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I love her, and she is alive,Simon thought, allowing small inches of relief and hope back into the dark, violent corners of his heart.We are both alive.
Marion’s eyes were fixed on her father, the gun steady in her hand.I shall have to ask her where she learned to handle a weapon so confidently,Simon thought absently to himself, but put the thought away for another time. He could tell Marion was gearing herself up to speak to this man who had hurt her so cruelly. A lesser woman would perhaps have run from this confrontation, but not his Marion. Simon knew her core was hard as diamonds.
“Marion, my girl, I’m your father,” the man panted, his dark, lying eyes staring up at his daughter. “You can’t let me die or go to the noose. I’m all you have! I’m your flesh and blood.”
“You are not all she has,” Simon growled, pressing the cane down hard so the man groaned and fell back. “And you are as much flesh and blood to her as a drunk in the street. She is her mother’s daughter through and through, you scumbag.”
“Alright for you to say,” the man coughed, his eyes gleaming up at Simon resentfully. “But who knows how deep the well of a daughter’s love goes?”
“Not deep enough,” Marion said.
Both men looked at her. She took a hesitant step forward, a muscle in her cheek twitching. Simon realised with a flush of worry that it hurt her to move. She was showing great courage by standing and facing this man. She looked down on him bitterly, with loathing in her eyes.
“If you think I have enough love within me to forgive you for what you have done, you are sorely mistaken,” Marion said. “Love is earned, not inherited. The idea that I might love you out of some kind of paternal duty is ludicrous. Especially with the disdain you have show for myself andMaman.”
Simon saw the way her lip trembled when she spoke about her mother. How distressing it must have been for her to imagine her beloved mother married to such a rogue. To contemplate what kind of union they must have had together.
“If I ever bore a flicker of love or hope for our relationship, Mr Ted Laurie, it has long since been dead. You have blackmailed me, threatened me, held those I love hostage with your words and held me hostage with your brutality.” Marion’s voice was cold with deadly hate. “I was better off when I did not know you. I was better off thinking you were dead. From now on, I care not what happens to you. You are dead to me.”
Simon felt a shiver of premonition at the coldness of Marion’s words. He didn’t think that she was capable of such hard, unforgiving words, but he found them completely understandable. However, he knew that if he had been on the receiving end of those words, he would have been utterly devastated by them. The man, who he now knew was called Ted Laurie, looked up at his daughter with shock on his face, as if utterly surprised that she was capable of such strident words, then he began to laugh.
High, maniacal laughter that seemed to even be in a different tone of voice to the one he had been speaking in. Marion’s eyes widened in shock, and for the first time since Simon had come into the room he thought that she genuinely looked afraid. She looked up at Simon questioningly, holding onto the gun uncertainly, asking him without words why her father found her rejection of him so humorous.
“What’s so funny?” Simon asked, his voice gruff as he moved the sharp, silver tip of his cane up to press against the man’s neck. Ted Laurie coughed, rolling onto his side as he clutched his bleeding leg, his hands wet with blood. Simon wondered briefly if the pain of the bullet had driven him to the edge of insanity, but Simon wasn’t quite ready to let him off the hook.
“Speak!” Simon demanded, prodding harder. Ted Laurie looked up at him with angry eyes, licking spittle off his dry flaky lips as he rolled back over to glare up at Marion.
“What’s funny is the idea that I should care a whit what this dirty bitch thinks.”
Simon stared down at him. The man’s voice had changed entirely. He now had a strong London burr, a rougher, harsher tone that fit the grimness of his appearance entirely. He was looking up at Marion with all the distaste in the world.
“None of this was worth the ball ache,” he said crudely, eyeing Marion slowly. “A pretty wench, alright, I should have had yer when I had the chance—should have sent your old man your eyes and toes, cut yer up into pieces, or,” Ted Laurie licked his lips again, this time lustfully, “should have bent your pretty arse over the desk and had my way with yer!”
Simon snapped. He raised his cane and smacked Ted around the head with it, causing the man to fall back with a loud curse. Marion’s hands were shaking so much Simon was worried she might drop the gun, but her gaze was steady, despite the rivers of tears coursing down her cheeks. Ted was laughing again, raising a bloody hand from this thigh to touch his temple.
“You’ve got a right arm on yer, governor! Were it something I said?”
Simon refused to be baited. The scoundrel no doubt wished Simon would end him here and be charged with murder rather than having to face the noose. Simon drew in a deep breath and placed himself between Marion and the pitiful excuse of a man on the floor, not wanting his wife to have to see him any longer as he spat such vicious vitriol at.
“That was no way for a man to speak about his child,” Simon said, glaring at him.
“Well, that’s just the thing, guv,” he was breathing heavily, the malicious light of a secret dancing in his eyes. “I’m not her father, am I?”
Two things happened at once. Simon heard Marion’s cry behind him, felt her tumbling to the ground, presumably unable to take any more of the man’s cruel revelations. Simon also heard the crash of people coming through the front door, and suddenly the constable and Nathan burst into the room, Nathan armed with a pistol and a safer and looking frantic with anger and worry.
“Simon!” Nathan looked down at the man on the floor and Marion collapsed behind him. “What happened?”
“Ask him,” Simon spat, gesturing to the imposter on the floor. “This fiend has pretended to be my wife’s father and lured her here under false pretences.”
Without needing any further inducement, Nathan, who was a well-built man, dragged the pretender up by his lapels and pressed him against the wall. The man groaned at the movement against his leg but eyed Nathan curiously.
“Oh, you’ll be his great mate then, will ya?” the man snorted. “Your wife’s a fair beauty, guv.”
Nathan moved quick as a flash, the raw steel of his saber set firmly against the man’s throat. Simon saw his red-rimmed pupils widen as he realised Nathan was not a man to be crossed.
“Constable, bring irons!” Nathan said coldly. Simon was glad he was there—Nathan could bring the strong arm of the impartial law. Simon felt that if the man spoke another word about any ladies of his acquaintance then he would kill him. He was fighting hard against himself to bury the violent, vengeful instinct that roared inside, but it was hard. His fists closed around his cane once more. Nathan seemed to notice this because he looked at Simon quickly and said, “Go to Marion, Simon. We have this under control.”
Simon nodded, dropping his cane when his eyes came to rest on Marion. She had collapsed against the wall, her knees pulled up and her skirt unevenly rucked up around them, revealing her blue stockings. She had buried her hands tightly in her hair, her face pressed into her skirt. She looked so completely defeated that Simon immediately felt his rage evaporate to be replaced by intense love. He strode quickly to her side and knelt down in front of her.
