Chapter 1 #2
“Exquisite as a lissome boy, you might say, eh, Stainbridge?” That was Lord Deveril, a loathsome man. A shiver of fear stirred within Lord Stainbridge. He looked up to see he was the focus of malicious eyes. Even Monsieur Boileau was smiling cynically.
He found his brain did not seem to be working with its usual swiftness. Repartee was beyond him. “No,” he said, taking refuge in terseness.
“Perhaps you are right,” said Lord Deveril amiably. “Some of those delightful young men are incomparably beautiful, are they not?” He leant forward confidingly. “Such as the ones in a certain house in Rowland Street?”
Lord Stainbridge fought to keep his panic from showing. What they were suggesting was a capital offense, and even if his rank protected him, he could never endure the scandal.
He couldn’t seem to think straight … even more alarming, it was as if a stranger had invaded his mind and was saying that none of it mattered anyway. This surely was not only wine working on him!
With resolution he rose to leave, and his suspicions were confirmed. He had reasonably good control over his muscles. It was his mind that was awry. Somehow, when Chivenham put his arm around his shoulder, he found himself going with him without resistance.
“Don’t be shy, my dear friend. See, we have someone special for you.”
Lord Stainbridge found himself face to face with the charming young man he had recently encountered in that certain house in Rowland Street.
The lad had remarkably large brown eyes framed with long lashes, and retained the ability to blush. Young Adrian smiled with the seemingly genuine delight that had first attracted the earl, but with great effort, Lord Stainbridge did not respond. Terror sat like ice in his heart.
“I fear you have made a mistake, Chivenham,” he said, grateful to have gained some control over his wandering wits. “I’m a ladies’ man, myself. Been married, you know.”
“My apologies, Stainbridge.” Sir Lionel fairly oozed contrition as he turned them both away from the bewildered youth.
“I have been grievously misinformed! I only wished to please you after you have been so good as to enjoy my hospitality. I must make amends,” he gushed.
“Tell you what! I have a lovely lady above stairs, a virgin no less, anxiously awaiting my pleasure. I give her to you.” He swung around to announce his generosity to the crowded room. It was met by a raucous cheer.
Lord Stainbridge felt he was in hell, surrounded by grinning, jeering faces made macabre by the flickering light, by swirling smoke from the fire and the candles.
His mind was weaving out of control again. He wanted only to be gone. “Too kind. There’s no need. I’m sure—”
“Not at all, dear friend. I will be bereft if you don’t.” Sir Lionel was steering him toward the door. “After all, some of these gentlemen might take my earlier words amiss. If you serve the doxy well, what can they say? Come along. Please.”
“Aye!” shouted some anonymous voice. “Show your stuff. Don’t like to think I’ve been drinking with a backgammon player.”
“You see,” said Sir Lionel in distress. “And all my fault. Prove them wrong, my dear Stainbridge, and I will present you with this beautiful horse which was the cause of all the trouble.” He picked up the horse and held it up temptingly. “Exquisite as a lissome woman is it not?”
“Yes. Yes, of course.” He had only meant to agree with the description, but somehow he found himself being led unresisting out of the room.
It seemed easier to go along with it all.
He could perform. His brief marriage had proved that at least. And the jade was superb. It deserved a better home than this…
Eleanor came to consciousness when a noise again penetrated her dulled mind.
She looked up and tried to focus. Wavering in the light of a single guttering candle, her brother and a stranger stood looking at her.
The stranger was tall, pale, and slender.
Both he and her brother seemed to be at the far end of a very long tunnel.
This was strange when she knew her room to be, in fact, rather small.
With horror she saw Lord Deveril move into the scene as well.
She heard their voices as if from far away. She tried to speak but found it quite impossible.
“There you are, man,” said her brother’s voice, slurred with drink.
“A sweet virgin. I’m sure you’re eager to show those Captain Sneerfuls you’re a real man.
And then there’s the horse. Prove yourself on the jade and you gain the jade, eh?
Good, that! Gain the jade! Ha!” He fell into a drunken paroxysm of mirth.
“Fail … well, there’s no question of that, eh? ”
Her brother staggered forward, or perhaps that was just how Eleanor saw it, to lean on her bedpost. His cravat hung loose, his collar was all awry.
As he thrust his head forward his smooth, round face seemed suddenly grotesquely large and distorted.
She saw the malevolent triumph in his eyes and moaned slightly.
“She … she don’t seem very willing,” slurred the second man coming closer. He was not so very tall after all, and he had the narrow hands and face of a saint, or was that her vision again? This was a most peculiar dream.
“Nervous. Virgin. Told you. She’s willing enough, don’t you fear. Come on, girl,” Lionel said loudly. “If you’ve changed your mind, get up and out of here and don’t come back!”
Full of sick horror, Eleanor strained every muscle to heave herself up off the bed.
If necessary, she would crawl out of this room and out of this house.
The only effect, had she known it, was to make her lean forward in a parody of a whorish invitation, her long, chestnut hair tangled around her and her loosened nightgown giving a tantalizing glimpse of her breast.
Lord Deveril came forward and chuckled as he pulled her nightgown down yet further, his eyes glinting.
“That’s my pretty! Don’t let the fine gentleman down, but don’t you worry.
If he won’t serve you there’s plenty down below who will.
You’ll get your dues come morning.” He and her brother laughed uproariously at this and swayed out of sight.
Eleanor’s arms gave way. She sank back upon the bed as her ravisher loosened his clothes.
He loomed above her, wild-eyed in the dim light. She managed one word with a tongue that seemed to have grown enormous. A feeble, “Please!”
“All right, all right,” he muttered, flinging back the bedclothes. Cold air cut at her, convincing her of the reality of this nightmare. Horror crept over her, pulling at her mind with claws. She tried again to move.
He stared owlishly at her nightgown. “Is this the new style for whores? God almighty!” He fumbled with the buttons and she flopped a hand up to stop him. He brushed it away. “I’ll do it.” Then he ripped the threadbare garment down the front.
Eleanor felt herself whirl into a deep pit of darkness, and she welcomed it.
“You’re like a bloody rag doll, doxy! Come on.
Earn your pay. Serve the man!” Stinging blows to her cheeks brought her back from the welcome dark, but she could not summon any movement.
Her legs were wrenched apart and the darkness hovering at the edge of her mind crept in again.
A weight settled on her. She heard a muttered curse, then fled back to oblivion.
A vicious pain dragged her partway to consciousness.
She heard a muffled scream and realized it was her own.
She opened her eyes again and tried to beg for mercy.
She saw for a moment the monstrous, gasping face that was to haunt her nightmares for months to come.
Then the saving blackness returned and stayed…
Eleanor was unaware of the good humor shown by her brother when he gave up the precious piece of jade, accompanied by earnest apologies. Nor did she hear the conversation between him and Lord Deveril when Lord Stainbridge had left.
“Pity he didn’t admit to his real tastes,” muttered Sir Lionel. “That would have been a useful lever.”
“We will find some other,” said Lord Deveril coolly.
“I’m surprised you gave up this pleasure, though.” Sir Lionel gestured to the bed. “Any whore would have done as well.”
Lord Deveril walked forward and squeezed an exposed nipple with his dirty, bony fingers.
The body on the bed remained inert. “What fun is there in this? Before tonight my choice was to take her drugged like this or in a violent rape, and I’m too old now for those games.
But tomorrow I think you’ll find she’s a great deal more willing to consider my offer of marriage.
When she’s my lady and has her wits about her, then I’ll take my pleasure.
I’ll enjoy her hatred more when she is compelled to conceal it.
And we may yet gain some advantage from what has happened tonight.
Our leader has a way of finding benefits in the most unlikely situations. ”
He then covered Eleanor with a sheet. “Guard my betrothed well, Chivenham,” he said with a chilling smile. “I will come tomorrow with the ring.”
That same night, in Paris, Lord Stainbridge’s brother, Nicholas Delaney, was kneeling beside the body of an Englishman of his acquaintance.
He had realized very quickly that there was nothing to be done.
He had seen enough men die to know that Richard Anstable’s harsh breathing and irregular heartbeat could last only moments longer. The man had lost a great deal of blood.
Nicholas was on his way home to England from India and had taken the opportunity of Napoleon’s abdication to visit Paris, closed all his lifetime to the English.
He had stayed for some weeks for a number of reasons, not least of which being that this time home he thought he might stay.
A pause before a momentous decision seemed appropriate and, in view of the exciting times in the French capital, didn’t appear to bother his “entourage.”
He wasn’t quite sure how he had acquired the three companions: Tim Riley had attached himself in Poona; Georgie Crofts—usually called Shako—had been picked up on the Cape; and Tom Holloway, an old fellow-traveler, had been met up with in Italy.
Tom was along for the company, but Nicholas knew that to the other two he was their way home.
Tim had been debilitated by fever in India, and Shako was a sailor who’d lost his right arm.
They had both become devoted attendants.
Nicholas hoped they’d become less embarrassingly devoted once he’d got them on their home ground.
He’d bumped into Richard Anstable three days ago.
He knew the young man slightly and had been happy to enjoy a couple of evenings of his company.
Richard was one of the new diplomats sent out to Paris, and Nicholas had gained the impression that his work was not so much concerned with the peace negotiations as with tracking down Bonapartist sympathizers.
That seemed a little pointless now the emperor had abdicated and been sent to Elba, but governments were known for suspicious uneasiness.
Nicholas had certainly not expected to find violence in the company of the mild, pudgy young man. He had come to Richard’s rooms for a few hands of piquet and found him like this.
Poor Richard. He put out a hand and brushed the mousy hair back off the dying man’s forehead.
Richard’s eyes opened, but Nicholas was sure he could see little. “It’s Nicholas, Richard. Lie still. I’ll get help.” It would be no use, but he had to say it.
The eyes closed again, but the lips moved. “Tres. It’s Tres … Tell them…”
“I’ll tell them,” Nicholas promised, then made a guess. “The embassy?”
Richard smiled slightly, gasped, and died.
Nicholas felt grief and rage wash over him.
Death was so absolute. A moment ago there had been a man, now there was only a corpse.
Richard Anstable had been a stranger, really, but a pleasant young man with the gift of enjoying life.
Nicholas wished he knew who had taken that life away, ruthlessly shot him twice in the chest. And why.
The least he could do was to take his message to the embassy. Tres. Was Richard speaking French? In French, tres meant very. Or was it a name? Perhaps someone would know, and perhaps there would be something he could do to the people who had killed Richard Anstable.