The Vigilante

Anne couldn’t believe her luck. Is she …? She is sitting so close to this beautiful woman…who is in her bed…and who, quite frankly, is helpless without her! A small smile starts to form and she can see Ann lean another inch closer, her head tilting a little to the right, her lips slightly parted. Anne can barely breath. 

With her eyes locked on Ann’s, she slides a hand up to Ann’s elbow, her arm now peeking out from underneath the blanket. The skin is so soft there, so delicate, as she lightly strokes her thumb. She leans in close and softly kisses Ann’s cheek. She can feel Ann puff out a breath against her skin. She kisses her again, closer to her lips, the kiss as soft as a butterfly. She can feel Ann panting.

She pulls back ever so slightly…Ann leans in closer with the intent of kissing Anne’s beautiful, full lips….her hand slips up behind Anne’s neck as she tugs her in, their lips barely touching. Fireworks explode behind Ann’s eyes. This kiss…this touch…it all feels so right.  She finally understands what she’s been missing. She wants this moment to go on forever.

Anne pulls back and smiles, cupping Ann’s face in her hands. Ann’s smile is electric, her tongue peeking out between her teeth, and she grins so hard, her face hurts.

There’s a knock on the door. They both instantly fall back, their cheeks flushing.

“Yes?” Anne stands up quickly, taking a few steps back from the bed. Her voice has a slight tone of annoyance as Hemingway enters the room. Ann looks down and smooths her hands across the blanket, hiding her disappointment by the interruption.

“Sorry, ma’am, I just wanted to check and see if you’d like me to refresh the tea. And your Aunt asked if she could come up and visit with Miss Walker.”

Anne forces a smile for Hemingway. “Yes, of course, on both counts. Thank you, Hemingway.”

Hemingway leaves to collect Aunt Anne from her room. Anne looks down at Ann, her smile much warmer now. “It appears you’re quite popular. Perhaps we can…talk.. more about this later?”

Ann looks up at her, and nods. “Yes…I’d like that.”

Aunt Anne slowly enters the room, cane in one hand, her other holding on to various pieces of furniture for support as she cross the bumpy wooden planks.

“Ah, Aunt!” Anne moves to her aunt and helps guide her to the chair next to the bed.

“Oh…thank you, dear.  Miss Walker!  It has been ages since I’ve seen you!  How are you feeling?”

Ann chuckles. “Oh, much better, thank you! Miss Lister has been doing such a wonderful job taking care of me.” Anne and Ann trade a knowing smile.

Aunt Anne sits down and takes her in. “Yes, you do look much better than when you first arrived.”

“Oh, I must have looked a fright!”

“Ah, leave it to our Anne to put you back to rights.” 

Ann chuckles again and looks directly at Anne. “Yes…she’s certainly good at that.”

///////////////////

“James, please!  Sit down! The missus isn’t even here, and won’t be for several days. Relax. We’ve all certainly earned a day off.”

Mrs. Felton, Ann Walker’s housekeeper has had it with James Mackenzie’s pacing. He hasn’t known what to do with himself since they received word that Ann Walker had been injured and was convalescing at Shibden Hall. 

“Well, she shouldn’t be over there…at Shibden Hall. She should be here…where we can all keep an eye on her and care for her.”

“You mean me care for her! You’d have nowt do wit’ it!” James glares at her. Mrs. Felton sits at the table and sips her tea. “Come on, Love. Have another cuppa.”

James looks out the window in frustration. “I can’t bear the thought of her being attacked like that…out in the woods.”

Mrs. Felton knows how much James cares for Miss Walker. He’s worked for her for more than a decade; they have a fond friendship with one another. “I know, Love. But she’s all right. From the sounds of it, Miss Lister is taking right good care of her. And you must be proud of her for putting up a fight! I’d have love to have seen the look on that bastard’s face when she gave it to him! Who knew our little Miss Walker was even capable!”

James abruptly stands up. “I can’t sit here all day and do nothing. I think I’ll go clean the carriage.” Mrs. Felton watches as he walks out the kitchen door, then sighs and shakes her head, blowing on her tea. “Men,” she whispers.

James heads to the back door, then reverses direction when he hears the front bell. He looks out the window and sees a vicar dressed in a black suit, white cravat and a black wide-brimmed hat. He opens the door with his usual professionalism. 

“Sir.”

“Yes, the Reverend Thomas Ainsworth to see Miss Walker. Is she in?”

James takes in this man’s appearance; he has an instant disliking to him. 

Ainsworth continues. “I’ve come all the way from Northwich, you see, so I hope I haven’t missed her.”

James suddenly notices this man has a slight remnant of a black eye. The skin is no longer black and blue, but has a more yellowish/green hue to it, indicating the wound is several days old. The hair on the back of his neck stands up as he informs the man of Miss Walker’s whereabouts.

“She’s not in, sir, would you like to leave a message?”

“Well, can you tell me where she is? I’d be happy to travel to see her.”

“No, I cannot, sir. But I will let her know you called.” James goes to shut the door, but the Reverend puts his hand against it to prevent it from closing. James scowls at the move.

The Reverend’s smile is sickly sweet. “Please, sir. It’s very important. I know if she knew I was here she would receive me.”

“As I said, sir…When she returns, I’ll let her know you called.” James snaps the door shut and leaves the foyer, the Reverend standing dumbstruck on the front stoop.

///////////////////

Ainsworth looks out the window of the carriage as it ambles through the countryside. The afternoon sun is waning and they still have a long way to go. Ainsworth had wanted to make this journey the next day, after he’d had his way with Miss Walker, but given the brush-off from her manservant, he’d instructed his driver to travel straight through the night and drive the 60 mile journey all in one go.

He flexes his hands open and closed as he tamps down the frustration of not getting to see Ann Walker.

“What a…,” he mutters in anger. “If I ever get another opportunity with her, I swear I’ll…” He shakes his head and blows out a mean breath. 

It’s dusk when they drive into a small village. The driver pulls the carriage into the courtyard of a small station house and stops. Ainsworth scowls, wondering why they’ve stopped. 

The driver opens the door with an apologetic look. “Sorry, sir, but we need to change horses. This team is all out of steam.”

Ainsworth flicks his hands dismissively. “Yes, yes…of course. Where are we?” 

“Grains Bar, sir.” The driver holds the door open as Ainsworth climbs out of the carriage and stumbles. He looks back at the carriage step as if it tripped him intentionally. He stands up and tugs down roughly on the hem of his jacket. “Hmph!”

He looks around and sees the nearby Black Ladd Pub. “I’ll be in there,” he says to the driver. 

Ainsworth arrogantly strides over to the pub and pushes open the door. “What a shit hole,” he whispers under his breath. The only other patron in the pub, other than the barkeep, is dressed shabbily and has his back to Ainsworth. The Reverend walks up to the bar, orders an ale and tosses a coin on the counter. He looks over at the other patron and tries to decide whether to start a conversation with him. Whybother, he thinks. After a few minutes, the shabby patron leaves without a word.

Ainsworth closes his eyes and sips his ale, images of Ann Walker in various stages of undress skittering across his brain. He thinks about the last time he fucked her…with his wife in the next room. He chuckles and looks down at his mug. Yes..thatwasverysweet. Icamesohardinsideher. Stupidbitch.

Just as Ainsworth is about to order another ale, a small boy with dirt smudges on his cheeks enters the pub. “Are you the Reverend Ainsworth?” he asks in a small voice.

“Yes,” says Ainsworth, looking down at the child.

“Your carriage is ready, sir. The driver said to meet him in the barn across the road.”

Ainsworth tosses back the rest of his drink and sets the mug on the bar. He turns to leave and sees the child still standing there with his palm open, waiting patiently for a tip. “You must be joking,” says Ainsworth, as he brushes past him without paying him any mind…or any money.

Ainsworth mutters angrily to himself as he stomps toward the dark barn. He walks in and suddenly stops. “What…”  He turns a complete 360 degrees but doesn’t see the carriage. Obviously, thatdirtyboygotthemessagewrong! 

Suddenly there’s a pitchfork at his chest, and the man brandishing the implement is none other than the shabbily-dressed patron from the pub. He pushes against Ainsworth with the prongs of the pitchfork and Ainsworth backs up in a hurry.

“What are you doing?!!” Ainsworth’s eyes are wide and the look of fear on his face is priceless. Both his hands come up to grab the stem of the pitchfork as he retreats, but he can’t get any leverage.

“You son of a bitch!” says Shabby Man, as he backs Ainsworth up across the wide barn. “You prey on women! You abuse people everywhere you go! It’s time you got a taste of your own medicine!” 

Shabby Man speeds up to a trot, the pitchfork still against Ainsworth’s chest. Ainsworth can’t even scream, he’s just trying to keep his feet moving so he can stay upright and resist against the pitchfork.

Ainsworth’s back hits the opposite wall of the barn and the momentum of Shabby Man’s force pushes the pitchfork clean through Ainsworth’s chest, the prongs poking out through his back. He gurgles and chokes for breath as his mouth opens and closes, blood spurting out of his mouth with each gasp. His eyes suddenly go wide with the realization of Shabby Man’s true identity. 

“You,” gurgles Ainsworth. Shabby Man sneers and twists the pitchfork slightly, just to add to the torture. Ainsworth’s eyes turn cloudy as his body slumps, still pinned to the wall. Shabby Man backs up in satisfaction and spits on Ainsworth’s face. “Go to hell, you bastard.”