Devil's Desire (3 page)

All this at a time in Elysia's life when she needed love and understanding more than ever before; when she had been left an orphan, and cut off from all that she had loved and known. Hungry, with only memories to fill the ache within her when she thought she would starve for a friendly smile or kind word. She received only hate and abuse from those around her.

Elysia constantly felt Agatha's colorless eyes watching her. She antagonized Elysia; goaded her into doing something foolish, and then seemed to derive some personal satisfaction out of punishing her for it. She knew Aunt Agatha was waiting patiently for her to break down—but she wouldn't. She would fight her—if not outwardly in a verbal battle, then silently in her mind and heart. She still had some small vestige of pride left in her.

At the end of the day when Agatha's taunting became unendurable, and her body ached with fatigue, Elysia would climb the flights of stairs to her attic bedchamber-a cold and bare room up under the eaves. How many times had she stood looking out of the dormer windows at the distant horizon, wishing so many things that could never be, remembering distant times when she had been innocent of cruelty and malice, loneliness and grief!

Her dreams were her only comfort when she went to bed at night. She would put on a thin nightdress, slip between the cold sheets of the bed, shivering. Then she would fall asleep listening to the mice scurrying in the walls.

Once in awhile she could escape outside when Agatha had some errand for her to run, sending her to the village or nearby farms for numerous items her aunt suddenly found she needed. Elysia had to hide the excitement and pleasure in her eyes as she pretended to wearily accept another chore. Had Agatha but known how eagerly she looked forward to these excursions she would have forbidden her to set foot out of doors; so intent was she on denying Elysia any pleasures.

Elysia would rush outside, beyond the stifling walls of Graystone Manor, down through the trees to the little babbling brook of clear sparkling water. She would lie there enjoying the lazy summer days under the trees, staring up through their green leafy branches at odd shaped portions of blue sky, sometimes dappled with fluffy white clouds. But even on cold winter days she would rejoice in her small flight of freedom; forgetting the circumstances that had thrown her to the mercy of Aunt Agatha, and remembering the smiling faces that were now as insubstantial as ghosts.
  
.

How could she not compare the silent and grim Graystone Manor with the smaller house of her parents; echoing with laughter, gaiety, and love. Her parents were so full of love and the breath of life. Charles Demarice, tall and straight, lean as a younger man of twenty, silver threading through his once raven-black hair; his strangely green eyes still as bright and deep with color as ever, despite his fifty years-the sweet memory of her mother's graceful figure, crowned by her glorious red-gold hair, shining with the sun's rays above her twinkling blue eyes, as she picked flowers in the garden.

If only they were still here with her, Elysia thought despondently; but they were gone—as well at Ian.

Elysia looked out of the window of the Salon, not listening to Agatha's words, wondering how she had managed to survive these last two years of living—no, existing—under Agatha's roof. Why Agatha felt animosity towards her was still an unanswered question. She felt that Aunt Agatha had hated her before they'd ever met, so it couldn't have been something she had personally done. The only possible explanation was that something had occurred to cause a rift between Agatha and her own family, back when, her mother had lived at Graystone Manor with Agatha. Her mother's reluctance to discuss that time of her life, and her father's similar silence led her to believe that something unpleasant had happened; but she had no idea as to what, nor I' would she probably ever know,

Elysia's straying thoughts came back to the present, the chilly Salon and Agatha's harshly grating voice as cold as the draft seeping in from the window.
      
 

“. . . and so, naturally I was surprised when I met Squire Masters this afternoon on my way to the village, and what he had to relate to me” her aunt was saying,

Squire Masters. The mere thought of him made Elysia shudder. She had never met a more repulsive man than the squire, and she fervently hoped that she would never meet him again. She had been introduced to the middle-aged' widower and his three daughters for the first time a fortnight ago when they had been invited over to dine one evening at Graystone Manor.

It had come as a shock, when Agatha told her they would be having guests to dine that evening and that she, Elysia, was to join in the festivities.

Elysia usually ate in solitude in a corner of the kitchen, or as she preferred, on a tray in the privacy of her room, away from the servants' curious eyes and gossip. Not that mealtimes were to be looked forward to with delicious hot dishes to entice one's appetite; what they served was only to keep your body going one more endless day. Agatha had lectured her one evening when she had been a few minutes late, warning Elysia that if she continued to be tardy for meals, then she would have to learn to go without. Elysia had refrained from telling her aunt that missing a meal was no real hardship, her thoughts on the unappetizing and poorly prepared food, and the small amount allowed as her portion. The thin slice of coarse, brown bread—white
flour
being too expensive to serve the servants-and mushy, overcooked vegetables with occasional meat or fish ended up in pies over and over again until gone. Breakfast consisted of even less—tea and tasteless gruel, usually lumpy and cold. Bread and cheese served as luncheon. But in summer, when the fruit from the orchard was ripe and sweet, Elysia would secretly pick handfuls of the sun-ripened fruit to hide away in her room. When hunger rumbled in her stomach ill the middle of the night, keeping her from sleep, she would feast on the delicious stolen fruit.

Agatha seemed uncommonly excited about the Masters' visit. She ordered the cook to prepare a variety of assorted savories and pastries. Pork, lamb, and beef were sent from a nearby farm along with fancy vegetables and fruits which far surpassed the . meager results from Agatha's own garden.

The best china and silver was polished until it shone and sparkled among the beautiful crystal. Fragrant mouth-watering aromas drifted throughout the house, bringing back memories of delicacies which Elysia had not tasted in years.

But there was a feeling of unease throughout the house, as if something were not quite right.

Elysia puzzled over the invitation as she soaked in a tub of warm water, washing away the dirt and grime of her day's work. She had heated and carried her own bath water up the long flights of stairs; but it was worth the effort to relax in the soapy water, her tense muscles soothed by the heat.

Her surprise at being included in the party was only exceeded by her amazement at finding a beautifully-made, brand-new, evening gown hanging on the rod in the comer of her room. It made the other dresses look like poor relations, in contrast.

Only Agatha could have purchased such a gown. But why? What motive could her aunt have this time? Agatha was not the type to do something without a purpose. Why should she suddenly include Elysia as a guest at a dinner party she was hostessing? Was this another sadistic plot of hers, or was she planning to embarrass her, subject her to ridicule?

All of these questions repeated themselves in Elysia's mind as she made her way downstairs, aware of the curious stares of the servants. She could well imagine their curiosity. Hadn't she been one of them just that afternoon?

Elysia's memory of the evening was vivid, lingering in her mind like the aftertaste of a horrible nightmare. The images became distorted and gr0tesque, the scenes moving through her mind as if, she were drugged.

How could she forget the sight of her aunt in a mustard-colored evening gown that made her face look like a death mask; her long arms outstretched to welcome her guests, Squire Masters and his daughters: Hope, Delight, and Charmian. She tried to politely engage them in conversation, but they either banded together and talked among themselves, excluding her; or they asked her personal questions, ridiculing her answers with laughter and scorn when she ventured to give an opinion. She only wished that their father were as scornful, but he acted no such way. Elysia felt his protruding, bovinelike eyes watching her slightest gesture.

She felt ill-at-ease in the thin muslin gown that Agatha had purchased for her. It was beautiful indeed, but the décolletage of the gown seemed indecent for a young unmarried girl-her shoulders bare above the delicate lace that barely covered the soft curves of her breasts. It was one of the new Empire gowns that had become the rage of London fashion; a style popularized by Napoleon's wife, the Empress Josephine.

The Masters sisters were also dressed in this new style of Empire gown that fitted snugly under the breasts before falling in smooth, straight lines to the floor. But where Elysia's dress seemed to float about her, hinting at the curves beneath, the Masters' created the impression of stuffed sausages. The daughters had unfortunately inherited their figures from the Squire, who was large and stout, and they also had the same round, brown eyes as their father.

With each breath that she took, Elysia felt the Squire's brown eyes on her breasts as they rose and fell beneath the pale-green muslin of her gown. She saw his eyes rove slowly and appreciatively over her body as they were introduced, and as she looked into his eyes, she perceived a hungry, lustful glint. Elysia looked away in embarrassment, only to see a satisfied and pleased expression on her aunt's face as she watched the Squire's obvious admiration.

After dining they retired to the Salon to hear Delight entertain them with her semi-trained, nasal voice, accompanied by her inexpertise on the pianoforte. Hope and Charmian giggled and snickered constantly throughout their sister's singing and playing, but she finally finished her performance, after hitting every off-key note possible.

Elysia was seated next to Squire Masters on the settee; her aunt upon entering the Salon selected the lone chair by the window. The Squire sat a little too close for Elysia's comfort, his knee and thigh pressing intimately against hers, and he constantly leaned closer to whisper some inane remark into her ear while breathing in of her fragrance and feasting his eyes on the white, alabaster flesh revealed by the low-cut gown.

But she remained puzzled as to the reasons for her inclusion in the party; she could see no reason for it. Unless it was the intention of her aunt to show her of what she was no longer a part; that as a servant she had no place in polite society. It would be like her aunt to give her an evening of pleasure, a new dress, and then the very next day reduce her to her servant's position again.

She bade her aunt a quiet good night and hastened to the haven of her room. The next day began as though the previous evening had never taken place, and Elysia's days went on as before. The new dress disappeared as mysteriously as it had appeared,

"I'm talking to you, miss!" Aunt Agatha's voice interrupted Elysia's thoughts of that evening with the Masters. "Always dreaming; and about things a decent girl shouldn't, I'll wager. Well, you can listen to me now, and be glad I've taken an interest in your welfare; not that you deserve it, mind you, but you are my dear stepsister's child, and l owe it to her to fix you up proper."

Agatha's tone was gloating, and there was a watchful look in her eyes as a spot of bright color dotted each cheekbone.

"I do not understand," Elysia spoke haltingly, puzzled by her aunt's odd statement. "Have you found me a position of some sort?"

"Oh, yes, indeed I have. One you should find most interesting-and rewarding," her aunt crooned. , "You do remember that I said I met Squire Masters on my way to the village?"

"What has he to do with it?'" Elysia asked, thinking that maybe she had misjudged Aunt Agatha after all. Then a sudden thought struck her, and she asked anxiously, "It is not
a
position with the Squire, is it?'"

"Oh, no, my dear Elysia," her aunt chuckled gleefully, showing the first hint of humor Elysia had ever seen on her face. "It is not some lowly position in the Squire's household that I have accepted on your behalf, but—" she paused dramatically, an inner light brightening her eyes, "—the envied position as the wife of Squire Masters."

Can I forget the dismal night that give

My soul's best part forever to the grave?

                                                       
Gray,

Chapter
2

“W
ell, c
an't you speak? Aren't you going
to
thank your dear Aunt Agatha for securing you a respectable future?" She watched Elysia's flushed cheeks blanch, leaving her face pale and drawn-looking; her eyes dark pools of despair as her lips began to tremble.

Elysia sat dumbfounded as Agatha's face became contorted and her harsh laughter rang through the room. Agatha's head was thrown back as she shook with deranged mirth, her thin chest shaking uncontrollably.

"We decided it, the Squire and myself, this afternoon on the road to the village," Agatha said breathlessly. "He was most anxious to come to an arrangement. You will find him to be a most attentive bridegroom, my dear. And being such a healthy young girl, you should provide Squire Masters with the sons he has longed for."

Agatha stared at Elysia as her hand nervously smoothed her hair in the tight bun and she added almost to herself, "You're such a beautiful girl, too—just like your mother was. I remember the first day that I saw her; she was just a child, but so beautiful—even then."

Elysia stared in horror at Aunt Agatha. She finally gained control of herself, but her voice sounded strained; the words coming jerkily from between her thin lips.

"I cannot possibly marry the Squire," Elysia said clearly to her aunt, despite her pounding heart This could not be happening to her, she thought in desperation. Squire Masters! Neverl She would rather die than be married to him.

"You have no choice, my dear Elysia. It has all been arranged."

"I will not marry him, and you cannot make me! Don't you understand that I can't stand him. I'm repulsed by him—to be married to him would be torture."

Elysia rose from' her chair, and the words tumbled out emotionally as she pleaded with her aunt. But her aunt was unyielding.

"Your feelings do not enter into this at all. You should be thankful to have this opportunity for marriage. Your prospects are not good, but Squire Masters has agreed to overlook your poverty, and forget the usually expected dowry," Agatha said impatiently, her previous good humor forgotten in the face of Elysia's defiance.

"I am afraid that you will have to send my regrets to the Squire, because it is out of the question that I could, or would, ever marry him. You never even consulted me as to my wishes--why, the Squire is old enough to be my father!"

Elysia looked at' her aunt curiously. "This is what you have wanted all along . . . to humiliate me. Well, you won't succeed this time, Aunt Agatha, just as you didn't succeed this afternoon when you purposely sent me to the North field."

Agatha rose and faced Elysia, digging her hard fingers into Elysia's shoulders as she glared viciously at her.

"Do you think I will let the likes of you ruin all my plans!" Agatha shrieked. "I have finally realized my greatest wish—and you will not interfere. Do you hear me?" She shook Elysia until her red-gold hair tumbled in thick waves about her shoulders.

"I will not marry him! I will not! I—I would rather die first!” Elysia cried.

Agatha released her shoulders from her death-like grip, and lifting her hand slapped Elysia hard across the face. Elysia managed to jerk away, putting her shaking hands to her smarting cheeks, she stared at her aunt with a wounded, puzzled look in her eyes.
        
.

"No, you won't die—yet. Maybe after a year's marriage to that lecherous old fool you will desire to; but marry him you will—and next week. He can hardly wait to get you into his bed, my dear," Agatha added tauntingly. She laughed aloud again; another wild, uncontrolled laugh-but this time full of triumph.

"Oh, sweet, sweet revenge I knew if I waited long enough that one day I would taste it. Beautiful Elysia, just like your mother and grandmother. I told you that your mother was beautiful? Well, so
was
your grandmother—my stepmother. Father was bewitched by her and brought her home as his wife. Here! To my house—to take over as the new mistress of Graystone Manor. Fool—to think that anyone could take my place.

"We had always been so happy, Father and I, here at Graystone, even though Mother had died years before. Then
she
came. She had no right to come here and to bring that little brat with her. I can remember them standing there in the hall." Agatha stared towards the hall; her eyes glazed as her mind moved back through the years
to
an earlier time.

"They wore fine lace and velvet, and little plumed hats. The sun was shining down on that strange red-gold hair, turning it into living flames of fire. Their smiles were as false as their hearts. They came here; taking my house, my father, expecting me to be friends. Well, I pretended as they pretended, to be friends, but whenever I had the chance, I let your mother, the darling little Elizabeth, know where her true place was.

“When your grandmother finally died, I took over the running of the house—as I should have from the beginning. Father was fit for nothing after she died. She ruined him!"

Agatha paused, momentarily perplexed by her, thought, a frown marring her forehead. Her hands were clenched tightly and her breathing was ragged as she glanced about wildly. Beads of perspiration were dotting her upper lip as she put her hand nervously to her temple, pressing it as if the pain were unbearable. "I think I was about nineteen or twenty; your mother was only about eleven. years old. But I was old enough to assume the responsibility of running the Manor—and I managed it better than your grandmother had.

"I told your mother, the darling Elizabeth, the things she would be expected to do just as I have told you your duties. Father was not around much; and when he was, he was so drunk he didn't recognize anyone or anything. Elizabeth soon found her proper place in
my
Manor. Ha! The little upstart trying to worm her way into Graystone with that sweet, sly smile of hers. Well, she got what she deserved!"

A smile of remembrance broke on Agatha's face, her eyes glinting evilly. "Father died not long after that—in fact, it's a miracle he lasted as long as he—did. I didn't miss him—he only interfered; spent too much money on whiskey anyway."

"Do you know how he died? It's rather amusing," Agatha said looking directly at Elysia, and seeming to see her for the first time. "He thought he saw your grandmother at the foot of the stairs. He came stumbling down them and tripped over the loose sash of his robe. He fell hard—right at my feet breaking his neck. I had no idea that he would mistake her for me. I was only wearing her dressing gown to do some of the dusting in—I didn't want to spoil my dress, of course," she added indifferently.

"Father was a weak, drunken fool; his mind not only besotted by her, but by drink as well. After his death the Manor became mine. I was finally rightful mistress of Graystone, the legal owner by law. The Courts also saw fit to make me your mother's legal guardian, a guardianship which I am sure she hated. She never even thanked me for providing her with a home when I could have thrown her out; which is what I should have done. The day I let that cheap, deceitful, little hoyden stay under my roof—"

"That is not true! She was not—" Elysia interrupted, anger loosening her tongue, which had been frozen in silence by Agatha's wild disclosures.

"You shut up and listen to the real truth about your precious mother, not the lies that she has told you," Agatha snarled. "Your mother was living under
my
roof, accepting
my
charity, not doing half the work I ordered her to do for her keep—a lazy chit just like you. And how did she repay me? She snuck behind my back and stole what was rightfully mine!" Agatha began to speak quickly, almost breathlessly, as she remembered the past; the bottled-up words tumbling out in a torrent of hate.

"There was to be a grand ball at a neighboring estate, and I received an invitation. It was the event of the year. I had to send your mother's regrets, of course. She had nothing proper to wear, and she really was too young; she hadn't even had a season in London yet. But then it would have been too expensive, and besides, I'd already had mine, and one season in London in a family is enough, don't you agree?

"That night is still so vivid in my mind. It was even more elaborate than some of the balls I'd attended in London. There were a thousand or more candles lighting up the ballroom where the ladies, elegant in jewels and feathers, danced around and around, There was champagne, laughing faces, music—and Captain Demarice. He was so handsome, so debonair—like a prince. He was a cavalry officer, a brilliant horseman-one of the best in the country and so full of adventure and daring. He was the younger son of a lord, and didn't have a fortune, or any expectations of gaining an estate. But he was so extraordinary, it didn't matter that he was not rich. He was tall, and had thick, black hair and strange green eyes that slanted upwards at their corners."

Agatha's glance rested momentarily on Elysia's upturned face. She paled visibly as she stared into Elysia's eyes.

"You've got his eyes! Damn you! Every time I look at you I
see
him standing there looking at me with contempt, the smile I cherished wiped from his face. He said things to me that I can never forget; his voice haunts me at night in my dreams. I can't escape from it even in my sleep—it's always there."

Agatha's thin fingers pulled nervously at the neatly pinned hair, until several gray-streaked strands hung loosely about her face.

"I came home from the ball feeling like I had never felt before. Why, I actually felt frivolous and gay; I felt like a different person. I knew that Captain Demarice would come calling; I just knew it. But I waited, and waited and waited. And while I waited, Elizabeth met Captain Demarice in the woods down by the brook. An accidental
 
meeting they said—ha! I knew her deceitful ways. She knew that I wanted him; she always wanted what was mine—even when we were small. He would have asked me to become his wife, if she hadn't connived her way into his affections, like her mother had into my father's. She played the innocent maiden, meeting him secretly behind my back whenever she could.

"He finally accepted my invitation to tea; but with an ulterior motive, I was soon to find out. How could I know that he had met Elizabeth? I had let her go out more often, certain to have her out of the way when Captain Demarice called; but he never did until that day. We were seated in here, in the salon, just beginning to get acquainted when he asked me about Elizabeth. I told him that I had a stepsister. 'She's a young and lazy chit of a girl; I said. He raised his eyebrow slightly, and with a glance invited me to continue; encouraging my confidences. I knew that I would have to blacken her name before he saw her and was blinded by her false beauty. She would trick him, having learned her evil ways from her mother; so I told him all about her hoydenish ways and the deceitful acts that made her the little slut that she was.

"He said, after I had finished, he already had the pleasure of meeting of Miss Elizabeth, and had found her to be a sweet, gentle, and honest young lady. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. He had already met Elizabeth? Where? When? How could it have happened? She didn't have access to the homes where he would be entertained.

"He was deaf to my words. He had been blinded by Elizabeth's treachery already. He stood up tall and straight, and told me in a cold voice, that cut me like a knife, that I was speaking of the woman he hoped to marry. He had made inquiries, he said, and found out how I had been treating Elizabeth.

"'Lies, lies! I screamed at him. 'What has that she-devil told you?' I demanded. 'None of it is true. She twists everything around to her advantage—she has lied to you.' I told him that I would make a better wife than Elizabeth. I remember the shocked look on his face as I declared my love for him; evidently he had never realized my feelings, nor could he return that love and desire. I told him that I had everything to offer him; money, Graystone Manor, land. Elizabeth had nothing to give him—nothing!

"'For your information, Elizabeth has never said a word against you, yet how she has managed to keep her silence about one such as you, I shall never comprehend. But then she is innocent of the evil in this house. She offers me her love; and that is all I desire, not money, nor an estate. But I doubt whether you are capable of understanding that, for in your wretchedness you can see nothing decent in anyone. You are a cruel and selfish woman whose own bitterness and hatred will destroy you.
You
are the only evil in this house.

"He said those things to me! I can remember every word as if it were yesterday. He stared at me with such loathing and contempt I couldn't bear it. And then Elizabeth came in, timidly standing in the doorway, pretending she had not known that we were there. She glanced back and forth between us; looking so worried and concerned that I felt enraged at the very sight of her angelic face masking such evil and deceit, and I rushed at her to claw it off and reveal the truth to him. But he moved as quickly as a cat and shielded her from me. I screamed at them both. Told them I never wanted to see either of them again as long as I lived, and told him to take his little whore and get out.