Lord Henry searched for an escape, somewhere to offset blame. Copious amounts of whiskey, consumed earlier in the evening, had clouded his judgement; therefore his drunken state relieved him of any sin. However, the silence soon compelled him to think otherwise.
Laura’s freedom had not yet taken place. He had chosen to remain poised above her, his gaze fixed upon the devastation he had caused. He knew himself to be a bastard.
Lord Henry could see what form his punishment would take. The sight of Laura would haunt him in the days and weeks to come.
Journey's End (Marlbrook) Page 11