Chapter 10 #2
Such was my oppression of spirits that even the stained glass illustrations seemed to weigh heavily on me, full of somber scenes like Elisha calling down the bear and Job wailing for his lost children.
Church had always been a refuge at home. But this wasn’t home.
Gideon led us to a half-enclosed pew and I sat down, attempting to straighten my wrinkled gray skirt with his big boot prints at the bottom. If anyone at The Gables would have seen me, with my plain hair and plain dress, they would have stared in wonder!
If I dared, I would have closed my eyes against the gaze of the townspeople, but I focused on the tiny trickle of light that seemed to filter through the fount.
My body was tensed.
If I ran during the services, would he follow?
"Now he looks quite young," Ada said curiously, and I turned to see the new curate.
Brother Bartholomew was about my age or a few years older, very tall and surprisingly handsome, with russet brown hair and bright blue eyes.
I felt the weight of Gideon’s gaze on me, and his breath sent goosebumps bursting over my skin.
“I wonder if you’re thinking of running,” he hissed. “I wouldn’t. I really wouldn’t. I’ve been hearing stories about the moors since I was a boy. There are monsters out there that would hunt little sluts like you. They can smell wet cunnies. And they would love to sink their teeth into yours.”
Gritting my teeth I clutched my hands in my lap.
I would not let him see how he affected me. How even his cruel words made me clench my thighs together.
When Brother Bartholomew began to speak, I felt the tight ball of anxiety in my chest loosen for a few surprisingly blessed moments as he spoke about the animals going into the Ark, two by two and seven by seven.
The young man dwelled on the kindness of our Father, in making sure even the smallest pair of worms, the tiniest creatures, were saved.
If only I could get the same consideration as a worm!
I could feel the congregation shifting in their seats. This was not the usual sort of lesson, but I was compelled by the kindness in his voice.
He was the kind of man who would help me. But how on earth could I ever send a message that I was in distress?
What did I know about monks? I knew they were celibate, that they served the Church, that they prayed and did good deeds and helped the townspeople.
And that they often took vows of silence, even for days at a time, and had to find other ways to communicate. . .
Other ways very similar to how I had communicated with my deaf parlormaid Clothilde back at The Gables. . .
After the service was over, we filed out.
"You must come some time to dinner at Grayspires Manor," Gideon said coldly, his voice the opposite of hospitable and welcoming. “I am Gideon Nightshade, and this is my wife Deliverance and my sister Ada.”
"Of course, of course," Bartholomew said, shaking first Gideon’s hand, then Ada’s. “I would be delighted.”
Gideon only nodded.
Then Brother Bartholomew turned to me with a bright smile. My palms felt clammy and nervous, while his handshake was firm and warm, and I was so afraid he’d exclaim in surprise the minute I began to sign against his fingertips.
My husband is a liar. Please help me.
For a moment, his eyebrows raised higher. He really was unnecessarily handsome for a curate. What was the good of being so handsome and then taking a vow of lifelong celibacy?
I signed again, desperately.
Anything he tells you is a lie. Please help.
My fingers tingled a bit as I signed again.
“Deliverance?” Gideon snapped, and I looked up in surprise to see him glaring at me. “Come here.”
I lowered my eyes, wiping my sweaty hands on my skirt and hoping my message had gotten across.
“I’ll be there,” Bartholomew said.
Yes.
But I had no time to enjoy my triumph with Gideon’s big hand on my shoulders, guiding me into the carriage and, just for the briefest moment, his fingers closed around my throat.
He did nothing until the driver had hopped up and popped the reins, crowding me into the corner as he spread his thighs wide beside me.
And then we were going through the roads of St. Mary’s again and Gideon grabbed me by the back of my dress.
“What in the godsdamn hell was that?” he seethed, pulling me around by the chin to face him.
“What’s wrong with you?” I cried, trying to pry his fingers off, but he had me in an iron grip.
“Making eyes at the godsdamn preacher. Have you forgotten you’re a married woman or do you just enjoy being a little slut?”
“I didn’t make eyes at him!” I protested, but Gideon had already thrown me across his knee and delivered the first stinging slap to the most sensitive portions of my backside.
“Stop!” I yelled, but he ignored all my protests.
The gall and indignity of being spanked for shaking a man’s hand, when my husband was flaunting his own mistress in front of me!
I was filled with an unaccustomed rage, drumming my feet on the side of the carriage, and grabbing the door handle in an attempt to wriggle away.
These attempts only infuriated Gideon, and his blows came faster and faster, all over my bottom until it was stinging with pain.
“If you can take a mistress, so can I,” I raged, lost to all reason, and Gideon gnashed his teeth and threw me on the opposite side of the carriage and was tearing at my skirts before I even landed beside Ada.
I didn’t even have time to kick him before my hips were tipped up and he had torn past my dress to plunge into my cunny and was pounding into me so hard I could only grip the seat as best I could and try to hold on.
My backside felt like it was as pink as a rose, and Gideon cursed me roundly as we made our way back across the moors, his hands moving from my hips to my upturned cheeks, raining blows down on them again and again until they felt numb.
Tears of rage ran down my cheeks, but through my blurry vision I could see Ava’s lips were set with displeasure.
I wanted to tell her she could exchange places with me if she wished, but I was too busy wailing.
My nipples felt hard enough to cut through my dress, and the strange convulsions broke upon me again, harder and faster this time, and I couldn't help crying aloud at the wicked, shameful pleasure I was taking in my punishments.
I felt his prick twitch as I convulsed, and he poured his angry release inside me, my hips aching from where he gripped me.
I slumped, stuck to the seat with tears and snot, and I heard the thump of Gideon’s big body back in his seat.
“Let that be a lesson to you in future,” he snarled, giving my rear end one last massive spank.
He was breathing heavily as I whimpered, and then there was silence for long moments as I rearranged my skirts. I did not know whether I hated sitting by Gideon or Ada more, so I settled for trying to squeeze myself into the corner as best as I could.
“We will not be inviting Brother Bartholomew to dinner,” my husband said. “He would be preaching at us, and I’m afraid I cannot stand that kind of tedious affair."
"It would be very insipid," Ada agreed sourly.
She kept darting little angry glances at me. Was she feeling jealous of Gideon’s insane behavior?
I could not believe such disrespectful words about a man of God, but I said nothing.
"However," Ada went on, "we would be able to do it properly this time. We now have plenty of money for a good dinner, most likely the kind he has never seen before."
“Quiet,” Gideon said.
Oh, so there’s money for fine dinners, but none at all to fix the massive sagging sinkhole in my room, I thought bitterly as the carriage rolled home.
But I had become a little wiser now after these hard long weeks, and said nothing.
I wanted to spend the ride thinking about the sermon, but I was not even permitted those few minutes of peace.
When we got home, Gideon stalked off on long legs to his workshop, and Ada and I went inside.
"Keep your legs shut," she snarled at me. "I do not want you dripping his seed all over the carpets."
And suddenly I knew exactly why she was this jealous.
“Angry because he comes in me and never in you?” I shot at her. “Angry that he doesn’t want to make a baby with his mistress?”
Ada’s face seemed to flush dead-bone white.
“You impudent little strumpet!” she hissed, slapping me across the face so hard I staggered backward.
"I will have you thrown out of here," I cried, clutching my cheek and at last goaded beyond all endurance, "even if it is my son who has to do it!"
Ada laughed scornfully. "He’s never given anyone a son yet. Soon he will grow angry with your failure and throw you out. And for your insolence, you may stay in bed tonight. Do not come down to dinner or I'll have you horsewhipped."
Overcome with rage, I fled up the stairs and threw myself down on the bed.
Later, a servant brought a tray up for me and left it outside my door. Oh, so Gideon also agreed I should be punished?
And all I had gotten was a bowl of thin gruel.
It smelled so strongly of beef tallow that I suddenly felt my stomach give a sickening lurch, and I had to sprint to the corner of my room to vomit in the little basin I used to wash my hands in the mornings, the smell so strong I threw up again, and then again, as the uncaring darkness pressed in on me.