The Temple of the Mad God by Martyn Stanley

Author:Martyn Stanley [Stanley, Martyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-12-14T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

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Escape from Berman's Rock

Fox had spent the day doing chores for Pendreth again, Scrubbing floors, cooking meals, washing clothes, chopping logs, lighting fires. She'd been given no respite, despite the beating Wilf and his cronies had given her. Now she was standing at the sink, apron around her neck, chain jangling while she washed the pots from Pendreth's supper. Pendreth eyed her with smug satisfaction from her rocking chair by the window. Fox placed the last dish on the side of the sink to drain and turned to Pendreth. ‘Mrs Barrisclough, I've finished.’

Pendreth, who had been smoking a pipe while she stared at the young girl, rose slowly. ‘Good. Get out then. I want my breakfast and tea made before I get up tomorrow. See you in the morning.’

Fox swallowed. ‘Erm, can I sleep inside tonight?’

‘No. You've done better this afternoon. If you're good tomorrow and you can go the day without getting into trouble, then I'll think about it. Good night Felicity.’

The portly old hag stood watching her, waiting for the rebellion. Fox didn't rebel, she curtseyed instead, with impressive sincerity. ‘Thank you Mrs Barrisclough.’

Pendreth leaned closer, grinning with a subtle malice. ‘I think you've been with me long enough now girl. It's high time you started accepting you're my daughter now. It's time you stopped mourning your good-for-nothing, murdering father and your harlot of a mother and began calling me “mother”.’

Fox gritted her teeth. Pendreth was taunting her, daring her to react, but she saw it for what it was. Casting her feelings aside, she curtseyed with as much respect as she could muster and spoke meekly. ‘Yes mother. Goodnight mother.’

Pendreth studied her every movement and pondered the tone of voice for any sign of rebellion or mocking. Satisfied, she smiled, amplifying her smug expression. ‘Good night Felicity. Don't forget! I want my breakfast made first thing.’

Fox had hoped this convincing show of faux loyalty and submission would win her permission to remain in the house, but Pendreth opened the door and ushered her out. She heard the key turning the tumblers of the lock, locking her out, followed by Pendreth's footsteps padding away towards the stairs. She groaned to herself, realising it would be impossible to prepare Pendreth's breakfast now.

She gently tried the door, but it wouldn't budge. It was raining heavily, flooding the cobbled yard behind the Barrisclough house. She splashed over into the covered woodpile and waited. A flash of lightning streaked across the sky, then a soft, low rumble followed. It gave her an idea. Carefully she took one of the largest, flattest logs she could see and laid it as a chopping block. The chain around her neck, tethering her to the back of the house was thin, old and rusty. With any luck she could break it. She laid it flat across the centre of the log and picked up the hand axe. When she saw the flash she counted, slowly, rhythmically, waiting for the thunder. A count of four. She raised the axe in her trembling hands and stared at the sky.

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