Eve

by Beverley Hughesdon

Yes, I remembered him promising that out in the summerhouse – so there wouldn’t be any ‘unintended consequences’. To be fair to Horseface he never had dropped me in it with the authorities, not even when I was being cheeky. That was one of the reasons I liked him. And I did like him – a lot – I wouldn’t be down here in his bedroom otherwise. It was all very well talking about researching tribal rituals, but Mr Brandon and Co. could have gone down on their bended knees and I still wouldn’t have agreed to spend the night with them. But Horseface was different. I shook out my drawers and put them on top of the heap, then turned towards the bed.

  He lifted the covers. ‘Come on, then – or you’ll be getting cold. I’ve warmed your side up for you.’

  ‘Suppose I want the other side?’

  He neighed. ‘Contrary female! Alright, you can choose.’

  I picked up the covers. ‘I’ll choose this side, then – as it’s the warmer one.’

  We both laughed, and as I settled down beside him he murmured, ‘Don’t worry – I’ve checked that there aren’t any rats in my bed tonight – so you needn’t be frightened.’

  ‘I’m not scared o’ rats!’ Yet I had been of him. And now I really couldn’t imagine why – as he put his arm round me and drew me closer it seemed the most natural thing in the world. Turning to face him I slipped my arms round his neck. He bent his head and I felt his lips brush my ear, my cheek, my lips – ah! I was really getting the hang of this kissing now. Beneath the tip of my tongue the soft inside of his mouth was warm and welcoming – and familiar.

  We drew apart at last, to get our breath, and I felt the equally familiar touch of his hand on my breast – I’d hardly noticed him undoing the buttons of my nightie. He murmured, ‘Just checking you’re not wearing a corset.’

  Two can play at that game. I said briskly, ‘Then I suppose I’d better see if ye’re wearing a vest.’ I reached out and began undoing his pyjama buttons.

  He wasn’t. I decided to have a good look at his chest now I had the chance. I ran my fingers lightly over it, feeling the hardness of his breastbone, the firm swell of the muscles – he asked, ‘Well, does it pass muster?’

  ‘Mm – I mean yes, yes it does. Ye’ve a verra nice chest – and there’s a lot of it.’ My fingers slid down to his waist – he took firm hold of them and moved them back up to his breastbone, keeping them there. ‘Now just a minute, my little Scottish wild cat – since you’re on your rags we’re going to have to establish certain rules. Firstly, no touching below the waist – for either of us.’ Fair enough – I didn’t want him touching me there, either. ‘And no pressing bellies or hips. That would be too much for a gentleman to safely withstand.’

  I was fascinated – what weird tribal conventions! I stored them away for future reference. My book would be much more interesting than Fanny Gunn’s – if I ever had the time to write it. Up to now the research had proved so engrossing…

  I realised he was waiting for a reply. ‘Mm.’

  ‘I want a promise, Eve Gunn.’

  As a matter of principle, I argued. ‘I dinna need tae promise about something like that.’

  He shook his head. ‘Girls who say they don’t need to promise on matters like that most definitely do.’

  Girls? He gave me a little shake. ‘Promise.’

  ‘I swear on ma herring gutter’s knife. I’ll just stick to kissing.’

  He neighed. ‘And that’s another thing, your kisses are pretty potent, young woman – I think they may have to be rationed.’

  ‘What are we going to do then?’

  ‘You’re going to turn round,’ he swung me round so my back was to him, ‘And now I’m going to unplait this hair of yours, so I can see it in all its glory.’

  I exclaimed, ‘You like it?’

  ‘Mm – yes!’

  ‘But it’s orange!’

  A quick tug and the tape flew on to the bedspread. ‘Auburn is the correct term.’ I squinted over my shoulder. He was gently teasing out the tail of my plait. ‘Do you know, when I was a child I had a nursemaid with auburn hair, and I’ve had a weakness for the breed ever since.’

  I said indignantly, ‘I’m not “a breed”!’

  ‘No, the Gunns are a clan, aren’t they?’

  ‘As it happens, I’m not a G—’ I stopped hastily, I’d nearly given myself away. And I suspected that talking to him so much had made my accent slip a bit – but fortunately he hadn’t noticed – too busy untwining my hair, and talking about himself.

  ‘Of course, I am entitled to wear the tartan – since I had a Scottish great-grandfather.’ My hair was completely free of its plait now – yet not free, because he was entwining it around his fingers and using it like a pair of reins, drawing me round to face him. ‘So you see, there’s Scottish blood running in my veins, too. That’s why my father decided I should have a Scots nursemaid. So Kirsty came.’ He smiled. ‘I adored her.’ My hair was now divided into two great swathes, which he brought forward over each shoulder, so he could wind one sheaf round each hand. He grinned at me. ‘It’s very energetic, this hair of yours – always trying to spring up and escape – but I think that’s got it fully secured.

  ‘Now where was I? Ah yes, back in the nursery. I thought the world of Nanny, naturally – but she was getting on – she’d been my mother’s nurse before she became mine, and she’d not been in the first flush of youth then. So when Kirsty came – so young and merry and full of fun – I thought I was in heaven. She was more like an elder sister than a nursemaid – she played games with me, and never ran out of patience. So as you see, I’ve had a distinctly soft spot for Scottish redheads ever since.’ He raised each handful of my hair to his lips, and kissed it. I was practically purring by now.

  ‘Unfortunately Kirsty left after eighteen months or so – homesickness.’ He paused, before adding, ‘Wiltshire is a long way from the Western Isles.’ And the way he said those final two words – sort of – deliberately – a little worm of unease wriggled.

  Gazing up at him I said, ‘So she came frae the Western Isles?’ He nodded.

  I added, very casually, ‘A lot o’ folk speak the Gaelic, there.’

  ‘Virtually all of them, I think.’ His thumbs gently stroked my hair – but his fingers were keeping a firm grip. ‘Yes, Kirsty was a native Gaelic speaker – that was one of the reasons my mother chose her. She thought that if I were exposed to a second language as a child,’ Oh, no! ‘Then I’d grow up with a better ear for languages generally.’

  ‘An’ did it work?’ I could feel my own ears bursting into flame as I waited for his answer. It seemed a long time coming. Then, as he wound his fingers even more securely into my hair he shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not.’ The relief! ‘My talents don’t really lie in that direction – Parton’s your man there – he can chatter away in French and German until the cows come home. In any case, Kirsty had a good command of English – she’d been well-taught by the local dominie – just like you. And speaking of you – let’s not forget that I’m in bed with a very pretty girl.’ What – me, pretty? ‘Who has the most beautifully poised neck, that I’ve been longing to kiss all week – I think now might be the time, eh?’ I was all for it – he actually thought I was pretty! Besides, anything to distract him from talking about Kirsty and her Gaelic.

  Willingly I bent my head before him. He kissed the nape of my neck – several times – then gave it a gentle nip and murmured, ‘Head up again, puss cat – I want to see your face.’ My head came up, but not too far, because he still had a firm hold on my hair. ‘Mm – you do remind me of Kirsty.’ Curses! ‘And although generally she spoke English on Sundays she would always sing Gaelic hymns to me. It’s a pity we haven’t time for one now – I expect you sing a fine Gaelic hymn, young woman?’ He paused a moment before adding, quite casually, ‘But otherwise I only picked up a few odd words of the language.’

  I couldn’t stop myself. ‘How many “odd words”?’

  His fingers seemed to have scooped up every singl
e tendril by now – and were close against my neck as he said, ‘Once, when we were up in Scotland, Kirsty took me back with her to stay for a few days on the family croft. I had a wonderful time, roaming around the landscape in my oldest clothes. But Kirsty had a strong sense of responsibilty, and I had to mind my table manners up there, just as I would in the nursery at home. At home, if I tried to talk with my mouth full she’d order me: “Duin do bheul” – “Close your mouth”,’ Horseface’s grip on my hair was tightening. ‘But her little brother, who was the same age as I was, put it differently.’ He was tugging at my hair now, quite hard, but I didn’t dare complain. ‘The boy taught me to say instead: “Duin do chab”.’ Lord Rothbury’s voice had become very clipped – and became sterner still as he told me, ‘Kirsty was extremely put out about that, because, of course, it’s not at all a polite thing for one person to say to another. It means—’

  He paused, and tugged on my hair to pull my head right back, so I had to look up into his stern face. ‘What does it mean, Eve Gunn?’

  I told him dismally, ‘It means, “Shut your gob.”.’

  There was silence. His expression, still so severe – oh, jumping Jehosaphat – he was furious. Then I felt his whole body begin to quiver – with suppressed laughter.

  I broke free, grabbed his shoulders and shook him. ‘You pig – trying to make me think ye were still angryl’ And then we just collapsed together, laughing.

  When he’d finally stopped braying he said, ‘But what I do find puzzling is why you suddenly came out with that remark – I’d been under the impression that up to then that we’d been getting on rather well—’ he gave a slight frown.

  Hastily I assured him, ‘We were – it was just that Morag and I were playing this game …’ I finished up my explanation with, ‘Sae when ye made that comment about ma ankles—’

  ‘Which was entirely complimentary—’

  ‘I know – I didna want to insult you, but she dared me, so I had tae dae it!’

  He raised one eyebrow. ‘Do you always accept dares?’

  ‘O’ course, don’t you?’

  He groaned, ‘I’m afraid we’re two of a kind, you and I.’

  Anxious to appease I told him, ‘So as I said it I smiled especially nicely, so you wouldn’t realise—’

  ‘Which made it especially irritating – since I did realise, thanks to Kirsty!’

  He started laughing again, and so did I – until the laughter turned to kissing, which wasn’t easy with my hair all in the way – but we managed.

  When finally he drew away he swept my hair up into his hands and held it high so it caught the light, saying, ‘So that’s why I like sunburst hair – because of Kirsty.’

  I said, very casually, ‘I suppose she didna have freckles?’

  ‘Indeed she did.’

  I admitted gloomily, ‘Nobody likes freckles.’

  ‘Oh, I think there’s some of us who would definitely disagree with that statement.’

  I couldn’t believe it. ‘You mean – you like them?’

  ‘Mm.’

  I said urgently, ‘Yes or no?’

  ‘Yes – certainly. But to be absolutely sure I’d have to inspect yours again, all of them – above the waist, that is.’

  I sat up and he helped me pull my arms free of my nightdress. We pushed the top half out of the way and I lay down again. He inspected my breasts intently. ‘Mm – yes, very nice. They’re not very big, yet – but they’re beautifully shaped.’

  I was confused for a moment, then I told him, ‘It’s ma freckles ye’re supposed tae be looking at.’

  ‘Well, they all go together, don’t they? But I’ll look at your freckles, if that’s what you want. Now, the question about these freckles is – do they come off when they get wet?’

  ‘Of course they don’t.’

  ‘Not even if someone licked them?’

  ‘Of course no-,’ I suddenly changed tack. ‘I dinna ken.’

  ‘We’ll have to find out then, won’t we?’

  Another new sensation – I wasn’t sure whether it was pleasant or unpleasant. Then he took my breast into his mouth and I felt the flick of his tongue, teasing my nipple – I giggled. Definitely pleasant. I whispered, ‘The other side’s getting cold.’

  ‘We can’t have that, can we?’ He shifted his warm mouth to my left breast, while thoughtfully covering the other with his equally warm left hand.

  His face was quite red by the time he lifted it up again. Meanwhile I was getting a bit chilly, so I pulled the top of my nightdress back on. He didn’t help me this time – just reached out to stop me buttoning it up again. ‘No need for that – besides, I want another look.’

  As he was doing that I asked, ‘Do you always look with your hands, as well as your eyes?’

  ‘If I can, yes. Do you object?’

  ‘No – it feels nice.’

  ‘Yes, it does, doesn’t it?’

  I squinted down at my breast – what small part of it I could see beneath those big, broad fingers of his – and complained, ‘They havena come off though – I wish they had – I hate having freckles.’

  ‘Don’t be silly – they’re delightful – just like the little flecks of gold dust I saw when I was in South Africa.’

  ‘When were you there?’

  ‘During the war.’ Like Aunt Ethel – but I couldn’t ask him if he’d seen her there. Instead I asked, ‘What were you doing?’

  A stupid question, since I knew he’d been at Woolwich. And obviously he replied, ‘Fighting.’ I wished I hadn’t asked – I really did not want to know that he was a murderer. I moved away a little and pushing his hand away began buttoning up my nightdress. ‘Chilly, are you? Here, let’s pull the blankets up.’

  But I couldn’t just say nothing. I told him, ‘I think shooting people is quite wrong.’

  There was a small silence, then he said, quite casually, ‘It’s an odd sort of Gunn that doesn’t approve of shooting.’

  Gunn – or gun. I seized on the pun with relief. ‘That was quite clever, you know.’ But I couldn’t slide away from all my principles, so I added, ‘You are quite clever sometimes – even though ye’re a marquis.’

  He said, still casual, ‘You sound as if you don’t approve of marquises.’

  He obviously wasn’t in the mood for an argument, and nor was I, at the moment. So I told him, truthfully, ‘I dinna mind you, now I’ve got to know ye a bit better.’

  He echoed, ‘Just a bit better,’ and sliding his arm around my shoulders drew me close again.

  I let myself be drawn. After all, there was no point my being in bed with him if I was going to lie half a mile away, was there? But as I tucked my head into his neck I announced, ‘I think all titles should be abolished – along wi’ the House o’ Lords – like in the French Revolution. It’s no democratic the way it is.’

  There was silence while he carefully unfastened my buttons again, then he murmured, ‘I’m glad we don’t have the Scottish educational system in England — we peers wouldn’t stand much of a chance, would we?’ He was slipping his hand inside my nightdress and I shifted slightly so he could curl it fully round my breast. When we were properly settled again he asked, ‘Where were you at school?’

  I replied without thinking, ‘I went tae Pulteney Town Academy.’ Oh no – suppose Mr Henderson was his solicitor, too?

  ‘But if you were attending a High School, why did you finish up on the herring gutting?’

  I said defensively, ‘Why not? I left before I took ma certificate.’

  ‘I see. For family reasons – or were you too – er – lively for the staid burghers of Wick?’

  I remembered the hot water I’d got into for climbing round the Old Man and replied, ‘Both, I suppose.’

  ‘Are the family reasons, younger brothers and sisters to be educated?’

  ‘No. I havena any brothers and sisters.’

  He said quietly, ‘I’m surprised, you look as if you come from a family who’d bree
d up a whole tribe of healthy youngsters.’

  ‘Ma mother died when I was two. She had a fall, an’ then ma brother was born too early, sae he died too.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Your father—?’

  ‘He was drowned when I was thirteen.’ I tried to keep the loss out of my voice, but of course I didn’t succeed, and his arm tightened round me as he said, ‘Then I’m even more sorry. Fishing is a dangerous occupation.’ Yes, fishing is. ‘So what did you do then?’

  ‘I went tae live with ma Aunt Ethel.’

  ‘Until you got bored and came south.’

  More or less. ‘Yes.’

  He finished smoothly, ‘Where you decided to make your stand for democracy by flinging herrings at innocent peers.’ I giggled, guiltily. His fingertip ran lightly down the length of my breastbone. ‘Still, you can always kiss it better, now.’

  ‘Alright.’ Rolling over I uncovered that huge expanse of bare chest again and bent over it —

  ‘Your hair’s tickling! No, it doesn’t matter, I rather like it.’ He drew my head down again and I did what he’d done to me – licking, kissing, my tongue flicked his breast – and then, to punish him for having been a soldier, I nipped him, hard.

  ‘I say – that hurt! You are a little wild cat, aren’t you?’ He pulled me up from his chest, and drew my face down to his. ‘You’re going to have to give me a very thorough kiss now, to make up for that!.’ So I did.

  Afterwards he drew away and said, ‘I’ve underestimated you, Eve Gunn. I’m going to have to leave you for a while and run along the corridor.’

  ‘You had too much tae drink.’

  ‘Not enough, I think. Look, it really is time we both went to sleep, so I’m going to put the light out before I go.’

  He was gone for a little while. I stretched myself out in the bed, which had a much more comfortable mattress than the one upstairs.

  ‘Shove over.’ He was back.

  I made room for him, he stretched out, yawned – and farted. I kicked him, hard. ‘Dinna do that!’

  ‘Sorry, puss cat – I’m afraid we inhabitants of the bachelor wing get into bad habits.’

  I said accusingly, ‘It smells, too.’