Henry & Sarah

by Kadrak, Suzanne

  Sarah deliberately ignored remarks like this as they didnʼt hurt her in the least. After all, Henry had shown her what passion she was capable of, and he had never complained about her skills in bed. She had learnt that it so much depended on the man to make a woman passionate, and Henry had made her passionate indeed, so much that she had hardly recognized herself anymore in her moments of rapture where she had felt like a wild and uncontrollable beast.

  Sarah was sure that Damianʼs physical shortcoming—a pretty small manhood—was the reason why he was so frustrated and why he couldnʼt become aroused in her presence. He felt conscious about himself, and he let her suffer for it by accusing her of being the root of it all, because a good wife managed to seduce her husband and made him feel ready to do all the naughty things. But Sarah just tended to lie in bed, stiff as a board, gritting her teeth and waiting out his attempts to make himself come. Luckily, as Sarah had to admit, it had at least worked out once. Luckily, because this had served as her explanation for being pregnant. Otherwise, it would have become ever so clear to Damian that she had made love to Henry, too, and that there was a possibility that Henry was the father of the child.

  After Damian had realized that Sarah was pregnant, proudly believing that it was solely thanks to him, he had trouble touching her again. After all, there was something growing inside of her, and that tiny being might be able to see ʻhim.ʼ Sarah was quite sure that he tried to find his pleasure somewhere else, maybe in one of the brothels he had mentioned and where nobody would laugh at him, because the women there didnʼt care. Sarah didnʼt have any problem with that, as long as Damian left her in peace.

  No, they simply were unable to find a common ground; neither in bed nor during any other occasion. Sometimes it appeared to Sarah as if they lived in two entirely different worlds. It most definitely wasnʼt the same world as Henryʼs, which so much seemed to be her world, too.

  Outside, she heard the sound of hooves and a coach driving past.

  He is here... she thought with a mixture of fear and delight. She reached for the pocket watch on her nightstand and tried to read the clock face in the darkness.

  It was almost twenty past midnight.

  Time to get ready...

  Oscarʼs special medication had made her wide awake all day. She had felt refreshed, strong, and rather energetic. But now, after only one hour of sleep, she could feel the effect of the pill ebb and her drowsiness return. In fact, she suddenly felt more exhausted than ever before. She hoped that she would feel strong enough to pull the escape through and that she wouldnʼt die for fear once she entered the ship. She had never seen one close up, only on pictures.

  Iʼd rather die for fear now than stay with Damian...

  She had wanted to die anyway within the past weeks, especially when Damian had broken the news to her that he would take her to India in only a few monthsʼ time. She had been devastated.

  She didnʼt doubt that India was a wonderful country. She had a picture book back at the mansion with drawings of elephants and maharajas and women in colorful dresses. Still, she had kept wondering how she should cope with life once she lived in India, with neither Henry nor Oscar being at her side. She would have never asked her Uncle Oscar to make such a sacrifice as to come with her. She would have never wanted him to give his home and office up for her unless he would have done it out of his own will.

  Apart from that, she knew that it probably would not have helped her very much if he indeed had gone to India as well. Her aunt had told her in all frankness that she had had a row with him and that she didnʼt wish that he looked after Sarah any longer, neither in England nor anywhere else. She had even forbidden him to join her on this weekend. Still, Oscar, clever and cheeky as he was, had not refrained from arranging that secret meeting between Henry and her, without giving her any clue whatsoever. She had wondered why he pushed her so hard to make her go on this trip to London. Never would she have guessed that meeting Henry was the reason behind it. Oscar had known all too well that it was better not to tell her because she would have refused to go and see Henry.

  But now, it was good that she had met him.

  It was more than good.

  She would have never believed that it was possible that someone like him could love her despite the long time of separation which had lain between them; despite the fact that she had so terribly ignored him and his letters. But there he was, still loving her as much as back then in summer. The proof had lain in his kiss, in the way he had looked at her, a dreamy, swooning expression in his eyes.

  It helped her to trust. It helped her to face the unknown, which still seemed so terrifying to her. But it most definitely helped.

  Yes, it was either sure death or the unknown. Now she would rather chose the unknown. Now that she had seen Henry and had fallen for him yet again, there simply was no turning back. She could not say goodbye to him one more time. She simply couldnʼt.

  Sarah glanced over to Damian, anxiously, hardly daring to breathe. Pale moonlight fell through the window, outlining Damianʼs body.

  Very carefully, Sarah slipped out of bed and tiptoed over to the wardrobe, whose creaking door she had left open earlier on so that it wouldnʼt make a noise now that she took her bundle and her coat out of it.

  She had it all prepared. In that bundle were the clothes she wanted to take with her and the clothes she wanted to wear, as well as Henryʼs necklace which he had given to her on her birthday, and the picture of her mother. She was relieved that it was her habit to take Henryʼs necklace as well as her motherʼs picture to wherever she went, and that she had not left these treasures of hers behind at the mansion where she would not return to in a short while; if she would ever return. The fact that she would not be able to see her motherʼs grave bothered her, though, and she tried not to be all too sad about it. But deep inside she was. Still, it wouldnʼt keep her from leaving. She was certain that her mother would have wanted her to leave.

  Outside the bell of the nearby clock tower stroke half past twelve.

  Quietly, Sarah put on her knickers, her stockings and a dress, followed by her cardigan, a scarf and a coat. Then she slipped into her shoes and grabbed her bundle.

  Slowly, she sneaked over to the door.

  Her hand touched the doorknob.

  “Sarah...?” she suddenly heard Damianʼs voice.

  Sarah froze.

  She heard the bedsheets rustle as Damian sat up in bed.

  Hesitantly, she turned around.

  Damian stared at her in wonder.

  “What in the name of God are you up to?” he asked suspiciously when he saw that she was fully dressed.

  “I am just going to the bathroom,” Sarah explained, trying to sound casual.

  “And for that you need a coat and a bundle?” Damian looked at her sternly. It was the kind of intimidating look which always made her shrink and shrivel with fear like a little child.

  “It… it is cold in the corridors...” she stammered nervously.

  “Why donʼt you use our en suite bathroom?”

  “I… need to pass water. And they only have toilets in the common bathrooms.”

  “What do you think the chamber pots are for?” Damian pointed his finger underneath the bed.

  “I… I… donʼt like them,” Sarah whispered, gradually running out of excuses.

  Damian climbed out of bed and walked over to the window, which was covered with white frost. He peered outside, and looked up and down the deserted road.

  He slowly turned around, staring flatly at Sarah.

  “He is out there, isnʼt he?” he whispered, sounding dangerously calm.

  Sarah swallowed hard. She desperately hoped Henry would not be as foolish as to come up and look for her, because she was now getting a little late.

  Damianʼs glance fell on the untouched glass of water on his nightstand. He took the glass, sniffed at it. Then, suddenly and unexpectedly, he threw it across the room and at the wall where it burst into a thousand pi
eces.

  “He is out there, isnʼt he?!” he yelled. Sarah anxiously held on to her bundle and wondered if she should simply storm outside and run for it. But before she was able to make a decision, Damian hastened over to her, taking huge steps. He grabbed her arms and began to shake her furiously as if she was a doll.

  Eagerly she shook her head.

  “No! He is not, he is not!”

  “You donʼt fool me!” Damian spat at her and let go of her abruptly. She tumbled and fell back onto the bed, from where she watched him rush over to the wardrobe, grab his trousers, and put them on. Then he stormed over to the bed where he let his hand slip underneath the mattress, going in search of something. The next moment Sarah saw him taking out his pistol which he had hidden there and which he always carried with him wherever he went. Sarah knew that the gun was his best friend in his paranoia of seeing potential enemies lurking around every corner.

  Sarahʼs eyes widened with terror at the sight of the pistol in his hand.

  “Damian, donʼt! I am begging you!” she screamed and jumped up from the bed.

  A nasty smirk spread on his lips.

  “If he is not out there, why should you object to me taking the gun?” he hissed.

  Sarah immediately fell silent, knowing that he was right, of course, and that she had given Henry away.

  Damian slipped into his boots, took a jacket, and rushed towards the door. With a forward dive, Sarah tried to hold him back by grabbing his arm, but he simply shook off her hands and pushed her aside. He stomped out of the room and, to Sarahʼs horror, locked the door from the outside. Then she heard him take out the key and walk away.

  In her despair, she began to scream, hammering her fists against the door.

  “Damian, donʼt, please come back! Please…!”

  Tears were streaming down her face. She desperately wanted to warn Henry that Damian was on his way to get him, but she didnʼt know how.

  She thought that the best thing she could do was to continue screaming and making a noise so that the other guests in the adjacent rooms would wake up, become aware of her unfortunate situation, and get the night porter who had a spare set of keys and who would let her out. Then she could tell the porter that her husband had in fact gone to shoot someone as she was certain that Damian, now that he was on his way to Henry, would lie to the porter and claim he was just going for a walk, even if this appeared strange at that time of the night.

  But what then…? Sarah suddenly thought. She reckoned that the porter would call for the guards or even run out into the night himself in order to intervene. But she guessed that by the time he or the guards arrived at the scene, it would probably be too late.

  And then another thought occurred to her: The thought that Damian might not shoot Henry at all—which, of course, would have been plain murder, unless he claimed that it was self-defense—but that he would instead threaten Henry and keep him in check until someone arrived whom he could tell a lie about Henry, a lie which would result in Henry being arrested for the rest of his life.

  Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

  “Hello! Is anyone in there?” someone called. It was a woman, and Sarah believed to recognize her voice as the one of Countess Pavlowa, an elderly Russian Lady whom she had happened to get acquainted with earlier that day. She didnʼt seem to be alone as Sarah could hear her speak to someone who turned out to be her husband and who asked, “Are you alright?”

  Sarah hesitated for a moment.

  “I am fine, thank you very much,” she finally answered.

  “Are you certain?” Countess Pavlowa enquired, sounding doubtful. “We heard screams and the smashing of glass. Are you sure that nobody is harmed?”

  “Yes, I am sure. Everything is fine.”

  “Well then… We are next door if you need anything at all.”

  “Thank you very much, Countess, I highly appreciate your concern and help,” Sarah replied, trying to make her voice sound firm although she was terribly worried that the decision she had made was the wrong one: the decision that she wouldnʼt tell anyone because she was certain that nobody out there would be interested in saving Henry in the end. Nobody would want to contradict Damian and doubt his credibility.

  Instead, she decided that she needed to come up with a solution herself. And she needed to be quick. Very quick.

  When she heard Count and Countess Pavlowa leave and withdraw to their room again, she hastened over to the window, opened it, and peered outside.

  Two floors.

  She knew she was a good climber. No tree back home which had been safe from her.

  She guessed that she could make it.

  With fierce determination, Sarah stormed over to the bed, and took the sheets off it. Next, she tore at the curtains until they came down. Then she spotted a tea cloth covering the chest of drawers in the corner. She took that too, then she knelt down on the floor and began to tie the sheets, the curtains, and the cloth together.

  She felt terribly exhausted and overcome with a strange lightheadedness which made it difficult for her to concentrate. Still, she tried hard to pull herself together, knowing that it was just the ebbing effect of her uncleʼs pills which made her feel so weak.

  I can do it, she kept saying to herself whenever she sensed that fear, despair and tiredness were taking over.

  I can do it...

  After a few minutes, she got up and wrapped the end of the rope, which she had made, around one of the bedposts. Then she pulled herself onto the window sill.

  Suddenly, however, she realized that she needed something to defend herself, some kind of weapon, just in case things got out of control which they probably would, as she guessed.

  She climbed back down and went in search of Damianʼs straight razor, but she couldnʼt find it anywhere, neither in the bathroom nor in his suitcase. Then the thought hit her that he had probably hidden it because the whole family dreaded that she was suicidal—which wasnʼt too far from the truth after all.

  I need something, I need something… it hammered in her head as her eyes were darting across the room in her desperate search of something simple yet practical.

  Then, suddenly, she had an idea, which she found rather splendid.

  * * *

  Henry looked at his pocket watch. It was almost a quarter to one. But still there was no sign of Sarah. Keeping his eyes fixated on the entrance door of the hotel, he wondered what might have caused the delay, and the more he thought about it, the more his mind began to fill with worry.

  Suddenly, the entrance door opened.

  Finally...

  Henry let out a sigh of relief and was already on the verge of signaling Wheeler, the coachman, to fire his horses and quickly drive over to the hotel when he realized that it was not Sarah at all, who came walking out of the building.

  It was Damian. And he was looking up and down the road, his eyes searching for something in the darkness.

  Henry shifted uneasily in his seat.

  He searching for me. He knows that I am here…

  Henry racked his brain how Damian had found out about him and if he had hurt Sarah to make her talk, but Henry didnʼt have much time to think about it as in this moment Damian spotted the coach, which was slightly illimunated by the faint glow of the moonlight, and began to purposefully march in its direction. And as he did so, he took a pistol out of his trouser pockets.

  “Someoneʼs coming, Sir,” Henry heard the Wheeler call down to him from the coachbox.

  “I know...” Henry mumbled, desperately trying to come up with an idea what to do. He had hoped that he could avoid a confrontation with Damian and wondered if his rival had alarmed the night porter to get the guards. By no means at all did Henry want them to be involved. After all, it was still his intention to kidnap someone; even though that someone wanted to come with him out of her own will, and the sudden appearance of the guards would, of course, prove to be more than a hindrance.

  But Henry guessed that Damian
wasnʼt the type of person to call the guards. He was rather the type to look forward to a little fight with someone who, in his opinion, was surely incapable of taking it up with him.