Authors: Suzette Stone
A Fateful Wind (17 page)
“Now, the first job I wish for you to do is have this letter delivered to my cousin and his wife in Cornwall. Do you know how to do that?”
“Yes, I ride a horse to Cornwall,” Charlie quipped, once again gazing at his reflection in the mirror.
“No, you don’t go to Cornwall. You deliver this to the postal carriage here in London and they deliver it to Cornwall.”
“Yes, I knew that. Just jesting, Sir Jack!”
Jack grunted as he handed the boy the letter. To be honest, he wasn’t sure he would ever see young Charlie again now that he was dressed in fine clothing and no doubt coffered anything of value he could get his little criminal hands on. “Very good, and I expect to see you back here within the hour.”
“Aye aye, sir.” Charlie tipped his new top hat and assumed Jack’s well spoken accent.
Jack peered out of the window and watched the small boy leave the hotel and run on down the cobblestone road, clutching the letter. The room seemed oddly silent without his young servant. Nonchalantly, he perused the room, surprised to see his cufflinks and other expensive items still in their drawers.
Maybe I’ll be pleasantly surprised
, he thought, reaching for a piece of toast still remaining on the breakfast tray. He opened up the morning paper, scanning the news for anything of importance and found nothing interesting. To be honest, he found life in London rather boring and would be pleased to once again rekindle the zest for adventure he thought he lost after his heartbreak with Jenna. He had written a letter to Edwin, indicating he would return to Penrose within the next month to finalize the transportation of the emigrating miners.
He felt a surge of pride when after only half an hour he heard a knock on the door and he opened it to see a breathless Charlie standing there.
“I ran all the way, mister,” Charlie gasped. “And all the way back.”
“You don’t have to run, young man! It wasn’t of that much importance.”
“Oh, but I had to, on the way back anyway. There was a rather large lady, donned in the most hideous purple silk outfit who accosted me when I delivered the letter to the post master.”
“Accosted you?”
“Aye, Sir. She asked me if the letter was from you, the Sir Jack Bartholomew, as she put it.”
“And what did you say?” Jack asked quizzically.
“I said yes and that I was your right hand man. Then she asked where you were staying and I didn’t want to tell ‘er ‘cos she didn’t look like a nice lady and she was bossy.”
“Hum….” Jack furrowed his brow in thought, at a loss as to who the boy could be talking about. Large, bossy and dressed in an awful outfit…he had no idea!
“And then she followed me, so I ran as fast as I could.”
“Good lad.” Jack walked over to the window and peered down into the street below, glancing around to see if the vision in purple had been able to keep up with his wiry servant. “Well, I don’t see anyone.”
“Oh, she’ll be here, sir. She travelled in a gold carriage and everything.”
Jack glanced back down to the roadside, just as a gold gilded carriage came to an abrupt halt outside of the hotel. He beckoned for Charlie to join him and they both peered down at the spectacle before them. “Is that the lady?”
“Yes, that’s her. I could never forget a sight like that!” Charlie answered cheekily, watching as a very large, plump lady, dressed head to toe in purple silk, emerged from her carriage followed by a thin, mousy looking woman.
“I have never seen that woman in my life, although I’ve a fair idea who she may be. Come along, Charlie, I want you to have the pleasure of meeting the most gossipy, social climbing snob England has to offer!”
They made their way down to the expansive foyer and watched as the woman approached with her envoy of servants and five snapping poodles. Eyeing Charlie, she rushed over to where Sir Jack stood her face pink with sweat.
“Ah, there he is! That roguish vagabond who avoided me the whole night at Penrose House with complaints of a migraine! Dear, dear, dear, Sir Jack. I could hardly believe it when I heard news you were in London at exactly the same time myself and precious Phillippa are here for the grand ball. How very fortunate. Oh, we are blessed, aren’t we dear?” The woman stopped for breath, fanning her flustered chest with a hand held fan. “Sir Jack, I doubt you recognize me for you were but a boy of six the last time we met. I am Lord Edwin and Lady Emmeline’s dearest friend, the Countess of Devon and this beautifully exquisite creature is my darling daughter, Phillippa!”
The countess beckoned over to the thin, mousy creature at her side, whose downcast eyes barely left the ground.
Jack picked up the limp hand in his, pressing his lips against the cold, clammy skin, before moving on and kissing the countess’s pudgy hand. “Countess, we meet at last. How fortunate indeed we are to be in London at the same time,” he lied.
The countess chuckled like an overzealous teenage girl before clicking her fingers for one of her downtrodden servants. “Nigel.” She continued to click her fingers at the pack of poodles wrecking havoc in the hotel foyer. “I want you to have directions left for my house in Chelsea. You must, simply must, join us for tea tomorrow afternoon.”
Jack bowed his head, feeling fatigued at the thought of it. “The pleasure will be all mine. Phillippa.” He bowed toward the mousy daughter, whose face hardly cracked a smile. “Tomorrow for tea it is. Shall I bring anything?”
The countess giggled, her chest and neck blotchy with excitement. “Just yourself and your wonderful stories of overseas adventures.”
The village continued in its silence of mourning and despair. The sadness drove Jenna to distraction and the claustrophobia she felt from her father and sisters with their well-meaning, but rather smothering affections, was all too consuming. That morning Karenza, Tamsin and Jenna went to the cottage her and Trystan shared. Now that Trystan was dead, the cottage would be returned to Penrose Mines and Jenna would once again return to her childhood home. Together, they packed up the small amount of belongings Trystan accumulated in his short life and delivered them to his mother. She greeted them at the door, a small woman, who appeared even smaller and frailer since the accident. She held Jenna close to her.
“On the same day I lose one son I find out another is alive and well on the other side of the world,” she cried. “Jenna, will you write to him and let him know of…of…” She couldn’t manage to speak the words that her youngest son died as she handed Jenna the letter from Peter.
Jenna nodded she would, prying herself away from the suffocating display of emotions.
Later that afternoon as she sat in her small bedroom, she picked up Trystan’s penknife she placed in her pocket along with the letter and ticket from his brother in Sydney. She held the ivory handled knife in her hands. The knife was Trystan’s pride and joy, his initials engraved on the handle, a present from his father many years ago. The metal felt cold and hard against her skin as she placed it back in the pocket of her woolen skirt, still holding it in her palm. She walked down the narrow stairs to where her father and Tamzin sat, toasting slices of thick bread on the fire.
“I think I am going to take a short walk,” she announced. “I need to clear my mind of all these dreadful thoughts. The fresh air may help.”
* * * *
“But it will be dark soon,” Tamzin started before seeing her father nod at Jenna to go.
They watched as Jenna walked down the small cottage path. “She needs time to think,” her father announced sensibly to his worried looking daughter.
“I don’t know, father. She has been deeply affected by this, she may… I don’t know. What if she goes the same way as mother?
Mr. Penworthy shook his head. “Jenna is stronger and more resilient. She would not succumb to sad thoughts as violently as Isabel did.”
Tamzin shrugged sadly. “This secret has been a lot to bear all these years, father – a secret only we share.”
“It would have devastated Jenna and Karenza to know their mother deliberately drowned herself. How do you explain that to two small girls who have just lost their mother?”
“I lost my mother, too,” Tamzin replied angrily. “And on top of that, I knew the real reason, as did you. It wasn’t fair for me to be burdened so.”
“I know,” Mr. Penworthy soothed, moving closer and taking her hand in his. “You are a fine, strong daughter. A man could not ask for a finer daughter than you. You have held this family together, which otherwise would have crumbled apart when your mother died. I know, and do not forget the responsibility this laid on your young shoulders, Tamzin. We couldn’t have survived without you.”
Tamzin sniffed, smiling a little. “I am sorry father. I am just exhausted with everything that has happened over the last month. I didn’t mean to place any of the blame on you. I am just worried about Jenna, that’s all. So very worried about her.”
“She’ll be fine, Tamzin. She’ll be fine. It’s just going to take some time. We must give her time.”
* * * *
Jenna strode along the pathway leading alongside the stream and up toward the moor. She raised her face to the sky, the sharp, cold wind feeling good against her skin. She looked ahead, barely making out the small shed lying at the back of the quarry concealed beneath branches and moss. She walked toward it, the memory of Jack suddenly appearing so real to her. In her mind, she saw him riding his stallion across the moorland, picking her up and placing her in the saddle as the rain and storm winds had squalled around them. She saw his charismatic smile, the flop of brown hair that continually dropped over his forehead and over one eye. And the eyes, the green, sparkling, intelligent eyes! She could not rid her mind of his eyes that appeared to look deep inside her soul.
Slowly, she entered the small shed, the smell of damp wood filling her nostrils. She seated herself on the low wooden bench where she had lain in Jack’s arms willing him to take her. He refused on the grounds she deserved so much more. So was this it? Was this what she deserved, to live out the rest of her days as a virgin widow? To reap what she had sewn by falling in love with another man apart from her betrothed?
Idly, she took the penknife from her pocket and flipped the side so that the long sharp blade pointed out. Placing in against the wood, she began to carve the initials JP and JB in the soft wood. Her final farewell to the memories and the man that ruined her life, that her actions with caused such a calamitous tragedy of huge proportions. Resolutely, she looked down at the carved initials, vowing from henceforth she would push Sir Jack Bartholomew as far away from her thoughts as possible. Rising to her feet, she gave one backward glance at the small shed, making a pact with herself that however long she lived, she would never return to the place of such memories.
As she continued her walk, she followed the path up toward Sharptor. The wind whipped around her face. It felt good. It felt free. She made her way along the hilly path, holding her arms stretched out on either side as though at any moment she may take flight. She walked at a quick pace toward the summit of the tor, passing grazing sheep along the way that stood chewing slowly, staring at her quizzically. She felt alive at last, free from everything that worried her.
As she reached the top of Sharptor, she stood and surveyed the land dotted below her. She could make out the line of miners cottages and the Caradon Inn where no doubt Tamzin and Billy lay resting. She focused on Penrose House rising up from the windswept moorland. It appeared friendless and grey surrounded by nothing except for battered trees and fern laden bogs.
Abruptly, she began to laugh loudly across the granite hill. Her laughter echoed back to her.
Good, God
! she thought. I’ve turned into a lunatic. My husband has just died, I am to remain an intact widow for the rest of my days and I’m laughing?
She let out a large whoop that resounded around her. “I’m free!” she shouted at the sheep that stood gazing at her. “I am free, finally free!”
She looked at where the sun lay behind a thick cloud, its rays barely penetrating the early evening haze. Realizing the sun was beginning to set, she took one last look around at the surrounding countryside. The fields neatly lay out like a patchwork quilt bordering the edge of Bodmin moor. The hills out toward the Atlantic held beyond their borders dreams of new lands, new countries, and new lives.
Oh, how free it would be to just leave this
, Jenna thought, beginning to make her way down the hillside pathway.
As she reached the bottom of Sharptor, she stood there, contemplating whether to make her way back toward her father’s cottage or continue back along the longer moorland pathway home. She was not ready to finish her walk. The fresh air invigorated her, helping clear her mind of the claustrophobic suffering she felt over the last few days. She set off over the moorland pathway, just as twilight began to descend over the countryside. She could see Penrose Tin Mine looming up in the distance. She came to a halt staring over at it. Maybe she would take a walk past there whilst there was still some light, try and see if she could collect any evidence to show Lord Edwin defaulted on providing a safe mine. She knew with her word against his, as just a mere peasant, no one would believe the conversation she heard between him and the mine boss.
Jenna fought back the fearful memories of the anguished screams as she approached the mine. The darkness descended rapidly as she walked over to where the rubble of the entrance of the mine shaft lay in great discord. She ran her hand over one of the battered wooden beams, noting the wet rot that worked its way along the beam, causing large splinters of decayed wood to fall off into her palm. She shuddered, confused as to how anyone could have ignored such a clear negligence. Peering in to the dark, hollow shaft leading deep into the earth, Jenna became aware of a presence standing behind her.
She turned slowly, hesitantly. She knew by the way her skin prickled on the back of her neck just who the presence belonged to.
“Jenna,” Lord Edwin sneered, stoutly climbing down from his horse. “And to what do I owe this honor?”
“You don’t owe any honor,” Jenna replied, anger beginning to seethe through her veins. “I don’t think you even know the meaning of the word.”
Lord Edwin chuckled, moving closer to where she backed away from the dangerous hole of the shaft. “My, my, you’re in a feisty mood this evening. And here I thought you would be in mourning.”
“I am in mourning,” she spat, taking a step backward. “Mourning for deaths that could, and should, have been prevented.”
Edwin’s chuckle became louder. “Prove it!” He lasciviously looked her up and down.
She smirked callously, toying with the idea of letting him know she heard his conversation, that she knew everything. However, common sense prevailed and, considering the night was drawing in, she decided against it. There was no one in sight to help her should Lord Edwin turn nasty.
Lord Edwin licked his thin lips. “You know it’s rather foolish for a young widow as yourself to be out here alone at night. You could fall prey to danger.” He curtsied his fat little body patronizingly in front of her. “Please allow me to escort you home.”
“I would rather be alone, thank you.” Her voice quavered with fear at the close presence of her perverted employer.
“Now, now, Jenna, don’t be rude to me. Have you forgotten who I am? Who pays your wages? Who keeps you in employment at Penrose House? Is this what we have resorted to?” He chuckled, his breath frightfully close on her face. “To silly, petty games of cat and mouse? We never did finish what we started did we?”
Jenna felt the fear rising in her throat as he reached out his hand, placing it on her breast. He moved in closer to her, his face now at a level with his. She felt his breathing getting heavier, his thin lips parting to show sharp, weasel-like teeth. He bent his face toward hers, his hand reaching underneath her skirt.
“No” she screamed, as his hand slowly moved upwards along her soft thigh.
“Shush,” he whispered, bringing his lips closer to hers. “No one can hear you, Jenna. We are all alone for once. You and I, all alone to be together as you so secretly want it.”
She pushed him back away from her with force she did not know she possessed. “What I secretly want? What I secretly wanted was for my husband to stay alive. What I secretly wanted was for you to leave me alone and stop pushing yourself on me. What I secretly want is to be free from you and your lewd glances at me, your taking advantage of my position whenever you can. Look at you, you’re a pathetic, obscene, cowardly liar and you think I want
you
?”
She watched as his face turned purple. The veins in his neck began to bulge as he spluttered in anger.
“You bitch!” he shouted, the tone of his voice indicating great danger lay ahead. “You vixen! You will give me what I want and you will give it to me willingly and with gratitude. Otherwise, I shall see to it that you and your beloved father wind up in the workhouse.”
“Never.” She turned on her heels and ran as fast as she could down the moorland pathway toward the safety of the village and her home. But she was no match for Lord Edwin on horseback. She barely made it a few yards before he pulled his mare in front of her, halting her in her sprint. Jumping down, he pushed her in the darkness to the mossy ground.
“Never?” He lay on top of her, ripping away her shawl and tearing her blouse open to expose the young creamy breasts that lay underneath. “Never say never to me,” he shouted, his breath hot on her face. He moved his mouth down to her nipples, sucking and pawing, his anger clearly evident. “No one says no to me.” He moved his lips up to her mouth and kissed her angrily, his mouth raping hers as he thrust his tongue deep into her throat.
Jenna squirmed beneath him, twisting and kicking, trying to free herself from his grasp, but his heavy, large body pinned her down. Her hair broke free from her bun, cascading over her face, partially concealing the villainous image of Lord Edwin as he grunted and groaned on top of her. She winced as he brought one hand around her throat, holding her in place with a deathly choke. His other hand inched up under her skirt once more, finding the frightened warmth beneath her thighs. He inched his fingers inside of her, stabbing and prodding as she tried to scream out in a mixture of pain and fright.
“Please,” she begged, tired from trying to escape from his grasp. “Please.” Tears poured from her eyes. “Please, don’t hurt me. I am still a virgin.”
Lord Edwin tightened his grasp around her neck, causing her to cough and splutter, his fingers locked between her thighs. He looked into her eyes, laughing with a sinister chuckle. “Even better.” He bent his head and took her breast into his mouth.
Oh, please, God
, she begged silently. Please, God, don’t let this happen. Please, Please.
She felt the hand around her neck loosen as he brought it down to his crotch, hastily undoing the buttons of his trousers to expose his short, hard member. Sensing a moment to be free of him, Jenna pushed up with all of her strength, causing him to topple backward off of her. Quickly, she climbed to her feet and began sprinting away in the direction of the village. But he was upon her again, his trousers completely removed so he could run after her. He brought up his fist, punching her in the face. She toppled slightly, dazed by the force of the punch. He forced her back down on the damp ground, his fingers once again prying open her thighs, moving his male hardness closer and closer to her virginal opening. She cried out as she felt his member hover outside of her and heard the grunts of pleasure escaping from his lips.