An Unnatural Daughter: A Dark Regency Mystery (9 page)

Damien eased his hand from mine and sat up, looking down at me. I turned my head to avoid his eye.

‘My duty is to my country, and my mother, yes? But here I am, sitting in the woods at midnight with a girl I barely know. And I find that I am quite happy here. Mother would rather I was at home in a warm bed, the navy would rather I was at sea, and over all that, here I am. Is that not wonderful?’

‘It is all very well and forgivable to forget your duty for a night. This,’ I gestured at the stars above me, ‘is how I should like to be forever. But tomorrow I will have to make my choices. Or if not tomorrow, then the day after, or whenever.’

‘Are you married?’

The question fell from his lips like a stone and lay between us. I stared at the ground. The lie was on the tip of my tongue but I couldn’t say it. The silence stretched between us, and he knew. He must have known.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

‘No. Don’t be.’

Neither of us knew what to say. Or if it mattered.

‘I wish I could tell you,’ I said.

‘Perhaps it’s best if you don’t.’

I lay back against the grass, feeling the coolness seep through my nightgown and against my skin.

‘How are your feet?’ he asked.

‘Hmm? Mostly better, I think. As long as I’ve got support I can get by.’

‘Excellent.’ Damien sprang to his feet and looked down at me, his hand outstretched.

‘Where are we going?’

‘Nowhere.’ He smiled and held both of my hands as he pulled me to my feet. ‘I wonder if you’ll humour me, I have the ridiculous urge to dance. Would you oblige?’

‘Well, I-’

‘Don’t you think,’ he continued, ‘that it would be simply lovely to dance? Beneath the stars, just the two of us, the only two people in the world?’

I looked at him, his eyes shining in the darkness, his shirt glowing as he stood opposite me, his head cocked to the side.

‘Yes. Yes, it would. Only – I’ve never -’

I caught the shine of his teeth in the darkness as he smiled.

‘Then it gives me great pleasure to be the very first. Just follow my lead, and try not to think too much.’

He drew me towards him and held my right hand high by his shoulder, and draped my left on his other shoulder. His hand crept around my waist and I felt my body begin to burn. The heat of him seemed magnified in the cold night air, and my heart seemed to beat from my throat.

He began to move, first just swaying softly from side to side, moving me gently with him and guiding me with the pressure of his hands on my body. He hummed softly, alternating between humming and singing under his breath, so quietly. I strained to hear him, just as my whole body strained to be closer to him, and to feel the heat of his chest against mine. So wanton, but I did not care. We were the only people in the world. There was nobody to judge me, nobody to mind.

As I relaxed into the rhythm, Damien began to dance, moving me forward, back, right and left, lilting and flowing, stepping and swaying. Then he began to spin me round, and we seemed to go faster and faster, and I closed my eyes and all was darkness and stars and the cool night air and the heat that radiated from his body. Then finally my ankle gave way and I stumbled, and he fell with me, down into the grass.

I laughed, and struggled to catch my breath, my chest crushed beneath him. I felt him laughing too, and he eased back onto his elbows, so close in the cocoon of night. We were the only two in the world. Our eyes met and his breathing slowed. Leaning all his weight onto one elbow, he reached out and stroked my face, then ran his fingers through my hair, slightly pulling the heavy braid as he did so.

I froze. The darkness intruded.

‘No.’ It was a scream as my vision began to fade and I struggled to breathe.

He pushed away from me immediately, and the cold air flooded in to replace the heat of his body.

‘What’s wrong? I’m so sorry. Are you well?’

I sat up and held my knees to my chest, rocking back and forth, trying to concentrate on breathing.

‘No- yes- I’m so sorry. I need to go back. I shouldn’t be – I’m so sorry.’

Damien watched me with concern as I stumbled to my feet and began to back away towards the trees.

‘Of course. I’ll – I’ll take you back.’

He didn’t offer his arm, and I was so grateful. I fairly ran back to the house, heedless of the thorns and sharp branches beneath my feet, and Damien had to stride to keep up with me.

When we reached the edge of the grass in front of the house, I paused, feeling a lot safer now home was in view. How stupid I had been to leave! How selfish, and thoughtless – what if Edwina had found out? What if I had been missed?

Damien stopped beside me, standing helplessly a few feet away. He kept his distance now, and I was glad, but hated that it must be so.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said, not wanting to leave it so things were this awful between us. ‘You didn’t – you did nothing wrong. I want you to know. It wasn’t you.’

He reached out to me, but let his hand fall to his side. I missed his touch.

‘You know where I am,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ll not be leaving soon.’

I nodded, and made my way back to the window, pulling it open and heaving myself back inside. It was harder getting in than out, as the ground was lower, but I couldn’t bear the idea of Damien trying to help me, so I scrambled in and managed to find footing.

Once Damien had followed me into the sitting room, we stood awkwardly for a moment. I was waiting for him to leave. He nodded after a long moment, and made his way to the tapestry. As soon as his back was towards me I turned too, and made a grab for Edwina’s sharp embroidery scissors as I left the room.

The stairs seemed louder on the return journey. Everything seemed harder now streaks of dawn invaded the house, when excitement was gone and only shame and hurt remained. But there was one thing I could do, one positive I could bring out of this.

I waited until dawn had broken, and the grey light in my room was enough to see by. I held my heavy braid in my hand while I waited, fiddling with the ends, wrapping them around my fingers and twisting them into curls. Then I cut it all off.

CHAPTER 14

Vows are Broken

On the third day, my courses finished. I had willed them to continue, but of course, my body paid no heed. I had to carry out my husband’s instructions. It was with a heavy heart that I had searched the house for Peregrine, eventually being informed by one of the maids that he was in his quarters, polishing Gabriel’s shoes. I considered passing on a message, but what would I say? How could I put it into words, to shout it to the whole household? Telling one person was bad enough. If I was cryptic – well, I dared not be cryptic. Everything must appear exactly as it ought, and I dared not take any chances for misunderstandings.

I waited. I suppose I could have sent the maid to fetch him for me. I could have stridden into my husband’s rooms and rung for him from there. I could have, if I were truly mistress of that place. But if I were, surely I wouldn’t have to pass on a message that seemed to me to be so degrading, not only to myself but to Peregrine as well. So I was a coward, and put off the inevitable for as long as possible. In the end I nervously paced the hallway just outside the servant’s quarters for almost an hour. I was skittish like a foal, and jumped whenever the door opened or footsteps approached.

At length, he passed through and stopped a full six feet from me, eyes wide and skin pale. I understood.

‘My husband asked me to tell you,’ I said as quietly as I could, so quietly he had to lean forward to catch my words. ‘That I – that my. Oh dear. I’m so sorry.’

I had spent the previous hour rehearsing over in my mind what to say, but still I could not find the words. I swallowed deeply, and tried to channel some strength from somewhere, to maybe pretend that I was my mother-in-law for a moment, but it was beyond me.

‘I’ll tell him myself. It…it would be best, I think.’

Peregrine nodded, relieved. I feared it would be more difficult to tell my husband face to face, but at least it should save Peregrine another beating.

In the end, I took the coward’s way out with my husband too. I sent him a note with one of the maids, and she took it to him in his library. I sat in my room, on the very edge of my bed, and wondered if he would send for me. I thought perhaps he would send me a note back, or call me to see him, but I was undisturbed until the two maids came to help me dress for dinner.

Still, my husband said nothing to me. I would have been glad, for he and his mother ignored me as much as they had the previous two nights, yet they both kept eyeing me speculatively.

‘She’s got good teeth, at least,’ Mrs Raynor said, with a curl of her lip. I swallowed nervously and only just managed to stifle a fit of coughing. ‘And it’ll have dark hair, which is a blessing.’

‘Indeed.’ Gabriel picked up his wine glass and swirled the contents idly as he stared at me. ‘Though she is a little thin.’

Mrs Raynor narrowed her eyes and stared at me.

‘That’s true. She’ll get fat enough in the end though. They always do. Her hips are narrower than I’d have liked but I suppose it’s of no mind so long as the babe comes out alive.’

‘Indeed, Mother.’

I felt physically sick, and struggled to finish my plate. This earned me a disapproving sigh from Mrs Raynor, who shook her head at me in disgust.

‘I wouldn’t be surprised, Gabriel, if she couldn’t even do this, although there can be nothing more easy to a girl than doing as God intended and carrying a child.’

I choked back a sob, but Gabriel heard me.

‘Well Fleur, this can be your opportunity to prove us wrong, can’t it?’

That night, I considered locking my door. I knew what was to come, in the vaguest possible way, but fear made my stomach contract and churn. As much as fear of the act itself, I also dreaded spending any time alone with my husband. But even as I glanced towards the keyhole I knew already that I couldn’t lock him out, even if I made up my mind to. There was no key in the door. That is the price one has to pay. I had neither freedom nor privacy. I was owned; I did not own myself.

So I waited. The maids left me in my nightgown, my hair braided neatly over one shoulder, sitting in bed with two candles flickering dimly on the cabinets on either side of me. The sides of the room disappeared, swallowed by darkness outside the halo of orange candlelight. I was swamped and swallowed up by the velvet swags that hung from the bedposts, surrounded by cackling and fornicating imps and satyrs. It was like I was in hell.

He didn’t leave me waiting for long. The door swung open and he loomed into the light. He wasn’t much taller than me and was slender with it, yet the shadows that stretched around him made him seem huge.

‘So it begins, Fleur.’ The words were calm, and spoken almost kindly, as though to a difficult child. ‘Yet you heard Mother at the dinner table. You are likely to fail. What am I to do with you?’

He seated himself on the end of the bed, smoothing the creases in the sheet beneath his fingers.

‘Your father told me it would be weeks, days, even. He said it was so with your mother.’ His thin lips curled into a sneer. ‘And that is why, Fleur, we shall impose limits.’

I didn’t say anything. I lay still and stared straight ahead, willing myself to disappear into the mattress. To become invisible. I should have loved to be invisible.

‘I am still young, you know. Men don’t age like you women do. If you fail, I could take another wife. I need an heir, you know.’

My eyes flickered towards his for only a second, but he noticed. He smiled, and his nostrils flared.

‘I think you understand me. I’ll give you a year. I think you’ll agree, that is more than generous.’

I looked at him properly then, the man who had sworn to protect me. Until death us do part. He didn’t return my gaze, staring down at his neatly manicured nails instead.

‘Well,’ he said finally, flicking an imaginary speck of lint from his fingertips. ‘Shall we?’

He rose then, still the calm, elegant gentleman, and began the ritual of undressing. First his cravat, which he unknotted and unwound, then folded three times and draped over the arm of the chair, the creases smoothed out with care by lingering fingers. Then came his silk stockings, which he rolled down slowly from the knee. Once they had been unrolled and laid flat over the cravat, he plucked off his signet ring and placed it on the top of the pile. Then he walked behind the chair, removing his breeches out of sight, only emerging when his shirt was loose, covering his slim legs half way down his thighs. He left his shirt on, and approached the bed, a look of resignation and disgust writ plain on his face.

I shall not share the details of what occurred. I have made every effort to remove it from my memory. All I shall tell you is what I remember of what happened that was so important, that changed everything. I remember that I struggled to breathe, feeling him pressing into my rib cage, his torso bearing his weight as one hand pulled my hair by the plaited braid, and the other clawed at my chest. His breath was sweet with wine as he panted over my face. I had not been warned about this, that it would be so painful all over my body. I had not been warned about any of this.

I do not remember moving, and I do not remember picking up the candlestick, but less than a second later my husband was slumped on top of me, a dead weight with a trickle of blood spurting from the gash in his head.

I stared at him, and I stared at the candlestick, struggling to understand what had just happened, what I had just done. Yet the evidence was undeniable. A wave of nausea rose, burning my dry throat, and I struggled to contain my sickness. I could barely breathe as I prised myself from beneath him, even heavier when he was motionless. My feet could hardly support me, and I leaned heavily against the bedpost. I could not bring myself to touch his body in search of a pulse, could not bear to lower my face to his to listen for signs of breathing. As I stared at him, the candlestick slipped from my grasp and fell to the floor with a dull thud. The sound rang on in my ears. The house was silent – surely it could not have passed unnoticed. Someone would be upon me soon. Someone would know what I had done.

I had to get out.

There was blood on my nightgown, but with the threat of discovery looming over me, I didn’t have time to change, and instead covered the stain with the first shawl that came to hand in my wardrobe. There was no time to pack anything, but I grabbed the second of the candlesticks, still lit, and opened my bedroom door with shaking hands.

The hallway was empty and dark, but I saw accusing eyes and watchful ghosts in every shadow. My ears strained for the creak of Mrs Raynor approaching. My nerve almost fell through, but when I turned back to my bed and saw my husband’s body, I knew escape was my only option. It was escape, or the gallows. Perhaps I deserved to hang for what I did, but my instinct was to run, so run I did. Out through a window, I forget which room but I don’t suppose it’s important. Into the garden, where the grass was cold and damp and I realised that in my haste I had forgotten to put on shoes, even slippers. But there was no going back. At least, I reasoned, I would probably die of the cold rather than on the end of the hangman’s rope.

I crept through the trees that skirted the lawn, paying little heed to the branches that clawed at my nightdress, the stones and thorns that pricked and scratched my feet, more concerned with the rustling and cracking that seemed to follow me, dogging my every step. My candle flickered out as the heavy damp leaves batted the flame, but it didn’t matter as then I was out onto the road, only half a mile from the village. I dropped the redundant candlestick in the bushes. Then the rain started.

I knew my bearings only vaguely, but could make out the shadowy church spire in the distance. I remembered passing it on my way to the house, three days earlier. My Father’s house must lie that way, although by how many miles, I did not know. Keeping to ditches and shadows, I set off.

The task of sneaking past gateways and listening for footsteps kept my mind occupied. I could scarcely hear for the pounding of my own heart and my breathing seemed loud and hoarse. The weather, awful though it was, with rain plastering my hair over my eyes and sticking my gown to my back, must have deterred others from leaving their houses and I didn’t meet a soul as I passed through the village. Once past the steeple and into the trees at the side of the road beyond, the feeling of safety that swept over me was quickly overwhelmed by a realization of all that had happened in the past half hour. I emptied my stomach into the bushes, and sank to my knees, exhausted.

I was a murderer. I vomited again, nausea convulsing me in waves. I could see him when I closed my eyes, and that seemed to have replaced every other memory I had ever had. Nothing existed in the world except for the fact that I was a murderer. I no longer felt comfortable or safe in my own body, or alone with my own mind. Death awaited me. Death then hell, burning forever for what I had done. Part of me gave up then, determined to lie in the woods, wet and shivering until I died. It would be a welcome death, a death that I deserved. There was something else though, perhaps that same part of me which had clubbed Gabriel to death, that made me stronger, made me stagger to my feet and onwards, back to the side of the road to follow it towards the distant dream that was my Father’s house. As I went, I pulled the gold band from my finger and threw it behind me into the trees.

Rain fell, harder than I ever remembered feeling it before. Cold, hard, heavy drops that soaked through my shawl, through my nightgown and into my bones. The pitch-blackness had faded to a dark grey as my eyes became accustomed to the darkness. I had never been outside in such darkness before. Never alone, never like this. I relied on the feeling of the dirt and gravel beneath my feet to stay on the road, as I could only make out the vague features of trees a few feet in front of me. The rain drummed on, harder and faster. Then there was light, then a figure, and then nothing at all.