The Man In Silk Chains {Historical Mystery/ #2 in Blake Series)

Chapter 9: He Demanded

No wonder anyone opposed him. He was a tall man, with breadth in his shoulders and strength in his muscles. His eyes were extremely sharp and he caught most acts of disobedience. When he did, physical punishment were what he resorted to. There was always a quick lick of the whip to tame anyone into submission. 

He owned land abroad in the Americas and the newly founded areas in the orient. With his travels came his tanned skin and various contacts. He could easily tempt a woman into the bedchamber and sign a contact with their husband the very next day. The arrogance that came with that was astounding. 

The woman in the carriage was another matter. Mrs Dagenham was the bride to be of her master, the widow was barely out of mourning yet frequented his house often. Lavinia enjoyed her visits for one simple reason; her master barely regarded her when the young woman was around. 

No wonder. The young country miss was the epitome of beauty, her hair especially. Her late husband had supposedly wanted a commission of her hair, which shone like a mystical twilight but copied the night sky’s tone. Her eyes were the sharpest brown, which explained her ‘serene’ household. Her alabaster skin was striking and only blushed prettily when she had been complimented by her possible husband. 

“Mrs Dagenham is coming; she says she is particularly fond of your carrot cake.”

“I’ll go make some now Master,” Lavinia, her head bowed. She was glad her hair was tied up because she wanted to see his reaction. He shrunk a little, noticing she had put up her hair again. Only when she was dedicated to a project, like her god damned plants, did she tie up her curly hair. It was a different texture to those around him, consistent ringlets which still reached her back when it was tied back. Her hands were caked in dirt and there were patches of mud on her clothing.

She had a straight black skirt and severe white shirt; she could pass as a village teacher if it wasn’t for her skin colour. He thought it was an exotic colour which allowed her smile to light up his whole world, it added a twist to English clothing as well. Her hair was in a frizzy bun which had been tamed for the day, she was presentable. 

“Good.” He drank in her appearance once more, as she slipped past him, he grasped her forearm. “And make sure I don’t catch you in the garden again, without my permission.”

Lavinia hadn’t heard him so aggravated in while, slowly nodding she was released. 

As Lavinia walked towards the petite house, she rubbed her arm. She could already feel her sensitive skin was stinging, she knew there would be an obvious patch on her arm tomorrow. It was as if, the throbbing path reminded her there was no way to her escape her predicament. It was a temporary brand. 

Her master was a strong man. He had previously been working as a labourer, until he had enough to be a merchant for ships in Liverpool himself. Sometimes, he travelled with the cargo he was importing; otherwise he had minions to do so. It was the very same labourer who punished her if she dared to imply she was running away or disobeying him. They were the very same minions who reported if she attempted to look at the door. 

“Lavinia!” 

“Yes Mrs Dagenham?”

“I heard you were making some of your cake.” The widow whispered it as if it was a rumour. 

Lavinia was soon sprinkling some sugar onto the slice she had cut, her eyes trained to the piece. She dusted it as if she was God, presenting the snow to the Earth. 

“No wonder he won’t give you up.” Mrs Dagenham said, sipping a little of her coffee has her cake was passed. 

“Who madam?”