The Virgin of Greenbrier: The Greenbrier Trilogy, Book One

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

If only he could sleep. Even with the door shut he could hear her sobs. He listened until it stopped. The sun rose and, with it, the doctor from a rumpled and restless bed. His bedroom window looked out into the same quiet garden Lucretia had seen. Apart from a solitary squirrel that hopped and dug at random, it was empty. Most of the flowers were gone and leaves lay in scattered wisps and piles. Many a summers day and night had been spent down there, whips and floggers had whizzed through the air. Paddles and hands had spanked bare, upturned bottoms. It had been a paradise. These were moments he recalled with fondness and yet he could not bring to mind a single day or night that meant more than any other.

It had gotten cold in the night. A heavy frost muted all the colors beyond the glass. It would be mid-day before the sun could reach the inner sanctum of the garden. He should take her there, he thought. Let her know what it felt like to be truly cold. Maybe then she would understand. He dashed the drape back into place, scoffing.

After dressing quickly, Beauregard unlocked the playroom and entered, snatching a long piece of leather from a hook just to the right of the door.

“Lucy!” She jolted from under her blanket at the sound of his stern voice. “Lucy, we are going outside this morning.”

The look of fear in her eyes as he pulled the cover back was almost too good to be true.

Lucretia, her arms carrying a heavy quilt, stumbled behind the Master in the pale morning light. He walked so quickly she could barely keep up, and he yanked the lead often, forcing her to remain in stride. Neither spoke.

The Courtyard was shadowed and glistened with tiny ice crystals. Lucy’s rosy n*****s grew tight. Her feet burned with the cold of the flagstone. At his command, she draped the quilt over a bench and knelt before it, teeth already chattering and skin prickling with goose flesh. The doctor sat on the bench, unbuttoned his trouser fly and leaned back with parted legs. “Do it,” his lips barely moved in the whispered order. Already his c**k was stirring to life.

She moved in icy stiffness. Her hands tingled with cold and she could not stop the shaking. But his c**k head was warm, and he almost seemed to enjoy the cold as her fingers wrapped around him. There was no slow build up. As soon as her lips pressed to the tip, his hand was to the back of her head, forcing her down. “Take it all, little pet, and listen to me.” As if she had any other choice in the matter. “What you feel now, in your skin and in your bones, is exactly what I feel for you. There is nothing between us but my domination and control and your complete submission.” His hips thrust up, pushing his member to the back of her throat. “Remember this moment all the weeks and months you remain here as my ward. This is your final day as my pet. It will not be one you forget quickly.” Her head was yanked back by the hair and he looked down into her face, gripping her head like a vice between his hands. “You are no more special than anyone else here. You are a slave. I own you, nothing more. Do I make our situation perfectly clear to you?”

The tears felt hot even as if they froze to her face. There would be no more fanciful daydreams. There was only resignation to a fate she had no control over. He studied her face, his eyes moving back and forth intently as if trying to read her thoughts. Whatever he saw there, her demolished hope, her resignation, she could not be sure, but he smiled that horrible, sadistic smile of his.

Wisps of breath puffed from between her quivering lips, “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” He shoved her back and gave a satisfied nod.

They returned to the house as they had left it. By now the first sounds of a waking household could be heard.

“You will remain on all fours for the duration of the day,” he instructed, leading her to the dining room. Though devoid of people, the table had been set for breakfast and the aromas of the same wafted in from the kitchen. “Coffee,” Beauregard bellowed as he sat down in his customary chair. “Lucy, sit.” She knelt back, resting her bottom on her heels. “Stay.” He looped the end of the leash he’d held around the arm of the chair and drew his attention to the awaiting newspaper set beside his place.

Lucy’s meal was served on the floor. She was permitted no utensils nor, for that matter, the use of her hands with which to eat. Lucretia lapped water from one dish and ate a mixture of scrambled eggs, bits of sausage, and crumbles of toasted bread from another. Not once did she complain. With so few kind words spoken to her these past three days she had neither the strength nor inclination to fight him. It was just as he said between them, cold.

After breakfast, Lucretia was taken to the infirmary. He constantly forced her to hurry, bringing a narrow crop hard across her bottom every chance he got, which was often. Lucretia waited, tied to the foot of a bed on the other side of the room, as the doctor checked his two patients. The mother-to-be was no better. Her fever had not broken in the slightest, and she was paler than ever. In a matter of days, however, Lottie would be in fine shape for release to light duties. From the infirmary, Lucretia crawled the entire length of the house and into the front parlor where others waited. A room full of naked slaves listened and took their orders for the day. So on it went all day. Lucy was never spoken to, never acknowledged, never punished or rewarded.

She never left his side, not for any occasion.

By dinner time, she was exhausted and fought to keep her eyes open. Had it not been for the cheerful talk and laughter around her, she would have slept easily on the floor by his feet instead of taking her supper.

Just as dessert was being served, Dr. Addams tapped his knife lightly on his water glass, “I have an announcement.” A hush fell over the room. Even Lucy lifted her head and listened. “As you know, Mistress Vivianne is expected to join us on Friday. Those of you who know her are aware of what to expect and how to conduct yourselves. Those of you who are new will be teamed up with a fellow slave sister for the duration of her visit. Susan, you will be with Olivia. Rebecca, you and Cassy will be together. And Lucretia,” he looked down at her, patting her head, “I’ve paired you up with Mary. I am told you got along very well in the kitchen.” Thank god, she thought, anyone but Elizabeth. But who, she wondered, was Mistress Vivianne?

“Oh, Lucy! She is the most wicked woman you will ever meet in your life!” Mary gushed with a mixture of fear and delight. After dinner, Beau had removed the leash from Lucretia’s collar and sent her away with no other orders but to work with Mary.

Lucretia pulled the comforter over her shoulder. The two girls lay together in Lucy’s bed. It was plenty big enough for the both of them and, compared to the dungeon floor, it was heaven. “Worse than Master Addams?” she whispered.

“Ten times so,” Mary reached under the covers to hold Lucretia’s hand. “But wait until you see her, Lucy.”

Lucretia gave her hand a squeeze in the darkness. She was too tired to talk about anything. “Is she pretty?”

“No,” came the reply.

“No?”

“She’s a queen. As wicked as she is beautiful.”

A wicked and beautiful queen, Lucy thought as she drifted off. If that’s so then I am certainly nothing more than Cinderella cast to scrub the ashes of the hearth.

As soon as the sun rose, so did they. For the first time, Lucretia sat at the breakfast table to eat. A good night’s sleep and a satisfying breakfast had done wonders. Her strength of mind and body felt returned. The doctor had spoken only once to her, to ask if she had slept well. She had answered simply, “Yes, sir.”

She and Mary were quickly put to work airing out the suite that would be Mistress Vivianne’s. It was a three room affair, much like Master Addams’. Fresh bed linens were put into place, the rugs were dragged out and beaten, and the furniture was polished until it glowed with its own shimmering light. New soaps from France and toilet waters were put into the private washroom. She even had her own high-backed copper tub that was scrubbed until it was like the sun. No set of rooms in all of Virginia could have looked more splendid than these.

Mary retrieved a set of keys from one of the dresser drawers and opened the massive wardrobe. The scent of leather washed over Lucy who stood nearby. Curious, Lucy drew closer and peered in. This was no ordinary closet. Not a single item had any resemblance to clothing. “She’s most particular about her toys,” Mary explained as Lucy drew up behind her in child-like amazement.

Toys? Within were things she never would have dreamed to have called toys. There were riding crops and buggy whips of various lengths and weights. They each hung on a single hook and filled the left hand wall of the closet. The right side was the same only from its wall dangled no less than a dozen paddles. Some of the paddles were no more than a ruler with a small hole drilled in one end through which a piece of rawhide had been looped. Others were much more fanciful with one side of leather and the other of downy rabbit’s fur. One was even trimmed in lace. Floggers and whips hung in the back. All were neatly in order, ready at a moment’s notice. The tassels of one such item were as long as Lucretia’s arm and, not far from it, one as small as her hand.

Mary went through the closet, counting and inspecting each one, making sure all were in perfect condition. Some she handed to Lucretia to hold, but Lucy could do little else but stare in shock at it all. When Mary closed the doors, locked them, and pulled open the bottom drawer of this innocent looking piece of furniture, Lucretia’s shock grew. The drawer was full of shackles and blindfolds, gags and butt plugs in all sorts of shapes and the most horrendous of sizes. It dawned on Lucretia in livid clarity that a closet such as this stood in her very own room. As a matter of fact, there was one in every bedroom she’d been in. Lucy had assumed hers held nothing but the clothing the doctor did not want her to have; but, now, seeing this, she wasn’t so sure.

“Are they all like this?” Lucretia asked.

“You mean the wardrobes? No, most don’t even come close to this one, ‘cept for Master Beau’s, of course. But Mistress likes one of everything to choose from, just in case she needs it. And it makes her traveling lighter if she doesn’t have to bring but a few of her own things.”

What was housed in her own wardrobe? “Do you have keys for them all?”

Mary pushed the drawer shut, smiling, “No, only Cassy and Master have those but I can show you what’s in mine. We have time.”

Lucretia’s cheeks grew pink. “We won’t get into trouble?”

“So what if we do,” Mary giggled. “It will be fun. I’ll show you a secret way.”

Upon leaving Vivianne’s rooms, Mary turned right. Had they turned right again at this end of the hall, they would have walked past the doctor’s room. Instead, they went straight and into the room at the end. The room was the same size as all the other guest rooms but had been converted into a huge linen closet, and there were no windows. All four walls, floor to ceiling, were lined with wide shelves. And all the shelves were stacked with layer upon layer of neatly folded and pressed linens, blankets, and pillowcases. A table as big as Lucretia’s bed, took up the center of the room. It was the only piece of furniture other than several step stools used to reach the highest parts of the shelves. Due to the lack of windows, the room was in constant darkness. Mary lit a nearby oil lamp and took Lucy’s hand. Across the room and around the table they went, reaching a second door in the back wall. When it was opened, a cool rush of earth-scented air shifted their hair.

“What’s in there?” Lucy shivered with excitement.

“Secret passage,” Mary whispered back. “You’ll see.”

Mary’s lamp provided minimal light as they entered a very narrow passage, between two sets of unfinished walls. The outer wall was actually the back of the house and the inner wall, the back of the linen room. It was dusty and cramped, but so delightfully spooky that Lucretia got goose bumps. They walked a couple of yards down this passage before Mary stopped. “We’ve reached the staircase, Lucy. There’s a railing to your left. Hold tight to that, the steps are a bit uneven and be very quiet.” She slid her hand from Lucretia’s and began the descent. Lucy waited, for some reason savoring this place, its cramped chill and perpetual darkness. It was, she reckoned, a lot like a grave. “Lucy?” Mary whispered.

“Coming.” They stayed close together, inching their way to the bottom of the stairs. She could feel the stone beneath her feet as they walked.

“Listen.”

“C’mon girl, push.” It was Abby’s voice, urgent yet soothing. “You can do this. Gimme a push.” The passageway walls barely muffled the sounds of the screams that followed.

“It must be Rose,” Mary whispered.

The two girls clung together listening to Abby trying to get the girl to push followed by other voices and the constant, but weakening, moans. “Push, honey, push. Lizzy, get me the oil and scissors. This baby gots to be born one way or ‘nother.” The moan rose into a high-pitched wail of pain then silence. “Get me them towels and the tub of water. Come on, little man, cry for me.”

There was a gurgling sound and finally a weak cry. “Come on.” Mary was holding Lucretia’s hand again, pulling her down the tunnel. When they stopped a second time, they stood before a narrow door. Mary turned down the lamp and opened this door, allowing just a sliver of light to penetrate where they stood hidden. “It’s clear, hurry.” They were just behind the grand staircase, still somewhat hidden from the front door. They dashed a few yards and came to Mary’s bedroom, quickly slipping inside.

Just before Mary shut the door, Lucy caught a glimpse of Lizzy coming out of the infirmary.