Rape of the Soul

by Dawn Thompson

  Colin's eyes oscillated between them, and the vicar looked away in defeat.

  "Elliot,” said Howard, “your heart is no longer functioning to capacity.” Colin moaned, but the doctor ignored him. “It has been failing for years,” he went on. “Now it's crucial. That last attack you had here in this very stable four years ago did damage—serious damage. That heart in there can't stand much more I'm telling you plain. It's tired and it's going to give out on you. It's a dead certainty it shan't last another month if you don't stay away from all this out here.” He gestured to encompass the entire circumstance. “This is no longer strong enough,” he continued, waving the vial. “I've increased the dosage six times in the past ten years. I'll fetch you a stronger elixir at once, but that's it, Elliot. It cannot be increased again. That's all you've got—there's no more margin. Am I coming clear to the both of you?"

  The vicar nodded, pained at the trembling despair in Colin's moist eyes. “It was just a twinge I tell you . . . it wasn't serious,” he murmured emptily.

  "Oh? Ye gods, will you look what we have here—another doctor,” barked Howard. “Well, just let me tell you something about that ‘twinge', Elliot, but for what's in that bottle, and me here at the right moment to make sure you got enough of it, your ‘twinge’ would have become a full-blown seizure—a bona fide coronary thrombosis, and it would have sent you right along to join Harris. Do you hear me? You can no longer live without that prescription as a crutch. Should you suffer a seizure without it you will die—plain and simple. Am I getting through to you, man?"

  "Ahhhh, my God,” murmured Colin, turning away.

  The vicar buttoned his blouse and fastened his collar. Standing, he squared his posture. “I'm all right,” he protested.

  "Ummmmm,” growled Howard, “look at your color. Christ, you're paste-white, Elliot. Your lips are blue, you're trembling—in a cold sweat, and you're bloody well scared to take a deep breath aren't you?” He nodded, agreeing with his evaluation. “Now you get out there in that trap of yours and I'll follow you back to the vicarage and see you in bed where you belong. You'll stay there awhile, too, until I decide when you can get up out of it again, so you may as well alert the deacons."

  The vicar cast another pained glance toward Colin. “I'm all right, Colin... really I am,” he insisted.

  Swallowing hard, Colin nodded. “You go on along and do as he says, Elliot,” he murmured. “Just . . . please, for the love of God, do as he says."

  The doctor turned to Colin, meanwhile taking a firm grip of the vicar's arm. “I'll send the undertaker out as soon as I get back,” he said, “and, Chapin, you'd best be warned, I saw all that just now don't forget. I was watching Malcolm closely. His conduct hardly seems like that of a murderer to me. It's plain you're after blood. Well, you'd best not spill so much as a drop of his because if you do I'll help them build the gallows myself."

  "Just mind your own bloody business,” spat Colin. “You can begin by getting him out of here like I asked you to earlier. If you'd listened to me, then we wouldn't be having all this now would we? No, you're a jot too cocky these days, you sanctimonious old sonofabitch. Don't try to play constable. It isn't your calling. You've enough of a task playing doctor, and if you know what's good for you you'll leave it at that and keep your blasted nose out of my affairs."

  Then don't give me cause not to,” brayed Howard. “When you call me out here to pick up your pieces it becomes my business. Listen here, Chapin, Christ knows what he sees in you, but I've watched this man's loyalty to the trashy likes of you drive him to the edge of his grave. If he comes down it will be your fault, my fine surly rogue, and if that day comes you have my solemn promise I'll personally see that you follow him if I have to do the bloody deed myself. Good day."

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  Chapter Thirty-eight

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  It was a fortnight before Malcolm made another trip to the village. He hovered through the stabler's funeral and waited, making certain there would be no threat of an investigation looming on the horizon before he relaxed his guard.

  With Harris dead, the vicar removed, and no hope of enlisting aid in sight, Colin also bided his time. But time was a two-faced vehicle then, and his term wasn't so easily served as that of the dark gloating youth. Rejoicing in Jean's discomfort, Malcolm amused himself meanwhile by exposing her to his uncle's presence at every opportunity, looking on with leering eyes while she struggled with the passion he'd forced her to confess. He clung to Cragmoor with what seemed to Jean deliberate obstinacy, and she knew the strain was wearing Colin thin despite the mask he somehow managed to keep in place. That mask may have fooled the others, but Jean wasn't deluded by it. She could see the fresh lines that furrowed his brow, and the dark, clinging shadows that rested beneath his tired eyes. A more urgent facet of pain shivered in the depths of his angry scowl then. It devastated her, and she longed to take him in her arms and soothe it all away.

  During the endless nights as she lay awake in the darkness, she had no way of knowing that on the other side of her chamber wall—but a few short steps away—Colin likewise lay wakeful. For he crept to the tutor's old room each evening unseen and kept to them straining the quiet with ears that echoed his own rapid pulse beat. Fearful of sleep, he struggled against it dozing and nodding awake, his heart in his throat until dawn, when he would steal to his own chamber to make ready for yet another grueling day.

  Unaware, Jean listened in the blackness to the thudding sounds of an angry winter sea crashing against Cragmoor cliff, and the unbroken rhythm of Malcolm's heavy breathing beside her. Colin's gentle strength and the taste of his warm, eager lips were torments then in the shadow of the threatening dark shape that, though she shrank away, leaned steadily against her. For Malcolm exuded an aura so frightening to her that, even as he slept, enmity seemed alive in his lungs exhaling a malevolence that tainted the very air from which she drew her breath.

  As time wore on she began to think that Malcolm would never leave, and a nagging suspicion that perhaps he did know and wanted to prolong her agony took root, but she dismissed that idea as impossible. It had been some time before he came in from the stable the night she and Colin were together. Preoccupied with removing loose straw from his clothes just as he had done earlier, he hadn't seemed to notice her as she pretended to be asleep. She'd been mildly curious about all that at the time, but once Harris was found the following morning she no longer needed to wonder about it. There was no doubt in her mind that somehow Malcolm was behind the stabler's death, and as time passed she feared she'd lose her sanity for want of telling Colin.

  Finally one night mid-month, Malcolm took out his crop and boots, and Jean could scarcely contain herself until she'd watched him ride off toward the south road astride Lord Faar. The minute he was out of sight she stepped into the hall and Colin's firm hand gripped her arm from the shadows. He swept her quickly into the chamber next door where he'd been waiting and pulled her into an anxious embrace. Murmuring her name, he crushed her hard against his ragged heartbeat soothing her with gentle hands.

  "Are you all right, Jean?” he murmured.

  His blouse was open to the waist, and she reached inside pressing her hand against his chest as if she hoped to keep the heart from bursting through his breast. “Yes,” she breathed, nodding against the thunder beneath her face.

  Captivated by her touch, he groaned.

  "I'm so dreadfully sorry about Mr. Harris,” she said. “Malcolm killed him. I know he did."

  He held her away searching her eyes deeply. “Has he said that—admitted it?"

  She shook her head. “No, Colin, but he doesn't have to—not to me. Before he came down to dinner, the night we were together, his suit was filthy when he came in from the cliff and he tried to clean it. It looked like sawdust, and when I questioned him about it he said it was from the stable. He burned that suit, Colin—tossed it right into the fire. I didn't think anything of it the
n, but now . . ."

  "I told them the board had been sawed."

  "That's not all. Later, when he came to bed, I was pretending to be asleep and I watched him picking loose bits of hay from his clothing and tossing them into the hearth. He couldn't have gotten that filthy putting the horse in its stall. He was covered with it. Then the next morning when you found Mr. Harris . . . Oh, Colin, I've been half mad because I couldn't tell you."

  "Ahhhh, Christ, I knew it,” groaned Colin, “and we both know Harris wasn't drunk. You were with me when Amy knocked on my door that night. If he had been drunk that would have been the first thing out of that woman's gossiping mouth. Ahhh, my God, he wanted to tell me. I knew I was right—I knew it, so did Exchequer. That's why he attacked the bastard in the stable that morning. That horse saw the bloody thing just as I told them. Ahhhh, Jesus!"

  She pulled him close again, but he'd not be soothed. “George Howard wasn't convinced,” he went on, “but Elliot was. That's why he came down right after Malcolm stormed out of there."

  "He's had another seizure?” she cried.

  Colin shook his head. “It wasn't quite a seizure, thanks to that medicine of his and Howard."

  "I wondered why he hasn't come in so long."

  "I didn't want to mention it because I didn't want to give Malcolm the satisfaction. He didn't see it. Now that Harris is out of the way, Elliot's next on his list I expect. He'll save me for last."

  "Oh, my God. Is he all right, Colin?"

  "No, Jean, he isn't. That's why I haven't told him what's going on here. I knew it was serious, but I had no idea how serious until Howard spelled it out for me that day."

  Jean gasped. “We can't lose him."

  "I had it all worked out. I went to the stable that morning to tell Harris what was going on here and get him to help us. Afterward, I had intended to go straight to Elliot with it.” He groaned. “Christ, I found Harris dead—Elliot came down. I've nearly driven myself mad trying to figure a way out of this without them. There's nowhere else that I can take you but to Elliot, he's the only friend I've got you know. There's not a soul on the coast who'd lift a finger to lend me aid. There's not one man in Cornwall save Elliot who wouldn't jump at the chance to help build the gallows for the privilege of watching me swing from it. I've built it myself I expect, but that's not the issue here now. The only other plan I can fashion is to see you away altogether—out of the district, while I settle this here. Where has Malcolm gone?"

  "To that brothel in the village. He won't be long, Colin."

  He spat out a cryptic laugh. “Is that where he goes, then? I should have guessed. Christ!"

  "Colin, I won't leave you here with him."

  "What are you afraid of, Jean? Are you afraid for me, because if you are you needn't be. I can handle the bastard.” He shook her gently. “But you have to listen to me. There's nothing I can do while you're in this house. Should you get in the way . . . don't you see, I can't even think clearly with you underfoot. I'm too afraid of what might happen to you. That would color my actions and give him the edge. Christ, I was shot once trying to keep someone out of the way of danger. You've got to be reasonable, Jean. If I didn't have to worry about you I could handle this."

  "How?"

  "That doesn't matter,” he flashed. “I could, and I will, but not while you're in this house."

  "What about the constable? We both know he killed Mr. Harris, Colin."

  "Yes, but he's got Howard duped. That pompous old reprobate wouldn't even sanction an investigation. Harris is in his grave, and while we both know how he got there, there's no tangible proof."

  "Couldn't we still go to the police? He's threatened me—beaten me, Colin. You've seen the marks."

  "Wife beating?” He laughed. “Do you know how much of that sort of thing goes on in these parts? Christ! The constable would send him home with a slap on the wrist and he would kill you.” Again he let her go. “No, Jean,” he said, “I've got to get you out of here. As long as you're in this house you've got to play by Malcolm's rules and pray he doesn't tire of the game and rape you. That's your alternative."

  "Then there is no alternative, Colin, because it's clear you hate him enough to kill him even without all this here now.” She gestured with a wild sweep of her arm. “They will hang you. Everyone knows how you feel about Malcolm. There'd be a noose ‘round your neck before the body was cold."

  "Not . . . necessarily."

  "Colin, you can't actually be considering murdering him outright?"

  "Since he's so fond of that bloody cliff out there he could have a little accident of his own one night couldn't he?"

  She gasped again, studying the cold, thoughtful eyes narrowed at the prospect. “Oh, my dear God,” she murmured, rushing into his arms. “I'll never leave you now, Colin—I don't dare.” She pulled him closer. “The little time we have together is so precious. Please let's not waste it bickering. Just hold me."

  Soothing her, he emptied his lungs despondently. “I don't want you like this, Jean,” he said. “I want to marry you. I won't settle for this."

  "Can you show me any hope of that right now?"

  "That's not fair. You've tied my hands."

  "Then love me, Colin,” she begged, addressing the despair in his eyes. “I've just found you and I need you so. Please, Colin. Please don't turn me away."

  "Turn you away? Ahhhh, Christ,” he moaned, gathering her close. “I'm half mad for want of you—nearly insane for need of you, Jean."

  He found her lips with his own warm mouth and smothered her in an embrace that left her weak in his arms. When he drew his lips away, hers followed them. “I want you to listen to me,” he murmured, tilting her face toward him, “the very next time the bastard leaves this house, I will have worked all this out. I would have gone to Elliot by now if I thought he was strong enough to get involved in all this, but, blast him, he's stubborn as a jackass. Howard took him back to the vicarage after his spasm out in that stable and put him to bed, but he wouldn't stay in it, damn his obstinate soul. He got up out of it to bury Harris. That nearly brought him down all over again, and he had to take to his bed again immediately after. He isn't even back on his feet a week yet, Jean, and he looks like death. I haven't dared tell him yet. But, be that as it may, with or without his help, you're going out of this house the very next time the bastard leaves it. Expect it and be ready."

  "I'll never go willingly."

  He gave a crisp nod. “However it has to be, you're going if I have to drag you by the hair. I don't know how or where just yet, but go you will. You have my oath upon that. I've managed to control myself thus far because of you, but no longer, Jean. My patience is at an end."

  Gathering her close in his arms, he caressed her with tender hands and drew a deep, tremulous breath. “There's one more thing,” he said. Hesitating, he held her face against his breast, unable to meet her eyes then. “Don't trust the servants, Jean,” he forced. “Megan and Kathleen in particular. I won't lie to you, I used to bed them. All that ceased the moment you entered this house, and there's more than a little animosity on their parts toward me over it. They both slept with Malcolm before he was packed off to the States, and should they discover our alliance I've no doubt in my mind they'll be quick to carry tales. Be careful, Jean. I'm sorry."

  She tilted her head back and turned his toward her with a feather-light touch that melted him. “Look at me, Colin,” she murmured. Slowly he met her soft green eyes with his own clouded and sad. “None of that matters—I love you,” she whispered, pulling his head down until their lips met again.

  Aroused, he lifted her in his arms and laid her gently on the bed. Sinking down beside her he searched her face. “I don't deserve your love, Jean,” he said. “Christ knows I'm not worthy of it, but I am so very much in love with you that I'm greedy enough to pretend I am and take it, God forgive me."

  Raising herself, she spread his blouse wide and pressed soothing hands into the sand-colored mat that covered
his breast. Bending, she kissed him there. Her searching lips were soft, and he held them where they sought with his fingers tangled deep in her hair. “My God, it's no use without you,” he groaned, crushing her close.

  The anxious sounds of their breathless embrace rose around them like the deep ocean swells sighing on the strand below, and their naked silhouettes cast tall, erotic shadows on the cream-colored wall in the lamplight as though their souls had left their bodies to cavort there. Sometime later, a log snapped and fell in the grate sending out a shower of fiery sparks in finale that gilded their flushed skin. For they loved each other so long that the dwindling flames died in the hearth. Their souls, seemingly reluctant to end the shadow play, returned to them then as the light failed and the fire grew cold, snuffed out as the explosion that joined their bodies united their spirits into one single, shuddering being.

  Afterward Colin groaned. Unwilling to withdraw himself, he pulled her closer still in yet another ravenous embrace, enraptured.

  "I won't leave you, Colin,” she sobbed. “I'd rather die right here and now—just as we are, than live without you."

  But thoughts of dying broke the spell, and he pulled back sharply. “You'll do as I say,” he said, “exactly as I say, Jean, commencing now. We'll have no talk of dying.” He caressed her absently. “We can't stay here any longer,” he regretted. “It's grown late. When I'm with you I lose all track of time. I've half a mind to fetch the spare key from the scullery, lock you in here, and deal with the bastard right now. As a matter of fact, I think that's just exactly what I will do."

  Vaulting from the bed he pulled on his drawers and trousers. Ignoring her protests, he went to the window scanning the blackness below. It took a moment for his eyes to focus on the feeble lantern glow spilling from the open stable doors. When they did, he caught sight of Malcolm strolling toward the house and his heart sank. “Jesus Christ,” he spat, “he's here.” Snatching her clothes he wrapped them around her. “There's no time to dress. Go quickly. Put on your nightgown and get into bed—pretend to be sleeping, Jean. Hurry."