The Price of Hannah Blake (30 page)

The duke said, “If you so much as scratch them before I have the wench, I will flog your chest until you look like a man.”

“So serious about your pussy,” said the countess reproachfully. She tossed the scissors across the room; they struck the mirror above the bureau and clattered down.

The duke turned to Hannah and demanded, “You are virgin, girl, aren’t you? Until tonight.”

Hannah stared at him, her heart thudding. He roared, “Are you?”

She shook her head slightly. He stepped forward, seized her chin in his fingers, squeezing hard, and demanded, “Are you?”

“No,” whispered Hannah, and then, realizing he had not heard her, said more loudly, “No.”

He stepped back. The countess turned her face to him, raising her eyebrows. The duke said, “I told them virgin. They said she was.”

Again he stepped very close to Hannah, his shirt brushing her skin, his face almost touching hers. She smelled heavy gin on his hot breath. He asked, his voice low, “And why don’t you have it, then?”

“A man here had me. Just a few days ago. And now he has died; they buried him at sea.”

The duke frowned. “Absurd,” he said to the countess. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying, the wench is simple.”

“We can see,” said the countess, with satisfaction. The duke nodded. She bent forward. Her long fingers closed on the top of the black patch and she jerked downward all the way to Hannah’s knees, then let the panties go. They slid to Hannah’s feet.

“No,” breathed Hannah, but she knew it was futile. The countess’s slender fingers pushed between her legs and, a moment later, Hannah jerked in her bonds. She twisted away her hips, but the countess was not through; she thrust her hand harder and Hannah yelped. The duke looked at the countess, eyebrows raised. She said, “She is not, her cherry is gone.”

“But she cried out.”

“I jabbed the bitch,” said the countess. She was withdrawing her forefinger and held it up. It had a little arc of blood at its tip. “There,” she said.

“She is still comely. He looked into Hannah’s face and said, his voice low now, “It will be much, much harder for you.” After a moment, he added, “And now I wish to see your titties, too, countess.” The broad grin returned. The countess curtsied, her smile tight, but her eyes darkened with annoyance. She stepped to the bed, reached behind her to the row of buttons, then shrugged the gown off her shoulders. She pulled it down, then pushed it over her hips and it fell. She left it there. The petticoats came next, crushed into a pile atop the gown. She stood in a white silken slip. She lifted its straps off her straight, pale shoulders, and pushed the top down, turning it so it hung down from her waist, the straps swinging.

Hannah stared at her, realized that she was staring, and quickly looked away. The countess, too, was bare-breasted. The breasts were sizeable, but sculpted to perfection in upswept cones that ended in very pale pink nipples. For a moment, her fingers went to the small nipples and she smiled at the duke. Hannah thought she must be one of the most desirable women she had ever seen. The duke nodded, grinning at her. She said softly, persuasively, “Now, we are all the same, we women.”

“Never!” said the duke gallantly. And then, “Now, I think it is time to take the wench,” looking back at Hannah. “She has waited for me ever since that day in Devon.” The countess’s smile was thin, strained, the tight lips barely moving. She said, “Let me warm her, first, Love. She is cold and unresponsive. No sensation.”

“The whalebone,” said the duke. “Don’t cut her before I have her.”

Hannah’s arms, her shoulders, her sides burned. She had been hanging for more than an hour. Now, she began to lose control of the fear. Her breath came faster, her eyes flicked from the duke to the countess to Miranda to the door. She rubbed her legs together, restless; she couldn’t stay still. It was the physical urge to run, to cover herself—with her arms, her hands—to lift her legs to protect her belly. Instead, she began to make sounds like weeping, but no tears fell. The duke was watching her when the countess returned.

The whalebone switch was exquisitely long and thin, too thin too hold in the hand were it not tightly wrapped in leather with a leather loop for a handle. The countess snapped it and the thin tip whizzed; there was a faint buzz. The duke said, “Show her first on the other, countess. Show her what is coming.”

The countess walked slowly, gracefully, toward Miranda, her hips swaying, the long back a study in pale, perfect lines. Miranda seemed frozen, her face lifted, never taking her eyes from the countess, but her deep red lips were twisted against a cry.

“Finish, now,” ordered the countess, indicating the skirt. Instantly, Miranda’s fingers went to her waist, on the side, pinched the fastener and pulled it off. She yanked up the skirt where it folded over her waist, also holding it around her hips. She opened it and swung it around her, lifting it. Then she stood naked but for the blue slippers, holding the skirt in her hand. She turned to fold it carefully, drape it over the chair. And then she shrieked so loudly Hannah jumped and her heart sped.

The switch had lifted back and swished forward in a long arc, burning a red line across the girl’s smooth, full buttocks. Her hands flew behind her to cover it and she whirled to the countess, eyes wide, gasping. The countess said, “And this is the way you wish it?” and the switch twitched back and came forward as though in the same instant, before the girl could react, and seared a line across the soft breasts, just above the nipples. The countess raised the switch, paused, and smiled at her.

Miranda whirled around, proffering her buttocks, her hands in front of her over her breasts. She whimpered, and the buttocks clenched, but she was still. The switch landed with the wet sound of lashing oil, and the girl’s loins jerked forward to escape. She did not scream, only gasped “Oh! Oh!”

Again, and still Miranda did not move, try to cover herself.

Hannah stared, horrified, already gasping against the iron bands of fear encircling her chest. Her lips were half open and her head shook slowly, unbelieving. She heard the countess say, “Turn, now.”

Miranda turned, but her hands stayed pressed over her nipples. She gazed, frantic, at the countess; her head shook, the long beautiful hair swaying, and the brown eyes swam with tears. The countess raised her eyebrows, waiting a moment, watching her, then shrugged. The whip recoiled, again the faint buzz of air, and snapped. But this time, it streaked the girl’s soft, fleshy belly, very low, so the thin red band disappeared into her full black bush.

Miranda shrieked and she jackknifed, bending double to protect herself. But just as quickly she straightened up, her eyes shut, and then let her arms fall to her sides. Her whole body was trembling and she was weeping softly, but still waiting.

“No!” yelled Hannah. “Stop it! Stop it! Why?”

The countess turned to the duke, and said: “She wants her turn, now?”

“Yes!” snapped Hannah.

The duke looked at her in surprise. He shook his head. “Who are you, Devon girl?” he asked softly, but there was no possible answer. The countess was walking over.

“I am randy for the girl,” exclaimed the duke. “I want to strip before you do her with the whalebone.”

The countess bowed. “And then, while you do her, I will let her see, on the Spanish girl’s back, how the cat will claw her.”

He turned to walk toward the bed, unfastening his trousers as he went.”

They had commandeered a train car. The prime minister and first lord sat in the middle with four security men five seats ahead and the same number five seats behind. Beyond the security men in each direction were policemen, but only six. The first lord had protested: “The duke’s guard is there, Prime Minister. We don’t know how many; it seems at least two dozen, perhaps many more. They are armed.”

The prime minister turned to him, eyes still patient, and said, “I do not intend to storm the compound, First Lord. Nor overwhelm the guards by main force. This the duke’s residence—the duke! I intend to engage him in confidential conversation.”

“And if he declines, makes an excuse for this evening—puts us off?”

“I will tell him, in all candor, that I come on an urgent matter to try to prevent a scandal that would enmesh the royal family and great names and houses of this realm.”

The first lord nodded, though uncertainly.

“I will say that my dearest wish is to avert involvement of the police, but time is short. I cannot long restrain forces now set in motion. I will say that I have in my hands a full, detailed, comprehensive report on the true purpose of his residence, the people he has imprisoned in it—yes, I will use that very term, if it is necessary to get his cooperation. And my only wish is that it be unnecessary for this report to become public.”

“Very good, Prime Minister. But he must open his compound to us this very evening—a limited number of us, but he must. We must ensure the safety of the prisoners.”

The prime minister nodded, but he turned his massive head away and it was reflected in the train’s darkening window. “That is a vexed question and to this moment I have not hit upon a course of action.”

He lifted his arm, staring at his watch. “Now 7:00 pm. Your man, Landau, said that to act this evening was vital, that the duke and his guests would be entertained and afterward the young men and women abused. Am I correct?”

“Yes, yes, Prime Minister, and I prayed we would arrive still earlier to be certain to forestall additional abuse. What David tells me is revolting in the extreme.”

The great dark eyes flashed. “We will make haste, but remember, Mr. Prime Minister, this depravity of the part of duke and his guests is not new. Indeed, it has had years to rot and stink to Heaven.”

“Assuredly.” The first lord checked his own watch, unnecessarily, and leaned forward in his seat, as though to lend momentum to the train.

*

It was an 18-foot jolly boat that scraped the sand. Instantly, six oars lifted from the water and were shipped. A giant of a man in the bow had vaulted ashore with a line and now walked backward, leaning against it, and the boat slid over the sand, even with rest of the men still in it. But they, too, were jumping out over both gunwales and the boat slid faster. “Enough,” called one of the men in a whisper, and the giant bent, took a turn of the line around the trunk of a tree, and tied it in an instant. The other seven men already had taken what they needed from the boat and were shaping up to move into the woods.

The one who had issued the order pointed down the shore. He said, speaking quietly, “The wall is some 25 feet that way; we are outside, but will follow it up.” He looked down at his watch; it seemed to jolt him ahead. He said, “We have just over an hour before the prime minister and the others are expected. We must do it and be back here, by then. I pray God we are in time.”

They were moving rapidly through the woods. The barrels of the rifles that were strapped to their backs stuck above their shoulders, except that a short bow appeared to be held sideways above one man’s back. The rifles were Martini-Henrys, the latest available; they fired 10 rounds a minute and were effective at 600 yards for a decent marksmen. The other man carried a powerful crossbow, not the equal of the rifles in firepower but it killed silently.

“Blake,” said the lead man in a whisper, “We cannot be sure in which building Hannah will be, but I can find the duke’s quarters, thanks to MacLeod. Without him, we would have no orientation.”

The man beside him asked grimly, “And the duke has requested my daughter because she is a virgin?”

“Yes.”

“When we find him, I will kill him.”

“Blake, I could well fight you for that privilege, but we are here to rescue Hannah and nothing must endanger that. Nothing. Are we agreed?”

“Aye.”

When David had gone to Hannah’s father, Edward Blake, straight from his meeting with the prime minister and first lord, he had said, “I have been there. I have seen her.”

“And she is…?

“As well as can be expected, but now in terrible danger. And I do not think that the forces of law will move expeditiously enough to save her. I have urged them…”

“Then we must go.”

“It may well be, and the last moment to act is tomorrow night. We need men, weapons.”

The six men following them, silent, slightly bent forward, were sailors and mates of Edward Blake, all veterans of battles aboard ship and in sallies on land. The rifles were the British Navy’s newest and best. All eight men carried in their waistbands .450 Belgian RIC Webley revolvers, double-action, newly introduced.

Five of the men behind them were of average height and build, shoulders and arms broad and muscular, their gait a sailor’s. But the man in the rear, the giant, was seven feet tall and unbelievably broad in the shoulders. His huge head was totally bald; without the dark cap they all wore, it would be glinting in the moonlight that fell through the branches. He had a flowing mustache, but most striking was the sheer ferocity of the face, as he walked, his chin stuck out, his beaked nose pointing ahead. His eyes were frightening even to David. They called him “the walrus” for his mustache and his size.

David halted, lifting his arm, and the others stopped behind him. They were still in the deep shadows of the woods, but just ahead was its edge. David stepped back, bent his head, and they clustered around. He whispered, “The building with the duke’s quarters is not far ahead, on the other side of the wall. Just inside its entrance is a guard station; MacLeod thinks about five men. But farther inside there will be others, including outside the duke’s chambers. Many doors can be locked, if necessary, and would delay us, perhaps fatality. Dr. MacLeod says at least two were unlocked for him at he proceeded inward when called to examine the duke. We must take the first guards without raising the alarm; a shot could be fatal to surprise.”