Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
C aroline heard the lock to the door clicking open, and she gasped and scrambled from her bed, backing away until she was pressed against the opposite wall. It was nowhere near far enough for her liking, not safe in any real way, but it was the best that she could do.
Her body trembled with fear as the door swung open, and she recoiled at the sight of her father stepping through the door, making sure to close the door behind him. But he did not lock it, and she took note.
"Hello, dear," he purred when he saw her cowering. "How did you sleep?"
He looked just as she remembered him, strange as mostly she saw him in her nightmares; in these nightmares, he had always seemed monstrous and disfigured, a creature of terror who could not possibly exist in the real world. Now, she understood that there was no need for exaggeration or distortion, for the reality was just as haunting.
Not a tall man. Not a particularly large man either. He stood perhaps an inch or so taller than Caroline and was skinny, even lanky, with a hunched back and rounded shoulders. His face was angular and gaunt, his hairline receded and worn long; thin and wispy, his hair fell loosely by his shoulders. A crooked nose. Beady eyes. A smile filled with yellow teeth, some missing, and thin lips that curved into a sharp smile that had her blood curdling.
"Stay away from me!" she cried, back pressed into the wall.
"That's no way to greet your father," he said as if hurt, walking toward where she pressed herself into the wall. There was a wildness in his eyes as he took her in. "I would have thought that after all this time you might be glad to see me."
"I said stay away!"
"I missed you, you know." He came within a few feet of her and stopped. Slowly, he then reached out with his bony hand, stroking her face as if taking her in and admiring her beauty. "Two years, and you have not aged a day."
"I wish I could say the same for you!" She could smell the alcohol on him, as if he had bathed in it. No doubt his less than healthy appearance was a result of two years spent getting drunk day in and day out.
He chuckled. "Ah, there's that cheek I remember so well. I see not much has changed."
Caroline tried to be brave. She tried to stare the man down as if in warning. She tried to stand up, to stand over him, to show him that she was not the little girl who she used to be. But seeing him again after all this time, she returned to whom she used to be whenever her father was near: frightened, terrified, praying silently that she did not do anything to upset him.
Perhaps that was why she had struggled so little last night when he had brought her here? It was just a small inn located in a little village north of London, but even with the diminished population, she might have cried out for help when he had led her inside. But fear had trapped her, allowing her father to lead her placidly into the room like a silent prisoner.
"They will find me," she said with little real force. "His Grace will?—"
"Likely be glad to be rid of you," he chuckled. "Oh, I know all about him . Do not think I do not. What was it you were doing out alone last night, the way you were? Running, by the looks of things. And you expect me to believe His Grace will come for you."
She went to argue but caught her tongue as that most unsettling of realities hit her. "He… he will…" she said with no conviction. How could she have any? After what had happened, she knew that His Grace rescuing her was not an option. That was one bridge she had burned beyond reparation.
"You wound me, daughter. For two years I have looked for you, praying that we might be reunited. And this is the reaction I receive? Visceral hate by the looks of things." He clicked his tongue. "Not very daughterly of you."
Putting aside his looks, the way he spoke to her, the coyness in his voice, was just how she remembered him. He liked to play with her. To pretend at being caring and loving. The perfect father… until he wasn't.
"I am almost inclined to be upset that you ran away," he continued, still stroking her face as he looked at her. "But that is behind us now, and I hope that we can leave it in the past where it belongs."
"You… you killed my mother," Caroline stammered in disgust. "How can you think that I… that I can forget?"
"Caroline," he sighed and dropped his hand, "that was an accident. Surely, you know that."
"You pushed her."
"She tripped and fell."
"You laughed when you saw what had happened."
"You are remembering it incorrectly," he said with a sincerity that made her shiver. "I wept that night, dear. And I wept when I learned that you had left. For a time there, I was angry, but now, well…" He smiled a sickly smile. "As said, I hope that we can put it behind us. This here should be a celebration, finally together again after all this time."
"You killed her…" she said in a whisper, voice trembling.
"I loved your mother," he said. "And she loved me."
The lies that he spun, as if she might somehow have forgotten. Caroline remembered the way her father beat her mother. She remembered the bruises left on her the next day. She remembered the way her mother promised to protect her against him, how she begged Caroline to behave so that his wrath would not find her instead.
It was all coming back to Caroline now. In the past, when her father would behave this way, Caroline would do as her mother asked and behave as a means to placate him. She would agree and apologize and promise to behave. She would do whatever she needed so that he would not grow angry. And indeed, from the way he was acting, she knew that was what he expected. Only…
That was two years ago. So much had changed since then. And while Caroline did not think that she would be saved, knowing that she was now at this man's mercy, she simply could not bring herself to play his game as he wanted it.
A sudden surge of bravery swept through Caroline, and she forced herself to stand up straight, fixing him with a look of disgust that he saw and snarled at.
"No," she sneered, ignoring the way her body shook. "You killed my mother, and nothing you say will change that."
His beady eyes flashed with anger. "So, that is the way it is going to be?"
"It is the way that it is. You wish for a happy reunion? How about you leave and find me again in two more years? Perhaps then I will have the stomach to deal with you."
His thin lips curled into a sneer. "So, some things have changed then."
"More than you know."
Suddenly, he leapt at her. She gasped and recoiled, expecting to feel his hand across her face, but it slammed into the wall beside her head as he leaned over her, teeth bared. "You have no idea what you speak of! You never did! The lack of gratitude that you have shown me… I would be within my rights to kill you."
"I wish you would!" she snarled back somehow. "Save me having to live with you."
He chuckled coldly and pushed himself back. "Your mother was the same. For all I did for her, not once did she thank me. And she wondered why I drank! Ha!" He turned about and stalked across the room. "My marriage to her was supposed to cover the debts I'd incurred, but it barely put a dent in it! I ask you, what good is a marriage if all I get out of it is a no-good, spoilt brat of a daughter who doesn't understand her role !"
"Then why even look for me?" Caroline asked, daring to take a step forward. Her eyes glanced across the room, toward the door… unlocked. "Why not leave me be!"
"Perhaps I meant to?" He wandered across the room, toward the window which he gazed out of; it was early in the morning, and the light from the sun was soft and cool. "Perhaps I was glad that you left? More trouble than you are worth, truth be told. Like most women, I can't help but think we would be better off without you."
"Then why?" She stepped deeper into the room, eyes flicking to her father's back and then to the closed door. "Why not leave me?"
"I saw you at the Westchester Ball, you know. And I know you saw me," he chuckled, gaze still fixed firmly out the window. "The fact that you didn't flee as soon as you recognized me… why, I cannot help but wonder if you wanted to be found."
She ignored that, her heart racing as she stepped closer and closer to the door. What she would do when she ran through it, she had no idea, but she had to try something!
"Before you left me as you did, you might be surprised to hear that I had a marriage arranged for you—yes, yes, I had managed to find someone willing to burden themselves with you. Someone who, mind you, would have covered my debts in full once the marriage was confirmed. But you robbed me of that. Oh, how you did…" He shook his head to himself, and she could imagine the sneer on his face.
Still, Caroline did not say anything. Another step toward the door, well over halfway across the room now. A few more steps taken, and she would run for it.
"As luck has it, he is still interested. Ha! Do you believe that? I wrote to him just a few days ago, and the same deal applies as we had before. Come tomorrow, you and I are taking a little trip north to Scotland where you will meet your future husband, and finally, you will begin to be of real use to me. Better late than never."
Caroline froze when she heard the words. So close to running… the shock of the announcement struck her in a way that even she had not expected. Violence, she had prepared for. Terror, of course. But a marriage? To be carted away and sold like cattle? No. There was no way she could allow such a thing.
"You are nervous," he said softly, almost sounding regretful. "Scared, perhaps. But I must warn you, this time you will do as I ask, Caroline. His Grace is not coming to save you. Nobody is. So, you best get used to it."
She snarled at the back of her father, wanting nothing more than to shout at him and tell him that she would rather die than do his bidding. But the way to the door was open, and it was now or never?—
"Go on then," he said without turning around. "Run for it. While you have the chance." She gasped, and he turned around and smiled wickedly. Triumphantly. "If you think you will make it."
Caroline didn't hesitate. A final rueful glare, and she sprinted for the door as fast as she could go. Reaching for the handle, she took hold, turned it, and?—
"Argh!" she cried out when her father grabbed her by the back of the head, a fistful of hair, and wrenched her back into the room.
"You are a fool girl!" he snarled as he propelled her across the room. She tripped and stumbled, falling onto the bed. He stormed toward her, grabbing her by the throat and pushing her down onto the bed. There, he climbed on top, bearing down on her, spittle flying from his mouth as he seethed, his hideous face inches from her own. "Do you not realize that you belong to me! There is nothing you can do that I cannot stop!"
"I hate you!" she cried out, writhing under him, trying to force him back, but he was too strong.
"Hate me all you want," he snarled. "I do not care. Tonight, we leave for Scotland, and a few days following that, you will no longer be my problem!"
"I will not marry him! You can't make me!"
"Ha!" he cackled. "Just try and run again…" The grip around her throat tightened. "This is me in a good mood, girl. You do not want to see me in a bad one." His grip tightened further… her breath caught… her lungs tightened… her face began to turn purple as she felt the life leaving her body…
Suddenly, he let her go, and she gasped for air, hacking and coughing and sputtering as he climbed from her and walked back across the room. The pain in her chest was great, but she was weak, barely able to push herself to her knees.
"I suggest you get your rest," he said calmly as he strode to the door and opened it. Then, he looked back, a pleasant smile on his face as if the two had just engaged in a loving conversation. "You are going to need it for our little trip later. And then some." And then, he stepped through the door, closed it behind him, followed by the click of a lock.
"No!" Somehow, Caroline managed to scramble across the room. She threw herself at the door, trying desperately to open it to no avail. "No! Please!" she cried, hammering on the door. "Let me out! Let me out!"
She screamed, and she shouted, and she cried out for help. For hours, it felt like. Until her hands hurt from beating the door, until her throat hurt from crying, until she could no longer stand, collapsing in a broken heap where her cries for help turned to wails of pain and misery.
For two years she had run. But now, there was nowhere left to run. Alone. Trapped. Without options. Her father had won. She had lost. And her fate was decided.