The King's Falcon (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 3) (61 page)

Swallowing hard and clutching the torn shift about her as best she could, she said raggedly, ‘Go to hell.’

So swiftly she had no time to anticipate his intention, he kicked her legs apart and dropped on one knee between them to gather both of her wrists in a bone-crushing grip.
 
Pinioning them behind her head, he placed his other hand about her throat and applied a subtle pressure.
 
He said, ‘Oh no, my dear.
 
I think it is you who will do that.’

His grasp on her throat was just enough to restrict the air-flow.
 
Panic rushed through her and she struggled to free her hands.
 
Part of her brain was afraid he was going to kill her.
 
The other part almost wished he would so that the nightmare would be over.
 

Just when her hold on consciousness started to waver, he removed his hand and watched her dragging air into her lungs, his expression totally unconcerned and even a little clinical. Brushing the torn chemise out of the way so that virtually every inch of her was exposed, he conducted a leisurely appraisal.
 
Athenais shut her eyes and felt tears sliding down into her hair. The scent of sandalwood enveloped her, making her gorge rise. A voice in her head was crying,
Don’t do this.
 
Please don’t.
 
And she clamped her teeth together to stop it escaping.
 

As if he could hear it anyway, he trailed a seemingly idle hand over her breast and said, ‘If you’re wise, you’ll stop fighting me.
 
You would be surprised how much more unpleasant I can make this if I try.
 
Or perhaps you enjoy pain?
 
Is that it?
 
Shall we find out?’
 
And he twisted her nipple in hard, cruel fingers.

Athenais cried out.
 

‘Was that pain?’ laughed d’Auxerre. ‘Or pleasure?’
 
And he dragged the back of his hand from her clavicle to her waist so that his ornate ring scored the soft flesh.

Everything inside her started to crumble. There was no hope of escape, no point in resistance and not a vestige of dignity.
 
There was nothing except a dark abyss of terror and despair.
 
Harsh, ugly sobs crowded her throat and the fight went out of her.
 
She felt his hands, carelessly intrusive, branding her whole body … and felt like the whore he would make of her.

He slapped her face and her eyes flew open.

‘That’s better.
 
No shutting out of reality and escaping into some sickly fantasy.
 
I want you to know who’s on top of you.
 
I want you to remember this next time the bastard Englishman tries to bed you. If I let him live long enough to do it, of course.’
 
He paused, as if giving the matter consideration.
 
‘What do you think,
ma belle
?
 
Shall I grant him a few more weeks?
 
I might be persuaded to do that … if you’re a very good girl.’

With immense difficulty, Athenais mumbled, ‘Why don’t you just get on with it?’

Maliciously amused eyes bored into hers.

‘Say please.’

‘What?’

‘If you’re so eager … say please.
 
And spread your legs.’

Bile rose in her throat.
 
‘No.’

His grip on her wrists tightened and he dug his fingernails deep into her other breast.

‘Do it … or I’ll be forced to get inventive.
 
And that may take some time.’

Revulsion and shock and fear rolled through her in shuddering waves until she was engulfed in emotions she barely recognised, each one as black as the pit of hell. She wanted to scream and carry on screaming.
 
There was no longer anything she wouldn’t do in the hope that he’d go. On a despairing sob, she whispered, ‘Please.’
 
And let her knees fall apart.

‘There.’
 
He shifted, unfastening his breeches.
 
‘That wasn’t so hard, was it?
 
Unlike myself, of course.’

And he plunged into her with such wild ferocity that only his grip on her hands and his weight on top of her held her in place.
 
Only the tiniest sound of pain escaped her.
 
She kept the howl tightly locked inside her chest and shut her mind to what he was doing.
 
Sanity started to slip away and it became more and more difficult to hold on to any coherent thought.
 
Turning her head, she stared sightlessly away from him towards the sofa as his body slammed into hers again and again … until finally it was over and he slumped on top of her, his chest heaving.

Athenais lay perfectly motionless, her gaze fixed and unblinking, as she waited for him to move.
 
Eventually, he did so – hauling himself to his feet and starting to re-arrange his clothes.
 
He said something but she didn’t hear what it was. There were only two things in her head – one of which was that, just for a moment or two, he had his back to her.

She coiled her legs into herself, rolled on to her knees and stood up.
 
Two swift, silent strides took her to the sofa and the place where the poker lay.
 
Swooping down, she grabbed it.
 
And in the second he began to turn back to her, swung the thing at his head with every ounce of strength she possessed.

She missed his head but was still more successful than she knew.
 
The curved hook on the end of the iron took him in the neck, at a point behind the jaw and just below his ear.
 
He yelled and blood sprayed like a scarlet fountain.
 
Leaving the poker impaled in his neck, Athenais let go of it and backed away.
 
He wrenched it out and more blood spurted.
 
He dropped to his knees, his hands clasped to the wound and covered in gore.
 
He tried to say something.
 
Athenais continued backing away until the corner of the room closed around her.
 
The Marquis d’Auxerre slithered to the floor in a pool of his own blood.
 
There was a gurgling noise and some twitching.
 
And then silence.

~
 
*
 
*
 
~
 
*
 
*
 
~

The private performance at the Louvre went off without a hitch and the twenty or so persons Charles had invited enjoyed it immensely.
 
At the end, His Majesty put a small purse into the hands of its author and said, ‘I don’t know how you did it, Francis.
 
But with your lines and that lady’s talent,’ he paused to incline his head at Pauline, ‘you’re destined to take the Paris stage by storm.
 
And if I ever regain my throne, I hope you’ll come and give English theatre something to live up to. God knows, after years of closure and with boys still playing the girls’ parts, it could do with a good shake up.’

The three of them arrived back in the Rue des Rosiers a little after eleven.
 
Francis was still euphoric, Pauline looked oddly flushed and Ashley was just glad to have seen the last of his Grace of Buckingham – who was as fond of barbed innuendoes as he’d always been.
 
They entered the house and, leaving Francis to bolt the door, Ashley headed straight for the parlour to see if Athenais was still up.

The sight that met his eyes froze him on the threshold for a second.
 
There was blood everywhere and the Marquis d’Auxerre lay in the middle of the room in a pool of it.
 
In the far corner, Athenais was huddled on the floor clutching a bundle of gore-spattered petticoats and staring across at him out of wide, blank eyes.

‘Holy hell,’ breathed Ashley.
 
Then, over his shoulder, ‘Francis – keep Pauline out of here and check the kitchen.’

‘What?’ asked Francis blankly.

‘Just do it!’

He heard Pauline asking what was wrong and called curtly, ‘Stay in the hall.
 
You don’t want to see this.’
 
And, avoiding the blood as best he could, he crossed the room towards Athenais, saying softly, ‘It’s all right, love.
 
You’re safe now.’

There were marks all over her and she appeared to be wearing nothing but a torn shift. Swallowing the sickness in his throat, he crouched down and held out his hand to her but wasn’t surprised when she shrank back.

‘Don’t.
 
You mustn’t touch me.’
 
She barely looked at him, her gaze still fixed on the mess in the middle of the floor.
 
‘Is he dead?’

‘Yes.
 
Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of everything.
 
Just let me get you out of here.’

She looked at him then, the smoky-grey eyes suddenly no longer blank but filled with unutterable anguish.
 
She said, ‘I’m sorry.
 
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
 
I couldn’t … couldn’t …’

‘Hush, darling.’
 
Ashley offered his hand again and again she shrank away from him.
 
‘I won’t hurt you, Athenais.
 
I only want to take you away from … from
that
.’

‘I’ll do it.’
 
Pauline spoke from behind him.
 
‘She’ll let me.
 
And Francis needs you.’

Ashley turned his head and stood up, careful not to make any sudden movements.
 
He said, ‘It’s bad?’

She nodded, her glance flicking meaningfully to Athenais and then back to his face.

‘Go and see.
 
It’s clear enough what’s happened here … so, for the time being, the best thing you can do is leave her to me.’

Reluctant but recognising the sense of it, he stepped back and let Pauline kneel down in his place.
 
She said, ‘Athenais?
 
I want you to come with me.’

Athenais shook her head, looking confused.

‘You can’t stay here.
 
Let me help you stand up … and we’ll go upstairs.
 
You’ll feel better then.’

‘I w-won’t.’

‘You will. Trust me.’
 
Pauline flicked a minatory look over her shoulder at Ashley. ‘Go away.
 
You can’t help her yet.
 
And there’s too much else for you to do.’

With the merest inclination of his head, Ashley walked past the corpse and took his first proper look.
 
Then, resisting an impulse to spit on it, he crossed the hall to the kitchen.

The room was a shambles of over-turned furniture and scattered pans and platters.
 
In the midst of it, Francis had untied Jem, pulled the filthy gag from his mouth and was busy trying to staunch blood from a blow to the head.
 

Archie lay on the floor in front of the hearth. His body was at an odd angle and he wasn’t moving.

Ashley dropped on one knee beside him.
 
‘Archie?’

‘He’s dead,’ said Francis tersely.
 
‘Somebody bashed his skull in.’

‘Oh God.’
 
He leaned his brow against his arm and shut his eyes for a moment.
 
Then he looked down on the man who had reclaimed his life, only to lose it again so soon and thought,
I’m sorry, Archie.
 
You didn’t deserve this.
 
And how am I going to tell your girl?

As if reading his mind, Francis said, ‘How’s Athenais?’

‘In shock. Pauline’s with her.’
 
Ashley cleared his throat and stood up.
 
‘She … I think d’Auxerre may have … I think he assaulted her … and she killed him.’

Francis stopped what he was doing and looked sharply across at him.

‘How?’

‘With the poker.
 
He’s in there.’
 
He jerked his head in the direction of the parlour.
 
‘It looks like a charnel-house.
 
And we have to get rid of the body.’

Jem groaned as he started to come round.
 
Francis held him steady with one hand and pressed a cloth to the gash in his temple with the other.
 
He said, ‘Easy, Jem.
 
Don’t try to move.’
 
And, to Ashley, ‘Clearly d’Auxerre didn’t come here alone.
 
If you’re hoping to cover this up, we need to find out who else was with him.’

‘I know. But right now, there’s Archie to be taken care of … and Athenais.’
 
He stopped, trying to focus on the matter in hand.
 
‘And, before any of that, we’ve got to remove every sign of what happened in the parlour before the maid comes back in the morning.
 
I’m not having Athenais dragged into this at
all
– never mind being charged with murder.’
 
He threw off his coat, seized a bucket and said, ‘I’m going to get some water.
 
When Jem’s fit enough to talk, ask the questions.’

*
 
*
 
*

Pauline eventually succeeded in coaxing Athenais up the stairs to her bedchamber.
 
Once there, she prised the girl’s stiff fingers away from the bloodied petticoats and peeled her out of the ruined shift. Although she said nothing, Pauline’s expression hardened when she took in the darkening bruises on Athenais’s throat and wrists; and the scratch marks and smears of blood she found elsewhere caused her to fold her lips very tightly together.
 
Then she used a soft, damp cloth to gently clean away as much as she could of Athenais’s ordeal … knowing all the time that no amount of washing would ever get rid of the stains that really mattered.

When she was done, she wrapped Athenais in a chamber-robe and tucked her underneath a quilt, saying, ‘You won’t rest easy until you’ve had a bath – so I’ll see about that now.
 
Will you be all right alone, for a few minutes?
 
Or would you like Ashley to sit with you?’

‘No.’ Athenais sat up and stared at her, wild-eyed.
 
‘I can’t.
 
I don’t know … not yet.’

‘Then lie down and try to get warm.
 
I won’t be long.’

Athenais curled herself into a tight little ball, held the quilt up to her chin and stared at the wall.
 
Every part of her was sore and aching … one place hurting more than all the rest.
 
But she shut her mind to it because, if she didn’t, she thought she might lose her last frail shred of sanity.
 
As it was, she didn’t dare close her eyes.
 
She knew that, if she did, she’d see him looming over her, laughing … while he systematically inflicted pain and humiliation.
 
While he threatened Ashley.

Ashley.
 
Something started to fracture inside her chest.
 
She’d told him about Guillaume and he hadn’t seemed to mind.
 
But this … this was different.
 
He couldn’t help but mind this.
 
No man could.
 
Most women never got raped at all.
 
She’d been raped twice.
 
She couldn’t quite work out what that meant … except that it suggested the fault lay within herself.
 
How could he bear to touch her after this?
 
How, knowing herself utterly defiled, could she ever
let
him?
 
The terrible clawing sensation inside her grew so bad she felt as if she was being torn apart.
 
And, at the core of it, was guilt at what she had done.

Say please
, he’d said.
 
And she had.

*
 
*
 
*

Below stairs, while Ashley brought in buckets of water and Francis set them to heat up, Jem had recovered sufficiently to tell them what had happened.

‘Bully-boys,’ he croaked.
 
‘Two of
 
’em.
 
The sort who’ll do anything for a couple of coins.
 
Broke in from the yard and kicked the door down.
 
Archie and me – we did what we could but they was big buggers, with cudgels.
 
Archie went down – just knocked out, I thought.
 
Then the pair of ’em set about me and tied me up.
 
That’s when the poncey lord come in, paid ’em and told ’em to sod off and keep their mouths shut.
 
One of ’em smashed me round the head – and that’s the last I knew.’
 
He looked sadly at Archie.
 
‘Didn’t need to do that to him, did they?
 
Poor old codger.’

Ashley and Francis exchanged glances.
 
Ashley said crisply, ‘We’ll never find them, so it’s a waste of time trying.
 
And I doubt we need to worry about them anyway since he’s unlikely to have given them his real name or told anyone else what he was about.
 
So let’s just concentrate on clearing up the mess.’

Francis nodded and started stripping off his coat and shirt, in preparation.

‘What are we going to do with d’Auxerre?’

‘Let the fish have him.’

‘Easier said than done from here.’

‘We’ll manage.’
 
As Francis had done, Ashley pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it on top of his coat.
 
‘We’ll have to.’

The door opened and Pauline came in.
 
Her eyes widened slightly at the sight of two half-naked men but she continued on her way, saying, ‘Athenais needs a bath.’

‘Wait.’
 
Ashley halted her with a hand on her arm.
 
‘How is she?
 
Did he …?’

‘Yes.
 
And she’s as you’d expect.’
 
She marched into the scullery and came out hauling the hip-bath.
 
‘I’ll want some of that hot water.’

Francis said, ‘I’ll bring it.’

She shook her head. ‘You’ve got your work cut out down here.’

Jem came somewhat shakily to his feet.

‘Madame wants that upstairs, Colonel? I can take it.’

‘You’re not fit. And we’ll need you later.’

‘I’m all right,’ insisted Jem, taking the bath from Pauline and glancing back at Ashley. ‘I can help. I
want
to.
 
Least I can do.’

Leaving Jem to fetch and carry for Pauline, Francis and Ashley assembled buckets, mops and all the cleaning-rags they could find and returned to the parlour.

‘Christ Almighty!’ said Francis, seeing the extent of the problem for the first time.

‘Quite.’
 
Ashley paused and then, in a tone of icy contempt, said, ‘We’ll have to get rid of the carcass first.
 
We can hardly work round it and I want it gone from here before daylight.
 
There’s a rug in the hall which might do as wrapping.
 
But first we’ll have to strip it.
 
A naked corpse will be less recognisable if it washes up somewhere.’

Later, Francis thought that he’d remember this hellish night for the rest of his life.
 
They removed the Marquis’s clothes and rolled his body in the hall rug, ready for disposal in the Seine later in the night, when the streets were at their darkest and emptiest.
 
Then they set about cleaning up the sticky, congealing blood which seemed to have got just about everywhere.
 
Within an hour, both of them were splattered in gore and drenched in sweat.
 
From time to time, Francis looked at Ashley and wondered what he was thinking … but neither of them said more than was strictly necessary to deal with the task in hand.