Chapter 7
In the kitchen of the Dower House Gladys Denker was staring into a pot of fresh chicken broth. Spratt, armed with a plate and a cup of coffee, crooked his eyebrow when he saw the maid.
"Are you looking for another vampire?" He asked annoyed.
Denker sighed exasperated and looked up again. "Not a vampire," she explained as if she were talking to a child. "A bat."
"A bat?" He repeated, amused. "That bird-like thing with teeth?"
"That one."
"And you found it in the pot? Honestly, I know you hit your head, but I doubt you hit it that hard."
"It's not in the pot!" She clarified. "I've seen one outside. When I came back from the post office I saw Lady Shackleton sneaking up to Doctor Clarkson's cottage."
Spratt shrugged. "Lady Shackleton at the Doctor's cottage? Are you sure?"
"Of course, I'm sure! Men!"
He looked up to the clock over the door frame. It was after six o'clock. "I can't see why Lady Shackleton should visit the Doctor at this time of day."
"That's what I was wondering about. Maybe…" She grinned shamelessly.
"Maybe what?" Spratt asked.
"I think it's called 'licking one's wounds'."
"You're disgusting," Spratt said once he had understood what Denker was implying. "Not as disgusting as a vampire, but close."
"Says the man who's secretly reading his mother's old penny dreadfuls." Denker sighed and covered the pot with a heavy lid.
Patience wasn't one of Isobel's virtues. On the contrary. And patiently waiting for Dickie, waiting for a short message, a phone call or a visit from him was pure agony for her. This morning she had seen his heartbrokenness with her own eyes. He had lost the only home he had ever known and while she had never been someone who was emotionally attached to possession, she saw the pain in his eyes and it was hurting her as well.
The novel she had started to shred and burn in the morning was still laying on the small table near the couch. This afternoon she had opened the volume again and against her judgement she had continued her read. One sentence she had stumbled across had struck a chord with her, "No one but a woman can help a man when he is in trouble of the heart."
How she wanted to be there for him in his time of need, but she didn't even know where he was right now! She had let him go and she hated herself for it. Should she go to Cavenham herself to look for him? Should she risk running into Larry and Amelia? Considering the circumstances it seemed weird to give a damn about them, but a part of her was still bothered by the idea of meeting them.
The short knock at the door of her drawing room tore her out of her morbid thoughts. It was her maid who announced a visitor.
"Lord Merton, Ma'am."
The book fell from her lap and ended on the floor. His face was unreadable when he entered her drawing room. She instantly noticed his perfect outfit. A dark green suit with a fitting shirt and tie.
"How are you?" She blurted out as she moved towards him.
"I've seen better days," he admitted.
"You've found some decent clothes as I see."
"Actually, my tailor in Ripon had them. They brought it this afternoon."
"How are things at Cavenham?" She placed her hand on his step collar. She felt his heart beating through the various layers of clothing and the sensation soothed her fickle nerves.
"Gloomy," he answered and took her hand into his. "Larry came this afternoon. You can imagine how it went - he says it's all my fault."
"I think I can," she said. Was it even possible to despise Larry even more than she already did? "And what happens next?"
"Well, I've moved into my mother's old cottage. It's not too far from the main house."
"I see." She noticed how flat she sounded and did her best to cover her disappointment. She had hoped, vaguely hoped against all odds, that there was a future ahead for them. A future that didn't involve Cavenham in any way, preferable in her house.
"I'm afraid it's a drafty old cabin that needs some proper refurbishment," he continued. "My mother's been dead for over twenty years and no one has lived there ever since. Anyway, Larry wants to rebuild the old house or to be more precise, Amelia wants him to rebuild it. Actually, I don't know how sensible it is. These days homes like ours are too expensive to maintain - even for a family like ours. Perhaps it's time to scale down a bit."
"I agree." She exhaled deeply and lowered her eyes to his hand around hers.
"Are you all right?" He wondered. "You seem preoccupied."
She shook her head, looked up, and faked a smile. "I'm fine. It was a long day... but who am I telling this?"
"It was a long day after a long night," he said with an emphasis on the last part of the sentence. "Do you regret it?"
She felt how she teared up and wished she had more control over her emotions. "No," she said and leaned in a little closer. "The only thing I regret was waking up alone, wondering where you are."
"I couldn't stay… it was risqué enough to stay as long as I did. I couldn't bear it, if you became the centre of local gossip."
"I don't care about gossip."
He grinned, but only halfway amused. "As much as I love you, I won't continue this, Isobel. I won't sneak in and out of your house like some thief in the middle of the night. I think we both deserve more than that."
She swallowed, looking guilty. "Well, I have an idea, but I doubt it corresponds with your latest plans."
"I'm all ears."
"It's a bit unconventional," she warned him.
"I guess after everything we've been through since we've met 'unconventional' doesn't even begin to describe our relationship."
She thought of their night together. Every boundary she had erected between them had been torn down by the love and passion they felt for each other. For a long time she had denied her love for him, because her life was easier without him. It was less complicated, less glitchy, but also emptier. She thought of Prudence Shackleton. Prudence would take him in a heartbeat. Whether for his money and status or for love or both she couldn't say, but the only idea that he could touch her, make love to her, make her his wife, drove her into a state of sheer madness. It wasn't sensible to love him this much, but she had reached the point of no return.
Gently she took his hand into hers. "I want you to live here - with me," she said. "I love you and I want to be your wife."
Night had fallen over the village. The streets were empty and the light of the pale moon was too weak to lighten up the living room of Doctor Clarkson's cottage. It was the third day in a row he found himself in a secret assignation with Prudence Shackleton. Her boldness when it came to their intimate encounters astonished him. He couldn't keep his mind off of her and found himself in a condition of constant arousal. He had already understood that she hated conventions more than she usually led on, yet every time she came to see him, she surprised him with her seduction skills.
He saw her face right in front of him, felt her sweaty, smooth skin under his fingertips while the flames from the fireplace threw mystic shadows across the dark walls and her naked body on his lap. The wonders she did to him with the muscles within her very core drove him into a state between madness and salvation. She did everything to him that he never allowed himself to dream of with Isobel.
Isobel whom he was putting on a celibate pedestral.
Isobel who didn't care about his chaste visions of her, because she was in love with somebody else.
He moaned in beautiful desperation and leaned his head backwards. With his eyes closed he gave himself into a state of approaching bliss.
"Do you think of her?" She whispered into his ear while she stopped her slow, perfect motions. With his hands firmly planted on her slender hips, he shook his head.
"Not the way you think."
"Good…." Satisfied with his answer, she continued her soft ride and added, "So my treatment works… or do you prefer to call it an exorcism?"
He chuckled hoarsely. She truly was a dark horse. "I doubt your version of exorcism goes in line with Reverend Travis's version of it."
"Who cares what old Travis thinks? I doubt he knows anything about the real demons out there. The ones who truly damage us, the ones who haunt us in the darkness of a cold, lonely night." He barely heard her. His sole focus was not to burst within her before she was ready to burst too. His hands ran up her body to her breasts. She hissed by his touch and driven by nothing but the wish to gain control over her, he pinched her erect nipples. As expected she hissed in surprise. Feeling she was as close as he was, he continued his raw ministrations until she leaned fully into him and drove her teeth into his neck.
-tbc-
So, this story is coming to an end. The next chapter will be the last. I hope you've enjoyed the story so far.
Thanks for reading and let me know what you think!
