Joy V. Sheridan writes

Charity Amour

CHAPTER TWELVE part 1

“Not a word about our doings on this journey, mind!” 

The man’s threats rumbled as ominously as the coach’s wheels as the vehicle swayed over rough roadway and toppled aslant around perilous bends. They were moving at a precariously furious pace and after a length of time, the man had moved away from Charity, placing her opposite him in the coach, but not before he had bared her breasts so that he might focus more easily, as he tended with thick and fuming fingers to his cock. At length he had climaxed and sat back contentedly against the head-heated leather of the seat. Charity had sat, rigidly transfixed, as the man had masturbated. Could she, she wondered, ever forget the low groans and heavy breathing which had accompanied his activities? She eyed him now as he lay splayed against the leather upholstery. Once she had seen his eyelids droop, she had pushed her massive breasts back into the straining fabric of her gown. 

“I should sit back farther in the seat, Miss Cottrell, if I were you, and mind my words now, not a hint as to what enjoyment we've both shared en route.”

She shivered as she contemplated in that vague, fatigued and fear ridden way what might lie before her. If this was a sampler of it, then it did not bode well. Should she leap from the moving coach? No, for surely she would dash herself to bits on the rough-hewn roadway they were travelling over. At length she ventured to find her voice and spoke with a slow hesitancy. 

She saw that the man had laid the spent member back into its holder, for this was the direction her eyes took as she spoke. She was averse to looking into the man’s face. “Prithee, can you tell me where I am bound, and to whom?” The man opened his eyes to a slit and looked at her with a larded jeer. “You shall find that out soon enough, dear lady, soon enough!” 

With that - almost as though it had been a bidden command - the horses began slurching and lurching to a halt. An eerie silence predominated, apart from the snorting and fuming of the now stationary nags. Wherever they were, it was as quiet as a moss sided tomb. The man moved from his seat and with a deft flick lowered the coach’s steps. He indicated that Charity rise and precede him through the exit. She jumped out and her companion threw the bag out after her. She looked overhead to where a canopy of stars glittered amidst the clear, cold night air. She inhaled deeply, for such an action might serve to settle her pounding heart and frayed nerves. As she did so, she became aware of the scents of pines and other trees, astringent to her nostrils. She felt a tremor of chill run down her spine, startled for a second by the amplified hooting of an owl. She pulled the cloak tighter about herself. 

Where, by all the saints, was she? Her abductor could be heard muttering something low and indistinct to the coachmen, and the postillion was even then, by the light of lanterns, giving the steaming horses a preliminary rub-down. It seemed that they were on private land, or at least in an enclosed lane. Looking back whence they had just come, Charity could discern the outlines of some buildings, greying shadows into the midnight. And, yes, was that a flicker of light from a previously darkened space? 

Her heart resumed its exaggerated temp. She picked up the bag from where it had landed on the ground. To her ebbing strength it seemed to be as heavy as a ton weight. The man who had abducted her crunched over the rough noise of the lane and, with the lantern held aloft, he waved so that she should imitate his path down the rutted lane. Being careful not to damage her fragile shoes, for there had certainly not been the time or opportunity to don a pair of over-clogs, she picked her way after him. 

There was the suggestion of frost on the weeds and foliage which spilled alongside a tiny rivulet paralleling their course. She winced momentarily as her flimsily-clad foot dipped into an icy pool of brackish water. The man walked hard and fast, sure of his footing. This was familiar terrain to him no doubt! 

She hurried to keep up with him and with a sigh of relief, though perhaps relief was not what she was experiencing exactly, she saw that they had rounded into an isolated and partly obscured hamlet. As she passed by, though, she saw that the majority of the tiny dwellings were boarded up and not occupied. 

They walked for less than a minute and she found herself before a partly-lit dwelling. It was long and low and seemed to be built sturdily of stone. There was the pungent aroma of a pine fire upon the air and, if for nothing else (now she was more than feeling the severity of the weather), she might find it and at least be able to warm herself by it. She followed the man’s path - no thought of trying to abscond in her mind, for what, she had told herself prior, would be the use: she might possibly meet more murderous villains in her flight. 

She had no inkling where she was: she had no money and she was unprotected. What a predicament she was in! Indeed this had proved to be as evil a night as any. And how far she was now away from the warmth and applause of the Aldwych Pits. Moreover, what continents of experience she had traversed, now she was separated from the happy security of her late dear father’s house! 

Her abductor stood in front of an opened door; a massively strong, rough looking door which looked old enough, even in this poor light, to be of Norman origin. She wondered how many assaults this fixture had seen off? 

“Please follow me, Miss Cottrell. I believe that you will find ’tis warmer here than out in the rough rigours of November night tide. And,” he hissed lowly to her, “not a word, mind, about our doings!” He leered down upon her, as her hooded head passed under the bulk of his arm. The door was slammed hard behind her and she heard the rasp of a key in a lock; bolts being shot home.

Overtaking her, still with the lantern held at a jaunty angle, the man preceded her down the low, rambling corridor. They stopped outside of a closed door. Announcing their arrival by a light taptap upon the door, the man opened it and ushered Charity in before him. 

A fire was burning in the grate and the apartment seemed to be heavy with stout wooden trestles, tables, benches and bookcases.