The Last of the Wine

by DJ Clawson

This is the last story in my series that began with "A Bit of Advice." At this point you should not be starting with this story, unless you really like a challenge. You should go to my profile page for links to the stories in order.

Author's note: This chapter is rated M for mature.

And now, back to our story:

Chapter 37 - Cassandra's Story

Whether Cassandra Darcy was being hunted or hated, she did not know. Though the thought of her father's rage terrified her, she did not think at first that she had ever truly seen him angry, only heard stories. But he would be disappointed; there was no doubt. Everyone would be disappointed, but if her father ever looked at her again, it would not be with the same eyes. She was sure of it.

When she met Mr. Hyde, she knew instantly she was playing with fire. They met under the most unsuspicious circumstances – he was visiting his friend and fellow clergyman the Vicar Emerson, and she was doing her rounds of charity work with her sister and mother and was temporarily separated from them when she went to pick wildflowers. He was there, and he apologized profusely for the intrusion, and took his leave.

It was the first of many intrusions that fall. She was intelligent enough to know she could blame only the first on happenstance. However much he tried to hide it, there was a hungry look in his eyes, different from her suitors in Town. Even the least respectful of them saw her money or her mere physical features, to the extent that she could show it at a ball and still adhere to the proprieties of society, but the look in his eyes was different. His eyes were crystal blue and they were like lightening in the sky, quacking her very soul.

At two and twenty, Cassandra knew what it meant. She had never experienced it, of course, but for a few quick kisses and one near miss of a wandering hand, which put an end to that suitor, who had been a perfectly decent person before that. Though she was shocked each time, and willingly took her father's leave to abandon the man, she could not fight the senses that came later, that something was missing from her life and her patient wait for "the very best of men" (as Sarah was so fond of saying, and as a result would probably never marry, as no man existed) meant she was missing some essential. Whatever her father and society said, it belonged in her life, and just knowing that made her all the more lonely. Though she was loathe to admit it, that her brother was in an intense physical relationship with Georgie was obvious. Their three children (four if one counted the stillbirth), one born suspiciously soon after the wedding, was a testament to that. They hid in Lancashire and did whatever they pleased, coming only when called. Georgie was a wild woman, and Geoffrey was wild for her.

Even Anne disappeared with Mr. Jameson, the former colonel, who managed on his savings and her inheritance. Despite their financial status, which was nothing to Geoffrey's, they were content with one another. It gave her chills to imagine how they spent their time, all alone on their estate, and were still not bored in each other's presence.

Edmund's divorce, Edmund's second wife (the result of a tawdry and embarrassing affair with a client's neighbor), Eliza's marriage to the loving Mr. Turner, even Charles' life of indignity were all things she watched happen around her but had no part of, except to be expected to celebrate their happiness. She did love them, but how could she not be jealous? Sarah was fooling herself if she wasn't. Or maybe she really was that naïve, always in the library with her books. She seemed oblivious to Mr. Emerson's interest in her, though to be fair, he was being subtle about it. He had to be, in front of Fitzwilliam Darcy.

There was her father, hovering over his daughters, silently disapproving of his son on occasion, and barely tolerating Georgie's antics because she saved his life by fighting Hatcher. He loved his daughters, though the way he expressed it was nothing short of frustrating.

Mr. Hyde was at most a way out of that and at least a temporary relief. He was also slow to approach her, and slow to advance, ever cautious of them being discovered. He did not propose they run off to Gretna Green, or that she run at all. He was smart. He was loving enough – not sickly sweet, but he had what she wanted, and he was aware of that and she was aware that he was aware, so it all worked out. He also knew a few preventions against the production of a child, which was useful. They did not turn her stomach too badly, and they had no lasting damage except to bring her courses at strange times. He was slow, methodical, and most importantly, a relief.

Everything was going too well. She would go to London for the winter, to be rid of him for a bit, and look for a real husband. He hadn't proposed marriage and she did not expect him to bring it up. Once he lost the curacy possibility when his friend refused to nominate him, his main interest became her, but they both knew the relationship would end.

When her courses were late, she did not even notice for the first week, as she was so accustomed to them being irregular from the tansy and quinine. Then she felt ill in the mornings, looked at the calendar, and the real fear set in. She did not want a child. Her father would make her marry this man. Was there still time? Perhaps there was, because when she finished off the bottle of quinine, her courses came – on the floor in the kitchen, in front of her father. G-d was certainly insistent on forcing her penance on her. Though he seemed concerned, she knew when she explained, he would be disappointed, and she could not, at that moment, bear to disappoint him. He looked to her with concern and she loved her father too much to tell him the truth – that she was a whore. She could not inflict that pain on him, however much she was in. She had not meant to shout, but she was so frustrated at herself that it happened, and if it was going to happen, let her say just this once what she meant, that she couldn't take his 'protection' any more.

So she ran. Cassandra was already concerned enough about the amount of blood, far more than normal, that she was quite in a state when she appeared at Trenton's place. The Vicar was still asleep – he was a heavy sleeper and she was good at not disturbing him. To her surprise, Trenton was all sympathy, and he had a plan in hand. They would go to one of his hiding places and when she recovered, they would discuss something, but nothing could be done until then. She cried in his arms the whole way it seemed like, though he later told her she slept through some of the ride. At least she stopped bleeding. He even bought her a new gown when they arrived.

He paid for a doctor, who told her she had miscarried. This time, Trenton was not so interested in her fits. She put him in danger, he said. Her father would kill him – he killed his own brother, did he not? Yes, Cassandra had told Trenton her father was a murderer, so for the moment, she understood. He waited until she stopped crying to tell her about Mr. Bower, who would hide her. He was a nice man when he greeted her. He gave her a small but comfortable room, even if it was shabby. Trenton promised to see her as soon as he could safely do so.

Cassandra experienced a new pain then, the pain of an empty promise. Trenton did not visit her, and she could not leave. Her door was locked, the only window barred. After two days, Mr. Bower demanded payment. He said his services weren't free, the food wasn't free, and Hyde wasn't paying him. She had nothing, only her jewelry, and that fended him off for the first day. The second, it did not, and he would take his own payment. He was not interested in her cries or screams. He was stronger than her, of course – everyone was. Even little Georgie was stronger than her. And as much trouble as Georgie had ever gotten herself in, it was nothing to this. As Mr. Bower forced himself on her and in her, she knew she could never go back. Even if she physically went back, she could never go back. Her father would never accept her – who would? Who would want a daughter like that? A wife with that past? A woman so stupid and ignorant and foolish, and now probably scarred inside? What if she could never have children? What if she was barren?

Cold and alone, that was all she had to think on, except when Mr. Bower would come next. She could try to escape, she supposed, when the door was opened, but even if he didn't catch her, where could she run? The world outside offered her nothing. She rejected its conventions, and it rejected her.

She was alone, and she deserved nothing better.

*******************************************

As soon as Georgie received a message from Mrs. Arbela, she was ready to go. It had taken two days, but it was worth it.

Geoffrey answered their door at the knock. It was Mr. Emerson.

"If Mrs. Georgiana knows where Trenton is, I'd like to accompany her."

"Now is not the time for personal business, Mr. Emerson."

"This is not about me. This is about Mr. Hyde. He knows me. Perhaps he will allow me in where the door is otherwise barred. He thinks I will do nothing against him."

"So far he's been right about that."

Geoffrey tried to shut the door, but Emerson put his hand against it. "Please allow me to be of some aid, anything."

"You may risk your own life tonight."

"And if I do nothing, do I risk another's?"

Geoffrey turned to the changing station, from which Georgie emerged. "Let him come," she said. She was dressed as Jack. Geoffrey grumbled and opened the door, and Mr. Emerson did his best to hide his surprise at her dress, though he could not have been unaware about the legends of her behavior. In her shorts, she curtseyed. "Mr. Emerson."

He bowed. "Mrs. Darcy. Mr. Darcy."

"If you think it will help, you may come, though you may be sent home if you are not needed or compromise the situation," she said. "My husband will try to enter, and I will go around." She had with her a large bag, almost half her size, which she handed to Geoffrey, who put it over his shoulder. "You will do everything I say?"

"As much as I am able."

That was enough for Georgie, who peered in on her sleeping uncle, her Aunt Darcy nodding off in the chair by his side, and tried to leave. She was stopped by her father, who kissed her on the forehead. "Don't do anything dangerous."

"I cannot swear to that, Papa. I will not break a promise."

"Don't get yourself hurt, then."

She frowned. "I cannot swear to that, either."

"Seriously hurt. Please try. For your Papa."

"For you." She hugged him. "I hope to be back soon, and with Cassandra." She did not have to add, That or Hyde's dead body.

*******************************************

For a day Danny Maddox wallowed in pain, as Mirela used wet towels to try to stop the bleeding, much more than they expected. He drank not just gin but tea, and as much soup as the innkeeper could provide and he could stomach, foul as it was. He had to keep his strength up. He did not yet remove the bandages. "In my belongings, there is a case." He had not opened it in years. "It has my name written on it. Bring it."

They went to the tavern to meet Tom. Danny was no longer bandaged, but his fresh wounds were still obvious, and a little blood here and there was wiped up by Mirela. He sat across from Tom, ready to put money down if necessary. "The address."

Tom had it on a slip of paper, and he read it to them then gave the slip to Mirela, not knowing she couldn't read. "You didn't get this from me."

"Of course. Thank you, Thomas." Danny rose and bowed, holding Mirela's arm tightly. If Tom stayed, he did not know, because he did not remain long enough. They left immediately. It was dark outside, well into the night now, and they reached the address. Mirela picked the lock and handed the small case to Danny, who put it in his pocket and opened his waistcoat, giving his arms greater freedom as he entered.

"That's not very smart," said the man across from him. "Breaking into my house."

Danny snapped open his sword cane and drew it.

"What the hell are you going to do with that?"

"This," Danny said, and pushed against the man he assumed (almost hoped) to be Ian Bower. He sliced down, from his chest across the top of Bower's pistol, and the blade went right through Bower's flesh, neatly removing his thumb. The blood sprayed on them both before he staggered back.

"What the fucking hell?" He looked up at Danny as he quivered on the ground, holding his hand. "Oh my G-d, you're – "

Danny raised his sword in a ready position. It wasn't as strong as his samurai swords because it was a straight blade, but it would do. "Where is Cassandra Darcy?"

Holding his bloody hand with his other, the man pointed in the general direction of the stairs leading down. Mirela entered from behind to tend to the man and make sure he didn't bleed to death. She retrieved a key ring from him and passed it to Danny. "Are you alright?"

He was bleeding a little. He could feel it, and his wounds throbbed, but he ignored them. For that moment, all he could feel was joy. "Yes." He gathered himself to add, "Don't come until I call."

She nodded and he proceeded down the dark stairway.

*******************************************

Cassandra had nowhere to hide, though she tried the corner she was crying in, behind the bed. "No!" she screamed to the knock on the door. "Please. I don't have anything."

The door unlocked anyway, and she stifled a sob, then sat in shock as Danny Maddox Junior hobbled his way in. There was a candle on the bed stand so she could see him hold the wall as he entered, feeling his way with his cane. "Cassandra?"

"No! Don't come! They can't see me like this." She put her head down. "I don't deserve to be rescued."

Danny made his way over to her, but she just looked at the floor. He set his cane down, fussed with something for a moment, then took his hands and gently placed them on her cheeks. She could not for that moment remember such tenderness as he tilted her head upwards.

He was wearing his glasses. Though scar tissue still crossed his face, his eyes were open, and looking at her.

"You can see."

"Yes," he said, smiling, "and I am very happy to see you."

.... Next Chapter - (no title yet)