"But, sir,” Amy shrilled, “you told me not ta go near that thing on the floor."
"That's holy water there in that bucket, Mrs. Croft; I've just blessed it. No harm will come to you."
"Oh, Jesus,” Cook moaned, wringing her apron.
The vicar ignored her. “Miss Mary will be occupied until after the noon meal,” he said. “That scarcely gives you three hours. You'll have to work quickly; I'm sorry."
"Yes, sir, if you're sure you know what you're doin',” Amy said. “Young miss is goin’ ta have it in for us all after this. She's goin’ ta be fit ta be tied."
"That's unfortunate,” the vicar pronounced. “She's brought it upon herself. Do not worry I'll handle her. While you're up there, I want you to throw those books in the fire—every last one of them, Mrs. Croft—right into the hearth. Do that first. I want them reduced to ash by the time she sets foot inside that room again, and dispose of those foul-smelling candles at well."
"How?” cried Amy. “I can't chuck them inta the fire. The stink would drive us all outa’ the house!"
"Collect them in a sack and have your stabler bury them, then,” said Elliot.
Cook had brought the pumice and soap, and Amy took them from her.
"Just one moment,” the vicar interrupted. Jamming his hand in his pocket, he yanked out the blood-spattered handkerchief, ignoring their gasps, and plunged it into the bucket. Pulling it out again, he lifted a lid on the coal range beside the hearth and consigned it to the fire, shrinking back from the hissing steam rising from the embers.
"Oh, sir, what has she done?” Amy wailed.
"Nothing that can't be undone,” he assured her. “I've no time to go into it now. I need one more thing from you . . . is there a key to my chamber door?"
"A key, sir? Well, yes—"
"Give it here, I have need of it."
Amy disappeared into the scullery, and returned moments later with a brass key on a faded red silk cord. “We'll all want ta be lockin’ our chamber doors after this day,” she said, handing it over.
"Particularly when we're not in them,” said Elliot marching past them—silver bowl, key, and all—toward the chapel.
* * * *
Elliot's first religious instruction session went more smoothly than he'd expected, though neither Mary nor Colin focused on the topic of religion. Mary pouted through it all like a sullen child, and Colin's obvious curiosity over the vicar's strange behavior earlier prevented him from concentrating on anything but that, despite Elliot's warning glances.
As soon as the last morsel of the midday meal was eaten, the boy coaxed Elliot into the study for a full account of the events of the morning. Elliot complied, omitting nothing. He did, however, only casually mention Mary's attempt at seduction. That wasn't something he wanted to dwell upon then. He knew all too well that his heart was in plain view.
"This is a fine mess,” the boy said, raking his hair back from his forehead. “Just wait ‘til Father hears that you've got to lock your chamber door each time you leave it. And all hell's going to break loose the minute Mary steps into her chamber up there now. I hope you know what you're about."
"If you think for one moment that I would consider holding Christian ceremonies in this house with a shrine to the devil upstairs, you are sorely mistaken, young man."
"She needs a good thrashing."
"She needs love and affection,” the vicar corrected him, “just as we all do, Colin, not just supervision by the hired help. That's what's led her to seek something...more. This is what she's chosen. She's found out that it frightens the servants and she's using it to punish them—and now me, for not being her father. The sad thing is that she doesn't even know it. It pains me to have to deal with her harshly, but better that than letting her have her way at the expense of her immortal soul. It's that simple."
"Doesn't sound simple to me,” said Colin. “Do you want to know what I think? I won't be offended if you don't—nobody else ever has."
"What do you think, Colin?"
"I think you should have taken her up on her offer. If you can still defend her after the way she's behaved since you arrived, you will never convince me you don't have feelings for her. I believe you had them before you ever came here. Since, as you say, she needs love and affection, perhaps if you offered it to her—made her aware of your feelings—you might just be able to turn her around."
"She doesn't want it from me, Colin. We are at war here and I am the enemy. It doesn't matter what my feelings are. To her, I'm nothing more than the watchdog."
"I still say—"
"You weren't out there on that footpath this morning,” Elliot interrupted. “You didn't see the look in her eyes. Yes, I could have taken her in my arms and made a complete fool of myself. The whole episode was nothing more than an amusement to her. If I had offered her affection as you suggest, she would have minced me into little pieces. She had a good go at that as it was. No, Colin, I'm not going to wear my heart on my sleeve to be clawed to shreds. I've got too much pride for that."
"'Pride goeth before destruction'. I read that in the Bible,” said Colin. “I'm not altogether ignorant of religion, you know."
"I'm impressed,” Elliot erupted, hoping for a chance to change the subject. “Tell me more. What made you take up the Scriptures?"
Colin shrugged. “Curiosity,” he said flatly. “A lot of what I've read seems far-fetched, but a few things stuck in my mind. That passage was one of them. It's true, you know. I've seen it happen dozens of times at that blasted school."
Elliot laughed. “Well, I never expected that my student would be instructing me."
"You'll consider it, then—letting her know how you feel?"
"I'm not sure I know what I feel right not, Colin. But I do know that this is definitely not the time to test those waters. I will keep it under advisement, though."
Colin was about to speak again when Mary burst through the study door. Shrieking like an animal, she reached the vicar before he or Colin had time to react and began pummeling Elliot's chest with clenched fists.
"Damn you, you meddling fool,” she shrilled. “Believe me, you're going to suffer for what you've done."
Colin grabbed her around the waist and dragged her away, taking a beating himself for the interference. “For Christ's sake, Mary, his bones have barely mended,” he thundered.
"I'll break more than his bones before I'm through,” she cried. “How dare you destroy my things? How dare you enter my chamber and—"
"How dare you enter mine and steal my belongings for your childish games?” Elliot interrupted with raised voice.
Squaring his posture, he straightened his jacket and came closer. “Have you any idea what you are toying with?” he roared. “You call me a fool, while you court eternal damnation. All's fair, Miss Mary. You asked me this morning what that meant—now you know. This is all your doing, you realize. I offered a truce. You refused, and the consequences are on your head, my girl, just as I told you."
"I'm not your anything, coward,” she spat at him. “We'll see how you fare once Collie is no longer here to protect you. He goes back to school after Epiphany. Then we'll just see how well you can hold your own without him to pull me off you."
"Let her go, Colin."
"Elliot! Are you mad?"
"Let her go. She shan't attack me again, because if she does I'll have you go ‘round for the constable. Aside from assault, there's been a theft here. All I need do is press charges, and your father can visit her in Bodmin Jail when he arrives."
"You would have me arrested for taking your handkerchief?” she breathed.
"Attack me again and find out,” said Elliot, shifting his attention to her brother. “Colin, I asked you to let her go."
Reluctantly the boy released her and she backed away slowly, hunched in a threatening posture that turned the vicar's blood cold.
"Do you think for a moment that I don't know what those books contained by heart?” she snapped. “I've h
ad them for years. Would you like me to give you a recitation? I no longer need them to deal with the likes of you. Candles are easy to make, and what I've drawn once I will draw again. So, you see, all you've done is wear out the staff to no purpose."
"And I will do again if you think to recreate that sacrilege in this house,” Elliot promised her.
"You're going to be sorry for this, you pompous ass."
"Mary, that's enough,” Colin cut in, taking a step toward her.
"No, Colin, let her be,” said the vicar. “Since she has chosen to conduct herself in a manner unbefitting a proper young lady, she will remain in her chamber to meditate upon the consequences of her actions. Your meals will be served to you there, miss, until such time as your temper improves and I see fit to allow you to join us again in the dining hall. You are dismissed."
Mary backed toward the arch, but stopped when she reached it, pointing a rigid finger. “Go ahead and enjoy your little victory while you can,” she said. “It won't last for long. I can foresee the future you know. Would you like me to tell you yours?"
"Not particularly,” Elliot replied. “I don't believe in fortune telling."
"You will one day, good vicar,” she promised, “oh, yes, you will. You're going to labor your whole life long for a lost cause—only to die in failure, and alone. When that moment comes you will think of this day, and then you will believe. All's fair, remember? Chew on that with your meals in the dining hall."
Elliot studied the girl's menacing demeanor and exultant, trance-like stare through dispirited eyes. All hope of forming an alliance with Miss Mary Chapin dissolved in that moment. Though he tried to mask those thoughts, she seemed to be able to read them, and she ran from the room leaving the echo of her laughter ringing in her ears.
"What was that all about?” Colin said, coming nearer.
"I don't know, Colin—doesn't matter. She's angry. She'll get over it."
"Could you really have her arrested for taking that handkerchief?"
"Of course not,” said Elliot, “and I wouldn't even if I could. I was bluffing and it worked. I need time to speak with your father about all this. I'm just trying to keep her in line until I can do that."
Colin frowned. “See here, are you sure you're all right?” he said. “You look ghastly. She gave you quite a pounding before I got her off you."
"For the love of mercy,” Elliot snapped. “I assure you I'm hardly so fragile as to come down from the pitiful blows of a-a—mere child. I'm disappointed that, while I seem to have won some sort of shallow victory here, I've failed to win your sister's trust as I'd hoped."
"And her affection,” Colin added. “I'm sorry."
Elliot looked him in the eyes. “So am I, Colin,” he murmured, “so am I."
* * * *
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Seven
* * * *
Sir John's chaise arrived parting a leak winter fog the following morning. Since a day and a half was all he was willing to spare the coast, he wasted no time approaching Elliot for an account of the situation regarding his daughter. Sequestered behind closed doors in the study, the magistrate listened without comment while Elliot chronicled the events that had taken place since his arrival. He omitted nothing, and when he'd finished his report the old man breathed a ragged sigh.
"It's worse than I feared,” he said, holding a lit match to the end of a fresh cigar, “but you've acted correctly, of course, Elliot, just as I knew you would."
"Then you know more than I do, sir,” the vicar admitted. “I did what I thought best under the circumstances without benefit of expertise, or counsel from those who possess it in such matters. I only pray I haven't done more harm than good in the process."
"I'm going to have a word with my daughter, and when I've done there will be no question that you are acting in my behalf here. If she persists in these devilments, you are to act accordingly."
"I can control what goes on in this house with the help of God, sir,” Elliot reasoned, “but I cannot keep her prisoner in it. She frequents those stones on a daily basis. I've no doubt in my mind that she's out there right now. There is nothing I can do about it short of locking her up in her room, and I can't very well do that."
"No, I suppose not,” the magistrate conceded, “but we can curtail her visits to those Gypsies in the marshes. The land they're squatting on belongs to me. I've sent Harris after the constable. He'll evict the heathen beggars once and for all this time or, by heaven, I'll see him doing foot patrol at Newgate! You can rest assured they'll be gone by morning. Without outside influence to feed fuel to the fire, as it were, we can at least tip the scales in your favor."
"I'm not certain I'm the right man for this task,” Elliot opined. “It might call for someone with more experience than I can bring to it."
"Nonsense. We shan't go ‘round all that again. Before I leave tomorrow, I'll show you the spot I've picked out for the church. The workmen will be breaking ground right after New Year's. I've hired an excellent architect. I'm quite pleased with his interpretation of my ideas for the buildings. I think you will be as well."
Thinking back in retrospect, Elliot clouded. “I was so encouraged when I first arrived,” he reflected. “Colin and I got on so well from the start. I was hoping for a similar association with Miss Mary, but that is clearly not to be."
"I don't care how you get on with Colin,” the old man told him, “it's of no consequence. He's off at school most of the time. You shan't see much of him. I've brought you out here to deal with my daughter. That's all that concerns me."
"I'm afraid, then, that you've made a bad bargain, Sir John."
"Why don't you let me worry about that. You're no judge at the moment. She's wounded your heart and your pride. A man can't think clearly with such as that weighing on him, Elliot. That you manage to make sound judgments in spite of it all is what impresses me. Why don't you meditate upon that while I confront my daughter over this? We'll have her join us in the dining hall for dinner tonight. I want a look at her behavior first hand once I've made my position quite clear in regard to your residence here."
"As you wish,” said the vicar, “but with all due respect, I think you are the one who should meditate, sir—upon a miracle."
* * * *
Since Sir John came to the coast so seldom, Cook had prepared a veritable feast in honor of the occasion. There would be a first course of julienne soup, a second of fish poached in cream, and a main course consisting of boiled capon and roast leg of mutton, with braised potatoes and parsnips, the latter prepared in a special cream sauce. She had created an elegant trifle of sponge cake, blancmange, and fresh fruit for dessert.
Colin had tried to arrange an interview with his father twice, but the old man had refused him both times, which left the boy in a dark state of depression as they gathered in the dining hall. Mary came last, dressed in a gown of rose-colored watered silk that revealed more of her bosom than Elliot cared to view from his vantage across the table. Colin's knit brows bespoke his displeasure with her choice of frocks as well, but he made no comment as he took his seat beside her.
"So I am reinstated,” Mary chirped triumphantly.
"For the moment,” Colin ground out under his breath.
But she heard and awarded the hair curling at the edge of his collar a sharp tug. “You'd best not press Father for that interview,” she whispered close in his ear. “After the mouthful I fed him today about you, brother dear, you'll likely be banished to your chamber for life. All's fair, after all. You can thank your new friend, Elliot, for that."
Colin dosed her with cold eyes and was about to make a comment when Sir John's voice from the head of the table cut him short. “Something amiss there, young man?” he said.
"N-no, sir,” Colin murmured.
"Then we shall commence our meal,” the old man decreed, motioning to the plump maid, Elsie, to serve the soup.
Try as he would, Elliot couldn't avoid Mary's ey
es. They never left him, and the heat of that poisonous stare was almost more than he could endure. More than once she leaned forward displaying her cleavage in a manner that couldn't be missed, and he wished he were eating the trifle instead of the soup.
The first course passed without incident. It wasn't until Sara delivered the poached fish that the climate at the table began to crackle with negative energy. She served Colin last, moving daringly close to the boy in the process, and presented an ample expanse of her bosom at his eye level.
Mary's bee-stung lips curled in a wry smile as she watched Colin's gaze fix upon the serving maid's breasts and linger there familiarly. The moment Sara left the dining hall, Mary's giggle broke the silence.
"That little Sara is a shameless tart,” she said, playing with the fish on her plate. “Oh, Colin, really—the look you gave her bosom!"
"You mind your mouth,” Colin responded.
"That will do, young man,” Sir John barked. “I saw that just now, and I warn you, I will not tolerate licentious behavior at the dinner table."
Colin vaulted out of his chair scudding it out behind him and tossed his napkin down in his plate. “Well, just what would you expect with it is thrust in your face, sir?” he defended. “It could hardly have been avoided."
"He's right, Sir John,” Elliot put in, playing the mediator. “Colin did not instigate that just now. You really cannot blame him for—"
"Oh, yes I can,” the magistrate interrupted. “A gentleman is expected to conduct himself with decorum at all times. I don't see your nose down my daughter's bodice, Elliot, though she's made every effort to direct it there.” He turned cold eyes in Mary's direction. “What, girl?” he said. “Do you think that I'm blind here? You are so quick to condemn Sara as a tart while there you sit in that shameless frock acting the part yourself."
"Here, here,” Colin trumpeted.
"Young man, that will do—leave the table,” Sir John demanded.
"With pleasure, sir,” said the boy. I've quite lost my appetite."
Rape of the Soul Page 9