‘Oh, Miss Delmai, there’s awful to see you cryin’, what is it then?’ Gwen had been with Delmai for as long as she could remember and, for a moment, she was almost tempted to confide in the girl who had come with her from the Glynmor farm to the hillside above Sweyn’s Eye. But it was not politic for a servant, however friendly, to know too much about her betters and so Delmai dried her eyes and forced a smile.
‘It’s silly, nothing at all really,’ she lied glibly. ‘I wanted to go out with Mr Richardson and he wasn’t able to take me today.’
The maid’s expression softened. ‘Ah there’s lovely to see you so affectionate.’ Gwen poured tea into a fragile bone china cup and added a slice of lemon. ‘I wish some nice fellow would come courtin’ me,’ she said wistfully.
‘Have you ever had a follower, Gwen?’ Delmai knew she was prying, but she was desperate for any scrap of comfort she could get. The girl nodded and a bouncy chestnut curl escaped from under the cap.
‘Yes, Miss Delmai, I was keeping company with a fine handsome boy back on the farm.’ She looked crestfallen. ‘He promised me he’d stay true even though I wouldn’t be seeing him every day, but as soon as my back was turned he was up the petticoats of the new young maid.’ She put her hand to her mouth. ‘Pardon me for talkin’ so open like, but you’re married now and I suppose you know how a man can make you do things you shouldn’t.’
Delmai remained silent, unable to think of anything to say and Gwen’s cheeks reddened. ‘P’raps it’s different for the gentry, though,’ she said stiffly and moved towards the door.
‘No, wait, tell me about yourself. I’m interested, really I am,’ Delmai said quickly. She didn’t want to be alone and perhaps she might learn something from the earthy Gwen who seemed to know all about the sins of the flesh. ‘Did you love him, your fellow, I mean really love him as a woman does her husband?’
Gwen hesitated. ‘Well, my mam would kill me if she knew, but then she’s old – there’s no hot blood in her veins now. Yes, I did love him truly, Miss Delmai and I let him take me into the barn and… well, you know…’
Delmai felt a sense of shock though she managed to conceal it. She stared covertly at the maid whose face was illuminated, as though she was recalling some kind of spiritual experience. What was lacking in herself, Delmai wondered, that she could not feel the way about Rickie that her maid obviously did about some farm-hand?
‘Was it difficult, the first time, I mean?’ Delmai hated herself for probing, but she could not stop herself now that she had started.
Gwen looked at her sheepishly. ‘It’s a bit awkward-like, but you forgets the embarrassment, don’t you?’ She shrugged. ‘I suppose it’s because you love the man you’re with.’ She smiled shyly. ‘Is that ’ow it is for you, miss, ’cos you aren’t to worry yourself over it. It don’t come right first time off, nor the second, either. With me, it took a long time before I really got into the way of it.’
Delmai looked down at her hands; she still didn’t quite understand. ‘But you wanted him, your fellow, you liked him to touch you and…’
Her voice trailed away and Gwen smiled. ‘Duw, of course I did. It’s nature’s trap, isn’t it, so that there’ll be all the more babbas in the world.’
Then she was different from all other women, Delmai thought with a sense of horror, for even Gwen had known love and passion and the warmth of a man’s arms holding her close.
When the maid had left the room, Delmai drank her lemon tea and tried to quell the sense of panic that rose within her every time she thought of Rickie’s homecoming. She did not dare to make any more protests, he was at the end of his patience with her.
She frittered the afternoon away, arranged and rearranged the flowers in the hallway and then sat at the table trying to write a letter home, but found she had nothing to say. At last, she simply sat at the window in the drawing room and stared out at the rolling waves splashing in on the shore far below.
A cool breeze was blowing in from the water by the time Rickie returned home. He had bought shares in Dean Sutton’s business with the dowry he had received from her father, and Delmai was grateful that the chain of shops at least kept her husband away from her during the day.
He shrugged off his coat and sank into a chair, rubbing his hand wearily across his forehead.
‘I hate working in Sutton’s office,’ he said with unnecessary venom. ‘If Sterling hadn’t taken what was rightfully mine I would be sitting in clover now.’
It was a story Delmai had heard many times over and she was bored with it. It seemed to her that Rickie did not do too badly, what with an allowance from his mother and the not inconsiderable income he received from the business.
‘I’d be a respected copper boss instead of running some fiddling little shops trying to beat down the wholesale merchants on their prices,’ he continued.
‘Have some tea, Rickie, with a slice of lemon in it just as you like it, I’ll ring for Gwen.’
‘Sit down and don’t fuss!’ Rickie snapped at her pettishly. ‘There’s nothing to stop me ringing for tea myself should I want any, which I don’t. Right now I’d prefer something stronger.’
He moved towards the large polished sideboard and poured a stiff measure of brandy, then twirled the glass around watching the amber liquid through half-closed eyes. He was at his most difficult when in this sort of mood, Delmai thought with sinking heart.
‘Even my brother has a son.’ It was a repetition of what he had said that morning, Delmai thought, trying to stop her hands shaking.
‘Sterling gets everything he wants, there’s no justice. Everyone in Sweyn’s Eye knows he’s a bastard and yet they still continue to kowtow to him. I just don’t understand it.’
‘He’s well respected,’ Delmai said in a low voice, ‘because he’s pleasant to people and he doesn’t treat everyone else as fools.’
Rickie turned on her angrily. ‘And I do, I suppose? Perhaps you should have married my half-brother and I could have done worse than marrying that little slut of his – at least she’s not unnatural.’
Delmai flinched at the bitterness in his voice. ‘I’m not unnatural,’ she replied. ‘I’m just a woman who has been taught modesty, is that so wrong?’
‘I’m not going to quarrel with you,’ Rickie said. ‘That would be playing right into your hands, wouldn’t it?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Delmai’s lips were numb as Rickie came and put his finger under her chin.
‘It would give you the chance to turn your back on me yet again, wouldn’t it? Well, that won’t work, my dear sweet wife. I’ve been patient, God knows how patient, another man might have given you a good hiding by now.’
‘Don’t even consider it.’ Delmai was growing angry. ‘My father would horsewhip you if you so much as laid a finger on me and you know it.’
Rickie helped himself to more brandy. ‘I don’t think so, not if I told him how you have denied me my marital rights all this time.’ He suddenly banged his fist down on the table. ‘No more talking! We shall have supper in peace and quiet, then we shall take a turn or two around the garden before we go to bed. That’s it, finish! I don’t want to hear any more whining.’
Delmai took the opportunity to dress for supper when Rickie was in his room shaving. She quickly drew on a high-necked gown with pearls stitched along the neckline; it was a soft shade of blue, a demure gown and yet it showed the line of her breasts clearly. Not even the corset, tightly laced to give her an hourglass figure, could conceal her shapeliness. But Delmai did not pause to stare at herself in the long mirror; she moved quickly to the door as Rickie came in from his dressing room and stood before her.
He wore only soft linen trousers. His chest was bare, matted with dark hairs and Delmai felt the colour rush into her face.
‘I’ll wait for you downstairs.’ Her voice was light and she felt as though she couldn’t breathe.
It was cool in the high-ceilinged dining room, for the French windows sto
od open to the evening breeze. The long dining table was set with gleaming silver and cut-crystal glasses, most of them taken from Plas Rhianfa while Victoria Richardson had still been living there. Rickie had rifled the house unashamedly, telling his mother bitingly that all this should have been his by rights anyway. He had practically dared her to protest and Delmai’s heart had gone out to the older woman.
Victoria had become a shadow of her former self over the past years and Delmai wondered if it was the death of James Cardigan which had affected her or the whispers of their outrageous affair that buzzed continually through Sweyn’s Eye even now.
Delmai’s father, like everyone else, had heard the gossip which had revived after the explosion at the Kilvey Deep which had killed James Cardigan. Since then, he had harboured the hope that Rickie might be declared the legal heir to the Richardson Copper Company. The business was flourishing now under Sterling’s capable hands, which in Rickie’s view was little more than a quirk of fortune. He maintained loudly and often that the company remained solvent more by luck than judgement.
‘I must say you look very fetching tonight. It seems you are at least making some effort to please me.’ Rickie had entered the dining room so silently that Delmai was startled. She dropped the napkin she had been pleating between her fingers, almost overturning a glass.
Rickie ignored her clumsiness and poured them both wine from the carafe standing on a silver tray. His eyes gleamed as he looked at her and Delmai felt that he was enjoying her discomfort.
She scarcely touched her food, but she noticed that Rickie ate heartily enough. She picked at a piece of chicken in sauce before pushing it away from her in despair.
Aware of her husband’s eyes upon her, she made a pretence of enjoying her peach melba. In any case, she wanted to prolong the meal, knowing that when she rose from the table it would only be a matter of time before Rickie insisted on taking her to bed.
Delmai had never thought of herself as a weak person and yet she was waiting meekly to go like a lamb to the slaughter. As a girl, she had believed in fairy-tale romances with a lover’s lips upon her own as the final curtain. She could not imagine even now achieving a union with Rickie and her thoughts took panic-stricken flight – would Rickie hobble her and mount her the way a stallion did a mare, she wondered hysterically.
She rose abruptly from the table. ‘I must get some air,’ she said quickly. ‘It’s very warm tonight, don’t you think?’
Rickie was at her side in an instant, his hand on her arm. ‘We’ll go and sit outside in the garden for a while.’ He sounded solicitous and a faint hope beat within Delmai’s heart as he led her along the edge of the lawn and into the maze where the trees grew thick, hiding them from view. They sat on a small wooden seat and Rickie took her hand in his.
‘There is no way out, not this time.’ His eyes looked into hers and she felt as if she was a rabbit hypnotised by a snake. He ran his finger along her arm towards her shoulder and caressed her neck softly.
‘You may find it very pleasurable after all,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I’m not that repulsive, not according to the other women I’ve had.’
Her coolness seemed to excite him and he drew her close, his mouth on hers. To her surprise she felt nothing, neither distaste or pleasure, just nothing. He moved away from her, appearing pleased. ‘There, you see, I told you that perhaps you would find me attractive, didn’t I?’
Jubilantly he drew her to her feet and without a word led her back to the house. The sun was sinking in a red blaze over the sea, splashing the sky and water with scarlet like blood.
Gwen helped her to undress as she always did and a smile was curving her mouth. ‘Master needs an early night, does he, miss?’ she giggled. ‘It’s the hot weather that gets ’em, you know, makes young men randy and old ones sorrowful.’
Delmai quickly slipped her cotton gown over her head and fastened the buttons to the throat. ‘Good night, Gwen,’ she said evenly, though her heart was beating so fast she thought it would burst from her breast.
Gwen winked knowingly. ‘Good night, miss, sleep tight!’ The door closed behind the maid and Delmai fell back against the pillows fearing the moment when Rickie would enter from his dressing room. He always spent a long time at his ablutions and usually she managed to feign sleep by the time he joined her beneath the sheets, but she would not get away with such a subterfuge this time.
A soft breeze stirred the curtains at the window and the scent of flowers filled the room. Delmai closed her eyes and wished herself a million miles away from her marriage bed. Why, she asked herself yet again, had she agreed to become Rickie’s wife? He had seemed agreeable enough at the start and she thought him sensitive, his long face having the look of a poet about it. But there was a fine point of cruelty in his nature which she had only discovered after the ceremony.
As though on cue, Rickie swaggered into the bedroom. He was wearing a silk dressing gown and the lines of his body could be clearly seen through the softness of the material. Delmai turned her eyes away from the visible evidence of his arousal.
‘My dear Delmai, you are packaged up like a parcel there, let me help you.’ His hands were on her neck, undoing the buttons of her nightgown and Delmai swallowed hard as his fingers brushed her breasts. She found it embarrassing in the extreme to have her nightdress drawn up over her slender hips but lifted her arms as Rickie pulled the cotton gown free, tossing it carelessly to the floor.
He stared at her, his eyes making an inventory of her body. Delmai felt like shrinking beneath the sheets but she was too afraid to move.
‘Don’t look so frightened,’ Rickie said softly and then his palm was upon her breast, stroking, teasing at her nipple.
‘Will you put out the lamp, Rickie?’ The darkness might make what was happening more bearable, she thought in despair, but her husband shook his head.
‘I want to see the pleasure on your face, Delmai. Don’t worry, you’ll soon get used to all this – perhaps even learn to enjoy it.’
His hand was on the flat on her stomach, pausing, moving lower, touching, exploring. Suddenly she gasped with shock as he thrust hard, his fingers like knives spearing the softness of her, probing intimately, hurting, violating.
She closed her eyes and let him handle her undisturbed, feeling his mouth cover her nipple as she tried to arch away from the cruel fingers that still pierced her. Then his full weight was upon her and if she thought she had met pain already, then she was wrong. As he plundered thoughtlessly she pressed her hand to her mouth, attempting to suppress her cries. Above her, Rickie breathed harshly.
His hands were gripping her breasts, the fingers plunging deep into the flesh. Pain was all around her, possessing her, filling her mind and body. She heard herself whimpering and tears pressed from under her closed lashes. She wished she could swoon, fall into a darkness where she knew nothing, felt nothing, but her ordeal went on. He was like a demon, she thought wildly, crushing and destroying her.
At last it was over. Rickie fell back onto the bed panting and triumphant while she lay like a discarded flower. Every part of her ached and throbbed and she felt she had lost herself, been swallowed up in his lust.
Without a word he rose and went into his dressing room and Delmai opened her eyes, staring up at the shadowy ceiling, trying not to think or feel.
A little while later, he returned and stood looking down at her. ‘Send for one of the maids to change the sheets,’ he said coldly and Delmai obediently stumbled from the bed without attempting to cover her nakedness. Rickie knew her body as intimately as she did, he had taken possession and it was no longer hers.
‘Don’t be too long.’ Rickie’s voice was light but Delmai felt a prickling of fear as she waited for him to continue. ‘One swallow doesn’t make a summer, I’m sure you know what I mean.’ She closed her eyes, feeling a scream rise in her throat. Was it possible, she wondered, to find the courage to end her life?
Chapter Seven
The early
Monday morning haze drifted over the turgid waters of the canal where brown weeds floated like a maiden’s hair just below the smooth surface. Mary walked slowly towards the gates of the laundry. She had done her week’s stint working at the boilers and now she hoped fervently that there would be no more trouble. Mr Sutton might well be in a kinder frame of mind, but she doubted it. He was at best a crusty old man and well used to being obeyed without question, so he would find no merit in her willingness to stoke boilers.
‘Mornin’, Mary.’ Rhian hurried towards her, curls bouncing, clean apron gleaming in the sunlight. There was a likeness to her brother Billy about Rhian’s nose and mouth, Mary decided, and her gaze softened.
‘There’s nice to see you early for work for a change,’ she said, but her smile took the sting of criticism from her words.
‘Well, I thought over what you said the other night and I’d much rather work in the laundry than in the tin.’ She frowned. ‘Though Heath would have looked after me, he said so.’
Mary gave her a stern look. ‘You keep clear of our Heath,’ she said dryly, ‘he’s a toerag when it comes to girls. Love ’em and leave ’em, that’s his motto, so you just forget him and find yourself a nice steady boy.’
Rhian flushed. ‘Heath is very fond of me,’ she protested a little too quickly. ‘He’s told me so himself, mind.’
Mary deliberately ignored Rhian’s outburst. Glancing towards the window of the office, her heart turned over as she saw Mr Sutton bent over his desk. He did not look up as the two girls passed and Mary bit her lip, wondering if she was right to go directly to the packing department. But he had said a week, hadn’t he? And she’d worked like a slave in the boiler room.
She hesitated for a moment at the foot of the flight of rickety stairs that led upwards. The smell of urine and soap permeated the yard from the wash room, but Mary had grown used to it over the years although Rhian wrinkled up her nose.
Proud Mary Page 9