Chapter 17
Deliverance
Ihad to escape Grayspires Manor, but at first could not see how.
Gideon seemed to think chasing his mistress from the grounds was apology enough for his behavior.
And to my chagrin, he was on better behavior than I’d ever seen, exerting unusual energy to make me comfortable--asking me about my favorite foods, making sure every room was warm, even speaking of plans to redecorate my new quarters.
Instead of shapeless maid’s garb, package after package of clothing arrived from London, new dresses, warm winter cloaks, boots, caps and hats.
If I could believe he had changed, perhaps I would have been comforted by these things.
But I didn’t. I neither trusted nor loved my husband.
He was enamored of my womb and my ability to bear his heir and nothing more.
And at night. . .
At night after Gideon had fallen asleep beside me, and my thighs were sticky and wet with his seed, my cunny wet and dripping, I seemed to hear Ada still, her howls of wild and untamed fury echoing from the twisted dark moors beyond Grayspires Manor.
Leave in the night or the day?
My disappearance might go unnoticed for longer at night. But I risked losing my way on the moors. Or attracting the attention of the night creatures.
No, I must leave in the day.
Although I could see the Rock in the distance, I would have to traverse several miles of uneven ground to get there, the snow slushy and wet. I would have to wear my new boots and hope my flight could somehow go unnoticed by the whole household.
Fog often rolled in throughout the day and I could get lost.
It was dangerous and risky, and perhaps I was just as insane as Ada to think it was possible, but for my baby I must succeed.
For a few days, I tried to map out in my head which way I needed to take.
The problem was I had no idea how rough the moor was on the way to St. Mary's, only what route our carriage took. Every time I tried to venture out past the boundary of Grayspires, Gideon rushed out and dragged me back and I was lucky if I didn’t end up in bed with a reddened backside.
Being on the road would make me easy to spot. But going off the road was dangerous too, with bogs hidden underneath the recent snowfall.
Gideon firmly refused when I ventured to ask if we could go to church again.
Then one chill day a thimble rolled off the couch as I sat sewing in the sitting room downstairs and I went in pursuit of it.
Snatching it up, I straightened to see a little compass on my husband's desk. Looking guiltily around, I slid it off the desk, gripping the precious tool tightly in my fist.
I could use this to escape!
Before Gideon came back from fetching a book from the library, I must hide it.
In my haste, my skirt caught on the heavy leg of his desk and I yanked it away, only for a little drawer to pop open.
I almost shut it quickly with my foot, but something made me stop.
A little flash of something familiar. . . the name of The Gables.
Unbearable curiosity seized me, and I pulled out a document that showed a certain amount of money for the sale of my beloved childhood home.
But all this money had gone to Gideon.
There was a noise in the doorway and I whirled around to see my husband there. In the darkness, the harsh lines in his face looked carved by a knife, the wooden floor ominously creaking as he advanced on me.
"Snooping in my things, Deliverance?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.
"You—you have the money from the sale of The Gables," I gasped, astounded.
"Of course," he said. “All that was left after covering your father’s debts. As your husband, that money comes to me to decide on its best use.”
His shadow fell over me—dark, covering me completely, sending shivers all along my chilled skin.
“But I was told there were so many debts that there would be nothing left over! With that amount, I could have stayed at the Gables. . . settled his debts with honor and kept the house in the family.”
“What there was left over has gone to the upkeep and improvement of Grayspires,” Gideon said, in a tone that meant he considered that the final word on the matter.
But it wasn’t over.
"Hang Grayspires!” I hissed at him. “I don’t give a fig for this horrible house!”
A terrible anger crossed his face and, with one violent motion, Gideon threw the letters into the fire. The crackling flames across his square jawline made him look even more demonic.
“And where is the letter I sent to Mr. Finch?”
“Letters?” Gideon snarled. “You have no need of letters. I am your world, Deliverance. There is no help coming to you from any quarter.”
My husband’s fingers closed around my wrist, dwarfing mine completely.
"On your knees. Then ask questions the way a wife should, with your mouth around my prick."
Reluctantly, I fell to my knees, the rage still boiling inside me.
I could use this opportunity to distract him so he would not search me for the compass, but it infuriated me to service this man.
My palms were slick as I pushed the compass up one of my sleeves. I would have to be very careful or it would fall out.
He had already taken out his prick and was slapping my cheek with it.
“Now get going.”
Obediently, I circled my husband's cock with my tongue, eliciting a low groan from him.
"For such a little mouse, you do have a clever mouth."
Emboldened, I repeated the motion several times, then attempted to to take him deeper. It felt awkward to me as I struggled to take his size, but Gideon made such loud groans and moans, his hand even landing heavily on my head, stroking my hair in a strange parody of tenderness, that I shuddered.
Once, just once, I bared my teeth, but the firm grip on my jaw meant I didn’t even have freedom to do that.
“My prick goes where I want and right now I will allow you to make up for your disrespect of Grayspires by working it out on my cock.”
Drool running down my chin, I sucked up and down.
I loathed this man. How could I ever have thought he had a genuine interest in me?
It was not long until Gideon came in my mouth and almost on instinct I swallowed, intrigued despite myself by the strange salty-sweet taste.
The sensation of his sharp pull on my hair was strange too, almost pleasurable in its pain, and I wondered that I could use this to my advantage, for all his anger seemed to be gone.
"I—am a little tired," I lied, and was relieved when Gideon allowed me to go to my room without objection.
Once there, I pointed the compass out the window at the Rock with trembling fingers.
Exactly south-west of us.
If I kept this with me, I could find my way no matter how foggy it got on the moors.
So anxious was I to leave this house of horrors, that I determined to escape the very next day.
But Gideon never gave me an opportunity. It was particularly chill weather, with tiny shards of snow that burned like ice, and I jangled with nervous energy as he wrote letters, consulted his reference books, and insisted I tell him what he should buy to outfit the nursery.
And at night, he appeared in my room. I performed the same thing on his prick as I had before, and to my surprise he slept in my bed the whole of the night, even wrapping an arm around my swollen waist and pulling me closer.
"I have killed many people," he said, the hairs on my neck standing up as we lay there together.
"I am a poisoner by trade, but there is nothing for you to fear in that. I am Nightshade of Grayspires Manor. I know you don’t yet love Grayspires, but you will.
You are going to present me with a fine healthy baby and we will keep going until I have many fine sons and daughters to fill this house. "
My heart contracted within me, and for a moment I felt bleak despair that I should never escape his control.
But the next day, after a kiss on my trembling lips, he left after breakfast for his workshop.
And I could bear to wait no longer. I went quickly to my clothes and put on as many layers as I could and my warmest cloak.
I was in a fever of impatience lest the servants notice there was anything amiss, but I was able to achieve the door without being stopped.
And then it was a matter of acting like I wasn’t doing anything wrong, crossing the border to the moors, and leaving Grayspires without looking back.
There was a lingering, patchy fog on the fields that I hoped would obscure my escape, while my compass would help guide me unerringly to the Rock.
And then what would I find?
I had to hope I had interpreted Bartholomew’s message correctly.
It was even colder than I thought, but resolutely I wrapped my scarf tighter and began to follow the compass.
Strange, eerie noises intruded as I trudged over hills and around icy streams.
He would not check for me. . .he would note nothing amiss until much later. . .
I kept going, although I soon lost any natural sense of where I was, and had to rely only on the compass to guide me.
Sometimes I had to veer far around a stream until I found a safe place to cross, my face frozen even behind my thick scarf.
How far had I gone? All I knew for sure was I was still heading south-west.
Thicker fog rolled in, coating the bare branches of moor-trees with dripping gray clouds.
Then I heard it. The sound of hooves pounding the ground, reverberating through the soggy fields.
My husband was on the hunt.
The noise sped my steps, drove me onward.
Was I going in the right direction? Now I could not stop to check. In the low, rolling fog it was difficult to tell. But I had no other option. I must continue.
Surely I should be there by now! Had I passed the Rock in my haste?
Hooves echoed behind me, Gideon's harsh voice yelling out commands, directions.
Had I somehow taken a wrong turn?
My fingers felt absolutely frozen as I looked down at the compass and to my horror as I slogged up a hill it slipped from my fingers and fell into a drift of snow.
Desperately, I dug my fingers deep into the slushy wet.
Nothing—nowhere!
It must—it MUST—be the right way!