Chapter Twenty-Two
“Please, sir, please don’t hurt me again,” Tina begged him as she scooted her naked body back against the hard wood floor, the chain attached to her ankle grinding against the surface.
The man always found their pleas so satisfying, especially when accompanied by blind terror, as was the case with this girl Tina. Mesmerizing.
She whimpered as he advanced closer. “I won’t tell no one nothing. I swear I won’t,” she wailed as her back came up against the wall. “Please, I won’t. Please just let me go. I beg you!”
“Why is it that I do not believe you, hmm?” he said as he tugged on the chain that was attached to the iron manacle encircling her right ankle. All women were liars. All of them. “Now back you come,” he crooned softly as he began pulling on the chain, dragging her body back toward him, unheeding as splinters from the wooden floor tore into the exposed flesh of her buttocks and back. Her skin was surprisingly delicate, some would even say delightfully soft and supple, at least for a servant in any event.
Tina whimpered as her body slowly dragged inch by inch closer to him. “It was Robbie’s idea to blackmail you. I tried to talk him out of it.”
He paid no heed to her words. Instead, his eyes were riveted on the trail of blood being dragged behind her as he pulled her closer. The sight of the deep crimson against the pale porcelain of her skin was entrancing.
He dropped the chain to the floor and moved to the side table, where he picked up his dagger.
The little thing tried once again to scurry backward to the corner of the room, even though she knew she was trapped and had nowhere to go.
As he approached her, he ensured that the small amount of light streaming in from the window caught the edge of the blade. She started to pray aloud as huge trembles wracked her entire body.
“I’m…I’m so sorry,” she sobbed. “Please, don’t be hurting me no more. Please let me go. I beg you to.”
“But that is exactly what I plan on doing,” he pointed out. He bent down over her and slowly drew the edge of the blade across her breasts, with just enough pressure to lightly pierce the skin.
She whimpered in terror.
“You, though, are very lucky,” he told her as one of his fingers traced the small line of blood now seeping from her chest. “You are going to help me get the revenge I have desired for so long.”
He was going to have fun with this one.
…
“It is quite safe to come in,” Mabel sang out from her seat at the breakfast table. “Daniel has left already.”
Sophie hastily straightened up from her position at the doorway, slightly chagrined to have been caught peering around the doorframe into the room. “Just trying to gauge if I needed to prepare myself for another verbal joust with him,” she retorted, walking into the breakfast room. She had to admit that she was glad he had departed.
Approaching the buffet table, she picked up a plate and scooped up some eggs and toast. “How are your nerves this morning, Aunt?”
“Honestly, when you and your brother quarrel, it plays havoc with them.” Mabel put a hand up to her chest. “But thankfully, a good night’s sleep seemed to settle them somewhat, and I feel much more like my usual cheerful self this morning. Though I must say I am somewhat vexed that the new footman just up and left.”
“Well, I am glad your nerves are better, even with news of the footman.”
“Yes,” Mabel agreed as she took a sip of tea. “In any event, Stokes will find a replacement, I am sure. Now tell me, did you and Daniel sort out your differences last night?”
Sophie, plate in hand, sat down across from Mabel and sighed. “With my abominably stubborn brother, what do you think?”
Mabel smoothed away some of the wayward feathers bobbing low over her eyes from her coiffure above. “He still could not see the merits in your match with Huntington then?”
“No, he could not.”
“That boy is very obstinate,” her aunt said with a frown. “But do not fret. I am confident that he will soon come to see the great benefits that such a match boasts.”
“I am glad you are overly confident,” she replied, picking up her knife and buttering her toast. “For I fear my brother will never come to accept the idea of the Duke of Huntington and me marrying.” She took a bite of the toast and swallowed it. “Though at least I do not need his consent to marry.”
“True,” Mabel agreed as she took a further sip of tea. “That would have been most unfortunate. It is lucky that you are well past the age of needing permission to marry.”
“I am not that old,” Sophie grumbled.
“You are definitely past the desirable age,” Mabel countered. “But luckily for us, the Duke does not seem to care. And I, for one, must say that I am greatly excited by your news, dear Sophie. I am so glad that you settled upon the Duke, who is a much better choice than the Earl, if my sources are anything to go by.”
Sophie raised a brow. “And just what do your sources say is wrong with the Earl?”
Mabel readjusted some of the feathers in her hair. Today, the plumes were a combination of a rather bombastic shade of green along with mustard yellow, which once again clashed rather horridly against her aunt’s auburn hair. “Oh, nothing conclusive just yet. But it would appear that the Earl’s persona of benevolence might not be quite as it seems.”
“Aunt Mabel, you do speak cryptically at times.”
Mabel waved her hand about in a haphazard fashion. “As I said, there is nothing concrete against him of course, merely that my source suspects he has a somewhat murky past. They could not give me specifics, but the very fact that a great deal of his past pursuits cannot be accounted for does give one some pause.”
Sophie shook her head. “Aunt, you must not always rely on gossip, for much of it is untrue.”
“This is not gossip,” Mabel said. “I paid to have both men’s backgrounds investigated.”
Sophie was momentarily at a loss for words. “Surely you did not?”
Mabel had an expression on her face, similar to that of the cat that got the cream. “Indeed, I did. There is a very discreet and exclusive service that I used to obtain a great deal of information on both men. And I must say that though your Duke has had a somewhat shady past in regards to consorting with ladies, he is above board in every other respect.”
“How lucky for me, then.” Only a shady past of consorting with ladies… Just the sort of detail one wishes to hear about one’s future husband.
“Yes,” Mabel replied. “Quite a heartening report, actually.”
Clearly, the hint of sarcasm had not been detected by her aunt.
“Just fancy,” her aunt continued, “my niece married to a Duke! I will be the envy of all of society.” She glanced off into the distance, and Sophie was certain Mabel was imagining a future of being just that.
At least one member of her family was over the moon with the news. Her brother, however, was a very different story, and if Devlin’s aunt’s behavior the previous night was anything to go by, Lady Brampton would be just as thrilled as Daniel. “Aunt Mabel,” Sophie began, “why is it that Lady Brampton seems to hate Devlin so greatly?” If anyone knew the details of such gossip, it would be Mabel.
“Ooh, now that is a very interesting story and goes back some ways, too. You see,” she began, leaning forward toward Sophie, an eager glint in her eye, “originally it was thought that Cornelia, whom you know as Lady Brampton, would marry James, the old Duke’s second son. Even though nothing official had ever been announced.”
“Devlin’s father?”
“Yes,” Mabel confirmed. “Though of course this all happened well before Devlin was born. You see, rumor has it that the old Duke’s eldest son Charles decided that he wanted Cornelia as his wife, and she, more than happy to be a duchess, rather than simply wife to the Duke’s second son, accepted him. I think about a year after Charles and Cornelia married, James ran off and married an Irish governess. Caused quite the scandal.”
That explained why Lady Brampton spoke of Devlin’s heritage in such belittling terms, but it still made little sense why the woman would hold Devlin in such animosity. “Why does she appear to hate Devlin so?”
“Well, I think it was about eight or nine years after James ran off with his governess, Charles was killed in a riding accident. And by that stage, Charles and Cornelia had only produced three female offspring, which meant, of course, that the next in line to the Dukedom was James, followed by Devlin.”
“But why blame Devlin for events out of his control?” she asked. “He was only a child at the time.”
“I know, my dear,” Mabel agreed. “Not the boy’s fault his uncle was riding alone and fell off his horse and got himself killed. But there was a great deal of nasty talk that it was fate’s cruel jest on Cornelia. For if she had married James instead, as was originally planned, she would have been duchess.”
“But James never became Duke, did he?”
“No, he did not. James and his wife were killed in a carriage accident barely one year after poor Charles died, making Devlin heir to the dukedom. I think Cornelia could never quite accept that the son of an Irish governess was going to be duke. Particularly when she could have married James in the first place.”
“But why would she think Devlin’s father killed her husband?” That particular piece of the puzzle made little sense.
“I have no idea. She seemed to twist things in her head that it was not a riding accident.” Mabel sighed. “Cornelia has always had a very peculiar way of looking at things. But enough of all this depressive talk. You are the one going to be Duchess. There is much we must get started on in the way of wedding preparations.”
Sophie groaned. The very last thing she wished to think of. “The notices have only just come out today.”
“Exactly.” Mabel appeared overjoyed by the fact. “There is not a moment to waste. I was thinking a late spring wedding next year would be just the thing.”
“Uh…”
“Yes, the weather would be perfect, and all of those lovely spring flowers would grace Westminster Abbey splendidly.” Mabel continued, “Do you not agree?”
She cringed slightly. “Aunt Mabel, I think there is something perhaps you should be aware of…”
“Yes, dear?”
“Well,” began Sophie, “I might have agreed to marry the Duke this year.”
Mabel’s jaw dropped open. “What? But it is June already,” she screeched. “Sophie, surely you jest with me?”
“Actually, no, I am being quite earnest.”
“When then?” she asked. “Surely you did not agree to marry in winter?”
“Actually, I might have agreed to marry the Duke in about one month’s time.”
“One month!” Mabel stood up from her seat and leaned her hands on the table. “What do you mean a month? That is not possible. No one can organize a wedding to a Duke in a month. My goodness, what will we do? There is not time.”
“Aunt, please calm down,” Sophie said, watching as her aunt’s motley hair feathers began bobbing wildly up and down, in synchronicity with her apparent agitation. “Think of your nerves.”
“There is no time to think of my nerves,” Mabel replied. She suddenly gasped and then raced around the table to where Sophie sat.
Sophie had never seen her move so quickly.
Mabel grabbed a hold of her left shoulder and swiveled Sophie around to face her. “He has not compromised you, has he? Tell me he has not.”
“No, of course not,” she said. “He is merely impatient to marry.”
“Oh, thank goodness. That is a great relief.” Mabel exhaled and sat down next to Sophie. “However, will we prepare for a wedding in only one month’s time? I do not think such a feat possible; I really do not.” She slumped slightly and stared off into the distance.
“Excuse me, ladies?” Stokes intoned from the doorway as he crossed the room to where they sat, a crisp newspaper in his hand. “I have the Times for you, Madam, as requested, freshly pressed of course.”
“Excellent! Printed news of your engagement will at least lift my spirits, for my friends shall all be green with envy.” Mabel straightened in her chair as she took the newspaper from Stokes’ hand.
“Lady Sophie, two letters have also arrived for you.” He bent down and handed them to her, lowering his voice. “I thought I had best give them to you personally after the previous issue with your mail.”
“Thank you, Stokes,” she replied, taking both letters from him. “Is there any update about what happened to the other letters?”
A look of fury crossed the man’s face. “I feel personally responsible, Lady Sophie. It would appear that the missing footman Benlow may have been responsible for the theft of your letters. Apparently, one of the maids saw him near your writing desk on numerous occasions, and now that he’s up and left in the middle of the night with all of his things gone, it would tend to suggest he was up to no good.”
There seemed to be a great deal of servants fleeing into the night. “Well, if it was only mail he stole, then perhaps we were fortunate.”
Stokes shook his head in shame. “Yes, I have already ensured that all of the valuables are accounted for, but I still feel responsible that I hired a thief, though he came with impeccable references.”
“My goodness!” Mabel exclaimed as she peered down at a page of the newspaper. “Stokes, what was the name of that footman that ran out on us last night?”
“Robert Benlow, my lady.”
Mabel’s face went white. “Oh dear Lord, it would appear that he was the unfortunate victim of a footpad.” She looked up from the paper at them both. “He was murdered last night!”
“Murdered?” Sophie exclaimed. “What do you mean?”
Mabel fluttered her hands up to her face as a makeshift fan. “It says he was stabbed and left with only the clothes on his back. The authorities are suggesting it was a robbery gone wrong.”
“That is terrible.” One of their footman dead? It seemed surreal.
“I do hope the authorities will have no need to speak with us over the matter, so vulgar dealing with such things.”
Another servant with ties to her household meeting a violent end couldn’t be a coincidence. “If we can help in any way, we must.”
Mabel’s mouth opened wide. “Oh dear! They think he was visiting a house of ill repute down by the docks when a footpad came across him. Really, such behavior simply invites tragedy to befall him.”
“Aunt Mabel! The man has just been killed. No one ever invites murder upon themselves, even if they are visiting a brothel.”
“Do not be so vulgar, Sophie.”
“Well, do not be so callous,” Sophie scolded. She turned to Stokes. “Do we know if he had any family?”
“I am unsure, Lady Sophie. He only just started with us last week after his predecessor suffered that accident.”
“I thought Handly was beaten by thugs, Stokes?” Mabel interjected.
“We are unsure why he was set upon.” There was bafflement in Stokes’ expression. “That was simply the rumor that had been bandied about.”
“Hmm, he was probably visiting a house of ill repute, too.” Mabel raised her nose in the air.
Sophie ignored her aunt and turned to Stokes. “If you could find out about any family of Benlow’s, that would be appreciated. We may have to organize a funeral for him if he has no one else to make the arrangements.”
The butler inclined his head. “I will make some enquiries with the Crowleys’ butler, immediately.”
“The Crowleys’ butler?” Shock ran through her. “Why would you speak to him about Benlow?”
Stokes looked somewhat bewildered. “Well, because that is where he was previously employed.”
“He was employed by the Crowleys?” Sophie echoed, unable to keep the incredulity from her voice.
“Yes, Lady Sophie,” Stokes affirmed. “He had been with their household for over four years and was given an excellent reference.”
Sophie felt anticipation flood through her, now certain that there could be no coincidence. She quickly stood up from the table. “Stokes, please have the carriage brought around immediately.”
“Of course, Lady Sophie,” he replied. “Shall I inform the coachman of your destination?”
“Lord Crowley’s residence.”
“What?” Mabel spluttered, looking up from the paper. “It would be completely inappropriate for you to go and talk to them about a servant who was murdered. And really, is it wise to visit Crowley?” Mabel continued. “The man has a terrible reputation.”
“Lady Crowley is also in residence, so it will be quite proper,” Sophie replied, hoping that she would be forgiven her assumption.
“That does put my mind at ease somewhat. Though I still do not think it entirely appropriate.”
“I am sorry, Aunt, but a man is dead, and I must speak with them.”
“But what of all of your wedding preparations? There is much to be done. You cannot just run off to pay a visit.”
“Aunt, I am more than content to marry with the least amount of fanfare as possible.” Sophie stood and pushed her chair back. “If you do not like that notion, then feel free to do what you wish in the way of wedding preparations. But I am far too busy to waste a moment of my time on them.”
“Luckily, I am not likewise occupied,” Mabel called out as Sophie walked across the room.
“Then I shall happily leave all of the preparations to you.”
“But what of your letters? You have not even opened them yet.” Mabel waved them at her.
“They shall still be there when I return.”
Sophie grimaced slightly as she walked out through the doorway. It was somewhat risky having her aunt plan her wedding. However, at least it would keep Mabel occupied and out of Sophie’s hair for a little while.
Now all Sophie had to do was visit Lord Crowley’s again, and hopefully this time, she would be met with more success. She needed to find out what was going on.