He scooped up the bag, dropping it into his coat pocket, and then, shuttering the lantern so that only the barest sliver of light came out, he continued.
~~~~~
Alyse watched the man as he moved around the room, carefully wriggling her arms and legs to test the ropes. But the ropes were firm – there was little chance that she would be able to break free. She prayed, fervently, that Mills had reported her missing, and that, by now, someone was searching for her.
The man stopped at a table piled with strange objects, and rummaged about amongst them. After a few minutes he lifted one, peering intently at it, turning it in all directions. Then he smiled, an expression that made the fear rise in her, threatening to destroy the fragile calm that she had achieved. He turned towards her, muttering, the device still in his hand.
“This one, yes, this one. With this, I can take what she cares about, even while I destroy him…”
It was obvious that he spoke only for himself, almost as if he did not see her as real in some way, as if she could not hear him. or perhaps he did not care what she heard. He stopped in front of her, and held the thing out, showing her.
“This, pretty one. We will put your hand in this. Ye like to draw, don’t ye? So, that’s the first thing I’ll take away. How badly – well that will depend on ye, won’t it?”
Alyse did not understand what he meant, but his words terrified her, nonetheless.
He set the strange box like thing down on the wide arm of the chair, next to her right hand.
“Ye see this little flap here?” he pushed one end of the box, and it opened, “Inside, ye see those nasty sharp spikes? Well, we’ll push yer hand in through there, under the spikes. Goes in easy. But if’n ye pull back, them spikes’ll dig in ter yer pretty hand, and make a right mess o’ it. If’n ye can stay still, nuthin will happen. But I’ll do me best to make yer move.” He laughed, watching her. It was a high-pitched sound, hysterical, mad. She was sure that he could see the dawning horror on her face. “I’ll put yer hand in, and ye can just sit – until himself arrives – he must be a looking fer ye by now. No point wastin me effort, until he’s here to see, until I can begin to destroy him, as he destroyed me. It’s only right that it be in a place like this.”
Alyse struggled to understand what he meant – who was he waiting for? Lord Tillingford? But why? None of it made any sense. Perhaps the man was simply mad. Then, all thought of his meaning fled her mind, as he lifted her hand, and moved the terrible box towards it. She struggled, as much as she could, but he simply slapped her again, so hard that everything went grey. She clung to consciousness – she could do nothing to help herself if she was not aware.
He slipped the terrible box over her hand – she felt the spikes drag gently over her skin, not digging in because her hand was moving in the direction they were angled. But she could feel the sharpness, roughened by rust. An involuntary shudder ran through her, and even that small movement made the spikes prick at her skin. She forced herself to utter stillness.
He laughed again, watching her.
“Now we wait. Ye best hope he’s quick about it. Yer wouldn’t want me t’ get bored, and start playin with ye, now would yer?”
Alyse simply sat, saying nothing. The madman seemed to feel the need to fill the silence, and kept talking, rambling on at her about France, spies, torture, Newgate, Lt. Otford, being cheated, being rejected, revenge and more. At first, none of it made sense, but, after a while, she began to see what might be a distorted story in the ramblings – a story that shook her perceptions of the world. Otford was Lord Tillingford’s name, was it not? Before the title was granted, he would simply have been known by that. She should not give credence to a madman’s ravings, but… what if some of what he spoke of was true? Was Lord Tillingford a far different type of man than she had thought? But… if that were true, why would her brother be his friend?
There were no answers. Her arm and side began to ache, from the effort of staying completely still. Her mother had always said she was a fidget – now, she suspected that was true – she had never imagined how hard it would be to simply stay still.
~~~~~
As Gerry approached the iron bound door, which stood a little ajar, he could hear a voice – deep, a man’s voice. At first, he could not make out the words, but as he got closer it became clear. He stopped, and listened. It took but a few sentences for him to understand what was being spoken of. His skin broke out in a cold sweat, and he felt an almost uncontrollable urge to retch.
This was like one of his dreams, where those he cared for were threatened, and hurt, by him, because of him. But this was real. There was a man in that room, with Lady Alyse, who he had to assume was restrained in some way (let it not be worse than that!). A man whom he had interrogated in France, and broken in some way, a man who had come here for revenge – against him. And Lady Alyse was the innocent victim that he had chosen to use to perpetrate that revenge, it seemed.
He crept towards the door, his mind filled with horrifying images of what was in that room, what might be there that he had not seen, in that one quick glimpse he’d had, and what might be done to a beautiful woman using those tools. He needed a weapon. He was a fool to not have taken the time to collect one. He would have to make do.
He reached the door. The flicker of lantern light shone through the small gap, and he saw, lying there, just into the passage, an object. He bent and lifted it. Lady Alyse’s sketch journal. A new one, if he was not mistaken, larger and heavier than the previous one. Perhaps even that could be a weapon, or at least a distraction. He inched forward, studying what he could see of the room through the small gap. Just inside, there was a pile of what looked like, and probably were, fire pokers. They would have to do for weapons – better than nothing.
He waited, listening, sick at heart to hear his monstrousness being laid out in all its terrible detail to Lady Alyse, shaken by the tale that the man told – for it seemed that he had gone mad, and had laid all blame on Gerry for what had happened to him, rather than seeing that his own betrayal of his country at the start had brought about the whole chain of events. How many others, Gerry wondered, had he sent on a spiral into madness?
He could not touch the door, for he remembered that it creaked, abominably. He edged around, to see as much as he could through the small amount that it was open. Balanced awkwardly, craning his neck, he managed to see across the room. She was there! Lady Alyse was tied to some odd bulky chair. And… he could not see clearly, but some object appeared to be attached to her arm. Bile rose in his throat – what had the madman done to her? His vision blurred, and it was all he could do not to simply rush into the room in a murderous rage.
In that instant, his feelings for Lady Alyse became very clear to him. He could not allow her to be hurt, could not imagine never seeing her again. His desire to defend her warred with his need to approach cautiously – for the mad were unpredictable, and the wrong choice on his part could have disastrous consequences. He clutched her journal so hard that his knuckles were white. Then, as he went to move back from his awkward position, and consider his next move, he teetered, unbalanced for a second, and bumped the door.
It creaked – loudly. He froze in place.
“Oho! We have a visitor. Who lurks at the door? Do come in, I’ve been waiting for you.”
The voice was rough, full of a kind of insane glee that chilled Gerry to the bone. As he heard it, he also heard a stifled cry from Lady Alyse – a sound of pain, rapidly repressed. He knew what pain sounded like, in its many guises – there was no doubt in his mind that she was in pain. He had lost the chance for complete surprise – but perhaps he could still do the unexpected. From the sound of the voice, it was not far from where he had seen Lady Alyse. He would have to be very fast, if this was to work.
He clutched her journal, praying that she would forgive him for what he was about to do with it, took a deep breath, and slammed the door open. The man stepped to stand beside Lady Alyse, h
is hand tangling in her hair. She drew in a sharp breath, but stayed absolutely still, her eyes finding his, full of hope and fear. It nearly undid him.
“Ah, it’s you, Lt. Otford. So unpleasant to see you again. Yer just in time fer the show. Don’t do anything rash now, or I’ll make sure she pays fer yer attitude.”
Gerry stopped, dragged his eyes from Lady Alyse’s, and took in the situation. Her right hand was enclosed in a metal box. A wave of nausea struck him as he realised just what it was. That was why she was so still, when the madman’s grasp on her hair had to be hurting her. He could not act yet – not while the fellow held her, for any action that moved him, would move her, with horrific consequences. A memory stirred, as his mind put together the fragments of ramblings that he had heard through the door.
“Cunningham, isn’t it?”
“That was quick, yer high and mighty Lordship. Ye always were a clever one. Seems I’m strong in yer memory like ye are in mine. I wasn’t ever fergettin the man who destroyed me life, but I’m surprised ye remember me. Wasn’t I just one amongst the many ye destroyed?”
“You’re the one who destroyed your life, Cunningham – you would never have been delivered to me for attention if you hadn’t turned traitor in the first place.”
Gerry spoke calmly, but inside, that voice in his mind screamed at him – ‘Monster!’.
“Attention – is that what ye call it? I called it torture, meself. But yer too high and mighty fer words like that now, I s’pose.”
Gerry watched Lady Alyse’s face. Her eyes held uncertainty, confusion, even doubt, but not outright condemnation. That was better than he had any right to hope for.
“Cunningham – what do you want? Why are you holding Lady Alyse – she was never in France, has nothing to do with what happened to your life.”
If only he could get the madman to take his hands off Lady Alyse!
“What do I want? I want ye to suffer, t’ pay for every beating I took in Newgate, every moment o’ life with me family ye stole from me. I want to destroy ye utterly, to take from ye everything ye care most about. So, I thought I’d start with her. I’ve seen the way ye look at her, I know ye want her – so I’ll make sure ye never have her. This place was such a find. What better way to do it, than make ye watch. Man like ye, ye might even get something out of it, before ye suffer too.”
Gerry flinched at the words, at the echo of his dreams, at the proof that he was not the only one in the world who understood how monstrous he was. His face must have paled, and he found himself helplessly shaking his head in denial.
Cunningham watched him, then laughed.
“Squeamish now, are ye? Developed some fine feelings along with that fine title? Funny, I was sure that ye were a man who enjoyed yer work, back then….”
“Never! I acted from necessity, not pleasure.”
“So ye say now – be that just fer her benefit? Well, let’s see how ye cope with bein’ the helpless one.”
Cunningham twisted his hand in Lady Alyse’s hair, and bent down, tipping her head back as if to kiss her. She tried to squirm away, then squeaked in pain, and stilled again. Her eyes went to Gerry, full of despair. Cunningham grinned.
“Darlin’, I’m just getting started. If’n that makes ye squeak, then ye’ll be wailin’ soon enough.”
Gerry ground his teeth together, desperate to get the man away from her, so that he could act. Almost as if his fervent prayers had been answered, Cunningham released her hair.
“Just have a little rest darlin’, while I choose me next toy ter play wit’ ye with. And ye can stay right there, Otford – if’n ye move one bit, I’ll make sure she’s screamin’ proper.”
Gerry stayed where he was, near the door, watching carefully. Cunningham moved a few feet away from Lady Alyse – not far enough – it needed to be too far for him to grab her again quickly. Gerry watched as Cunningham drifted further, looking at the implements around him, flicking his eyes back to Gerry regularly. Finally, he stopped, at a table laden with knives and spikes. Gerry refused to think about the man’s intent – to even consider it would distract him from his immediate need to act.
As Cunningham bent to examine the items, Gerry flung Lady Alyse’s journal at him, aiming for his head, and dropped to the side, grabbing up two of the long pokers from the floor, before launching towards the man. The journal flew true, and struck Cunningham on the side of the temple. He staggered, half falling against the table.
As Gerry reached him, he pulled himself upright again, shaking his head, and roaring with inchoate anger, a long rusty knife in his fist. There followed the strangest fight that Gerry had ever fought, with the two fire pokers used as sword and shield, to deflect the rusty knife from finding its mark.
Cunningham was far stronger than Gerry had expected, the unnatural strength of the mad, who care not for their own safety, only for achieving their aim. Minutes passed, as they circled each other, neither gaining a true advantage. If this went on for too long, Gerry would tire, and the madman’s strength would prevail. Dramatic action was needed.
Gerry waited until Cunningham was far away from Lady Alyse, and as close as he could push him to the wall, then struck at him with one poker, as a distraction, before throwing the other poker, as hard as he could, at the man’s head. Cunningham grunted, and staggered, his head slamming back against the wall, and the rusty knife dropping from his hand, as he tried and failed to avoid the thrown iron. Gerry snatched up a knife from the table – a wicked long stiletto style dagger – and leapt forward, bringing it to Cunningham’s throat.
Cunningham’s roar cut off mid sound, as the blade went into his skin with his movement. Gerry, seizing the chance, dropped the other poker, and smashed his fist into Cunningham’s face, slamming his head against the wall again. The madman fell, unconscious, at his feet. Gerry tore off his cravat, and immediately bound Cunningham’s hands behind him. He kicked the dropped knife well away, then looked around for something to bind his feet.
“The rope around my body – it will be quickest to use.”
Lady Alyse’s voice shook, but her suggestion was sensible. He was grateful that she had not fainted, or panicked.
Quickly, he untied some of the ropes that bound her, and tied Cunningham’s feet, making sure that there was nothing in range of him that he might use to worry at the ropes. Leaving the unconscious man lie, he turned back to Lady Alyse.
“Let me untie the rest of the ropes, and then we will see about freeing you from that device.”
“There are spikes… they have scratched me, dug in a little, but I have mostly managed to hold still. I do not believe that I have ever been still for this long in my entire life before.”
Her words came with a small brittle laugh.
“I know that there are spikes.”
He worked at the ropes around her ankles, gently pulling them away from her abraded skin, where her stockings had been no match for the roughness, wishing that he might be touching her ankles in a very different circumstance, and then berating himself for the very thought. He admired her strength, her courage – that she had managed to stay calm, was still calm, albeit shaky, astounded him. When all of the ropes were removed, he stood, preparing himself for what he had to do.
“To get this off you, I will have to move it, and your hand – we will need to be very careful, and it may dig in, a little, but there is no other way.”
Her eyes met his, full of trust, and she nodded. He did not deserve her trust. He placed his hands on each side of the box.
“I need to lift it. Let your hand be lifted with it, without any other movement.”
She nodded again, and he lifted, carefully, curling his fingers under the bottom edges, to find the two secret catches that should be there.
“Are the spikes into your flesh at all?”
“No. When they dug in, I pushed my hand forward again, as much as I could. They are touching me, but not caught in the cuts – at least I think they are not.”
/> “Good. Push your hand down, flat – now.”
He pushed the catches up, and slid them, as she pushed down. For a moment, he was afraid that the mechanism was rusted, and would not work, but then, suddenly, with a loud click, it let go, and the whole top part of the box, including the spikes, lifted up off the base.
The pressure of her hand slammed the base down onto the chair arm, leaving him standing, holding the rest of the device. He released the breath he had not realised he was holding.
Lady Alyse stared at her hand, as if she had expected never to see it again. A ragged sob escaped her. Gerry cast aside the remains of the box, and carefully lifted her hand, feeling each part of it with gentle fingers, to assure himself that nothing was broken.
“No bones have been broken, and the cuts are small, thanks to your good sense and courage. Had you panicked, you would likely have mangled your hand completely. The cuts will need to be washed, and we must pray that they do not become infected, but, barring that, they should heal well, although you may have some small scars.”
She nodded, her eyes brimming with tears that she refused to shed. He saw the way she looked at him, her eyes saying so much, and all of his feelings for her rushed through him. He had come so close to losing her! And that was an unbearable thought. Life without her was an unbearable thought. Despite all his best intent, he had to face the fact that he had come to care very deeply for her. He did not know what to do with that fact.
“How… How did you know how to open that… thing…?”
Immediately, all thought of softer emotions left him. He was a fool. She had just been told exactly what sort of a monster he was. He had just proved it to her, unequivocally – not just in what he had said to Cunningham, but by being able to open that damned box. No normal man would know such a thing. He drew the bitterness about him, and made his face expressionless and his words cold. Better to not hope, for surely she would turn from him in horror, once she’d had time to consider what she had seen and heard.
Loving the Bitter Baron: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 11) Page 10