Widow in White

Chapter Nineteen: Almost a Pleasure

Laura had to walk at a trot to keep up with Fordham's long strides. His knife pricked just below her ribs, and he twisted her collar tight enough to choke. The tears dried on Laura's face, and she tried to think how she might get away. If she ran, he would catch her, probably stab her, possibly kill her. If she didn't run — well he would rape her, she thought, that must be what he planned, and if she didn't struggle, maybe it wouldn't hurt much.

She stumbled over a rut and he dragged her upright by her collar. The knife pricked against her skin, and Laura felt the sting of broken flesh.

"What are you going to do with me?" she asked, trying to hold herself further away from the knife.

He laughed. "What do you think?"

"Rape me I suppose," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

"I thought about it," Fordham said casually. "Maybe I will."

That was somehow more frightening than if he had said he would. Laura thought of screaming for help, but the wood was silent and empty. Again, she considered running, and again, she decided it was too risky. It was better to stay quiet for now, and wait for her chance to escape. She knew that the road through the woods ended not far from the village. If she could get away from Fordham then, she might be able to reach the safety of other people before he caught her.

But they didn't go that far. After a mile or so, they came to the clearing where the gamekeeper's cottage stood. Fordham dragged her through the yard, overgrown with weeds, and towards the back of the house. Laura's heart seemed to freeze over, and she jerked away on reflex. He twisted the back of her collar until she choked.

"You run, and I'll kill you."

She couldn't run anyway. He had twisted her collar so tight she could barely breathe. All she could do was stumble blindly where he led, her head spinning, her hands grasping at her neck.
Around the back of the house were several outhouses and a flagstone-paved yard, all coming up with weeds. Fordham dragged her towards the smallest outhouse, made of stone and set halfway down in the earth. For a moment, the knife left her side as he pulled up the latch. The door was stuck and he had to wrench to get it open. His grip at the back of her neck loosened just long enough for Laura to think perhaps she could escape. Then Fordham had the door open, and she was shoved inside.

Her feet caught on a stone ledge, and then on nothing at all, and she found herself stumbling down a flight of stairs into darkness. She turned her ankle on a broken step and fell the last few, landing hard on her side on a packed dirt floor below. For a moment, she was too winded to move or speak, and terrified she'd hurt the baby. Then Fordham was upon her again, this time without the knife. He grabbed her by her neck and lifted her, shoving her against the wall. Cold, sharp stone scratched her back. She choked for air. His hands tightened, and bright spots danced in her vision. In the dim light coming through the door, she could see his expression, distorted in fury: eyes showing the whites, lips pressed tight, veins bulging at the temples.
He wasn't going to rape her. He was going to kill her.

She tried to raise her arms to fight him off, but she was already too weak. Then suddenly he released her, and she fell gasping to the floor. She sprawled there, heaving for air. Slowly, her vision stopped dancing and feeling came back into her limbs. Above her, Fordham was breathing heavily too, his hands crab-clawing at his sides.

Laura got to her hands and knees and started crawling for the stairs. She'd barely got one step before Fordham kicked her onto her back again, put his boot flat against her sternum, and pressed, pinning her to the floor.

"Don't move," Fordham said.

She couldn't move anyway. With his boot pressing down, she could barely breathe again. But she didn't think he meant to hurt her this time. There was a wild, almost confused expression in his eyes. He stared at her.