Chapter 15 – Showdown
Henry had never felt that strange in his entire life.
If my father could see me now... he thought somewhat shamefully, his hand nervously brushing the bulk in the pocket of his coat where he had hidden the pistol. He hoped he wouldnʼt need it. And if everything went according to plan, he most definitely wouldnʼt need it. He would throw the pistol into the next gutter and would never ever be that close to committing a crime anymore.
But then again, I am not really committing a crime, am I? he pondered. After all, it was not his intention to shoot anyone. He carried that gun for the mere purpose of self-defence, just in case, things got out of hand. Still, he felt highly uneasy.
The coach darted through the nightly streets. The flames of the gas lanterns had already been extinguished in most parts of the city. Only the moon cast an eerie light down on the facades of the palatial houses lining Kensington Road, making them appear pale and blasé. And in their midst, Mount Merrion Hotel, the only building whose front was still brightly lit.
Henry leaned out of the window and told the coach driver, a small bloated man who proudly called himself ʻThe Wheeler,ʼ to pass Mount Merrion Hotel and stop the coach a little bit further down the road, just as he and Sarah had agreed on. He was glad that Wheeler didnʼt ask too many questions. In fact, he didnʼt ask any questions at all and just sat there on the driverʼs seat and waited as he had been told to do, even though it had confused him when Henry had asked him to extinguish the torch lights on either side of the coach so that they wouldnʼt be seen that easily.
Henry had spent quite a lot of time in rather sinister corners of town just to find a coach driver who appeared cunning and impudent enough to get involved into something dishonorable. The Wheeler had been recommended to him by some brothel owner who had told him with a clandestine wink that he knew someone, a friend of a friend of his brother, who regularly and secretly picked up and delivered ʻall sorts of things.ʼ Henry had not been keen on finding out what exactly the man had meant by ʻall sorts of things.ʼ After all, he didnʼt want to end up as somebody in the know of the brothel ownerʼs wheeling and dealing. Instead, he had been grateful when the brothel owner had just said to him that this particular friend would wait for Henry outside Mrs. Potterʼs guesthouse at the arranged time—provided that Henry was willing to pay some extra money, which Henry had agreed on with gritted teeth and without complaining. He considered himself lucky as he was sure that no other coach driver would have wanted to act as an involuntary accomplice to more or less kidnapping another person, even though that other person didnʼt mind being kidnapped at all.
Henry threw a nervous glance at his pocket watch and saw that it was twenty past midnight.
He leaned back in his seat and waited as the minutes slowly passed.
* * *
Sarah was sitting on the edge of her bed, motionless, her heart beating excitedly in her chest. Damian was lying next to her, his breathing calm and quiet.
Sarah hoped that he was sound asleep. She couldnʼt really tell, as her plan with the sleeping pill had not worked out. Although Henry had hidden it in the flower pot as promised, and although she had managed to pick it up unnoticed upon leaving the hotel with Damian a couple of hours earlier, she hadnʼt had any chance all evening to put the pill into Damianʼs glass as his acquaintances had constantly surrounded her and engaged her in conversations.
Back in the hotel, she had secretly put the pill into a glass of water and, with a sweet and servile smile on her lips, had kindly offered the glass to her husband. But Damian had said he wasnʼt thirsty.
Now, his glass was still standing untouched on his nightstand. Luckily, though, the many glasses of wine which Damian had drunk during the course of the evening had made him drowsy enough for Sarah to hope that he wouldnʼt need any additional means to make him sleep.
She was highly relieved that at least they had come back early enough. On the way to the hotel, they had had a terrible argument, however, with Damian blaming her for not having behaved adequately in the presence of the other guests, although she had not had the slightest intention at all to embarrass him. Quite to the contrary, she had tried her best to please him so that he wouldnʼt get mad at her, as he had become so often recently. When he was angry he tended to smash things or throw insults at her, and she knew from experience that it was best to keep a low profile in his presence and wait it all out until his choleric fits of rage had ebbed.
No, she truly had not wanted to annoy him or make him feel as if he was married to the most stupid woman in the universe. After all, she had only followed Damianʼs instructions which he had given her and which were that she should politely enquire about the husbands and wives of the people she spoke to if she didnʼt know what else to say. Having memorized this, she had asked a certain Lady Mellingfort how her husband was, not knowing that the latter had tragically passed away only six months ago. The whole situation had got even more embarrassing when Sarah found out that the death of Lord Mellingfort was something nobody really wanted to talk about because he had died due to syphilis. Later, Damian had grumpily explained to Sarah that this was a sexually transmitted disease that people caught when regularly going to brothels. Sarah had asked him what a brothel was and Damian had replied that it was a place where men slept with women for money when they felt sexually frustrated at home. Then he had added surly that he too should consider visiting a brothel every now and then.
Sarah deliberately ignored remarks like this as they didnʼt hurt her in the least. After all, Henry had shown her what passion she was capable of, and he had never complained about her skills in bed. She had learnt that it so much depended on the man to make a woman passionate, and Henry had made her passionate indeed, so much that she had hardly recognized herself anymore in her moments of rapture where she had felt like a wild and uncontrollable beast.
Sarah was sure that Damianʼs physical shortcoming—a pretty small manhood—was the reason why he was so frustrated and why he couldnʼt become aroused in her presence. He felt conscious about himself, and he let her suffer for it by accusing her of being the root of it all, because a good wife managed to seduce her husband and made him feel ready to do all the naughty things. But Sarah just tended to lie in bed, stiff as a board, gritting her teeth and waiting out his attempts to make himself come. Luckily, as Sarah had to admit, it had at least worked out once. Luckily, because this had served as her explanation for being pregnant. Otherwise, it would have become ever so clear to Damian that she had made love to Henry, too, and that there was a possibility that Henry was the father of the child.
After Damian had realized that Sarah was pregnant, proudly believing that it was solely thanks to him, he had trouble touching her again. After all, there was something growing inside of her, and that tiny being might be able to see ʻhim.ʼ Sarah was quite sure that he tried to find his pleasure somewhere else, maybe in one of the brothels he had mentioned and where nobody would laugh at him, because the women there didnʼt care. Sarah didnʼt have any problem with that, as long as Damian left her in peace.
No, they simply were unable to find a common ground; neither in bed nor during any other occasion. Sometimes it appeared to Sarah as if they lived in two entirely different worlds. It most definitely wasnʼt the same world as Henryʼs, which so much seemed to be her world, too.
Outside, she heard the sound of hooves and a coach driving past.
He is here... she thought with a mixture of fear and delight. She reached for the pocket watch on her nightstand and tried to read the clock face in the darkness.
It was almost twenty past midnight.
Time to get ready...
Oscarʼs special medication had made her wide awake all day. She had felt refreshed, strong, and rather energetic. But now, after only one hour of sleep, she could feel the effect of the pill ebb and her drowsiness return. In fact, she suddenly felt more exhausted than ever before. She hoped that she would feel strong enough to pull the escape through and that she wouldnʼt die for fear once she entered the ship. She had never seen one close up, only on pictures.
Iʼd rather die for fear now than stay with Damian...
She had wanted to die anyway within the past weeks, especially when Damian had broken the news to her that he would take her to India in only a few monthsʼ time. She had been devastated.
She didnʼt doubt that India was a wonderful country. She had a picture book back at the mansion with drawings of elephants and maharajas and women in colorful dresses. Still, she had kept wondering how she should cope with life once she lived in India, with neither Henry nor Oscar being at her side. She would have never asked her Uncle Oscar to make such a sacrifice as to come with her. She would have never wanted him to give his home and office up for her unless he would have done it out of his own will.
Apart from that, she knew that it probably would not have helped her very much if he indeed had gone to India as well. Her aunt had told her in all frankness that she had had a row with him and that she didnʼt wish that he looked after Sarah any longer, neither in England nor anywhere else. She had even forbidden him to join her on this weekend. Still, Oscar, clever and cheeky as he was, had not refrained from arranging that secret meeting between Henry and her, without giving her any clue whatsoever. She had wondered why he pushed her so hard to make her go on this trip to London. Never would she have guessed that meeting Henry was the reason behind it. Oscar had known all too well that it was better not to tell her because she would have refused to go and see Henry.
But now, it was good that she had met him.
It was more than good.
She would have never believed that it was possible that someone like him could love her despite the long time of separation which had lain between them; despite the fact that she had so terribly ignored him and his letters. But there he was, still loving her as much as back then in summer. The proof had lain in his kiss, in the way he had looked at her, a dreamy, swooning expression in his eyes.
It helped her to trust. It helped her to face the unknown, which still seemed so terrifying to her. But it most definitely helped.
Yes, it was either sure death or the unknown. Now she would rather chose the unknown. Now that she had seen Henry and had fallen for him yet again, there simply was no turning back. She could not say goodbye to him one more time. She simply couldnʼt.
Sarah glanced over to Damian, anxiously, hardly daring to breathe. Pale moonlight fell through the window, outlining Damianʼs body.
Very carefully, Sarah slipped out of bed and tiptoed over to the wardrobe, whose creaking door she had left open earlier on so that it wouldnʼt make a noise now that she took her bundle and her coat out of it.
She had it all prepared. In that bundle were the clothes she wanted to take with her and the clothes she wanted to wear, as well as Henryʼs necklace which he had given to her on her birthday, and the picture of her mother. She was relieved that it was her habit to take Henryʼs necklace as well as her motherʼs picture to wherever she went, and that she had not left these treasures of hers behind at the mansion where she would not return to in a short while; if she would ever return. The fact that she would not be able to see her motherʼs grave bothered her, though, and she tried not to be all too sad about it. But deep inside she was. Still, it wouldnʼt keep her from leaving. She was certain that her mother would have wanted her to leave.
Outside the bell of the nearby clock tower stroke half past twelve.
Quietly, Sarah put on her knickers, her stockings and a dress, followed by her cardigan, a scarf and a coat. Then she slipped into her shoes and grabbed her bundle.
Slowly, she sneaked over to the door.
Her hand touched the doorknob.
“Sarah...?” she suddenly heard Damianʼs voice.
Sarah froze.
She heard the bedsheets rustle as Damian sat up in bed.
Hesitantly, she turned around.
Damian stared at her in wonder.
“What in the name of God are you up to?” he asked suspiciously when he saw that she was fully dressed.
“I am just going to the bathroom,” Sarah explained, trying to sound casual.
“And for that you need a coat and a bundle?” Damian looked at her sternly. It was the kind of intimidating look which always made her shrink and shrivel with fear like a little child.
“It… it is cold in the corridors...” she stammered nervously.
“Why donʼt you use our en suite bathroom?”
“I… need to pass water. And they only have toilets in the common bathrooms.”
“What do you think the chamber pots are for?” Damian pointed his finger underneath the bed.
“I… I… donʼt like them,” Sarah whispered, gradually running out of excuses.
Damian climbed out of bed and walked over to the window, which was covered with white frost. He peered outside, and looked up and down the deserted road.
He slowly turned around, staring flatly at Sarah.
“He is out there, isnʼt he?” he whispered, sounding dangerously calm.
Sarah swallowed hard. She desperately hoped Henry would not be as foolish as to come up and look for her, because she was now getting a little late.
Damianʼs glance fell on the untouched glass of water on his nightstand. He took the glass, sniffed at it. Then, suddenly and unexpectedly, he threw it across the room and at the wall where it burst into a thousand pieces.
“He is out there, isnʼt he?!” he yelled. Sarah anxiously held on to her bundle and wondered if she should simply storm outside and run for it. But before she was able to make a decision, Damian hastened over to her, taking huge steps. He grabbed her arms and began to shake her furiously as if she was a doll.
Eagerly she shook her head.
“No! He is not, he is not!”
“You donʼt fool me!” Damian spat at her and let go of her abruptly. She tumbled and fell back onto the bed, from where she watched him rush over to the wardrobe, grab his trousers, and put them on. Then he stormed over to the bed where he let his hand slip underneath the mattress, going in search of something. The next moment Sarah saw him taking out his pistol which he had hidden there and which he always carried with him wherever he went. Sarah knew that the gun was his best friend in his paranoia of seeing potential enemies lurking around every corner.
Sarahʼs eyes widened with terror at the sight of the pistol in his hand.
“Damian, donʼt! I am begging you!” she screamed and jumped up from the bed.
A nasty smirk spread on his lips.
“If he is not out there, why should you object to me taking the gun?” he hissed.
Sarah immediately fell silent, knowing that he was right, of course, and that she had given Henry away.
Damian slipped into his boots, took a jacket, and rushed towards the door. With a forward dive, Sarah tried to hold him back by grabbing his arm, but he simply shook off her hands and pushed her aside. He stomped out of the room and, to Sarahʼs horror, locked the door from the outside. Then she heard him take out the key and walk away.
In her despair, she began to scream, hammering her fists against the door.
“Damian, donʼt, please come back! Please…!”
Tears were streaming down her face. She desperately wanted to warn Henry that Damian was on his way to get him, but she didnʼt know how.
She thought that the best thing she could do was to continue screaming and making a noise so that the other guests in the adjacent rooms would wake up, become aware of her unfortunate situation, and get the night porter who had a spare set of keys and who would let her out. Then she could tell the porter that her husband had in fact gone to shoot someone as she was certain that Damian, now that he was on his way to Henry, would lie to the porter and claim he was just going for a walk, even if this appeared strange at that time of the night.
But what then…? Sarah suddenly thought. She reckoned that the porter would call for the guards or even run out into the night himself in order to intervene. But she guessed that by the time he or the guards arrived at the scene, it would probably be too late.
And then another thought occurred to her: The thought that Damian might not shoot Henry at all—which, of course, would have been plain murder, unless he claimed that it was self-defense—but that he would instead threaten Henry and keep him in check until someone arrived whom he could tell a lie about Henry, a lie which would result in Henry being arrested for the rest of his life.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.
“Hello! Is anyone in there?” someone called. It was a woman, and Sarah believed to recognize her voice as the one of Countess Pavlowa, an elderly Russian Lady whom she had happened to get acquainted with earlier that day. She didnʼt seem to be alone as Sarah could hear her speak to someone who turned out to be her husband and who asked, “Are you alright?”
Sarah hesitated for a moment.
“I am fine, thank you very much,” she finally answered.
“Are you certain?” Countess Pavlowa enquired, sounding doubtful. “We heard screams and the smashing of glass. Are you sure that nobody is harmed?”
“Yes, I am sure. Everything is fine.”
“Well then… We are next door if you need anything at all.”
“Thank you very much, Countess, I highly appreciate your concern and help,” Sarah replied, trying to make her voice sound firm although she was terribly worried that the decision she had made was the wrong one: the decision that she wouldnʼt tell anyone because she was certain that nobody out there would be interested in saving Henry in the end. Nobody would want to contradict Damian and doubt his credibility.
Instead, she decided that she needed to come up with a solution herself. And she needed to be quick. Very quick.
When she heard Count and Countess Pavlowa leave and withdraw to their room again, she hastened over to the window, opened it, and peered outside.
Two floors.
She knew she was a good climber. No tree back home which had been safe from her.
She guessed that she could make it.
With fierce determination, Sarah stormed over to the bed, and took the sheets off it. Next, she tore at the curtains until they came down. Then she spotted a tea cloth covering the chest of drawers in the corner. She took that too, then she knelt down on the floor and began to tie the sheets, the curtains, and the cloth together.
She felt terribly exhausted and overcome with a strange lightheadedness which made it difficult for her to concentrate. Still, she tried hard to pull herself together, knowing that it was just the ebbing effect of her uncleʼs pills which made her feel so weak.
I can do it, she kept saying to herself whenever she sensed that fear, despair and tiredness were taking over.
I can do it...
After a few minutes, she got up and wrapped the end of the rope, which she had made, around one of the bedposts. Then she pulled herself onto the window sill.
Suddenly, however, she realized that she needed something to defend herself, some kind of weapon, just in case things got out of control which they probably would, as she guessed.
She climbed back down and went in search of Damianʼs straight razor, but she couldnʼt find it anywhere, neither in the bathroom nor in his suitcase. Then the thought hit her that he had probably hidden it because the whole family dreaded that she was suicidal—which wasnʼt too far from the truth after all.
I need something, I need something… it hammered in her head as her eyes were darting across the room in her desperate search of something simple yet practical.
Then, suddenly, she had an idea, which she found rather splendid.
* * *
Henry looked at his pocket watch. It was almost a quarter to one. But still there was no sign of Sarah. Keeping his eyes fixated on the entrance door of the hotel, he wondered what might have caused the delay, and the more he thought about it, the more his mind began to fill with worry.
Suddenly, the entrance door opened.
Finally...
Henry let out a sigh of relief and was already on the verge of signaling Wheeler, the coachman, to fire his horses and quickly drive over to the hotel when he realized that it was not Sarah at all, who came walking out of the building.
It was Damian. And he was looking up and down the road, his eyes searching for something in the darkness.
Henry shifted uneasily in his seat.
He searching for me. He knows that I am here…
Henry racked his brain how Damian had found out about him and if he had hurt Sarah to make her talk, but Henry didnʼt have much time to think about it as in this moment Damian spotted the coach, which was slightly illimunated by the faint glow of the moonlight, and began to purposefully march in its direction. And as he did so, he took a pistol out of his trouser pockets.
“Someoneʼs coming, Sir,” Henry heard the Wheeler call down to him from the coachbox.
“I know...” Henry mumbled, desperately trying to come up with an idea what to do. He had hoped that he could avoid a confrontation with Damian and wondered if his rival had alarmed the night porter to get the guards. By no means at all did Henry want them to be involved. After all, it was still his intention to kidnap someone; even though that someone wanted to come with him out of her own will, and the sudden appearance of the guards would, of course, prove to be more than a hindrance.
But Henry guessed that Damian wasnʼt the type of person to call the guards. He was rather the type to look forward to a little fight with someone who, in his opinion, was surely incapable of taking it up with him.
Henryʼs hand trembled as he pulled the pistol out of his coat. And although he was admittedly scared, he found that he was still man enough not to run away from this situation. But he wouldnʼt just get out and play right into Damianʼs hands either. The way the latter was quickly approaching, the pistol drawn, his face distorted with hatred, Henry found that it wasnʼt wise to challenge him to a duel. Somehow, he was certain that Damian would not fight fair and would even go as far as to commit coldblooded murder.
Ever so quickly, Henry slipped out of the coach through the door which was facing away from Damian—and crept underneath the vehicle where he found enough space for him to hide without having to lie flat on the ground. From here he could jump out whenever he deemed it appropriate and by doing so would hopefully surprise his enemy as it was too dark for Damian to see Henry crouching there.
But Henry could see Damian, which was a major advantage.
Damian had reached the coach. Henry heard Wheeler mumble a greeting, which Damian didnʼt return. Instead, the latter jerked open the door of the vehicle and peered inside.
“Get out, Abbott!” he yelled angrily, followed by a grumpy ʻWhere the hell is he?ʼ when he noticed that Henry wasnʼt there.
Damian slammed the door shut again. He quickly walked around the coach and scanned the darkness for a possible sign of Henry. Eventually he turned around and began to climb up the coachbox where Wheeler, puzzled and slightly scared at this stage, was still waiting for further instructions from Henry.
“Please, donʼt shoot me...” Henry heard the coach driver stammer. He guessed that the poor man might have encountered the odd creep on his dubious tours, but he obviously had not seen amyone as furious and determined as Damian before.
“Where has he gone?!” Damian spat at Wheeler in rage. Henry saw Damianʼs feet stepping down from the coachbox again. He had grabbed the driver by the collar and was now pulling him down from the coach.
“I... I donʼt know... I really donʼt know,” Wheeler stammered. “He was in the coach a minute ago...”
Stupid fool… Henry thought, angry at the fact that the coachman gave him away. But at the same time he could understand that Wheeler was keen to save his own skin in the face of that mad stranger who had so unexpectedly appeared and who was now shaking him so much that his legs gave in. Helplessly, the driver sank to the ground, a terror-stricken expression on his face.
“Where is he?!” Damian yelled at him once more, his back facing Henry.
Henry realized that this was the moment he had been waiting for. Secretly, he emerged from underneath the coach and, careful not to make any noise, approached Damian on silent feet until he finally stood right behind him. He slowly raised the pistol and aimed it at Damianʼs neck.
I could kill him now... he thought, nervously clutching the handle of the gun.
His fingers trembled as he was watching Damian tower over the coach driver who lay on the ground and was wriggling in Damianʼs grip.
No, he couldnʼt kill him.
I am not a murderer...
But wasnʼt it self-defense? Wasnʼt he about to save another manʼs life? And was he not certain that Damian would never be that considerate in the same situation?
Still, he couldnʼt do it although the temptation was big.
But apart from the fact that didnʼt want to be a killer, there was another reason that held him back from shooting Damian, and that was that he wanted to avoid any major commotion. A single shot would have woken the whole of the neighborhood, and in a matter of minutes he would have been surrounded by an awful lot of people – including the guards. There would have been no chance ever to save Sarah, as he most definitely would have ended up in prison straight away.
But then he realized that he didnʼt really need to kill Damian. There were still other possibilities at hand to put his rival out of action.
Henry didnʼt hesitate, swung the pistol and forcefully hit Damian on the head with it. The latter immediately collapsed on top of the coach driver, whose slightly hysterical look in the eyes conveyed that he was close to a nervous breakdown.
Henry incredulously looked down at Damianʼs body at his feet and chuckled in surprise.
That was easier than I thought...
Damianʼs pistol had fallen out of his hand and onto the ground. Henry quickly picked it up, opened the door of the coach and threw it inside, thinking that it was better if Damian didnʼt get hold of it again. But then again, he knew that Damian would not be able to get hold of it anyway as Henry intended to tie him up so that he wouldnʼt be able to follow him and Sarah to the port when he woke up from his involuntary slumber. But first, he needed to help the Wheeler.
He took his own pistol and stuck it inside of his trouser pocket. Then he bent down, grabbed Damian by the shoulders and pulled him off the coachman, who was still struggling underneath him.
“Are you alright?” Henry asked the driver.
Wheeler stared at him with big and fearful eyes as if Henry too represented a source of danger for him.
“Leave me alone! Donʼt touch me!” he shouted, got up and climbed back onto the coach box as fast as he could. “If I had known that there would be a shooting involved, I would not have taken part in this in the first place!”
Henryʼs heart missed a beat when he saw the driver snatching the reins of his horses.
“No!” he called out, realizing that the coachman was about to drive off. “Please, donʼt! Everything is fine! There is no danger anymore!”
He jumped forward in an attempt to stop the horses that had already begun to move.
“Donʼt leave! I am begging you!”
But the coachman ignored him. He fired his horses and swung his riding whip. Then he let out something that sounded like a primal scream and quickly disappeared into the night and out of sight.
Incredulously, Henry was looking after him.
Damn it… he thought despairingly, wondering what to do. How should he get to the port now? Soon, he came to the conclusion, however, that he would have to save up his worries for later because first there was another problem he had to solve: he had to get rid of Damian.
He was just about to turn around and walk back over to him, but before he had a chance to do so something unexpected happened: All of a sudden he felt something wrap around his neck from behind, throttling him.
It was Damianʼs arm, having him in a stranglehold.
“It takes a little more than a single knock on my head to stop me, Abbott...” Henry heard his rivalʼs raspy whisper at his ear. He began to helplessly wriggle in Damianʼs grip, tried to say something, but all that came out of his mouth was a faint guttural sound.
“How rude of you to simply dispose of my gun without asking me for permission,” Damian hissed and wrapped his harm even tighter around Henryʼs neck. “But donʼt you worry, I do not need a gun to finish you off. You know, I could easily break your neck now, but that would be too quick for my taste. I want to see you suffer, Abbott. I want to see you slowly die in my arms...”
Henry began to gasp as the air around him was getting thinner. His hands were clutching Damianʼs arm in a desperate and pointless effort to pull it away, but Damian, that tall and wiry man, proved to be incredibly strong.
“Tell me, where did you want to take her? To the poor house?” Damian asked. “I would like to let you in on a secret before you die. Whatever Sarah might have told you, whatever she promised you about following you, rest assured these were just lies, because a long time ago she has already come to the realization that there is nothing you could possibly have to offer to her apart from a pathetic life in poverty, full of shattered illusions and disappointments. The truth is that she just helped me to get rid of you because she is in fact sick of you chasing her. I knew that you would be coming tonight. I was awaiting you because she told me that you would come.”
Again, Henry tried to say something, tried to hurl it into Damianʼs face that he didnʼt believe a single word he said, but he was far too busy struggling against the pressure on his throat which had become unbearable.
And then there was something else that he tried to struggle against. It was the uncertainty that Damian was telling the truth.
Could it really be? Could Sarah and have just led him on? Had she lied to him when they had met in the bathroom of the hotel, when she had told him that she truly loved him and that she finally wanted to be with him forever?
Had she really been part of a terrible plotting that he had been unaware of?
He couldnʼt believe it. He didnʼt want to believe it.
Still, Damianʼs words had unsettled him. And although his heart told him that none of it was true, there was an inkling of doubt, mingling with shock and despair.
“It amuses me how we managed to not only fool you but also this traitor of her uncle, who was so stupid to believe that I wouldnʼt suspect that he had always been your ally,” Damian added. “I actually wonder where he is right now? I almost expected him to be here in order to hold your hand in case you get afraid. Or is it that he got afraid himself? Maybe he has shrunk with fear and has hidden in your trouser pockets?”
Damian began to chuckle maliciously. His breath smelt of the wine he had consumed before.
Suddenly, Henry remembered the second pistol that he still carried in his trouser pocket and prayed to God that Damian wouldnʼt come up with the idea to reach down to his pockets. Henry knew that if he did, Damian would notice the gun, and then Henry would have lost every bit of a chance to win this fight, although right now his prospects werenʼt already too good already.
He played with the thought of secretly reaching down to the gun, quickly take it out and threaten Damian with it. But then he wondered how he should do it. Even if he was able to get hold of the gun, he wouldnʼt be able to see at all where he was aiming at, twisted as he was in Damianʼs firm grip. And how should he aim with Damian standing behind him? Certain that Damian would take the gun away from them as soon as he saw it, Henry decided that the gun would know serve him unless he had freed himself.
He wrapped his fingers around Damianʼs arm again, pulled at it, trying to get himself some breathing space, but he was running out of strength, got dizzy, felt his body getting weaker and weaker, felt strange spasms creep through his body.
I am dying...
Then, suddenly, something caught his attention.
It was Sarah.
In the distance, he saw her climbing down the façade of the hotel, holding on to some white rope that was dangling out of the window.
Henry let out a gargle.
Damian, who obviously had not noticed Sarah as yet, began to chuckle again.
“Can you already see the light?” He whispered. “Donʼt you worry, it will not be long from now.”
“Sa… Sar…ah…!” Henry croaked under his breath.
“Well, too late, my dear, too late,” Damian growled spitefully. “She is mine now, for eternity…”
With all of his remaining force, Henry managed to raise his arm and pointed his finger over to the hotel.
“Sar…ah…win…dow…!”
Slightly confused, Damian looked up.
“What in the name of God…” he mumbled when he finally saw Sarah.
The unexpected sight of hers left him so surprised and distracted that, without realizing it, he slightly loosened his grip around Henryʼs neck. To his utter relief Henry noticed that he could move his head again. He immediately took this opportunity and bit Damian in the arm. Damian flinched. Then Henry rammed his elbow straight into his rivalʼs stomach.
While Damian was writhing in pain, Henry stumbled forward and fell on his knees, clutching his throat, choking. In the distance, he could see Sarah still struggling her way down the wall of Mount Merrion Hotel.
Relief washed over Henry. He was certain now that Damian had lied to him and that Sarah had never tried to trap him. He almost felt ashamed for having suggested that she could be able to do something like that. At the same time, he was almost dying with worry, he wanted to run straight over to her and catch her, in case she fell, but there was no time for it as he needed to keep Damian at bay. The latter had already recovered from the blow and was now storming towards Henry, his face distorted with rage.
Before Henry had a chance to finally get the pistol out of his pocket, Damian had jumped at him and gave his face a blow with the fist. Henry tumbled backwards and fell. The pain was enormous and for a moment Henry worried that Damian had dislocated his jaw.
in the meantime, Damian began to kick his foot against Henryʼs shin bone, then in his stomach, and in his ribs. While defending himself from Damianʼs attacks, Henry tried to reach down to his trouser pockets in an attempt to draw the pistol, but then Damian suddenly threw himself at Henry, letting out a menacing growl.
Henry knew that Damian had seen the gun and that he wanted it.
The two men were wrestling on the ground as both tried to be the first one to get hold of the gun in Henryʼs trousers pocket. Henry found himself in a rather unfortunate position. He was lying underneath Damian, trying hard to get the upper hand, but Damian kept pushing him back on the ground whenever Henry made an attempt to get up and shake him off.
Suddenly, Henry felt Damianʼs hand slip into his trouser pockets, but he managed to get hold of Damianʼs wrist and keep him from taking the gun out. Again, he became aware of Damianʼs enormous strength, but at the same time he was surprised about his own.
“Let go of it! You will lose this fight anyway!” Damian growled.
Henry still felt Damianʼs hand in his pocket, clutching the gun, but unable to retrieve it, because Henry held him back. The next moment, however, Henry felt Damianʼs free hand clutching his throat.
Henry knew he needed to do something to shake Damian off, as the latter was trying to throttle him again. Although he could hardly move his head, he tried to look around him, spotted a heap of fresh and wet horse dung that was lying right next to him, and suddenly had an idea which he deemed rather risky. But he knew he had no other choice.
And so he momentarily let go of Damianʼs hand. He saw how Damian pulled the pistol out of the trouser pocket. Then Damian threw up his arm into the air, triumphantly waving the gun.
Henry felt Damian’s grip around his neck loosen.
That was the moment he had been waiting for.
You might be strong, Damian, but not clever… Henry thought with a flicker of hope. Then he ever so quickly reached out and grabbed a handful of the dung.
Immediately realising what Henry was up to, Damian tried to fend Henry off, but Henry was quicker. Before Damian knew what was going on, Henry had already pressed the dung right into his rivalʼs face and rubbed it into his eyes. It was a simple as it was effective.
Damian let out an angry scream. He tried to hit Henry in the face, but as his vision was now impaired, he missed his target. Henry was still lying underneath Damian, trying to snatch the gun out of his rivals hands, but as Damian was still holding the gun up into the air, Henry couldnʼt reach it. But at least he managed to give Damian a fist blow in the face.
Damian tumbled backwards, spitting blood. Amidst the blood there was something that Henry identified as a tooth.
“You bastard!” Damian cried out, lisping slightly.
Henry ignored him. All he wanted was to finally get hold of the gun. When Damian was still busy wiping the dung off his face, Henry jumped forward and tried to snatch the gun out of Damianʼs hands. Damian, although still half blind, tried to fend Henry off, but when Henry gave him another kick in the stomach with his elbow, he let the gun drop to the ground.
Henry bent to get it. Next to him, Damian, who quickly recovered from the blow, jumped to his feet, and when Henry tried to reach the pistol, Damian suddenly stomped right on his hand. Henry let out a scream as Damianʼs boot threatened to crush every single bone in his fingers. Damian laughed out loud and didnʼt show any inclination to remove his foot. Quite contrary he reinforced his pressure as he bent down and picked up the pistol from the ground.
Henry let out a whimper. He tried to push Damianʼs leg away with his free hand, but Damian was standing like a rock, crossing his arms in front of his chest and laughing maliciously.
“I could easily kill you now, Abbott...” he growled.
Henry was unable to turn around and see what Damian was doing, as he was still crouching next to him, his hand stuck under Damianʼs foot. But from the clicking sound next to his ear, Henry could gather that Damian pointed the gun right at his head.
“You canʼt just shoot me like that. That would be plain murder!” Henry muttered.
“I do not care!” Damian retorted.
“There are no bullets in it,” Henry croaked, which was a lie. At the same time he secretly let his free arm wander up Damianʼs leg towards his crotch.
“I donʼt believe you,” Damian said, releasing the safety catch of the pistol. “But I presume we will shortly find ou-”
Damian broke off and let out a shriek, as with his free hand Henry pinched Damian in the groin.
Startled and in pain, Damian stepped backwards, releasing Henryʼs hand. The latter immediately threw himself at Damian and pushed him to the ground, trying to snatch the pistol from his grasp. But Damian wouldnʼt let go.
The two men were wrestling with each other, with Damian lying on his back and Henry crouching over him. Soon, however, it was the other way round, with Henry lying on the ground and Damian straddling him. Momentarily, Henry believed that he simply didnʼt stand a chance. His opponent was trained in the field of fighting, whereas he wasnʼt. He didnʼt want to give up that easily, though, and was waiting for a cunning idea which wasnʼt long in coming.
Although currently Damian had the upper hand, he failed to notice the rather vulnerable position he was in, with his legs spread apart, leaving his manhood unprotected. Henry gathered up all his remaining strength, bent his leg and rammed it right in to Damians groin, which as he knew by now seemed to be the only spot where Damian was capable of feeling pain.
Damian howled like a battered dog and toppled backwards. He still held the pistol in his hand, but Henry had no trouble in taking it away from him. He quickly jumped on his feet, and pointed the gun at Damian.
Both men were panting heavily as they were piercing each other with ferociously twinkling eyes. Then a malicious smile spread across Damianʼs dung-covered face, which looked as if he had just taken an extensive bath in a septic tank.
“You want to shoot me? Why donʼt you do it then? This is your chance, Abbott,” he hissed. “But I suppose that you are far too big a weakling to kill someone.”
Damian laughed like a madman, appearing rather unperturbed by his possible death. Henry guessed that Damian simply knew that he was right with his assumption that Henry was unable to commit cold-blooded murder. Damian was still crouching on the ground, obviously waiting for a moment to strike again while Henry was racking his brain what to do next. He didnʼt want to shoot Damian, he rather wanted to tie him up. But he couldnʼt tie him up as long as he was busy keeping him in check with the gun.
If only Sarah was here, he thought. But he didnʼt even dare to avert his eyes from Damian to find out where she was. He guessed that if she had successfully managed the climb down the wall of the hotel, she would surely need a little while to find him in the darkness. He considered calling her name out loud and by doing so give her a sign, but he wasnʼt sure if it was the right thing to do, as it would not only have attracted Sarahʼs attention but probably also the one of nosy neighbors; and he could very well do without their interference.
Damian began to laugh, as if he had read Henryʼs thoughts and had sensed his indecisiveness and insecurity.
“Your whole plan doesnʼt appear to be really well thought out, Abbott. Were you so sure of yourself that you entirely ruled it out that something could go wrong? And do you really think I will simply let you get away like that? Let me tell you, Abbott, that no matter where you go, I will find you and claim what righteously belongs to me: my wife and my child.”
“The child is mine,” Henry said calmly and with satisfaction, but still concentrating hard on Damianʼs every move, ready to react, just in case something unexpected happened.
Damian looked rather baffled. He wasnʼt grinning anymore.
“It is not,” he whispered, clenching his fists. “Oscar told me you were incapable of begetting a child.”
“I know,” Henry answered, and in an attempt to protect Oscar he added, “I told him so in order to scatter his assumptions and everybody elseʼs that I could be the father. But it was a lie.”
Damianʼs face got as red as a lobster. Even in the only dim light of the moon, Henry could see the amount of hatred that lay in Damianʼs eyes.
Damian was trembling with rage. He slowly got up from his crouching position on the ground until he stood upright again, then he took a step towards Henry, irrespective of the gun that was still aimed at him.
“You bastard!” he yelled at Henry, and Henry was sure that Sarah had heard him and would now be able to find them. Damian wouldnʼt stop shouting and venting his anger and frustration, and Henry began to regret having told him the truth about the child, as he dreaded that Damianʼs outburst would wake the whole neighborhood.
And then, as if on cue, a light went on in the house that they were standing next to. A window was opened, and the shadowy silhouettes of two people, a man and a woman, emerged behind it.
Henry flinched. Distracted by the light and the appearance of the unwanted spectators, he took his eyes off Damian. It was only for a second, not even the split of a second, but it was enough for Damian to react.
With an unexpected forward dive, Damian threw himself at Henry, flung his arms around Henryʼs legs, and pushed him over. The pistol fell out of Henryʼs hand and flew through the air as Henry hit the ground. The next moment Henry felt Damian climb all over him, obviously on his way to retrieve the pistol, but Henry quickly grabbed Damianʼs leg and held him back.
“What is going on out there?” the man at the window shouted angrily. “There happen to be some people who actually would like to sleep at this time of the night!”
“Mind your own business!” Damian shouted over to the two involuntary spectators, pulling a grotesque grimace of hate and bloodlust, as if he would not refrain from giving the two a good talking-to as well, after he would be done with Henry.
Henry heard the man mutter something in return, and although he didnʼt quite understand what it was, he believed to hear the word ʼguards.ʼ
Fueled by the unpleasant prospect of the police getting involved and the fact that a steamship was waiting for him-or rather not waiting for him if he and Sarah didnʼt turn up-Henry found himself becoming more and more under pressure and hence more aggressive. He had spared Damian and had not shot him. Having been so generous, he found that he now had all the right to beat Damian senseless. He knew he had to put an end to this fight now, as he was running out of time.
But Damian was fueled too by the unexpected and terrible truth that he was not the father of the child.
“I will kill you! I will bloody tear you apart, limb by limb!” he shouted into Henryʼs ear. The two men were wrestling again like rabid dogs, rolling all over the street, through puddles, through manure. Eventually, Henry decided that it was wiser to move away from the gun instead of trying to get near it as there was always the risk of Damian getting hold of it before he could, and then using it against him.
“As you wish, Abbott,” Damian spat when he caught wind of Henryʼs plan. “As I said, I donʼt need a gun. I will simply break your neck! I will break you like glass…”
Henry felt Damianʼs hands clutching his shoulders, burying his fingers in his shoulderblades. Henry placed his hands equally on Damianʼs shoulders, and for a moment the two of them were looking like fighting deer with their antlers entwined.
At some stage Henry believed to notice Damian running out of strength, which was something he had not deemed possible considering that Damianʼs body seemed to be made of steel. But then he noticed that he himself gradually began to lack power. Still, they kept on fighting, regaining their strength again and again, not ever giving the other one a chance to win.
I am invincible... Henry thought to himself, citing the words in his mind like a mantra, just to keep himself going, just to prevent himself from giving up. Then he had another idea. He let go of Damian, immediately felt Damianʼs hands move up to his neck, but at the same time he rammed his fingers into Damianʼs eyeballs.
Damian screamed out loud.
Invincible, invincible, invincible... Henry thought as he was watching Damian covering his face and whining like a child.
The gun, I need the gun...!
Frantically, Henry began to search the ground in the darkness. He couldnʼt find it anywhere. He guessed that they simply had moved too far away from it. Suddenly, he felt Damian jump at him from behind. Henry turned and drew back his arm for a blow, but Damian was faster. With one of his trademark growls and something that sounded like a primal scream he buried his fist in Henryʼs ribs.
Henry gasped for air and tumbled backwards.
Then there was pain, a terrible stinging pain, accompanied by a feeling of nausea and dizziness.
Moaning and defeated, Henry staggered towards a nearby lantern post where he sank down to the ground, clutching his chest, trying not to let the pain overwhelm him.
“Donʼt tell me you are giving up, Abbott!” Damian guffawed, a triumphal grin on his face. “We have only just started!”
Henry knew he shouldnʼt stop fighting, no matter how much pain he was feeling, but he lacked all the strength to rise and strike again. The pain was simply too intense. For a terrible moment, he even believed that he would faint.
In the distance and seemingly far away, he could hear Damianʼs voice say something to him, but he didnʼt understand what it was, he only perceived the gloating laughter that accompanied Damianʼs voice, and from that laughter Henry could gather that Damian already saw himself as the winner of this fight.
Suddenly, however, there was another voice, a much softer one, a sweet one, right next to him, whispering soothing words into his ear, a voice that he immediately recognized as Sarahʼs.
“Henry! Henry! You are alive…!” she called out as she knelt down on the ground next to him and flung her arms around him.
“Sarah…” Henry breathed. He inhaled her sweet scent, felt her tender kisses on his face. And for a moment. He even believed to feel his spirits return.
“Oh, what a lovely little reunion!” Damian purred before adding maliciously. “Well, Sarah, I am afraid, I have to tell you that our little would-be hero is too much of a wimp to shoot me. He will not be able to protect you. He isnʼt even able to protect himself.”
The next moment the man they had seen peering out of the window stepped out of his house and down the staircase leading onto the street, his eyes confusedly darting from Henry to Sarah and over to Damian.
“Are you alright?” he asked, not addressing anyone in particular, just trying to figure out what was going on.
A slightly bored expression on his face, Damian wiped off the dust of his clothes and the remains of dung of his face.
“I am, yes. Thank you for asking,” he answered as if the question was exclusively directed at him, and as if his personal well-being was the only thing that mattered. “I am rather enjoying myself actually. Still, I would appreciate it if you could go and get the guards for me, as I would rather like to have this fellow here arrested. He plotted my assassination.”
“That is not true!” Sarah exclaimed.
“Donʼt mind her. She is his ally,” Damian called over to the man who cast him a worried look.
“Will you be alright on your own, Sir?”
Damian just smirked.
“Rest assured, I will.”
The man nodded and rushed off to the next police station.
A self-satisfied grin on his face, Damian turned his back on Sarah and Henry, who were still crouching on the ground, and calmly went in search of the gun. Almost casually he strode over to the gun that was still lying in some far off corner of the street where Henry had let it drop earlier on during their fight. He was taking his time, appearing certain that his blow in the chest had made Henry entirely defenseless.
Suddenly, Sarah let go of Henry and jumped up in an obvious attempt to run after Damian and stop him, but Henry quickly held her back and indicated her to be quiet. The past minutes that he had been lying on the ground, nestled in Sarahʼs embrace, had given him the chance to gather his remaining strength and prepare for a final attack. He was well aware that if he didnʼt react now, it was over, because that fight with Damian had terribly weakened him and had taken all his alleged supernatural abilities that Sarah believed to see in him. The pain in his chest was intense, and all he could do was to try and ignore it when he laboriously hoisted himself up and staggered after Damian, whose back was still turned on him and who radiated all the self-assurance of a man who was certain that he had won this game; a game that to him was obviously nothing more than an annoying little incident, disturbing his daily routine which consisted of much more important things.
At first, Henry didnʼt know at all what to do, but when he saw Damian bow down to pick the pistol up from the ground, still not sensing any threat from behind, Henry took off his coat and hurried towards Damian. When he had reached him, he threw his coat over him before Damian had a chance to react and thwart Henryʼs plan.
Damian let out a muffled cry of surprise. The pistol fell out of his hand again. Henry wrapped his arms around Damianʼs torso, holding him as tight as he could, despite the pain, despite Damian moving hysterically under the coat like a wriggling fish because he could neither see anything nor move his arms. Still Damian put up determined resistance, and Henry realized that it would not be long until he would have freed himself. Henry was just about to call Sarah for help, but then he saw to his relief that she was already running over to him, furiously brandishing the bundle with her belongings that she intended to take with her to America.
He opened his mouth to tell her that they wouldnʼt achieve anything by hitting Damian with a bundle of clothes, and that she should rather take the gun that had fallen onto the ground, but when he saw that bundle come down on Damianʼs head that was still hidden under the coat, he heard to his surprise the sound of something bursting inside the bundle-the sound of broken porcelain.
“I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!” Sarah yelled in her fury, releasing all her bottled-up anger that had accumulated inside of her during the past months. Tears were streaming down her face as she hit Damian again and again, although the latter had already collapsed and now hung weakly and motionless in Henryʼs arms.
“Itʼs alright, Sarah, itʼs alright…!” Henry tried to calm her and let Damianʼs body slide to the ground.
Still sobbing Sarah stopped and buried her face in her hands.
Henry quickly grabbed the pistol. Panting heavily he leaned at the lantern post and looked down at the body at his feet. Damian didnʼt stir, but Henry guessed that Damian only pretended as he had done before, and would soon be up on his feet again, battered and most likely with a concussion-but ready to go on.
But Damian just lay motionless on the ground, still buried underneath Henryʼs coat, not uttering a single sound.
Pointing the gun at Damian, Henry knelt down next to him, and upon removing the coat from Damianʼs body, he saw that Damian was really unconscious and that there was blood running from his head.
Sarah let out a whimper.
“Oh my God, Henry, I killed him! I killed him!”
Henry took Damianʼs wrist and sounded him out. Damianʼs pulse was still there.
“No, Sarah, he is not dead,” Henry said soothingly. “I am sure that in a matter of minutes he will be alive and kicking a gain, trust me. What on earth was in that bundle anyway?”
A bashful look on her face Sarah opened the bundle. And when Henry peered inside he couldnʼt help but smile: In it were the broken pieces of what once had been a porcelain chamber pot.
He stroked Sarahʼs cheek and planted a quick kiss on her forehead.
“Come now, help me,” he said softly. “We canʼt just leave him here.”
Henry grabbed Damian under the armpits, Sarah grabbed Damianʼs feet, and together they dragged him over to the fence which surrounded the garden of one of the houses lining the street.
“We need to tie him up,” he said, hectically looking around in an attempt to find something that he could use to bind Damian. He considered taking his scarf but found that it was not elastic and not long enough. Then he had an idea.
“Sarah, give me your stockings. Quick!”
Sarah didnʼt waste any time, lifted her long skirt and began to fanatically fumble with the suspenders.
In the meantime, Henry positioned Damian with his back against the fence. Then, when Sarah handed him her stockings, he tied Damianʼs hands to one of the iron bars.
Suddenly Damian let out a moan.
“What... are you doing... you lunatic?” he whimpered, half-conscious.
Henry decided not to listen to his assaults anymore. He wasnʼt in the mood to fight, neither physically nor verbally. All he wanted was to take Sarah and get away from here before the guards arrived. He took a last look at Damian who, battered as he now was, bore a rather pathetic sight. Henry found that with his bleeding head and his swollen face, Damian looked as if he had been surprised by a swarm of belligerent bees.
“I will have freed myself within a matter of seconds...” Damian grunted weakly. “I will follow you, and I will find you and that wanton little hussy…”
Afraid that Damian would shortly begin to scream again in his nascent rage and attract the attention of even more people who could possibly hinder Henry and Sarah in their attempt to escape, Henry quickly took off his shirt and tore off the right sleeve. He put the shirt back on although he now looked quite odd with the shirt missing a sleeve, but he guessed that nobody would really notice it as he was also wearing his coat. Then he took the sleeve that he had torn off, twirled it to a gag and muzzled Damian, who snorted angrily and tried in vain to free himself.
“Donʼt worry, Damian, as you know the guards are on the way and will surely take care of you as soon as they find you,” Henry said matter-of-factly. “But I will be long gone by then, and you better not try to ever find me, because this time I am letting you go, but I promise that next time I see you, I will kill you.”
And with these words he turned around, took Sarah by the hand, and together they ran away.