by Jane Lark
Tears clouded her vision.
“Please…” She could not say more. The words would not come and her voice was too quiet as fear strangled her. But the grip on her hair only tightened pulling against her scalp with a searing pain.
He tried to kiss her, but she turned her head.
“Why must you keep thinking of that man? Can you not appreciate all I have done for you?” He tried again to kiss her, but she turned away. She did not want him to kiss her.
“You are too beautiful, Ellen. I have always thought you the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I have been nice to you, kind to you, and bought you gifts and how am I repaid? By melancholy and pining for a dead man.”
No. A sob became tangled with a scream in her throat and no sound erupted at all.
“Kneel to me.” It was a barked order, the voice she’d heard several times when she’d watched Paul in the parade ground with his men.
“Please, do not do this…” Her voice was a pathetic whimpering plea.
“I said kneel to me! You’ve had everything you wish, for months! You are under my protection! Do you hear? You owe me. How else will you pay? I want a woman. I want you!” His bitter, hard voice ran through the house echoing into the hall outside the open door. The servants would hear it; she could not bear the embarrassment of them knowing he spoke to her like this. People would judge and accuse her…
“Please do not…” she said again, in another quiet plea which sought as much to make him silent as to make him stop.
“Enough of your refusals.” The fingers in her hair gripped so tight the pain in her scalp pulled her down, so she could do nothing but give in to it – unless she screamed, or cried out for help. But to whom, the servants?
The thought tumbled through her fear, clogging in her chest in a million knots. She had been brought up not to acknowledge servants. Not to share anything personal with them. She had been close to Pippa but Pippa had been like a second mother. She would have called out to Pippa for help, but no one else… How could she call for a footman and have him find her like this, in her nightgown? And what would he do? He was paid to do as this man asked. If a footman helped her, he would be dismissed.
“Kneel, damn you!” Her hair was jerked downwards and her knees gave way. Pain pierced like a knife blade as she hit the floorboards hard, putting out a hand to grab the leg of a chair to stop her fall.
The next things that happened seemed to happen so quick she could not recall the detail.
With his free hand, as she overcame the pain of having fallen, he undid the two buttons which secured the flap of his breeches, and in the next the man was filling her mouth as Paul had used to fill the place between her legs.
My God. My God… Like this…
Confusion, horror, and bitter despair reeled through her. She might die. She could not breathe…
The shame…
~
She had prayed for it to end. Prayed to survive …
Now she merely lay on the hard, unyielding floor.
A part of her did not believe what had just happened. She was not certain of anything anymore. The world felt strange.
He had secured his breeches and said, “That is done then, Ellen. Thank you. You will not say no to me again.” Then walked away as though he had not just violated her in the cruellest way, using her mouth. As if he had not… done… done… something so vile.
She could not get up and go to her bed. She longed to call for Megan, but she was afraid to admit to anyone what had just occurred. How could she have let that happen? Yet the error had not been in the last few moments, in not locking her door, in not having said no more firmly and dressing and leaving. The error had been made months ago when she’d accepted his help. Foolish… Foolish!
Paul would be turning in his grave so many miles away. His body had been sent home to his family. He would be shouting at her too, for her idiocy in giving away the money he’d left for her to find a pathway home. She should have left with Jennifer.
It was foolish to have thought it was safe to accept anything from this man and think there would be nothing to pay in return.
She held her stomach, protecting their child.
~
Ellen could not look Megan in the eye when she brought her morning chocolate and breakfast, and when Megan offered to return and help her dress, Ellen said, “I am feeling too ill to rise.”
“But you have not been sick.” Megan swept forward and pressed a hand to Ellen’s brow. “You do not feel hot, ma’am…”
No, she was not ill in the physical sense of the word, but she was sick of life and heart-sore. She missed Paul, and she did not wish to rise and keep living today. How could she get up, when she knew what had happened yesterday?
Memories growled at her, like a monster invading her head as Lieutenant Colonel Hillier had violated her mouth; they would not go away.
She sipped her chocolate and felt sick.
She was sick, and Megan rushed to fetch the chamber pot.
“Perhaps you should stay in bed, ma’am.”
Ellen nodded and lay back down, turning her face into the pillow to hide her tears.
Megan returned with a luncheon tray at noon, but Ellen refused it.
When Megan came back at four, she stood across the room by the door to the sitting room.
Ellen did not look up.
“Forgive me, ma’am. Lieutenant Colonel Hillier has sent me…”
Ellen shut her eyes as her stomach turned with a need to be sick, even at the mention of his name. She did not wish to hear his name. She did not wish to be here. She did not wish the man anywhere near her.
“I have told the Lieutenant Colonel you are unwell, but he insists you come down for dinner this evening, ma’am.”
Ellen sat up, looking her maid in the eyes for the first time that day, heat burning beneath her skin in a deep blush. “Then you must tell him that I will not.”
Megan looked at Ellen for a moment. She knew there was something amiss, Ellen could see it in Megan’s eyes, but she said nothing, and nor did Ellen as Megan turned away and left.
A few moments later there was that sharp knock.
Oh my God. Ellen slid out of the bed, and grabbed a wrapper from a chair across the room. She did not wish him in her bedchamber.
“Ellen?” His voice carried the pitch of command, and yet it was also enquiring. “May I come in?”
Her stomach spun. If she ran across the room and locked the door, he would hear.
“I am not dressed.”
There was an odd sound, then a cough.
Ellen prayed he would not come in.
“But you are out of bed…” His voice was now coaxing. “You cannot be so unwell. It will do you good to come down to dinner, I think, and I require your company.” The last was an order.
Tears clouding her vision, Ellen dropped to sit in a chair. She gripped its arms, her fingers clawing into the cloth. She wanted to run. But to where?
“Do you agree to dine with me?”
She said nothing, sobs gathering in her throat.
“Ellen?”
She still did not reply.
“Ellen!”
He would not let her say no, anyway.
“Yes.” Her voice was weak.
When Megan returned to help her dress a while later, Ellen did not speak. She could not; if she tried to speak, she would cry. She stood and let her maid do what she would.
Occasionally she caught Megan glancing at her in the mirror.
Ellen’s skin turning red, she avoided Megan’s gaze.
“I am finished, ma’am.”
Megan knew something had happened, because when Ellen glanced up, Megan did not smile. She did not want Ellen to go downstairs any more than Ellen wished to go.
As she walked downstairs her heart pounded. She was cold with fear. She looked at the door which led out onto the street, but if she walked through it, what then? Where would she go? Where could she go?
Lieutenant Colonel Hillier stood as she entered, though he did not meet her gaze. He looked at her, but not into her eyes.
She looked at him, directly. Accusing him. Anger flooding her. She hated him, she wished to scream at him, and hit him, and claw her fingernails and scratch him. But what then?
“Come, sit beside me, Ellen.” His tone sought to charm as he moved to withdraw a chair.
Ellen could not lift her feet; the floor was like thick mud.
He beckoned her with his fingers. “Come now, no need to be hesitant.”
Memories cutting at her soul, she knew there was every reason to be hesitant.
“I have a gift for you.” He lifted a small square box from the table.
He had still not looked into her eyes, when every other time it was all he did, and his skin carried a pink tone of embarrassment.
“I am sorry, Ellen. If I upset you, I did not intend to.”
She shut her eyes. What he had done could not simply be taken away with an apology.
“Come and sit.” His voice changed. When he’d said sorry, he’d sounded remorseful, but now his pitch had slipped into an order.
Looking at the floor, she crossed the room, afraid he would become angry with her before the servants.
When she took the seat, he pushed it in. Loss cut through her as she remembered Paul doing the same on their wedding day.
“Wine?” He beckoned a footman forward as he sat.
Ellen lifted a hand. “No, none thank you, it only makes my morning sickness worse.” She wished him to remember she was with child. She wished his guilt to grow and cut deeper.
He reached across and lay the box he held before her. “It is a little present to make amends. Open it, and let us be happy again.”
The box was made from a black wood, inlaid with a pattern of pale roses, probably made from rosewood. Ellen lifted the lid. There was a little slip of parchment there. He had written upon it, To my love.
A shiver tore through Ellen.
She hated those words. They had been precious to her. Now Lieutenant Colonel Hillier had defiled them.
His hand touched hers. Ellen jumped.
His fingers rested on her forearm. “You know what I think of you now. Take a look.”
She lifted the parchment, wanting to crush it in her fingers and throw it on the floor, but the weight of his hand on her arm was like a manacle.
A little brooch, a bluebird, lay on the bed of velvet.
Lieutenant Colonel Hillier stood. “Let me put it on for you.”
She stood too; she could not bear for him to stand so close to her.
He merely smiled, as her whole body trembled with fear.
Then he leant to the side and picked up the brooch before slipping one hand into her bodice.
Bile rose in her throat but she swallowed it back, as her skin burned with embarrassment.
The footmen looked on.
“I would not wish to mark your beautiful skin, Ellen.” With the back of his fingers on her breast he pierced the muslin cloth with the pin, and secured it. “There.”
Then his hand slid away.
Shaking, Ellen retook her seat, as he did too.
“You need not buy me gifts.” She whispered through the corner of her mouth once he was seated.
“But I wish too. I wanted to thank you.”
She looked up at him, and caught his gaze for the first time. He looked away, the skin on his cheeks scored with a scarlet colour. He was embarrassed, and guilt was thrashing him.
I am glad. I hope you suffer as you have made me suffer. “I do not want your gifts or gratitude, and I do not want it to happen again. All I want from you is your word that it will not.”
He looked up at her, meeting her gaze, and holding it now, though the colour still rose in his skin. “I cannot promise you that. But I will continue to take care of you, and I shall look after you well…”
But for what… What did he expect in return?
Chapter Twenty
“Madam, you should sit up a little more.” The midwife helping Ellen was a bulldog. She was physically muscular and from the way she spoke, the woman thought she could merely shout at the child to make it come out.
Her grip rough and firm she pulled Ellen to an almost sitting position.
But Ellen had been in labour for a day and half; she had no more energy. Exhaustion overwhelmed her in a heavy sensation that urged her to lie down and give up.
“Madam!”
Ellen closed her eyes as she collapsed back. She was too tired to fight. Too much had happened to her, too many awful things. What was there to fight for?
“Madam!”
She wished to die. Let it all just be over now.
“Madam!” The last was shouted as her next contraction came.
Ellen gripped the sheet and cried out, longing for the one person who would never come – could never come.
“Paul!” His name came on an agonised cry, not from the pain of labour, but from the pain of her broken heart. It was shattered. She was shattered. “I cannot…”
“You have little choice, ma’am, the child is within you and it wishes to get out.” the mulish midwife barked.
Ellen screamed at the woman, opening her eyes and clutching the filthy sheet beneath her, as she glared and yelled out her anger. “Ahhhhh!”
In that instant she hated Paul for dying, and she hated fate for leaving her to survive alone and seek the help of a man who was cruel. Four more times he had used her mouth as Paul had used her body, urging her to be compliant and allow it. Each time he had been drunk, and each time, the day after, he could not look her in the eyes due to his guilt; though he’d send his staff to insist she came down to dine with him.
She would sit at the table feeling the heat of a blush – unclean – oh, and hatred, revulsion and anger, roared inside her as she pushed her food about the plate.
She no longer wanted to be in his house eating his food, but where else was there to go, with no money?
She’d asked him once to take her home to England, or at least to pay for a passage home for her. But he would not. He may feel guilty after doing what he’d done, but not enough to give her the means to leave.
Life, fate – was cruel. “Ahhh!” She screamed her pain out into the room.
“Push.” the midwife urged her.
Ellen did not wish to push, or try.
“Madam!” The glare she received, when she made no effort at all, condemned her. She would be bullied into bearing this child.
Her eyelids fell again, and behind them hiding in darkness she saw Paul’s face. He leaned towards her. “Ellen.” She could hear his voice and his fingers touched her face and brushed her hair back. “Ellen, you are strong. You can survive anything. You will survive. You have an inner strength.”
His image disappeared and she screwed up her eyes, crushing them tightly closed as her heart poured out its misery. She was not angry with him; she missed him. She missed him so much. She opened her eyes and he was not there. Of course he was not. But his child was inside her, fighting to live.
“Ahhh!” She pushed.
“That’s better, madam.”
“Harder now.”
Ellen’s grip firmed on the sheets, as another contraction clasped at her stomach, tightening her muscles in an excruciating hold. She did push, she pushed hard, and she kept pushing, as though pushing might bring sanity back into her life.
“Oh, God!” The blasphemy slipped from her lips as the pressure inside her suddenly burst and was gone and then a child’s wail filled the air in the room. She was panting and crying as she looked at the purple being, curled up in the midwife’s hands. She lifted the infant as its arms and legs stretched out. The child had come early. It was lean.
“Hold your child while I take care of the afterbirth.” The infant was covered in white slime but El
len took it, and looked down. It was a boy. A son. Paul’s son.
Her tears streamed, blurring her vision, as she held the wailing child to her breast.
~
Ellen looked down into the cradle. John was asleep. She rocked it gently for a moment, looking at his perfect face. He was more like her than Paul, and she hated that, she had wished for him to look like Paul, and yet here he was – a small thing to love and hold – draw comfort from.
“John,” she said the name quietly, so not to wake him. She had chosen the name because it meant the grace of God. He was here with her by the grace of God, and Paul did not even know he existed, yet even if he did not look like Paul, he was a little piece of Paul on earth. A memory. Something to live for.
She could not resist. Her fingers reached out and touched his little head, feeling the soft patch on it.
He was sucking, as if he was dreaming of suckling milk from her breast.
He was the most precious treasure she’d ever had.
She straightened still watching him for moment. He’d not long been fed. He would sleep a while longer.
She turned and looked at the blank paper which lay on a table across the room. Once again she’d intended to write to her father but could think of no words. Yet she knew she had to get away from Lieutenant Colonel Hillier, and get John away from him too. She did not wish to stay here and the only hope they had of escape was via her father or Paul’s. She moved across the room and sat down before the dreaded empty page. Then after a moment picked up the quill.
Papa,
I have a child. Paul’s child. A son. I am still in Paris. I am with Lieutenant Colonel Hillier, Paul’s superior officer. He has been providing for me, but he cannot do so forever. I wish to come home, with my son, John.
I am asking you if you will either come and fetch us, or send money for me to make my own way. Will you let me return to you now? I need somewhere safe for John to grow up, Papa.
Please tell Mama I love her, and tell Penny, Rebecca and Sylvia also.
At the thought of her sisters Ellen could write no more. They knew nothing of life – of the truth about the world. Tears filled her eyes, but she wiped them away, and said a silent prayer, that she and John would get away from here and home safely, and for her sisters to experience none of the things she had in the last few months.