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Her voice trailed off as her mind apparently travelled back to the past. He allowed her to go f
or a brief visit, but when a dark shadow crossed her features, he drew her back. “Go on, Ivy.”
“The early years everything went on smoothly. The Hendrickson’s were decent folks, particularly Orville Hendrickson, the master of the home. The misses, however, ignored me, but it allowed me to blend in with the rest of the staff. At that time Phillip Hendrickson had been away travelling abroad for years. I had never met him, but I had heard whispers among the staff. He was a typical spoiled rich young man who never worked a day in his life. He had no idea what it meant to struggle and believed whatever he wanted he was allowed to have. Which included sexual relations with the female staff. Particularly the younger girls.
“So when he returned home this past summer I was on me guard. I made certain I kept out of his way and not left alone in a room with him. Me efforts, however, only increased his interest in me. He paged for me several times to the privacy of his bedchamber. Each time I had managed to fend him off. After all, I had handled much worse.”
It killed him to hear her admit as much. How he wished he could track down that bastard who had tortured her and her sister for so many years and left her so internally scarred.
“It made him furious. Not because he desired me so, but because I outwitted him. No other female had ever stood up against his assaults.” She broke off once more, her mind proceeding even if her voice did not. Though the hurt which darkened her eyes told him already what happened before she spoke the words.
“Is that why you left?”
“Not immediately.” She continued. “But Mr. Hendrickson’s advances came to the point they were unbearable. That night after he attacked me for the last time, I became very upset, I suppose a bit hysterical. He in turn became angry and struck me across the face. I foolishly struck him back. When he hit me for the second time, the blow knocked me to the floor. Blood fell from me mouth.”
Sam cursed savagely. If the man wasn’t already dead, he would have enjoyed watching him suffer, while Sam tore each limb, one by one from the man’s pathetic person. He dragged his mind back to her words, forcing himself to concentrate on what she told him.
“Is it possible the blood fell onto your dress?”
“I don’t think so. There was just enough for me to clean up with me handkerchief.”
Sam frowned. “What did you do with the handkerchief?”
She paused, thinking back. “I don’t recall.”
“Is it possible you left it in the room?”
“Perhaps,” she said. “I don’t know. I could have dropped it.”
“All right. So then what happened?”
“I was angry and threatened to go to the authorities, but he only laughed in me face. Says no law would take me word over his. Told me if I tried to run, he would track me down and drag me back. And the punishment would be ten times as worse.”
“The reason for your alias.” He thought out loud, not actually asking.
“Aye,” she answered, nevertheless. “I couldn’t go back.”
“That was the last time you saw him?”
She nodded. “I ran that very night.”
Her story explained a lot of the mystery surrounding Ivy, but not what actually occurred that night. “And nothing else happened? You didn’t speak to anyone? Tell anyone you were leaving? Not even Stella?”
“No,” she said, her voice suddenly gone dull, but then on an afterthought added, “Well, except for Becky. She was in the corridor outside his chambers when I left.”
“Who’s that?”
“Stella’s daughter. She’s one of the kitchen maids.”
He frowned. “What would she have been doing up in the bedroom corridors?”
Ivy gave a careless shrug. “‘Tis not uncommon for a maid’s services being required beyond her duties.”
“Did you tell Becky what had happened?”
“No, of course not. I was too ashamed.”
“You had nothing to be ashamed about. You did nothing wrong.”
