Without A Heartbeat
Chapter 8

Scarlett tried her best to avoid Master Clarke over the following few days, but it became increasingly difficult. No matter where she was in the manor, he seemed to appear, as if he were a bloodhound that had caught her scent. If Scarlett were scouring pots in the kitchen, he would materialise in the garden, smoking a cigarette or talking to the stable master, but always shifting his cold gaze to her through the window. If she were scrubbing the many wooden floors of the manor, he would already be occupying the room she had to do next.

Scarlett always expected him to make lewd comments – she had read enough bawdy literature to know of those things - but he never did. He would simply sit or stand in silence, sipping brandy and watching her work. It was somehow worse, and left Scarlett feeling violated. In those moments, all she wanted was to leave Oakley Manor and never return. However, her thoughts always returned to her father’s face when he had sat down on her cot that night. His expression alone had been enough to show how difficult it was for him to ask her to help provide for the family, and she would not let him down.

So Scarlett avoided Master Clarke’s penetrating gaze and performed her duties in silence, counting down the days until she could return home to see her family.

Scarlett awoke with a feeling of dreadful malaise. It took longer than normal for her to make her bed and get dressed. As a result she was ten minutes late to start work, which made her catch the sharp end of Mrs Ellison’s tongue.

“If this happens again girl, your day off will be cancelled. Then you will have to wait until next month to return home. Have I made myself clear?” The housekeeper hovered over her like a shadow pulled from the dark corners of the kitchen. A kettle of water was boiling over the fire nearby. In her mind Scarlett threw it over the horrible woman, laughing as she ran around screaming. In reality, she gave a sullen nod and set about scrubbing the floor.

As the day stretched on, the awful feeling of dread did not subside. In contrast, the sensations intensified as the hours ticked away, until Scarlett started to wonder if she was suffering from some kind of physical malady caused by her temperamental heart. She tried to keep herself busy with her chores, but such repetitive tasks only gave her mind the opportunity to wander.

The places it wandered to were full of darkness and fear.

She thought of Master Clarke, coming at her from the shadows, grabbing her and hurting her. She imagined that something awful was happening to her family, while she was so close, yet so far away. She envisioned death and sadness, loss and loneliness. All of her worse fears played over in her mind on a loop, and as much as she tried, she couldn’t push the horrors from her mind.

So instead she prayed.

She prayed as hard as she could as she plucked poultry and scaled fish, lay and cleared the servants table, helped prepare the family’s luncheon, washed and dried pots and pans, and assisted Sarah and Willow with polishing the numerous rooms around the manor. When no one was looking, she curled her hand around the silver cross that nestled against her throat and squeezed her eyes shut. Dear Lord, please keep me safe from harm and spare me from these feelings of despair. If I am sick, please provide me with the strength to fight whatever ailment I might have. Most of all Lord, I beg of you to keep my family safe from harm. Her constant prayers felt hollow, as if fate had already decided on other plans, and her words were nothing but echoes in the fading wind.

In the early afternoon, Housekeeper Ellison appeared in the kitchen where Scarlett was sitting on a bench, barely eating her lunch of hardboiled eggs, a hunk of bread and some cheese.

“I need you to dust Master Clarke’s study. The maids have been sent to the town this afternoon to purchase some material for new curtains.” Even though she was still wearing her odd glasses, Scarlett could feel her eyes boring into her.

“Yes, Mrs,” she answered, swallowing a small chunk of bread.

Mrs Ellison produced the iron keyring she always carried and unhooked a long black key. “There is no servant’s entrance. This is the key. I am sure you understand the consequences if you lose it.”

Scarlett nodded.

“Good, now hurry up and finish your food.” She set the key down on the table with a slow, deliberate movement. Scarlett picked it up and placed it in her apron pouch. The Housekeeper motioned to leave and then paused at the door. “Lucy has been sent home to be with her family. Unfortunately it appears that her food poisoning was too severe. She will not be returning to Oakley Manor.”

Mrs Ellison left the room without another word, whilst Scarlett stared at the space she had occupied, mouth agape.

After she had eaten a few more bites of her lunch - each mouthful hitting her stomach like a brick – Scarlett navigated through the mansion towards Master Clarke’s office. It was situated in the east wing, a looming blue door that stood at the far end of a dim corridor. As expected, when Scarlett twisted the golden handle she discovered it locked. Pulling the key from her apron she went to place it in the keyhole, but stopped when she heard the sound of men talking.

Curiosity overtook her and even though she knew it was beyond foolish, she knelt down and peered through the keyhole. Master Clarke was standing behind his desk, his arms folded behind his back. He was partially obscured by a figure wearing a hooded cloak, woven from rich red material. The figure had his back to the door, but judging from the expression on Master Clarke’s face, the mysterious guest was someone who commanded respect…maybe even fear.

“You require more money?” said Master Clarke.

“The cause requires it.”

Master Clarke gave his neck an awkward scratch. “This is difficult for me, you know I have other financial commitments and the harvest is suffering this year.”

“Then borrow more money.”

“It is not that simple. I have already borrowed a lot and the bank manager is growing concerned.” He paused. “Besides, what do you need it for?”

“Blood. Our numbers are becoming too large and our time too short to get the amount we need with ease.”

Blood? In the back of Scarlett’s mind, a warning voice was screaming at her that what she was hearing was not meant for her ears. That she could get in serious trouble for what she was doing, but she couldn’t bring herself to pull away from the door. Her heart thundered in her chest as she spied on the meeting.

“How much longer will I need to keep doing this for?”

“As long as we require it.” The man’s voice was powerful and full of authority, and even Scarlett trembled from her crouched position. “However, I will tell you that we are almost ready to act on the first part of our plan.”

“Surely I am entitled to know more about this plan?” asked Master Clarke.

“No, you are not. Your financial support of our divine order permits you to be informed of our needs, but that is all. The only reason I am telling you anything is due to your previous support. I do not care for you Richard Clarke; you are a contemptible little man not worthy of our precious gift. It is only due to my master’s wishes that you will be bought into the fold when the time comes. If it were up to me, I would slice a blade across your throat and drain you dry.”

Scarlett covered her mouth in shock. No one would dare to threaten a man as powerful as Master Clarke. Who is this man?

“H-how dare you?” spluttered Master Clarke, his face flushing red with indignation. “You cannot speak to me this way! I am the reason you are even able to exist!” He stabbed a finger at the cloaked man. “You are nothing without me! I have a good mind to stop financing your cause. Or better yet tell the organisation what I know about you. Then what would happen?”

The man gave a humourless laugh. “That would be a very grave mistake.” He stepped forward and Master Clarke shrank back against the wall like a cornered animal. “You might regard yourself as someone important, but it is you who is nothing. The enemy may entertain you and endure your pathetic parties, but never forget that you are nothing but a source of finance to all of us. Take your money away if you like and we will find another to support our cause.” He leaned over the desk, somehow dominating every inch of the large room. “However, listen well you odious little cretin. When the battle happens – and it will – there will be a lot of bloodshed. How well do you suppose you will fare, caught in the middle with both sides knowing you betrayed them?”

The hooded man straightened back up and the room seemed to lighten. His question hovered in the air and for a long time Master Clarke said nothing. Scarlett was stunned. What she had witnessed served as one of the most confusing but strangely exhilarating moments in her life. Who is this man and what is his order?

After a while, Master Clarke gave the back of his head a nervous scratch. The colour of his face had returned to normal and he now appeared more uncomfortable than angry. “I would be happy to keep funding you,” he said in a small voice.

The cloaked figure had picked up a cigar out of an open box on the desk. He seemed to study it for a moment and then set it back down again. “Very good answer, Richard.”

“Did you require anything else?

“No, thank you, that will be all.” He paused. “Actually there is one thing. There are others from London who were recently called in to investigate some disappearances. The leader of the group could pose a problem. If you should meet him, I trust you will be careful of your words.”

“Of course.” Master Clarke shifted on the spot. “However, would it not be better to remove him from the equation now?”

“No. He is far too powerful to be trifled with unless the need is great. However, if he is still here when the time comes, he will be dealt with like the others.”

“But do you not think it would be better-”

“Enough.”

The word was spoken with such finality that Master Clarke instantly fell silent. He resigned himself to looking anywhere other than at the visitor’s face.

“I have told you everything you are permitted to know,” said the man. “Do what you must to secure funding and inform us when you have it.” He ran his fingers along the edge of the desk. “I would advise haste.”

Master Clarke nodded. “I will have it for you soon, I promise.”

The man started to say something in reply and then stopped mid sentence, taking a deep breath. He spun around in a whirl of red. “Someone is listening to our conversation.”

Scarlett lurched away from the keyhole with such force that she almost sent herself tumbling over. The duster dropped from her hand and clattered on the floor. As she snatched it up, Scarlett could hear the sound of jangling as Master Clarke jostled his keys in the lock. Absolute panic rushed through her. Running as fast as she could, Scarlett fled down the hallway and through the maze of servant’s passages that she now knew, not stopping until she reached the safety of the kitchen. Bridget was plucking a pheasant; she jumped and placed a hand over her chest as Scarlett burst through the door.

“Dear Lord, where’s t’ fire child?”

Scarlett shook her head, trying to will her thumping heart to return to normal. Dropping her cleaning things into the sink, she picked up a sourer. She was scrubbing the basin when Master Clarke stormed into the room.

“Were either of you just eavesdropping at my office door?” he demanded and Scarlett could feel his fury as if it were a noose tightening around her throat. She froze, scourer gripped in her pale hand, not daring to turn around. “I asked you a question!”

“We’ve been here fir the last hour Master Clarke, preparin’ for dinner,” answered Bridget. He gave a growl and stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him. Only then did Scarlett have the courage to turn around. Her eyes met Bridget’s and the cook gave her a stern glance. “You’d do well not ta pry in a place like this, child. Some doors should be left closed.”

That evening, the fear Scarlett felt was realised.

She was helping Bridget prepare vegetables for the Clarke’s evening meal, her eyes stinging from the pile of chopped onions on the chopping board in front of her. The door burst open and banged into the wall, making her start. Mrs Ellison materialised in the kitchen.

“Girl, stop what you are doing and come with me.”

Scarlett’s heart skipped several beats. She glanced over at the cook, who looked concerned.

“Now,” ordered the housekeeper impatiently.

Trembling, Scarlett set down the knife she was using and wiped her hands on her apron. Following the housekeeper from the room, she was marched down the main hallway – which Scarlett knew well enough now was completely forbidden to her. She was the one who told me to clean the study; she knows it was me who spied on the conversation. I am in serious trouble. She was trembling so hard she could barely walk properly.

The housekeeper stopped at the foot of the main staircase and placed her hands on her hips. “Do you have experience with children?”

The question was so different from what Scarlett had been expecting that it took her by complete surprise.

“I…what?”

“Excuse me?”

Scarlett shook her head. “I’m sorry Mrs. I-I have a younger brother.”

“Age?”

“Ten, Mrs.”

“That should suffice. As I am sure you are aware Master Clarke has two children, one of eight and one of six. It is Grete’s anniversary today and Master Clarke has decided to give her the evening off. He has requested that you undertake nanny duties in her stead.”

Unease filled Scarlett like rising tide. “Why not use one of the more experienced girls?” she blurted.

Housekeeper Ellison’s eyes narrowed. “What did I tell you about questioning orders, girl?”

Scarlett’s throat tightened like a corset. “I’m sorry Mrs, it’s just that I don’t know what I’m s’posed ta do.”

“It is very straightforward. You will play with them until seven o’clock. Then you will fill up a bath with hot, soapy water and wash them. Once they are bathed, you will dress them in their nightwear, which is already placed on their beds. After that they will require a story.” She cut Scarlett a dark look. “I found your little book, so I assume you can read.”

Scarlett’s stomach lurched, but she said nothing.

“You will read to them until eight and then it will be time for them to sleep. At that point you will return to me for further duties. It is a very simply task, one an educated girl such as yourself can easily comprehend.”

Scarlett felt her cheeks catch fire.

“Go and make yourself presentable. The children will be expecting someone in twenty minutes. Is everything I have said clear?”

Scarlett wanted to refuse. Something about the whole situation felt very wrong, but she had no other choice. It’s do this or be fired. It was that simple. She gave a solemn nod.

Mrs Ellison gave a harsh double clap of her hands. “Then get to it!”

The housekeeper turned on her heel and walked away, her footsteps echoing in the large hallway. Scarlett scrambled up the servant’s stairs to the attic room. Dropping to her knees, she thrust a hand to the bottom of the box and felt about for her book.

It wasn’t there.

Scarlett sat back on her heels as tears spilled down her cheeks. She hated Master Clarke, she hated Mrs Ellison and she hated Oakley Manor. It took all of her strength not to walk from the house and never look back. However, she knew that without her help, her family would struggle to buy the medicine Connor so desperately needed. To leave was to jeopardise his health.

Scarlett was trapped and there was nothing she could do about it.

Rupert’s bedroom was far too big for a boy of only eight. The walls were brown with the blue silhouettes of cavaliers and horses stenciled along them. Numerous boxes overflowed with more toys than Scarlett had ever seen in her life, including spinning tops, tin soldiers and playing cards, as well as dog-eared books. In one corner stood a table with an intricate train set on top. The train itself was painted black and stood on tracks that ran through a vivid diorama of rivers, hills and stations. In the other corner was a beautiful rocking horse carved from dark wood.

Rupert was sitting on his bed drawing a picture with coloured pencils, under the glow of an oil lamp that stood on the bedside table. He was wearing a small beige suit with shorts and a matching cap. His dark hair poked out of the cap and spilled over his brow, which was furrowed in concentration. Sitting on the floor was Isabel. The girl was playing with a china doll; both were wearing similar dresses, cream in colour and covered with frills. Isabel was trying to get the doll to sit on a small chair, but it kept falling off. Scarlett stepped into the room, giving the best smile she could manage. “Hello Rupert, hello Isabel,” she said.

The children looked up at her. “Who are you?” asked Isabel.

“I’m Scarlett. I’m ‘ere to look after ya.’”

“Where’s Grete?” asked Rupert.

“She’s been given the evenin’ off work,” she replied, walking over and sitting on the edge of the bed. “What are ye drawing?” Rupert held up his picture proudly. Scarlett recoiled slightly as she took it in. A hunched over creature with a lank mane of hair and dark eyes had been scribbled in a mixture of black and grey pencil. Rupert had added bright scribble of red around its large, twisted mouth.

Scarlett swallowed hard. “That’s an interestin’ drawin’ Rupert. What’s it of?”

The boy shrugged. “I don’t know what they are, but I’ve seen them in the grounds. We both have. Isn’t that right, Bel?”

The girl nodded, as she tried once again to get her doll to sit in the chair.

Scarlett felt a cold chill sweep over her as she took the picture and studied it. The drawing was basic, scratched out with broad lines and scribble shading, but there was something creepy about it, as if he had captured real evil.

It’s just the way I’m feeling, Scarlett thought. She reminded herself that they were children, and children loved to make up fantastical stories. Connor certainly did, especially now that he was reading more and more. After a while children convinced themselves that what they imagined was true – it was the beauty of innocence. The picture was something pulled from nothing more than an overactive imagination.

“Well, if they look as impressive as this, I’d love ta meet one,” she said finally and Rupert swelled with pride. He took the drawing back and set to work adding more black shading to the creature’s hide. Scarlett moved to the floor and helped Isabel set her doll onto the chair. Its blue eyes seemed to stare at everything all at once, and Scarlett found herself wondering what sort of things it had witnessed in this place.

“What’s her name?” she asked.

“Abigail.” Isabel ran a brush through the doll’s auburn locks. “I like her hair. Can I see yours?”

“Of course ya can.” Scarlett slipped off her bonnet and unpinned her hair, letting her red locks spill down around her face. The girl giggled and reached out a tiny hand to touch it. “Yours is much prettier than Abigail’s.”

Scarlett smiled at Isabel. In her mind she had imagined the children would be as mean spirited as their father…but they were just children. Sweet and full of life.

“Can I brush it?”

“Sure.”

Isabel used her doll’s hairbrush to comb a section of Scarlett’s hair; she kept pulling at knots - which made Scarlett wince a little - but she didn’t really mind.

Scarlett spent the next hour playing games with the children. Rupert showed her his impressive collection of tin soldiers, which he lined up in two ranks, separated by colours and then proceeded to have a fake battle, which finished with the blue soldiers knocked over onto their sides. They all span the tops together and counted to see who could get theirs to spin the longest. Isabel bought in an armful of dolls from her room. They set them all down and the girl ran through their names and what parts of the world they were from.

“I have something to show you,” announced Rupert after Scarlett had finished playing a game of Draughts with him. He ran over to the largest toy box and rummaged through, throwing out a number of books until he found the one he was searching for. He lay down with Isabel on a sheepskin rug. Scarlett joined them and he handed the book proudly to her.

The book looked expensive, bound in mottled brown leather and secured by a buckled belt. The title was written in Latin – as was the rest of the book, Scarlett discovered as she opened it. A few words were within her knowledge to decipher and she made translations like ‘fire’, ‘silver’ and ’chosen.” None of which made much sense to her. However, what she could understand well where the many anatomical drawings of what appeared to be fantastical creatures. Scarlett flicked through the book, her eyebrows rising in surprise. Many of them were identical to the statues she had seen placed around the manor house.

“Where did ya get this Rupert?”

He leaned close to her. “I took it from my father’s study when he left it unlocked once,” he whispered. “I only wanted to look at it, but he was furious, searching everywhere and shouting. I was too scared to tell him that I had it, so I hid it here. He still doesn’t know.”

Scarlett glanced at the door, as if half expecting Master Clarke to be glaring at them all from the room’s threshold.

“You can’t tell him.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

Flipping over the next page, Scarlett froze. The creature displayed on it was the same one that Rupert had drawn – a feral creature with a black mane, grey scales and bat-like ears. The word underneath was written in plain English.

Hivemind.

“They are the ones we saw,” said Isabel, tapping the page with her miniature finger. Scarlett stared at the picture for a long time, calming her breath. This is where they got the picture from and they just dreamed they saw them. But why would anyone make such a blasphemous book? It was like a demonic version of Charles Darwin’s ’On the Origin of Species’.

“I t’ink it’s time for ya’ baths,” Scarlett said fixing the book closed and hiding it back in the depths of the toy box. Rupert and Isabel gave weak protests but in the end conceded.

After she had filled up a bath and washed them both, Scarlett helped the children change into their pyjamas and then they all climbed onto Rupert’s bed, whilst she read to them from Alice in Wonderland. After a while, the two children snuggled up next to her, placing their heads on her chest. For a small moment Scarlett felt the smallest modicum of happiness.

“You’re nicer than Grete,” said Isabel as she hugged Abigail and her eyes began to close. Scarlett ran a hand through her dark hair and smiled. “You’re nice too.”

“I think its time to say goodnight now children,” said a voice from the doorway. “Isabel, go back to your room.”

Scarlett looked up and saw Master Clarke standing in the doorway. His eyes were bloodshot and Scarlett could tell he’d been drinking.

“Yes Father.” Isabel gave Scarlett a hug and in that moment she wanted to keep the girl in her arms, as if together they could pretend Master Clarke wasn’t there. But the child broke her embrace and climbed down off the bed, passing by her father. He tried to pat her on the head, but the movement was clumsy and he ended up hitting the back of her neck instead. She made a small squeak of pain as she slipped away.

“You too Rupert. Sleep now.”

“Yes Father.” He hugged Scarlett and then turned the wheel of the oil lamp until the room was shrouded in darkness. The only light came from the chandelier on the landing, which framed Master Clarke, making him appear as a walking shadow.

“Out.”

Scarlett reluctantly stepped off the bed and towards the door. Master Clarke made no attempt to move, so she had to slide past him, smelling the stench of whisky on his breath. He slowly closed the door, and then they were on their own in the quiet halway.

“Ya’ children are so lovely Master-”

Scarlett had no time to finish her sentence before Master Clarke was on her, clamping a hand over her mouth. She tried to scream, but he squeezed his other hand around her throat and the sound dissolved into a whimper.

“Do not make a single sound, or you will regret it.”

Master Clarke dragged the wide-eyed girl backwards down the hallway, her boots dragging and digging into the carpet. Scarlett tried to claw at his hands, but he was too strong. Everything became too loud and too bright as the real danger of her situation became apparent. Something very bad was about to happen. This was what the fear had been - some instinctual knowledge, which had been warning her to get away, to leave this dreadful place.

But she hadn’t listened. And now this was the result.

“I don’t care what the bitch cook said, I know it was you that was spying on me. You listened to private things a whore like you has no business hearing, didn’t you!”

Scarlett tried to shake her head, but Master Clarke’s grip was too tight. He forced her around a corner and down a long hallway until they were at the west wing of the manor, which was reserved for guests only. It was almost pitch black, apart from the dim glow that came from a single wall-hanging gas lamp that Master Clarke had no doubt lit himself.

No one would come there.

Master Clarke shoved Scarlett against a door, kissing her neck and licking her lips with his foul smelling tongue. Scarlett broke an arm free and slapped him across the face. As he recoiled, she took her chance and ran. A hand seized the back of her hair and she shrieked as she was yanked right off her feet. Master Clarke hoisted her up and slapped her with the back of his hand so hard it made her mind swim. He shoved her against the door and her head collided with the corner of the doorframe. Her knees went weak and she sagged into his arms, barely holding onto consciousness.

“Don’t please…”

Scarlett tried to say more, but her words came out slurred and heavy. Master Clarke opened the door with one hand and shoved her inside with the other. She fell onto dusty floorboards, her face grazing against the rough wood. Her assailant turned his back to her, fumbling in his excitement to get the key to lock. A series of swear words escaped his lips. Scarlett lay on the floor, the scent of musty wood filling every laboured breath she took.

I have to get out.

Using every inch of strength she had, she willed herself to climb to her feet and searched around for a weapon. The room was prepared, fresh sheets on the four-poster bed and several candles lit. She felt sick to her stomach.

He’s been planning this.

A freestanding candelabrum was positioned in the far corner of the room. Scarlett scrambled to her feet and groggily stumbled over to it. She wrenched it up, only to discover it was far heavier than she expected. She gasped as she struggled not to drop it. A large candle fell out of the central arms, hitting the floor and rolling into the wall, where it snuffed out.

Master Clarke turned around and his face broke into a dark grin. “What are you hoping to do with that girl?”

“Whatever I ’ave to!” Scarlett tried to shout the words, but they came out frail and full of fear.

Master Clarke moved towards her. “Put that down now, before you make me hurt you more.”

Scarlett swung the candelabrum as a warning. It missed Master Clarke by several feet and cracked against the wall, almost carrying her off her feet. He recoiled, swearing. At the same time, Scarlett breathed as deeply as she could and screamed as loud as her lungs would allow.

Everything happened quickly. Master Clarke pounced at her, punching her in the stomach. The attack stole all the air from her lungs and her scream was silenced. At the same time she struck with the candelabrum, hitting Master Clarke hard in the chest and sending him careening into a nearby wall. Ignoring the ache as she struggled to breathe, Scarlett stumbled towards him and struck out again, landing a heavy blow on his shoulder. He howled with pain and collapsed to one knee. Scarlett motioned to attack once more, but Master Clarke swatted out, knocking the makeshift weapon from her grasp. Before she could react, he used a foot to roll it behind him, so it was impossible for her to reach.

With no other option, Scarlett started to scream again. Master Clarke was on her in a second, clamping a hand over her mouth. She bit down as hard as she could, drawing blood.

“You stupid bitch!”

His fist smashed into her nose. Incredible pain filled Scarlett and she was blinded as her eyes filled with water. She staggered backwards, collapsing onto the bed as blood seeped down her throat. Master Clarke climbed on top of her and hit her twice more in the face. The pain was worse than anything she had ever felt in her life. Blood spilled out of her mouth and nose, pouring over her lips and staining the white sheets red. Master Clarke pressed his weight down on her, spittle flying over her face as he growled in a mixture of passion and rage.

Scarlett fought as hard as she could, but he was too strong and she was too badly beaten to make any difference. A hand seized her throat until she felt darkness seep in at the edges of her mind. A new horror dawned in Scarlett’s mind.

He is going to kill me.

The simple fact filled her fading consciousness and her thoughts drifted to her family, to sweet little Connor, to her wonderful Ma, and of course to Da, the person she loved more than anyone else in the world. It was so unfair that this man was stealing her from them. That she would die in a dusty room in a place she despised, at the hands of an evil man she had never done a single thing to offend.

I love you.

But death did not come. Master Clarke had other plans for Scarlett in that moment. This she knew when his hand released her throat and instead busied itself with fumbling at his trousers. Scarlett then felt the seams of her frock ripping apart and the cold air hitting her exposed body. In her desperation, she had one place to turn. With a weak hand, she coiled a hand around her cross and pleaded.

Please God, save me. Save me from this man.

But Scarlett’s prayers fell on deaf ears. No deity rushed in to save her and rain down justice on the foul creature perched over her. Nor did any of the forty other people inside the manor with them. Scarlett did not receive salvation…or death.

But for what Scarlett endured next, death would have been a welcome alternative.

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