Willing (18 page)

He smiled. “No, I imagine you are correct.”

Gregory watched her as she turned back to her window, the outskirts of the city just visible through the caning of the screen.

Chapter Fourteen

The road began to shift beneath them, from the regular rhythm of cobblestone to the erratic rumbling of worn dirt roads. They were drawing close to the estate. Constance relished the silence of the last hour of their trip, Gregory still sitting across from her, his hat over his face, seemingly napping. She didn’t dare make an escape, climbing out of the moving carriage in her beer soaked robe, running through fields of cattle and sheep to get to safety, to help – to Alisdair. What could she do? Outrun the carriage to him, warn him what the circle intended? Bare feet on dirt road would never outdo the galloping of horses, and Gregory made her a promise – behave and he would be merciful. Promise of mercy gave her time. Time to think of something. Time to warn Alisdair, help him escape. She knew her own fate was doomed. Even if she made it out alive, there was nowhere for a whore like her to hide from these people. They were of importance, who knew how high this corruption reached. They would find her and they would kill her. Still, if her death was decided, let it be of some use; let it give Alisdair a chance to flee. She remained in that carriage, silent, praying that the evening would offer her a chance to save Alisdair, if not herself.

The carriage pulled up to the estate, the familiar torches lighting the stairs for the arriving guests. Hers was not the first. The circle was already arriving.

Gregory startled awake with a snort as Thomas opened the carriage door. He stood aside, one arm behind his back as he bowed to her, waiting for her to exit. She nodded to him, forcing a smile, and climbed down on the gravel of the drive, the tiny stones digging into her bare feet.

“Lady Constance, would you have me carry you?”

“No, no. She’s fine. Isn’t she?”

Thomas turned to Gregory, his brow set. Gregory was not Thomas’ superior. They were equals, and it was clear Thomas found his answering on her behalf inappropriate. She quickly moved to still his concern.

“It is alright, dear Thomas. It isn’t far to walk.”

“I will go ahead and have them prepare your dressage, yes?”

Constance glanced down at her unfortunate state. “Yes, that would be lovely.”

Thomas was off, rushing into the house as a masked couple made their way in behind him, led by George, the other familiar footman. The masked couple shot her a blatant sideways glance as she fought to walk upright and gracefully across the gravel. They chattered away to each other as she reached the steps. The smooth surface beneath her foot was a relief.

“Constance, love! You’re here.”

The voice sent a familiar surge through every limb, like some current traveled through each bone, down into the earth beneath her. She turned to meet Alisdair, looking up into his concerned eyes. He inspected her state, frowning.

“Aren’t you cold? Gregory, why on Earth -?”

“It’s my fault.” She swallowed, searching for explanation. “There was a commotion at the tavern and I had to get out of there. We were running late and I – I lent my dresses out to a few of the girls. I’m sorry, I would have come dressed -”

“No mind. Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?”

Alisdair offered his arm, but as she went to take it, Gregory squeezed her elbow so tight, she nearly yelped. She turned to meet him.

“Shall I keep an eye on her then, M’Lord? I see Thomas and George with other guests.”

Alisdair stopped, glancing at him a moment. “Yes. I suppose that would be fine. Why don’t you make your way to the Conservatory?” Alisdair turned to her. “You’ll want a bath first, I assume.”

Constance glanced down at her robe, only then remembering the stench of beer, a thick perfume she’d grown too accustomed to in the carriage to consider until now.

“I truly would.”

“Then, you shall have it.” Alisdair led her down the hall, Gregory keeping close pace behind them. She could feel him at her back like some spider crawling up her shoulder, ready to tangle itself in her hair. She squeezed Alisdair’s arm, wanting to hold him tight, somehow protect him, and shelter him in her arms. But she couldn’t. All she could do was keep a serene air and keep her promise. If only she could get him alone.

Heidi and Margaret appeared at the end of the hall, their arms heavy with towels and dressing gowns. Her heart raced at the sight of them, the thought of having those stolen moments alone with them. Perhaps they could find a way, the three of them together.

Alisdair gave the women their usual instructions before he turned to her, kissing her atop the head. He released Constance’s arm, but she held tight. He stopped, meeting her gaze. She willed her eyes to speak on her behalf, to silently betray the monster that stood just behind her, threatening with his presence.

Alisdair just smiled, leaning in to whisper to her. “I’ve missed you.”

Her heart broke. He simply squeezed her hand and turned away, marching down the hall. “Take good care of her, girls. I want her at her best.”

Alisdair was down the hall and out of sight before the girls could even open the door to the wash room. Constance swallowed, turning to enter. Gregory took hold of her elbow and pulled her back to him, waving to the girls to start her bath. They shared a glance between them, but did as instructed. Constance kept her eyes to the floor, holding her breath as the smaller man drew close to her, his breath betraying a favor for Brandy and a rotten tooth.

“I’ll be right outside here, love. Say even a word to one of these girls and they’ll not be able to identify their bodies. Am I understood?”

Constance stifled a cry, swallowing it back down like bile. “Yes.”

“Good.” Then with the flourish of a well-trained butler, he bowed to her, gesturing with an outstretched hand for her to follow the girls through the door.

The girls engaged in their usual quiet banter, washing Constance’s long, dark hair with the Lavender and Jasmine oils, scrubbing her skin with sugar and honey. They gathered up the soiled robe and tossed it out the window, pinching their noses in exaggerated displeasure. They were trying to make her laugh, but it was for naught. She kept her eyes shut throughout, unable to meet their gaze for fear her eyes might give her away. She let the warm water settle into her bones, let the sensation of their fingers in her hair send chills down the nape of her neck. She contemplated the fact that this may very well be the last time someone touched her with such gentleness, that the warmth of this water may be the last soothing thing she would ever feel. When Constance’s toes touched the cold tile floor again, it was as though someone had taken a hammer to her ankles, and she nearly collapsed in Heidi’s arms.

“Ye alright, miss?”

Constance nodded, urgently. “I am. I’m fine. Just a bit tired, I think.”

“Well, we’ll get your tea next. Perhaps that will help.”

The girls wrapped her in a fresh robe and opened the washroom door. The cool air in the hallway blew in, coupled with the sight of Gregory still standing in the doorway, and Constance found her limbs atrophied there, unable to move. She’d never felt so helpless in her life.

“Will Alisdair be joining me for tea?”

She’d asked without thinking, the words finding their way out from sheer desperation. She wanted to see him, even if she couldn’t tell him what was coming, she wanted to see his face.

“I will ask, Mum.”

Constance followed the girls down the hall to the bright doorway of the conservatory. The usual bustling sounds betrayed a busy kitchen deeper into the house, and the table was set with all manner of pies and pastries. The sight of food turned her stomach. She wouldn’t be enjoying this last meal.

Gregory remained at the door as Constance simply sat before the glorious spread of food, accepting Margaret’s offer of wine, despite not touching a single sip. She frowned at the chocolate pastries and tiny cheese and fruit tarts. They were her favorite, as the staff knew, and they’d made a point to offer only the things they knew she loved. To leave it untouched, knowing it would be the last meal she’d ever have chance to eat was enough to make her cry. Still, Constance’s stomach was in fiery knots, churning and bending with every thought. Every glance she made towards the door offered only Gregory’s smile, flashing her with madness in his expression.

“Are you not hungry, Mum?”

Constance startled to find Margaret hovering over her with a pitcher of wine.

“I’m not feeling well, darling. I’m sorry. It all looks so amazing.”

Margaret smiled, patting Constance’s hand. “It’s alright. We’ll give the rich folk your leftovers, shall we? They’ll never know.”

Constance smiled up at the woman’s conspiring eyes.

“If you’re finished, I’ve asked after his Lordship. He has asked that you join him in the library when you’ve had enough.”

Constance swallowed, tipping her wine glass from side to side on the table.

Margaret hovered at her shoulder, waiting. “Are you finished, Mum?”

Constance took a deep breath and forced herself to swallow the contents of her wine glass – the whole glass in three large gulps. She exhaled, her face contorting with the bite of the wine. “I am.”

Constance stood from the table, set her jaw, and marched toward the conservatory door, brushing past Gregory as though he didn’t exist. He matched her pace, keeping just a few steps behind as she made her way down the familiar hallways, hearing the distant chortling of Alisdair’s guests – the circle members gathering at their own feast before the ritual.

Constance stopped at the library door, unable to move. Alisdair stood over the table, pouring over his open books, running one of his long fingers over the pages, as though he might absorb the words through touch. Constance watched him a moment, burning that image of him into her mind. He was safe and whole now. He had no idea what was coming. How could she go through this and not warn him? Even if warning him would cause them both to suffer, how could she keep silent?

“Ah, Constance. You’re here. Good.”

Alisdair pulled her into the library and gestured for her to take a seat before he pulled his own chair up to meet her. He was agitated in his usual excited fashion, some urgent discovery or some other development. Gregory remained in the hallway, but took his post just out of sight. He would hear every word – he would know if she warned him. Constance battled silently with her thoughts.

“Look here.”

Alisdair pulled the heavy leather bound book toward the edge of the table and pointed to a few lines of script.

both must give of themselves to receive
.

Constance shook her head. “I’ve read this all before.”

“I have as well, but I was reading from another text – here. Look here.”

Alisdair brought over a second book, this one markedly older than the first. The language of this text was clearly not English, and Constance could do little to decipher its meaning. Yet, settled in amongst the foreign words, there were sketches, easily identifiable – an altar, but instead of a single person on the altar, there were two, a man and woman in congress. Constance took a sharp breath.

“It looks as though the Egyptians performed it with two people on the altar.”

“Did they succeed?”

“I don’t know, but last time – God, I don’t know if you felt what I did, but - we’re so close, perhaps this is the missing piece.”

Constance leaned over the books, reading every word she could, searching for language she could understand.
As in many rites, the tie between altar and Septon will either make or destroy the magic done in the circle.

“Part of me hates to ask you to do this.”

Constance turned to face him. “To do what?”

Alisdair glanced to the pages, almost ashamed. “To share yourself with someone this way, for me.”

His face looked pained, and he wouldn’t meet her gaze.

Constance closed her eyes, inhaling through her nose. “I’m a whore, Alisdair. It’s what you pay me to do. It’s why I am here, is it not?”

Alisdair finally looked at her, his brow furrowed. “Do you really believe that?”

“Yes. Oh, I forgot. I’m special, you say.”

Here words took on a biting edge and her nostrils flared as she spoke.

Alisdair saw her expression, and frowned. “You are.”

“Yes, some inherent mysticism. What bollocks?”

“You are special because you are precious to me.”

The words fired off deep in her chest, but she fought to ignore what she felt. Don’t let him see what he means to you. Don’t let him see how scared you are.

“Any woman could take my place, Alisdair. Spreading one’s legs isn’t a specialty where I come from.”

“Don’t speak like that.”

“Why not? Is that why I’m so useful to you? Because I speak like a lady?”

“No -”

“I’m
not
a lady. I’ve never been a lady. And if the women out there in that ballroom are what you call a lady, then I don’t ever want to be one.”

Alisdair took her by the shoulders, straightening her to face him. “Stop it, Constance. If you don’t want to do it, I’ll not ask you to.”