Sarah Rayne - What Lies Beneath

Serena was glad he would be home for good. He was such a very presentable son, and so far he did not seem to be inheriting his father’s tendency to portliness, which was a great mercy. He was slim and spare, and clothes always looked very nice on him, although he wore his hair slightly too long, as so many young men did. She had thought at Christmas, when the family assembled at Cadence Manor, that Oxford had smoothed away any youthful awkwardness, not that Crispian had ever been gauche, which was something else for which to be grateful. He was not as good-looking as his cousin Jamie, who had been more or less brought up with Crispian since his mother died. Jamie was a dear good boy, hard-working and reliable, but Serena thought for all his good looks he had not a tenth of Crispian’s quiet charm.

Unless there were guests Serena liked to retire by ten o’clock. There were not often guests now, although in the early years Julius had often entertained friends and business associates, and Serena had dutifully arranged dinners and luncheons. It had been rather novel at first and she had been an excellent hostess, everyone said so. But choosing the right gowns and jewellery so one looked prosperous but not vulgarly overdressed had been dreadfully tiring. Talking to people one hardly knew had been tiring as well. Even now it made her head ache to remember those interminable evenings.

Also – and this was not something she cared to dwell on – those dinner parties had invariably excited Julius in a very particular way. He nearly always came to her bedroom after the guests had gone, his eyes bright with the stimulation of the company and the talk, his face flushed from all the wine and brandy. He would compliment her on the gown she had worn or the way her hair had been dressed, then there would be one of the messy, fumbling, painful acts Serena had always hated but which she knew had to be endured from time to time in any marriage.

Still, all that was at an end. She finished the chapter of the book she was reading, and switched off the bedside light. Julius had had electricity installed two years earlier; it had meant a great deal of hammering and crashing and workmen everywhere, but it was certainly easier and more efficient than gaslight.

It was shortly after midnight that she was woken by the sounds of running feet and Crispian’s voice calling out something about an intruder. Serena sat up in bed and considered whether to go out of her room, but Flagg was equal to anything, and if Crispian was with him, it would be all right. She waited until the sounds had died down, and presently heard Flagg call a good night to Crispian. She could relax. Whatever had happened had been dealt with.

She lay down again and tried to go back to sleep, but sleep, so abruptly interrupted, would not return; the images pouring through her mind were too vivid. She reminded herself that Flagg could be entirely trusted. But as the chimes of St Peter’s church clock came faintly to her – 1 a.m. – she knew she would not be able to sleep until she had made sure that everything was as it should be. It was not that she did not trust Flagg, simply that she needed to know for herself. Moving stealthily so as not to alert anyone, she got out of bed, slid her feet into slippers, donned a thin silk robe, and took a key from her bedside drawer, which she put in the robe’s pocket.

The house was quiet and still, but Flagg had left a low light burning on the central landing. Serena stole along to the narrow stairs at the far end – the stairs leading up to the third floor. It was, of course, the height of folly to go up there on her own at such an hour, but there were certain responsibilities. A light summer rain had started to patter against the windows; she could hear it gurgling down the drainpipes. It sounded exactly like a throaty whispery voice. Come closer, Serena…

The house did not have attics in the conventional sense, but it had three rooms directly under the roof, either made by the original builder or created by some past occupant who wanted extra storage space. The rooms were small, with tiny windows overlooking the narrow walled garden. The first two were used for lumber – odds and ends of discarded furniture, and the trunks the family used when going away, or when removing to Cadence Manor for the holidays. But the third one… As Serena reached the head of the narrow stairway she could see the thick lock on the third door.

It was six months since Flagg had called in an incurious workman to fit the big new lock; Serena had been given one of the keys at the time. She walked down the passage and stood in front of the door. Then, her heart beating fast, pressed her ear to the oak surface. Was there the faintest movement from the other side? She suddenly had the impression of someone standing up against the door in the room. Come inside, Serena…

One could take a sense of duty a bit too far, of course. But, thought Serena, there was some sort of disturbance earlier and I do need to make sure everything’s all right. She glanced back to the stairs leading down to the main landing. The light was still glowing down there, and people were in earshot – Flagg and the two maids. And Crispian would be in his room by now. She slid the key from her pocket, and into the lock. Turning the lock, she cautiously pushed the door a little way open.

Bars of moonlight lay across the bare wooden floor, and there was a faintly sour smell in the room. But it was empty. Serena frowned, still standing in the doorway, unwilling to enter the room. Then a scrape of sound came from her left and a hand came round the edge of the door, reaching for her. Serena leaped back at once, her heart thudding, then slammed the door closed and fumbled frantically for the key to lock it. He had been there all the time! He had been standing behind the door.

But she was shaking so badly she dropped the key and, when she turned to run down the stairs, she caught her foot in the hem of her robe and half fell. To her horror, the handle of the door moved and it opened. A hunched-over figure came scuttling out of the room, and before Serena could call for help he was on her. One hand came over her mouth, and with the other he half dragged her back into the attic room. Once there, he threw her onto the narrow bed by the window, then bounded back to the door and locked it. At some deep level of her mind, Serena remembered the key she had used must still be on the landing outside. That meant he had his own key! He was able to go in and out – to roam around the house at will – even to roam around the streets! As he came back to the bed she opened her mouth to scream, but only a terrified gasp came out.

He pushed her down on the pillows. Serena beat against him with her fists, but he was too strong for her. Hammer-blows of terror beat frantically against her mind, and she fought as hard as she could, trying to cry out for help again. This time she managed a half-scream, but she knew with despair that no one could possibly have heard it.

He forced her back on the bed, his breath, dry and sour, gusting into her face, and Serena shuddered, turning her head to one side so that her face was half buried in the pillow. The bed creaked as he climbed onto it, and she felt his free hand pushing aside her robe and nightgown beneath, then fumbling with his own clothes. Serena sobbed and fought to get free. This was dreadful. Dreadful . The hammer-blows were beating a horrid tattoo inside her mind by this time. You-know-what’s-going-to-happen, said these insistent beatings. You-know-what-he’s-going-to-do…

He jerked her legs wide apart with one knee and, as he thrust against her, she felt the brutal masculine arousal. Serena squirmed and fought, but she already knew it was no use. He pushed himself hurtingly into her and the grunting heaving act began – the act that in marriage she had always found so repulsive.