Chapter 8
Catherine wasn’t sure what made her wake. There were so many unfamiliar sounds, it could have been anything. The house as it settled or perhaps the barking dog beyond her window. But then the prickly feeling at the nape of her neck told her it was neither of those things. Dread came over her, causing a tight feeling in her chest and a sudden sour taste in the back of her mouth.
Something was out of place.
The room felt wrong, and Catherine had the oddest feeling she was no longer alone. Turning her head, she looked at the bedroom door, which stood slightly ajar, a faint light spilling over the threshold from the lamp that sat on the narrow hall table. A lamp that Lettie told her remained lit through the night. Catherine frowned, certain she had closed the door after she and Lettie had said their good-nights to each other. At least she thought she’d closed the door, but now, with her senses groggy, she could not be sure.
This time a noise did reach her. In the dark it was barely a whisper, and it sounded very much like a breath or a sigh. The feeling of dread intensified, and Catherine knew someone else was in the room with her.
“Who’s there?” She peered into the gloomy shadows at the end of her bed, wishing her voice was not so tentative. “Lettie?”
The sound of fabric being rubbed together by movement brought her fully awake, and turning to the bedside table she searched for the candle so she might light it.
“I would prefer you did not do that,” a man said.
A shiver ran down Catherine’s back. Having been forced to listen to it earlier in the evening, she had no difficulty recognizing her cousin’s voice. “Cousin Phillip? Is that you?” Blinking impatiently, she was able to make out a figure standing in the shadows beyond the foot of the bed.
“Indeed, my dear, and I am at your service.”
Phillip stumbled forward and sat heavily on the end of the bed. The stench of strong spirits rolled off him in nauseating waves. It was a smell Catherine was all too familiar with, and in a moment of perversity she fought the urge to laugh. She was no stranger to dealing with a man who was drunk.
“It is late, cousin, and I think perhaps you have mistaken which room you are in,” she said, keeping her voice firm and even.
The sound that spilled into the darkness was ugly, and it took Catherine a few moments to realize it was Phillip laughing. Only the high-pitched giggle was more suited to a child. Coming from a grown man it sounded obscene. At that moment the moon emerged from behind a cloud, spilling silvery light across the bed and illuminating Phillip’s face. His expression caused a spasm of icy fear to snake through her, and realizing she was heading down an unfamiliar path, Catherine felt her resolve begin to unravel. Her father, no matter how drunk he got, had never become lecherous with her. Not even on those rare occasions when he mistook her for her mother.
“I’ve made no mistake,” Phillip told her, “I’ve come to collect what is owed me.”
“Owed?”
She was confused. Had Jacob Whitney told him of the hundred pounds? Was Phillip expecting the money as well? He began to move closer, slithering his way toward her. Catherine shrank back against the pillows, unable to move as he reached out and took a lock of her long hair, rubbing the silky smoothness between his fingers.
“Surely you realize,” he said in a voice that suddenly carried no sign of drunkenness, “my generosity comes with a price. You cannot expect to enjoy the hospitality of my home without offering some form of recompense. Make no mistake, cousin, unlike others, I am very much master in my own house, and everything within its walls I lay claim to.”
Staring hard into his face, Catherine recognized the same shadow she had seen on his features earlier that evening. A shadow that told her Phillip was more dangerous now than he had been a few moments ago. Her father had been drunk many, many times, but his affliction was due to melancholia. What she knew of drink-fueled lust had come from an overheard discussion between two of The Hall’s kitchen maids. Recalling the conversation, she remembered that a quick slap across the face should be enough to thwart any lascivious behavior. She hoped this was true, because she had never faced anything like this before. Fear rose, intensifying the pain in her chest, but Catherine could not allow it to gain the upper hand. It was imperative she keep a clear head.
Struggling to hold her emotions in check, she hissed at her cousin. “If you do not leave this instant, I will scream loud enough for your wife to hear me!”
He let the lock of hair fall from his fingers and sniggered at her like an overgrown schoolboy caught in some mean-spirited prank. The sound made her skin crawl. “Oh, you foolish, foolish girl,” Phillip sneered. “Do you honestly think that my dear, sweet, terrified Lettie will come to your aid? Even if she were to hear you scream, she has enough sense to place her pillow over her head to cover the sound. No one in this house,” he continued, gloating triumphantly, “will come to your rescue.”
He leaned forward, close enough that Catherine could smell the odor of his body beneath the stench of alcohol. “Besides, I would like it very much if you did scream. It will make everything so much more enjoyable.”
The tenuous grip Catherine had on her courage slipped, and a paralyzing fear threatened to replace it. That Phillip meant her harm was beyond question, and she opened her eyes wide with horror as he reached for the bedclothes she held fast about her. The reality of her situation became very clear. She had to move, and quickly.
Loosening her grip on the coverings, she leaned forward and slapped Phillip across the face. The sound of hand striking flesh seemed to echo in the room, but it was nothing compared to Phillip’s start of surprise. Her unexpected attack gave her the time needed to throw back the covers, and scramble from the bed. She ran for the bedroom door, but Phillip recovered more quickly than she realized. With a snarl of rage he barreled into her, effectively using their combined body weight to close the door Catherine had just managed to pull halfway open. She shrieked in alarm and frustration as Phillip pinned her to the solid panel, allowing his hands to familiarize themselves with the contours of her body through the thin fabric of her nightgown.
Don’t cry, that’s what he wants you to do. Think, Catherine, think!
Her mind was in a frenzied turmoil and, as she tried to anticipate her cousin’s next move. Phillip gripped her shoulder and roughly spun her around. The imprint of her hand glowed like a brand across his cheek, and her mouth lifted with satisfaction at the sight. Her cousin, however, was outraged. No woman had ever struck him back, and none dared to strike him first. The idea was intolerable. He was the one who inflicted the pain, and Catherine would pay dearly for her insolence. She watched as he raised his free hand, realizing his intent too late to prevent him from striking her. Her head snapped back, bouncing against the door with enough force to cause an ocean of stars to explode before her eyes. A master at this game, Phillip used her disorientation to his advantage. Seizing the front of her nightgown he bunched the material in his fist, pulling her toward him and away from any chance of escape.
With an almost casual indifference, he slapped Catherine across the face several more times. Each blow made her stumble backwards. It wasn’t until she felt the bed pressed against the back of her legs that she channeled her fear. Curling her own hands into fists, Catherine battered Phillip about the head and shoulders, but her counterattack offered only a temporary reprieve. As she tried to pull away, her nightgown tore, and she lost her balance, leaving Phillip with a handful of lace and a look of almost comical surprise on his face. Ignoring what was left of the torn garment that was now slipping off her shoulder, Catherine tried to run around the bed, hoping to put it between herself and her cousin, but her foot became tangled in the covers on the floor, she stumbled, and struck her head against the carved post. The room tilted at an odd angle as she fell to the ground.
* * * *
A dull, muffled pounding in her head made Catherine moan softly, and the coppery smell of blood made her wrinkle her nose. Moisture on her upper lip would seem to indicate a nosebleed, but whether it was bleeding still was hard to say. Her mouth and one side of her face throbbed painfully. Probing gently with the tip of her tongue she found her lower lip was swollen and even the most careful of movement brought a jolt of pain that spiked along one side of her jaw. She tried raising her head to look around, but the lid of her left eye seemed to be fused closed and would not open. Thankfully, the right one appeared undamaged. Surfacing to total awareness, Catherine realized she was at the mercy of a degenerate. There would be no reasoning with her cousin. He had crossed the line separating sanity from madness, although she doubted Phillip had simply stepped over it. His actions proclaimed his leap across the divide had been conducted with joyous abandon.
She was lying on her stomach, spread-eagle on the bed and was now completely naked. Phillip had torn what was left of her nightgown into long strips which he’d used to bind her wrists and ankles to the bedposts. A cautious tug confirmed the tightness of the bindings, and for the moment escape did not seem possible. Gooseflesh raised across her body and the hair at the nape of her neck stood on end as fear took a downward spiral into complete terror.
Her thoughts became an incoherent jumble of images as she tried to fight through the pain in her head, until with a sudden piercing clarity, Catherine recalled the rest of that overheard conversation between the two maids. The lustful drunk, angered by the slap, had taken his revenge by raping a different girl. Her presence undetected, Catherine had listened to every lurid detail of the rape, and, though filled with disgust and revulsion, she had continued to listen until the tale concluded.
“My love, you have returned to me,” Phillip whispered softly next to her ear.
Catherine jerked her head up, a jarring scream of pain making her eyes fill with tears. A series of violent tremors coursed through her as Phillip stroked down her nude body, lingering to caress her buttocks before whispering softly down the back of her thighs. The bed sagged as he bent over her, and, with his tongue, retraced the path his hand had just traveled, alternating between licking and cruelly biting her flesh.
Her tears flowed freely, her humiliation becoming something else entirely at the feel of his hand sliding between her legs. She gasped, biting her tongue as his fingers violated her body, compelling her to cry out. Satisfied that she had given him the reaction he desired, Phillip stopped what he was doing and grabbed a handful of long, blond hair. Twisting it around his fist, he arched Catherine’s head and shoulders painfully up from the bed, testing the limits of her bonds. Keeping a firm grip on her hair with one hand, he awkwardly scrambled off the bed and moved into her line of sight.
“Look at me!” he snarled, giving a vicious tug on her hair while his other hand grasped her face. After releasing his hold, he began to undress. Unused to performing the task with no help, Phillip struggled. His efforts made the slack muscles and wasted flesh jiggle obscenely. Sparse, coarse hair covered his pasty white chest before straggling in a narrow line down to the wiry bush from which his engorged penis jutted. Catherine’s right eye opened even wider in terror as she watched him wrap his fingers around himself, and move his hand along his shaft.
“Soon, my sweetling,” Phillip crooned in a singsong voice.
Like an animal caught in a snare, Catherine pulled on her bonds. But her efforts only tightened the knots and turned the fabric into ropes of steel that cut into her skin. Phillip moved, and she felt a breath across the swell of her buttocks as his mouth slavered over her flesh. His hand moved faster between his legs. Instinctively she clenched her muscles and gritted her teeth as she felt him slobbering. One hand suddenly dug into her flesh, sharp nails cruelly biting into her as Phillip reached his climax. In a series of jerky movements, he ejaculated across her body, moaning and dribbling his semen until his cock began to soften in his hand. Catherine’s terror now scaled new heights, but fear of what her cousin might do if she slipped into oblivion that made her fight to keep her senses.
“I must apologize, my sweet, for losing control,” Phillip murmured as he stroked her hair. “But do not fret, for I only need a moment and then it will be my pleasure to introduce you to all the secrets of the bedchamber.”
Catherine’s muscles seized, freezing her in place. The arrogance in Phillip’s voice terrified her more than anything else. He could do anything he wanted, and she could not stop him. The realization, delivered on a quick moving wave of absolute panic, roused something inside of her. Awkwardly she raised her head. Her good eye was filled with a deep, bottomless hatred as, with all the force she could muster, she spat in her cousin’s face.
Wiping the glob of spittle from his cheek, Phillip narrowed his eyes before telling her coldly, “You can, of course, expect to be punished for that insolence.”
Catherine collapsed onto the bed, her moment of defiance taking what little strength she had. She heard the musical clink of crystal as her sadistic torturer poured himself a drink. He had obviously brought the decanter and glass with him because there had been none in her room earlier. His thirst appeased, Phillip smacked his lips and then Catherine heard a sharp whistle that sounded familiar, but one she could not place. The sound came again, and then once more, before recognition suddenly dropped into place. It was the rush of air being displaced by a riding crop.
“I don’t think you quite understand the reality of your situation,” Phillip said, “but I take full responsibility for the oversight. Allow me to explain, cousin dear. I can do whatever I want with you, and to you, and when I am done you will be given to others who will use you just as thoroughly.”
“You’re mad!” Catherine said through gritted teeth, ignoring the grinding ache in her jaw. “I will never submit to you!”
The obscene childlike giggle came again. “I do like your spirit,” Phillip told her. “Admirable but pointless. How do you propose to stop me, Catherine? There is nothing you can do. Absolutely nothing.”
A high-pitched whistle filled the air and made her shudder. She knew all too well what Phillip intended to do with the riding crop, but she had no way of knowing that this was his favorite way to arouse himself. She tensed as she waited for the first blow. Inexplicably she saw Lettie’s face in her mind, and she understood the reason for the small woman’s fear. Lettie had suffered—was still suffering—untold abominations at the hands of this brute who called himself her husband.
The first blow drove all thoughts of Lettie from Catherine’s mind as an explosion of pain ripped through her. The intense burning sensation screamed that her flesh had been torn open, and a warm trickle of blood ran down her side. Turning her head, she bit down on the pillow, denying Phillip the added satisfaction of hearing her scream. She clenched her jaws together. The searing ache that throbbed along the side of her face was swallowed up by the darker agony overtaking the rest of her body. Hands pulled at her, and Catherine, recognizing the mercy they held, allowed herself to be swept down into a midnight chasm.