By SincereJester
At last, dear readers, we reach a part long awaited…but not the end. Just the beginning, I should think…
Part 5
Claiming to have a great deal of pain in her head and leg,
Lady Beatrice ordered supper to be served in her bedroom, with all three of
them eating together. It was a silent affair, the tension thick between them.
Their mother, appearing oblivious to their turmoil, ignored them other than
issuing her orders. Thomas was to gather the dishes, take them down to the
kitchen and wash them. Then he was to retire
to the attic, alone, while Lucille tended to Mother’s bath.
They finished their meal and the children moved to carry out
Mother’s demands. Lucille went to the bath to draw the water, and Thomas stood
with a deep breath. He had given this matter some thought and decided on a
course of action. As nervous as he was in Mother’s presence, he felt he must at
least make an attempt. “Mother,” he began, “There is no reason Lucille need go
to Switzerland. Surely there are convents and hospices in Surrey and
thereabouts; couldn’t she go there with me?”
Lady Beatrice’s gaze pierced through him like a pin through
a mounted insect. “You know as well as I why that will never occur, Thomas
Sharpe,” she declared. “Thanks to your
sire, the Sharpe name is sullied enough; it is your obligation to redeem it, if
you’re able. You are heir to Allerdale Hall, a long and respectable legacy
before your father nearly brought it to ruin. Don’t question my decision, the
matter is done.”
Determined, Thomas forged on. “Lucille is a Sharpe, too,
Mother; surely she also has claim to her family name. If she can’t join me in
Surrey, then has she not earned the right to remain here, for all she has done
for us?” Thomas had never been so bold
before, but he wouldn’t fail trying to champion his sister; she had given too
much to him, to lose the security of her home.
“The right?” Lady Beatrice sneered. “Oh, you are both very
much your father’s offspring, aren’t you? Rights! Your sister forfeited any
claim to this estate by acting the way she did; I should have had her disowned
because of it. She should be grateful that at least I have not done so. There’s
not a single house in all the gentry that would take a wife of such a wanton
slut. After your despicable actions, you dare to question me? I have my
reasons, and I need not justify them to my own ungrateful, rebellious children!
And you have the gall to plead for her, to beg for her continued companionship?
Were it not for your sake and for the damned Sharpe name, I should have had you
both disinherited and your sins told to all. Leave me now, boy, I don’t want to
set eyes on you again until I see you off tomorrow!”
Defeated and his face burning with shame, Thomas quickly
took up the dishes and beat a hasty retreat to the kitchen. Overhearing the
entire diatribe, Lucille viciously twisted the taps to release the gush of
clay-tainted water that rattled through the pipes and burst through the faucet.
She stared as the water ran from rust to clear, and she sealed the drain. She
was proud of her brother, for once acting more as an adult than a child, only
to be humiliated and dismissed. She knew how desperate he must have felt, to
overcome his terror of Mother and confront her. And she meekly went on,
silently caring for his tormentor! Without pausing, she rose from the side of
the bathtub and walked stiffly back to Mother’s room. Bitterness welled up in her as she helped her
mother disrobe and don her wrap, but she couldn’t think of how to express her
roiling emotions. With a tenderness that belied her resentment, Lucille
escorted Mother across the tiled floor of the bathroom, helping her remove the wrap
and settle into the water. Lucille took up the robe, draping it over the screen
nearby. Mother leaned back with a sigh, the hot water soaking into her aching
flesh. “Out with it, girl,” she said abruptly. “Or do you plan on merely
staring at me in silence the whole night?”
Lucille didn’t blink when she asked, “Did you ever love us?
Or were you always so cruel?”
“Life is cruel, Lucille. My marriage was arranged, a
marriage of convenience; Sir James took me for my money. I was not young; I had
no other prospects, and he was a brute and a drunkard, but I was his by law. He
was my husband, but he never treated me as his wife. He forced himself on me
with his lustful perversions from the start, and you two were the result.
Love!” She made a disparaging noise. “Love is a lie, you ignorant child; a
falsehood found in those fairytales you tell your brother. Romantic nonsense!”
“That’s not true!” Lucille insisted. “I love Thomas, and he
loves me! We are your children, Mother, your own children—“
“You are more your father’s than any children of mine; you
are as willful and deviant and wicked as he ever was. Don’t you dare speak to
me of love, of that—that—vile, wicked thing you were doing. You’ve been a
willful, rebellious child since you were born, and your brother….he is just
like his miserable father; filled with sinful desire…I won’t allow it! I will
draw out the corruption infesting your souls.
Thomas will inherit this remnant of a once-proud and rich legacy: he
will be the lord of Allerdale Hall, Sir Thomas Sharpe, baronet, and there will
be no taint of scandal on him from you or anyone else. You will go to the
convent to learn chastity, humility and submission, even if the sisters need to
beat it into your wicked skin. At least I can spare you the fate of an unhappy,
arranged marriage; you can have some vocation as a nurse if you want.”
“I want to stay with Thomas. I can go to Surrey, join an
order there—“
“Out of the question!” her mother interjected angrily.
“Please, Mother, don’t do this to us!” Lucille begged. “I
have never asked you for anything, ever, I have always cared for you and
Thomas. Please!”
“Stop this hysterical display this instant!” roared Mother.
“It is ugly and unbecoming.”
“At least let me stay here, then,” Lucille argued. “I can look
after the house, and I can care for you.”
Mother glared at her, meeting Lucille’s wide-eyed
desperation with undisguised revulsion. “Do you take me for a fool?” she
demanded. “You think I would keep you here, alone with me? You think I would
allow you to continue your murderous plots against me, without witnesses?”
“What?” Lucille exclaimed, jumping up in alarm.
“Foolish girl, you didn’t think I was ignorant of your
poisoning your father—the tea, was it? Oh, yes, girl, I know the truth, I have
known for some time. Where did you learn to do that, girl, if not from my
books, eh? Oh, yes, young lady, there was a time when your mother was quite the
scholar, better read than that man I was forced to marry, and I know the
symptoms of poisoning not only when I see it, but when I experience it. I don’t
think I’ll be taking any more of your tea, Lucille, or anything else from you.”
She sank back in the murky bath water. “You are monsters, Lucille; you and your
brother and this monstrous passion you call ‘love’. You’ve twisted your
sisterly affection into something dark and evil. You are both monsters!”
Half-blind with rage, Lucille shrieked, rushing away from
the bathroom, stumbling down the staircase flapping her arms like moth wings in
the dim light, fleeing her mother’s vicious verbal assault. She knew, Mother
knew and she would punish her; she would cane the skin from her very
bones…there was no hope for her now, no hope for her or for Thomas…Thomas!
Mother would tear them apart and she would never see him again! She would be
alone, unloved and monstrous and alone…!
Lucille wasn’t even conscious of entering the kitchen. She
staggered about in the darkness, going to the right side around the table
toward the fireplace and stove instead of toward the elevator on the left. Arms
outstretched, her hand fell on the butcher block, reflexively grasping the
handle of the bone cleaver imbedded there.
Jerking it free, she spun around and raced back up the stairs, berserk
with hatred.
Lady Beatrice stabbed an accusing finger toward her as if to
continue her ranting as Lucille careened through the doorway, but her scolding
rose to a horrified scream as Lucille heaved the cleaver up in both her hands
and smashed it down into her mother’s skull, nearly splitting it in two. Blood
and gore and shards of bone exploded everywhere. Lady Beatrice fell back in the
bathtub, unnaturally wide eyes slipping closed, the breath wheezing out her
dead lungs with a chilling groan, the blade still stuck in her head.
Lucille let go, reeling back, her chest heaving from the
effort. A sudden calm washed over her, and she stood unmoving as the water grew
red as wine. She had killed her, slaughtered her as easily as she had the pigs,
and she felt nothing. Mother was dead. She was dead, and they were free.
“Lucille!”
She heard Thomas calling her. His voice sounded distant,
muffled. She found her voice, answering him. “Here, Thomas, I’m here! It’s all
right, my love; come see.”
“Lucille, what…” Thomas burst into the room, only to freeze
at the ghastly sight in the bathtub. “Lucille,” he whimpered.
She reached a hand out to him. “Come here, darling brother,”
she said, her voice calm and quiet. “Let’s wait and see if the moths take her
soul away.”
Thomas stood next to his sister, panting in fear and
disbelief, as the room grew more still. The water rippled as blood dripped, the
body slumped like a drowned thing in the tub. Lucille drew a deep breath, let
it out slowly, and shrugged. Thomas gripped her hand tighter. “Well, I guess
she didn’t have much of one,” Lucille remarked when there was no whispered
flutter of moths’ wings. “A soul, that is. If she does have one, I hope it rots
in Hell.” She pulled him along to the bedroom without a backward glance.
Thomas simply gaped at her, the horror of what she had done
too great a shock for him to fully comprehend. “What are we going to do now?”
he whispered.
“We are going to go upstairs and stay there together, but
there are things I must do first.” Lucille released his hand and began to strip
off her spattered dress. Standing in front of him in her shift, she placed the
garment in his arms. “Take that to the attic and burn it. I’ll join you
soon.”
She stared after him as he shuffled out the room like a
sleepwalker, motionless until she knew he was gone. Suddenly she became a
whirlwind of activity, going to the dressing table and gathering up the stray
pieces of jewelry set on the vanity before the glass, dumping them into the
ornate jewelry box. Peering into the box, a flash of crimson caught her eye. Mother’s ring, the blood-red garnet cabochon
surrounded with chips of marcasite set in gold, the very one that had scarred
her face…this she could not risk leaving it out of her reach. It was hers; all
the jewelry was hers now, but especially that ring—she had earned it. She
shoved it onto her finger, scooped up the jewelry box and hurried to the lift.
Rising from the dark depths to the attic nursery, the dark
moths greeted her, their fluttering wings sounding like applause. Lucille
couldn’t help but smile. She was Lady Sharpe, mistress of Allerdale Hall, and
she had triumphed at last.
Slutty Yorick 