Chapter 20
There is something about waiting for unpleasant things which preys upon the mind, and stretches out that period into an interminable and brooding anticipation of doom. When it’s only things like finals exams, it is never as bad as you anticipate, but this waiting could lead to deaths.
All the maids were sleeping in another salon, and glad, I dare say, of having had a fire in the room all evening, but they might go, at need, straight out of French doors onto the terrace. The male servants have their abode at ground level, and have a common room opening onto their own yard at the back of the house, where they may smoke and drink, because I prefer them to have the comforts males enjoy on hand rather than go off into the village to the pub, when nobody knows where they are, and they will do these things, day off or no, if they think they can get away with it. Porkins does have a firm hand on them, but he is not displeased to have what I believe they call ‘the Phoenix Arms.’
Our local weather witch – the wife of one of my poachers, who also makes herb concoctions for medicinal purposes, and has the advantage over the local doctor of being sober – had predicted a harsh winter, so I planned to turn over one of the salons to be a female dormitory, being near the kitchen and currently used for informal dining. I cannot understand the virtue in failing to treat the servants as human beings, in need of care like anyone. And Emmie brought me the views and news of the servants so I was able to provide that care. She was talkative if not discouraged, and I learned more from her than I suspect she realised, but it was useful, so I let her rattle on as she did my hair and helped me into my stays.
She was sleeping with the ladies to run errands, white-faced and terrified, poor child.
Tony and Luke withdrew from our company at around midnight; they would camp-out outside our door, hardly the warmest of venues, but it would not be proper for them to sleep in the parlour with us, even with a screen to hide the closed stool I had in there, so we did not need to separate to go to the water closet.
We had every bucket on the estate filled with water, ready to dowse any fire, and every washtub and cook-pan. I should feel silly if he did not come after all this; but not one person in my employ or guest even suggested that the precautions were excessive. Indeed, Emmie reported to me that Cook had said, “Ee, sithee, at least young mistress ʼas ‘er ʼead screwed on rightwise; happen ‘er’d know more about thon mardy midden-hid fra Bedlam than many, poor lass syne ʼe’s been mitherin’ arter ʼer forever.” Emmie’s attempts at the speech of the locals was as good as a play.
I still have no idea why my friends fell about laughing when I praised the preparations, and said, ‘Eh bien, tha’s reet gradely, tha’s been throng t’t’purpose.’
I was beamed upon by my staff, who appreciated my ability to use the local idiom.
It was approaching one in the morning that George Eshton, who had volunteered to join the poachers, gave a ‘View Halloo!’ he parped on that stupid hunting horn as well.
Oh, well, Mary was never looking for a man of letters.
Now it was happening, I could become calm, ready, and able to act as seemed fit. There was a lot of shouting outside, and frustration; Rochester appeared to have given them the slip. Emmie clung to me, and we all stood together in a knot, wondering what to do.
Reader, I did not expect him to burst through the French door of the salon, letting in an icy blast.
He had a shotgun; double-barrelled, and a can in the other hand.
“Well, well, all the little whores together,” he said. “Don’t move until I tell you; I can cut you all in half with this.”
We froze. A shotgun is a nasty weapon.
“What a coward you are,” I said.
“Shut your filthy mouth!” he snapped. “You!” he pointed at Mary. “Take this can and spread it out over the floor. Adele, come here.”
“And why should we?” I asked.
“Because if you don’t do as I say, I’ll spread the guts of the rest of them all over the floor, from the brat to the old besom.”
“A lot of noblesse oblige you have for my hirelings,” I sneered. I moved towards him, anyway, getting between his gun and the others. Nelly was standing by a sofa, and I thought if I could obscure his view, a clever prankster like her would drop behind it and be an unknown quantity.
“To my side!” he said.
I did as I was told. Mary was spreading what smelled like kerosene.
“Let them go,” I said. “They have done nothing to you.”
“Not on your life! They make you behave!” he said. He took a length of rope out of his pocket. “You, old witch! Come here and tie Adele up!”
“Sir, you are insane,” cried Miss Thwaite.
“Better do as he says,” I said. She came forward, trembling, and tied me.
“Tighter,” he said.
I had put my wrists together at the edges, so I would have some play, a trick I had learned from a street performer outside Covent Garden, who showed how he could escape from being tied up. No piece of knowledge is ever wasted.
I was pleased to note, as well, that Miss Thwaite could not tie the parcel knot, called, I believe by sailors a ‘sheet bend;’ though why anyone would want to bend sheets to tie in knots eludes me. This knot would not tug tighter the more pressure was put on it. And Nelly had pulled Emmie behind the sofa with her whilst his eye was on Miss Thwaite and me. He motioned her back. Then he drew a pistol from his pocket, and shot into the kerosene, which went up with an explosive WHOOMPH noise, shoved the pistol back into his pocket, and grabbed my arm, dragging me out of the window.
The window fanned the flames, and the girls were on the other side of those vicious flames, the door being at the end of the room. His intent was plainly to burn them to death.
“You vicious bastard!” I cried.
“Shut up; you are coming to where you belong,” he said, dragging me down off the terrace and throwing me onto his horse.
Reader, I confess I swooned in horror, stress, and from being dangled head down over his saddle bow as he leaped up and rode off through the night.
We galloped into the nearest town, and stopped outside a building lit with a red lamp. Rochester dragged me off the horse and manhandled me into the building.
“Here’s a gift for you; a girl nobody will miss,” he said. “School her well, she’s a recalcitrant piece.”
“She doesn’t look it,” said the fat madam, as I feigned swooning again.
“Bring her round with a good thrashing,” said Rochester.
“I’ll have our doctor look over her first,” said the madam. “I’ll not have her if she has the pox.”
I was dragged up to a bedroom whilst someone went to get the doctor. Here I was untied and stripped, and how hard it was to remain boneless, I cannot describe! But the less they thought of me, the better.
In due course, the doctor arrived, and I suffered indignities which I prefer not to dwell upon.
“Mistress Susan, this girl is a virgin!” cried the doctor.
“What is this?” the madam demanded of Rochester. “You said you were bringing a whore who knew her business. If the law came to hear of us breaking in a virgin whose clothes show good birth we’re sunk.”
“But… how can she be?” cried Rochester. “She has been selling herself since she was twelve years old; you must be mistaken.”
“I’m a doctor and I’m not mistaken,” said the doctor. “She is virgo intacta. She has never known a man in the Biblical sense.”
Rochester seized my hair to pull my face to the light to assure himself who I was.
“No!” he muttered. “She cannot have been telling the truth… she is French, she must have been lying… it cannot be!”
Mon Dieu! He went through a court case without believing it and now, finally, he was coming to acknowledge the truth?
“I could get a great deal of money for her maidenhead, but only if I know that there will be no repercussions,” said the Madam.
“There will not; she is an orphan, a nobody,” said Rochester, harshly. “I… perhaps I should take her away again.”
“You promised her, and it pays off your debt,” said the madam. “Now go away; you can break her flesh with your whip when she has lost her innocence. If you can pay, that is.”
He stumbled out. The doctor had already gone. The madam regarded me, as I might see through half-open lids.
“Well, dearie, you are in for a rude awakening,” she said, bustling out. With my clothes. I heard the door lock.
The good thing was that I was in the dark, so she was not going to be watching me through the keyhole.
I rolled out of bed, and opened the curtains; there was precious little light from the sky, but it was enough to help. I had no doubt I could escape easily through the window, which was not barred, but doing so naked in November was not a good idea.
I found underlinen, and nothing more; but I put three pairs of stockings on, which was as many as would go over each other, for climbing with numb toes would not do at all. I found some drawers and a shift, still somewhat drafty. But if I climbed out of this window, I could maybe climb in through another. A jar of cold cream in another stocking made a makeshift weapon, tied to my wrist.
I opened the window, an old-fashioned casement window, and leaned out.
There was a window which I thought was on the landing by which I had been brought, and I eased my way out of this window, and shuffled along the beam of this timber-framed building.
The casement on the landing was latched, of course; but the cold-cream jar was harder than the ancient window glass, and then I could reach in to unlatch it. And then, I was in.
I listened to find an occupied room. Occupied, dear reader? Yes, indeed, occupied. I waited for the heights of passion to be gained and slipped in, ignoring the unedifying sight of a pimply bottom at the gallop. The… I hesitate to call him a gentleman… had kept his shirt on [and Tony had better not try to do that,] but his stockings, shoes, drawers and breeches lay with his coat on a chair.
I picked them up, leaving the drawers, and strolled out, snagging the key, and locking the lovers in.
The female drawers I was wearing were at least laundered; I had no intention of putting on used male drawers. Me, I am fastidious.
Now I had clothes of a sort and stout woollen stockings; I thrust the shoes into my pockets as being more likely to hamper my climb. Then I slipped out of the window, and started off down towards the ground. I would have to walk home; if, indeed, I had a home to walk to, and if I had any living friends. The horror of what he had done wrung a sudden sob from me, which I choked down on, for it would do nobody any good if I was to cry.
I was not expecting to hear my name.
“Adele?”
It was Tony’s voice.
“Tony!” I cried, and leaped the rest of the way into his arms.
He caught me, and held me. Oh! How hard I clung to him, my Tony, my rock, my love. I think I realised at that moment just how much I loved him, how much it would have broken my heart to be separated from him. And though I knew I could have taken myself back to him, to have him here, to be ready to take me away was amazing, wonderful, and… reader, I ran out of hyperbole in my own mind. I was shaking like a leaf, and tears flowed down my face unbidden.
He was hardly any less emotional than I was, and held me as if he would never let me go.
“Adele, oh, my Adele!” he sobbed. “I was wondering how to break in! But I might have realised that you would break out.”
“What side are we?” I asked.
“The end; on a side street,” said Tony. “I saw that man come out, and without you, so I knew where he had left you. But I did not think storming the place would answer.”
“You’d have missed me, too,” I said. “I have shoes for this; I hope they are not too big.”
He helped me put them on.
“I have a horse,” he said. “You shall ride, and I will lead, my darling.”
“The girls!” I cried.
“I… I do not know,” he said. “I saw him throw you on the horse, and I went to grab a horse and follow you. I am afraid there is no saddle or bridle. And my hands are well cut, too,” he said, ruefully.
“There’s some cold cream in a pot here,” I said, getting out my weapon.
“In a stocking?”
“I thought if I had to hit someone with it, it would work better.”
“So clever!” he marvelled.
He availed himself of the cold cream though; mane cuts can be painful.
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