Devil's Desire (4 page)

"They left and I never saw Charles again. He took Elizabeth that day, and they stayed with friends until they could marry. I heard that they moved away to the North after they'd wed, where he had inherited some small property.

"I dreamt all these years of seeing them again, and getting my revenge by showing them that I was better than either of them. Graystone Manor was mine. Elizabeth always coveted what was mine—my father, my house, Charles. Well she'd never get Graystone. It's mine—all mine!”

Elysia stared at Agatha in terror, and began to back slowly towards the door as she saw the insane look contorting her aunt's face.

"Don't go, Elysia," Agatha said suddenly. "I've much more to tell you. Don't you want to know how pleased I was to have you placed in my hands? I told your solicitor how my beloved stepsister's daughter would be as welcome here in my home as her mother had been. He was more than relieved, as your other high-born relatives would have nothing to do with you.

"It's been a joy to have you here—working some of that Demarice arrogance out of you, humiliating you, having you at my beck and call—you the fine lady, reduced to a scullery maid.

"If, if only Charles and Elizabeth could see me now," Agatha sighed ecstatically, "with their precious, beloved daughter Elysia, in my house that they had scorned, awaiting her coming nuptials with—dare I say it—anticipation?'"

Elysia gasped., feeling a sickness rise within her. Agatha's eyes focused on Elysia with unyielding intensity.

"Why, you look quite pale, my dear. Do go up and rest in your room for awhile. I do believe the news has been too much for you; and such a great honor too. So very seldom do we receive what we truly deserve in life, but
you
shall, Elysia—
you
shall!"

Elysia gave a sob and ran from the room, tears streaking her face as she made her way up the stairs to the attic; hearing Agatha's loud, insane laughter echoing after her.

Elysia paced back and forth in the small space of the attic, her head brushing against the slope of the roof as her steps guided her aimlessly to and fro. She must be a madwoman, Elysia thought. No one could carry such feelings of hatred for so long and not become deranged by it. Oh dear God, what was she to do? Where could she go? She had no one left in the world to turn to. She would rather go to the workhouse than do what Agatha commanded her to do—marry into the Masters family.

She couldn't stay in this oppressive house any longer. It pressed down upon her—trying to break her will—stripping her of her dignity and freedom. She moved toward the window where she could look out at the woodlands and hills in the distance to the south. A sudden gust of wind blew a fallen leaf up into the air, holding it for a moment, tantalizing her with its freedom, before floating away into the fading light.

Elysia made up her mind suddenly, resolutely; she would leave Graystone and travel to London, where she would seek employment of some kind. There was no other alternative. She couldn't consider marriage to Squire Masters, nor could she remain under Agatha's roof when that woman hated her, and would keep trying to force her into marriage with the Squire. No, there was no other course open to her but to flee.

Elysia suddenly felt completely exhausted. She was drained of all emotion as she stumbled wearily to her bed. She flung herself down upon it, resting her head against the pillow. There was nothing she could accomplish until darkness fell, so . . . Slowly her eyes closed, sleep creeping over her.

Elysia awoke to a darkened room, illuminated only by a pale shaft of moonlight, streaking through the window onto her bed, spreading its searching fingers across her face.

She sat up abruptly, her heart pounding. What time was it? She glanced out of the window at the silvery moon, peeking out behind slowly drifting clouds. It wasn't too high in the sky yet, so it couldn't be very late. She was relieved to see that the storm had temporarily abated. It would make it easier for her to travel across the fields and through the woods if she did not have to battle the storm in a rain-soaked cape.

She leapt quietly to her feet, her plan of action foremost in her mind, clearing it of the haziness of sleep. She went around her room quickly gathering up her few belongings—her dresses, a nightdress, a warm shawl, and her mother's silver brush and comb set, which she had kept hidden from Agatha. She reached into the far corner of the dresser drawer and withdrew a small phial of scent—the jasmine and roses her mother had loved so much, then retrieved the pistol which was tucked into a corner of the large, woven straw bag.

Kneeling down and reaching under her bed, Elysia carefully pulled out a wrapped bundle. Unwinding an old, faded, blue shawl she lifted out her most cherished possession—a delicate porcelain doll. Its little pointed face with its brightly-painted blue eyes and small, pink, rose bud mouth stared up at her. Elysia's hands lovingly smoothed out the wrinkles in the delicate lace dress adorned with rows of blue velvet bows. Her hands strayed to the plump round golden curls as she thought back to the day her father had returned from a month in London, his arms full of packages and presents as he regaled her with amusing stories of his adventures. He had placed the little doll in her small chubby hands, watching with enjoyment as she had crooned over it in a motherly fashion, her eyes as bright as stars.

Elysia smiled sweetly as she re-wrapped the little doll, and placed it on top of her dresses, under the thick shawl in the straw bag. She had kept these most precious possessions from her past life carefully hidden, guarding them from Agatha's watchful eyes, knowing that she would have thrown them out—as she had done with other mementos Elysia had been unable to hide away.
  
.

Elysia looked quickly about the room while swinging her heavy cloak over her shoulders. It was an ugly room, this servant's room, and she felt glad to leave it. She picked up her bag and reached for the door, quietly turning the knob.

It wouldn't open! Elysia turned it the other way, but no movement. The door was locked. Agatha had not trusted her, and she had locked her in. She was trapped!

Elysia's heart was pounding so loudly she thought the whole house would surely hear its deafening beats. She must not panic, she told herself. She must keep her wits about her, even though she felt her head swimming from the blood being pumped by her frantic heart. She hurried over to the window and peered down at the ground beneath. It seemed miles to the firm earth below. Elysia opened the window slowly, praying that it wouldn't squeak in protest. She would have to slide over the shingled roof to the edge, the dormer window giving her a platform to sit on as she climbed out.

There was a large sturdy vine of ivy that had been growing unrestrained on the side of the house for years. The branches were thick and hard, and if she were careful, it would see her safely to the ground below.

She reached for her straw bag, and yanking the cord from the curtains that hung limply beside the window, tied it to the handle, and lowered it over the window sill, past
the edge of the roof and slowly down the side of the house until the cord would reach no further. She reluctantly let it drop into the darkness below, where it landed with a muffed thud
as
it hit the damp earth.

Elysia climbed through the window casement and sat on the sill looking down
as
an uninvited and insidious thought came to her—what if she should slip and fall . . . ! Well, it had to be risked, and besides she really wasn't too worried, she reassured herself staunchly as she continued to look down at the ground. After all, hadn't she done quite a bit of climbing of trees and walls with Ian when she was a child? She always had perfect balance-what was there to fear?

She climbed from the window, and slid across the roof to the edge, making
as
little noise
as
possible. She grasped a large vine, seeking a foothold
as
she leaned over the edge, and with a swift movement, swung out, putting her full weight on the vine. It held. She breathed a sigh of relief as she carefully searched for other secure spots to place her feet as she slowly lowered herself to the ground.

Feeling a sense of exultation
as
she felt the soft firmness of turf beneath her feet, Elysia quickly untied the cord from her bag and hurried to the back of the house. She held her breath as she turned the knob of the kitchen door, knowing that the cook often forgot to lock it.

Elysia felt the door open a bit, creaking softly. Squeezing in through the crack, she moved silently about the large kitchen; taking a loaf of bread, cheese, a few slices of cold beef and ham, and two freshly-baked turnovers filled with sweetened fruit. She seldom had sweets, and these were for Agatha's early morning tea. She smiled as she thought of Agatha's face when she discovered the theft of the turnovers. But her smile quickly faded as the thought of being caught by her aunt chilled her to the bone.

Wrapping the stolen food in a large checkered cloth she stuffed it in her straw bag, then moved over to a shelf where the kitchen money was kept to pay any deliveries ordered for the kitchen. There wasn't very much, Elysia thought in disappointment, but there should be enough to see her to London.

The moon had risen higher, casting a silver light over the fields and woods as Elysia left the kitchen as quietly as she had entered, moments before. She slipped wraith-like across the wide unprotected stretch of ground between the house and woodlands.

Elysia cast no last look over her shoulder at Graystone Manor as she reached the wood, but kept going at a steady pace until deep within the trees. Taking a deep breath, she mentally shed the shackles that had held her in captivity. She must keep going and put as much distance between herself and Agatha as possible. She wanted no part of Agatha's rage when she found that her quarry had fled the trap.

She wouldn't be able to return there ever, nor would she want to. Since she was homeless, she had no choice but to go to London. Agatha would probably expect her to run home, to the familiar places that she knew, and she was not going to chance Agatha finding her. She could seek employment as a governess or companion; after an. she had been decently educated and brought up as a lady. She would not allow any self-doubts or nervousness to dissuade her from her decided course of action.

She traveled as quickly as she could in the light from the moon, stumbling into thorny bushes, their sharp thorns catching at her cloak, holding her secure, until she ripped and tugged her release, her hands scratched and bleeding. She continued onward, putting more distance between herself and Graystone Manor. She hoped to reach the edge of the woods before dawn, and be across the road and open pastures to the safety Of another belt of woodland, before the farmers started traveling with their produce on their way to market. She didn't want to be seen, for rumor traveled through the marketplace, from farmer to servant to master. within the space of a couple of hours.

Elysia broke through the last part of the woods, and felt the hard-packed dirt of the lane beneath her feet, as the first light of dawn was beginning to break to the east. From behind her the sweet, melodious notes of a nightingale drifted into the fresh morning air, its nighttime revelry hushed by the golden rays of the sun.

Elysia calculated that Graystone Manor was hours and miles behind her as she dashed across the lane, her feet barely touching, glancing about as she crawled into the thick hedge running along the far side of the lane.

She would have to hurry if she wanted to safely reach the cover of the trees in the distance, before the sun rose, bringing with it its revealing light.

Edging her way through the thick branches, Elysia was about to stand up and make a run across the field, when she froze. In the distance she heard the sound of wagon wheels, and the steady clop, clop; clop, of horses' hooves. Her heart pounded painfully as Elysia paused in indecision. It would be light any minute now and she must get across that field, but she couldn't risk being seen dashing madly across it be some local farmer who might know her.

Elysia raised herself up slightly, and peeked through a leafy branch of shrubbery. A few yards away, coming down the lane, was an old horse pulling a loaded cart full of protesting pigs. A young boy prodded the old mare to no avail. She kept her leisurely pace, paying no attention to the impatient driver. Elysia recognized him as Tom, the son of a farmer who was a tenant of the Squire's. She couldn't reveal herself to him, of all people. But he was so slow! Time was running out. A faint glow of pink was beginning to appear in the sky as the loaded cart passed by her hiding place in the hedge. She allowed him to get a little further down the road, then hurried out from under the hedge and ran wildly towards the woods, hoping Tom wouldn't look back.

Her lungs felt as if they were going to burst, and her sides ached as she reached the first concealing trees of the forest. Elysia leaned thankfully back against the trunk of a large oak as she gazed. back to enjoy the beauty of a glorious sunrise. The light Hooded across the fields, turning them from gray to green, the sky a prism of changing pinks and oranges, fading into a vivid blue. She was safe!

She smiled grimly as she thought of her wild rush across the field. When she'd been a little girl she had run gaily through the fields, never dreaming that one day she would be running in earnest for her freedom.

By mid-morning Elysia's legs ached with fatigue, and she felt light-headed with hunger. She heard a stream gurgling nearby, and following a path to its bank, she knelt down on the edge and drank thirstily of its clear sparkling water, her cupped hands dripping water down her forearms, wetting the long sleeves of her dress.