“Get out!” she cried, swinging at them. “Get out of my house!”
The lovers struggled to untangle themselves, all the while, Angelica beat them with all her strength. The girl fled the bed first, screaming. Angelica knocked her down, smacking her again and again with the pillow as the poor girl writhed on the floor in terror.
Someone lost control of their bladder. Angelica smelled the hot urine, and laughed in the face of the terrified girl. “Get out of my house! Get out! Get out! Whore! Slattern!”
She let the girl get away. Angelica turned her black rage on the young man, who struggled to pull up his trousers. Every time he tried to run, he fell. Exhausted, she allowed him to drag himself to his feet.
For the first time, he must have got a good look at her. “Blimey!”
Angelica sucked in air, her lungs bellowing from exertion. “What are you looking at?”
“Them eyes.”
She laughed, maniacally. “They’re Satan’s own! Now, get out of here.”
He ran. Angelica didn’t blame him. She was surely a sight to behold.
When she felt certain the two young lovers were gone, she leaned on the open doorframe for support. She didn’t know what came over her. Jealousy, perhaps. She’d heard them, hated them, and wanted to be them, all at once.
If she could not take a lover in her own house, Angelica would be damned if she’d allow anyone else.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Hours later, Angelica stood over her wooden worktable, scrubbing dirt off some turnips—her meagre dinner. She felt so tired, so drained from the episode upstairs. She’d been a fool to interrupt them, and had certainly sealed her fate by exposing herself. Word traveled swiftly in the country. The lovers would spread their tale, and someone from the asylum would come.
She never expected they would come this quickly.
Heavy footsteps strained the floorboards overhead. Angelica had time to hide, but what was the point of running? She was a blind girl alone in the world. There was no use fighting her fate.
With her back to the kitchen door, she listened as the intruder grew closer. He’d searched the rooms upstairs, but was in the servants’ corridor now. Whoever he was, he searched for her. Angelica’s traitorous heart cheered. Perhaps it was Captain Neill, better late than never.
If it was him, she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of running to his arms like a child. She’d be calm, reserved. She’d scold him, but, if he was truly sorry for keeping her waiting, she’d let him kiss her. Then, these torturous last three months would finally be over.
The footsteps clomped down the kitchen stairs. Unless Captain Neill had gained weight, Angelica doubted he had returned. This person was someone different.
He paused in the doorway, his breath heaving. Angelica smelled fear radiating off him, sharp and sour in the air.
She placed her bristled brush on the scarred worktop. “You’re not Captain Neill.”
“I don’t even know who that is.”
“Then who are you?”
“Does it matter?” he asked, taking the last few steps into the darkened kitchen.
Angelica turned to face the intruder. She shook her head. No. It no longer mattered.
“You’re just as pretty as they said you’d be,” he whispered. “But with eyes like something from a nightmare.” The man approached her, coming to stand disturbingly close. Now, he could see her for what she truly was. “You blind, girl?”
“Yes.”
He placed a large, sweating hand on her hip. His breath was hot in her face. “Helpless?”
She swallowed. “Yes.”
Angelica’s heart danced in her chest, but she kept her composure. She wasn’t afraid of this intruder. He was probably not much older than she was. He wouldn’t hurt her. If he wanted to have her, she saw no reason to deny him. She saw no reason to deny herself.
Captain Neill had missed out, indeed.
This man gathered her skirt in his free hand, and lifted it over her thighs. He divested her of her underdrawers, tugging them down over her thick, woolen stockings, and letting them fall to the floor at their feet. Then, he hefted her backside onto the kitchen worktable.
The scarred wood was damp from scrubbing turnips. It felt cold and gritty on her bared skin. Angelica lay back, skirt up and knees parted. She waited an eternity while he fussed with the buttons on his trousers.
Was he nervous? She wasn’t.
Angelica was surprised at how little she felt. When Captain Neill had touched her—even over her clothes—the experience had been momentous. Like the pinnacle of her life thus far. Yet, while this stranger prepared to strip her of her purity, the act felt like any other way to pass the time. Afterward, she’d wash up, eat her supper, and go to bed.