Prisoner
of the Seraglio
A
Cordelia Delacourt Adventure
Chapter
20
Bishop
“You raped her?” Bishop’s voice was icily calm, but it presence was like that of an iceberg bearing down on an unsuspecting ship.
“Just a little fun,” Janessic replied. He was sweating. Deep inside Bishop’s lair he was at the mercy of the master criminal.
“Someone had already taken her virginity,” he continued. “Probably that Frenchy. I just decided to put a little English into her.”
“English,” Bishop sneered. “With a name like Janessic you’re about as English as a Pekinese. If I didn’t find you useful I’d dump you in the sewer. Next time carry out my orders explicitly.”
Janessic nodded obediently. Since Bishop’s hideout was actually a part of the sewers the threat was no idle one.
“Get the two girls cleaned up,” Bishop ordered a woman standing close to him. “And then bring Miss Delacourt to my chambers.”
“You stay here,” he ordered Janessic. “I might still have need of you.” Getting to his feet the villain strode from the room.
Cordelia and Liz huddled in the dark cell they had been forced into. Their gags had been removed and they were untied, but the door to the cell was several inches of heavy oak planking bound with iron and they were so far underground that no amount of screaming would do the least bit of good.
Their journey to this dismal prison had been almost as terrifying as the
carriage ride. When Janessic
had tired of molesting Liz he had directed the driver to some address down
by the
They had been led across the floor to a small wooden door. Expecting to be pushed into another room Cordelia was surprised and more than a little frightened to see a dark tunnel in front of her. Janessic stepped in, and taking out a box of sulphur matches, lit a lantern jutting from the stone wall. Then moving ahead he led the way while Cordelia and Liz were herded after him by one of the henchmen.
The walk through the tunnel was a horrifying experience. Naked and frightened, the two girls were marched through the dark. Even with Janessic lighting candles in front of them it was difficult to see where they were going. The floor was uneven and in places covered in water several inches deep. Barefoot, Cordelia and Liz were soon chilled to the bone.
But that was not the worst aspect of their journey. The tunnel angled steadily down, finally opening on a much larger tunnel that Cordelia realized was probably an outlet for one of the city’s ancient sewers. Not only did the tunnel ooze moisture, but it was swarming with rats and the stench was almost overwhelming. Exhausted from their ordeal in the carriage, and almost numb with cold, the two terrified girls were urged onward. It took only a few minutes before they were both shaking so much from the cold that they could no longer walk. Unwilling to lose his prizes, Janessic ordered the headmen he had brought with him to sling the girls over their shoulders and carry them. It was in that position that they finally reached their destination.
They didn’t see much of the place where they had been brought. Cordelia had a jumbled vision of stone walls and floors dimly lit by gas light and then they were dumped into the cell where one of the henchmen cut their bonds. Then a couple of blankets were thrown in after them and the cell door was slammed shut, leaving them in total darkness. With little else to do both girls wrapped the blankets about themselves and huddled together for warmth, their nude bodies touching.
It took several minutes before either of them stopped shivering and much longer for anyone to come for them. The wait gave Cordelia time to think and work herself into a state bordering on hysteria. Liz was little better. To have triumphed over everything that they had suffered and to then to suddenly find themselves in a situation that was worse than anything they had yet endured was crushing. Again and again they were beset by images of what was going to happen to them and none of those images were the slightest bit reassuring. Thus it was that they were caught off guard by what happened to them next.
They awoke suddenly from a troubled sleep as the cell door was slammed open, but instead of Janessic there were two women waiting for them. “Come on, dearies,” one of them said. “You come with us. We’ll look after you. “I’m Mary and this is Beatrice.”
Mary and Beatrice were two grey-haired middle-aged women. Both were heavyset and wore kindly expressions. “That Mr. Janessic really is a brute,” Mary said as she helped Cordelia from the cell. “Mr. Bishop was very angry, but you come with us and we’ll make you feel better. First I think, a nice bath and then perhaps some hot soup.”
With Cordelia leaning on Mary and Liz on Beatrice the two fatigued and confused young women were escorted to a comfortable chamber containing a large bath filled with hot water. Once again their situation had changed so rapidly they were hardly able to comprehend what was happening to them. But the bath at least was one thing they had no cause to complain about.
Cordelia could not understand her treatment. Abducted once again; brutally raped, and then thrown into a dank, cold cell, this sudden turnabout in her treatment left her baffled. Mary and Beatrice treated her and Liz like honoured guests. Could it be that Janessic had acted against the wishes of his employer? But then again who was the mysterious “Bishop?” Cordelia had never heard of the man, but it seemed that he was probably behind their kidnapping. Had it been he who had had her abducted and sold into slavery the first time? If so, then in spite of their current treatment she expected the worst. Whatever happened she and Liz had to find a way to escape. However, first they needed food and rest.
They got the former as soon as the bath was complete. Mary and Beatrice were very efficient. They thoroughly bathed the two girls, combed out their tangled hair, and then dressed them in simple blue cotton gowns that belted at the waist and covered them from shoulders to feet. Then, their hair still damp, Cordelia and Liz were escorted to a large stone kitchen. They were seated at a kitchen table and served two large bowls of very good beef and barely soup.
Cordelia ate slowly, trying to extend the moment of safety for as long as possible. All the while she studied Mary and Beatrice and surveyed the room looking for some means of escape. Surprisingly, there was no sign of the men who had escorted them to the underground hideaway, but Cordelia suspected that they were not very far away. There were only two doors leading from the room, the one that entered from the bath and the cells, and another that could have led anywhere. He strength and spirit partially restored by the bath and food, Cordelia was willing to risk making a dash from it, but that decision was taken out of her hands.
Mary came over. Although the middle-aged woman seemed to pose no threat, Cordelia was not inclined to challenge her suggestion. “Now you must be very tired. I will take you to your room. Tomorrow you see Mr. Bishop. He will want you well rested.”
“Who is this, Bishop?” Liz asked, “And why were we brought here?”
“Mr. Bishop is my employer,” Mary replied as if that was the only answer required. “As to why you are here, I am not privileged to know. I am sure Mr. Bishop will explain everything tomorrow.”
The answers were far from satisfactory, but Cordelia judged that neither Mary nor Beatrice would reveal anything more. She also decided that Liz was far too exhausted from her ordeal to come with her in any escape attempt. As a result she followed Mary’s suggestion and followed her through the other door to their sleeping quarters. Like the rest of the underground complex, the room had stone walls pierced by a single wooden door. It contained a large bed, a chest of drawers, a wardrobe, and a number of miscellaneous items intended for personal care, such as a washbasin and two combs and hairbrushes. A gaslight provided limited illumination.
The sight of the bed reminded Cordelia that she was almost as worn out as Liz. Thanking Mary and Beatrice for their care, she and her companion flopped onto it and almost immediately fell into an exhausted sleep. As her senses left her Cordelia distinctly heard the turning of a key in the lock.
They were awakened by the opening of the bedroom door. Mary and Beatrice were there carrying two steaming buckets of water. “Thought you might want to freshen up before breakfast, dearies.”
The water was welcome. Mary and Beatrice waited while Cordelia and Liz washed and then escorted them to the kitchen where they offered them bowls of oatmeal porridge topped with cream and brown sugar. Although a hollow feeling in her stomach betrayed her fear of what was to come, Cordelia ate her entire serving, as did Liz. They had just finished when the door opened and a man they had never seen before entered.
“I see you have finished,” he said. “Good, Bishop will see you now.” He gave a disgusting leer as he spoke, but Mary seemed not to see it.
“Go on dearies,” she said. “I’m sure everything will be fine.”
Cordelia did not share her optimism. Her heart beating like a rabbit’s she followed the henchman from the room, Liz trailing behind.
If she was frightened before, her first sight of Bishop turned her legs to rubber. Although seated, she guessed he was about six feet tall, but it was not his height that was intimidating; it was the look of pure hatred reflected in his eyes, a hatred that went far beyond the rational. And his eyes were all that could be seen. He was wearing a black felt hat pulled low over his forehead and a white silk scarf that concealed all of his face below his eyes.
“So, Miss Delacourt,” Bishop said, without any attempt at pleasantries. “I trust you and your companion slept well.” Bishop’s voice was chilling; a low, hoarse whisper that sent chills down her spine.
Surprised by the question, Cordelia could only stutter out and answer. “Y… yes, th… thank you.”
“I expect,” Bishop continued, “you are wondering who I am and why I brought you here.”
Apparently Bishop considered the question rhetorical, as he immediately launched
into an explanation. “I
am Bartholomew Bishop, currently the most feared villain in
Here Bishop paused. As he made no effort to offer Cordelia or Liz a chance to sit down, they continued standing patiently as he told his tale.
“Normally,” he continued, “an arrest would have been of little
consequence. In those days it
was fairly easy to bribe the lower court justices and the offence I was charged
with was relatively minor.
Unfortunately, it was my bad luck to find myself before one of the
few honest members of the courts.
My attempt to bribe him resulted in a much more serious charge and
I was transported to the colony of
Cordelia listened, puzzled by this tale. Why should this obviously brutal thug tell her his life story? However, since she had little choice in the matter she continued to listen as Bishop went on with his narration.
“I cursed my luck, but I cursed that honest lower court justice even
more. As you may have guessed
the judge in question was none other than your father, William
Delacourt. I vowed that if I
ever returned from
“I was helping to pour molten iron into a clay mold. By accident some fool had provided a mold that had not been properly cured. It was still damp when the molten iron was tipped into it. Do you know what happens when molten iron comes into contact with moisture unexpectedly, Miss Delacourt?”
Cordelia was caught off-guard by the
question. For a few seconds she
was silent and then replied, but she did not answer his
question. “You cannot blame
me for what happened. I did not
send you to
“Honour?” For the first time Bishop’s voice rose above the rasping whisper he had used until then. “Don’t speak to me of honour, Miss Delacourt. Not when you father did this to me.”
He took off his hat and dropped the scarf from his face. Cordelia recoiled in horror and then simply stood staring. “Oh my god,” Liz gasped.
Below his eyes, Bishop’s face had been completely destroyed, the flesh burned away to the bone. The nose and lips were gone, leaving his teeth completely exposed in a skull-like permanent grin.
“Pretty isn’t it, Miss Delacourt?” Bishop said. “Can you see why I have little difficulty remembering who did this to me and why he must pay for his crime for the rest of his life?”
Somehow, Cordelia overcame her horror enough to find her voice. “What happened to you was truly horrible. But it was not my father who was to blame. Your own actions placed you in the situation that led to your accident.”
“I see your father trained you well. Your middle class platitudes are so much like the lecture he delivered the day he sentenced me. I wonder how he will react when he learns that his supposedly unblemished daughter has been having her furrow plowed regularly by her French lover.”
Cordelia’s face reflected her dismay, but in spite of her peril, she was not about to give up. “You destroyed yourself and now you seek to destroy others in a feeble attempt to find solace through the suffering of others. I would almost pity you if you were not so pathetic.”
Bishop’s savaged face was incapable of changing expression, but his teeth clenched and he spat out a reply. “Bravely spoken, Miss Delacourt, it is going to be most pleasant listening to you scream for mercy.”
Cordelia’s almost sank to her knees in terror. Fear of what the maimed villain might do to her welled up within her like water overflowing a dam, but she refused to beg for mercy. She stood silent waiting for whatever Bishop had planned for her.
Not so Liz. The girl reacted with her usual venom. “Filthy bludger. You’re good at frightening a couple of helpless women. You deserved everything that happened to you. You’re nothing but a rat holed up in the sewer.”
Cordelia cringed. She didn’t blame Liz for her outburst, but it seemed especially ill-timed, although she doubted anything either of them could have said would have dissuaded Bishop from his brutal course of action. Whatever the case, the tirade seemed to stimulate the villain into action.
“Bind the big-mouthed whore,” he ordered. “And bring Miss Delacourt over here. I will start with her.”
Lix kneed one of the men holding her at the apex of his
legs.
The man screamed in pain
and let go of her right arm. The
girl took advantage of this lapse by jamming her fingers into the eyes of
the henchman on the other side. The
ensuing mayhem reminded Cordelia that she had been taught to defend
herself. As the men holding her
turned in Liz’s direction she remembered some of what
The two young women fought well considering that they were clothed in floor length skirts. The clothes were their undoing. Had they been clad in same manner the men they fought, they might have managed to escape, but once the element of surprise had passed the men took over. Liz received a slap to the face that knocked her to the floor. Another man wrapped his arms around Cordelia, pinning her arms to her sides. Kicking frantically she was held until a second man helped hold her.
“Well, this was a bit of a surprise,” Bishop commented. He had stayed well out of the way while his men coped with the two women, and now stepped forward. “I wonder what else you two have in store for me.”
Surprisingly, the villain did not seem angry. Instead his eyes gleamed with excitement, and his breathing quickened. “Hold her,” he ordered, moving close to Cordelia. “And make sure her legs are held.”
Panting, Cordelia struggled as one of Bishop’s men wrapped his arms about her thighs, while the other held her arms from behind. She couldn’t help noticing that Bishop’s eyes were fixed on her heaving breasts.
His fingers tugged at her buttons. A few feet away Liz screamed at him, using every word she could think of in her gutter vocabulary, but Bishop was so intent on opening Cordelia’s dress he seemed oblivious to everything around him.
The flimsy dress parted, revealing the upper curve of her breasts. Bishop took a deep breath as he stared at the purplish lion claw brand on her left breast. “You continue to amaze me, Miss Delacourt. Taking you is going to be even more enjoyable than I had thought.” He touched a finger to the scar and slowly scribed a complete circle about the nipple.
“Base born scum,” Cordelia gasped. Her nipple tingled under the gentle stimulation, but this close to Bishop’s mangled face, she was filled with revulsion. She could hardly believe that the monster was caressing her like a lover.
“You have a sharp tongue, Miss Delacourt. Soon it will be put to much better uses.” Gripping the cheap cotton garment in both hands he ripped it from her body, tossing the garment behind him.
Bishop’s lipless mouth opened in soundless amazement as he eyes swept over the smooth skin between her thighs. Swallowing, he finally spoke. “I see, Miss Delacourt, that paying Janessic and DesLaurier to sell you into sexual slavery was not a wasted investment.”
She should have been used to men staring at her naked body by now, but Cordelia could not stop a slow flush that started at her face, slowly suffused her neck and shoulders, and then traveled down the rest of her body.
Bishop could hardy contain himself. His tongue flicked over his exposed teeth. He stepped back to view her better. Saliva dripped from his lipless mouth and he raised a handkerchief to dab away the spittle. “Put her on the rack,” he ordered.
Cordelia let out a squeak as she was lifted off her feet and dragged across the room. She was slammed down on a table that she had not previously noticed; her attention fixed on Bishop during her entire time in the room. She saw to her horror that it was more than a table, the rough wooden top being stained with dark patches that reminded her of blood. As she was held down on it, she realized that her first impression was horribly correct. It was not a table at all, but a gruesome instrument of torture.
The two men holding her held her in a kneeling position, gripping her arms tightly while a third applied leather straps to her ankles. Then she was forced backward across a heavy padded beam that fit into the small of her back. While she struggled in sheer terror, her arms were pulled over her head and leather cuffs strapped onto them. It was only then that she realized she wasn’t on top of an ordinary table, but was being strapped into a rack.
“No,” she screamed, her nerve breaking. “What are you going to do to me?”
“First I am going to enjoy you; then I am going to finally have my full vengeance by breaking you and then dumping your shattered body in front of your father’s house. I wonder what the honourable justice will make of the note pinned to what is left of his daughter’s breasts.”
Bishop had been undressing while he spoke, finally removing the last of his clothing. His member was fully engorged and he wasted little time in climbing onto the rack and positioning himself between Cordelia’s thighs. Overcome by the horror of her situation, she closed hr eyes while he had his way with her, an action that served only to anger him.
“Look at me, you prudish bitch,” he hissed. He squeezed her breasts until she screamed and then when she did as she was told he thrust into her.
Being raped by Bishop was no worse physically than what Janessic had done to her. But the terror his appearance created made it that much worse. She knew it should not have; his deformity did not make him any worse than anyone else who had taken her, but that calm thought had little relevance in the terror of the moment. And then there was the threat of what was to come, a threat emphasized by Bishop’s crude commentary.
“Such lovely breasts. It is almost a shame to disfigure them, but how else will your father know what it is like to suffer as I have?” He twisted her nipples brutally as he spoke, underscoring his threat. And then he thrust deeper into her. “Tight little cunt. But that will change. My men will use you until you’re as loose as a waterfront whore.”
He kept it up until he climaxed, spurting his seed into her. “Perhaps I shan’t kill you after all. Wouldn’t it be fitting if I sent you home to your father swollen with my child? It would be the perfect revenge.”
By now it was more than obvious that Bishop was completely mad. He kept on changing his story. One minute he was going to cut off her breasts; the next he was going to keep her as his sex slave; and finally finished by threatening to torture her to death.
The final threat he appeared ready to carry out. “You’re a nice little fuck,” he commented. “Let’s see how well you stand up to torture.”
He nodded to one of his men and Cordelia heard a sharp click. The restraints holding her wrists tightened and she realized that the man had taken up some of the slack in the rack. Bishop nodded again and then again. Each time the click was accompanied by an increase in the tension on her arms until her body was drawn as tightly as a drum.
She made no effort to be a martyr. Cordelia screamed right away and kept on screaming until Bishop got tired of his little game. “That’s enough for now. Give Miss Delacourt a rest. She’ll need her strength for tomorrow. I think it is time to pay a bit of attention to her loud-mouthed companion.”
Cordelia whimpered in pain and despair as she was unstrapped from the rack. She was the most dispirited and terrified she had ever been. Even in her previous predicaments she had never been threatened with death. It was true that she had been subjected to brutal and painful treatment on more than one occasion, but never had her captors threaten to maim her simply for their own amusement. As Liz was dragged to the rack Cordelia’s stomach heaved and she brought up what was left of her breakfast.
Bishop swore at her in disgust, but that didn’t distract him from brutalizing Liz. He had the hapless girl strapped to the rack and proceeded to make her scream in agony for the next few hours before finally ordering her and Cordelia to be dragged from the room. “Tomorrow, ladies,” Bishop laughed. “Tomorrow we will see how much you have left. Very little I think.”
Neither girl replied. Liz was barely conscious and had to be carried. Cordelia, who had been left to herself for the last few hours, somehow found the strength to get to her feet. They were taken back to Mary and Beatrice.
“My my,” Mary said, her hands on her hips. “You are a mess. Whatever do you girls get up to? Come on Beatrice, Mr. Bishop will want them ready for tomorrow.”
It was at that point that Cordelia realized that Bishop was not the only lunatic in his lair. She also knew that it was unlikely she and Liz could long survive another day of torture. It was probably already too late for Liz as it was. The girl could not even walk. If they were to escape it was up to Cordelia. However, somehow she had to find a way to get past Bishop’s henchmen, starting with Mary and Beatrice.
She feigned complete exhaustion, something that did not take much effort considering that it was not far off. When Mary offered to help her bathe she declined, claiming that she was too weak for a bath and wanted only to go to sleep. Mary, however, was nothing if not determined. “Oh no,” she said. “Mr. Bishop wouldn’t want you unbathed. Beatrice and I will help.”
In spite of Cordelia’s weak protests she was helped into the bathroom where she was given a thorough scrubbing. She was then provided with a blue dress identical to the one Bishop had torn from her and sat down at the table to eat. While she forced soup and bread into herself, Mary and Beatrice carried a moaning Liz into the bathroom. It was the chance she had been waiting for. Rising from the table she opened the drawer she had seen Mary open to take out a serving spoon. She found what she wanted; a small sharp knife and a thin-tined serving fork. Quickly she stowed these items next to her skin, just beneath the cloth belt that cinched her waist, and then returned to the table to finish her meal.
She was just in time. Beatrice came back into the room to make sure she was eating properly. “That’s better, my dear,” she said. “I knew you could do it. As soon as we get some food into your friend we’ll put you to bed.”
A few minutes later a soggy Liz was helped into the room. She was barely conscious, but somehow the two women managed to get a bowl of soup into her. It seemed to help; Liz revived enough that she was able to raise her head and walk with the aid of Mary and Beatrice when it came time for her to sleep.
As the door closed behind her and the key turned in the lock Cordelia contemplated her desperate plan. It required that she somehow stay awake until everyone else was asleep; something that in her exhausted state was the equivalent of running a marathon. She managed to hold out for all of fifteen minutes before she nodded off, curling up beside the already sleeping Liz.
She awoke covered in sweat, her body shaking with fear. Her nightmares had come to her rescue. She sat up, fearful that she had slept the night away, but there was no sound from outside the room. Without a timepiece there was no way of telling what time of night it was. For all she knew Mary and Beatrice might already be on their way to prepare her for the next day. However, she had very little choice. Ignoring the sleeping Liz she took out the tiny serving fork and the small knife. Carefully, she used the knife to bend the tines of the fork, leaving just one; then she went to the door.
It took more time than she would have liked, but she managed to manipulate the single remaining tine well enough that it served as a serviceable lock-pick. She held her breath as she heard the lock click and then shook Liz awake.
She clamped her hand over her companion’s mouth to keep Liz from crying out when she woke. It took Cordelia a minute or so to bring the girl around to reality, but she finally settled down. “Can you walk?” Cordelia asked. “It’s our only chance. I’ll go alone if I have to and try and get help.”
“No way I’m stayin’ in this bleedin’ ‘ell ‘ole,” Liz replied. She had completely reverted to her lower class idiom. “I’ll crawl out of ‘ere if oi ‘ave to.”
With a grunt of pain Liz got to her feet. Holding her breath again, Cordelia eased the door open. Fortunately, the hinges were well oiled and it swung open without a sound. In the hall outside the perpetually burning gaslights showed the way.
Cordelia headed back to the kitchen. Behind her a wobbly Liz struggled to keep up. Once again she fished in the drawer, this time taking out a carving knife with a ten-inch blade. Cordelia wasn’t sure if she would have the courage to use the knife if threatened, but after what had been done to her and Liz, she was in a more than murderous frame of mind.
She did not relish the walk back through the sewers, but she knew of no other way in or out of Bishop’s hideout. “Come Liz,” she said. “You can make it.”
She headed back the way she remembered, hoping that she would not encounter any guards. She hadn’t noticed any on the way in, but then she had been hanging head down for most of the trip in. To her relief she located the door leading to the sewers without incident. As before the smell almost made her gag, but she steeled herself and forged on, checking to make sure that Liz was behind her.
The sewers headed steadily down, something she had not noticed on the way in, but she supposed that it made sense. The sewers should lead to the river after all. About twenty minutes of walking later the gaslights ended, leaving the tunnel completely dark. She halted, not daring to go on and then she heard a sound that told her why there was no light. It was the sound of surging water as the tide turned. That was something that had not occurred to her, but it effectively blocked her escape. She would not be able to advance any further until the tide went out.
She almost wept in frustration. To be defeated by the forces of nature was something she had not calculated. They had no choice but to go back or risk drowning, and by this time it was very likely that their escape would have been discovered.
She put on a brave front; for Liz’s sake if nothing else. “We have to go back, Liz, but don’t worry we’ll find a way out of this.”
Liz did not reply. No doubt she was conserving her strength or was simply too dispirited to comment. Partway back Cordelia noticed a tunnel angling off to one side. She and Liz must have walked right past it just a few minutes ago. She had nothing to lose by taking it. At the very worst it would lead nowhere, but it might lead to an alternate exit. She could only hope.
She went cautiously. As in the other tunnel, dim gaslights showed the way, indicating that it was probably being used by Bishop’s men. For the first few hundred feet the tunnel was narrow and then it opened up into a much larger tunnel. The stonework appeared new and Cordelia wondered about that. Had Bishop had the tunnel widened for some reason?
She got her answer just a few hundred feet farther
on. Moored in the dark water
was a large barge of the type used for ferrying passengers up and down the
“Liz,” she said excitedly. “We’re in luck. This is our means of escape.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that, Miss Delacourt.” Cordelia almost jumped out of her skin as Bishop stepped from the shadows accompanied by a grinning Janessic.
“You were right, Ivan,” Bishop said. “You said that she would find her way here.”
“I am becoming somewhat used to Miss Delacourt’s resourcefulness,” Janessic replied. “She is extremely clever for one so young.”
“I am almost sorry that you were right. It means that now I cannot torture her to death.”
Janessic observed Cordelia’s look of sick confusion. “Mr. Bishop promised me that if I was right as to your whereabouts I could have you after he was finished with you. It means, of course, that he will have to leave you in one piece otherwise you would be of little use to me.”
Bishop’s skull grimaced in his equivalent of a grin. “It is not much of a concession really. Janessic is known to be very hard on the women he enjoys. I suspect you life will not be a pleasant one.”
Cordelia stepped toward the water’s edge. “I will not submit to this. Come one step forward and I will drown myself.”
It was her last desperate act of defiance and she meant it. Rather than face any more of the horrors Bishop and Janessic had planned for her she was determined to die.
Bishop merely laughed. “Go ahead, Miss Delacourt. I am sure that your companion, Miss Brown, will be more than pleased to substitute for you.”
Cordelia blanched. She knew that she could not leave Liz to their tender mercies. She sank to her knees in anguish, her eyes filling with tears.
Janessic stepped toward her, his hand outstretched, while Bishop moved toward Liz. There was a sudden cry: “Filthy bastard.” Liz, who had remained huddled just a few feet from the water’s edge, suddenly lurched forward, her arms straight out in front of her. She caught Bishop in the chest. With a startled cry the villain stepped backward, slipped and toppled into the murky water of the sewer.
Janessic and the two girls watched him sink beneath the filthy water. He emerged a few seconds later, thrashing wildly. “Janessic, save me. I can’t swim.”
Seemingly stunned, Janessic stood staring at the floundering crime lord for
several seconds before replying.
“I can’t swim either.
I’ll get a rope.”
He moved toward the barge and a large coil of rope lying on the deck,
but he never made it. Cordelia
lurched to her feet, took a single step forward, caught his arm spun him,
and tripped him over her leg, just as
Cordelia and Liz watched the men who had brutalized them drown, their faces expressionless. Then Cordelia took Liz by the arm. “Come on. We’d best leave before anyone else shows up. She helped Liz onto the barge and slipped the mooring rope. An hour later the ebbing tide swept them out into daylight.
Epilogue
Cordelia watched the chalk cliffs of
Liz nodded in sympathy. Their
escape from Bishop’s lair had created an even greater sensation that
her return from
Most of what had happened to them was kept from the public, but there was no escaping the wild speculation that swept the city, especially when the bodies of Bishop and Janessic were fished from just downstream of the sewer outlet. When it was revealed that a major criminal organization had been uncovered and crushed in a massive police raid, the excitement of the public reached a fever pitch.
Fortunately for Cordelia, and unfortunately for British justice, there were so many important members of English society associated with Bishop’s criminal activities that a great deal was hushed up. Thus it was that Cordelia was spared the humiliation of having to recount her hideous ordeal. Sadly, there was no hiding it from her father. Although she spared him all the gruesome details there was no hiding the fact that she had been dishonoured.
High Justice William Delacourt had taken the news of his daughter’s defilement about as well as could be expected. He made no mention of the incident to her, but his attitude toward her changed subtly. It was quite obvious that he no longer regarded her as his innocent little girl. The best that Cordelia could do was keep the fact from him that she had lost her virginity long before Bishop had gotten hold of her; several times over in fact.
There was another more positive change as well. In spite of the fact that Cordelia had not yet reached her eighteenth birthday, her father began to speak to her as he spoke to many of his male friends; that is almost as an equal. It was as if the loss of her virginity, coupled with her daring escape had changed her into an adult almost overnight. Thus it was that he gave her permission to leave on a tour of the great European capitals – the Grand Tour. It was an event that had been planned prior to her disappearance as a celebration of her coming of age, but now there were other and more urgent reasons to have her leave the country.
The first was simply to escape the mobs of curious that surrounded the Delacourt
townhouse, and which led to their being virtual prisoners in their own
home. Once Cordelia had left
And then there was a reason that Cordelia suspected but could not prove; that her father simply wished to have her out of his house for awhile. It was almost as if, having lost her honour, that she was no longer fit for polite society. He would never say so, of course, but it was something she strongly suspected. Although he was dead, Bishop had had his revenge.
As for temporarily separating from the Count, for both Cordelia and her lover it was a harsh condition, and Cordelia had come close to simply telling her father that she and Antoine had been sharing a bed for months, but at the last second she agreed and convinced Antoine to go along with it as well.
“It will be a painful separation,
ma
cherie,” the Count agreed, “but it will be a true test
of our love. In a year we will
meet again and decide if we wish to remain with one another for the rest
of our lives. In the meantime
I will return to
La
Tortue and find the source of the
Cordelia found the Count’s compliance a little suspect, but there was little she could do about it. Long engagements were the norm in Victorian society and complaining about a wait of only a year would have been considered presumptuous.
A long sigh told it all. What
had happened to her in the last year had changed her life
irredeemably. In a sudden premonition
she knew that she had left the life she knew
behind. She stared at the receding
coast of
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