Sound of the Heart (22 page)

Her timing was perfect. Through the grimy pane of glass she saw Herr Schmidt had just completed what he’d been doing. He stood back from the table, his impressive height seeming a little less this afternoon. He glared down his narrow nose, listening intently to one of the men. He gave the fellow a quick nod, then another and spun on his heel. Glenna ducked out of the way as he shoved through the door, jamming his tricorne onto a mussed black wig. He strode toward their waiting carriage, his expression flushed with anger, never once giving Glenna a glance. She scurried behind and settled on the bench opposite, waiting.

When he spoke, it was without any emotion. “You shall pack when we get home, and you shall return here.”

Glenna blinked, confused, and fought the sensation of the floor of the carriage falling from under her. Herr Schmidt stared out the window, his eyes anywhere but on her.

“What?”

“You will not live at our house anymore.”

Panic surged through her, popping up in little beads across her brow. What did this mean? “But what did I—”

“You did nothing.” He sighed and closed his eyes, uttering a sound of defeat Glenna had heard before, but only in her own heart. When he finally looked at her, his eyes were softer, and she recognised regret. “It is a question of money,
du Ärmste
.”

She didn’t know much German, though the children had taught her some during their lessons, but she recognised this phrase as one of sympathy. That did nothing to calm her panic.

“Money?”

“Yes. This man, this tavern owner. Herr Frank Hill. I owe him more than I should. He will wait no longer. He knows people I do not want to anger, Fräulein Glenna. I will not put my family in danger.”

“But . . .” Her voice trailed off as she took in what he’d said. She swallowed hard. “So ye lost me in a dice game? What does that mean?”

His face had been dark that morning, tight and gaunt as a result of too much whisky the night before. Now his mood was even darker. Angry, frustrated, sick with himself, he snapped, “It means you have nothing to say. You have a new home.”

CHAPTER 36

Frank Hill

Once again, Glenna’s life changed. As Herr Schmidt had said, when they reached the plantation, she and her things were packed into the carriage and sent immediately back to New Windsor. She wasn’t given the opportunity to say good-bye to Ursula or the children and wondered vaguely how Herr Schmidt might explain this to his family.

She wanted to sleep as the carriage jogged and bounced for two more hours, but she couldn’t. Her mind raced. What now? This new life, belonging to a tavern owner, would be entirely different from how she had lived, enjoying the staid, safe environment of the Schmidts’ plantation. It was safe to assume there would be no mathematics lessons or singing of hymns within the tavern’s white brick walls.

She rubbed her hands nervously, staring out the window as the line of storefronts and houses materialised again. The building looked different than it had hours earlier. Yes, it was nighttime now, but it was more than the beams of yellow light spilling through the windows, lighting the walkway by the road. Something about the windows. As if their bland, apathetic gaze from the afternoon had sharpened, spotting her, and now leered with a hungry malice.

The population of the town, faces barely lit by the occasional lantern, watched as Glenna’s carriage pulled to a stop outside the tavern, but no one helped her get out or escorted her into the building. Frank Hill, the wealthiest man in New Windsor, sent no servants to assist her. So once the driver had dropped her small bag from the back of the carriage and driven back in the direction of the Schmidt home, she stood alone, staring up at the establishment.

Slinging her bag over her shoulder, Glenna stepped up to the front door. It swung open just as she was reaching for the latch, and two obviously inebriated men tumbled out, laughing as they staggered toward the road. Glenna watched them go, stomach churning. A tavern was no place for a lady, and after living in the Schmidts’ fine home for so long, that’s what she considered herself to be these days. Taking a breath for courage, she stepped inside.

The massive room was bright as day, and loud. Lanterns illuminated the red and gray bricks that dotted the walls like a stone-hard patchwork quilt. The floor was painted dark brown, but was well scuffed, with lighter paths leading to preferred tables over the years. Dominating the room was a long oak bar, shining with polish. Behind it stretched a marked-up old mirror, its reflection further brightening the place.

She turned quickly at a burst of laughter from her right, then spun again at the sound of raised voices by the bar. The place was more crowded at night than it had been earlier, and she noticed again that this was not a place frequented by female patrons.

But there were women. Half a dozen painted women whose husky laughter danced like smoke up to the grime-darkened rafters. Did this mean—

Glenna didn’t wait to find out. Being caught escaping the idea of whoring seemed better than possibly living that life. She’d gladly hang, given the alternative. She whirled, reaching for the door, but it was blocked by a man who stood a few inches taller than Glenna. His arms were folded across a fine linen shirt, and silver curls, unencumbered by a hat, were greased flat against his head. His gray eyes almost matched his hair, meaning the only splash of colour on his face was the thick black moustache, curled at both ends.

“Well, now,” he said. “Here she is.”

“Excuse me,” she replied, reaching past him for the door. “I’m just leavin’.”

He shook his head and twisted one end of his moustache between thumb and forefinger. A tight little smile curled under his moustache. “I think not. I tell you what. Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but ain’t too many ladies coming in here unless they’s looking for work.”

“I’m no’ looking for work, sir. Please excuse me.”

He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. He stuck one finger in his ear and wiggled it, then flicked something invisible to the floor. “And all them ladies work for me. So that must mean you’ve come here to work for me.”

She frowned, uneasy. The man smirked at her in the strangest manner, as if his mind ticked with calculations. She wasn’t sure if she should be concerned, but her instincts were on alert.

“I’ll ask ye again, sir—”

“You are, I believe, Miss Glenna. Schmidt sent you over.”

That stopped her. She lifted her chin, riding a swell of anxiety. “I am.”

“Well, then. The name’s Frank Hill. I imagine you know that name well enough. Let’s go on in and get better acquainted.” He held out one arm, indicating a door cut in one of the tavern walls.

Glenna took a discreet breath and headed toward the room that he’d indicated. She stepped inside and he latched the door behind her, then leaned against it, arms crossed again. Gone was the cheerful atmosphere of the tavern. Now she stood in a dark office dominated by a huge, ornate desk and chair. Back a little farther she could see the man’s bedroom. The dim profile of his bed was a warning as clear as any battle cry she’d heard in Scotland.

“I seen you around,” he said, barely nodding. She saw the glimmer of his teeth in the dark and couldn’t help thinking of the nasty black and white badgers she’d trapped back home. “And when Friedrich got a little down on his luck, I knew precisely how I’d get to see you more often.” He took a step toward her and she took one back, edging around the desk. His smile was slow, carnal. “You know you belong to me now, right?”

Glenna’s heart raced, thrumming inside her chest. She had to get out. This was bad. “I belong to no one, sir. I ken I’m to work here, but I dinna belong to you.”

“Ah, so that’s how it’s gonna be. I see. Well, the thing is, I do own you. I own everything from your pretty blond head to your tiny little feet and everything in between.” He held his open hands parallel to the slender line of her waist. “You’re
all
mine now.” He closed in until she was backed against the wall.

She felt the edge of a doorframe and tried to slip out of reach, but he was fast, and stronger than he appeared. He grabbed her upper arms and threw her onto the bed in the back room, then slapped her face hard when she struggled. She flailed against his restraining hands, kicking uselessly against him as he straddled her. Too strong, too fast.
No!
she screamed in her mind, and heard her own voice spewing furious Gaelic syllables that did nothing to stop him.

She was so focused on wriggling out from under him that she barely noticed him working at her skirt. It wasn’t until his sticky palm gripped her thigh and he dug his fingers into the muscle that she understood how much danger she was really in. She had always been protected from this before, had always managed to escape. But this was too close.
No no no! Too much!

She pressed her thighs tightly together, growling and kicking, determined to wear him down, but he was stronger. He forced her legs apart and she could do nothing but shriek when he forced himself through. He moved urgently, brutally, with the detachment of a hunter, grunting with short, determined sounds. She kept fighting, screaming, working against sobs that rocked through her, but she could do nothing against him. She felt useless, helpless, weak.
Oh, Dougal! I’m so sorry!

Eventually, Frank Hill rolled off. He left Glenna partially dead inside, though the greater part of her boiled with fury. Vibrations built up from deep within her, and she knew that despite what he had just done, she absolutely wouldn’t allow this man to defeat her.
Beside her, Frank lay contentedly, his chest rising and falling slowly as he breathed. A contented man. Eyes still closed, he raised one hand and lowered it again so his palm lay flat, proprietary, on one covered breast. That was too much.

“Damn ye an’ yer useless wee pintle, ye fuckin’ load o’ sow shite!” she shrieked, shoving his hand from her chest as if it were a snake. She rolled to one side, trying to ignore the wetness oozing between her legs when she moved. He still wore his perfect white linen shirt and Glenna grabbed the collar with both hands, tearing the seam. She brought her face to his and glared down at him. “Ye’ll no’ touch me again,” she said, spraying his face with spit, “or ye’ll suffer for it.”

“Is that right?” He chuckled, and in one instant had her pinned beneath him again. He was heavy, his weight squeezed her stays against her ribs. She panicked anew, afraid she’d soon be unable to breathe. “Well, my dear Glenna,” he said, sliding his hand beneath her skirt again. He squeezed, and though his grip was low on her body, tears forced from her eyes. “I don’t think so. As a matter of fact, I don’t appear to be suffering one little bit.”

She went limp and his tone changed to something that strove for comforting. “That’s my girl,” he said, bringing his hand back up and sliding it down her cheek. “You’ll get used to me. As long as you understand that I . . .” He grinned suddenly, a wide, victorious flash of teeth. “I
own
you.”

“Never,” she whispered, sucking in a sob.

He tucked strands of her hair back, clearing her face so he could touch her cheeks, her brow, her chin, her eyebrows, her ears. His voice changed again, becoming conversational. “Ah, Glenna. I’ve wanted you for a while now, and I mean for us to get along. You’ll see. I can be good to you. My wife used to understand that. She understood it long enough that she got her fat fingers so thick with jewels she can barely lift another cake to her big mouth. Smart girl, that one. She got so fat I won’t touch her with a ten-foot pole. But you, Glenna, you can make me happy.”

“No, I can’t.”

“I’ve just proved it, missy,” he said with a self-satisfied chuckle. “I’m very happy right now.”

Glenna turned her head away, wishing the pillow would suck her inside it. “Go away,” she managed.

“Worn out already? Well, I suppose you’ve travelled a fair bit today. Sure. I’ll leave you to rest. But I’ll be back later, don’t you worry.” He climbed off the bed and stooped to pull on his trousers, smiling at her the whole time. His voice returned to business. “I’m glad you’re here, Glenna. You and I are going to do just fine, but there are rules. Even for you.” He buttoned his trousers as he spoke, then wiggled one foot into a shoe. “The moment we stop being friends, well, that’s when I introduce you to the other gentlemen here. That’s the way it works.” He strode confidently to the side of the bed and gazed down at her, keeping his thumbs tucked in his waistband. “You see, my dear, I am the talk of the town. Everyone knows Frank Hill. Everyone wants to be like Frank Hill. Everyone wants what Frank Hill has.”

She watched him from the corner of one eye, hating how fragile she felt. Rape was one thing, as repulsive and horrifying a reality as it was. But the idea of being owned by this creature was unthinkable. She would find a way to be the one thing Frank Hill did
not
want. The one thing
nobody
wanted. And if she could kill Frank Hill, all the better.

“Yes, ma’am. It’s all about reputation. The more people hear about the famous Frank Hill, the more they talk, the more they come to my establishment and spend their hard-earned money. Soon I’ll have no need of my pig of a wife or her money-grabbing family.” He had the other shoe on and now smoothed back his slick gray hair. Glenna had the impression he was no longer speaking to her at all. “She won’t have a thing to say once this place is mine.”

He glanced into a mirror and tweaked his moustache. When he was satisfied, he turned back. “I’ll give you a little time to get used to all this. It might be a while before I’m back. Then I’ll bring something to eat. Suit you, Glenna?”

If only murder were possible through thoughts. “Nothin’ about this suits me, ye bastard.”

His smile hardened again. “I will be back soon.”

CHAPTER 37

The Cost of Freedom

At first, she’d paced the room, banging on the door and walls, demanding release. No one came. She’d attacked his desk, hoping to discover a weapon of some kind, but it was securely locked. On its surface there was nothing but scraps of paper, a couple of worn quills and ink. She could do nothing. With no other options, she sat on the edge of the bed, alternating between crying, staring, and planning revenge, fueling her anger with memories of his body against hers. No man was allowed to do what he had done. No man but Dougal. This man would pay. He would suffer, just as she’d warned him he would suffer.

Despite what he’d said, Frank did not come back soon. She listened to the rising and falling volume outside the locked door and judged it was two days before he returned. By then she was brittle from hunger and thirst. The windowless room had become an oven, and she had been forced to undress to her shift.

So when he returned, she could do nothing but stare at him, drained of food and water and any kind of fight. She curled on her side, hugging her knees to her chest.

“Glenna! Glad to see you’re awake. Hungry?”

She closed her eyes. He would feed her. If he truly wanted her as he said he did, he wouldn’t let her die.

The mattress sagged when he sat. He leaned over and kissed the cheek he could see. God, she was thirsty. She fought the urge to lick her lips, then gave in.
Please give me water.

The cup was inches away, closer, closer, then blessedly pressed to her lips. He poured a small, precious sip into her mouth and she choked, both from the angle and from the fact that it wasn’t water at all. She sputtered, craving the wet, flinching at the bite.

“No? Not time for wine yet? Fine. Water then.” He chuckled. “You’ll have to pay for it, you know.”

She didn’t care. When his fingers traced the line of her cheek, brushed the greasy strands of her hair, she didn’t care. He poured water through her lips and it was the sweetest, softest, most wonderful thing she had ever tasted.

When she’d had a few gulps, he took the cup away and frowned with distaste. “You smell like the back end of a horse.” He stood abruptly and left, taking the food with him, but returned with a small girl in tow. He left them alone and the girl went to Glenna’s side. She flipped up the hem of Glenna’s shift and Glenna instinctively reached to push it down.

“Never mind that,” the girl muttered. “I’m only here to clean you.” She glanced at Glenna, her expression full of regret. The girl looked older than she’d first seemed, only small. Underfed. The pale skin across her chest was mottled with bruises. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help before. He keeps the keys, you see. I’m sorry.”

“Who are ye?” Glenna managed.

“I’m Sarah. I work here,” she whispered. “Before that I . . . well, I know what’s happening to you, because I’ve been in this same place. It will pass, though, when he tires of you. And then . . .” Her shoulders slumped as she let out a breath. “Well, don’t you worry. You’ve enough on your mind for now.”

Glenna gave up the fight and let Sarah do what she had to do. The sympathetic words hurt more than she’d expected, and while the girl swabbed her body clean, Glenna wept. She regretted the loss of the precious water as it slid down her cheeks, but couldn’t stop the tears.

Sarah left with the chamber pot and Frank returned, bearing food. He started with water, then bread soaked in water, then small pieces of meat that tasted sweet on her tongue. She worked up the strength to sit and feed herself, and the food moved in her stomach, filling the empty spaces. Eventually she stopped eating, afraid she might get ill from too much at once, and shrank back against the wall.

He saw her summon her strength and stepped in before she could gain control.

“Glenna,” he murmured. He stroked the side of her face. “I’m sorry I was gone so long. But I’m a busy man. Fortunately, my work is done for now. I can stay awhile.”

A tear snaked down Glenna’s cheek and her chin wobbled, but there was nothing she could do. She was weak and sick and half his size. He removed her shift while she said nothing at all, and she registered none of his compliments. She lay still as he moved over her, feeling him take greater and greater control. When he was done, he lay beside her and blew a long, satisfied sigh from under his moustache.

He sat up suddenly. “I almost forgot. I brought you a gift.”

She closed her eyes and said nothing when he nudged her awake, dangling a pendant in front of her. A large pearl framed in gold hung on a delicate gold chain, like nothing Glenna had ever seen. She frowned, trying to focus, but didn’t reach for the gift. She didn’t want anything from this man. Nothing but water . . . and freedom . . . and vengeance.

“I thought the pearl was right for you. The colour of your hair and all.”

He struggled to hook it behind her neck but she said nothing. He stared at the little pendant, admiring the way it lay between her breasts.

Dougal would have known what to do at this moment. What would he have said?
Oh, Dougal. Help me!

Frank continued to talk, apparently unconcerned whether she joined in the conversation. “My wife will never miss it. She has more trinkets than she knows what to do with. They look so much better on you.” He ran his fingers over the pearl, then over her. She shuddered. What had she allowed to happen to her life? “I’ll bring something else next time. I have something in mind.”

Still smiling, Frank lay back down beside her and stared at the ceiling, apparently ready to chat. His voice was soft but energised. Like a boy, proud of his accomplishments. “You aren’t the first, you know. But you are by far the most beautiful. Oh, if dear Julia ever knew!” He chuckled, pleased with himself, and rolled so he could face her, leaning on one elbow. His fingers explored the lines of her body and Glenna lay as if dead, despising the man more with every breath. “Her parents financed this tavern. They brought money from England and spent it on this place. And you know what? They’ve never once visited it.” He frowned, shaking his head. “Imagine that? Pay for something and never see it? I can tell you, I paid for you and I damn well mean to see a lot of you.”

Slowly Glenna emerged from the nightmare, sensing light. She could almost hear Dougal’s sweet voice echoing within her mind.

Anythin’ can be a weapon,
mo chridh.

She had nothing at hand. Nothing here but the man’s gift and his words. She listened to him drone on about his wife, about the tavern, about his plans, and she started to wonder. Why this man would want to spill his secrets to her was a mystery, but in them might be weapons she could use. How far could she push this? How could she regain some of the power he had stolen from her? She decided to set a little bait. See if the slimy wee fish bit.

“I like jewellery that sparkles,” she murmured.

His reaction was immediate. He leapt to his feet, surprised to hear her say anything, and encouraged by the words she chose. “Do you? Well, I did bring something else, though . . .” He frowned. “Your fingers are a lot smaller than Julia’s . . .”

Glenna stretched out her hand, keeping her eyes closed. She felt the cool embrace of a ring as it slid onto her finger, then rotated and hung, heavy and loose. She brought her hand closer and examined the bright blue stone, then slipped the bauble from her finger to her thumb, where it sat more securely.

The man was an idiot. He talked of the gambling, of the women, of various nefarious ways money kept trickling into his pockets. While his in-laws congratulated themselves on owning a reputable, thriving business, Frank was paying them back, penny by penny, with ill-gotten gains.

When he had finished telling the day’s stories, Frank got up, dressed, and locked Glenna in the room, leaving her alone to plan revenge. She slipped her shift over her head and went directly to his desk, from which she seized the paper and quill. She wrote everything she had just memorised. When she was done, she blew on her notes, wanting the words to dry quickly, then folded the paper and hid it under the sour-smelling mattress.

He returned a day later and she suffered in silence while he used her. The fact that she had to do this, that she was trapped in this disgusting position, made her sick. She hated him, and more than that, she hated herself for being so powerless. But not for long. No, not for long. Soon he would be sorry for everything. Very sorry.

Afterward, he presented her with pearl earrings to match the earlier necklace. All courtesy of poor, deluded Julia.

“Who were the other women? Before me, I mean,” she asked, encouraging him.

She listened with disbelief as Frank obediently and proudly listed all his mistresses, ten in all over the past six years, all of whom had started out in this very room. Glenna filed everyone’s name in her head and wrote them down later, noting he had only been married six years. How Julia would love to hear all this, she thought. How Julia’s oblivious parents would enjoy taking the tavern and all its notoriety from him.

He left, but he would come back. There was no way to prevent him. But this would be the last time.

The prize Frank gave her after the fourth visit was a ring: a large, shining ruby set in the centre of a circle of diamonds. He had even had it sized so it fit her properly. She graced him with a bland smile that quivered on the edge of a sneer. She had to play the part if this was going to work.

“Frank, I want to get out o’ this room.”

He regarded her suspiciously at first, then nodded. He opened the door and called for Sarah, who arrived within moments with a new, relatively clean gown and blouse. He tossed it at Glenna, then watched her dress, even helped with the laces of her corset before lowering the blouse over her head.

“Not for long,” he said.

She fought rage. “Just let me breathe some air outside o’ this room, would ye?”

He led her into the tavern, which quietened when she stepped through the door. Her body prickled with humiliation, knowing every man in the place was aware of the situation. But she had to get past that, do what she needed to do. She glanced around, praying, and managed not to grin when her prayers were answered.

Sarah stood by the bar, holding a tray and waiting for drinks.

Frank’s attention was distracted, though he still beamed beside her, showing off. None of the others had a woman like Glenna. It was degrading, but she fed his ego, fawning gently up against him.

“I’m thirsty, Frank. Can I get us drinks?”

“Sure,” he said. She turned to go, but he grabbed her, twirling her around so her back was against his chest. He draped one arm over her shoulder, dangling his fingers over the rise of her breasts. The eyes of the men in front of them glazed a bit while she watched. Every nerve in her body wanted to scream, to lash out at these lecherous creatures, but it would have been in vain. Better to save her strength. “Go tell Sarah to bring a round for the boys, would you?” he said.

He let her go, and she strode to the bar, trying to ignore the comments that followed her. When she got to Sarah, the girl was watching with interest.

“He let you out already? That’s fast,” Sarah whispered, her lips barely moving.

“Help me, Sarah.” The girl’s eyes widened and she shook her head, but Glenna squeezed her hand and tucked her precious weapon within the girl’s damp fingers. “Take this note and hide it. Somewhere he’ll ne’er find it. It has everythin’ I could get to ruin Frank. If anythin’ happens to me, the note must go to his wife, Julia. When I go back to the table, you must go an’ take the jewellery from under my bed. It belongs to Julia. Mind me, Sarah, ye canna sell it or wear it. It needs to be kept safe.”

“Glenna?” Frank called.

She looked over her shoulder at Frank. “I’ll be right there.”

Sarah looked concerned, her eyes darting like a rabbit’s. “I don’t know.”

“Sarah, do ye like . . . doin’ what you do here?” She gave no answer, but Glenna hadn’t expected one. “If ye do as I ask, ye and I will be safe from all of this. We will keep our jobs, but we will never again be touched by him or any other man in this place.”

Sarah narrowed her eyes, then broke into a wide smile. It was a pretty smile, suddenly young, though a tooth was missing on either side. She spoke quickly. “Blackmail, is it? I understand now. Oh, Frank won’t be happy about this. Yeah. I know a place in my room, a loose panel by the side of the fireplace. I’ll hide it there tonight.”

“After that ye will have to find an even safer place, for Frank will come lookin’ for it. He’ll want to kill both of us, so I’ve put a note in there, explainin’ what it’s all about. If we are killed, that letter will destroy him. Can you think of someone who might be able to help wi’ that?”

Sarah looked down at the counter, going over something in her head. Then she nodded. “I know exactly the place and the person. Leave it to me, Glenna.”

Frank allowed Glenna to spend a precious hour outside of the rank-smelling bedroom, then shuffled her back inside. He waited for her to walk to the bed, to sit in her forlorn condition and stare at him, but Glenna was well past that point. Instead, she strode to his desk and claimed his chair. Frank frowned down at her.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Changin’ the rules, Frank.”

He flicked one thick eyebrow. “How’s that?”

“Ye’ll never touch me again,” she said, her smile placid and confident.

He rolled his eyes. “Not that again. I thought we had moved on from there, Glenna. You are my property. I own you and I’ll do as I like until I tire of you. Don’t you understand that?”

“The game has changed, Frank. For I’ve somethin’ that will change yer life. I’ve a few things, actually. Things yer dear wife will miss.”

He said nothing, but she could see the anger rush into his tight cheeks.

“I also have the name of every lass ye’ve destroyed over the past six years. I’ll find the girls, they’ll understand what I’ve done, an’ ye’ll lose everythin’, Frank. The tavern, yer wife, yer reputation . . . Ye did say reputation is the most important thing of all, did ye no’?”

“You won’t get away with this,” he hissed. “No one will believe you.”