Blood Bond (10 page)

 

Diana hurried up to the gallery and found Nigel sitting, drinking a glass of wine.

‘Ah, the madam of the escort agency,' he said as she approached. ‘Thank you for coming so promptly.' She knew immediately that trouble was brewing. Nigel never said please or thank you unless he was being sarcastic.

There was no alternative but to play along with his game. ‘Yes, Your Lordship?'

‘I fancy a bit this afternoon,' he said suggestively.

‘Yes, Your Lordship, who would you like?'

‘Well, I rather feel like the two-in-the bed routine.'

‘I'll arrange Amy and Beatrice, Your Lordship,' Diana said quickly, turning to leave.

‘No, I think I want a change,' he said, sipping at his wine. ‘Who do you recommend?'

Diana turned back to face him. ‘Virginia?'

‘No, she's a bit ordinary.'

‘Bridget? They tell me she's very good. She's recovered now from the gunshot wounds.'

‘What, that baldy-head!'

‘How about Cheryl?' Diana suggested, thinking how clever Bridget had been to keep her head shorn. ‘She may have a few scars…'

‘A
few
scars? She's covered in scars!'

‘Jennifer then? You like Jennifer.'

‘She's fat.'

‘She's just well-covered. You've always liked her in the past,' Diana said desperately, quickly adding ‘Your Lordship' so as not to annoy him.

‘I know, but she's getting on a bit too.'

‘She's not that old — she's only a couple of years younger than you.'

‘And nor are you,' Nigel said. Diana regretted her observation immediately. He rose from his chair and walked slowly around her, sipping his wine as he eyed her up and down.

‘You know, you haven't got a bad little arse on you for your age. Tits are a bit small. But I think you'll do.'

‘Me!'

‘Well why not? After all, who else is there?' He looked up at the ceiling. ‘Let me think … there's Amy and Beatrice, Kimberley and Rebecca, Virginia, Jennifer, Bridget and Cheryl — who have I forgotten?' He paused, waiting for her to offer another name. Diana remained silent. ‘Of course,' he said, when she didn't answer. ‘I've forgotten Theresa. But silly old me, I'd also forgotten she's got the clap, hasn't she? So it'll have to be you.'

‘Just me then,' Diana said. The knuckles of her clenched fists were white as she tried her best to appear unperturbed. Inside she was terrified, but at least she had protected Theresa once again.

‘Oh no — it can't be just you. Like I said, I fancy a threesome this afternoon.'

‘But you've already ruled out everyone else.'

‘Don't you worry your pretty little head. Your partner is already waiting. Let's get going.' He signalled her to walk ahead of him.

‘Who's my partner, then?'

He didn't answer. ‘Get a move on,' he snapped.

As she began the long walk, Nigel's heavy footsteps behind her reverberating on the wooden floors, Diana was consumed by a mixture of fear and anger. Her racing mind began thinking the worst. All the names had been exhausted. Surely the beast hadn't sunk to new depths? As she neared Nigel's room, she heard whimpering from within that sounded like the crying of a distressed child. Surely it wasn't Mary-Claire?

 

Diana and Theresa's ordeal lasted for over an hour. Echoing down the empty corridors came the sound of crying, sobbing and screams, interrupted by Diana's voice pleading, ‘Don't make her do that — let me.'

‘Told you I'd wipe the smirk off her face,' Nigel boasted at breakfast the following morning, as a grim-faced Diana walked away from the table after delivering the first of the serving dishes.

Damian leaned over and lifted the lid of one of the dishes. ‘Good, trout,' he commented. ‘I think we should extend the lake, so we can have fish more often.'

‘We could dig a new lake on the flat ground beside the current lake, then break through to make one big lake,' said Jasper.

‘Massive job,' Greg observed, keen to be seen to be contributing to the family discussion. ‘Maybe we could find some sort of scraper and hitch up the horses to gouge the hole out.'

‘Just get the scraper,' smiled Nigel as Diana, carrying two bowls, a fork and the remaining serving dish returned to the table. ‘They don't need horses.' He nodded in the direction of the refectory table, where the remainder of the community sat obediently waiting for him and his sons to commence their meal before they could start. ‘Give the lazy bastards something to do.'

Mary-Claire was sitting patiently on the floor, waiting to be fed. She'd heard the conversation about the trout and for once wished she was eating with her mother at the refectory table. She didn't like fish, but she knew she would have to eat it or she'd get a whipping from Nigel.

Diana removed the lids of the remaining serving dishes. ‘What would you like Mary-Claire to eat today, Your Lordship?'

‘Give her some of everything,' grunted Nigel, ‘and plenty of fish.'

Diana sullenly forked out the portions of food into Mary-Claire's bowl.

‘You don't seem to be your usual cheerful self this morning,' taunted Nigel. ‘Didn't you get a good night's sleep?' Diana did not reply. ‘Lost your tongue, woman?'

‘Sorry, Your Lordship. No, I didn't sleep very well.' It was an understatement; she hadn't slept at all. Diana and Theresa had been so distraught after their ordeal with Nigel that Susan had had to call on Bridget to help serve the evening meal.

‘Well, I had a jolly good night's sleep — must have been the exercise I had yesterday afternoon. Which reminds me, I enjoyed it so much I think I'll have a repeat performance tonight. Organise it for me, will you please? Same women as yesterday.'

Diana did not reply.

‘Stop being so insolent,' thundered Nigel, his clenched fist smashing down onto the table. Startled by the noise, everyone at the refectory table looked towards the dais.

‘I'm sorry, Your Lordship. I'll arrange everything, of course,' Diana said hurriedly, pouring milk into Mary-Claire's bowl.

‘Give her some of the fruit juice, too,' commanded Nigel. ‘I've told you before — I want her to sample everything on this table.'

‘Sorry, Your Lordship.' Diana obediently poured fruit juice into the milk and then placed both dishes on the floor in front of Mary-Claire.

‘Will that be all, Your Lordship?'

‘Yes,' Nigel snapped. ‘Go and start getting yourself prettied up for tonight. The state you're in, it'll take you all day.' As Diana hurried
away, he turned his attention to Mary-Claire, who was looking miserably at the fish. ‘Eat it,' he snapped. ‘It'll give you curls — all over!' Nigel and his sons laughed and watched the little girl start to force down the fish before tucking in themselves.

As they were finishing the last of their trout, Diana walked back into the Great Hall. She was dressed not in the regulation grey tunic but one of the Tudor dresses from the film-set wardrobe.

‘What's she doing wearing that outfit?' exclaimed Nigel. ‘Get up here.' Not only was she was not wearing the grey tunic that he had decreed all the peasants wear, she was wearing Allison's favourite dress, which only added to his anger.

Everyone in the room was dumbfounded.

Paul's head was twitching nervously. ‘What's she doing?' he asked Duncan.

‘God knows,' Duncan said angrily. ‘She's just going to upset Nigel and then the rest of us will cop it.'

‘Typical of the Morgans,' Bridget complained.

Diana sauntered up to the dais.

‘Go back to your mother,' she said to Mary-Claire.

‘How dare you?' yelled Nigel. The words sounded slurred.

‘Go on, Mary-Claire,' Diana said gently. ‘Go back to your mother. He can't hurt you anymore.' Mary-Claire spat out the remainder of the fish and ran to Cheryl.

Nigel tried to stand up. His legs gave way and he fell back into his chair.

‘The bitch, she's poisoned us,' said Jasper, his speech garbled. He frantically attempted to unbuckle his pistol holster but his hands wouldn't obey his brain.

‘Take care, you little shit,' Diana said, taking a piece of the fish in her fingers. ‘I don't want you shooting your balls off by mistake. I've got plans for them.' She slipped the piece of fish into her mouth. ‘Nice piece of trout, this.' Taunting them, she took a little food from each of the dishes and ate it.

Damian had managed to get his pistol from the holster. Now he was trying to lift it and point it in her direction, but he couldn't raise his arm.

‘Nice fresh milk,' Diana said, drinking from the jug. Greg was slumped unconscious in his chair, Jasper's eyes were rolling and Nigel had slipped down onto the arm of his throne. He was struggling to right himself but his hand kept slipping uncontrollably.

‘We must try a little more grape in the fruit juice,' she continued, sipping at the amber liquid in the jug. Damian made one last, huge effort to lift his pistol, forcing himself to his feet. But his legs slid from underneath him and he slipped, banging his head on his chair as he went down. He ended up spreadeagled under the table, his bright green tights sticking out from beneath the white tablecloth.

Those sitting at the refectory table rose from their benches and burst into cheers. Diana turned to face them and raised her hands.

‘Sit down,' she said sharply.

Everyone, with the exception of Duncan, obeyed.

‘What have you done? Have you killed them?' he demanded.

‘Not yet,' she said. Her tone was almost as menacing as Nigel's. ‘Now sit down, and I'll tell you what I want you to do.'

Duncan wasn't sure whether it was a request or an order, but he sat down anyway.

‘I've drugged them,' Diana explained. ‘They'll be groggy for about an hour. Duncan, I want you to organise their imprisonment. You're not to take any chances. I want their hands tied behind their backs. I want Damian imprisoned in the treadmill room. As soon as he comes round, he's to be put to work. He's to operate the treadmill until he drops.' Cheering broke out again.

‘What if he refuses to do it?' Paul asked.

‘Use your imagination,' scoffed Diana. ‘Beat him, whatever.' There was a fresh round of cheering. ‘Strip him naked and chain him to the contraption,' she added.

‘Leave him to me,' Cheryl shouted. ‘I'll make sure the bastard works.'

‘I want Jasper locked in the cell on the second floor of Cromwell's Tower for now,' continued Diana, ‘and Greg's to be locked in the clock room on the floor above.'

‘What about Nigel?' Duncan asked. ‘He should be tried for Aunt Margaret's murder and for all his other atrocities.'

There was a murmur of agreement.

‘They should
all
be tried,' Bridget shouted.

‘Pay attention,' yelled Diana. The noise died down. ‘If you don't do as I tell you quickly, you'll end up with them back in charge. Duncan, lock Nigel in your workshop and bring me the key as soon as you've done it.'

‘My workshop?'

‘That's what I said.'

‘But why my workshop?'

‘Just do as you're told,' Diana snapped. ‘The rest of you help get the Chatfields locked away and then get on with your work.'

‘We're not working today, surely?' Paul said.

‘Of course you're going to work — this place isn't going to run itself. Now get on with it, before these four wake up and take their revenge.'

The debate was over. Diana collected the pistols from slumped bodies and walked out of the room, steely-faced.

 

‘Get going, you pervert,' Cheryl yelled as she jabbed Damian in the buttocks with a garden fork. ‘That's for Mathew. And that's for me.'

Damian screamed and tried to stand, but with his hands tied behind his back he lost his balance and fell down again. Bridget kicked him in the groin. With her shorn head, she looked every bit a skinhead thug.

‘Pervert, pervert,' yelled the small children, copying Bridget and kicking him as he lay on the ground.

‘Don't hurt me,' he cried, tears streaming down his cheeks. Mary-Claire kicked him in the face. Still groggy, Damian frantically forced himself to his knees then stumbled to his feet.

‘I said get going,' Cheryl said, jabbing him with the fork again. He yelped and staggered forward.

‘Where to?'

‘The treadmill, the treadmill,' chanted the small children.

Damian stumbled out of the Great Hall and into Flag Court.

‘Over to the left,' commanded Cheryl. Damian passively altered course. ‘Now stop. Do you remember what happened in this spot?'

Damian shook his head.

‘This is where you executed Mathew and Aunt Margaret.' Damian said nothing — he just looked terrified. ‘I'm looking forward to the next execution,' Cheryl said.

‘Off with his head, off with his head!' shouted Mary-Claire.

‘Off with his head, off with his head!' chorused the other children. Cheryl thrust the fork into Damian's green tights, now stained with blood, and Damian staggered forward towards the treadmill room beneath Cromwell's Tower. Ahead he could see Greg and Jasper being kicked and punched as they were forced through the door of the tower ahead of him.

 

Theresa and Duncan supported the semi-conscious Nigel as he was led to Duncan's workshop off Stable Court. At the workshop door, Theresa hurried away and Duncan was left to take Nigel inside and lay him on the floor. Duncan locked the door behind him and hurried to meet Diana in the ballroom on the first floor of Haver House.

It was an immense room, with panelled walls and a patterned ceiling. A great, carved, marble fireplace stretched from floor to ceiling, dominating one end of the room. Diana was seated on an enormous gilt chair, writing at a beautiful, inlaid Boulle table.

‘Is it done?' she asked, without looking up.

‘Yes, they're all safely locked up.'

He placed the key to his workshop in her outstretched hand. ‘What are you planning to do to them?'

At last she looked up. ‘I haven't decided yet.'

‘We need to have a committee meeting, maybe a trial,' Duncan suggested. Diana didn't answer so he continued quickly, ‘You can be the judge if you like — given your experience.'

She looked at him contemptuously — there was no doubt she would be the judge if there was a trial. ‘We'll see,' she said evenly. ‘Now get everyone back to work.'

‘What about a committee meeting?'

‘I'll let you know.' Diana rose from the desk and motioned to him to leave. ‘By the way, your workshop is out of bounds until further notice.'

 

Nigel felt a hand on his penis. He wasn't sure if it was a dream. He knew he was standing, but his eyes wouldn't focus. He could tell it was a woman who was holding him — he could smell her, and it was a familiar smell. He had made love to her before — recently. She was leading him into her. He could feel the pressure on his penis as she squeezed her thighs.

Then slowly he began to wake up. His eyes began to focus. He thought he recognised the face smiling at him. Was it Diana? The woman was hurting him now.

‘Not so hard,' he said, his voice still slurred. But still she was smiling. She was too far away from him for them to be making love, but he could still feel the pressure on his penis. Now it felt uncomfortable. What was wrong? Was Theresa there? Was he in his bedroom? What was happening?

Gradually the face became more distinct, the smile broader, the pressure on his penis greater. It was hurting. He tried to grab it, but he found his hands were tied behind his back. He realised he was naked. He looked down, his eyes struggling to focus and see over his naked, bloated belly. She was laughing at him now, holding up a mirror. He could see legs reflected in it — were they his legs? And he could see his belly resting on a strange metal contraption. At last his befuddled mind worked it out. He was standing, naked and bound, in Duncan's workshop. The barred window had been covered with a sack, reducing the amount of light coming into the room. His penis was clamped in the woodworking vice. And it was Diana who was standing in front of him, still smiling.

She propped up the mirror on a pot of paint on the workbench so he could continue to see himself.

‘Good view?' she asked.

‘What are you doing?' he said, terror in his voice.

‘Just having a bit of fun. You like a bit of fun, don't you, Nigel?'

He didn't reply, so she just stood in front of him, watching him suffer.

‘How did you do it?' he asked eventually.

‘I just put it in the vice and turned the handle.'

‘No — I mean, how did you manage to poison us?'

‘Very good library you have, Nigel — all sorts of interesting books. Our ancestors knew more about plants and herbs and poisons than we give them credit for.'

‘But you ate the food too, and so did Mary-Claire. Why didn't it poison you?'

‘So many questions, so little time. You should have read more, Nigel.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Ever heard of Emperor Claudius and his wife Agrippina?'

‘What've the Romans got to do with it?'

‘Do you remember how Claudius was paranoid that his wife was trying to poison him? So he would only eat fresh fruit, direct from his garden. She rubbed poison on the fresh figs while they were still on the bushes and killed him that way.'