Chapter 24
Catherine lay quietly on the bed, watching the waning light outside the window through a gap in the heavy brocade drapes. It had been a shock to see Lettie looking so pale and gaunt, dragging her injured leg. She bore little resemblance to the woman who had helped her escape, and none to the one who had welcomed her into this house. What had Phillip done to her, and how had she been injured? Her mind began throwing up one horrific scenario after another, until she threw her arm over her eyes to block out the images. Lettie’s life was miserable and wretched enough, and the last thing Catherine had ever wanted to do was to add to her burden. She was deeply sorry to be the reason for her most recent injury.
A light knock on the door made her turn her head. What new torment had Phillip dreamed up? “Come in,” she rasped.
A girl entered the room, carrying a tray which she placed on the table next to the empty pitcher of water. Catherine started to tell her to mind the floor—she did not want the child to step in the stale vomit—but the carpet had been cleaned. She frowned. When had that happened? The girl took the cover off the dish and the aroma of hot beef stew elicited a growl from Catherine’s stomach. Her last meal had been the plate of sweet and savory treats at Isabel’s party, and from the alarming gurgles her stomach was making, it would appear that was some time ago. Saying nothing, Catherine watched as the girl picked up the empty pitcher, left the room, and a few moments later returned with a full one.
“The master says you gots to eat,” the girl told her, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor. Her tone seemed unnaturally subdued for one so young, and her brows knitted as if she was trying to remember something. It unexpectedly cleared, and she dropped Catherine a wobbly curtsey.
If the sight of a grown woman manacled to the bedpost with her hair shorn alarmed the child, she gave no sign. Catherine had to wonder what she might have witnessed in so short a span of years that such brutality raised no distress whatsoever. What possible reason had Phillip given to explain Catherine’s presence? Why presume he had given a reason at all, Catherine thought dully. This was his house. He had no need to explain himself to anyone. Least of all to a child.
“You can tell the master that I would rather starve to death than accept any food from his hand,” Catherine said softly, her throat aching as she spoke.
The girl’s eyes darted toward the open door, her impassive expression quickly replaced by fear. She plucked nervously at a fold in her dress as she stood waiting. Turning her head slowly, Catherine saw the reason for her dread as Phillip now joined them. Obviously he had been outside the door, listening to their exchange.
“Grace, come to me please.” He spoke pleasantly, motioning with his hand in the girl’s direction. She obeyed, but Catherine could see the tremble in her shoulders as she stood next to him.
Ignoring his prisoner, Phillip gave his full attention to the child, making certain that Catherine had an unrestricted view. Poverty and hardship had not quite taken everything. A trace of hope lingered still, hope at the possibility of a better life. It told Catherine the child was too young to be in this house.
“Did you tell the lady what I told you to say?” Phillip asked.
Grace nodded.
“And what was her reply?”
Just as softly, Grace repeated Catherine’s words, exactly as she had spoken them, word for word. Saying nothing, Phillip turned and l stared directly into his captive’s eyes, a cruel sneer curling about his lips as she stared back at him. No longer dull and lifeless, her eyes sparked with defiance. Phillip made a sound in his throat that reminded Catherine of a fussy hen.
“What a ridiculous notion to think that I would allow you to starve yourself,” he said. “No, my dear, this just cannot be tolerated.” He placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder and Catherine saw her flinch as Phillip continued. “I will admit that the last time we were together you managed to inflame my passions to such a degree that I quite lost control of myself, but that will not happen again. This time I am better prepared.” Idly he moved his hand and pulled a curl from beneath Grace’s bonnet, twirling it around his forefinger as he continued to watch Catherine. “You are refusing my hospitality, Catherine dear, and that is most rude of you. Your lack of manners I will forgive, but not your disrespect. I see no merit in punishing you, so I will punish the child in your stead.”
“No!”
Catherine’s shriek of protest was not enough to cover the sound of Phillip’s backhand slap across Grace’s face. So brutal was the blow, it lifted her thin body off her feet, sending her across the floor to land in a heap by the open doorway. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. Phillip smiled at the look of horror on Catherine’s face, and then walked over to Grace. He raised his hand, as if to deliberately strike her again.
“No, Phillip, don’t! I’ll do whatever you ask!”
He gloated in triumph. The injustice of his action had created a fire that made Catherine’s skin glow and her eyes light up. She was filled with so much rage, Phillip could almost taste it. It was a fury that promised to make his flesh sing when he took her again. Already he felt the slow burn of anticipation and his face flushed with excitement.
“You will obey my every command and fulfill my every wish?” he asked with conceited arrogance. Defeated, Catherine nodded wearily. He had found the weakness in her armor, and they both knew he would, if given the chance, exploit it to the fullest extent. He was barely able to prevent himself from rubbing his hands together in glee. “Well, you had best finish your meal, and get some color back into your cheeks,” he said in a cheerful tone. “Here, Grace will help you.” He gave a vicious kick to Grace before stepping over her and locking the door on both of them.
Scrambling off the bed, Catherine stretched as far as the chain would allow, but it was not enough to let her reach the child. “Grace?” she called, but her throat hurt too much for her to do more than whisper.
She clasped her hands anxiously, hoping that Phillip’s boot had not caused an injury serious enough to warrant a doctor’s care. It was doubtful the child would receive it. The next few moments were some of the longest in Catherine’s life, relieved only by the sight of Grace’s limbs moving. Opening her eyes, the child blinked a couple of times. There was a puzzled look on her face as if she could not recall how it was she came to be lying on the floor. Or why her body ached so. She struggled to a sitting position, groaning and clamping a hand to her lower back. Her breaths came out as quick, short gasps to counteract the pain. She crawled toward Catherine, who lifted her in her arms, being careful not to hold too tightly, and placed her on the bed.
Tears streaked down Grace’s small, pinched face, an ugly welt marring her cheek. She sniffed loudly, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “Sh-shall I take it away?” Grace asked, pointing to the stew.
Catherine shuddered as she picked up the spoon. “No, sweetheart. I will eat it.” She eyed Grace’s rail thinness. “But I think it may be too much for me, and I do not want the master to become cross. Would you help me?”
During the course of their shared meal, Catherine learned a great many things. Holding Grace close to her, she spoon fed both of them, and discovered that during the past few days most of the remaining household staff had been sent away.
“Who is left?” Catherine asked.
“There’s cook, an’ Rosie who keeps to the scullery, an’ me to look after the missus, oh an’ some men I never saw before.” Grace gave Catherine a grave look. “They came this morning.”
“But why would everyone else be sent away?” Catherine asked.
Grace’s thin shoulders moved under Catherine’s hand. “Dunno, Missus, but the Master promised me a sovereign if I stayed ’til the end of the week to help with the other missus.”
“Why only until the end of the week?”
“The other missus won’t need anyone after then.”
A cold shiver went through Catherine. Either Lettie was far sicker than she had realized, or else her demented husband was planning something horrible. Tucking a curl beneath the cap Grace wore, Catherine contemplated the freedom with which the child could move about the house.
“Grace, can you get in and out of Miss Lettie’s room?”
The girl nodded.
“Good,” Catherine said as a spark of hope ignited within her. “I need you to get a message to her.” Looking around the bedroom, Catherine pointed to the bureau against the far wall. “See if there is any paper there and pen and ink also. I will write a note for you to take to Miss Lettie for me.”
Moving away from Catherine, Grace shuffled her feet and hung her head. “Can’t do that, miss,” she said, putting her hands behind her back, and refusing to look at her. “Please don’t make me.”
“But Grace, it’s just a note.”
“If the master finds out, I’ll be skinned alive so help me!”Her belief in the threat was so absolute, terror smothered her like a blanket.
The small spark of hope that had ignited in Catherine sputtered and died before it had a chance to burn. She had neither the words nor the time to convince the frightened child that if she was careful, she would be safe. Not wanting Grace to see her disappointment, Catherine looked away. It wasn’t the child’s fault. Having already witnessed Phillip’s cruelty to her, there could be no doubt that it had not been the first time Grace had tasted his temper. He had managed to hobble her courage just as effectively as he had crippled his wife.
Catherine’s mind was racing. There had to be a way out of this nightmare, and she was determined that when she found it, she would leave neither Lettie nor Grace behind. She could not, would not, escape without them.
Giving Grace a reassuring smile, Catherine put her finger to her lips. “We’ll say no more about it,” she whispered softly as the sound of a key turning in the lock made them turn their heads toward the door.
Phillip entered, smiling when he saw the empty dish on the tray. “Much better,” he said. “You may take it away, Grace.”
She scurried to do his bidding, her eyes darting nervously to Catherine as she picked up the tray. Giving Phillip as wide a berth as possible, she headed out of the room. Once Grace was safely away, Catherine stood by the side of the bed and looked at her cousin. Her expression was calm and her eyes clear, and she showed no sign of the fear that Phillip craved. He in turn became thoughtful as he looked at her. His goal was to have her cowering before him in abject terror but, he reasoned with himself, perhaps this show of defiance was not such a bad thing. It would make the effort of breaking her that much more rewarding. The result so much sweeter.
The door opened and two men came into the room. Presumably these were the two new arrivals Grace had told her about. She was not surprised by the hip bath. They were in use at both the townhouse and Oakhaven, but she was surprised Phillip had one. Vaguely she recalled Lettie mentioning something about the desire to bathe in private being one of her husband’s peculiarities. It was a shame she had not thought to mention his other ‘peculiarities.’ Forcing herself to show no emotion, she watched as the bath was deposited in the middle of the room.
The men’s rough, unkempt appearance suggested whatever talents they possessed were probably better suited for more reprehensible undertakings. They spoke not a word as they busied themselves with buckets of water which were dutifully poured into the bath. Finally, their task complete, they stood on either side of the door, awaiting further instructions. Phillip moved toward Catherine.
“I am quite distressed by your…disarray.” He gestured to her appearance with a wave of his hand. “It would give me great pleasure to have you bathed and perfumed. These gentlemen”—the word rolled off Phillip’s tongue with heavy sarcasm, and the glance Catherine gave both men told her the mockery was meant for her—“are to ensure that once released from your restraint, you do not attempt anything foolish. Such as attacking me.”
Leaning over her, he took a small key from his vest pocket and unlocked the heavy iron manacle, opening the two hinged halves and enabling her to slip her hand free. She rubbed her wrist gingerly, grimacing at the ugly red welt that had formed. The protective strip of petticoat had been taken along with her hair.
Settling himself comfortably in a chair, Phillip gestured toward the hip bath. “If you don’t mind, my dear.”
Holding her wrist, Catherine moved around the side of the bed and walked over to the waiting water. In a show of willful insolence she stepped directly into the bath, sitting down in a gold cloud as the skirt of her gown billowed up around her. Phillip’s face turned almost purple with fury as he struggled to bring himself back under some measure of control. Then he gestured to the two men.
“Strip her,” he ordered, spitting out his command between clenched teeth.
Catherine was grabbed roughly by her upper arms and hoisted her to her feet. Tearing at the lacings of her bodice, the men quickly ripped the beautiful gown from her body, leaving her clad in her petticoats and chemise. They paused, wisely looking to Phillip for direction. “All of it,” he instructed in a cold voice.
Though eager to follow Phillip’s command, both men relished the opportunity to fondle her body with their rough, calloused hands. They took their time, but when they saw her back, Catherine felt them hesitate. She couldn’t tell if the sharp hiss of breath she heard was in admiration or disapproval at the scars she bore. Once she was completely naked, and her clothing piled in a sodden mess on the floor, Phillip got up from his seat and came toward her. Their chore complete, the rough men resumed their place by the door. The look on each man’s face was enough to suggest that Phillip had promised them a great reward for their part in his obscene, perverted scheme.
Slowly Phillip circled her, stopping to admire his previous handiwork. He clucked his tongue loudly. “I must be losing my touch. I really would have expected more show for my previous efforts, although”—he reached out and traced a finger down the long ridge of mutilated skin before declaring arrogantly—“this signature of mine is quite magnificent.”
Fear and revulsion at Phillip’s touch made gooseflesh rise on Catherine’s body. She sat in the water and began lathering herself with the scented soap. If she could have scrubbed the skin from her bones, she would have gladly done so, but Phillip, observing the furious movement of her hands over her skin, ordered her to stop. She scowled, her mouth set in a tight line.
“Think of Grace,” he warned.
With one fluid motion Catherine stepped out of the hip bath, and stood dripping water. She took the towel Phillip handed her, and wrapped it around herself. The hip bath was now considerably heavier, and the two men grunted as they carried it from the room, sloshing a good amount of water over the sides as they did so.
“Perfume and prepare yourself,” Phillip told her, “and make sure you wear this for me.” He picked up a handful of sheer material that had been draped across the back of the chair where he had been sitting. “I shall return shortly.”
Tremors racked her body as Catherine sat before the dressing table. She held out her arms, gripping the edge of the polished wood, waiting for the spasms to pass. She was surprised Phillip had not cuffed her with the manacle, but then he had Grace to use against her if she did not cooperate, and she was certain the two thuggish henchmen would not be far away. A shiver of loathing ran through her as she recalled the feel of their hands pawing at her flesh. Phillip would not make the same mistake twice. Escaping would not be such an easy matter a second time.
In the mirror she looked at the tattered remnants of her ball gown. It had been a lovely dress, and she had felt beautiful wearing it. Tears filled her eyes as she saw Rian’s face swimming in front of her. Where was he? Desperately she wondered how long she would be able to keep Phillip at arm’s length, because in her heart she knew Rian was searching for her. And God help Phillip when he found her.