Jennifer Horseman (42 page)

"I've heard this part before and I've grown weary of it. I will not return you to him. Accept it—"

"I can't! I can't! You can't make me! I'll run away—"

"Do not threaten me, girl," he said with soft vicious-ness as his hand tightened possessively around hers. "If I have to send him to the last forsaken corner on earth to keep him from you, I will."

Her emotions welled and welled, trembling through her until they abruptly pushed her out of her chair to fall to her knees before him. Garrett turned toward her so that she knelt between his outstretched knees as his hands came under her arms, stopping just short of lifting her to the comfort of his arms, stopping again when he felt every fiber of her body rebelling against his will, becoming a maddening fury because of it. He stared into the bright pools of her eyes, knowing no tears would fall now. Not so long as she still fought him, clutching at his vest as a doomed soul clutches to a lifeline.

"Garrett," she said in a whisper, "Garrett, you don't know what you're doing to me! I don't know how you .can when 'tis you, you who spent years setting people of color free and slave ships ablaze, you who won't even put a creature on a leash, let alone in a cage, you who sets them free whenever you can. How can you bear to put me in one? I'll die, Garrett, I'll-"

He silenced the last with his finger. "What I can't bear, love, is the thought of you being hurt." She started to shake her head, but he stopped her. "No, you can't see what I do; you can't know what I know. The issue is not only that he stood by all those long years you were hurt, that he was morally unconscious enough to allow that to happen to you. That alone is enough, but love, love," he let his hand run through her hair, stopping at the braid and returning again, "that very moral weakness, like an ever widening crack in a soul, eventually breeds indifference to others, to their trials and pain and suffering. Indifference even to those they profess to love: a woman, a wife, a child. No more dangerous creature exists than this kind of man, for once he is indifferent to suffering, he can inflict it."

Juliet closed her eyes, conjuring a vivid image of Toword of Garrett's exaggerated metaphor made any sense to her, except that he was scaring her again.

."Aye," Garrett said, turning back to Juliet, his voice lowered, his tone speaking to her even before she understood. "With that now said, it's your turn to speak, love. You are to answer my question: why is it you don't want to know anything about what will happen to you once we reach England?"

Thoughts clamored for her attention yet passed too quickly to catch. She looked from Garrett to Gayle and back again, telling herself to be calm, that it couldn't be so bad, even as Tonali paced near Garrett's side. A mistake, it would be a mistake. . . .

"Answer the question, love."

"Gayle told me not to speak of it."

"Not to speak of what, love?"

"Gayle!" she whispered his name, a desperate plea for his denial. Yet Gayle sat perfectly still, except for a brief shake of his head, and she stared, just stared.

"Not to speak of what, Juliet?" Garrett's stern tone jerked her head slightly, calling her back.

"Of what's to happen when we return."

"Ah, here we are. And just what was it he said would happen that you shouldn't talk to me about?"

Juliet stared hard at the candlelight reflected in the goblet. "My . . . reunion."

Garrett did not pause, yet he could no longer keep his fury from sounding as he said at last, "And what reunion could you possibly be imagining?"

"No," she whispered in denial, as her vision blurred and she slowly shook her head. "Garrett . . . please—" She reached a hand to him and he caught it, her fingers curling tightly around his one, though she still stared at the light reflected in the goblet. She never saw which finger Garrett focused his gaze upon. "You can't do this-"

"I've heard this part before and I've grown weary of it. I will not return you to him. Accept it—"

"I can't! I can't! You can't make me! I'll run away—"

"Do not threaten me, girl," he said with soft vicious-ness as his hand tightened possessively around hers. "If I have to send him to the last forsaken corner on earth to keep him from you, I will."

Her emotions welled and welled, trembling through her until they abruptly pushed her out of her chair to fall to her knees before him. Garrett turned toward her so that she knelt between his outstretched knees as his hands came under her arms, stopping just short of lifting her to the comfort of his arms, stopping again when he felt every fiber of her body rebelling against his will, becoming a maddening fury because of it. He stared into the bright pools of her eyes, knowing no tears would fall now. Not so long as she still fought him, clutching at his vest as a doomed soul clutches to a lifeline.

"Garrett," she said in a whisper, "Garrett, you don't know what you're doing to me! I don't know how you can when 'tis you, you who spent years setting people of color free and slave ships ablaze, you who won't even put a creature on a leash, let alone in a cage, you who sets them free whenever you can. How can you bear to put me in one? I'll die, Garrett, I'll-"

He silenced the last with his finger. "What I can't bear, love, is the thought of you being hurt." She started to shake her head, but he stopped her. "No, you can't see what I do; you can't know what I know. The issue is not only that he stood by all those long years you were hurt, that he was morally unconscious enough to allow that to happen to you. That alone is enough, but love, love," he let his hand run through her hair, stopping at the braid and returning again, "that very moral weakness, like an ever widening crack in a soul, eventually breeds indifference to others, to their trials and pain and suffering. Indifference even to those they profess to love: a woman, a wife, a child. No more dangerous creature exists than this kind of man, for once he is indifferent to suffering, he can inflict it."

Juliet closed her eyes, conjuring a vivid image of Tomas when he saw her back the first time and how he had cried, cried when she could no longer. She remembered how gently he touched and held her, the comfort of his embrace, a comfort that stayed with her throughout those long endless hours of separation. She remembered how much he wanted to help her, he did. ... He was not indifferent and he never would be. He would never hurt her, never.

"You're wrong . . . you're wrong," she looked back up at him. "Just as I can't know what you do, you can't know what I do. And I know Tomas. He might not be as strong as you or Leif, but I know he would never do anything to hurt me. Never. He loves me, and Garrett, Garrett, I love him ... I love him."

She held perfectly still, not knowing the effect of her plea until something strange and awful came to Garrett's gaze. She couldn't decipher it but every instinct told her to be afraid. Unaware that she did so, she looked to Leif for help.

Yet Leif would offer none. He could not see Garrett's face but he didn't have to. He knew exactly what had made her abruptly afraid, for he had heard these words too ....

"Very well, Juliet," Garrett said in a voice even with the control he placed on it. "Love is blind, they say, and I see how true this is. I, too, never want to hurt you, but you have forced my hand. I will play it through. You will have this reunion."

Those words were contradicted by an ominous warning in his tone and eyes, she felt the withdrawal of his emotions but her confusion yielded at last to the relief of his words. A profound relief, the intensity of which made her collapse. It was over at last. He would reunite her with Tomas at last . . .

My dear son,

Your mother and I received your letter regarding the imminent return of your young lady with interest. I hope you find her in good health, though as I discussed before, a lady's spirits after surviving such an ordeal would be a painful thing to witness. Again, I would remind you that any decent and properly raised Christian lady would fervently wish she had not survived, for the humiliation of revealing her shame to society's scorn would be worse than death. We regret that you still insist on submitting yourself to such a pitiful .sight, and this difficult lesson should remind you of the terrible consequences of improper liaisons with impetuous and careless young girls.

Having thus expressed our sympathy for your predicament, I must reiterate marriage is absolutely out of the question. We were shocked that you had the inclination, yet alone the audacity, necessary to present it to us. How could you? A young man of your position and standing in the world and before God does not marry a young woman who spent several months of her life on board a barbarian's ship, surrounded by immoral animals and forced to submit to unmentionable deeds and outrages.

The idea of marrying such a ruined creature is quite hopelessly out of the question . . .

Tomas jumped up with impotent rage and swung his clenched fist hard into the wall. He cried out with the pain of it, all of it, the cumulative agony of these last long months, months spent not knowing what had happened to her and imagining the worst, thinking her dead and sometimes wishing she were dead, if only to end her suffering. Then, like the touch of a wand, all his agony was banished with a short letter bearing the news she was alive and well and would soon be returned to him.

Then the last, briefer message that told him where and when to meet her, adding that he was to make the necessary arrangements for her welfare, which could only mean marriage. Difficult enough, considering he would not come into his inheritance until he turned twenty and had finished at the university. But now, "absolutely out of the question."

Tomas tried to calm down enough to think, yet his heart pounded and his breathing was quick and uneven as he encountered what indeed felt like the utter hopelessness of the situation. Dear God, what had he been hoping his father would say? After all, his father had refused to let him marry Juliet even before this happened.

Now she was ruined. . . .

Are you ruined, Juliet? He asked the question for the thousandth time. Perhaps by society's dictates she had indeed been compromised, but he simply could not imagine her spirit "ruined." He knew better than anyone how badly Stoddard had abused her. The near monthly slashes on her slender back and even the horrid looking hand were nothing compared to the fear put in her eyes. How he remembered her fear! Despite the terror of it, she had survived. Survived with her spirit. Because of his love she had survived. If she survived Stoddard's unearthly tortures perhaps she had survived this man, Black Garrett.

What to do, what to do? He could not, would not, abandon her, even if she was ruined. He loved her still, he loved her desperately. Being of age, he could marry her without permission, but then his father would withdraw his inheritance. It was the same old story. How could he support her? He'd have to get a menial job and they would be poor. . . . "But I don't care if we're poor," she told him a thousand times, no less. "We'd be together. Nothing else matters. . . ."

Juliet just didn't know what it was like to be poor. Neither did he, but at least he had the foresight to know he didn't want to find out. What could he do then? If only he had kept one of the hundreds of letters she had asked him to post to that Madame Gaston. He could have made arrangements with that lady for Juliet's care. Yet no, like a fool he had burned every last one of them, certain that after their marriage Juliet would want the aging French woman as a dependent in his household, thinking it best to hurt her then rather than later. If only he could remember her residence number!

Dear God, why, oh why, did this have to happen?

A half hour passed, a half hour in which he felt more than thought, felt everything all at once. He was filled with a profound impotent fury. At a complete loss and not knowing where to turn, groping for straws, he turned back to the letter. To his utter surprise, he discovered his father had some small mercy after all.

... I am not without an understanding of the need and inclinations of young men. Having been a young man myself, and having seen your two older brothers through these years, I understand you have an attachment to this young lady, however sorry this attachment is. I am willing to increase your stipend a small amount to provide the means for you to support her. Attached to this letter, you will find an address as well as an introductory note to a Mr. Badamn, who can help you make suitable arrangements for her. Needless to say, propriety demands this small matter be kept in the utmost confidence and secrecy—especially from your dear mother! We will not speak of it again.

Kyle rode up the shell-lined circular drive of London's finest inn, the Connaught. The famous inn bordered Hyde Park along the wide tree-shaded King's Highway in the heart of London. Surrounded by acres and acres of well-tended flower and sculpture gardens, the circular front of the five-story structure—one of the tallest in all of London—rose with all the distinction of its grand, hundred-year history as London's finest house. Two waiting grooms jumped up to take his mount, and he dismounted, handing over the reins.

Taking a deep breath of reluctance, Kyle slowly climbed the steps to the grand entrance. Once through the doors, two men wearing the gold-breasted coats and elaborate costumes of footmen greeted him. Ignoring their disparaging assessment of his appearance, Kyle handed over Garrett's card. With more irritation than amusement, he watched disapproval change to gracious servitude once the name Lord Garrett Ramon Van Ness was read. The man presented the card to the head butler, who in turn snapped his fingers with a pleased smile—as if the mere sight of one of his lordship's acquaintances was a cause for joy—and as if by magic, another bowing footman was produced to escort him.

Kyle followed the footman through wide, thick-carpeted halls lit by crystal chandeliers, passing into the famous Connaught Grill. White-clothed tables dotted the spacious hall, each crowned with an adornment of the finest silver and crystal. The familiar, civilized sound of gentlemen discussing the politics and business of the day filled the room. More than one curious gaze lifted to watch the improperly dressed gentleman escorted to the private room in back, a private room reserved for the most favored members of the world's most elite aristocracy, a room the king himself used. The footman opened the dark mahogany doors, bowed as he passed, and quietly shut the doors behind him.

Lord Garrett Ramon Van Ness occupied an entire floor of the inn, presently holding his own court in this private room of the grill as he dined. Upon Kyle's entrance, the gentleman seated at the table stopped the heated discussion of the ongoing battle. Garrett, Leif, and three other gentlemen—Garrett's personal agents— sat at a huge round mahogany table set squarely in the center of the room. The room seemed dark despite the crystal chandelier over the table and the four long candles in the center, darker still because of the landscape paintings on the wall. The meal was almost over, for cognac shone from the brandy snifters and a bountiful fruit and cheese tray sat on the table.

Greetings were exchanged as Garrett motioned for Kyle to take a seat. A motion of his hand bid the waiter to place glasses of water and cognac in front of him.

"Not glad tidings, I see."

"About as pleasant to hear as the wails of Hades," Kyle offered, as he pushed back his hair, averting Garrett's gaze.

Garrett's face remained impassive but his gaze said much. "But then I was not expecting pleasant news, Kyle. Just what did you discover?"

"That this Badamn he dealt with is little better than a . . . well, he's a landlord of sorts. He owns a number of tenements on east side, near Covent Gardens."

Leif swore in disbelief. "Jesus, he can't mean the Gardens? That cesspool of rats and thieves and aging whores — "

"Aye." Kyle paused, hesitating before saying the rest. "Speaking of whores, this Badamn has three houses there. The place the, ah, young man rented is above one of them. Seven goddamn shillings a week, Garrett, and the two-room flat is to be shared with a woman known as Manny, a woman herself kept by two different shoemakers, no servants and no windows, which," he sighed, "might not be so bad, considering the rubbish strewn about the place."

Once said the room fell silent. They all looked to Garrett for his reaction, one slow in coming. "Leif. . ."

"It would be over if you told her this—"

"Would it? Or would I—dear God-have to listen to her excuses for him? I have been known to court danger before but that is one risk I will not, cannot, take. That scene would put his blood on my hands."

Leif felt Garrett's struggle as his own and he sighed. "I can't believe it, but then it has traveled this far already. She is so innocent, like an angel trapped in hell-"

"Aye," Garrett knew the rest, for he thought of it so often. "So long abandoned and so badly abused, she knows nothing else; she expects little else. I curse her innocence and the profound goodness of her heart for keeping her ignorant."

"And may you live long enough to see it always protected."

Garrett swallowed his brandy whole and said, "Which I can only do by destroying him once and for all, if not in fact then at least in her mind. And let us do pray, my friends, that by so doing, I do not also destroy her, Juliet, the young lady with whom I've fallen so desperately in love."

A single lamp lit the spacious room, and two candles lit her reflection in the mirror over the vanity where Juliet sat. Garrett had insisted she accompany him to the Connaught, despite her protest that she stay on board until the arrangements had been made, for she dreaded the idea of being presented as his wife again. Yet he would not listen. After a whirlwind first glance of London,he brought her here.Now she sat surrounded by a wealth and opulence she never dreamed of, still uncomfortable within it, an opulence that extended to two maids and an entire set of rooms: a drawing room for company she did not have, a dressing room, and a bedroom, all decorated with rich, dark mahogany and attractive paintings, pale creams and peach damasks.

Wanting so to look pretty for the auspicious day, she spent all day indulging in the feminine vanities: bathing and washing her hair, twisting it into a tight rope so it would lay straight and flat, then washing her blouse and frock. . . . Yet now as she stared at her reflection all she saw was the fear haunting her eyes. The same fear created an imaginary scene in her mind: Garrett, Leif, and herself waiting and waiting and waiting until finally Leif patted her on the back and said, " Tis for the best, lass." Like earth tossed on her casket, Garrett would say, "I told you he was no good, Juliet. Jesus, what a bloody waste of time. ..."

Like the fear in the nightmare, to endure that scene felt so much worse than death. Where had her faith fled to? Tomas would not abandon her now, he would not.

The candle flickered and leaped, illuminating the fear in her reflection. Panicked, she leaned forward and blew out the candles. The mirror went dark. An image emerged from the darkness, and for one frightened moment she thought she saw the rodent in the nightmare.

She was going mad, dear Lord . . . help me.

Sleep was a hard battle fought and won and only because she had not slept well, if at all, since the night Garrett finally agreed to give her the ehance for happiness by sending her back to Tomas. The battle ended after three long hours of tossing and turning, trapped in the endless cycle of trying to reassure herself the morrow would bring not just an ending but a beginning as well.

Much later she stirred and turned over, the queerest sensation prodding her consciousness. She was not alone in her rooms. She opened her eyes and sat up, bringing the covers with her.

Moonlight streamed through the thin mist outside, dimly lighting the darkened landscape of the room. All seemed quiet and still. A curtain lifted from the open window, sinking, drawn outside before rising again. Anxiously she searched each corner and nook, listening, her senses alerted to the presence of another until—

Until she saw the two red eyes suspended in space beneath the open window. The shape of a thing darker than night surrounded the shining eyes, staring back with a madman's blind fury. A scream caught in her throat. A surge of panic engulfed her, immobilizing her as the red eyes moved closer and closer. A leap put the creature on the bed.

"Oh, Tonali! My goodness, you scared me—"

Tonali could not be here! Tbnali had been left on the ship! But . . . but how—

The panther stalked toward her. With eyes made red with anger, he hissed and snarled. Terror pushed her back against the pillows. She grabbed his fur as he stood over her and he hissed again. Blood dripped from his mouth, splattering onto her face, and she screamed.

A blinding flash of light transformed the room. She lay on the boulder, the cold stone pressed against her naked flesh. The rodent appeared in the corner of her vision. Using all her strength, she tried to move but couldn't, she couldn't. She shot a terrified glance in the direction of the rodent, and when she saw it was made from Tomas's image, she screamed, loud and long.

Garrett appeared near her side.

"No! Nooo!" came as a choked cry, a desperate denial of what she was about to see. Garrett stood still save but to raise his hand. Tonali was created by this magic, the darkness growing and growing until the great cat leaped from his extended hand and onto the creature's back. He sank his teeth hard into its neck. Bright red blood spread across her vision and she screamed again—

Bathed in perspiration, she woke with a start. Breathless and panting, her terrified eyes encountered the scene at the foot of her bed and she gasped. With his hands on his hips, Garrett stood over the bed staring back at her. He looked as Tonali had, appearing only as a towering dark shape of a dream, his remarkable eyes shining with strange amusement.