Death of a Gene

By Gary B. Boyd

Rodney Miller was just the tip of the iceberg. Festering in his tortured mind was the depravity that defined him and his progeny for generations to come. His genetic code was written to be read in the annals of history. His sister, Mary Miller, was less tortured but possessive of the same malevolent genetics. Though separated by circumstance, her offspring and his were destined to corrupt the human genome and meet in a climactic battle of evil wills. Only Divine Providence could unravel the double-helix and erase the error before irreparable damage could be done to the human race.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Apr 23, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496901187

Gary B. Boyd

Gary B. Boyd is a story teller. Whether at his cabin in the Ozark Mountains, at his desk in his home or on his deck overlooking Beaver Lake near Rogers, Arkansas, he writes his stories. His travels during his business career brought him in touch with a variety of people. Inquisitive, Gary watches and listens to the people he meets. He sees in them the characters that will fill his stories … that will tell their stories. A prolific author with more than a dozen published titles and a head full of tales yet to share, Gary submits to his characters and allows them to tell their own stories in their own way. The joy of completing a novel doesn’t lessen with time. There are more stories to tell, more novels to write. Gary expects to bring new characters to life for years to come. www.garybboyd.com

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

The Hanging

The hanging was late, not that Rodney Miller or his father really cared. Theirs was not a happy lot. Some parts of it were beyond their control.

Rodney died at 8:27 A.M., August 27, 1784. He was 19. He was survived by his twin sister, Mary, and a son, unknown to him and yet to be named David. His father, Albert, survived him by two minutes. That was the hangman’s error. Miscalculation of weight and drop was probably the cause, though no one except the hangman really noticed—and, of course, Albert, who struggled with choking rather than a quick, painless paralyzing break of the neck.

The crowd, gathered around in gleeful anticipation, sucked in its breath as the trap door dropped away and the hooded bodies disappeared from sight. The crowd did not see the hangman’s assistant beneath the scaffold pull down on Albert’s legs to help speed the strangling. Nor did they see the grimace on the assistant’s face when the old man’s bladder and bowels evacuate when death finally ended the struggle. The crowd exhaled a cheer.

Pathetically, Rodney’s last thought was, You’ve not seen the last of Rodney Miller. Albert’s final thought was begging for God’s mercy on his soul.

No mercy would be granted if Elizabeth had her way. Sitting in her coach on a small hill overlooking the courtyard, she let the curtain close over the window as soon as the hooded man whose face was indelibly burned into her brain disappeared from view. She felt no satisfaction. She felt no justice. She felt no relief. She had been violated and the supreme punishment of the violator did not give her the contentment she had prayed it would.

Elizabeth’s lace veil hid the glistening in her eyes. Her petite shoulders sagged as she accepted the fact that the bastard would prevail. A heavy set, gray-bearded gentleman sat in the coach with her, peering through a small spy glass. He hoped to see the writhing bodies yield up the last signs of life. He wanted that much for his daughter. The area below the trapdoors was concealed from view by boards and the teeming crowd.

The gentleman collapsed the telescope and said in a hesitantly reassuring voice, Daughter, it is done. They have paid the price. Now, we can rest easy at night knowing that justice is served. I know this won’t bring back Alfred, but it will help you get some peace of mind, knowing those villains are no more. Are you okay, Lizzy?

Yes, Father. I’m glad it’s done. I feel much better now. Only the lie would make him happy. Anything less would crush the aging man. A father needs to believe he has done all that is right to protect his children. It would not hurt to let him believe that one thing. Elizabeth knew that there was nothing her father could have done or could do further to help her. No father could help solve the problems she faced.

Under her veil, her finger traced the small scar on her left cheek, a scar that would be with her the rest of her life in constant reminder of the night she met the Miller band.

But that small scar was nothing. Make-up powder would hide the mark from all but the most discerning eye. A greater scar was forming.

*     *     *

Three months had passed since Elizabeth and Alfred, her family’s coachman, had come upon the Miller band on the highway outside of Coventry, England. On that fateful day, her visit at her cousin’s country estate had lasted longer than it should have. Darkness had fallen upon the dusty roadway that wound through the heavily-leaved trees of the forest.

Alfred was pushing the team as fast as he dared. Only a pale coachlight broke the blackness of the ominous forest road. He had bit his tongue and kept his disquietude to himself while his young charge had dawdled with her cousin rather than mind the need to depart with ample daylight for the return trip. Alfred could only hope that the road would be unobstructed and that the sure footed steeds that propelled the high-wheeled vehicle could move unimpeded toward the safety of the city.

Elizabeth felt the coach lurch to a stop and heard a male voice challenge her driver, Stand and deliver.

Alfred’s strong hands held the horses in check as they attempted to shy away. Their jerking rocked the coach. Fear gripped Elizabeth’s throat as tightly as her hand gripped the coach’s passenger strap.

I have nothing to deliver. Stand out of my way and let me and my party pass, boomed Alfred. He was fearful, but he knew that most highwaymen were a cowardly lot and if boldly confronted would turn back into the woods and await meeker prey. The darkness masked the face of the bandit who had been so quick to grab the halters of the matched geldings pulling the coach. That same darkness hid any fear that might show in Alfred’s eyes, so he let his powerful voice resonate courage and resistance.

The coachlight barely illuminated the area where the robber was standing. With this fine coach and these fine horses, you wish me to believe you have nothing to deliver? Ha! Throw down your purse or I’ll snatch it from your dead body. Albert Miller glared coldly at the coachman, knowing that the pale coachlight would exaggerate the menace of his stare. Albert was not going to be intimidated by any man who was sitting in line with his pistol barrel. He coughed, and then caught his breath. He turned his head to one side and said, Check to see what we have in the coach. I’m sure the gentleman’s purse is much fatter than this low handyman’s.

A shadowy face peered in through the coach window opposite her. Elizabeth’s heart was pounding in her ears. She had no weapons nor did she know how to use one. The purse she carried held very little coin and she had not worn substantial jewelry for her visit to the country. Her terrified mind raced with desperate thoughts. Dear Jesus, where is Father when I need him. He always knows what to do. Be quiet, Elizabeth. Maybe the villain won’t see me here in the dark. Oh, Jesus, don’t sob Elizabeth! The young woman cowed in the darkness of the coach, trying to press herself into the leather covered seat, hoping she would not be seen and praying her thoughts and her beating heart could not be heard.

Alfred raised his whip. The scraggly bearded, raggedly clad highwayman had turned his gaze aside for a moment and the coachman saw his opportunity to take the upper hand. A pistol shot rang out before his arm was fully up.

Albert and Rodney Miller would leave no witnesses. They had seen other highway bands fall into the hands of the constabulary because they were found out through testimony. There would be no testimony.

The shadow pulled away from the coach window with a start. Elizabeth jerked upright, her eyes wide with terror and her heart stopped in her chest. She was sitting in the darkened coach unable to see what had happened but knowing full well that the brigands had shot at Alfred. The door on her side of the coach was torn open violently. Even in the darkness, she could visualize the angry face of one of the assailants who stood on the ground outside the door.

A dirty-faced young man brandishing a pistol snarled, Get out of the coach and lie on the ground, NOW! He stepped away from the door quickly to avoid any chance of assault from within. Any gentleman traveling at night would likely be armed. I says OUT! NOW! You will be killed like your driver if you don’t move now.

Elizabeth sucked in a gulp of air and shifted forward. The feared truth had come to be real. They had killed the always loyal Alfred. She was afraid to move too quickly for fear her shaking knees would fail her and the gunman would mistake her fall for an attacking lunge and shoot her. The pounding of her heart was so loud that she could barely hear the man proclaim, Well, look at here. We got us a lady traveling in the dark. Look on the other side to see if there are others.

As she stepped down from the coach, Elizabeth glimpsed the shadowy face on the far side of the coach again looking through the window. She heard a muffled response, That’s the only one. After a few brief seconds that seemed eternal, a graying man with a bad beard and wheezing breath walked through the glow of the coachlight. In the shadowy light of the forest she could make out that the man who opened the door was decidedly younger than and favored the older man in looks. They both had fearsome stares, though she could not make out the color of their shadowed eyes.

Let’s have your purse, m’Lady. The older man held out his hand. Elizabeth stood there, uncertain or undecided. The man’s face pinched into a scowl. I say, give me your purse! He coughed his hot breath into her face. She stood frozen with fear. His pistol hand raised and lashed out at her face. The pistol butt caught her squarely on the left cheek.

The taste of blood in her mouth and a burning sensation on her cheek brought her out of her paralysis. Her fingers fumbled at her purse strings to free them from her wrist band.

The younger man moved closer. Here, m’Lady. Let me help you. He grinned. Never let it be said that Rodney Miller would not help a lady in distress. He laughed as he grabbed her right wrist and handed his pistol to the older man. Here, Pap, hold this. I think there may be more to take here than meets the eye.

Son, watch your doing. That pistol shot could have raised an alarm.

The man pulled the woman toward the circle of light from the coachlight. Naw, there’ll be none traveling at this late hour, I’m sure.

As she was being dragged forward, Elizabeth had freed her purse and was offering it to him. She did not want him searching her for the purse or money. Here, this is all I carry. If you will free my hand, I have a small gold ring and a necklace than I can give also. She prayed that the quiver she felt in her throat did not come through in her voice. Even so, her well manicured hands shook uncontrollably, even in the grasp of her assailant.

Well, now you’re coming free with the trinkets, are you? I’m afraid that just won’t be enough for the taking tonight, m’Lady. Y’see, I’ve not had me no real lady before. He twisted her arm so hard that she dropped to her knees on the dirt of the forest road to try to escape the pain. He turned to his father, Say, Pap, do you reckon that a high bred lady like this could deliver a high breeding to a poor man like me?

Don’t rightfully know, son. If it’s really high breeding, maybe she can deliver enough for both. He laughed until a fit of coughing stopped him. He helped the young man force Elizabeth onto her back on the gravelly road. He held her arms while Rodney dropped on top of her and struggled to open her dress and underclothes.

Damnation. These high bred ladies are wrapped in an awful lot of cloth. It must be awfully good breeding to require that kind of protection. Shut up your crying! You’re going to like this better than the powdered and perfumed dandies you’re used to. He backhanded her across the face.

Elizabeth’s breaths came in great sobs. Her mind raced, thinking, Jesus, how can this be happening? Father. Father. Please don’t let this happen. She felt the tearing of her underclothes at the crotch and felt the man’s fingers with splintered nails probing her. She struggled, trying to free her arms from the older man. It was no use. His grip was too strong. Any second it would happen, the smelly man would penetrate her.

She felt his member pressing against her. In the struggle, she had become lubricated a little, but not nearly enough for him to take her without pain. But he did take her. She let out a cry. He laughed and thrust harder.

Damn, Pap, this is good. Not as good as some I’ve had though. His thrusts became more violent. I’m thinking she might just be a virgin.

Well now, is that not just wonderful? You’ve done the lady a great favor. No woman should ever have to die without feeling the thrust of a man.

The older man’s laughter tore into her brain, even more painfully than the young man’s penis did into her hymen. The thrusting weight of the man and her own sobs rocked her body and stirred up the road dust to the point that it and fear made her throat dry. She threw her head sideways as the young man tried to kiss her. Maybe she could avoid at least one indignity on that night. She closed her eyes against his cold stare.

She could not avoid even that. The insult to her body was only beginning. The dark glare of the rapist burned into her brain to never be forgotten. The older man’s words gushed back into her mind as she felt the young man’s semen gush inside her, No woman should have to die…

That thrashing about makes it all the better. Pap, you want to try your turn?

No, I still fear that others may come along. We need to finish this business now. I’ll take mine after you finish the job. I favor’em fully relaxed.

With that, the young man began stroking Elizabeth’s neck. He began first with the back of his fingers slowly, then with his finger tips. The sensation was relaxing. Elizabeth stopped struggling. The thrusting was finished. The young man’s penis retracted as it became flaccid.

Finally, she thought. It’s over. He’s through. Take the money and go. Leave me alone. Let me pull my skirts down to cover myself. Let him get out of me. Let go of my hands so I can rise to my feet and get back into the safety of the coach. Oh Jesus, please make him leave me alone.

The young man’s fingers tightened around her throat. He squeezed. Her sobbing stopped and her chest muscles struggled to draw air into her lungs. The older man kept holding her arms. Her body tensed as she fought against the constriction of her airway. She opened her eyes in terror and saw two eyes brimming with cold malice. She closed her eyes tightly but the vision remained starkly emblazoned in her mind’s eye.

Go ahead and go to sleep, m’Lady. It’s all over for you. Go home to your God. Nobody can help you now. We can’t leave you to witness against us. You were a good breeding woman; you can be proud of that. Rodney cackled with delight.

Her struggle was of no use. Elizabeth could draw no air. Her body grew limp. She felt blackness coming on and faded away with the face of her violator in her eyes and deeply etched into her brain.

The young man was enjoying the killing so much that he was oblivious to anything else. The older man grabbed his shoulder and shook it hard. Rodney, they’re upon us! Damn that girl. Where is she? The old man began coughing again.

Both men jumped to their feet. Clearly, the sound of horses’ hooves drew near, too near. Rodney pulled up his trousers and fastened them. As he stepped over the woman, his foot tangled in her dress and he nearly fell. In effect, he inadvertently covered her exposed nakedness and the most dastardly part of the crime.

Four young friends were traveling by horseback from Nuneaton to Coventry. They were unattached and unfettered young men seeking adventure, and fortune if it presented itself. They had hoped to make a tavern and inn just outside of Coventry before dark, but they had dallied too long leaving the wenches they had entertained the previous night. They rode two abreast as quickly as they dared in the forest darkness. They had no fear of highwaymen because they were armed with blades and pistols, and the invincible bravado of youth. Their only concern was that all the women at the tavern might already be in the arms of other men before they arrived. Their youthful exuberance drove them forward as they competed to see who would arrive first.

Claude Baron was in the lead of the boastful and rowdy group when he thought he heard a gun shot. He pulled up on his reins and signaled the others to slow their horses. The group slowed to listen ahead into the darkness. They rode on cautiously, peering into the darkness of the forest road for signs of trouble.

Richard Clarion was the first to spot the glow of a light further ahead on the road. It appeared to be stationary and unmoving, which was curious at best in the dark forest. He motioned to his brother, Robert, riding beside him. They held up the group long enough to establish that it was a coach light and that there was some activity just inside the glow of the light. Suspecting that the activity was not good, be it a broken wheel or a robbery, they quietly discussed the best way to approach the pale zone of light. Charging headlong into the light might provoke a defensive response that would result in injury. If it was someone in need of assistance for a breakdown, they would need to be forewarned to prevent a misunderstanding, which could be a problem because, as evidenced by the gunshot, they were obviously armed. If it was a robbery, the villains needed to be caught off guard otherwise they might break off their assault and slip away into the night forest.

The decision was to keep the horses quiet and proceed slowly until they could see what was happening. If it was a party in need of assistance, they would cautiously hail the travelers, advising them of their presence and offer help. If it was nefarious activity, they would charge in to surprise the assailants.

With as little noise as possible they moved closer to the small lighted area. The coach blocked much of the activity from their view, but it was apparent that the occupants of the coach were under assault. The foursome nodded understanding and kicked their horses to a gallop.

Robert led the charge and reached the coach ahead of the others. He took a pistol ball through his hat as a prize for being first. The sparks from the black powder clinging to the ball singed his hair as it passed through without touching flesh or bone. The other three, led by Richard, hastily dismounted and were able to grab the two highwaymen before they could escape into the black woods. Robert dismounted and removed his hat. He looked at his hat and checked to see if blood had been drawn. Satisfied that he was uninjured, he walked over to the older of the two highwaymen.

Robert reached down and picked up the still smoking pistol lying near the man’s feet. Sir, I believe this belongs to you. He then laid open the scalp of the highwayman with the barrel of the pistol. Let’s truss them up and deliver them to the constable.

Claude heard a moan and looked toward the coach. The sound came from a crumpled body lying near the edge of the light glow. He ran over and lifted the head of a young lady. Great Caesar’s ghost, they’ve struck down a woman. He held his head to her chest to check for heart beat. Praise be, she still lives. They have delivered her a nasty gash though. Bring me a cloth to cover the bleeding. He turned Elizabeth’s face toward the dim light to get a better look at the lacerated cheek.

The fourth rider checked the coach driver. I’m afraid they’ve done this one in for sure. I reckon they’ll hang for this, what with one live witness and the captors to speak against them. Good riddance to bad rubbish. He kicked the old man who was curled into a whimpering ball on the ground, wheezing and holding his bleeding head.

*     *     *

Elizabeth tearfully testified at the trial of the Millers. No one questioned her testimony. It provided an illustration of the crimes committed by the Millers. Other than to briefly point toward the two outlaws in accusation, she avoided making eye contact with the hard-eyed younger man. The older man’s face registered resignation to whatever fate awaited. The testimony provided by the Clarion brothers and their companions ensured that there was adequate proof of who committed the crimes. The guilty verdict and the sentencing to death by hanging were swift in coming. Justice would be served; there were no rights to appeal in eighteenth-century England.

But Elizabeth had not told the whole truth. She did not testify about the rape; she told no one that it had occurred. The horror and degradation she felt because of that violation were not feelings she wanted to share with anyone. No one would understand. No one could understand. Her mother had died when Elizabeth was seven, so she could not turn to a female she trusted for guidance. Her country cousin was not emotionally close enough to share that kind of knowledge.

At the time of the trial, she took great comfort in knowing that the Millers would pay with their lives. That was the most they could pay. In truth, there was no way Elizabeth could exact a punishment that was as degrading as the violation she had endured. Nonetheless, she was convinced that their hanging would settle the debt and give her solace.

It did not. Upon seeing the bodies drop, she knew that no punishment could ever erase what had happened to her. The scar she bore was not a physical one to heal as was the cut on her cheek. And there was another small problem developing.

She was pregnant. She was carrying the bastard child of a man she did not know. Growing in her belly was the seed of a black hearted murderer, robber and rapist and there was nothing she could do about it. If she had known at the time of the trial that she was pregnant, she could have told of the rape and gotten help, or understanding. But, the passage of time made it too late to tell. Many would think it a convenient way to cover up an indiscretion. Rodney Miller was not gone, even if he had died on the gallows.

*     *     *

Rodney Miller sat in the prison. His hair was unkempt and tangled, hanging low around his shoulders. His scraggly beard hid the filth that encrusted his face. He did not notice the stench that emanated from his body. Around him, the dankness of the place was alive. The others in the room kept to themselves and cut him a wide berth. If they ventured into what he claimed as his space, he would stare them away with his cold, sapphire colored eyes. He was not happy. As far as he was concerned, he should not have been in that place. The plan to leave no witnesses of their highway robberies should have worked. If the old man had not been so nervous about the coachman, the pistol shot would not have alerted the other traveling party. A silent, swift slice with a blade would have eliminated the witnesses, and they would have walked away free men.

But, no, the old man fired at first twitch of the driver’s hand. Damnation, how could I have been blessed with such stupid parents? Rodney thought about his family. His mother had developed a cough two summers before and that had continued unabated until she died the previous autumn. His father could do nothing to help her. He was a ne’er do well that picked pockets and sold his wife at the taverns to get by. After the old woman died, the family made do with paltry pickings. Rodney was not to be denied what he thought was his due, a good life owed to him by the people of money and substance. In his morally misguided way, he had risen to the occasion and found a better way to make a living. He sat on the cell floor, disgust at the failure of his plan for the highway. As far as Rodney was concerned, his plan would have worked perfectly to set them right and they could be living like kings, if the old man had not failed to do his part.

And so had the girl. Sex with her was not so bad, but she had certainly done them in at the end. Numerous times, Rodney had run the thought through his mind about where she had gone, what had happened to her. No matter how he thought about it, he was unable to figure her out. She had started out doing her part of the plan just as she should.

Immediately after the old man shot the coachman, when Rodney ran and opened the coach door, he saw the girl. She did as she was supposed to do according to the plan. Her first act was to look inside the coach and see how many people were in it. She did that. She even told him that the Lady was the only person in the coach. Where in hell did Mary go after the Lady came out of the coach? Why didn’t she stay and watch the road for intruders? That was her part of the plan too. At nineteen, was she upset to see me take the Lady? Had she developed a soft heart? Did she think I was only for her? Damn that girl! Damn that old man! Now I die and it’s entirely their fault. I did my part right.

Albert Miller shuffled across the prison cell, the leg-iron chains rattling and scraping against the cold stone floor as he walked. He placed his hand on his son’s shoulder. His breath came in ragged gasps as he struggled with a cough in the dank environment. Be you all right, m’boy? You look disheartened.

Rodney shrugged his father’s hand from his shoulder. You be damned! Get your sorry ass away from me, you and your constant cough. We would not be in this mess if you had done your part and if your cowardly daughter had done hers.

Jerking as if he had been slapped, Albert’s glaring eyes met Rodney’s. And you did nothing wrong? Why did you do to the Lady what you did? That was not part of the plan and that was why we lingered overly long. Albert coughed and wheezed, then regained his breath. We would not have been caught otherwise. I say you were as much a cause as was your sister.

The bitch dog ran away. She didn’t pull post for us like we planned. Damn her!

Albert paused, eyes rolling upward introspectively, twisted his mouth and thought out loud, I wonder where she went, how she is now? No sign of her even during the trial. But I’m sure she is lying low to save herself. He was hit with another coughing spell. That’s all right by me, he said once he caught his breath. No use in all of us hanging. I would gladly take the hanging for us both.

And I would gladly let you. You and your cough, just like Mama. You’re dying anyway, so you don’t care. Death by hanging has got to be better than what your God has in store for you. Leave me alone. I hope you choke on the rope.

Rodney watched the old man slowly back away to sit alone on the opposite side of the cell. He thought back to that night on the Coventry highway. They saw the light of the coach as it drew near. There was no way for them to know how much booty was being carried, but it did look promising. It was an elegant looking coach, obviously the property of a person with wealth and position. He had reminded his father of the plan. It was simple. Albert was to step out in front of the coach and grab the lead horse and warn the driver to deliver. Mary was to come up on one side of the coach, pistol ready, and see how many people were inside. He would come to the other side of the coach to open the door and order all passengers out. The gang would then lift all valuables and cut the throats of everyone on the coach.

Simple plan. Easy to do. No witnesses. No chance of being found out.

Albert had done his part at the beginning. Mary had done her part, at first. Then the old man got scared. When the pistol shot rang out and the driver fell, Rodney ran and tore the door open hoping to maintain the upper hand on the occupants. Mary had looked back inside and told him the Lady was the only one.

The Lady was a pretty woman. Rodney could see that even in the darkness of the nighttime forest shadows. Her dress was pretty and adorned with pleats and ruffles. She was wearing perfume. He had never been around such a woman before in his short life. In his crowd, no women smelled that sweet and clean. He smiled to himself when he remembered thinking that he would like to couple with her. So he did. She was feisty and fought well to protect herself from his attack. But she had to have liked it. Mary did. All women did. Tearing large enough gaps in her underclothes was a chore. He had almost given up the idea when, finally, the fabric of her clothes tore and he felt the soft warmth of her fleshy mound.

Rodney sensed himself getting aroused just thinking about that night. He had let his fingers probe inside her until his member was fully erect and felt ready to explode. It went in only after several hard thrusts. It was painfully exciting. She was a virgin. Even Mary had not been a virgin the first time he forced himself on her.

Rodney thought about why the Lady would not have witnessed about the rape. His mind raged as the tangled thoughts raced through his brain. ’Cause she liked it so much, that’s why. She probably didn’t want me to hang so she could have me later. She knew it was the old man who committed the murder. The courts should not have found me guilty. Prison maybe, but not hanging. I tried to tell the barrister but he wouldn’t plead my case the way he should have. I say this whole thing was a plot against me. Now, I have to hang like the old man. And Mary, who didn’t do her part, goes, God knows where, free.

Rodney Miller screamed angrily to everyone and no one, You dirty bastards!

Early in the morning, sounds of voices and footsteps outside the cell door brought the prisoners to attention. All hearts raced with fearfilled nervousness when keys rattled in the lock. An Anglican priest and the jailers came to take Rodney and Albert to meet with the hangman. Rodney tried to jerk free from the hands of the jailers. His brash attempts to avoid the inevitable were quickly overcome by the more experienced men who were to lead him to the gallows. The bruising blows they delivered to his kidney area would not have time to discolor.

Rodney’s mind raced with rapid fire incoherent thoughts, smatterings of ideas that never materialized but pushed him ever closer to a final conclusion. He was a victim, caught up in the swirling tides of good versus evil and he would surely drown if he did not do something. There was nothing he could do. Fate had doomed him. He knew it. Everyone in his world spurned him and had harmed him in one way or another. He knew it. He felt it. It made him angry. He would get even. Retribution was his for the taking. He shouted at the top of his lungs to all who would hear, You ain’t seen the end of Rodney Miller.

When he yelled it to the hangman, the hangman pulled the hood over Rodney’s head and blocked out the menacing blue eyes. Tell it to God.

The last sound in Rodney’s pathetic world was the internalized sound of neck bones cracking.

*     *     *

Sitting in the small room on a straw mat, the young woman straightened her tattered cotton dress and tucked it to cover herself as she pulled her legs beneath her. Mary Miller glanced around at the other women who shared the rent room. Whores and thieves, most of them. Unfortunates, some of them. None to be trusted, not even her. She feared talking in her sleep. She feared being found out. Even though, during the trial of her brother and father, there never was mention of a third member of the Miller band, she feared that the Lady might remember seeing her look into the coach. She had no fear of the four horsemen who captured Rodney and her father; she had remained fully hidden in the darkness of the forest while they made their capture of the highwaymen. But she was afraid that Rodney would tell about her to help himself. That was the kind of thing Rodney would do. He was a true selfish reprobate. He only thought of himself, satisfying his own needs. She wanted away from him, but, as a product of their poverty, she had no place to go and no way to get there. Of course, under the existing circumstance, she had to go somewhere.

She thought back on the night of the holdup. Her fingers nervously traced the edges of the coins in the purse she had lifted from the dead driver. She realized that someone might hear the coins rattle under her dress, so she stopped fondling the money. She closed her eyes and relived the holdup.

Mary was nervous. The highwayman business was new and intimidating to her. Her business had always been gaining the confidences of men who had some money and then distracting them while her father or Rodney lifted their purses. Instead, she found herself holding a pistol in her hand, ready to fire. She wasn’t sure she could pull it down on another person. But, her part was not to shoot anyway. Rodney and her father would tend to the killing with their blades. She was to post as lookout and check the inside of the coach to make sure no one tried to sneak out on the ditch side of the coach. The pistol was for effect.

The coach stopped very near where they had planned it. The shadowy darkness of the forest on a moonless night helped conceal them until the last moment. Her father had done well controlling his cough until the coach was upon them. Her mother died the year before with the same kind of cough. She worried about Albert. He was an abusive and rough man, but he was her father.

She approached her side of the coach cautiously. It had no panes, so she was able to brush the curtains aside and look inside. Though it was dark, she had good night vision, like Rodney. She saw only one person, a woman, in the coach. That was not as she had expected. Part of the plan was to kill all witnesses. Surely, Rodney did not mean to kill a woman.

The report of her father’s pistol startled her. She wasn’t sure if he had done it intentionally or if he just had a coughing spasm and his finger jerked. She stepped away from the window and turned toward the front of the coach. She heard a thud above her. The coachman’s body fell, hanging upside down in front of her. Apparently his foot was caught on something, keeping him from falling headlong to the ground at her feet. Before she could react with a gasp, she heard the other coach door open and heard Rodney order everyone out. He asked if anyone else was in the coach. Choking back panic, she told him there was only the one.

The coachman’s breath rattled in his throat. His eyes fixed and stared blankly into the darkness. His topcoat was slid toward his head. Mary could see a purse at his waistband. She did her part; she lifted the purse. It had more weight than she expected from a coachman. He was apparently paid well.

She turned and walked around to the back of the coach. She was going to check the boot. Then she realized that the conversation from Rodney was not about stealing gold. Rodney was going to rape the woman!

Mary backed into the darkness and pressed her back against the coach. Her heart pounded. She had been raped by Rodney. After their mother died, even Albert began using her to satisfy himself. Fortunately, she was able to get birth control information from some of the women who sold themselves at the tavern. She used that information to protect herself. By chewing Queen Anne’s Lace seeds after every sexual encounter, she had avoided becoming pregnant by her brother and her father.

She stood alone in the darkness, feeling the coldness of the crime swarm around her. She could feel the indignity that the Lady was feeling. She felt the shame. She thought about turning the pistol on Rodney and pulling the trigger. But she was no murderer; she was not a killer. Tears welled in her eyes. The Lady’s sobs drew sobs from Mary’s breast.

She realized that her father was talking about taking his turn. Rodney and her father were talking about finishing the business. They were going to kill the woman. She wanted no part of that. But it was too late. Rodney was choking the Lady.

Mary heard hoof beats closing fast. She collected her senses and ran into the forest. Convinced that she had gone far enough to avoid detection but was still close enough to see most of the action, she stopped and hid.

The horsemen came in at a gallop. Rodney and her father were running toward the darkness of the forest. Her father stopped and fired at the lead horseman. She did not realize her father had reloaded his pistol. Rodney kept running. He didn’t even pause to fire his pistol and yet the whole plan was his. As always, he only thought of himself. The horsemen ran down the two highwaymen. They quickly dismounted and wrestled her brother and her father to the ground and then stood them up with their arms twisted behind their backs.

The horseman who had been shot at took off his hat and felt his head. He then walked to her father, bent down and picked up something near Albert’s feet. The horseman lashed out at Albert’s head with the old man’s pistol.

Two of the horsemen tended to the Lady. She was not dead after all. Rodney had left a witness. Rodney and her father were trussed up like slaughter hogs and put on top of the coach with the driver’s body. The Lady was gently loaded into the coach and the whole party left for Coventry.

Mary avoided going near Coventry until the trial was over. She heard word of the verdict and felt compelled to attend the final reckoning. Mary slipped into the crowd the day of the hanging. A typical English girl, her paupers’ clothing and uncovered, unkempt brown hair made it easy for her to blend into the waiting crowd. She kept away from anyone who might recognize her as Albert’s daughter. She held back tears as the two men climbed the steps to the gallows. Neither faltered. That was good. Her father seemed to struggle to keep from coughing but near the top of the steps he had a coughing fit. She thought, That’s got to be so hard, to cough with your hands manacled behind your back. Rodney, defiant to the end, yelled something at the hangman. The hangman appeared to say something back as he pulled Rodney’s hood into place.

Without further ado, the trap doors dropped away and so did her brother and her father. The gasp of the crowd and then a sickening cheer drowned out what she thought was the sound of her father choking for air.

Mary left the city.

CHAPTER 2

The Birth

After Elizabeth and her father returned to their home, she went to her room. She lay across her bed in total despair. Every time she closed her eyes, the fearsome sapphire eyes of her assailant burned through her eyelids. No matter how she tried to redirect her mind, that evening on the forest road replayed in vivid color… the color blue. She had tried alcohol in hopes she could numb her brain, but she could not tolerate the taste well enough to even get drunk. Overwhelming despondency drove her to the point that thoughts of ending her life rampaged through her troubled brain. She had a small paring knife in her dresser. Properly placed and forcefully applied, she could easily spill her blood and get the relief she so desperately wanted.

Fear of dying prevailed. She began thinking of ways to salvage her life.

Elizabeth slowly walked downstairs to her father’s study. She stood outside the door and drew a deep breath. She knocked gently on the door. She heard a muffled invitation to come in.

Her father sat at his desk, papers spread out in front of him. Father, may I speak with you about something that is troubling me?

Certainly, Lizzy. His eyes lit with excitement. She saw that those same eyes were red and watery. What is troubling you? How can I help?

Elizabeth was unsure how to start, but she knew that he must never know of her pregnancy, or her state of despair. As his only child, he could not bear the pain. As a respected member of the local gentry, he could not bear the humiliation of a bastard grandchild. I need to go away from here for awhile. Without realizing it, her right hand had begun to twist and twirl an errant strand of her sandy blond hair. My thoughts are not happy thoughts. Even now that the hanging is done, even though they paid their price for justice, my mind is not settled. I don’t feel satisfied. I think going away, getting away for awhile from this place where it happened, will help me.

That in itself is not such a bad idea, daughter. I’ve been thinking of traveling to Spain, or even Italy, myself. Going from here for a time would be good for both of us, I think. If that’s what you want, I can arrange for the passage and our travel can begin immediately. Edward Carter was elated. At forty-two, he felt like a man with more years than that behind him. Reserved grief for the loss of his wife had aged him and drove him to the vice of gluttony. He was overweight and struggled to perform physical activities. He doted on his only child, but he lacked the skills of a woman in meeting her needs. His daughter, eleven years after his wife’s death, had finally dropped her independent bearing and asked for something grand, and yet something simple enough and sensible enough that he could meet her needs. She, no doubt, would marry soon and her simple request would likely be his last chance to provide something for her that would not include her as a married woman. His face erupted in a smile that it had not experienced in years.

But, the conversation was not going as Elizabeth had hoped. She sensed her father had a need of his own and was puzzled. She pursued her request. No, Father. I need to go away alone. I need to just get away from everything, everybody. His face dropped. A pained look replaced his elated expression. I don’t mean I want to get away from you, not forever. I just need to sit alone in a different place and think and work through these things, these thoughts that plague me. But Papa, I need your help and support. More than that, I need your love. Please? Do you understand?

Edward understood. He realized his whole body had drooped when she said No. He straightened himself. Yes, Lizzy. I do understand. I don’t like it all that well, but I do understand. I only wish I could help you with your thoughts, pacify the fears you have. I know the ordeal was devastating for a woman to go through. Mayhem and murder are not things that women deal with well. You can’t be expected to accept and go on as a man would if he had been accosted on the highway. I am not sure how well I could handle it. Inwardly, he thought about how poorly he really was handling the event. He struggled with his daughter’s feelings, wanting to help her but not knowing what to do. Also, Alfred had been a good friend; not just an employee. He felt the loss personally. I will support your journey, but where would you go for your healing? France? Germany?

Elizabeth was relieved. He did understand. She wondered if she had judged too harshly his ability to accept her pregnancy. She thought about telling him the truth. Papa, I really don’t think going to the Continent is for me. I speak French well enough to get about, but I don’t want to see the sights. I only want to think. I believe Scotland would be a good place to think, and they speak the language. Besides, it is not so far away.

Scotland is austere. The Scots are crass. Further more, we don’t know anyone in Scotland. Would you not like to visit Wales instead? A cousin of your mother lives on a country estate there. Those two were close in their early years. I know she would look kindly on having you come for a visit. She still writes regularly and asks about you. She has often asked for us to come visit, but I have avoided saying yes. Why don’t you let me arrange for a trip to Wales? She will warmly embrace your presence.

That sounds reasonable. I remember her. She visited when I was young. Her name is Victoria?

Yes.

How soon can I leave?

Lizzy, slow down. I need to contact Victoria and ensure that your arrival is expected. We also need to talk about a chaperon for your travels.

Chaperon? Father, I am not a little girl. I am a grown woman. Elizabeth realized she had overlooked an obvious social norm regarding unattached women with social status.

The very reason I insist on a chaperon. Edward smiled reassuringly, unsure of the significance of the look on his daughter’s face.

And who should the chaperon be?

I have sad thoughts as a result of the robbery and murder, just as you do. I lost a very good employee in Alfred, but his years of service were not just as coachman. He was a friend of mine. He helped me deal with your mother’s death in more ways than I can recount. He and I shared a common bond outside of servitude. We commiserated over the loss of our wives. I would like to consider asking his daughter, Linda, to travel with you. She is a good woman. You and she once were such good friends. She could employ as your maid for the journey. You could renew your friendship, perhaps. This would give you someone to talk with and it would give me the opportunity to provide some relief to Alfred’s family. Does that sound right for you?

I haven’t seen Linda since she married. How could she go as a chaperon? Would we employ her husband also or would we ask them to separate for a time? I think that would not be a likable thing for them. Elizabeth knew that having someone along, especially someone who knew her as intimately as Linda did, would spoil the plan she had formed in her mind. She was struggling to develop an argument to prevent Linda from going to Wales with her.

My darling Lizzy, had you not been so distraught and unable to attend Alfred’s funeral, you would have known. Linda’s husband died of pneumonia about the same time of the robbery. She is widowed and without proper support. With Alfred gone too, she has no one to turn to. This would be a noble way for her to earn a living. Maybe this one task could develop into long term employment for Linda if you so desire. Maybe she can become your housekeeper after you marry, if your husband does not already have one.

Linda’s arrival at the Carter house was exciting yet melancholy. Elizabeth and Linda renewed their friendship as they became reacquainted and made preparations for the visit to Wales. Both had experienced a different part of life since their remembered childhood. Their new relationship did not start as close as it had ended those few years before. They would have to rekindle the trust. Part of that rekindling was the commiserating over the losses they had suffered together and separately in their short lives.

Elizabeth had not fully considered a plausible way to disguise her developing pregnancy from someone who would be sticking as close as Linda would be. Her nervousness was hard to disguise.

Finally, within a month, Elizabeth and Linda were ready for the trip to Wales and the stay with Cousin Victoria. Elizabeth could only hope that Victoria and her husband would allow her to stay long enough to bear the child, and that they would honor her desire to keep the birth a secret. Then, she would determine what to do with the bastard after it arrived.

As their coach trip progressively moved toward Wales, Elizabeth agonized over how to share the news of her condition with Linda. She remembered how she and Linda had shared secrets as children. Though not sisters by birth, they were like sisters in reality. Linda’s brother Charles was several years older and had designs on military service. The two girls were left to their own device, and considerable schooling, while the adults directed their attention toward the soldier to be. At their young age, neither considered station a deterrent to friendship and trust. Even so, as adults, and after separation for a few years, Elizabeth was not sure how Linda would react.

The lurching of the coach kept the trip uncomfortable. Each lurch would deliver a touch of reality to both of them as they sat in silence, thinking of their respective futures. One such lurch was so uncomfortable to Elizabeth, and her thoughts were so keyed on what a miserable future she faced with the bastard in her belly, that she broke down sobbing and blurted out the truth of her condition.

A year older and many years wiser, Linda was sympathetic to the news and immediately helped development of a plan for Elizabeth’s life after the birth of the baby.

Cousin Victoria was a beautiful lady with a cherubic face and a merry sense of humor. Because of her every present smile, flushed cheeks and diminutive stature, she looked the part of a cheerful elf. She gushed with delight because her favorite cousin’s daughter had arrived to be a guest. She housed Elizabeth and Linda in adjoining rooms and made them feel at home in Wales.

The estate was not extraordinary, but it was amply provided. Elizabeth’s room had its own fireplace. Each evening after dinner, she and Linda refined their plan to cover the birth of the