Uncaged Page 5

  There was a smattering of bare feet stomping across the wooden floors and Wren’s door flung open. The butler, two maids and the cook stood with lanterns held high. And then there were screams. Screams to wake the dead. Both maids swooned instantly, falling hard before the two men could catch them. The butler and the cook stood staring, their mouths agape at what lay before them.

  “Bloody Christ! They’ve been bludgeoned to death!” the butler hissed.

  Chapter 5

  “I swear I heard a lion,” the cook replied as he retold the strange events that had occurred two nights previous.

  Rose, Wren’s chambermaid, bit her lip, recalling the terrible cat like screeches that had waken her from a dead sleep. She gathered potions and medicinal vials for her mistress’ bath from the cupboards as she clicked her tongue. “And what a mess. I swore they’d been butchered.”

  The cook cut off a chicken leg and tossed it into a boiling pot. “And what of that, say you? She claims it was a love bite?”

  “Aye,” Rose nodded, tucking bottles into her apron pockets.

  “Have you seen the wounds?”

  “Not yet, but I’m to give her a bath shortly.”

  “Report back to me. I’m curious. Others are talking.”

  “Of what?” Rose asked, making her way toward the door.

  The cook tossed the remaining chicken into the pot and wiped his hands on his apron before walking to her side and whispering in her ear.

  “Witchcraft!”

  Rose’s hand flew to her mouth. Her eyes flashed open in horror. The cook went on.

  “These quadroons are famous for their dealings in black magic. Some think she put a spell on the captain.”

  “No!”

  “Aye, as punishment for selling her dear mother, god bless her.”

  “It was a terrible deed.”

  “And have you seen her shed a tear over the matter of the captain’s death?”

  Rose looked him squarely in the eye. “I’ve seen not a soul care that the vile man is gone. I rejoiced in it myself.”

  “Yes, but how odd is it to take a gentleman caller into her rooms the eve of her father’s wake?”

  Rose shrugged. “Mister Remington has called many times before. Nothing strange about the matter. Have you seen the man?”

  The cook snorted. Mister Remington would make any king envious. The female servants played dice, betting on who would tidy Wren’s room the mornings they slept late. All of them wanted a glimpse of the man in the buff.

  There was a knock at the back door. The cook went to answer it while Rose pushed the kitchen door open and walked up the stairs that led to her lady’s room. She took a deep breath before opening the door and slipping inside. If Miss Wren were involved in something as sinister as black magic, she would make sure she kept the woman exceedingly happy. The captain had died a terrible death. Rose had never seen or heard such hideous coughing and sputtering in all her days. She had stayed away from his quarters as much as possible, not wanting to expose herself to his ills. Oddly enough, no one else in the house had fallen victim to his disease. For the first time, Rose wondered if perhaps the cook was onto something. That would explain everyone’s immunity to the captain. Even the men who tended to him daily were fine. The young boy who bathed him was seen playing stick ball in the road only yesterday and he had touched his open wounds. Better to stay in her good graces, regardless.

  “What time is it, Rose?” Wren asked, stretching her arms high above her head. She was completely naked.

  “A quarter til nine, ma’am.”

  “Gads! I dread this day.”

  Rose nodded as she began emptying potions into the warm tub of water and swirling them about with her hands.

  “Did you hate him, Rose? As much as I did?”

  Even if she’d adored the captain, Rose would have never disagreed with her mistress. “Aye, ma’am. He was a despicable man.”

  Wren snorted delicately. “Lord, why couldn’t he have died before he sold my mama?”

  Rose took her hand and helped her into the bath. She pinned her hair up and began scrubbing her slender back with a soapy sponge. “Tis a shame, ma’am. We all loved your mum. She’s a wonderful, kind lady.”

  “Mister Remington aims to buy her back.”

  Rose’s eyebrows rose. She had no doubt that Mister Remington could accomplish anything he promised. He looked to be a man who kept true to his word. “Does he, ma’am? Won’t that be a day of great celebration?”

  “Oh, isn’t he a fine, man, Rose? Isn’t he the most handsome you’ve ever seen.”

  Rose smiled, for it was true. She’d never seen a finer man in all her days. “That he is ma’am, that he is. I’ve never seen you happier.”

  Wren sighed and shut her eyes as Rose pulled a wet arm out of the warm water and began soaping and scrubbing. “I never have been, I tell you. I never knew love until now.”

  “He’s every woman’s dream, ma’am. And a solicitor too?”

  “Aye. He aims to abolish the wicked acts of slavery. He thinks nothing of my coloring. You think that odd for an Englishman?”

  “Not at all, ma’am. There are many who detest the practice,” Rose added, for she was fully white herself, waiting on a blackamoor was an oddity for sure. “I, for one.”

  “Now that father is gone, I warrant you, things around here will change. And for the better.”

  “Oh?”

  “All the servants will receive a pension. Room, food and board is not good enough. What if you want to buy your children nice things? Why should only noblemen receive luxuries? You work hard. I will not be known as a tyrant, like my father. You’re my family, Rose and you’ll be treated as such.”

  Tears welled up in Rose’s eyes. She blinked away the blur, focusing on washing Wren’s breasts. A stab of fear sliced through her when she caught sight of the ugly wounds. Four, deep puncture wounds surrounded her right breast. And now ugly, purplish-black bruises radiated from them all. She’d never seen a love bite like this and could not fathom how her mistress could enjoy such an act.

  “Rose?”

  “Ma’am?”

  “Would you like a pension? Don’t you want pretty clothes and jewelry?”

  “Oh yes, ma’am! You are most generous. I’ve never known a kinder person. Just the thought brings me comfort.”

  “Just the thought? Whatever do you mean Rose?”

  “I didn’t mean disrespect, ma’am. It’s only that I understand if you can’t deliver on your promise.”

  “Why on earth would I not be able to deliver? This estate is mine now. I can do what I please.”

  Rose thought better of answering. She had not realized it, but now that she thought about it, Wren had been locked away in her room for an entire day, making love to Mister Remington. She’d barely surfaced. Her meals had been delivered to her and she’d heard that other servants had seen her venture outside only twice to walk the gardens with Bruce late at night. She’d didn’t like to be the bearer of bad news. Her mistress would find out soon enough.

  Wren winced when Rose lifted her heavy breast to wash underneath. “Sorry, ma’am, does it hurt?”

  Wren smiled. “Not as much now.”

  Rose chose her words carefully. “I’ll put some balm on it when you’re dried off, ma’am.”

  “Thank you.”

  She decided to mention Mister Remington. Her mistress would never guess her probing if she asked just right. “He must be a devil in bed, ma’am. That’s quite a love bite.”

  A wicked, seductive grin curled itself around her wet face. “Oh how he makes me swoon, Rose. The most virile man ever and ever so gentle with me.”

  Rose nearly choked on her own spittle. “Gentle ma’am? These wounds hardly look gentle.”

  Wren waved a hand covered with bubbles in the air. “Oh, please. It was all in good fun, I assure you. He only got carried away in the act. Really, it looks much worse than it is.”

  “But you gave us such a
fright, ma’am. We thought you’d both been hacked up real nice!”

  Wren giggled. “Surely you jest. Was it that bad, really?”

  Rose nodded. “The sheets had to be burned, ma’am. Your gown was soiled beyond belief.”

  “Come now. You say that you heard screams. They were only calls of love. Sometimes I think the whole lot of you might tend to your own affairs.”

  “We thought you were hurt, ma’am. Honest! And then when we barged in and saw all the blood, why Mary and I fainted dead away. It was quite a sight.”

  Wren tossed her head back and giggled. “Surely you jest! You swooned at a bit of blood?”

  Rose frowned. “It wasn’t a bit, ma’am. It was a mess of it. The sheets were covered and both of you appeared dead upon entry to your chambers.”

  “Haven’t you ever spent yourself on passions beyond anything you’ve ever experienced? That was all it was. Exhaustion. Pure and simple.”

  “I’m afraid not, ma’am. Not like that.” Rose crossed the room to fetch some towels.

  Wren sighed. “I’m anxious for this day to pass.”

  “Yes ma’am. I’ve pressed your dress for you.”

  “Gads! Black looks horrid on me.”

  “No color can diminish your beauty, ma’am,” Rose added. Best to stay in her good graces just in case her mistress really meddled in black magic.

  “Such a shame that I have to don such a color.”

  Rose helped her out of the tub and wrapped a towel around her.

  “Tis true, but you’ll look lovely as ever.”

  “Even more of a shame that I should be thrust into mourning when I feel like celebrating.”

  Rose arched a brow. Wren waggled her finger at her maid. Rose inched closer, leaning her ear near her mistress’ lips. “Let’s pretend this will be a celebration.”

  “A celebration, ma’am?”

  “Indeed. A holiday to rejoice in my father’s demise.”

  Rose’s hand clasped over her heart. So it was true! Miss Wren had cast a spell on her own father! Whether she would pass this bit of knowledge onto the cook or not, she was unsure of. Now she feared her own mistress.

  ~*~

  Wren was seated at her vanity, inspecting her bruised breast. Two of the wounds were beneath the breast, but the other two were spilling out over her bust, giant purple orbs. If not for her darker coloring, they’d appeared much worse. She wiped off the balm that Rose had smeared over the sores and applied as much rouge as possible to the delicate area. Luckily, she would be wearing her high necked mourning dress to the wake. There was a gentle rap at her door. Rose let herself in.

  “The guests are gathering, ma’am. We best get your dress on you,” Rose informed her mistress in a shaky voice.

  Wren sighed as she patted her hair and then pulled on one tight curl, watching it bounce back to her ear. She frowned at her reflection. “Oh how I dread this.”

  She rose as her maid entered the room and helped her dress. Neither of them said a word as Rose pulled at her corset and buttoned the dozens of tiny black pearls that trailed from her neck all the way down to her waist. With one last glance in the wavy looking glass, Wren nodded to her maid. The two of them left in silence. A sense of dread clung to the air as Rose followed Wren down the hall and winding staircase to join the mourners in the parlor. Twenty people or more were milling about in black when the butler opened the door to allow more guests entryway.

  Wren was surprised, considering the captain had little or no friends among the elite. He would be remembered best for his staunch support of slavery when it was becoming most unfashionable and many had seen it for the inhumane practice that it truly was in Europe and beyond. Selling his mulatto wife back into slavery was his worst act ever. Wren noticed as she watched those gathered that most were gentlemen of her father’s age, men who came from a different time. These men were of her father’s generation, many of them slave owners themselves who found no wrong doing on the captain’s part. She knew most of them were aghast at the new legislation in the works to liberate the slaves. The fact that Bruce worked so valiantly to abolish slavery made her only love him more. Oh how she wanted to climb back up the stairs and bury her head beneath her pillow and ignore them all! She took a deep breath as she entered the parlor, realizing fully that she was among enemies.

  Where is Bruce? He promised he’d come. He knows I detest these things!

  It was as if he heard her calling for at that very moment, there were three strong knocks on the front door. Wren’s eyes followed the butler as he strode to the door and opened it wide. There standing in his mourning attire, stood Bruce. Wren was instantly at ease. She rushed to his side and took his hand. Bruce brushed a small kiss along her hair line. His scent comforted her. Now she was safe.

  “Oh, Bruce, thank you for coming,” she whispered.

  “Of course, my darling. Shall we go pay our respects?” he asked grimly, wanting this over as quickly as she.

  Wren nodded. They made their way to the casket, though Bruce had already seen the bastard a night ago, bumping into him in the dark. His manner of decay had already worsened. The captain’s cheeks and eyes had sunken further into his wrinkled face and a most unnatural deep scowl slashed his ruddy features. Two coins lay upon his eye lids as was customary. It gave Wren a small measure of comfort, indicating that her father had died with them open. She could only hope that he’d been in terrible pain just before passing. The bastard deserved it for all he’d done to her and her dear mother. She had no doubt he would spend the rest of eternity burning for his sins.

  A fire had been lit in the far corner of the parlor. Wren noticed a hoard of men gathered around one tall, thin man. The group was laughing raucously. Wren thought it in terrible taste during a wake and wondered who the man could be. She’d never seen him before. She also noticed he held her father’s brandy snifter in his hands, for the Whittier family crest was etched on the outside. Rose walked into the parlor, carrying the silver tea pot. When she knelt to place it on the table, Wren tapped her on the shoulder.

  “Some tea, ma’am?” Rose asked softly.

  Wren ignored her question. “Rose, who is that man over there?”

  “Where, ma’am?”

  “That man in the corner. The one holding my father’s brandy snifter. I’ve never seen him before.”

  Rose frowned as she looked to the corner of men and back at her mistress, vying for the right words. Gentle words that wouldn’t shock her.

  “Rose!” Wren hissed when Rose only wrung her hands.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m trying to recall his last name. Ah, yes. Sheldon is his name. Mister Ralph Sheldon.”

  “Why is he here?” Wren pressed.

  Bruce leaned closer, now just as curious as Wren.

  Rose fought for the right words, looking first to Bruce and then back at Wren who stared at her, waiting. She thought of making something up, but realized that Wren would find out anyhow and besides, she didn’t want any of her mistress’ anger at the matter to be directed toward her. Now that she knew for certain that Miss Wren dealt with the devil, she certainly didn’t want any black magic cast her way.

  “He’s here to claim the estate, ma’am.”

  Wren gasped. Bruce clasped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer. Both of them had believed Wren to be the only heir. It had been written into her father’s will years ago. This was her ticket to freedom. She would be financially sound for all her remaining days, or so they thought.

  Wren blinked uncontrollably, gathering her wits about her. “Wh-what?”

  “Aye, ma’am. I’m so very sorry. He was named benefactor in the captain’s will.”

  “Bu-but my father named me heir in his will years ago. He told me so himself. Are you certain?”

  Rose blinked at her mistress. “Quite certain, ma’am.”

  “When did he arrive?” Wren asked between clenched teeth.

  “This morn, ma’am. I would have told you sooner, but I ju
st learned of it myself,” Rose lied, praying that witches couldn’t read minds.

  “Is he related?”

  “Aye, he is.”

  “An uncle perhaps?”

  Rose shook her head. “No, ma’am. He’s the captain’s son.”

  “A son?” Wren had no idea she had a sibling.

  Rose nodded and whispered in Wren’s ear. “He was born on the wrong side of the blanket. The captain only found out about him five years ago. He had his will rewritten when Mister Sheldon came into the picture.”

  Wren turned to look at her maid in horror. “Who told you this?” she spat, keeping her voice low.

  “Rumors have been swirling, ma’am. Some of the other servants heard the details whilst serving the solicitors and Mister Sheldon in the library this morn. I suspect most of it is true. Betsy caught wind of most of the talk and she’s honest as they come.”

  “And he’s as white as they come,” Wren replied.

  “And he’s coming this way,” Bruce warned.

  Wren’s spine stiffened when the stranger took her hand and kissed the back of it. “You must be Wren, my half-sister.”

  Wren plastered a smile on her face and curtsied. “Mister Sheldon, this is Mister Remington.”

  The two men shook hands.

  “Forgive me sir, but I’d never even heard of your existence,” Wren said sweetly.