Jealous Revenge
Marcia stood in the shadows of the house that she looked upon as tacky. Ruth’s house.
Along the road and round the corner, where it was unlikely to be spotted, her carriage awaited her. She’d come because Frederick had left the house before dinner and hadn’t returned. She’d wanted to follow him, but that would have been too obvious. Even Bellinger, with his liberal ways, wouldn’t stand for his wife openly pursuing another man. But she wasn’t going to lose Frederick a second time.
She had to have him. That witch mustn’t be allowed to get her claws into him!
Stamping her feet to dispel the cold she felt, Marcia began to wonder if she had misjudged the situation. She’d assumed Frederick would be making for here, but although he had left an hour or so ago, he hadn’t yet appeared.
The icy wind bit through her cloak. She’d have to give up. Pulling her bonnet further forward to shield her face, Marcia bent against the wind and scurried in an unladylike way back to where her driver waited.
It was as her carriage pulled away and turned into the street where Ruth’s house stood that she saw Frederick’s carriage approaching. I knew I was right. That bitch – you won’t get away with this, you sorcerer! Brought on by her anger but fuelled by her frustration, her tears stung her cold cheeks as the house receded into the distance.
‘Marcia, where have you been? Your father is going out of his mind. Do you know where Frederick is?’
‘I will tell you later where I have been, Simon. And yes, as it happens, I do know where Frederick is. Why, what’s wrong with Daddy?’
‘The baby – it died.’
‘Oh, is that all? We knew it wouldn’t survive. You couldn’t even call it human, really. Does Frederick know?’
‘God, Marcia, you’re callous at times. Yes, he knows. He returned here and was with the child. He hadn’t left her side since he and your father had a row. The nursery nurse told us that he brought in a vicar and had the child christened: Katherine Ruth. He beggars belief sometimes. Apparently he left the house without a word to anyone, soon afterwards. Your father is still furious, and I think his wrath is also directed at me. God knows what that bloody Frederick told him.’
‘He couldn’t say anything that Daddy doesn’t already know.’
‘Well, Frederick’s put himself out of favour, that’s for sure. By all accounts, his bags are packed and already loaded in the carriage. His driver is just waiting to hear when and where he should take them.’
‘Frederick’s leaving? He can’t. I—’
‘What can’t he do, my scheming little wife? What are you conjuring up? Don’t think for a minute that I will stand by and allow you to pursue an affair with Frederick. Anyone else, but not him. Understand?’
‘Keep your voice down, Simon. No matter what Frederick has said, we have Daddy eating out of our hands, and you don’t want to spoil that. With what I told him about Frederick and that witch of a woman, I think he’s on the verge of changing his will. And if they rowed, that’s all to the good, although I don’t think Daddy has seen his solicitor yet. If he gets a whiff of our plotting, he’ll leave the whole lot to some benefit society or hospital. We need this estate, you know that. The Arkwright mill and the bloody Dovecote one, owned by that scum and her sister, have the best of the market. And they may be the only ones that survive this present crisis. If we play this right and become the beneficiaries of Daddy’s estate, we will gain credence with the bank – and, God knows, we need it. We are very near bankrupt.’
‘Don’t you dare insinuate that the state we are in is all my fault. I didn’t start the bloody civil war.’
‘No, but you gambled too heavily and played too recklessly. You should set your sights lower and go back to the whorehouses, as you can’t afford to keep in tow the costly bloody mistresses that you have.’
‘Marcia, show some decorum. It is not fitting for a wife to mention her husband’s mistresses. I forbid you to speak to me in that manner!’
‘Forbid? You dare to forbid me to pursue the man I love, and now you forbid me to speak my mind? Tread carefully, My Lord Bellinger. Tread very, very carefully.’
Livid, Marcia turned away from her husband and stormed out of the room. In the hall she met the nursery nurse carrying a bundle. ‘What have you there, girl? Are you not meant to go down the back stairs to the kitchens? Don’t you know that you should not be seen by the family?’
The girl bobbed her knee. ‘It is the body of the baby, M’Lady. Mr Arkwright has asked for it to be brought to the front drawing room, until the hearse comes to take it away.’
‘Really! What is my father thinking?’ No sooner had she said this than it occurred to Marcia to make sure she cemented her position with her father and curried even more favour with him. Reaching for her handkerchief, she sniffed into it. ‘Oh dear, I can’t bear it. I can’t. My poor sister, and now my dear little niece.’
‘I’m sorry, M’Lady. Do you want me to ring the bell and have someone come to help you?’
‘No. I’ll just follow on behind you. I cannot think of my father receiving his dead grandchild without me present. I’m all right, I have composed myself now. Please walk very slowly, out of respect.’
‘Yes, M’Lady.’
As they entered the drawing room, fear clutched at Marcia. Her father looked so old. And very, very grey. Remembering to sniffle, she walked over to him and put her arm around him. ‘Lay the dear child on that chair next to Mr Arkwright, please, Nurse. And thank you for your care of her. You may leave us now.’ Again she gave a slight sob. Taking her father’s hand, Marcia knelt beside him and placed her head on his lap, as she used to when she was a child. ‘Oh, Daddy, how are we to bear it?’
‘Be strong, my dear daughter. You and the grandchildren are all I have now, and I need your strength.’
‘I’m here for you, Daddy.’
Her father cleared his throat, and his hand stroked her hair. ‘You have your mother’s hair. Dear, dear Veronica, thank goodness she didn’t live to suffer this pain. We should have listened to you, my dear. You tried to tell us what was going on. Well, I know now, and that scoundrel of a husband of yours has a lot to answer for.’
No, Daddy. Simon isn’t the one to blame. Remember, I heard a lot of what happened on Katrina’s wedding night. But now isn’t the time to talk it over. Please don’t blame him. He has the greatest respect for you, and is ashamed of what happened. He was very young and easily led.’
‘You’re right, we mustn’t talk about it now. Where is that damned Frederick? Couldn’t he at least have the decency to have stayed to see his child off to the chapel of rest – or to have gone with her?’
‘I know where he is, Daddy. I made enquiries. He is with that witch.’
‘Good God, curse the man! He will never set foot in this house again. I’ll leave instructions that if he returns, he is to be turned away. I’ll tell his man to have everything shifted to the local inn. I can’t bear to look on his face.’
‘But, Daddy, he is the beneficiary of your will. He’ll take all this from us when—’
‘That isn’t going to happen! I will see my solicitor tomorrow. Now, let us remain quiet for a while and sit with Katherine. All of this makes me think the poor soul is better off not to be in this world, with a man like the Earl of Harrogate for a father.’
In the silence Marcia pondered on her father’s hatred for Frederick. The intensity of it shocked her, for they had always seemed to get on – admired each other even. Was it due to his grief for Mama, and the more recent pain of losing Katrina and now her child? Would he heal and begin to see that he’d been mistaken and had directed his pain at someone who didn’t deserve it? She knew he felt disgust at the way the aristocracy carried on. A hard-working, self-made man, he found it difficult to accept that the lords and ladies of this world swanned around, over-indulging, and then, when falling on hard times, poached the money of those who had made good by their own merit.
Is that what Frederick was doing? Knowing that he might fall from grace, perhaps he thought the witch might come good for him. After all, she had money. Married to her, he’d be secure. No, I won’t let that happen. I’ll destroy the Pradley witch first!
Getting ready for bed, later that night, Marcia pondered everything once more, though none of it had left her head all evening. She was determined to discuss it all with her husband.
‘Simon?’
‘Call me Lord Bellinger, my dear.’
Marcia sighed. This meant Simon wanted to make love to her, and she wasn’t in the mood. He had this quirky thing that he wanted her to act subservient to him during their sexual encounters, and her earlier outburst would have fuelled his need for her to appear unworthy of him, while he took her. This was the reason he gained so much pleasure from going with whores, because he knew they weren’t worthy of him and, if they thought they were, they paid for it by being beaten.
Simon often told her how he enjoyed beating lower-class women; and that they were nothing but scum and should bow to his wishes and respect him. She agreed, as it happened, and hated that her father was also from the same class as the women, though the fact that he was gave Simon great pleasure. He could truly lord it over her, whereas Marcia longed to have his respect.
Theirs was a passionate union, and very satisfying to her. Simon often indulged her own quirk – he knew that she enjoyed hearing about what he did with his whores and how he treated them, which was usually badly, especially if they were virgins. But she drew the line when it came to talking about his mistresses. She hated them. They had Simon’s respect; he cared for them and spent a lot of money on them. Far more than he did on her.
Many things had come into her mind earlier, as she’d sat at her dressing table in her bedroom and waited for Simon to come and say goodnight to her, so that she could discuss with him the plans that were forming in her head. She needed his help to destroy the witch. To her, the Dovecote woman was the only obstacle to her achieving something that had never died in her – her need to be loved by Frederick. Now she wished she’d talked to Simon in the carriage on their way home, as there would be no opportunity to do so at the moment, with him in an amorous mood.
Simon stood behind her now, massaging her neck in a sensual way, which helped her to relax. His body was close to hers. Marcia could feel his need. A spark of response warmed her, then lit a flame of desire as his hands moved to her breasts. But the pressure he used began to hurt. ‘My Lord, not so rough – this is your Marcia. Be gentle.’
‘You’ve crossed me, Marcia, you need to learn respect.’
Her horror at his next action made her forget to address him by his title. ‘Simon, no!’ Her head stung as he pulled her by her hair towards the bed. ‘Let go, you beast! How dare you?’
‘How dare I? I dare because you are a whore. A lower-class bitch, and I’ve put up with you for long enough. You humiliated me tonight, and you’ve to learn that you can never, ever do that.’
Pain seared through Marcia as her head and shoulders landed on the mattress, her back hitting the wooden bar of the bed frame. Her scream fuelled his desire, rather than deterring him. He ripped her nightdress from her neck down to her waist, exposing her bruised breasts.
‘Stop now, Simon, or I will tell Daddy, and then you will lose everything. I’ll divorce you and make public how you trea— Agh!’ The slap stung her arm. ‘Avoiding my face, eh? Think that will stop me? I’ll show Daddy my naked body, if I have to.’ Lifting her leg, Marcia kicked out at him, catching him in the chest. Simon’s eyes glared down at her, and in their depths she saw a desire she’d never witnessed before: a raw, animal-like hunger. The same kind of desire lit up in her. God, I want him, but I don’t want to be hurt.
Lifting her roughly by her arms, Simon placed her so that she was sitting on the bed, then positioned himself between her legs and pushed himself at her in a bruising way. Taking him gave her exquisite pleasure. His holler told Marcia this was also true for him. Now she could enjoy him, the battle won. But then Simon shocked her again. Pulling from her, he turned her over and, holding her arms behind her with one hand, began to slap her buttocks, rendering them hot and stingingly painful. Her breath caught in her lungs, her moans begged him to stop, but the more she did so, the more he beat her.
Her sobs weakened her, till hatred of him seeped into her and her temper rose. Wriggling with all the strength she could muster, Marcia loosened his grip on her. Escaping, she rolled over and kicked and kicked with all her might. Catching Simon off-guard, she managed to get off the bed and stand up. The thought in her mind was to kill him!
Where her strength came from she didn’t know, but grabbing her heavy dressing-table stool, she lifted it by one leg and smashed the leather-bound top over Simon’s head. He slumped to the floor. For a moment the silence held a deep fear for her. But gathering her wits, she bent and checked his breathing. Relieved that she hadn’t killed him, she backed herself towards the easy chair that stood near the window and slumped down into it.
Sweat poured from her. Tears of temper and humiliation gushed from her eyes. Simon had taken what dignity she’d clung onto. Oh, she knew how she was viewed: the daughter of a self-made man, with one foot in the lower classes. But she’d commanded some respect through her mother’s connections. Now the last shred of that tenuous cord had snapped. She was nothing. Her husband had dared to beat her in the manner he did his whores!
Well, he would pay. She would see to that. She would win Frederick’s love, and flaunt their affair for everyone to see. Lord Bellinger’s humiliation would be complete. Then she would divorce him. Leaving the room and passing through the door to the small sitting room-cum-dressing room that connected their bedrooms, she made her way to his drinks cabinet.
Her body was aflame with pain; she needed a drink, and then a bath – though this last she would have to forgo, and for days to come. She couldn’t risk her maid seeing her bruises. She’d have to make some excuse for wanting to wash herself down, as gossip would be rife if any of the maids got a whiff of what had happened tonight.
She poured herself a whisky, a drink she knew she shouldn’t be partial to, but had been since the night Simon had brought a bottle to her room and got her drunk – another sexual game he liked to play. He said she was very pliable when she was drunk and he could do what he liked with her. What that was, she couldn’t remember the next day, although she guessed, from the way her rear was sore for days. After the second time, she’d avoided letting him get her drunk.
As she sat down, a murmur from the bedroom got her standing and rushing to the door. Locking it, and then the one to Simon’s bedroom, from which he could gain access from the landing, made her feel safe. With this done, exhaustion overcame her and it was all she could do to pick up her glass of whisky and make it to the sofa that stood against the far wall. She’d just have to sleep on it tonight. Damn Bellinger – damn and blast him!
Taking a sip of the golden liquid warmed her and helped to settle her trembling body. Relaxing back, Marcia let her mind explore the ways she would destroy the Dovecote woman. It had to be by fire. Ha, that worked before and how very appropriate that we should destroy the Dovecote mill – and, hopefully, the witch that owns it – by fire . . . Well, that’s what witches deserved, wasn’t it?
With Ruth out of the way, she could work on Frederick. Maybe she should start doing so now. Go to the boarding house where she knew he was staying. Confide in him how Bellinger had treated her. Show him her injuries to gain his sympathy. Yes, it is all perfect.
All feelings of being a weak victim left her. She’d show his Lord and Mightiness, Simon Bellinger!
Moving silently over to the bedroom door, Marcia listened. She couldn’t hear a sound, but she needed to be sure. She turned the key. Fear zinged through her at the loud click the final turn made. Bellinger had got himself onto the bed. His snores told of his deep sleep.
Finding an outdoor outfit wasn’t easy, as she’d never had to go into her wardrobes before; nor did she find it easy to dress herself, a task made more difficult because of her sore arms, chest and back.
Once downstairs, she summoned the butler using the bell cord near the fireplace. ‘Get Armington up, and tell him to bring my carriage round to the front. Then bring my cloak. But do not disturb Lord Bellinger. I will be back before he rises.’
‘Yes, M’Lady.’
The night wind was even more bitter than the late afternoon had been. But the journey didn’t take long. There were still lights on in the boarding house, an imposing place used mainly by the rich who were visiting businesses in the area.
Conducting herself with as much dignity as she could muster, under the scrutiny of the manager, who must wonder why she was here to visit a gentleman guest at this hour, Marcia tried to calm her nerves. She didn’t have to wait long, for soon the bellboy came back from his errand to enquire whether Frederick would see her, and asked Marcia to follow him.
Though Frederick’s face held anger and dislike, he was polite until the bellboy left them, but then, his voice full of disdain, his words cut through Marcia. ‘What do you want? I cannot take any more of your games! I have nothing but extreme dislike for you. Say what you have to say and leave.’
‘Oh, Frederick, help me – please help me.’ As much to her own surprise as to Frederick’s, Marcia burst into tears. It was very convenient and was not put on, for suddenly she felt the weight of everything: Katrina’s death, the baby, the way Bellinger had treated her, the financial plight they were in, which no one knew of; and, most of all, her love for Frederick – and Frederick not even liking her.
‘My dear, whatever is the matter? Marcia, don’t. Come here.’
She was in his arms. She wanted to snuggle in and yield to him, and have him yield to her, but she had her plan to carry through. Wincing, she eased herself away from him. ‘I need to sit down.’
He helped her gently to a chair and used his handkerchief to wipe her face. ‘Tell me, Marcia. What is troubling you? You seem hurt.’
Telling Frederick made her realize the enormity of what Bellinger had done to her. Yes, she was strong and could get over it, if she wanted to, without anyone knowing; and she could use it to her advantage to keep Bellinger in tow. But now she realized that what he’d done to her was unforgivable.
‘No! My God, that man is depraved!’
‘It – it’s worse than that. I – I can’t tell you about it, but sometimes he gets me drunk and does unspeakable things to me.’
‘Oh, my dear, I never dreamed.’ He was kneeling in front of her. ‘How can I help?’
‘I want to leave him. Divorce him, but I have nowhere to go. If I stay at Daddy’s, it will be too much for him to take, and Lord Bellinger will be hounding me. But I have to work everything out. If I can get free in a month’s time, can I come to yours for a while?’
Frederick looked shocked.
‘I know I have been a beast to you. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll tell my father that I was mistaken about what I saw in the churchyard, and about seeing you go to that woman’s place this after—’
‘What! You told him that? But how did you know . . . I – I didn’t visit her. I was going to, but . . . Anyway, none of this is your business. What are you really doing here, Marcia? Is this part of the game you play? Are you trying to trap me?’
Her tears came again. ‘No. I’m not lying – look.’ She lifted her blouse, making sure he had a peep of her ample breasts.
Frederick gasped at the sight of the bruising covering her upper body.
‘And my back is bruised, as well as . . . Well, he – he spanked me, not in a playful, sensual way, but in a way that hurt me very much.’
‘Oh, my dear, I don’t know what to think. On the one hand, you present as a vulnerable woman; and on the other, as a conniving bitch. I’m sorry, but you do, Marcia. And you have done ever since Katrina and I got together. You’re a mystery to me.’
‘I was horrid at first, because I loved you. You know that. I was jealous, but then Bellinger has driven my actions since. He recognized my nature and he has forced me to try and make you look bad in my father’s eyes. He wants all that Daddy has got. If I refused, he beat me. He – he has even made me follow you. He said he was certain that you were having an affair, and that we needed more proof. Oh, Frederick, I can’t take any more.’
‘You don’t have to. Where is Bellinger now – how did you get away?’
Not telling Frederick the truth about how she’d knocked Bellinger out, Marcia told him that she’d left when he fell asleep.
‘Well, you can’t go back there. I’ll book you a room and—’
‘No, I must go back. I have to plan. Running away now isn’t the answer. Now that I know you will help me, I will put everything in place. Besides, I cannot let my father suffer any more shocks just yet.’
‘But what if Bellinger hurts you again?’
‘He won’t, at least not for a while. He’s always remorseful and attentive afterwards. I have to handle this in the right way. I’m scared of his reaction if I just leave. I need to put a lot of things in place, and then I need to be somewhere he won’t think of looking. He’ll never guess, in a hundred years, that I would go to you. Once I am safely in your home, I can see a lawyer.’
Back in her own home, Marcia was filled with glee as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom. Her body held the memory of Frederick holding her gently to him once more and apologizing for having misjudged her, and for not realizing what was going on. He’d told her that she must send a messenger if she needed him, as he was leaving for home the next day.
Perfect. Just perfect. I’m a clever girl – a very clever girl.