Belinda (24 page)

‘The belt…' Belinda heard. ‘Pull the belt.' And then dainty hands pulled back on the leather that bound her wrists and she moaned at the pain as her torso lifted from the counter. Bony hands reached round and cupped her vulnerable breasts through the blouse. Her nipples poked through the material into the sweaty palms as her soft mounds of flesh were squashed back into her chest. Belinda's head lolled forward and her silky hair swept the counter. Her muscles gripped the reaming stalk. She ground her bottom back against the man. His breathing became more ragged, and then they erupted together. Through waves of delight Belinda hated herself; she was a shameful hussy – the man had been right.

For another hour or so the lizard continued to indulge himself with Belinda's fine body, with Sally's assistance. As he did so, and whilst in a most bizarre position, he told the two young ladies that he desired nothing more than to see them together, but that he would save that special treat for Belinda's next visit, which, he had little doubt, would not be too long in the future. Then he could prepare for their long night together accordingly. Belinda shuddered at the thought and wondered how he could be so confident of her return. When he had finally satisfied his lusts Belinda was allowed to go out into the yard and wash herself under the pump. When she went back inside and dressed she told them she was looking for Albert Hopeworth, and her distaste for the man only increased when he giggled insanely and became coarsely abusive about her uncle, but without giving any specific reasons. It was Sally who told her she would find him up at the church, and Belinda then realised why the lizard harboured such hatred; her uncle was obviously as virtuous as he was despicable, and she was happy for that.

The streets were still empty when she left the dingy shop and headed for the church. She could feel the beady eyes crawling over every inch of her as she went. After thirty or forty yards she turned to wave to Sally. They were standing in the doorway, and he had an arm around her shoulder and one hand stuffed possessively down the front of her dress, where it blatantly toyed with her lovely bosom. He leered and shouted after her, ‘You won't get any pleasure from your uncle, you know! When you want some real fun you just come right along back here and see me! I'll be waiting! D'you hear?'

Belinda followed the churchyard wall until she found the squeaky iron gate. A woman in black with a couple of children was just leaving. She looked as if she would be unlikely to understand English, so Belinda simply pointed in through the gate, raised her eyebrows, and said clearly and slowly, ‘Albert Hopeworth?'

To her relief the woman's life-weary face brightened, and with a warm smile she nodded and pointed in the same direction.

‘Oh thank you!' sang Belinda joyously.

‘De nada,' said the woman.

‘I'm sorry?' said Belinda, in case she had missed something important.

The woman sighed. ‘You say thank you – I say de nada,' she said in stilted English. ‘It is like you say in your language; that is all right, don't mention it.'

‘Oh, I'm sorry,' apologised Belinda, recognising the accent and secretly admiring the woman for at least attempting a foreign tongue. ‘I don't speak Spanish,' she said humbly. After exchanging polite smiles the woman hurried the children through the gates and was gone.

The place was deserted except for another woman replacing flowers at an old grave and a priest chatting to a couple of filthy gravediggers who were leaning heavily on their shovels.

‘Albert Hopeworth?' she asked the woman, who nodded, smiled cordially and pointed to the priest. Belinda could not believe it. Not only had she found her uncle, but he was an honourable man of the cloth! All those months of misery and danger had not been in vain after all. A brand new life lay ahead of Belinda Hopeworth, a life she richly deserved.

She ran as fast as her aching back and legs would let her. As she approached the priest turned to see whom it was shrieking like a lunatic and breaking the tranquillity of his graveyard. He was a large man of a few years over fifty. He had an intelligent and cultured face. He studied her closely as she neared, as if he vaguely recognised her features but couldn't place them.

‘Uncle Albert Hopeworth!' she shrieked with joy.

‘Er, er yes…?' he said uncertainly.

‘I'm your niece from Liverpool… Belinda!'

‘But—'

‘Oh uncle!' she threw her arms around the bewildered clergyman's neck. The two gravediggers grinned at each other and spat tobacco juice onto the ground in quick succession. This could prove to be highly embarrassing for their employer. What had he been up to then? With him somewhat flustered and distracted they took the opportunity to assess the form of the bubbly new arrival. From the glint in their eyes it was clear they were suitably impressed.

‘No – wait,' stammered the priest, trying to prise away the arms that threatened to throttle him. ‘I'm not your uncle… he's over there.'

‘Where?' Belinda turned and looked around, still grinning from ear to ear. ‘Where is he?'

The priest suddenly realised what was happening, and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. The same realization fell on the gravediggers, and with an uncomfortable cough they turned away and found something to dig.

‘It would seem I have some unfortunate news for you, my child,' said the priest as kindly as he could.

‘Why?' The smile on her beautiful face flickered a little uncertainly for the first time. ‘What sort of unfortunate news?'

‘You're a little late.' The priest pointed at a freshly dug and bare grave. ‘He's there. We buried him only this morning.' He shook his head and dabbed a crisp linen hanky to his balding pate. ‘The first funeral ever performed here without a single mourner.'

Belinda looked at the priest with utter disbelief in her wide eyes, looked back at the grave, and fainted.

When she came to on the priest's sofa she felt sick with the memory of why she had fainted in the first place. All her trials and tribulations since leaving Liverpool had been in vain. She wanted to scream and shout, but merely lay passively as a rather severe-looking housekeeper gave her warm milk and biscuits. The priest was watching her closely from an armchair.

‘I hate to tell you this now, Belinda, but you have a right to know,' he said once she had finished the little snack. ‘Your uncle was a bad man. He was a bully, he drank far too much, and he accumulated heavy gambling debts to characters who held an extremely dim view of his behaviour…'

Belinda shook her head sadly as the priest told her more and more.

‘…Unfortunately, rightly or wrongly, I tried to help by loaning him church funds. Whether the money or my faith in him would ever have been repaid I somehow doubt, and now we'll never know – he got himself murdered in the local saloon two nights ago. He obviously hadn't used the loan to repay his creditors.'

‘How was he murdered?' she asked timidly, not really sure if she wanted to know.

‘Shot in the back of the head.'

‘Who did it? Have the authorities caught him?'

‘An unknown killer, probably on a contract. It was inevitable, I suppose.'

‘This is terrible,' said Belinda.

‘It is terrible,' agreed the priest. ‘And now my concern is that if word gets out about your arrival here the perpetrators of this heinous crime will be looking for you next.'

‘No – surely not!' Belinda shivered with fear. ‘I have nothing to do with my uncle's debts!'

‘They may not see it that way,' he said gravely. ‘I therefore propose that you remain here until things have settled down a little.'

‘But what about your friends and parishioners? They'll wonder who I am.'

‘I have considered that,' continued the priest smoothly. ‘We'll tell them you are my niece from England.' He watched Belinda eye the housekeeper. ‘Don't worry about Mrs Privett – she's as trustworthy as the day is long.'

‘I don't know what to say,' said Belinda with immense relief. ‘How can I ever thank you?'

‘Ah,' the priest raised a forefinger to indicate the discussion wasn't yet over, ‘that brings me on to the next matter; the matter of repaying the church funds.'

‘It does?' Belinda didn't like the sound of that too much.

‘As your uncle's only next of kin in America there is much you can do to contribute.'

‘There is?'

‘There is,' he nodded. ‘I think it is only right that whilst you remain here you work off his considerable debt to the church.'

Belinda considered this. She had nowhere else to go. Her life could be in grave danger if she left this sanctuary. She had no other choice but to agree. ‘Very well,' she said. ‘What will I have to do?'

‘Anything as I see fit,' said the priest as he dabbed his extensive brow again and crossed his legs.

‘I'll begin first thing in the morning,' she said.

‘I think you'd better begin right now,' he said, and surreptitiously eased the pressure building beneath his cassock. ‘Because you see, my dear, I also feel it only right that someone should accept the punishment for your uncle's wrongdoing, and as he isn't here, that responsibility also falls on you.'

‘Oh,' said Belinda. She wasn't so sure about that – but then perhaps he had a point. Her uncle had clearly wronged the church, and for that someone should pay; family honour was at stake. She lowered her gaze to the plush carpet and nodded.

‘Good,' said the priest, as he took the opportunity to gaze longingly upon the highly promising undulations hiding inside the white blouse. ‘Mrs Privett,' he addressed his housekeeper without taking his eyes from the appetising morsel lying on his sofa. ‘Kindly fetch my cane from the desk drawer, and then you may leave us. I will not be accepting visitors for the rest of the day.'