Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

F rom inside the carriage, Louisa heard the whip thrash against the horses over and over. They’d been on the road from Bath for three days, but rain impeded their progress, and it was no better today. Infuriated, Tobias rapped against the roof as many times as the driver whipped the horses.

“It seems we’ll not get far today,” he said, but smiled, slinking his arm around her and pulling her to his lap. Her lips were bruised, but Tobias persisted, despite Nellie’s presence.

He withdrew a flask from his coat and drank deeply before offering it to Louisa. She shook her head, catching Nellie’s disapproving look when his cool wet lips began working their way from Louisa’s ear to her collar bone.

“Oh! Stop.” She pushed his shoulders with both hands, but his arms tightened, vice-like, around her. Crushed against him, his mouth devouring any available skin, her weakness and impotence solidified into panic. Who was Tobias Savage? What had she done in putting her faith in him?

The carriage shuddered to a halt, and a few moments later, the driver approached. Hopeful Tobias would let her go, she tried to scoot away, but he squeezed her to him.

“We’ll have to stop,” the driver said.

“Not again!”

Nellie squeaked from across the carriage, and Louisa saw in her pale face the terror that bloomed in her chest.

Louisa eyed the sagging inn wherein they would spend the night, a reflection of her own despair. Tobias took her by the waist, lifted her out of the carriage, and dropped her into slippery mud. Nellie offered a steadying arm.

“You, what’s your name?” Tobias asked Nellie. “Go to the servants’ quarters directly. You’re not needed until morning.”

“Don’t leave,” Louisa said. “I’ll need help?—”

“I’ll be happy to help you, love.” He turned to Nellie. “Go.”

Nellie walked toward the inn, turning once before disappearing through the door.

Tobias bound his hand around Louisa’s wrist as he directed the footman about the trunks. Inside the inn, a sour smell filled her nose, and a mouse skittered across the floor. She looked for Nellie but saw no familiar face.

“A room for my wife and me.” Tobias said to the innkeeper, pulling Louisa into him.

“Two rooms, if you please,” she said. This was the first time Tobias asked for a single room.

Tobias glanced at her, his habitual sneer exaggerated. Her insides shriveled, and she tried to step away. This was not what she had agreed to. He held her tight, his fingers digging into her waist. He put his mouth against her neck and told her they would never spend another night apart. He snaked his other hand around her bare neck and under her bodice. She pushed him away, but his smile grew at her distress.

The face that she had thought so handsome was now grotesque, his smile menacing and his eyes bloodshot. She would have to get rid of him. But how? She tried to catch a sympathetic eye, but everyone went about their business without glancing her way. The innkeeper kept his head down, staring at his ledger. Near the stairs, a woman paused to take in the scene. Louisa pleaded with her eyes.

“Polly,” the innkeeper addressed the woman without looking up. “See that the upstairs room is ready.” The woman turned and began ascending the stairs, sending Louisa’s heart high in her chest to pound in a rhythm of panic.

The room paid for, they made their way to a dank chamber with cracked yellowing walls and slumped furniture, where Tobias removed a flask of whiskey from his pocket and tipped the last few drops into his mouth. He’d been drinking for hours.

“Oh, you finished the bottle just as I was wanting to try a bit myself.” She begged him to fetch a little more rum. His eyes brightened, and he turned out of the room.

As soon as his footsteps faded, she bolted the door then stepped back to examine it. Unlike many things in the inn, it did not look like it would fall apart. A sturdy length of iron, about the width of her thumb slid into a bracket in the doorframe to secure the door. Still, she did not feel safe.

The room contained a bed, a dressing table, and a chair. With all the strength her terror inspired, she tried to push the bed across the room. It barely budged. She turned to the chair. It was rickety and small, but it was all she had. She secured it beneath the door handle. Pleased to find the little table heavier than it looked, she scraped it against the floor, sure Tobias would hear the noise and come running. But he did not. He was likely so inebriated that running was impossible for him. With the furniture piled against the door, she curled on top of the bed and waited.

Within minutes, Tobias turned the knob. He pounded on the door. “Louisa! Open the door.” He kicked it, and the chair shuddered. Frozen to the bed, she pressed her palms into her eyes and remained silent.

“You hen-hearted, low-bred, slattern. Open up.” His shouting brought the innkeeper, asking what the matter was.

“My wife has locked me out. Get an ax.”

Louisa’s pounding heart stopped.

“No, you don’t.” This from a female voice, perhaps the innkeeper’s wife. “This establishment is enough of a mess. I’ll not have you ruinin’ a fine door.”

“That’s sure,” said the innkeeper. “She’ll open to you soon enough.”

No, she wouldn’t. She would never willingly permit him into her sight again .

The innkeeper continued arguing with Tobias. So long as they did not allow him to break the door, Louisa might be able to wait it out. She pulled a dingy coverlet around her. Covering her ears with a yellowed pillow, she hummed to herself for what felt like hours. Eventually, the storm passed in a patter of receding footsteps.

There was a space the width of a thick book between the door and the floor, and a shadow waited there. With the lightness of a cat, she got out of bed to see what it was. She stopped in her tracks. A lock of hair, Tobias’s hair, stuck under the door. He lay on the floor outside the room.

Because she was on the fourth floor, escape through the window was not possible. And she could not abandon Nellie. There were also her trunks to consider, and she had some very fine new dresses that could never be left behind.

The only thing she could do was wait. Even if she starved or died of thirst, she would not open the door until Tobias Savage left the inn. Hopefully, Nellie would have the sense to stay out of his way.

The next morning, Louisa woke to his jeering. “Wake up, wench. My hands are aching to get hold of you. You’re a gilflirt, but I’ll take you.” He snickered from under the door, and it sounded as though he was still deep in his cups. “Open the door, love. I’ve a gift for you.”

He whispered profanities, calling Louisa names she understood only by the vile tone in which they were spoken. She covered her ears and watched the latch, as if her stare would keep it from failing.

After some time, the shadow disappeared. He was gone, probably to breakfast. Louisa’s stomach growled, despite feeling sick at the situation she had put herself in. She moaned into her pillow, too shaken to give way to tears.

“Are you all right, miss?”

It was the voice from the night before. The innkeeper’s wife. A plate of food appeared beneath the door.

“I can try to get the gentleman to leave, but I don’t know that he will heed.”

Louisa’s heart soared. “Yes, please. I will be forever in your debt. What is your name?”

“They call me Polly, the innkeeper’s wife.” Louisa had seen her yesterday, a young woman, stout and strong.

“My maid is upstairs. Nellie. Please tell her to stay away from my door and from Mr. Savage, for I fear he will hurt her.”

“I will tell her. As for you, do not come out. Your man is just downstairs. I will tell you when it is safe.”

Over the course of the day, Tobias returned from time to time to shout and pound on the door, a habit that seemed to give permission to the other occupants of the inn who kicked at her door or cursed as they passed. Louisa remained quiet.

After a two-day verbal barrage from Tobias, she was as ragged and dilapidated as the inn. He left for long periods but returned to whisper luridly through the door. She went to a basin and rubbed her face with the small amount of water Polly was able to slip to her. In a distorted mirror above the basin, her shoulders appeared tight, her nose red, her hair bedraggled. She clenched her hands until her fingernails bit into her palms. Her muscles quivered at being held hostage, at the abusive language he murmured so casually. She thought he would have given up, but she remained imprisoned, a just punishment for what she’d done.

Tobias’s lips and chin were visible under the door. She glanced at the large porcelain bowl that peeked from beneath the bed. Did she dare? His mouth moved, time slowing as his glistening lips formed various abuses, whispering and bellowing in a cadence not unlike a dramatic soliloquy. She stomped to her bedside, lifted the heavy vessel from the floor, tiptoed as close to the door as she dared. She aimed and with one great thrust, emptied the contents of her chamber pot. It hit true.

She heard Tobias spring to his feet. He sputtered and spit, shrieking obscenities.

“You deserve worse, you badger.” She could do better than that. “You empty-headed, manipulating bully.” She wailed over her foolishness, called out for her mother, and cursed with some of the new vocabulary she’d learned. Though he did not remain for her tirade, she ranted, tears gushing as she thundered at him.

The last of the day’s light slipped away, leaving Louisa in the hot, malodorous darkness of her room. She leaned forward, pulling the itchy wool coverlet from the bed. With knees to her chest, she shivered into the blanket, her ears and eyes open, waiting for Tobias to return with the magistrate or an ax. Considering the vile words that had spewed from his lips, she feared what he might do should he get hold of her person.

Louisa wasn’t sure if she’d fallen asleep, but it was still dark when Polly’s came through the door. “I believe you are rid of him, miss.” There was caution in her voice. “I brought a brush and soap to clean up the filth.”

“I am sorry for the mess. But I dare not open the door.” Her voice was shredded and weak.

Polly pushed soap, wet cloths, and a scrub brush under the door.

T hree days passed before Louisa risked unbolting the door, and only after a great deal of begging from Nellie. When she finally opened to Polly and Nellie, she rushing them into her room before bolting the door again.

“Oh, Miss Louisa, your eyes are red. You are so pale,” Nellie said.

Louisa touched her face. She no longer cared how she looked. She knew what agony was, and it had nothing to do with her appearance. Home. She wanted the comfort of her bed and the village where she’d grown up. She craved salt air and strong sea winds.

But she could never return home. The shame that awaited her there was unbearable and would lead her to accept whatever her father decided for her.