When Mary looked up at him, to Matthew it was a gilded moment—one that would remain imprinted on his brain the rest of his life. After all she had undergone at the hands of that madman, after suffering injuries from which she might never recover, his Mary was alive, looking at him in wonder. His shoulders shook as he wept with relief. "Oh, thank God, thank God. My darling. I love you. Thank God you're back. Can you speak to me, my darling?"
Suddenly, Mary's eyes opened wide and reflected her sudden terror. Although her left arm was impeded by a cast, her right arm flailed wildly, batting at the air. Oh, God, Where am I? Is Richard here? What has happened? Matthew? Matthew! Matthew grabbed her right hand, put it to his lips, and immediately tried to put her mind at rest. "You're safe, my darling, you're safe. I'm with you. No one will hurt you ever again. Please be calm, Mary. All is well, I promise. I love you so." He punctuated these sentiments with soft kisses to her forehead, cheeks, and lips, and she finally inhaled deeply, trusting the love and truth she saw in his azure eyes. She tried to speak, but her throat was constricted and dry. Matthew cradled her head in his right hand while holding a glass of water to her lips with his left. She sipped carefully, silently thanking him with her eyes.
She whispered, "Why do I ache so? What happened to me?" She became agitated again. "Richard. He put his hands on me, Matthew. I tried to fight…. Get away…. I couldn't…. He was too strong. So strong." Her voice rose. "He tore my dress. He attacked me. Oh, God. He's mad, Matthew. Truly, I tried to fight him, I promise. My head hurts so I can hardly think." She was in great pain, unable to move her left shoulder. Her left hip, too, was throbbing, and it hurt to breathe.
In a soothing voice, Matthew responded, "Shhhhh, darling. I know you did. You were so brave, my darling. You have some injuries. We'll talk about them in a bit. Right now, you need to rest and not worry." He kissed her gently, reverently, as tears rolled down her cheeks.
Her hand fidgeted with the covers until Matthew trapped it under his own. "But, Matthew, he'll never leave us alone! I know it. He'll come after me again. He'll try to kill you. We'll never be safe!" Mary continued to cry.
He gently brushed wisps of her hair back from her face. "Mary, listen to me. Richard Carlisle will never touch you again. We're free of him. I promise you. Are you listening, my darling? Richard is gone. Dead. Out of our lives. Out of your life. I swear to you."
As Matthew used his thumbs gently to wipe away her tears, Mary looked at him questioningly, realization slowly reflected in her eyes. "He's really gone? For good? Oh, God. The gun. He was going to kill you. I think I must have grabbed his arm. Did I? What happened?"
Quietly, Matthew related the events he witnessed: Mary turning on the stairs and fighting Richard for control of the gun…both of them losing their balance…Mary screaming…Richard cursing…the gun firing…Mary crumpling…Richard looking up in time to see Matthew aim at his head…both bodies tumbling like ragdolls down the stairs. What Matthew did not describe to Mary was the blood that sprayed the stairs as they fell and Richard's empty eyes staring at Mary as he lay, lifeless, next to her, his hand in a death grip still clasping the chestnut rope around her neck. He did not tell her about his own deafening scream and the terror that clutched his heart as he watched her plummet down the stairs. He was too far away to break her fall, to protect her from landing with a sickening thud. He thought surely she was dead, killed by a lunatic who stalked her and tormented her and caused her death. He never would tell her that he believed his own life to be over because he couldn't live, wouldn't live, if she no longer walked the earth. He didn't tell her about the cold rage he felt as he aimed his revolver between Carlisle's glowing eyes and fired. Instead, he told her of his utter pride in her bravery and that they had the rest of their lives to love each other and to be happy.
The village virtually hummed when the news broke about the tragedy at Haxby Park. People gathered on street corners and in pubs to swap both rumors and facts, speculating about the reasons for Sir Richard's actions and the severity of Lady Mary's injuries. The house had been sealed tight, no one allowed to enter until after the immediate inquest into Sir Richard's death, which determined that his killing was justified—as well as just. One week after the inquest, the seal on the front door was broken, and Robert accompanied a small group of men that included the local constable on a mission to investigate the house's contents in order to ascertain the reasons for Sir Richard's heinous actions. Matthew planned to join them after seeing to Mary, but he was in no hurry to revisit the place that caused him and Mary so much anguish. He arrived as the group discovered objects in the house that shook the strongest of them to their cores. Aside from the bloody aftermath of the confrontation on the stairway, the men waggled their heads at the décor and tsked at the obvious deviancy of a man who had craved elevation into the realm of the aristocracy. The more closets and drawers and rooms they looked into, the more evidence they uncovered that confirmed the monstrous nature of the man who resided there. As he moved through the house, Matthew was ashen and feared there would be much worse to come.
He was right. One of the most disturbing discoveries was the bedroom to which Richard intended to take Mary although the men were not aware of his intentions on that particular day. As in the main hall, the walls were blood red upon which hung artwork that caused the most callous of them to blush. The moldings were gold; the bed, too, was finished with gold accents and red silk linens. Red silk cords hung from the bedposts, awaiting, surely, a victim of Sir Richard's lust. In the center of the room placed on a tiger skin was an oddly-shaped settee upholstered in black velvet with four red silk ropes attached to gilt lions' paws. The drawers and closets revealed devices seemingly created for sexual torture and clothing that could only be procured on the seedy backstreets of London or Paris. The men were appalled to see gold cuffs hanging from one of the walls, leading a few of them to speculate as to their use and another to whisper, "God in heaven, what kind of bloody torture chamber is this?"
Matthew backed out of the bedchamber, thanking God Mary had not been subjected to the horrors awaiting her there and went downstairs to look for Robert. He prayed there was nothing else in the house that would unsettle him further.
But his prayer was not answered. The most disturbing room was the one Robert assumed to be Sir Richard's study, for hanging on the long wall across from the massive desk was a huge painting of Mary. She was nude, stretched out on a bed, her legs apart. One of her hands was caressing one of her breasts; the other hand was placed on her pubic mound. Her face was that of a woman in ecstasy. Robert was alone when he discovered this room, and his first reaction upon seeing the painting was to vomit. He leaned over Sir Richard's pristine desk and spewed the contents of his stomach onto the blotter. Afterwards, Robert shakily berated himself for being such a fool for failing to recognize Sir Richard's vile character.
Robert tried to remove the painting from the wall but discovered the frame was screwed into the paneling, which thwarted his efforts. He carried no pocket knife; if he had, he would have cut the painting from the frame and destroyed it on the spot. Robert still was in the study when Matthew arrived. He was seated in a wing chair, his back to the painting, as Matthew entered the room, having been directed there by one of the men in the group.
"Ro…?" Matthew practically was struck dumb when he saw the painting. He, too, was revolted when faced with the erotic rendering of his beloved fiancée although he managed not to retch. "My God."
"We must destroy it, Matthew," Robert said softly.
Matthew could barely speak. "Indeed we must. The sooner the better."
"Is there a key in the desk? We have to lock the door until we have the chance to remove the damned thing. No one else can see this. My God, Mary must never know…." Robert put his head in his hands and tried to hold back his tears. He'd almost given his eldest daughter to this perverted monster. How could he ever look her in the eye again?
Matthew began opening the desk drawers, ignoring the stench emanating from the desk top. In a bottom drawer, he discovered a folder labeled Mary that contained reports, evidently from hired investigators, detailing Mary's whereabouts since before the broken engagement. Riffling quickly through the documents, his anger rising, he also found photographs of Mary taken both before and after the engagement and recent ones of him and Mary, some taken within the past few weeks. Closing the folder, he placed it under his arm and continued to look for the key to the study's door.
"Found it." Matthew's stomach began to churn. "I have to get out of here, Robert. You do, too."
Wordlessly they left the room, and Matthew locked the door.