Night Bound - Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The chains binding the women's wrists and ankles to the bed clanked as she thrashed weakly against their restraint. She was naked save for the leather collar around her neck. The collar's eldritch inscriptions glowed with a sickly blue luminosity in the half shadows of the dimly lit room. Another low moan escaped her lips as the creature sitting between her parted legs ran its powerful, taloned hand across her belly, over her hips and down to her inner thighs.

"No, please don't. Please don't." Her voice was weak, indistinct.

The creature, the demonic figure, a massive broad-shouldered, hulking thing, lent forward over her hips, its lips gently brushing the supine girl's pubic hair. A hot breath blew delicately upon her, invoking an agonized groan of pleasure - her sweaty, naked body writhed under the stimulus, her hips rising slightly to meet it.

The demon moved over her, positioned its member against her pussy, its head brushing her lower lips. Her hips rose to meet him once again. The creature's cock pressed at the very entrance to her body.

"Please no..." she whispered.

---

Even the most ignorant observer would have been able to tell that this area of town was reserved for the privileged members of 18th century Boston society. The streets got wider, the houses bigger and the colors brighter than less salubrious sectors of the growing city. And, as is generally the way with such areas, the neighborhood was quieter, with a restrained atmosphere pervading the air - intangible, but very real to anyone sensitive to such things. The validity of this axiom was maintained here, even though on this Friday night there was a gathering at one of the august dwellings. Light spilled from windows and doors of this particular house, an illusory openness to be sure, as only the chosen would gain admission to this abode. A steady succession of immaculately attired couples alighted from their coaches on the street, made their way up a short pathway and entered through the double front doors.

A servant, at all times maintaining a dignified, professional air, received the guests into the bright, warm interior - accepting their printed invitations while the maid accepted their over garments. One man, tall, broad-shouldered and imposing, had no printed invitation to proffer. This did not seem to perturb the receptionist who, after a moment of hesitation, waved the man through. The guest proceeded into the main room and joined the milling throng.

The room was filled with the hubbub of voices. The myriad conversations rose and fell like a tidal flow of sound. The guests were all attired in the finest their wardrobes had to offer. The scene was not as impressive as would have been found in a major European city of the time, but the attendees were collectively proud of the scene and rightfully so. Ostentation is relative after all, and so it was a great display in its own right. To define and maintain the mood, a string quartet filled the air overhead the conversation with the majestic works of Bach, Greene, Mozart and others.

A blonde girl of average height watched the quartet as they plied their trade, lost in themselves. Elizabeth envied the musicians - their purpose seemed to be so clear, the product of their labors so beautiful. She felt a pang of regret that she had not been gifted with a single musical bone in her body. Or so it had seemed, as all she had managed was a perfect reproduction of a cat being tortured, despite hours and hours of practice on her violin. It was an almost mystical experience - watching these people extract such perfection of tone and pitch from their instruments with such a natural, unforced ease. These people had found their calling, she reflected, she on the other hand seemed destined never to do anything practical. It seemed she couldn't even be a good hostess at her father's party.

At that thought, Elizabeth struggled out her daydream and smoothed the front of her exquisitely crafted pale-red dress. Elizabeth had been somewhat surprised when her father had suggested the style of the dress at the dressmakers. While it was most assuredly a beautiful dress and she was very pleased with it, it was somewhat generous with the presentation of her d'colletage, as it were. Elizabeth's suspicions were confirmed when her father had suggested she wear it at tonight's function - she was being put on display, presumably for the highest bidder.

She looked around - so many people, so much talk, and laughter, so much life. Elizabeth was alone amidst it all, as though stranded on an island within sight of a populous shore. The very nearness of others served only to throw her sense of isolation into sharp contrast.

And she was alone by choice. Somehow she felt she just didn't seem to... connect with these people. It was a sensation she found impossible to explain to herself, to understand. She didn't dislike them as a group; likewise she didn't feel particularly attracted to them as a group, they were just so mundane, dull. She felt distant from them, as though she somehow failed to share their hopes, desires and expectations - something one would normally expect of one's own social grouping. It was just...

A movement broke Elizabeth free of her introspection, causing her to focus her attentions back on the real world once more. A young man stood before her. She recognized him immediately. Jonathon Braxton was the son of a rather successful town businessman, one of Boston society's leading social figures. That meant she should be nice to him - Pa'pa would be most displeased if he found out his daughter had affronted the powerful Braxton family! Immediately she was ashamed of her own thoughts - Jonathon was a pleasant enough boy and the least she could do was be civil to him. She realized he was speaking.

"...nice evening?"

Elizabeth suspected this was a question but as she hadn't heard the start of it she just smiled pleasantly and made an "mmmmm" noise.

Jonathon waited a few seconds for the expected answer and, sensing that he wasn't going to get any further response bravely ploughed on.

"I say - th-that's a nice dress you are wearing tonight, Elizabeth," he said, the slight stammer betraying the nervousness he felt, "you do look quite fetching indeed." It was the first time she had worn it, her father had 'suggested' she wear it - presumably for this exact moment.

"Why thank you, Jonathon, you are most kind. You cut quite the dash yourself in your new suit. I do love the necktie - frightfully avant garde."

"Oh, you noticed it was new did you?" His shoulders straightened perceptibly. "It's cut to the latest London fashions, you know. My father had it made for my birthday."

She raised her eyebrows slightly in expectation. Jonathon took the cue. "It's next month."

"Oh, of course, how could I forget? And you shall be twenty one?"

"Yes, Father has a rather grand celebration all arranged. It is going to be a frightfully exciting affair. Ahhh, you're invited, of course." Jonathon glanced at his shoes.

"Well, I'll be sure to be there then. In fact, I wouldn't miss it for the world," Elizabeth smiled magnanimously now, proud of her recovery. Jonathon looked up and broke into a broad grin. The smile lit up his face in a way that had been rarely seen since his mother had died of tuberculosis a few years ago. Elizabeth felt a flash of empathy with him, a moment of human connection and her smile developed into one of genuine warmth. Jonathon grinned back. They looked at each other for a couple more seconds.

Then Elizabeth realized she had allowed an awkward silence to develop. Frantically she grasped for a way to avert the embarrassing admission that she had nothing really to say to poor Jonathon.

"And how is your Father's business?" she inquired.

"Oh, it's all coming along frightfully well really," Jonathon began with a rush, suddenly desperately grateful to have something to talk about. He began to rattle on about such matters as trade level, taxation, equity and such the like - all the while exerting every ounce of willpower he possessed to not glance at her cleavage.

Elizabeth tried to maintain concentration, sound interested, and give what she thought were the appropriate noises at the appropriate times, but it goes without saying that the conversation went downhill at this point. Elizabeth found it increasingly hard to concentrate on Jonathon's words - she kept slipping into her private thoughts.

With a start she realized Jonathon has stopped speaking. He was looking at her intently.

"Oh how interesting, Jonathon," she said, somewhat limply. "Mmmm, yes, indeed."

"Quite."

There was another pause. Once again Elizabeth desperately tried to think of something else to say, but for the life of her nothing would come to mind. Eventually Jonathon broke the silence.

"Well, it's been awfully nice chatting to you this evening," he said, struggling to maintain eye contact with her, "but I really should let you mingle with some of the other guests."

"Oh no, it is I who have kept you for too long. I'm sure many of the other ladies here are dying for your delightful conversation."

"Ah, huh," he muttered, his gaze again finding his shoes. "Well, must get on then. And I shall doubtless see you next month."

She stared at him blankly. He looked up at the pause.

"For my birthday celebrations."

"Oh, yes!" Elizabeth gave a small laugh. "But of course. I rather look forward to it."

"Quite," he said the word once more. He gave a slight bow and withdrew, disappearing into the well-dressed crowd.

As he disappeared from sight the breath came out of Elizabeth in a long, deflating stream.

Well, that was a disaster, she thought, unable to decide whether to be anguished or despondent. She decided on a compromise and rapidly oscillated between the two emotional states. He must think me a moron! He's probably gone to tell his friends a big joke about Elizabeth Chalmers, who couldn't hold an intelligent conversation with both hands! And he didn't even glance at my bosom once - he must hate me!

Elizabeth drifted amongst the throng, attending to her thoughts while reflexively responding to the polite acknowledgments and greetings from various attendees.

The joy of social interaction, she noted vaguely, is that so much of it is proscribed, punctilious ritual that one can quite easily go through the process using only half a brain, leaving the other half free for more important things. She stopped walking and looked at the people milling about her. Perhaps that was deliberate, she wondered, because most of the people here appeared to only have half a brain.

Elizabeth was, once again, chastising herself for her wicked thoughts when she drifted into a conversation that caught her ear. Surreptitiously she joined the edge of a group of five men engaged in a discussion that appeared to be building in intensity.

"I tell you they have gone too far! Something must be done before our liberties are eroded to nothing. We will all wake from our slumber one morning and find our freedoms taken from us - leaving us nothing but taxed, indentured slaves to the King and the House of Lords!"

Elizabeth recognized the speaker as John Otis - a man she regarded as a bit of a rabble-rouser.

"Really, Otis," another man interjected. He was in his forties, frightfully well groomed she thought. "I do think you are getting carried away with yourself. The Stamp Tax is a perfectly reasonable response. How else is the King going to afford to pay for an army and a navy to defend England's far-flung colonies?"

"The Americas are lands of freedom and opportunity, Mr. James," Otis fixed his gaze upon him, "we have no need of a war machine. Quite the reverse - a standing army is the first step to tyranny!"

"Of course, John," another man muttered, "and without one you'll soon be doing your business in Francs, not Pounds, I wager."

"We will not be doing any business at all, Spencer, if we are taxed out of profitability," said another. "This Stamp Tax business is a damnably untoward way of going about it - slipping it in the backdoor really. I think it's just the tip of the iceberg."

"The amount of taxation is not the point, Robert," Otis started up again, "the point is that taxes should not be arbitrarily imposed without likewise giving a franchise in the political process. No taxation without representation should be our cry! Why should we pay for a system that we are not allowed to be part of. What has happened to the democratic ideals of the mother country, won by the people at such great cost last century? Buried under the greed and incompetence of the King and his aristocratic parasites!"

Elizabeth could take no more - the insult to King George was too much.

"I believe you go too far, Mr. Otis! You would do well to remember that we are all the King's most loyal subjects - just because we are at a great distance from our spiritual homeland does not mean that we are any less English citizens. We should seek to maintain those high standards of thought, not descend into petty debates on why we should be allowed to enjoy all the benefits of the protection and support of the English Crown, yet not pay any of the costs. That, sir, would surely make you a parasite?"

There was a silence as the five men stared down at her.

"Well, yes, that was very interesting, my dear," Mr. James began, "Ahhh..."

"I say," Spencer stepped in as James began to flounder, "you are quite an excitable young lady, aren't you? Had a bit too much to drink perhaps?" There was an amused smile on his lips.

Otis and Elizabeth continued to glare at each other. As for the others - one rolled his eyes, one took a bored sip from his glass, and one stared at her blankly as though she had just spoken in an alien tongue. The other one, Spencer, was staring at her too, but not at her face.

Elizabeth started slightly as a large pair of hands clasped her shoulder from behind. She relaxed when she heard her father's voice - then flushed as she heard what he had to say.

"Now gentlemen," he began in his warm, rumbling tone, "has my daughter been bothering you, by any chance?"

He gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze. She sagged inside, defeated by this familial betrayal.

"Oh no, Mr. Chalmers," Otis began, "her opinions are... quite delightful."

"Why thank you, Mr. Otis," he replied politely, "you are too kind. Now if you'll excuse her, I'm sure Elizabeth has many other guests to attend to. Don't you, Elizabeth?"

She smiled wanly. He turned her away from the circle, gave her a slight push and set her on her way. Elizabeth attempted to walk in the most dignified pose she could muster, but knew her burning cheeks gave her anger away.

Thomas Chalmers turned back to the group, a polite smile on his face.

"I would ask you gentlemen to restrict your topic of discussion to something more appropriate for this mixed social gathering. We don't want to bore or confuse the ladies on such a night as this, do we now?"

"Of course not, Thomas," Mr. James said earnestly, his associates nodding agreement in unison. "I quite agree with your sentiment."

"I knew such intelligent and well-mannered gentlemen such as yourself would understand. Now, if you'll excuse me." He broadened his smile, bowed his head and left their company, searching for his daughter.

The men bowed their heads in polite acknowledgment and watched his back recede.

One laughed a short, sharp laugh of derision. The rest followed his lead.

"Good Lord, what a tiresome child! Is she always like that?"

"In my limited contact with her - yes. And in case you hadn't noticed she's hardly a child - she just talks like one." Robert gave them all a meaningful look. "She lacks practical experience of the world, you see."

"Mmmm, I wouldn't mind giving her some 'practical experience', for sure."

They grinned conspiratorially, the recently divided group united by an implicit understanding than men naturally forge when the discussion turns to that of the opposite sex.

"Yes, she really is a prize - but she has no idea of what her mouth is really intended for."

"Quite."

"I understand that the young Braxton whelp has the inside running on her."

"Really? Sensible from an economic viewpoint, but...Braxton! She will run roughshod over the little toad and make him a laughing stock. Even more so than he is already."

"Indeed. It's the parent's I blame though. They've obviously been too soft on the poor dear. Too much education and not enough thrashings when she spoke out of turn."

They nodded in unison, each lost in a private fantasy as they watched Elizabeth debate something with her father.

"Now, where were we?"

"Ahhh, let me see - it went: taxation, the King, parasites, thrashing young ladies..."

They laughed like schoolboys.

"Spencer - don't be such a wag!"

"Awfully sorry, old man," said Spencer through his grin, not in the least bit contrite. "Hullo, here's an idea - how's about we retire for cigars and brandy?"

"Capital idea, my man, capital!"

---

Elizabeth did not respond this time as a hand clasped itself firmly onto her left shoulder.

"How are you then, my lovely sweet daughter?"

"Successfully humiliated, thank you, Pa'pa."

"Oh, don't be like that. A young lady of your standing should not be seen debating politics with the likes of John Otis and company.

She half-turned and looked up at her father's face. Thomas Chalmers had not been born into money; he had worked hard all his life to achieve the position of relative wealth and status he now held. His speech still contained the distinctive inflection of working class origins in the English midlands. Thomas' father had decided to escape their destiny of grinding rural poverty and had purchased berths on a ship to the Americas for him, his wife, Thomas and his daughter. Thomas had been twelve years old when they arrived. To say life had been tough on arrival in the new world would be an understatement - Thomas' mother and father were dead within five years. He had to support both himself and his beloved younger sister Mary any way he could. Thomas was not proud of some of the things he had done to get where he was today, but they been necessary. His sister had died twenty-two years ago in labor - her child had survived, something that he had never told Elizabeth. He was not in any way ashamed of his origins and did not try to hide them. Instead they were a source of pride for him. Nevertheless, his gruff voice stood in marked contrast to those refined speech patterns of his daughter, who had benefited from the best education Thomas Chalmers could afford. As far as Thomas was concerned Elizabeth was his daughter, and in her he saw the living image of Mary. He was determined to give Elizabeth the life he hadn't managed to give Mary.

"Why not? This is the 1760s you know, Pa'pa, not the 1660s. We live in modern times." Her face was set in an expression of outraged defiance, small fists clenched.

Yes, that was Mary all right, the memories always flooded back to him when Elizabeth adopted that look. "Why not?" he echoed her. "Because that is the way of things, and I'll ask you not to look at me in that tone of voice."

Her determination to be upset with her father crumbled and she smiled in spite of herself, in spite of knowing what was coming next. It had been a recurring topic of conversation for a year now.

"I saw you talking to young Jonathon Braxton before. He seemed quite animated. You must have a way with him," he continued.

"A way indeed, Pa'pa." She braced herself.

"He's a nice boy. Good connections." Thomas Chalmers shuffled slightly. "You know you're twenty two now, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth gently gritted her teeth, "Yes, Pa'pa"

"It's, ahhh...time to think about marrying and settling down. Raising a family, making your dear ol' Ma'ma and Pa'pa proud."

Elizabeth said nothing, but remained attentive.

"Now I'd be the last one to push you into anything, of course."

"Of course, Pa'pa."

"But you know that young Jonathon is coming up to his twenty-first birthday next month."

"I had heard a rumor to that effect, Pa'pa."

"Don't be clever with me, my girl, you're not so old that I can't take you across my knee anytime I choose."

"Yes, Pa'pa."

He smiled warmly and gripped her across both shoulders, hugging her to him. She accepted the hug, a grin breaking across her face.

"Well, it's just that we worry about you, and he is such a nice, well to do lad. You couldn't go far wrong with him, you know."

"I understand, Pa'pa. Really I do."

"Good, girl. Now I best be off, I have some business to attend to with young Jonathon's father. You enjoy the rest of your evening now. Understand?"

He pinched her nose gently and, with one last squeeze, slipped into the crowd. Elizabeth watched his tall figure make its way through the throng, until he disappeared around the corridor leading to the back rooms.

Another long slow breath escaped her body. Little did Pa'pa know that she had just signaled to Jonathon that she was some sort of socially backward dullard. Oh dear! Her earlier feelings returned in greater force. She needed to retire somewhere to think. Maybe if she went outside she could find a suitably large hole to bury herself in. It seemed the only decent thing to do after tonight.

---

Jonathon Braxton trudged through the party crowd, head down, a feeling of disconsolation spreading through his body. How could he could he be so stupid! Embarrassing himself in front of Elizabeth with that awful rambling monologue about his father blasted business affairs. He had practiced a thousand times in the mirror before tonight! How had the conversation come to that? He was grateful she had managed to stay awake through it all. It was a far cry from the suave, sophisticated and commanding performance he had practiced! And her reaction to his twenty-first... she looked like she'd rather shovel horse dung than attend!

His glass was empty and he resolved to refill it - many times in fact before the end of the night. Perhaps that would help him to divine exactly what it is one is supposed to say to girls. Lost in his maudlin thoughts he walked right into a tall gentleman of solid build. He looked up, startled, and gazed into the man's square-jawed face and penetrating green eyes. He looked to be at least six foot and was broad about the shoulders - an imposing frame. Jonathon was five foot four, and only slightly taller than Elizabeth - another blow against him, he groaned!

The stranger stared at him with a curious half-smile on his face. Jonathon stared back, his gaze locked on those deep green eyes.

Eventually the stranger spoke. "Hi."

"Ummm, hello." Jonathon swallowed nervously.

The stranger stared at him some more.

"Uhhh, can I help you with something, by any chance?"

"I doubt it. How'd you go over there?"

"P-pardon?"

"Talking to the lady, y'know. Was she...receptive?"

"Well, I don't believe it's really any of your business, actually."

"Oh, go on with you. You can tell me, man to man." The stranger winked conspiratorially, flashing a grin.

There was something about those eyes that seemed to tell Jonathon that he could trust this man; that it was fine to chat about such things to a total stranger.

"Well," he began, "I think maybe it didn't go quite as well as I had planned, and..."

The change in the stranger's demeanor was instantaneous. In a flash he whipped his faces inches away from Jonathon's, a rictus snarl on his lips.

"And you keep it that way, you little piece of shit! Do you understand me?! Do you?!!"

The savage change in the other's countenance took Jonathon by complete surprise, but it was something else that sent a numbing chill of fear down his spine. A flash of something primeval flickered within Jonathon's soul, telling him to flee, to run and abandon all and anything around him in a desperate quest to preserve his self. Jonathon staggered back, face pale, eyes wide but still locked into the stranger's malevolent gaze. He bumped into someone behind him, spilling port onto his new suit. The instinctive turn to meet the obstruction broke his contact with the stranger's eyes, enabling him to take his first breath in an eternity. Stammering apologies to all around him, he half ran and half staggered away, trying to burn from his mind the memory of what he had seen behind those green eyes.

Jonathon found himself out on the front lawn, not knowing how he had got there. His body heaved and he threw up. Wiping the slime from his mouth he began to run, fleeing blindly through the darkened streets of Boston.

---

"Hmmm, what a strange little chap," remarked the stranger to the few onlookers who had seen Jonathon's panicked flight. "I think he drank a bit to much and had to...you know." The stranger made suggestive regurgitating motions and grinned. A couple of men watching laughed knowingly and turned back their conversations. The stranger turned and spied a lady in her fifties who was watching, mildly stunned by the scene.

He grasped her hand lightly and bent to kiss it. "Enchante, Madame," he murmured, gazing up at her from her hand.

She smiled demurely, and allowed him to maintain his grip. He flashed a perfect smile. "Now if you will excuse me my lady, I have business to attend to."

She nodded her ascent, and with that he disappeared into the crowd. Within seconds the event was forgotten and the guests returned to their polite conversation.

---

Elizabeth stood on the back porch and gazed into the darkness. The stars winked down upon her, mocking her with their illimitable, ageless wisdom. They seemed to hold a secret amongst their glittering bodies, some vast unspoken truth, and taunted her for her lack of insight. Her eyes lingered upon them, lost in thought, trying to glean what truth it was she was missing.

She was dragged back to herself by the sound of a boot scraping on the floor behind her. Startled, she turned. A dark-haired man stood there, tall and broad shouldered, with piercing green eyes. He gazed upon her, a strange half smile upon his lips. Seconds past in silence; Elizabeth was too surprised to find her voice. Then he spoke.

"Hi, Wil."

Her mouth flapped a couple of times before it emitted any sound.

"I-I'm sorry?"

"Why?" He seemed perplexed.

"You seem to have mistaken me for someone else, my...my name is Elizabeth Chalmers."

He stared at her a few seconds more, his eyebrows raised a fraction. Then the smile returned, broader then before.

"Of course it is. I meant Hi. Will... As in... My name is Will. Will I am. William, in fact."

Elizabeth didn't know what to say. She tried to maintain her bearing and regain some measure of control over the situation.

"And can I help you with something, William? Are you lost?"

"Yes. No." More silence ensued.

This whole episode was beginning to feel unreal. Nervous, Elizabeth folded her arms across her chest. The movement had the effect of drawing Will's eyes downward - they remained locked about the level of her cleavage. They remained there through the ensuing silence. Disturbed, Elizabeth moved her arms back to their original position at her sides. Will's eyes did not move. Elizabeth now felt exposed, and crossed her arms back over her chest, higher this time. To say she felt uncomfortable hardly described the situation; she felt a flush color her cheeks. Her state was not helped when Will took a step closer to her, and then another - the smile gone from his face, his hypnotic green eyes now upon hers. He was close enough to smell. Something within her refused to allow her to step back.

Elizabeth set her jaw firmly, and then spoke. "I'm afraid I don't really follow your line of inquiry. And I must say I find your manner offensive, sir!" She hoped the indignity in her voice sounded convincing.

Apparently it did not. She became aware of the closeness of his body, and gazed up at him into his deep green eyes. Elizabeth held that penetrating gaze; it seemed a battle of wills passed between them but somehow she was unaware of its nature. After a time his face relaxed and the half-smile returned.

"You haven't changed my dear...Elizabeth."

"Really, sir, I must ask you to leave or I shall have to call my Father."

He responded to the challenge by stepping closer still, until his chest almost touched her. Elizabeth remained rooted to the spot, refusing to give an inch with a temerity that surprised her.

She had cause to regret her resolve soon though, as his hands reached up and took her by the arms, forcing them down to her sides with an inexorable strength. She gasped, unable to form a proper sound.

The man pulled her to him; their bodies were pressed together, his hands sliding across her back. A tingling warmth formed upon her breasts and spread throughout her chest, slithering down to her groin. She gasped again, though this time it had a strangled quality to it. The strange figure began to grind against her body, pressing hips against hers. With the side of her faced pressed against his chest, Elizabeth felt she could barely draw breath. This was all too unreal!

A determined power surged through and she found her will again. Pressing her hands against his chest, she pushed with all her might, crying, "Get away from me, you lecherous pig!"

She pushed him back with an ease that surprised her, given his relative bulk.

The big man fell back two paces and regarded her, the seemingly ever-present grin in its wider variety.

"This is an outrage, sir!" she continued on, the heat of her anger replacing the heat she had felt a few moments before. "I demand you apologize and leave this instant!"

"And if I don't?"

"Then I shall be forced to call for my father and that, sir, you would regret most gravely!"

He cocked his head to one side and appeared to be lost in thought.

Elizabeth's heart beat in her chest like a startled jackrabbit, but she was determined not to let her fear show.

He slowly straightened his head. "Well, we wouldn't want that now, would we? That could get...messy." He paused for effect.

She tried to look unimpressed.

If he was disappointed with her lack of response he didn't let it show. "Now if you'll excuse me," he continued, "I have things to attend to." He bowed slightly and turned to leave, then stopped. "By the by, would you know the location of the local house of worship?"

"Of course! I am to be found there every Sunday morning, amongst the decent folk of this town." Actually it was a relief that he asked about the local church, it put something normal and sane in her mind, and it implied that this stranger might actually be a decent fellow underneath all his rude manners.

She gave him the directions and then asked, "I take it you intend to be at Sunday service?"

"If you insist," he laughed and her relief proved to be short-lived. "But first I thought I might have some sport with your local priest. They're often so easy to send over the edge that it's not much of a challenge, but what can I say? Existence has been complicated recently and I need something to work off the...stress."

Elizabeth's mouth lay open, her eyes wide with shock. Had she heard correctly?

"And then I'll be back to fuck you 'till the end of time itself."

He smiled once again, but this time the expression was cold, distant, and something moved behind those eyes, something... Before Elizabeth could understand what she had seen he had turned and disappeared up the path around the side of the house, and the thought was gone.

Elizabeth stood there for a full minute, unmoving. Had that really happened? It can't have been real! If it was he must have been an escapee from the lunatic asylum - the things he said just before he left about having "sport" with Father O'Connell?! She knew the Father was an avid cricket fan but she didn't think he played any more, not at his age. And what "...fuck you 'till the end of time itself," meant she wasn't sure but she jolly well assumed it wasn't meant to be taken as a compliment.

Should she dismiss this lunatic or should she tell Pa'pa about it? Elizabeth stood there in the half-shadows and thought for a moment. No, she wouldn't tell Pa'pa, or anyone for that matter. She didn't want to create a stir over nothing. And beside, Pa'pa was already, in her opinion, over protective of her. If he found out about this she might never be allowed to go anywhere alone for years.

Elizabeth turned and went back into the house. She paused in the hallway and weighed up whether to return to the ball, or seek solace by herself to think over her encounter. After only a second's thought she moved toward the staircase to her bedroom. She had done enough social damage for one night and now needed to think. And actually, thinking about it, the whole affair on the back porch was starting to seem much less disturbing now and much more like an exciting adventure! She giggled at her own audaciousness and started to bound up the stairs two at a time, eager to get to her diary..

Continued in Chapter 2

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