Note: This chapter contains scenes of violence that might be upsetting to some readers. Please understand that this part of the story deals with madness and obsession, but rest assured all will be well in the end!
Anna was out of breath when she arrived at Crawley House. When Molesley answered the door, she pushed her way inside and sputtered, "Is Mr. Crawley home?"
Matthew appeared from the drawing room. "Anna? Is something wrong? Where's Lady Mary?" He could tell from Anna's harried demeanor that she was upset.
"Oh, Mr. Crawley, I don't know what to think. I was to meet Lady Mary in front of the post office after we finished our errands, but I saw her get into a motor that drove out of the village. She would've told me if she had changed her plans." At this point tears began to course down Anna's cheeks in spite of her best efforts to control them.
Matthew took her by the arm and led her into the drawing room. He asked Molesley to bring in some tea and then asked, "Now, Anna, can you describe the motor? In which direction was it going? Please calm down and tell me what you remember."
Richard said nothing to Mary as they drove away from the village. He held the gun in his right hand and caressed its barrel with his left. To Mary he appeared almost to be in a trance. He made no move to touch her, content merely to focus on the gun. Calm. I must remain calm. I don't know what he's thinking. What in the world do I do now? Her worst fears were confirmed, however, when the car pulled to a stop in front of Haxby. Richard smoothly exited the motor, turned, and held his hand out to her. She recoiled against the opposite door momentarily until he pointed the gun at her.
"Get out, my dear."
She refused to take his hand but complied. The motor moved around to the back of the house as Richard took Mary's arm roughly and pulled her to the front door. He opened it, pressed the gun against her back, and forced her inside.
When she entered Haxby's great hall, Mary faltered because she knew without a doubt she was in trouble. Richard locked the door behind them, the clatter echoing in the marble-floored space. He still held the gun and waved it about nonchalantly as he moved around the room.
"I am quite pleased by the results. No doubt you will be, too," he stated arrogantly. "It will be a showplace once you have moved in."
She looked around and was immediately horrified by the décor. Hanging on the blood-red walls were huge tapestries depicting all sorts of disturbing images of deviancy—Bacchanalian revels, orgies, and bestiality. Her eyes grew wide as she faced Richard and saw his hooded eyes and leering grin. My God. This is a nightmare. How do I get out of here?
"Why did you bring me here, Sir Richard?" she asked, her steady voice masking the fear and revulsion she felt in her heart.
"I insist you call me Richard. Naturally, to show you how the house has been prepared for you," he replied effortlessly. "This is where you belong. We will make each other very happy here, my dear." He strutted around the room, obviously pleased with its design scheme. Facing her, obviously aroused, he moved his eyes up and down her body and licked his lips in anticipation. Tiny beads of sweat had formed on his brow.
Mary was shocked at his words, and an icy realization hit her. She knew she was trapped, and no one knew where she was. A madman. He's a madman. Her heart pounding in her chest, she raised her chin and stated firmly, "Richard, you can't be serious. You know our engagement ended months ago, so there's no point in rehashing this…."
"Bitch!" He slapped her—hard—sending her flying across the floor. She caught herself on the bannister, reeling from the impact, her head buzzing from the force of the blow. Her lower lip throbbed, and she tasted blood in her mouth. My God. How did I ever think I could handle him? What can I do to stop him? Oh, God, Matthew. I'm in terrible trouble. Trembling, she stood to face him, wiped her mouth with her hand, saw the blood, and was aware she had to use extreme caution not to inflame him further. She wasn't sure she would be able to stay composed in the face of his madness.
"Obviously, you're distressed I refused you," she said in the most resolute voice she could manage, "but surely you realize by now we'd never be happy. If you'll allow me to leave, I won't breathe a word about what has happened today." I've got to figure out how to get away from him. Calm down, Mary. Try to stay calm. But she knew she couldn't remain composed for long. She realized Richard posed more than a threat—he had gone long past thinking about the ramifications of his actions—if he were sane, he would know he couldn't keep her at Haxby, that Matthew and her family would find out. No, he was not in his right mind, so he was much more dangerous now than he ever was during their engagement.
He laughed, "Let you leave? I have no intention of ever letting you out of my sight again. You didn't really believe I'd give up so easily, did you? I certainly won't hand you over to that bastard cousin of yours. I've waited long enough to have you, and I always get what I want, you know that. Now, I don't want to harm you, but you really must learn that I will not tolerate any resistance from you. You must learn obedience. Now, let me show you around." He stared at her intently, walked toward her, and reached for her waist.
For the first time in her life, Mary experienced blind panic and bolted for the door. She managed to turn the lock and open the door, emitting a brief scream as Richard grabbed her, slammed the door, and used his body to pin her face first into it. She was shocked by his strength. He ran the barrel of the handgun up and down her back and on either side of her neck, and then used it to undo her upswept hair, causing it to tumble down her back and hairpins to scatter onto the floor. Oh, God, oh God, oh God, help me.
"Richard, let me go at once! You cannot get away with this." The tone of her voice belied her fear.
Then Mary felt Richard's hot breath on her neck and shuddered as he rubbed his face into her hair. My God, what can I do to stop this? He's insane…. Richard continued to inhale and exhale deeply against her. She struggled against him, but the force of his weight kept her pinned. Oh, Matthew, where are you? Did Anna even notice when I left the village? Oh, Matthew, I'm so sorry, so sorry….
"Please, Richard, please let me go," she implored. Let me go home, let me be with my love, my family. Please let me go…. Richard only groaned in response and continued to nuzzle her neck. He nearly was overcome by her scent.
Try as she might, she couldn't stop her tears. The more she struggled, the harder he pushed against her. His strength overpowered her, and she feared what the end result of this confrontation would be. He has no intention of letting me go. He'll kill me here. Oh, Matthew, where are you, my darling? I love you so much…. Fight! I have to fight, but he's so strong.
Mary began to scream, hoping someone would come to her aid. Her cries echoed around the room and seemed to enrage Richard. "There's no one here to hear you," he grunted into her ear, which caused her to choke back her sobs and thrash against him. She had no way of knowing he had hired only a chauffeur, not a staff. That was to be her job; he couldn't be bothered. Haxby was empty except for the two of them. Her screams would go unheeded, and he would have her all to himself. He stuck the gun in his waistband, turned her around, and pinned her shoulders to the door. Wild eyed, he forced his lips onto her mouth, and as he pulled away, she was horrified to see the blood from her torn lip smeared on his face. I'm going to be sick. Maybe if I were sick he'd leave me alone. He moaned with hunger and kissed her again, trying to force his tongue into her mouth. She resisted him by clamping her lips together and pushing against his chest, desperate to free herself from his grasp.
He ran his hands up and down her body, his eyes filled with black desire, a lustful smile on his lips that accentuated the creases on his face. As his body pressed her to the door, he attacked her neck with passionate, open-mouthed kisses, nipping and tearing at her and leaving marks on her tender flesh. She scratched, she cried, and she flailed—nothing stopped his assault. He practically was foaming at the mouth when he raised his head and looked into her eyes.
He alternated between kissing her and muttering, "Don't you know no one will ever love you as I do? You're mine, Mary, no one else's. I ache for you all the time. We're good together, Mary. I want you. I alone will have you, no one else. No one else. You're mine. No one else can have you. No one." He was sweating profusely and left a slick film that smelled of musk and cigar and desperation on her skin. She blanched. Will I ever be rid of this stench? This sensation of slime and filth? Keep fighting. Fight him. God, give me strength.
Still struggling, Mary caught her breath when she saw Richard's eyes move down her body. He tore open her bodice and grabbed her breasts through her corselet. Intending to use his mouth on her, he leaned in toward her body, but she fought wildly against him, using her fists on his face and chest and screaming for someone, anyone, to help her. Richard was deaf to her cries. His hands tried to raise her skirt as she screamed and battered at him. Please, God, give me the strength to fight him off. I will not let him do this. Enraged, he slapped her again, which caused her to lose her balance and fall to the floor. Her ears rang and her vision blurred; she lost her bearings and was unable to fight him off. He fisted his left hand into her cascading hair, wrapped it around her neck like a silken noose, and roughly raised her to her feet. With his right arm wrapped around her waist, he began to force her toward the staircase, intending to take her to the bedroom he'd designed specifically for her. What is he doing? Ow, my hair. Why can't I catch my breath? What's happening? Where is he dragging me? Oh, God. This is a nightmare. Please….Please….Please…..Oh, Matthew, I need you.
