Love Child

by Philippa Carr

“What purpose would it serve?”

  “It would please me, which is the sole purpose of this occasion, is it not?”

  “I was not told of this. It was not in the bargain.”

  “You were told that you must do as I ask. I am rendering you a great service. It is not easy at a time like this to snatch a man from the hangman’s rope.”

  “I must go.”

  “Very well. I shall make no effort to detain you. Shall I ring for the woman? She will give you your clothes and I’ll send the carriage back with you to the inn.”

  He was watching me sardonically.

  “My poor Priscilla! In two days’ time it will be over. You can return to your home … fatherless but virtue retained. You see, I make no effort to hold you. There shall be no force, although in your present vulnerable position that would be easy. No. I have promised myself, she shall come of her own free will. That is the bargain and we shall keep to it.”

  “Where will you do this … drawing?”

  “I will show you.”

  There was yet another room leading from the picture gallery. This was small. There was a couch on it covered with black velvet.

  “The contrast of the blackness of the velvet and the colour of the skin is delightful,” he said. “Now. Your cloak, my dear.”

  He took it from me and studied me with glinting eyes. I thought he was going to seize me then, but he restrained himself. He just let his hands slide over my body and taking a deep breath said: “Later. This first.”

  He made me lie on the couch and put me in the required pose, which I found loathsome. There was an easel at the end of the room.

  It was like something out of an impossibly wild dream—myself lying naked on a couch and this strange man, who I was sure was mad, sitting there in the flickering candlelight sketching me.

  I wondered what else the night would bring forth.

  Whatever it is, I said to myself, I must endure it. Was it true that my father had already been removed from the terrible prison which he would have shared with many others? Had I succeeded even so far in bringing him a little comfort? I could not let a chance of saving my father pass by. I kept telling myself that it was going to succeed.

  I heard him speaking. “It is a rough sketch only. I will complete it later. Then we shall know each other more intimately. That is important to the artist.”

  I did not look at the sketch. I did not want to see it and he did not offer to show me.

  “Now we shall sup,” he said. “It will be ready for us now. You must be hungry.”

  “I never felt less hungry.”

  “You must not allow the anticipation to spoil your appetite.”

  I put on my cloak and we went back to his bedroom. There was a small fire in his bedroom although it was summer. I stared blankly at the blue flames. Several candles had been lighted, and a table set up. Food was set out most tastefully and there was a flask of wine.

  He indicated that I should sit down opposite him.

  “This is a great occasion for me,” he said. “I have never forgotten you, you know. You looked so young, so innocent, there in St. Mark’s Square … so different from the women one meets so frequently in such places. When I saw you in the shop I had a great desire to be your lover.”

  “Should that be marvelled at? Has not such a thought occurred to you a thousand times with a thousand women?”

  “I admit that I have a fondness for your sex and I have always had a partiality for the virginal. The young are so appealing. There is an urge in us all to instruct, and if we are skilful at some art, that urge is greater. I have loved women from the time I was ten years old, when I was seduced by one of my family’s servants. I had discovered my métier in life.”

  “To be seduced?” I asked.

  “You could call it that. But I have become such a master at the art of making love that I have ceased to become the pupil and have taken on the role of tutor.”

  “And seducer?”

  “When it is necessary. But a man of charm is somewhat sought after, as you can imagine.”

  “It is difficult for me to imagine, for no such urge would ever come to me as far as you are concerned.”

  “I see I shall be on my mettle. Who knows, you may fall in love with me, and it will not be I who offers rewards for your company, but you for mine.”

  “That is completely impossible.”

  “Who shall say? This is not quite what you expected, is it?”

  “No.”

  “You thought I should seize you, debauch you, and that would be all that was asked.”

  I was silent.

  “But I am a man of cultured tastes,” he went on. “You and I shall share this bed throughout this blessed night, but our encounter shall be one of refinement.”

  “Please,” I replied, “if you are a man of refinement and culture, let me go. Show your gallantry, your courtesy, your perfect manners by behaving like a gentleman and generously give me my father’s life and ask nothing in return.”

  He stood up and began to pace the floor.

  Wild hope surged up in me. I thought: He is strange. Perhaps he is mad. Could it really be that I had touched a softer side of his nature?

  He took off his golden wig. He was, as I had thought in Jocelyn’s case, more handsome without it. His short hair curled about his head, and he looked younger, less sinister.

  But when he came to the table and I saw him clearly, I was aware of a fanatical gleam in his eyes.

  “Look at me,” he said. “Look closely.”

  He put his fingers to his brow and I saw the scar from the roots of his hair almost extending to his eyebrow. This had been hidden by the curled wig.

  “You see this,” he explained. “I received it in Venice. The night after the Duchessa’s ball. You may remember it.”

  I stared at him. I knew that my hopes of getting out of this house unscathed had completely gone. He wanted more than my body. He wanted revenge.

  “It was a frolic,” he went on. “A light adventure. A young girl … made for love … unawakened, I thought, adorably innocent. I would initiate her into the ways of love. There would be nothing rough about it.”

  “Nothing rough,” I cried. “You dragged me from the ball. I was covered in bruises. And you say nothing rough.”

  “I would have been tender to you. You would have been in love with me before the night was out.”

  “You have too high an opinion of your powers and no knowledge at all of me.”

  “I learned a great deal about you, my prim Priscilla. This man came to rescue you. He took you from me and threw me into the canal. That was not all. The next night he came. I do not care for this kind of brawl. He had me at a disadvantage. This is not the only scar I have to show you. He prated about innocent girls … his little sister … still in the schoolroom … innocent virgin … and so on.”

  “It was a wicked thing you tried to do.”

  “And for it I am marked for life. And then I discovered the truth.”

  “What truth?”

  “Surely you know. Our innocent virgin schoolgirl is in Venice for a purpose. She has been guilty of an indiscretion. Now young ladies are often guilty of indiscretions and sometimes they have alarming consequences. Then, if the girl is of good family, heads are put together to discover how best the little matter can be kept secret. The Virgin of Venice was in such a position, so while I was being scarred for life for having made overtures to this saintly child, she was in Venice to bear the little bastard … the result of an adventure with one … perhaps more …”

  I had risen from the table. “How dare you!” I cried. “Stop this lewd talk.”

  “My dear little would-be virgin, this is my night. I call the tune. Do you remember?”

  “How do you know of these matters?”

  “That is unimportant. The fact is that I know. But I did not discover until afterwards. At the time I took my punishment, thinking that perhaps it had not been undeserved. Outraged b
rother … or close relation … who has doubtless had his own adventures is incensed because someone might wish for a similar adventure with his sister. We understand. And then to learn that the girl is nothing but a little harlot … and at her age!”

  “It’s untrue.”

  “No, it is not, my dear. I learned all I wanted to know. Oh, I had a very good informant.”

  “Who was it?”

  “That would be telling. The child was born and your good friend, Lady Stevens, pretended it was hers. What a drama! But that does not concern me. What does is that my prim little harlot was posing as an innocent young girl.”

  This was becoming more and more like a nightmare. I heard myself saying: “I was going to be married. He died…”

  “Yes,” he said, “they always do. So inconsiderate of them. They might wait until after the ceremony before they die. It saves so much trouble.”

  “I can see it is no use talking to you.”

  “The time for talking is past. Let me fill your glass. Let us drink to the night. I am not sorry. You and I will have much to give each other, I am sure.”

  “I shall give you hatred and contempt.”

  “Well, that can be very interesting. How angry you are! And surprised, too. It has put a colour into your cheeks, like the roses with which you are so delicately scented. They come from Bulgaria where they are the very best. If I had time I would show you my laboratories. The late King and I shared an interest in them … only he was more interested in pills. We had many interests in common—perhaps the chief was the delights of love. He was a connoisseur, God rest him. But no more so than I, you will discover. You shiver. Is that meant to be with repulsion? I promise you, you shall shiver with delight.”

  “I could never delight in you. You have done nothing but insult me from the time I saw you.”

  “And in return you deceived me … at first that is. A naughty little girl, pregnant, and posing as an innocent child. Who would have believed it! You owe me something for that and for this”—he pointed to the scar—“and for the other which I shall show you. But come, eat. This is the finest venison, captured in my woods. And drink.”

  “Anything at your table nauseates me.”

  “I think you are dreading what is to come.”

  “I should not be here were it not for my father.”

  “You will discover that you have never had a lover such as you will have tonight.”

  “It is a discovery I would rather not make.”

  “I am making everything so easy for you, am I not? You have been bathed in scented water, anointed with perfumes. Do you like the musk? It has very special properties. It is said to touch the senses and arouse desire. Did you know that?”

  “I did not and it certainly has no effect on me.”

  “I told you I have my laboratory. Do you know what musk is? It comes from the musk deer. It is a glandular secretion. This deer is found in the mountains of India. It is a scent he carries most strongly during the rutting season and it is irresistible to the female deer. You see that it has these special properties. Of course, we do not use it in the crude form. Ladies are not female deer, are they? But they have the same desires and they can be aroused just as those of the deer can. There is a little pod which is inside the animal’s body. A little hole is made in the skin … just enough for a man’s finger. Thus the pod can be extracted. Don’t look so disgusted. It does no harm to the deer. He goes on living but he probably wonders why he finds it so hard to get a mate. Never mind. His musk is making a beautiful scent to lure some lady from the path of virtue.”

  “It is revolting and so are you. I loathe the smell more than ever.”

  “That’s what you tell me, but you don’t always tell the truth, do you? What a spectacular piece of acting, to play virgin when you were so clearly different from that. I am pleased with you though, naughty Priscilla. I think I like you better as the scheming woman than as the virgin. You are sly, of course, very sly. But you please me. I am getting impatient now. Come, drink some of this wine.”

  I shook my head.

  “It has aphrodisiac qualities … like the musk. If you are really not looking forward to the night, it might help you.”

  I still shook my head.

  “Drink it,” he said, and his manner had changed. “I say drink it. You are here to obey me. Is that not part of the bargain?”

  I suddenly felt that it was no use caring any more what happened to me. I was here for a purpose and that must be carried out. There would be no one to rescue me this time and I could not ask to be rescued. I had to save my father.

  I drank the wine. I had had nothing to eat and I felt a little dizzy. He was right. The wine would help me endure what had to come.

  I heard him laugh softly.

  “Come,” he said, “I am ready now.”

  I stood up. I felt his hands on my cloak. It slid to the ground. He took off his cloak and stood before me. He touched the angry mark across his chest. “Inflicted by your protector,” he said. “You have to pay a good deal for that.” There was a savage note in his voice. I had to suppress a desire to turn and run. But he had picked me up and thrown me onto the bed.

  Even now I cannot bear to think of that night. He was determined to make me pay in full for the thrashing Leigh had given him and for the fact that he, who prided himself on his knowledge of women, had been deceived into thinking a pregnant girl was an innocent virgin. This was what I was paying for, although the bait he offered me was my father’s life.

  The man was amoral. He had no feeling for right or wrong. Again and again during that night he reminded me of my need to submit to his will—and every time I dared not disobey.

  I tried to disengage myself, to be as one looking on at my other self partaking in these activities. I knew that he was trying to subdue my spirit as well as my body, and it irked him—while it aroused a certain admiration in him—that he could not. He was a strange man. Oddly enough, I trusted him to keep his part of the bargain, although from everything I knew of him, it seemed foolish to expect it. But I did. He was, as he had said, in some ways a man of refined tastes. His scented linen, his well-washed body bore this out. At least I did not have to endure an unwashed lecher. I felt bruised bodily and mentally, and all the time I was telling myself that it must soon pass.

  When I saw the first streak of dawn in the sky, I knew my ordeal was coming to an end.

  He made no attempt to stop my leaving. I wrapped myself in the cloak and pulled the bell rope. The woman whom I had seen when I arrived came into the room. She looked different without her false pieces of hair and her patches. But she was clean. I was sure that everyone near him must be that.

  She took me without a word to the room where I had bathed. There were my clothes. I dressed and she led me out. The carriage was waiting and I was taken back to the inn.

  I went straight to my mother’s room and with great relief saw that she was still sleeping. I prayed to God that she had not missed me during the night.

  I took off my outdoor clothes and sat down. I shut my eyes. Images from the previous night kept crowding into my mind.

  My father will come today, I told myself, and then it will all have been worthwhile.

  Yes, it would. What was a night’s humiliation compared with a life, and my father’s life at that!

  I thought about him. He was another strange man, a man who had known many women before he married my mother. I believed he had been faithful to her. Christabel was his daughter. He had admitted that. Perhaps he had other children here and there.

  Thinking of my father stopped those images. I saw him instead of the handsome, lascivious face of Beaumont Granville which I was sure would haunt me for the rest of my life.

  I thought then: I love my father. I love him dearly … perhaps more than I do my mother. Always I had wanted to impress him, to have him take notice of me, to look for me when he came home after an absence. He never had. He never would. I was only the daughter and son
s were important to a man such as he was.

  Then suddenly I was elated because when he came through the door I could say to myself: I saved you. I brought you home. The daughter you have never thought of much account was the one who saved your life.

  I did not care at that moment what I had done. I was glad of it. I had suffered humiliation for his sake and I would do it again.

  My mother stirred uneasily during the morning. I sat beside her with a sickening fear in my heart.

  Would Granville keep his word? Why should I trust such a man? Was he laughing now because he had deceived me as he had been deceived about me in Venice?

  He had sworn that he paid his debts and I still believed he would pay this one. I must believe it. But as the morning wore on terrible doubts came to me.

  I thought fiercely, If he has failed me, I will kill him.

  It was early in the afternoon when my father walked in.

  He was dirty and unkempt. He smelt of the prison. There was death in that smell. He was pale and had lost a great deal of weight. But he was there. He was safe.

  “Oh, father!” I cried. “So you are back!”

  He nodded. “Your mother …”

  I looked towards the bed and he was kneeling there. She opened her eyes. I shall never forget the smile on her face. She was young and beautiful again and they were in each other’s arms.

  I stood watching them, but they were unaware of me.

  Carlotta’s Cupboard

  MY MOTHER’S RECOVERY WAS rapid. The doctor had been right when he had said that all she needed was to see my father safe and well.

  We made hasty preparations to leave, for she said that should not feel safe until we were back in Eversleigh. There was a determined look about her mouth. I could see that she had made up her mind that there would be no more dabbling in rebellions. We had King James the Second on the throne; he was a Catholic, and my father, in common with a great many English men and women, did not want a Catholic King; but my mother’s theory was that he was there and there he must stay and we must put up with him. We were running no more risks.

  I think seeing her so ill and anxious had affected my father deeply. During the days which followed they would not allow one to be out of the other’s sight. It was moving, and in spite of my bruised and humiliated body, I felt exultant because but for me it would have been a very different story.