'Get off me,' Cassie shouted, as she tried to struggle to free herself from Ellington's firm and painful grip.
She managed to release one of her arms and then swing it in the general direction of his head. As her arm flew towards him, she attempted to wrench the other one free from his vice-like grip. As her hand swept towards his face, he ducked out of its path and tightened his grasp. 'Now, my dear,' Ellington said, a wry smile on his lips and amusement in his voice, 'why are you making this more difficult for me, and more importantly, harder for yourself?' He shook his head and sighed. 'My dear Cass, you will only hurt yourself if you continue to struggle in this undignified manner.'
Cassie, however, did continued to struggle, as his fingers dug painfully into the top of her arms. 'Take your hands off me,' she said indignantly.
'No,' he said firmly, 'no I will not. You see, my dear, you are coming with me. I am not letting you escape this time. I have let you slip through my fingers before, and believe me, I will not let that mistake happen again.'
He now had both of her arms securely in his grasp, and she knew there was little chance of escape. Even though it felt counterintuitive, she stopped fighting against him and stood still. As she stared at him, her eyes flashed with hatred, but surprisingly, not fear. The fear she had once felt for him and that had kept her inexplicably tied to him for all those years had vanished. In its place, all she was left with was a deep-seated loathing. A revulsion so strong, that it dwarfed the original sentiment it had replaced.
'That's better,' he said, as he loosened his grip. 'If you behave yourself, like the good little girl I know you to be,' he said, his voice dripping with condescension, 'I will be lenient with you.' He smiled at her, but there was no amusement in his cold eyes. 'And, I can be very forgiving, under the right circumstances.'
Cassie continued to look at him directly, with defiance in her eyes. 'I will never come crawling to you for forgiveness,' she said, her head held high and her voice full of rebellion, 'never.'
In that glorious moment of mutiny, she realised that she had never stood up to his dictates and that she had never revolted against his cruelty. During the eighteen months, when she had been with him, she had passively allowed him to control and manipulate every aspect of her life. She had never questioned his authority, even when he had asked her to humiliate and debase herself publicly. Cassie had changed. She was no longer the naïve little seventeen-year-old girl, who was eager to please him, she was now a woman with her own mind. Over the past year, she had tasted the freedom that she had once taken for granted, and she was not going to lose it without putting up a fight.
She laughed out loud, as she looked at him directly. What could he possibly do to her that he had not already done? Hurt her? Humiliate her? Take away her freedom? No, she thought to herself, he had already done those things to her, and she had survived. No doubt, if he did them to her all over again, she would still survive.
Cassie looked at him, this time with contempt, and then spat in his face. 'I am not frightened of you anymore,' she said, with a sneer, 'my fear of you has been replaced by loathing.'
Ellington's triumphant smile quickly vanished. 'That, my dear, was a mistake,' he growled, as he freed one of her arms and slapped her hard across her face.
Cassie fell to the ground with the force of the blow, but it did nothing to dampen her contempt. As she looked up at him, she smiled. 'No,' she said, still challenging him with her voice, 'I do not fear you anymore.'
'Do not worry, you little bitch,' he said, not disguising the fury in his voice, 'you will.' He bent down and picked her up roughly by the top of her arms. 'I give you my word,' he said, as he began to drag her towards the house, 'by the time I've finished with you, you will be begging me for mercy.'
Ellington did not say anything else to her, as he dragged her unceremoniously into the house. Appleby, who had appeared from the kitchen so that he could observe the source of the commotion, just stood gaping at the scene.
The scruffy looking servant then caught Ellington's eye. 'Don't just stand there gaping at me, man, help me,' Ellington said curtly.
'Yes, sir,' Appleby said, as he snapped to attention, recognising the air of authority that Ellington possessed.
'I need a piece of sturdy rope to tie her up. I do not want her escaping. Do you have any?' Ellington commanded.
'Yes sir,' Appleby answered as he immediately disappeared to find the rope.
Within moments, Appleby returned holding a thick coil of rope. 'Sir,' he said with reverence in his voice, 'will this do.'
Ellington looked at the rope and nodded. 'Do the rooms upstairs have locks?' he said.
'Yes sir,' Appleby replied, 'all the keys are on the inside of the doors.'
'Good,' Ellington said decisively, 'help me get her upstairs.'
Once they had dragged Cassie up the narrow servants' staircase, Ellington looked at the several doors that lead off the landing. He opened the closest, looked inside, then shut it again. Then he opened another and peered into the room. 'Bring her in here,' he ordered Appleby, as he walked through the door.
As Appleby seised her painfully by the arms, Cassie had thought about why Ellington had chosen that particular room, as he must have known that it had been Damien's bedchamber. As he hauled her through the door, Cassie tripped over the edge of a rug and fell heavily onto the floor. 'Hold her, while I tie her up,' Ellington commanded Appleby. Appleby immediately bent down and held her arms, while Ellington began to bind her hands, behind her back, and then her feet with the strong, thick rope that Appleby had provided earlier. Once she had been secured, Ellington pulled her up by her left arm and brought her over to the end of the bed. 'Sit,' he commanded, 'not on the bed,' he then added, 'on the floor at the end of the bed.' Cassie obeyed and slid herself carefully down the bedpost until she sat on the floor with her back leaning against the wooden post. Ellington then squatted next to her and bound her tightly to the post.
Since Ellington had hit her, Cassie had been passive and had obeyed all his instructions, without speaking any rebellious words. She knew that any signs of resistance would only use up her precious strength that, no doubt, would be needed later. She had schooled her emotions and had kept her anger under control so that she could focus her mind on her escape.
Cassie had been continually aware of the penknife that was still in the deep pocket of her dress, and she could still feel it through the material of her petticoat. She was grateful that it had not been lost in the struggle outside. Cassie had been tempted many times to take it out of her pocket and use it, but she was not foolish. She knew that if she had tried to retrieve the penknife earlier, all she would have done was alert her captors to its existence. She must bide her time, and wait patiently for the opportunity, to use it effectively, to present itself.
Once she had been securely tied, Ellington stood over her and said, 'this is the room that I assume had belonged to your lover. Do not worry, my dear, he will not be coming to rescue you. In fact, I think I am doing him a service taking you off his hands. No doubt, he will be thankful to me. A man in his position will hardly want to be associated with someone as disreputable as you.' Cassie did not answer him, she just stared at him as he walked towards the door. 'I will give you a little time to think about your future. Believe me, it will be a lot more pleasant for you, if you do not defy me. I will be up a little later to see if you have learnt any manners.' Cassie still said nothing, as he opened the door and left the room. She did not want to give him the satisfaction of thinking that he had intimidated her in any way.
As soon as Cassie heard the lock click, she started to reach for the penknife that was in the pocket of her dress. Her hands, which had been bound tightly together and secured to the bedpost, did not have much range of movement. It would be difficult to grasp hold of the handle, as it would be caught up in the folds of her dress. And then when the knife was free, it would be even harder to use it effectively. But she had to at least try; it could well be her only chance of escape.
Cassie arched her back and brought her hands down as low as they could go. As she moved, the rope burned as it scraped across the delicate skin of her wrist. With the tips of her fingers, she managed to catch hold of her skirts, and she pulled the light muslin material towards her. She found, by tracing the line of the seam of the skirt, the pocket of her dress. Very gently, she bunched up the material, until she had pulled up the skirt and her hand was deep in the pocket.
When she felt the cool bone handle of the penknife, she shut her eyes in relief and muttered a prayer of thanks. Straining herself backwards one more time, she reached deep into her pocket and grabbed hold of the handle. Once she had a firm hold of the smooth bone handle, she gently pulled it out of her pocket, being careful not to snag it on the material of her dress.
Once the penknife had been freed, she held it behind her back, tightly in both hands. Cassie shuffled from side to side, to make herself a little more comfortable, and then took several deep breaths to steady her nerves. Cassie was familiar with the penknife because she had seen Damien use it on numerous occasions. The blade, for safety's sake, was folded into a narrow slit in the centre of the bone handle. All she had to do, was work out how she could release the blade. Cassie held the knife in her left hand, and with the fingers of her right, she felt the length of the handle. She knew that there was an indent on the blade that was designed to help the user release it from its protective cover. When she found the groove, she tried to pull the blade free, but the mechanism was stiff and difficult to work, and the blade did not budge.
Cassie soon became frustrated because it was hard to keep a hold on the knife. Her fingers were beginning to shake, and the palms of her hands were damp with sweat. This caused the knife to slip, and she nearly dropped it onto the floor. It was not until she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, that she managed to steady her frayed nerves. 'Come on,' she said firmly, as she took herself in hand, 'being anxious will achieve nothing.' She took one more deep breath and held it for a couple of seconds before she let it out slowly. 'Think,' she whispered to herself, as she closed her eyes, 'think.' Once she had composed herself, she ran her right thumb along the length of the sheathed blade until she found the thin, worn groove. Carefully, she wedged her right thumbnail, into the thin ridge, and then held on tightly to the smooth handle with her left hand. Cassie took another deep breath to steady her nerves before she pulled on the blade. She felt a rush of relief, as the small blade, no more than three inches in length, came free from its protective sheath.
Cassie repositioned the opened penknife and began to cut through the rope that held her hands together. The rope was thick and sturdy, and the task was made even harder by the fact that Cassie could not see what she was doing. Several times, the blade, instead of cutting through the tough fibres of the rope, cut the delicate flesh of her wrists and hands. She bit her lip hard, as she tried to ignore the sharp pain that she could feel.
It was a long and arduous task, and it took her nearly an hour to cut through the rope and free her hands. Once her hands had been released, it was easy to cut through the ropes that bound her feet together. Now that she was completely free, she discarded the rope and quickly got to her feet. Cassie looked at the cuts on her wrists and saw the blood that had soaked onto the lace sleeves of her dress. Immediately, she went over to a small mahogany chest of drawers and opened the top drawer and pulled out one of Damien's shirts. She ripped the linen and made long strips that she wrapped tightly around her wrists and hands.
Once she had finished bandaging herself, she stopped and looked at herself in the small mirror that was balanced on top of the chest. 'Think,' she said to her image impatiently, 'think.' Then it came to her in a flash. She opened the bottom drawer and took out a rectangular wooden box. Using both her hands, she placed it carefully on the top of the chest and slowly opened it. She smiled to herself as she picked up what had been hidden inside the box; it was Damien's pistol. It was rather plain and well used, but she knew that it was in good working order.
Cassie looked at it in awe. Even though she had never used it, Damien had shown her how to prepare, and then fire it. She had no time to lose. She immediately detached the ramrod from the underside of the pistol and placed it into the barrel. Once she was satisfied that it was empty, she searched the box for the powder flask. Holding the pistol in one hand, she carefully poured a little of the gunpowder down the barrel and then she placed a patch over the barrel. Cassie smiled to herself as she picked up the small lead ball. It was hard to believe that such a small insignificant piece of metal, could, in an instant, kill a man. She carefully put the ball on the patch and rammed it down the barrel. Using her thumb, she cocked the frizzen, added a small amount of powder to the pan. Once she was satisfied that she had primed the firing mechanism, she carefully moved the frizzen back into its original place: the pistol was now ready to fire. All she had to do was cock the hammer, aim the barrel and squeeze gently on the trigger. The flint that would ignite the gunpowder would set in motion a sequence of events, that would propel the small round lead ball towards the intended target.
As Cassie looked down at the loaded pistol, she knew that if she was brave, and dared to pull that trigger, she could put an end to her torment once and for all. She remembered the words he had said to her when he had caught up with her earlier that day. 'I have let you slip through my fingers before, and believe me, I will not let that mistake happen again.' When he had said those words, her blood had run cold. She was not going to let that happen to her again. The pistol that now contained that small insignificant lead ball would be her salvation. She had, for one brief moment, contemplated putting the cold steel of the barrel against her forehead and squeezing the trigger, thus putting her own life to an end. But Cassie did not want to die; she wanted to live. She wanted to put the past two years behind her and make a new life for herself, many miles away. Why should she have to sacrifice herself for her freedom? She had taken the momentous decision that the little lead ball, destined to take a life that day, would not take hers. It was going to be used, by her own hand, to rid this world of the man she hated; Major Ellington.
Cassie knew that Ellington had locked the door to the bedchamber, but she knew that Damien always kept a spare of the house keys in the top drawer of his chest. She opened the drawer and retrieved the keys and went over to the door. Before she put the key in the lock, she listened carefully to hear if anyone was guarding the door. When she was convinced that there was no one there, she put the key into the lock and turned it slowly. When the mechanism clicked open, Cassie rotated the handle and cautiously opened the door.
Carrying the pistol in her right hand, she warily walked down the corridor towards the staircase. It was now late, but she did not need any artificial light to show her the way. The silvery, natural light of the full moon, shone brightly through one of the windows and lit her path. The floorboards moaned softly, as she trod lightly across them in stockinged feet, and she periodically stopped and looked around to make certain that no one had been alerted to her presence.
It was not until she came to the bottom of the stairs that she was aware that Ellington was not alone. She could hear raised voices coming from the library. As she came closer to the door, she could hear that not only were the voices raised, but there was the thunderous sound of what she thought was furniture, crashing to the floor.
Cassie gingerly opened the door and nearly dropped the pistol when she saw two men fighting.
'Damien,' she called out softly, 'you have come for me.'