Mara: A Georgian Romance
Page 11
Cecilia went for help. She spotted Termins in the dining room, but he didn’t think his old back would be much help in lifting Mara either, so went outside to fetch Jake. Jake followed Cecilia into the room a few minutes later.
“Hey, I hear it is bath day. Good for you, Miss Mara! You must be feeling a lot better.” Jake tried to sound cheery and bright to hide the unbridled joy he felt at the sight of his loved one. He hadn’t seen Mara since the night she woke up, and he had spent two very frustrated nights since then tossing and turning on his little cot.
The memory of their kisses was almost too much for him to bear, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to keep his emotions hidden when others were around the two of them. So here he was, doing the best acting job of his life, pretending that Mara was his superior, and he was just doing his job.
Mara’s heart leapt out of her chest when Jake walked in the door. She, too, had been suffering deeply, and wanted to run to his arms and kiss him again. But she was brought back to reality by his silly salutation, and responded in kind. “Yes, I do feel much better. I understand I owe you thanks for keeping watch over me during the nights while I was so sick.”
Blimey! I’m never going to be able to keep this up, he thought, as he simply put a silly grin on his face.
Cecilia looked from Mara to Jake, and knew instantly there was something more than met the eye. But she would have to pursue that another time. Right now, they had a date with the bath.
“Get under her arm, Jake, and help lift her. You’re here to help us carry her to the tub, not have a conversation with her!” Cecilia’s words put Jake into action as he walked over to the bed and stood on Mara’s right side. Portia moved to Mara’s left side, Mara flung her arms around their shoulders and, on the count of three, they all stood up at once. Portia hardly noticed the weight, as it seemed Jake was doing most of the lifting. Jake hardly noticed the weight of his love, so happy was he just to be near her again.
No one noticed the commotion at Mara’s door until a loud, angry voice exclaimed, “What the hell is going on here?” Standing in the doorway was Lord Markham, a look of fury on his face.
“Father. You are back!” Mara almost lost her hold on Jake and Portia, and fear gripped her at the sight of her father’s angry countenance. Portia stopped dead in her tracks and Cecilia inhaled sharply. Jake could only look at Lord Markham in dread, and felt the blood drain from his face.
“What is he doing in your bedroom? Why are you being carried around?” The master’s voice was full of his bad humor.
Cecilia spoke up first, trying to diffuse the situation. “M’lord! When did you arrive home? Had we known, we’d have put off Mara’s bath until later.”
Markham didn’t seem to hear Cecilia, as he was fixated on that thief of a stable hand holding his daughter, clad only in her nightgown, in her bedroom. Markham looked at Jake as if he could read the thoughts he’d had about Mara just a few moments earlier. In Markham’s mind, his daughter had been violated, and they were trying to destroy the evidence.
“Move the hell out of my daughter’s room right now, scum.”
Jake looked from Markham, to Portia, to Cecilia, to Beth, and back again. They all knew that the moment he let go of Mara, she would collapse straight to the floor. Cecilia moved quickly to Jake’s side and motioned for him to leave. Jake tried to carefully extract himself and hand over the weight of his charge to Cecilia but, as expected, neither Cecilia nor Portia could hold her up, and Mara slid to the floor in a heap. Jake turned to pick her up, but Markham growled at him again.
“Don’t you dare touch her, you bastard. Out of my house, now!”
Jake again looked from woman to woman; with their eyes they told him to go.
He turned on his heel and walked with as much dignity as possible out the bedroom door, down the stairs, and out of the house.
Markham watched his footman walk down the stairs, and then looked back at the scene on the bedroom floor. “What’s wrong with her?” Not waiting for an answer, he walked over to the bed and ripped off the top sheet to examine the sheet on the bottom. He half expected to see the blood of lost virginity, and was quite surprised when he found nothing. He turned back toward Mara. “I said, what’s wrong with your legs, girl?”
“I’ve been very ill, Father.”
“With child?”
Mara’s eyes flew wide open. The other three ladies gasped, now fully understanding Lord Markham’s curious search of the bed clothes.
Portia stepped in this time. “No, no, sir, she had the influenza.”
Markham snorted. “So that’s your story, eh?” He grunted in disgust again, flung the sheets on the floor, and left the room.
The ladies looked at each other, breathed a collective sigh of relief, and began the arduous task of lifting Mara back onto the bed all by themselves.
Chapter 18
Blimey, thought Jake, as he ran back to the stables through the breezeway. Why does that man hate me so? Why does he think the worst thoughts about people? Why am I always in the wrong place at the wrong time? He sat down on the tack box, and put his head in his hands. I am a goner for sure this time.
*****
Lord Markham had one thing and one thing only on his mind as he came down the stairs. He was going to whip that street rat to death this time, and finish what he started five years ago! He had stopped first at Bertram’s room and then Edwin’s on his way down, and yelled for them to rise up, dress, and meet him in the front hallway. At fourteen and eighteen, his sons were old enough and strong enough to hold the bloody bastard down while he whipped the life out of him. Plus, it was time the boys learned how to handle troublemakers. And this time, if the scum passed out, Markham intended to dunk his head in cold water to wake him for more punishment.
He put on his coat and picked up his leather whip. Since it was early March, it was still cold. He waited.
“Father,” whined Bertram, as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “It’s so early, and we just arrived back. Why did you wake us?”
“I have to wonder the same thing, Father,” echoed Edwin, still buttoning his shirt as he came down the front staircase.
“I intend to whip the life out of the boy who dared to touch your sister,” he said without emotion, as he handed coats to the two slowly moving teens.
Edwin finally woke up with that statement. “Who would bloody wanna touch her?”
“For God’s sake, Father, that’s gross!” Bertram made a ghastly face. “Who’d want to have anything to do with that fat cow?”
Markham ignored Bertram and faced Edwin. “The stable hand, Abbot, that’s who. Go find him and bring him round to the mounting step.” Markham opened the front door and pointed to the stables. He didn’t want his sons to go through the breezeway and stir up the household. The mounting step was a large block of bricks used by women and children to mount a horse. It was located off the corner of the carriage house, and would be the perfect place to lay Abbot across for his beating.
“Abbot? Are you jesting, Father? A servant! Holy Mother of God!”
“I’m surprised even he’d stoop that low.” But Bertram’s words were lost in the air, as his father pushed him out the door.
Bertram and Edwin mumbled disbelief all the way to the stables. They had no trouble finding Abbot, who calmly sat on a box with his head in his hands. He looked up as they entered, and jumped off the box in alarm. Now what? he wondered. This can’t be good.
“Hey, horse’s arse. We gotta take you somewhere.”
“Like where?” asked Jake, very wary of these two. He began to back up, looking for a way to escape.
Edwin lunged at him, and the two of them locked in a struggle. Bertram whooped in delight and jumped into the fray, punching freely whatever came his way. Unfortunately for Jake, one of the punches caught him square in the jaw, and sent him reeling backwards.
The boys pounced on the now-disoriented Jake and dragged him out of the stables and over to the mounting bloc
k. Before Jake could gather his wits and clear the stars, he found himself splayed across the mounting block, his upper body hanging mostly off of it, his knees on the ground, his thighs pressed up one side, and his pelvis and lower stomach pressed across the top to stabilize the awkward position. He lay there, coatless, staring at the cold ground, pinned on both sides by a brother, each with one of his arms awkwardly and painfully stretched upward and behind him.
“What have we here, boys?” As he heard Lord Markham’s voice, Jake’s blood turned to ice water. He instantly realized another beating was about to commence. He looked around wildly to see if anyone was there to stop it, but he saw no one else in the yard.
Markham continued speaking to his sons. “Thank you, boys. You brought me the son of a bitch who touched your sister, and now I am going to make him pay for his sins.” He bent down and grabbed Jake’s hair, forcing him to look him in the eye. “You just don’t learn, do you, boy? I thought I taught you a good lesson last time when you acted above your station and made Lady Mara take your blame. But I guess it wasn’t enough. This time, you will definitely remember to keep your place and your filthy hands off my property.” The cruelty in his voice was almost palpable. Markham threw Jake’s head down, stepped back, and fingered his whip for a few minutes, torturing Jake with silent anticipation long before he raised his hand and let the whip fly.
Jake bit his lip as the whip finally hit him straight across the back, curling around his right side and stinging him halfway across his chest. The pain was more intense than he remembered, and he fought to stay conscious as the second blow came. He strained against the stronghold the brothers had on his arms as they pulled his shoulders harder, bringing his arms even higher up and backwards, nearly popping them out of their sockets. Both sons eyed the whip to make sure they didn’t stand too close.
A moan escaped Jake’s lips as he forced himself to breathe. He tried to take himself out of his body to another place. As the third strike came, he turned his head to look at Markham. “To bloody hell with you,” he whispered defiantly under his breath, though unfortunately he lacked the strength to make himself heard. He hung his head again as the whip struck a fourth time, wrapping around his back, side, and chest. Jake cried out desperately, praying for the strength to survive.
*****
Cecilia and the maids finally succeeded in moving Mara back to the bed. She lay on her back and flopped sideways across the mattress, breathing heavily and wondering if her body would ever function normally again. She felt so weak and helpless, but most of all she feared what her father would do to Jake.
With child! Did he really think she was pregnant? Why would her father immediately come to that conclusion when all the evidence pointed toward simply taking a bath?
Why was her family so awful? She knew there were wonderful people in the world, like those who worked here at the house, and the orphaned boys. Her Uncle Cecil and Aunt Bernice also treated her well. They may have been spoiled, but they were decent human beings.
She closed her eyes and prayed Jake would find a good hiding place until her father cooled off.
Cecilia had similar thoughts, and went to the window to see if there was any activity in the stables. Mara’s window was the only other one in the house from which to view the stables as it was directly above the parlor with the same bay window with one pane facing that direction. Cecilia saw Bertram and Edwin run to the stables, and wondered what mischief they were up to. A few minutes later she saw Lord Markham come out the front door while pulling on his gloves, carrying something under his arm. She then saw the boys drag Jake out of the stables and drape him over the mounting block. Horrified, she watched as Markham pulled the whip out from under his arm and slowly started walking across the driveway.
“Oh, my God. Not again!” Cecilia put her hand over her mouth, and then ran from the room to find Termins to intercede for Jake.
“What?” yelled Mara, struggling to sit up on the bed. But Cecilia was already well out of earshot. Mara looked toward the window, realizing she was on her own if she wanted to see what was going on. She took a deep breath and half rolled, half swung her legs to the other side of the bed and wriggled until she was leaning with her feet on the floor and her backside on the bed. She leaned over and pulled the chair to her and then swiveled until she was seated on it. Then she pushed as hard as she could with her weakened legs, scooting backwards inches at a time across the two feet to the window seat. This only took a few minutes, but to an exhausted Mara, it seemed an eternity.
Just when she was about to give up, she felt the back of the chair hit the window bench. She turned and strained to look out the window, and nearly collapsed when she realized Jake was suffering another cruel and unjust whipping at her father’s hand. “NO! OH MY GOD, NO!” She screamed at the top of her lungs. She continued to scream until Portia and Beth came running into the room.
“Miss Mara! What are you—?” Portia stopped dead in her tracks as she looked out the window at the drama unfolding outside the stables. She immediately grabbed a hold of Mara, pulling Mara’s face and upper body into her own breast, to comfort her and prevent her from watching the beating. Mara wrapped her arms around Portia’s waist, burying her face into the maid’s body, and screaming, “NO, NO, NO! OH, MY GOD! NO!”
Beth immediately turned and ran out the door, down the hallway, down the front stairs, and to the front door just in time to see Termins run up to Lord Markham and stand between the master and the boy. She stopped at the door, panting and praying the boy was all right.
Chapter 19
Termins sprang into action the moment Cecilia had found him in the cellars pulling out wine for the day’s meals.
“He’s gonna whip him again! You gotta stop him!” One look at Cecilia’s face and Termins knew exactly who the “he” and “him” were. The old butler ran up the cellar stairs as fast as his sixty-year-old legs could manage, down the breezeway, up the main hallway, and out the door, not even stopping for his coat. Leaving the door wide open, he ran across the driveway, praying he’d arrive before Lord Markham killed the boy. He had no idea why Markham felt it necessary to whip Jake again, but he was determined to stop it.
“M’lord, stop! Please, m’lord, stop!” Termins stood between the master and the boy, just as Mara had done five years ago, fully expecting to feel the whip himself.
Lord Markham paused, his hand still up for another strike, highly annoyed that he was once again being thwarted from finishing the job he had set out to do.
“What do you know? I leave the house for a couple of weeks, and this bastard starts taking privileges with my daughter. Not in my house! Now get out of my way!” Markham tried to push Termins aside.
“Sir,” said Termins, deliberately holding his ground, the reason for the whipping now becoming clear to him. “Mara spent eight days and nights in a fever brought on by influenza. She was in no condition for any privileges, and is now so weak she canna walk on her own. I’m the one who brought the boy to her bedroom this morning to help carry her to the bath. I’m the one you should be beating. He was carrying out my direct order!” The old man was panting as he finished the statement, mostly from the run, but also from the fear he felt at standing up to his master.
This was the most Termins had ever said in one breath in all the years anyone had known him, and it surprised even Markham. He lowered his arm and squinted at the butler.
“What are you talking about? I saw him in her bedroom, holding her, and all she had on was a nightgown.”
“That is right, m’Lord. But who else did you see in her bedchamber? Cecilia, Portia, and Beth, correct? Were Mara and the boy alone, or were there others with them?” Termins paused, as Markham thought back to the scene.
“They were going to give her a bath, sir. A bath. He was only transporting her from the bed to the bath, nothing more.” And the two men—the master and the servant, the middle-aged man and the old man, one wrong, one right—stared each other down.
“Let him go, sons. Let’s go find some breakfast.” He turned on his heel and walked slowly back to the open front door, wiping the blood from his whip with a handkerchief as he went. Bertram and Edwin, also miffed that the sadistic exhibition had been prematurely halted, threw Jake’s arms down in disgust, and followed their father into the house.
Termins turned and knelt at Jake’s bent head and torso, holding him up by bloody shoulders. “Jake, Jacob! Can you hear me, boy?”
Jake had been fading in and out during the entire exchange, and now lifted his head just enough to look into the old butler’s face. “One day, I swear, I am gonna kill that bastard,” he whispered, and then passed out.
Calvin had come up behind Termins in time to hear Jake’s threatening words. He touched the old man’s shoulder. “Here we go again. Come, Basil,” he yelled, as Basil ran over from the back of the stables. “Help me drag him up to his room. How this boy keeps ending up on the wrong side of the whip, I’ll never know.” He glanced at Jake’s bloody back as he grabbed him under the right armpit. “There are some scars that will never heal. I only hope he doesn’t one day make good on that threat.”
Chapter 20
The house quieted once again; the subject of Jake’s beating finally no longer the main topic of the whispered conversations between the servants. No one could believe the master had whipped the boy again for nothing more than helping a weakened Mara walk across her room. And they could only shake their heads and be glad it hadn’t been one of them he spotted in Miss Mara’s room.