Finagled (18 page)

Ramona awoke with a start. There was a loud sound outside of her door. She did not know what it was, she heard it indistinctly, half asleep, it sounded like a pot dropping on tile, and she half dreamed that it was. Tirinia had been sleeping on the sofa, leaned somewhat upright against a pillow, but now she was awake as well, their eyes locked silently.

Tirinia stood up, holding a finger to her mouth, she walked slowly to the door. They had locked it from the inside, an extra precaution after all that had happened. She stood near the door and listened.

Silence.

Then, so sudden and so near to Tirinia that she jumped, the noise came again. It was someone hitting the door handle. It shook on impact. Tirinia screamed, as loudly as she could, hoping to attract someone. She knew that Henry must have been incapacitated again. There must be someone else near enough to hear her scream, surely, even though so many of the household were out searching the grounds for Andrew.

"Shut up," came a shrill cry from outside the door.

Tirinia was never one to take orders. She took another bracing breath and screamed again. She ran over to Ramona's bedside, where the younger woman was shivering in terror.

"God," Ramona said, "Please, not again."

Tirinia stood by her, was holding her in her arms when the lock shattered, the handle torn off, the door swung in.

Again a figure stood silhouetted in that doorway, this time they knew it was Regina, immediately, her normally straight, beautiful hair wild and loose about her shoulders. She was holding a shotgun.

"Oh why did you have finagle that bastard into marrying you, you pretty little bitch," she said, with a cackle, her voice was ugly with hatred.

"It wasn't her fault," Tirinia said, blocking Ramona's body with her own. "I did all of the finagling."

"Oh my God, you old hag," Regina said, "Stupid, stupid, stupid, you just make me hate her more. Sweet little, fair haired, perfect Ramona, innocent of everything. He says he hasn't even engaged her in marital congress. Such a child, she is! So good, so virginal!" Regina spat.

"Please, don't hurt her," Tirinia begged.

"Oh, I am going to hurt her. But first, I am going to hurt you. I’m going to hurt you, because I think that will hurt her too, quite nicely."

"Don't, God don't, please," Ramona rasped.

"Shut up, I can't stand your raspy little voice, bitch," Regina snapped. She swung the butt of the shotgun around, hitting Tirinia in the temple. The wound was small, but it bled as Tirinia slid off the bed, crumpling on the floor.

Ramona was sobbing. She tried to pull herself to the edge of the bed, reaching for Tirinia.

"Forget it." Regina said. "Oh, you are so deliciously helpless," she kicked Tirinia's unconscious form out of the way as she made her way to the bed. “At least Andrew did something right, leaving you wounded, unable to put up a fight."

Ramona pulled herself back up on the bed, and tried to crawl away. Regina slung the shotgun over her shoulder and smirked. She placed one hand on Ramona's calf, and applied just a little too much pressure. Ramona gasped. The pain was unreal. Regina increased the pressure. Ramona felt herself beginning to sweat. Gasping for breath, trying to keep the sobs down, trying to muster up a scream, trying not to black out, and yet hoping to black out, wanting to fight, but feeling herself give up.

Regina let go of Ramona's leg. "Where do you think you are going, little girl?" she asked, slapping her awake. "We haven't gotten to the part where I explain all of my wicked deeds to you yet. We have to do that, of course.

"Item the first, your handsome dashing husband is unconscious in my bedroom right now. While I would like to say he was there of his own volition after making mad and passionate love to me, like, oh, he did the night that we made Andrew…” she eyes Ramona carefully, and then frowned. “
Well
, you don't look surprised, that
is
disappointing. I guess he told you, that must have made me especially repellent to you. How delightful." Regina chuckled. "But no, he is currently bleeding out on the oriental rug I received from Malcolm as a wedding gift. And poor, sweet Malcolm is item the second. He was so resilient, Ramona, it took him so much longer to die than I had expected."

Ramona's eyes widened in terror. She tried again to scream, but she just didn't have the voice for it, her cry was weak, breathy. Regina sat down on the edge of the bed.

"I might as well get comfortable." She smirked. "Yes. It was poison in those days. I thought that perhaps with Malcolm, the second son, the poor brother, who I had unfortunately ruined with a few misplaced business decisions, out of the way, and with my dear baby son Andrew, who was, after all, actually George's... well, I thought that I could marry the Duke. It was a perfect plan. Unfortunately, business called me elsewhere. To tell the truth, Malcolm and I were not legally wed, though he had no idea of it. I was already married, I was still married until I was widowed, for the second time, in a way, but actually for the first, just a few short months ago. Oh I did love William. We were a very good team, and he had made something of a name for himself, he was doing quite fantastically when Malcolm was dying. He came around threatening to out me as his wife. That did not seem profitable, but accompanying him away from Loathewood did. We lived in style, we traveled extensively. It was fabulous. But, he died, a beautiful, consumptive death, and I discovered that there was nothing left, absolutely nothing, just terrible debt. The creditors took everything we owned. I did not know that it was too late to return to Loathewood. I had, after all, extracted a promise from George, I am told that I am beautiful when I cry, my dear, and he succumbed. Of course he would raise Andrew as his own, keep him as his heir, the price was that he never marry, never create a baby to usurp our son.

"When I came to London, I heard fairly quickly that George Flanders, Duke of Blusterfuss and prized jewel of the season, was engaged to be married to a little slip of a nothing, a nobody. You, my dear. Since he had promised me, and remained single for so many years, I imagined it must be the most disgusting of all things, a love match. Though I admired you momentarily, you were giving me a run for my money, my dear, it wasn't long before I dug up enough information to retract that admiration. You were purely and simply what you seemed. Young, beautiful, with a flawless reputation, and girlish charms. I met a few men who were in love with you and they were all so delightfully angry with the Duke of Blusterfuss that I did hope to incite a duel on your behalf, but no such luck. Still, I found something that I thought was better, and I changed my plans.

"Andrew was already heir. I didn't need George anymore, did I? No. I didn't. From there things did not move as quickly as I had hoped.  There was a young fop, he was hopelessly in love with you, at first, but with my experience and skill, he was falling even
more
in love with me. I finally got him to agree to do what must be done, but it was your wedding night. I could be too late. I didn't imagine that George could keep it in his pants when he had a lovely young virgin to sully. How noble of him, to keep his promise to me. You are still a virgin, aren't you? Your big blank eyes drive me crazy with their virginal vapidity. God. I just want to..." With the shotgun still over one shoulder, she made a claw with her other hand, and scraped her nails down Ramona's injured calf. The sensation was nauseating.

"God, that felt good, thanks," Regina said.

Ramona struggled to keep consciousness.

"Yes, well, the fop didn't do the job, as soon as the knife entered George’s back, too high to be of use, by the way, though I had shown him where to stick it, he suddenly up and lost the nerve. He did, however, swipe that pocket watch, it had been Malcolm's and I knew George would carry it. I pawned and used the money to add a few nice touches to my wardrobe to travel here, just in time, in fact, for your little weekend party.  So fortuitous, it was like... a homecoming party just for me. George couldn't send me away in the midst of that, not that I expected him to, but," she shrugged, "it worked out very well. It also gave me the juicy gossip that you were expecting. Everyone was talking about it. You were dizzy, weak, nauseated, and had been married just long enough for it not to be scandalous.

"And then, the next morning, you felt ill. I was even more convinced of it. I did not have a horse, and I was directed to yours as one docile and suited for late Malcolm Flanders’ widow. It was a stupid mistake on Andrew's part," Regina said. "Yes, that’s right, my son, he had heard the rumors too, and without any prompting whatsoever, planned to take, if not you, then at least your little bundle, out of the picture. When he came running into my room that afternoon, the terror in his eyes, I knew right away. Well, it gave us something to bond over. A good start. It is a shame that he made such an unfortunate mess of things. I really have no idea where he got that impulsiveness. Neither George nor myself are incautious people. In any case, I thought, if Andrew seemed to run away after this mess, what did it matter? I could be the terrified and grieving mother, and, well, George couldn't stop me, how could he? I could so easily say that Andrew had been his, and not just his, but his and the product of rape,"

Ramona gasped.

"Oh God. No." Regina laughed. "Actually, as much as I am enjoying that horrified look on your face, no. Your precious husband did not rape me, little girl. In all actuality, I raped him. It's kind of incredible that it worked, but then, I drugged him, he was barely conscious, and then, his masculine seed took, in one go, it was so perfect that I can't believe my plans were afterward so horrendously mucked up. But, they were. And so, I made Andrew disappear. I suppose it was a bit messier than I had intended it to be. I had forgotten about George's fondness for blood hounds. He found him devilish quick. In his old nursery, my poor baby, 12 times with a pen knife, about the face and chest.

"There we have it, I hid under the bed after opening my bedroom window. George, thinking, I am sure, quite nobly, that I had realized what I had done, and leapt to my death like a decent human being, went to gawk at my crumbled and broken body. Out I came with a valuable piece of artwork, a bust of a great scholar, bam! right on the head, down he went. I tried my damnedest to toss him out the window, but, he is a solid piece of work, and so magnificently endowed," she said, reminiscently. "And that's where I left him.

"Well. I think that's every evil deed that I have done that in any way concerns you or those that you love. Any questions?"

Ramona opened and closed her mouth noiselessly, tears streamed down her face, she made some unintelligible noises and closed her eyes as Regina raise the shotgun. She did not face the barrels, she could not make herself. It hurt so much to breathe, her legs were burning, she willed herself to lose consciousness, but of course, that never works.

The shotgun went off.

It was a noise so loud it felt like her eardrums would burst, but it didn't hurt, like she had expected. It smelled horrible. She opened her eyes.

Tirinia stood, awkward above her, a large bookend that had sat on the bedside table dangling from her fingertips.

A scuffle in the hallway. Lady Imelda Havishamble came in wearing her nightdress, a cap tied under her chin in a ridiculous bow.

"Why are you all standing here in the dark, and what is that smell?" she asked dumbly, sitting her oil lamp down and rubbing the sleepy from her eyes. "I mean, I heard a noise, was that gun?"

"You heard a noise?" Tirinia said, exasperated and collapsing on the bed. "For God's sake, Imelda, we were nearly killed," she indicated Regina's prone form on the floor, the shotgun beside it.

"But... women don't kill with guns," Lady Havishamble said in confusion, "They do it with poison, that's what I have always heard."

Ramona looked around to see where the shot had landed. The bedside table was in shambles, splintered, smoking wood near the pillow where her head normally rested. She cried. She sobbed with joy and relief. She looked at Tirinia beside her and held out her small arms to the elderly woman. "Oh, oh God," she said, "George! And... we must get her tied up. Oh how I wish I could walk. Run, Mother, Mother, you must find someone, send them to Regina's room, George is there! And, oh Tirinia, have you the strength, here, we must... the rope that holds my bed curtains back, we must get that gun away from her," she sat up in the bed, and weeping through her words, flailed her arms about helplessly, "This is so infuriating!" she exclaimed.

"Scoot, Imelda, scoot!" Tirinia said, standing up slowly. "Oh my head, Ramona, I feel just exactly like I  was hit with the butt of a shotgun," she chuckled drily. "Oh I am just not any good at knots. We'll just have to quadruple them up and pray, it will probably have to be cut off of her, and it won't be comfortable, but I can't say at the moment that I am terribly concerned with her comfort."

"She is alive, isn't she?" Ramona asked, peering over the edge of the bed. "I should hate if she made a murderess out of you,"

"Oh yes, she is alive, I haven't the strength in these old bones to do much damage. Only just enough it would seem."

"Oh thank God for you, Aunt Tirinia,"

"Even if I did finagle you into this mess in the first place?" she asked, with a wry smile.

"Oh you silly goose," Ramona said, her raspy little voice broken with sobs, "I do love him, you know that."

"Of course I do. And I am glad, but does he know it?"

Maybe he didn't, but when they came together, it was almost the first thing out of her lips.

She had come too close, and too often, to losing him to let it go unsaid again. He nursed a wicked headache, a nasty bump on his head, and limped for the rest of his natural life. Ramona looked at him, with his hair rumpled from the fall, and decided that she liked it better when his hair was perfect, not a curl out of place.

Seeing her small, dirty with gunpowder, her nightgown torn and her face tear stained, he said the words back to her, simply and quietly as he held his lips to the soft blonde hair that fell over her forehead. "I love you."

"I have to tell you something, Ramona," George said, later, when they were both cleaned up, Ramona moved again to a fresh bedroom.

"Andrew was my son, but... I did not..." he did not know how to put it delicately.

"I know. God, I know, George, you don't have to say it. She told me. She told me so much, in graphic detail. George, I don't even know where to start..."

"Then don't. It doesn't matter. You never have to think of her again, don’t say her name, don’t remember what she did. It is all over now."

"No, George, I do have to tell you," Ramona said quietly.

"If it's about Andrew, I know she killed him. I found him," he said this quietly and simply, he did not have the need or desire to elaborate, though as he said it, he saw the wide and staring eyes of that unfortunate youth staring up at him blankly from the pile of wooden soldiers and blocks in the chest he had been stuffed into.

"No. Oh, I’m so sorry, George, it isn't about Andrew. It's Malcolm."

"Malcolm?" George tensed, his grip on Ramona’s hand tightened.

"Yes," she couldn't meet his eyes with hers. "She poisoned him, George," it was all she could say, and she choked on the words.

George was shaking with rage and grief, but looking at Ramona’s empathetic face, he steadied his breath, he took strength from the fact that she shared his grief, grief for a man she had never met.

Regina regained consciousness tied up in the front hall. George had sent a man for the constable.

She spat expletives, screamed, cried, but most importantly, she incriminated herself in front a slew of witnesses. Perhaps it would have been harder to explain the horrific details of the night to the authorities if so many people had not heard her go over them. She was completely unhinged. She didn't even look remotely beautiful anymore, to anyone.

The constable was a small town fellow who had no idea what to do with the screaming, spitting, clawing woman he had been saddled with. She made threats on his family, his children, and said terrible, completely untrue things about his mother. Luckily there were plenty of men, men angry at what he had done to their Master’s family, to his sweet new wife they had come to care for, And these men helped him keep her under control as they trudged through the driving snow to the small village jail.

They did this and said good riddance.