Lady Jane (3 page)

“There’s better ways I know of to say thank you,” he said, taking her two hands in one of his and pulling them away from the neck of her gown. With his other hand he ripped the gown completely down the front and pulled it down again, slowly, first from one shoulder and then from the other, so that she was naked to the waist.

She tried to pull away, but he held her hands in such an iron
grip that
she was immobilized. She watched in horror as he sat for a long moment, staring hungrily at her breasts. Then he let go of her hands and taking a breast in each hand, he lifted them and bent down to begin sucking noisily at them. She grabbed him by the hair and attempted to push his head away, but could not move him. She began twisting and writhing, and finally with a great heave of her whole body, pushed him aside and slid out of the bed.

He jumped up and they stood glaring at each other across the bed. She realized even more fully his nakedness, for now he was fully aroused, in a way she could not mistake. She stared in horror for an instant and then, in spite of herself she began to giggle and clapped her hand over her mouth to try to hide it.

“Laugh at me, will you,” he snarled, and drew back his arm and slapped her with the back of his hand across the face. She went reeling back against the wall and fell to the floor. He stepped around the cot and stood over her.

“Don’t you touch me,” she said fiercely, in spite of a whole galaxy of stars wheeling before her eyes, “I’ll yell the house down.”

“Yell away—there’s none will care.”

“Oh no—and what about Lizzie?”

“Ho! Lizzie is it? She’ll not even turn over in her bed. She knows which side her bread’s buttered, no fear. Now enough of this yammering.”

He jerked her to her feet and threw her back across the bed and fell on top of her. She screamed and kicked and hit him. She was pinioned so effectively to the bed by his enormous bulk that it was difficult to strike him effectively, but she persisted, fighting with all her strength. Finally she dug her fingers into his throat and began to squeeze. He had ignored her ineffectual blows as though they were fleabites, too busy exploring her young body with his mouth and his hands to be bothered, but her fingers on his windpipe were a matter he could not ignore. With a roar of rage he raised himself, and snatching her hands away from his throat, slapped her again.

“Now, we’ll have no more of this, you hear? You’ll either be nice to me or else. Now—what’s it to be?”

For an answer she bent her knee and kicked him in the stomach with all her strength, moving so suddenly that she caught him unaware. He fell back onto the floor with a resounding thud. But only for a moment. He rose slowly, his eyes gone cold and hard as his sister’s as he stared at her. She hitched herself backward across the bed, more terrified than she had ever been in her life as she watched him move toward her. She had thought she would have no trouble fending off his amorous advances, as she had always been able to do with other men. But she knew in that moment that Mr. Leach was not in any way like those others. She’d never seen such a look in a man’s eyes.

He reached out and grabbed her feet in one hand and pulled her back. Then he put one large hand about her throat, and holding her in position he began slapping her across the face, first one side and then the other, slowly and deliberately. Her mouth began to bleed and then her nose, but he continued until she went limp in his grasp, then he dropped her back on the bed. He walked heavily out of the room and across the hall, and then came back, swinging a leather strap in his hand. He flipped her body over face down, and raising the strap brought it down with all his might on the backs of her legs. She came back to her senses with a scream of pain with that first blow, and her agonized screams rang out again and again as he continued to beat her. Her legs were striped with red welts that soon began to bleed as the skin broke, and the screams became moans and then stopped as she lost consciousness again.

His fury and the passion he had aroused in himself by his brutality caused him finally to toss aside the strap and hastily flip her over again. He threw himself on top of her and entered her instantly and viciously, thrusting himself against her virginity, and it broke before him just as his own pent-up climax exploded. He sagged limply on top of her, then rolled off, and without a backward glance, walked out of the room and closed the door.

The first time Jane regained consciousness, her most immediate sensation was one of great cold. She started to sit up instinctively to reach for covers, and then she became aware of other sensations; abruptly, shatteringly, with such overwhelming pain from every part of her body that she moaned and swooned away again. She woke several other times during the remainder of the night, but never succeeded in covering herself. By the time the first pale fingers of sunlight filtered through the window, she knew better than to attempt to sit up. Her eyelids fluttered slowly, reluctantly, open and she lay quite still for a moment, then carefully raised one hand to her face. One eye felt swollen, almost closed, her lips were puffed nearly twice their size and were crusted with dried blood, and the very skin of her cheeks was sore to the touch. She raised her head slightly off the pillow and looked down at her sprawled body. Though she could not see the backs of her legs, she could tell when she moved them slightly that they were stuck to the sheets with blood. But the worst pain was between her legs, and she could see blood there, too, in dark smears against her thighs, and knew what he had done while she was, mercifully, unconscious.

It seemed suddenly as though the room turned red, so great was the explosion of rage in her brain. She shook with it, and wished he would walk into the room at that moment. I’d kill ’im, I would, I’d kill the great dirty beast with me bare hands, could I but find ’im. She fell back onto the pillow weakly, her whole body trembling with frustration, for she knew that even if he walked in the door at that moment she would be unable to move. If he chose to violate her again she would be able to do nothing to stop him. Even the effort of lifting her head had caused her to feel faint again. But I’ll pay him out, she thought grimly, he’s not heard the last of me yet! I’ll pay him out if it’s the last thing I do in me life!

Below, in the kitchen, Mr. Leach sat calmly forking down a large beefsteak Lizzie had cooked for his breakfast.

She set the coffeepot down with a thump and stood looking down at him.

“Did you kill ’er, then?”

“Pour my coffee and mind your business.” Her mouth set in a hard, straight line over the retort she was about to make and she poured the coffee. He continued, “Clean her up. I’ll be back tonight.”

“And if she leaves?”

“Leave? She’ll not move this day for sure,” he replied, his mouth twisting into a grin.

Lizzie turned her eyes away, so unpleasant was the look this produced on his face. She knew better than to utter one word of expostulation against his activities, even words of warning about the trouble he could be in if one of his “conquests” chose to go to the authorities and lay charges against him. Lizzie herself thought his sexual needs beastly and disgusting, indeed as she thought all men’s were, but that he required very young girls for the fulfillment of them was doubly revolting to her. She thought that if he
must
indulge his animal nature, the least he could do would be to find mature, and willing, women.

After her brother was gone, Lizzie heated water and carried it up the stairs. When she opened the door and saw the body on the bed, she stood there in shock for a moment, thinking that he had indeed killed the girl, for she lay so still. Then Lizzie felt horror as she took in the swollen face, turning purple with bruises, the sprawled bloody legs. She moved slowly across the room to the bedside, and the eyes below her came open and stared up at her with such cold hatred that Lizzie started and almost dropped the pitcher of water she still carried.

She moved away to fetch the basin and bring it back to the bed. She experienced no pity, for Lizzie had no experience with the gentler emotions. She’d given them up too many years ago to remember, and sealed them off for good. All she felt now was revulsion at what her dependency on her brother’s goodwill required of her.

Though not motivated by gentleness, her touch was light, and she washed the girl expertly. She had to soak the sheets before she could peel them away from the lacerated legs. When she had helped Jane into a clean bed gown, she assisted her into the room’s one chair and proceeded to strip the bed and remake it with fresh linen, then helped Jane back into it. Throughout all of this, she never spoke a word, nor did Jane. When she finished she bundled the soiled sheets together and put them out into the hallway, picked up the basin and towels, and left, still without speaking. She came back presently with a cup of coffee and a plate of bread and butter and went away again, closing the door behind her quietly.

Jane pulled herself up carefully and reached for the food. I’ll need every bite of it, she thought grimly. She broke very small pieces of bread and dipped them into the coffee to enable her to chew them, for her jaws were so sore it hurt to move them. It took a long time to eat her breakfast, but she had nothing better to do. She was as aware as Mr. Leach was that she would not be able to move today by herself. She was also aware that she must face the possibility that he would visit her again tonight, and that if he did she would be unable to prevent him having his way with her again. But she didn’t dwell on that too much, knowing there was nothing she could do about it. She had better things to occupy her mind—escape and revenge.

3

“Oh—er—Leach
—one moment, if you please,” called Lord Jaspar to the departing butler.

“Yes, m’lord?”

“I was just wondering—not important, really, but I should hate to think—well, the thing is—that maid my sister—er—”

“You would mean Jane, m’lord, Jane Coombes?” asked Leach smoothly, though he was somewhat startled by the young masters query.

“Oh, is that her name?” Lord Jaspar asked, sorting through his letters with a great show of interest in them and none at all in the subject. “I was only wondering, you know, if she’d found a situation. Seemed a pity to throw the girl out in the streets for the sake of a gown or something.”

“I’m sure I couldn’t say, m’lord, though of course I could find out if you should wish to know.”

Now Mr. Leach was very much piqued with curiosity. Why should the young master be interesting himself in the welfare of a maid? A maid, so far as Leach was aware, the young man had never so much as spoken to. Or had he? Perhaps he had been pursuing the girl unbeknown to Leach. A brazen enough piece she was, to be sure, and pretty enough to have caught the young man’s eye. Though if there
was
aught between them one thing Leach knew for sure: He’d not bedded the girl, for Leach was in a position to swear to the girl’s virginity up until last night. He smothered a grin discreetly behind his hand. However, if the young master wanted Leach’s castoffs, Leach would be more than happy to arrange something—for a fee, of course.

“Would you like me to make inquiries, m’lord?”

“Well, I could do with knowing she was all right—such a young girl to be out on the streets. If you should have word, just let me know to ease my conscience.”

“Certainly, m’lord. Anything else, m’lord?”

“No, no. That’ll do.” Jaspar waved dismissively and turned back to his letters.

But when he had the dining room to himself again he fell into a reverie about the girl—Jane—Jane Coombes—well, Jane was enough. Coombes was such a—a—unromantic-sounding name.

To do Jaspar credit, he had worried about Jane. He was only eighteen himself, and still not enough of a polished beau to carry off such an encounter as he’d had with Jane without tweaks of conscience. He was fully aware of his own responsibility for her dismissal, but unable to make himself confess to his share of the blame. Not that it would make any difference to Sarah or his mother. They would only say the girl had no business putting on Sarah’s robe in the first place.

The thought of Sarah’s robe brought back the picture of Jane in it, and, as he’d done for hours at a time during the days that had passed since the encounter, he went through the whole erotic incident moment by moment. Opening the door of his sister’s room and seeing the girl there, not only reflected in the mirror from the front, but clearly outlined through the thin, gauzy fabric, her skin glimmering enticingly. He allowed his mind to roam lovingly over that vision first, savouring again the sweetly rounded behind, before allowing himself to remember the figure in the mirror: the thrusting young breasts, the delicious curve of her waist, and the long, full thighs. Only when he had lingered unbearably long over each part of her did he allow himself to remember the delicious moments that followed; the dreamlike caresses, reflected back so tantalizingly from the mirror. He could remember every second of it so clearly, including his fully aroused passion, that he always succeeded in rousing that same need again, producing an ache that was not at all pleasant, as that other had been. For Jaspar had still some pain to remind him of the disastrous ending of their meeting.

He had succeeded in forgiving her for that dreadful blow. Indeed, he had come to admire her for it, thinking that it was a sign of spirit and courage for her to defend herself so. She had the right, surely, to defend herself, as anyone would do when attacked. She had also been honest enough to admit her own fault, and this also he could not help admiring. He had never met such a girl in his young life, nor had he ever given so much thought to one. Naturally, he had had some experience, but always with some little Barque of Frailty who had mastered the art of teaching young men how to conduct themselves in the bedchamber. But these experiences had been few so far, and as for the other kind of female, the young girls at balls and parties, he’d had none at all. Though he attended a great many affairs, he rarely asked any of the girls to stand up with him. He despised most of them for their silly, missish ways, and was terrified of being trapped into marriage, being well aware of his own softhearted foolishness where women were concerned. Stupid as he might think the girl to be, he could never bring himself to say or do anything to embarrass her or make her feel unhappy, for he was much too good-natured to be cruel.

There were many lures thrown out to him, but he’d managed to avoid them all. But now he spent many of his waking moments and most of his sleeping ones, thinking and dreaming of a maid in his mother’s house! Why the girl probably couldn’t even speak intelligibly! But it didn’t seem to matter how much scorn he poured on her, the fact remained that he was obsessed by the memory of her. He wanted her as he’d never wanted anything in his life before.

When Jane heard the door open she didn’t move. She had been waiting tensely for him to come, knowing full well that he would. He stood by the cot holding the candle over to inspect her.

“Well, you’re a sight, you are. Young master wouldn’t be so hot for you if he could see you now. Never mind, you’ll heal up pretty as ever and then we’ll see what we shall see. There’s a pretty penny to be made from him, I make no doubt.”

He set the candle down and lay down beside her, eyeing her body appreciatively, happy that he’d been careful not to beat her in such a way as to destroy the beauty of the body for himself. He ran his hands down over her flat stomach and into the soft, feathery hair over her pubic mound. Like a baby’s almost, he gloated, never touched by none but me, still full and rosy. Ugh, how he hated women! Only very young girls held any interest for him at all. Young, untouched girls.

Through all of this, and everything that happened after, Jane forced herself to lie perfectly still, never moving so much as an eyelash, never making a sound, even when the pain as he entered her was almost more than she could bear. She bit down on her tongue until her mouth filled with blood, but she would not cry out.

When he had finished and left her, she forced herself off the bed and, shuffling like an old lady, managed to get across the room to the basin of water to wash herself. She inched her way the few feet back to the cot and lowered herself with almost as much difficulty as she’d had in getting up. Lizzie had left salve for her and she spread it over the weals on the backs of her legs and lay down on her stomach to sleep.

She remembered then what Mr. Leach had said when he first came in, that she’d been too terrified to attend to at the time. Somethin’ about the young master and makin’ money. What could he mean? He couldn’t know anythin’ about Lord Jaspar and herself. She was confident
he
would say nothing about it to anyone. Coward that he is, she thought scornfully. And there was no one else who knew of it. So what could Mr. Leach mean? Did he think that now that he had despoiled her he could sell her to other men? That must be it—he planned to make a whore of her and bring men here to enjoy her for a night. Oh my God! I must get out of here. Tomorrow! Yes, tomorrow I’ll leave if I have to crawl.

She fell asleep, but when she woke, her first thought was that she must leave. She got out of bed slowly and began to walk up and down the room, each step an agony as she stretched the partially healed slashes on the backs of her legs. She was glad there was no mirror in the room, for from the feel of it, her face was still swollen and bruised beyond recognition, and she knew if she saw it she might never have the courage to go out into the streets. When she heard Lizzie coming up the stairs she hurried back to the bed and got under the covers.

Lizzie had made her a kind of porridge this morning and Jane was so grateful to see it she nearly thanked Lizzie for it. But she stopped herself in time. Never, she thought, never will I say a word of gratitude to anyone in this devil’s house!

She ate the porridge with relish, and the bread and butter and coffee, and felt much strengthened by it. She rose determinedly and went to the chair where her clothes were folded and with great difficulty dressed herself. She wished desperately for a comb or brush to neaten her hair, but finally pushed as much of it as she could up under her bonnet, shuddering distastefully at the feel of the matted and tangled locks.

The trip down the narrow stairs seemed to take years, every bend of her knee bringing tears to her eyes, but she ignored them and forced herself on. When she reached the bottom she found Lizzie standing there watching her with cold eyes.

“You’re not to leave.”

“Try to stop me. I should
like
to see you try to stop me,” Jane hissed through gritted teeth. “Now get out of me way.”

Lizzie stared at her silently for a moment and then stepped aside. Jane pushed past her and opened the door, stepped out, and closed it behind her.

The trip back to Cheapside was a nightmare. She kept her head well down, but she was aware of the horrified glances of people in the street. Her halting progress was a torment to her under this scrutiny, but she could not move any faster, and occasionally could not move at all, but was forced to stop and rest.

It was during one of these stops, while she supported herself on the railings of a fence fronting an imposing mansion, that someone spoke to her.

“Here, girl, are you sick? Move along now.”

“Get out of it! Mind your own business. I’ll move off when I’ve a mind to.”

“Here—is that—why, it is! Jane Coombes! Whatever’s happened to yer face? You look a sight!”

She looked up wearily to find Crews, a man formerly employed as under butler in the Montmorency household, staring at her with his mouth open in shock.

“Thanks for them kind words, Crews—jest what I need—encouragement,” she snapped tiredly.

“Look—you come along down to the kitchen. I’ll give you a cup of tea or sumthin’,” he suggested kindly.

“Oh, yes, I can see the housekeepers face now when she gets a look at me.”

“Never you mind about
her.
It’s my word that goes now, Janie me girl. I’ve moved up in the world, I have, since you saw me last. I’m butler here,” he said proudly, “So you just come along and mind your step.”

“Oh, I’ll do that, never fear,” she said with a tiny laugh that was part a sob. As he took her arm and assisted her down the area steps to the back of the house, she wondered if she were crazy. Was she again to be seduced by a butler? But then she pooh-poohed such a notion. Even if Crews had such an idea, there’d be nothin’ he could do about carryin’ it out in the kitchen of a mansion such as this, no doubt swarmin’ with servants. No, no, she thought, she was bein’ foolish to think such a thing. Besides, she could not walk another step for a while in any case.

She was right about the staff. It was fully as large as the one at the Montmorency’s, and they were positively goggling with curiosity at the sight of Crews bringing in this poor, battered-looking creature, seating her in a chair before the fire, and ordering someone to bring her some tea—and the rest to go about their business and sharp about it! They scuttled away, but Jane was aware of wide eyes peeping around the doors and many dawdling, and no doubt unnecessary, chores being absentmindedly performed. She was too exhausted to care. She drank up her tea while Crews bustled away. He came back presently leading a stout, cheerful-looking body who could only be the housekeeper.

“Jane, this ’ere is Mrs. Hawks, the housekeeper.”

Jane tried painfully to rise for a curtsy, but the woman pressed her back into the chair.

“Sit still, girl, sit still. Here, you, Mary, take this cup and get back into the scullery and finish those pots and stop standing about gawping like a fish.”

Mrs. Hawks pulled up a chair opposite Jane and lowered herself into it. “Now, girl, tell me about it. What’s happened to you, eh?”

“I—I—lost me position at the Montmorencys a week ago—”

“For what reason?”

Jane looked her in the eye. “ ’Twas me own fault, I’ll not be lyin’ to you on that.”

The woman stared back at her for a moment and then nodded, as though satisfied. “Very well, go on.”

“I went to live with me mum’s old friend and started lookin’. But seems there’s little to be found in the way of jobs these days, and I’d no character.”

“Yes, that’d make it hard, to be sure.”

“Yes, well then, night before last I was on me way home and met Mr. Leach. You remember him, Crews, from the Montmorency’s?” Crews nodded. “Well, he could see I’d had no luck and he asked me to come home to supper with him and his sister. Can you believe it, Crews, he’s got hissel’ an ’ouse of his own? So I thought ’twas kindly meant, and with his sister and all—well, anyway I went along of him and had a good supper. Then he said as how it was too late for me to go all the way to Cheapside and I must stay there in their spare room, though his sister was none too pleased at his askin’ me. I—I—thought ’twould be all right and so I stayed. But he—he—came in durin’ the night and—and—I kicked him—and—he—he—beat me and—and—” her voice trailed away in shame, and the tears flowed down her cheeks unheeded.