The Solemn Bell (8 page)

“Th—thank you, Angelica,” he stuttered. Suddenly, his tongue was all a tangle.

She lay her head against his hammering heart. Then, she backed away, breaking their connection. “Go now.”

He did.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Angelica tried in vain to keep track of the days. Some time after two weeks, she lost count. In her world of depressing darkness, they all seemed to run together. Not that time mattered anymore—without Captain Neill, what was the point of getting up every morning and slogging through her daily routine?

He promised he would come back to her, yet when her monthly bleeding began, she knew he had been gone for far too long. Her body was the only way she knew February from March, and March from April. She’d cycled three times since he last held her in his arms.

Now, she’d given up hope.

Feeding another log into her stove, Angelica tried to push him from her mind. What a fool she was to believe him! He did not have to make those empty promises. She would have gladly let him degrade her body and continue on his merry way, no questions asked. But he had done things to her that she could not forget. He said things to her that, no matter how many times she scolded herself, she kept believing.

You are beautiful.

I’ve never met anyone like you.

Promise that you’ll wait for me.

She had waited. Three long months.

Rain pounding the kitchen window reminded her of their one fated night. Angelica huddled on her pallet, clutching her pillow to her aching chest. She wept for him. Why hadn’t he come for her?

Angelica mourned the long, slow death of her hopeful heart. She’d been such a fool. She’d been too trusting. She’d fallen into the same trap that thousands of other women had sacrificed their innocence to. Although Captain Neill had not taken her virginity, she could no longer consider herself chaste. She was no longer merely curious. She was lustful. Mother would be ashamed to know how her beloved daughter—so cherished, so sheltered—debased herself to that deceiver’s memory.

Angelica felt the shame burning behind her eyes every time she touched herself. But she was lonely, and it was relief. Certainly, it felt better than crying herself to sleep. When she truly lost herself to pleasure, she could almost feel Captain Neill’s warm breath on her heated flesh.

Disgusted, she slung the pillow across the floor. She never should have let herself dream of a normal life, or that she could experience a real, lasting love affair. There was a reason everyone eventually left her. She was a burdensome child, holding them all back. They had to cut her loose to make their way in the world. She had to stay behind.

Angelica crawled across the floor, fumbling for her only pillow. The slate tiles bit into her knees as she clumsily navigated around the worktable. She put her hand out, like an infant reaching for its mama in the dark. At last, she found the pillow, and began the slow crawl back to her pallet.

Suddenly, a voice cut through the silence.
 

A man’s voice.
 

Could it be Captain Neill?

Angelica sprinted toward the stairs, forgetting all about her hatred for the man who’d deceived her. She took the steps two at a time, only stumbling once before reaching the servants’ corridor. Grinning like a madwoman, she pushed the panel aside, and dashed into the room.

“Captain Neill?” she called, breathlessly to the empty space.

She knew she hadn’t imagined the voice. Perhaps he took the opportunity to look around her house—it had been dark before, and he had been unwell. Likely, he was curious to see the rooms upstairs, and to investigate the phantom sounds they’d heard.

Still clutching her pillow, Angelica left the drawing room for the hall. She felt cold air in the high-ceilinged foyer, and knew someone had recently opened her front door. More cautiously this time, she climbed the elegant, carved staircase to the upper floor. It creaked and groaned, but was as sturdy as the days of her childhood. Once upon a time, her father’s family had been very wealthy. They’d built this house with the best materials and most talented craftsmen. Quality lasted forever, and Angelica supposed the staircase would stand long after she was gone.

At the landing, she paused to listen. She couldn’t quite make out what it was, but heard some commotion coming from Freddie’s room. All these years, she’d kept his bedroom closed off to prevent intruders from disturbing his space. But, after swearing Lucifer himself had been stomping around up there, Angelica had gone in search of the disturbance—a clapping shutter knocked off its hinges, blown back and forth in the storm. She’d laughed about it. She couldn’t wait to tell Captain Neill how silly they’d been.

She had accidentally left the door ajar.
 

Now, someone really was in there.

Angelica tipped her ear to the gap in the doorway. There was a man, but he was not alone. There was also a woman. Two lusty lovers used her dead brother’s bed for their illicit lovemaking. She heard the bedsprings rocking, and the headboard slapping the wall. The girl moaned like a whore—like Angelica had moaned for Captain Neill. The young man shouted and grunted, bare flesh making vulgar sounds as he squirmed against her.

Without thinking, Angelica kicked open the door. She flew into Freddie’s room in a rage, pillow raised above her head to strike at the unwitting intruders.

“Get out!” she cried, swinging at them. “Get out of my house!”

The lovers struggled to untangle themselves, all the while, Angelica beat them with all her strength. The girl fled the bed first, screaming. Angelica knocked her down, smacking her again and again with the pillow as the poor girl writhed on the floor in terror.

Someone lost control of their bladder. Angelica smelled the hot urine, and laughed in the face of the terrified girl. “Get out of my house! Get out! Get out! Whore! Slattern!”

She let the girl get away. Angelica turned her black rage on the young man, who struggled to pull up his trousers. Every time he tried to run, he fell. Exhausted, she allowed him to drag himself to his feet.

For the first time, he must have got a good look at her. “Blimey!”
 

Angelica sucked in air, her lungs bellowing from exertion. “What are you looking at?”

“Them eyes.”

She laughed, maniacally. “They’re Satan’s own! Now, get out of here.”

He ran. Angelica didn’t blame him. She was surely a sight to behold.
 

When she felt certain the two young lovers were gone, she leaned on the open doorframe for support. She didn’t know what came over her. Jealousy, perhaps. She’d heard them, hated them, and wanted to be them, all at once.

If she could not take a lover in her own house, Angelica would be damned if she’d allow anyone else.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Hours later, Angelica stood over her wooden worktable, scrubbing dirt off some turnips—her meagre dinner. She felt so tired, so drained from the episode upstairs. She’d been a fool to interrupt them, and had certainly sealed her fate by exposing herself. Word traveled swiftly in the country. The lovers would spread their tale, and someone from the asylum would come.
 

She never expected they would come this quickly.

Heavy footsteps strained the floorboards overhead. Angelica had time to hide, but what was the point of running? She was a blind girl alone in the world. There was no use fighting her fate.

With her back to the kitchen door, she listened as the intruder grew closer. He’d searched the rooms upstairs, but was in the servants’ corridor now. Whoever he was, he searched for her. Angelica’s traitorous heart cheered. Perhaps it was Captain Neill, better late than never.

If it was him, she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of running to his arms like a child. She’d be calm, reserved.
 
She’d scold him, but, if he was truly sorry for keeping her waiting, she’d let him kiss her. Then, these torturous last three months would finally be over.

The footsteps clomped down the kitchen stairs. Unless Captain Neill had gained weight, Angelica doubted he had returned. This person was someone different.

He paused in the doorway, his breath heaving. Angelica smelled fear radiating off him, sharp and sour in the air.

She placed her bristled brush on the scarred worktop. “You’re not Captain Neill.”

“I don’t even know who that is.”

“Then who are you?”

“Does it matter?” he asked, taking the last few steps into the darkened kitchen.

Angelica turned to face the intruder. She shook her head. No. It no longer mattered.

“You’re just as pretty as they said you’d be,” he whispered. “But with eyes like something from a nightmare.” The man approached her, coming to stand disturbingly close. Now, he could see her for what she truly was. “You blind, girl?”

“Yes.”

He placed a large, sweating hand on her hip. His breath was hot in her face. “Helpless?”

She swallowed. “Yes.”

Angelica’s heart danced in her chest, but she kept her composure. She wasn’t afraid of this intruder. He was probably not much older than she was. He wouldn’t hurt her. If he wanted to have her, she saw no reason to deny him. She saw no reason to deny
herself.

Captain Neill had missed out, indeed.

This man gathered her skirt in his free hand, and lifted it over her thighs. He divested her of her underdrawers, tugging them down over her thick, woolen stockings, and letting them fall to the floor at their feet. Then, he hefted her backside onto the kitchen worktable.

The scarred wood was damp from scrubbing turnips. It felt cold and gritty on her bared skin. Angelica lay back, skirt up and knees parted. She waited an eternity while he fussed with the buttons on his trousers.
 

Was he nervous? She wasn’t.
 

Angelica was surprised at how little she felt. When Captain Neill had touched her—even over her clothes—the experience had been momentous. Like the pinnacle of her life thus far. Yet, while this stranger prepared to strip her of her purity, the act felt like any other way to pass the time. Afterward, she’d wash up, eat her supper, and go to bed.

His trousers dropped to the floor, clattering against the slate tiles. He came to her, notching her thighs wider. Angelica waited for his hands to touch her, for his fingers to pet the sensitive spot Captain Neill had introduced her to. Instead, this stranger pushed his member into her with no concern for her precious virginity.

She cried out against the intrusion. It burned, stretching her until she thought she’d tear apart. Her discomfort did not deter him. Her defiler rocked into her, grunting, swearing, and pawing at her like an animal.
 

“Bleedin’ Christ,” he growled. “Your cunny’s tight!”

She’d never heard that word, but understood all too well what he meant.
 

Angelica arched her back and took him deeper, her leg muscles trembling with every buck and thrust. Captain Neill had told her it would hurt at first, and she yearned for the time when it would feel good. For the moment when she would see the sparks behind her eyes, and again feel warm, safe, and loved.

It never came.
 

She
never came.
 

Instead, her stranger-lover hissed, his voice tight with disgust, “I can’t finish while you’re looking at me with them dead eyes.”

Angelica squeezed her eyelids shut, but he clamped a calloused, sweating palm over her face anyway. She was repulsive. He blocked out her features so that he did not have to see. Her blank, useless eyes turned his stomach.
 

The man mounted her hard now, practically lifting her off the table with every thrust. Angelica gritted her teeth and took it. He did not mean to hurt her, but he did not intend to please her, either. Three more long strokes of his hips, and he held himself deep inside her. With a curse and a shout, he claimed his release.
 

Then, some time afterward, he withdrew.

***

The intruder continued to visit her. Angelica welcomed it—anything to keep the emptiness at bay. In the beginning, she’d thought that, perhaps, she was not the kind of woman who could casually entertain a man. Not let some stranger touch her, and act like it meant nothing.

She was wrong.

Angelica learned to make love many different ways—him on top, her on top, him behind her, with her on her knees. In all the places a man could copulate with a woman. She looked forward to her intruder’s visits, though she got no physical pleasure from them. Usually, she finished herself, crying out Captain Neill’s name into the blackness.

She might have cried out her new lover’s name, but she’d never learned it.
 

He’d never bothered to ask hers, either.

Not that it mattered. All they ever did together was strip and fuck—he’d taught her that word, too. Night after night, her intruder got his pleasure, and she spent an hour less of her life alone. Neither of them asked for anything more. No talk of love, no empty promises.

Angelica felt liberated by her base need for a man’s touch. She craved the filthy things her lover did to her, the things he taught her to do to him. Things Captain Neill would’ve never taught her, because he believed her too sweet and good to lift her arse in the air and beg to taken.

Sometimes, she wondered what he might think of her now—if he knew what she’d been up to—but then she would wrap her legs around her lover’s driving hips, thanking God she’d never meet Captain Broderick Neill again.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Brody pulled to a stop at the gate. He was so excited to finally see her that he nearly dropped the key. It had been too long, and he hoped Angelica wouldn’t be cross with him for making her wait.

He’d prove to her it was worth it. When she realized how
well
he was, she’d be thrilled. She’d be so proud of him. Together, they’d make a fresh start.

The iron gate cried on its hinges as he walked it wide enough for the Bentley to pass through. Then, Brody drove up to the house. The moon sat high in the sky, illuminating the same ivy-clad walls and dark, mullioned windows as before. He stood by his original observation—it was a beautiful, old house that needed only a little love and a lot of money to become a home once again. Someday, perhaps, it could be their home. For now, though, he wanted to show Angelica the world.