by Ian Hall
“I could,” he admitted sheepishly, turning a wry smile at one of the carved angels. “Jesthina, in particular, begged me for me to change her over and over…like some chattering bird in my ear. She cursed me on the day of her death for condemning her to rot in the dirt when I had the power to grant immortality.”
“So, why didn’t you?” I questioned softly.
“The truth, I’m afraid, is as ugly as it is selfish,” he said without remorse. “Though each of my wives were enchanting women in their own ways…suitable enough to while away a few decades with. But eternity? I saved that for you, Arabella – my one, true mate.”
Maxwell drew me to the grass, pressing his body over mine and parting my lips with his.
“My Arabella. I knew you were the one I’d waited for the moment I first laid eyes on you…”
I looked at the four stones and ran my fingers over the engraved words. The women of Maxwell’s previous lives, who had not been blessed with the wonder he’d bestowed upon me. The carved Celtic circles had a moss and lichen covering, and felt deathly cold to the touch.
“How long will I live?” I asked, turning to him.
“As long as fates decree.” He smiled and took me in his arms again. The cold of the morning affected neither of us, and I will admit that we rutted like wild beasts amongst the stones of the graveyard. Maxwell did not seem to mind the intrusion of his earlier wives, and I felt too impassioned to care.
When we had ended our rutting, we walked naked towards the house.
It seemed we had both a ball and a revenge to plan.
Chorley House had ribbon tied to the railings, and flag bunting streamed to the nearby trees. I stood behind a dirty window, invisible to the oncoming guests, but close enough to see their identities. Maxwell had given me two days of training in my new form. I knew fantastic speed, but also the power of suggestion; my breath across human nostrils molded them to my will.
I chose black as the color of my dress, bringing a macabre sense of theatre to the evening, a testament to my new standing, other seamstress’s fingers having worked overtime rather than my own. Thick, red piping rose from the floor, a foreshadowing of the blood that would certainly be spilled. A tight, black bodice emphasized my breasts, and a dark hood crowned the outfit.
Servants had taken hours and dyed my hair a coppery red. With my masque over one eye, I felt assured I would not be recognized unless I wished it.
The coaches began to arrive, and soon I saw William Roxburgh’s profile as he stood on the town hall steps. He gave his hand to my stepsisters as they alighted from the dark, shiny carriage, and with one on each arm, they walked up the steps and inside.
My insides felt heavy as set porridge as my worst fears were realized. Only three figures stepped from the Roxburgh coach; my mother not among them.
I felt my new blood boiling within my skin – my potent, vicious, lethal skin. The gestating rage threatened to burst prematurely. Crouching into the shadows, I sought to push the urge down that my perfect hate might be brought into the world at the moment of my choosing.
I quickly moved behind a curtain, just inches from Maxwell as he welcomed the line of guests.
“Mother is not here,” I whispered through a thin gap in the dark material.
I saw him nod. Graciously he continued his flowery welcomes.
“I must go to her.” I readied myself for flight, but Maxwell’s arm flashed through the curtain, clasping my wrist tight.
“We wait!” he snapped at me. “Whatever fate has befallen your mother, we cannot help her now. We must keep to our plan.”
I railed defiantly against his grip then relaxed, realizing the wisdom in his decision.
Then William stood next in line. Maxwell relinquished his hold on me, and extended his hand to our unsuspecting prey.
“Mister Roxburgh,” Maxwell bowed, “how gracious you are to join us tonight.”
“Thank you, Laird Ormiston.” His smile looked as sickly as I’d ever seen. “May I present my daughters, Mildred and Maigret Roxburgh.”
My stepsisters shuffled forward, their smiles forced, nervousness flooding their actions. Their make-up looked far too white, their teeth brown by comparison, false beauty spots on cheeks; so very last century. They curtseyed awkwardly, pushing inadequate cleavages at my lover. Despite my misgivings on Mother’s absence, I grinned.
Maxwell proved the flawless actor, never wavering in manner, even as he quizzed William in an intolerant tone. “And where is your lovely wife and Arabella? My invitations included them, also.”
Roxburgh swallowed. “They have been waylaid, sir. I am sorry, they cannot attend.”
“Waylaid?” I could hear Maxwell’s voice rise.
“Eh, yes, Isabella’s aunt was taken ill. They had to visit to help her.” William seemed to gain in confidence as he spoke. “My apologies again for their absence.”
“Will they be gone long?”
“Oh, they are this very instant being dispatched.” Roxburgh’s smirk spread over his face. Seemingly thinking his remark so clever, so witty, I grinned back at him through the curtain, determined that his fate would be even darker than we had planned.
Maxwell waved them inside and looked up for the next in line. I followed.
I moved among the spectators that formed a half-moon around the gleaming dance floor, where fluttering gowns swirled like gossamer leaves on the wind. The pale plumage of the hopeful virgins of Flemingston showed as preened and ostentatious as any bird seeking a mate. They meant to bedazzle and beguile, but, in truth, the low breeding of the East Lothian commonwealth seemed clumsily betrayed.
As the orchestra began to play the first dance, I slunk from my place of hiding, and circled the hall slowly. Glass of red wine in hand, my dark dress lost against the wooden paneling of the walls, I clung to my anonymity and spiraled towards my target.
As I watched the comical attempts at dancing, Mildred and Maigret promenaded onto the center floor to prance along with the other ponies up for bid. Their coaching had been marginally superior to the others. Seemingly William had spared nothing in his attempts to make his daughters stand out for Maxwell’s pleasure.
Behind my masque, both hatred and confidence bubbling, I slid up beside my stepfather, careful to “accidently” brush my shoulder to his. He turned, looked upon me, my perfect form and flawless face, and smiled with a libidinous delight. He smelled of lime and ash.
With a flash of realization, I knew my mother’s fate.
And yet I managed a smile and accepted the hand extended to me, allowing myself to be led onto the dance floor. Suddenly finding my dancing feet, unused for so long, I waltzed gracefully, my hood falling backwards from my head, my long, red tresses swinging as I danced.
William’s eyes were hungry and glinting. “I’ve not seen you before, lass.” In his lust, he saw nothing of the withered stepdaughter I had been, only some strange feral desire for a woman he needed to have. I ignored his remark, but grinned nevertheless. “What do you call yourself, lass?” His ungraciousness felt amplified by his clumsiness, and I threw back my head in a huge laugh, celebrating my new freedom.
“Tonight, William Roxburgh, I will have your family jewels in my hands.”
The look of pleasure in his eyes sickened me, but I held my expression, eyes wide, full of dark promise. When the orchestra finished the tune, he held me still, communicating in a terrible leer what social grace would not let him say aloud.
As we stood, the crescent-shaped crowd parted like the red sea. Between them, looking every bit the practiced dignitary, my Maxwell strutted like a peacock. He stole no glance to me but strolled to the pair of ugly sisters vying so desperately for his attentions. He bowed to each of them in turn and offered bent arms, escorting Mildred and Maigret from the dance floor.
I nodded to the sisters. “It seems that Mr. Clooney has chosen his dinner for this evening.”
With a pleased if not sinister grin, William watched their departure before tu
rning that wanton expression back to me.
“Perhaps a chaperone is needed?” I made the suggestion before he could. “Shall we? It’s a perfect evening for a stroll in the gardens.”
In a poor imitation of Maxwell, William bowed and led me off. “My dear, I canna wait to get my lips on yours.”
We were just outside the stone wall’s parameter when I turned on him, grabbed him by the waist, and threw him over my shoulder in a parody of the grip he’d used so cruelly on me. I travelled over the moors and farmland with the force of a dozen teams of horses. He protested against my crushing hold, but had little chance of escaping. Soon I sped past the hamlet of Chesterhill, then the farm of Mossend came into view, and the lime kiln above, so spectacular against the evening sky and the sunset of the distant Pentland Hills.
I brought him to the foot of the hill he’d taken me just two days before and dropped him there, just as he’d done. I could hear the wind rush out of his lungs, and when he at last looked up, it took his eyes several minutes to clear the glaze of confusion.
“What is this?” he panted, labored breaths punctuating each word.
“Don’t you remember this place? Where you dragged me and left me – my skin to bubble and peel and my bone to burn to cinders?”
I knelt to him, pulling away the masque that still obscured part of my face. Presented with my eyes inches from his, comprehension still did not settle quickly over William’s expression.
“You really are a pathetic creature, aren’t you, William Roxburgh!” I slapped him clean across the cheek, and he fell heavily against the ground.
Dazed at my strength, he silently examined my new face; I could see his fingers twitch with the desire to touch me, to confirm his grasp on reality. Only fear held him back.
“Arabella?” he said the name as if a curse. “It couldn’t be.”
“Oh. But, it could.”
The smell of burnt flesh lay heavy in the air, and I knew Mother’s remains lay in the smoldering fire. By his collar I dragged William up to his feet.
“Join me, stepfather,” I hissed, “for something of a family reunion.”
The deserted fires still burnt bright, the thick pieces of wood almost white in color, driven to high temperatures by the breeze. William’s nose crinkled reflexively from the stink. I thought I caught a glimmer of guilt in his eyes. And there seemed only one way to prove it.
I pushed him forward, towards the belly of the kiln, and slapped his head, defying him to move. Using a long rake, I began to pull the ashes from the large hearth, spilling them onto the hard-trodden earth. Proof of his complicity took mere moments; on the third rake, I pulled forth the bones of a human hand, still attached to the arm. I threw the rake aside in disgust and noted something small and glinting caught on one of the prongs. Careless of the heat, I bent to retrieve the red-hot hoop of my mother’s beloved wedding band, the fine engraving just barely visible.
“Well,” I said aloud, letting the heat of the fire warm my face. “You like to play with fire, do you?”
I grabbed a set of tongs and pulled the ring from the bone which crumbled and fell on the dirt floor. Grabbing his hand, he immediately sensed my purpose and pulled away. I cuffed him heavily again. “Be still, coward!” I roared, pulling his little finger towards the red-hot ring. With no finesse, I rammed his pinkie through the ring and let him go.
He leapt to his feet, squealing like a stuck pig. The ring sizzled on his skin, but he could not bring himself to grab it completely and pull it off. The resultant fiddling did little to help the pain, and I looked on with considerable amusement.
Above us I heard the patter of footsteps, so quiet a bird may as well have alighted upon a branch. My love had arrived with our remaining guests. A spiteful smile suffused me and a thrill of wicked pleasure shuttered the length of my body.
I grabbed my struggling stepfather’s collar and dropped him at the edge of the kiln’s crucible. The stench of burning human flesh lingered around Roxburgh like a curse.
“Let’s see if you find my game nearly as fun as your own.”
William still reeled from the shock of pain in his finger. Still holding him by the collar, I held him out into the wan sunlight and watched, laughing, as he fumbled and shook. For a long moment, he dangled there, bewildered to senselessness. As if flipping through the pictures of a book, I saw a range of emotions flicker over his face as awareness returned.
“Look, Father,” I said, looking over the large saucer at my lover. “My sisters have joined us.”
William followed my gaze over my shoulder to where Maxwell stood on the opposite side of the lime kiln, holding each of my stepsisters over the bowl as easily as a pair of ragdolls. Mildred and Maigret’s fine dresses were dripping wet; it seemed Maxwell had thought of everything, dragging them through the river to ensure the lime stuck true to their delicate skins.
“No!” William shrieked, running at a pathetic gait back to the kiln.
“Oh,” I grinned mockingly, “it seems there does beat a heart in that puffed-out chest of yours, Roxburgh.”
Ignoring my provocation, William fell to his knees beseechingly, his hands clasped together, and pled to Maxwell, “Please…please…not my daughters…free them…”
“It seemed only moments ago you were all-too eager to allow me to do as I pleased with your daughters; perhaps both at once if it was to my taste,” Maxwell teased. “An’ now you mean to enforce limits on how I may enjoy their company? I’m not sure I appreciate the contradiction.”
To show his displeasure, Maxwell lowered the girls closer to the lime. They each screamed and kicked against the powder’s scorching, sending shoes flying in all directions. As the scalding hot lime touched the hems of their drenched gowns, the lace shrank away from the heat, its edges tinted murky brown. They tried to keep their feet out of the powder, but they couldn’t do it forever.
“Please! NO!” William roared. “Anything!”
I projected my voice above the choir of Roxburgh’s screams, “You wish to save them? At what cost?”
Feverishly, the merchant patted his breast and pants pockets, turning them inside out as a pile of coin jangled to the ground musically. William even relieved his tie and cuffs of their gilded pins and threw them down among the spoils.
Maxwell’s face remained amused; a perfect reflection of my own, I felt sure. We exchanged a knowing glace as William Roxburgh realized his mistake – offering a pittance to a man of such wealth.
“There is more!” he shouted at us. “Much, much more.”
Maxwell looked at me for permission. I granted it with a nod. Slowly, he lowered the sisters to their shins in the powder, pushing their bodies downwards with a sharp grimace.
Renewed screams filled the air.
Understanding mixed with the horror in William’s eyes. Rightfully so, he looked to me to continue his bargaining.
“What do you want?” he looked from Maxwell to me, begging for clemency.
“I have no use for your scraps of metal, Will,” I scolded levelly, kicking the coins. “What I want from you is nothing short of everything you took from me…and from my mother.”
It seemed his arrogance won out even over the love for his daughters. “I gave you wretches a better life then you deserved! A roof to sleep under an’ food to eat! How much more could you have taken me for? Was it so much to ask…a clean house and warm skin to push against in my bed? All o’ your needs were met!” He pounded his chest and roared. “And WHAT o’ mine?!”
Again I gestured to Maxwell. He lowered the girls until their thighs disappeared into the creamy powder. I remembered how the dust had stung my legs, and with the sisters having been dipped in the river, I knew the extent of their pain. Fresh screams erupted as they struggled in vain against Maxwell’s grip.
“Let’s speak o’ your needs, William.” I circled him like a carrion bird, “Your needs for high standing in this worthless town. Your need to be waited on, hand an’ foot. Your need to flaunt w
omen like jewels on your fingers…”
I glanced back up at Maxwell and he lowered my stepsisters to their privates.
“Do all o’ these needs outweigh the needs o’ your two vicious, ugly daughters’ lives?”
“What are you asking of me?” he snarled through clenched teeth.
“An exchange, William,” I replied dispassionately. “Your life for theirs.”
“DADDY! HELP US! SAVE US, DADDY!”
William Roxburgh’s eyes followed the pleading cries up to the melting forms of Mildred and Maigret. Their faces, intact and yet disfigured in their moment of torment, bespoke all the pain and anguish of their suffering.
Even I felt a fleeting whisper of pity. “Walk into the crucible, an’ your daughters will live.” For a second, I thought he’d throw himself in.
But the hopeless coward of a man, however, had a different set of priorities. He took a stumbling step backwards and hung his head. I could hear his defeated, breathless reply even over the screams of his daughters.
“I cannot.”
I beamed in my victory. “An’ I will not allow you such an easy out as to watch your daughters die.” I pointed down into the pit. “But they will suffer. Every single moment of their lives.”
Bending down, Maxwell pushed the sisters into their waists, the sisters screamed at first, then Maigret fell silent and lifeless, unconscious in Maxwell’s grip. Mildred remained struggling against the effects of the burning, cloying dust. He left them there for a moment, then pulled the sisters from the lime. The lower half of each of their bodies lay coated in the hot lime dust. In a motion too quick for William to have registered, his daughters were brought to him and laid at his feet.
“You continue to live, William Roxburgh,” I said mercilessly, “an’ so will they, it seems, as the useless lumps o’ flesh they have always been. In need o’ constant attendance, an’ with no mother’s love. It seems the fate you once imposed upon me has now sprung back to you.”
Maxwell swept me in his arms, kissing me deeply. He did not break our embrace as he turned, grinning, to William. He tossed a discarded, satin slipper to the bewildered man. The fading sunlight refracted off iridescent beading, making it appear as if fashioned out of glass.