by Jean Plaidy
“Come to think of it,” he said, ‘there is a good deal to be said for a tumble on the grass.”
She began to tremble, and that sickness of defeat came over him. He tried to stifle it, tried to be the ruthless squire he liked to imagine himself at times when the sentimental mood was not upon him. But it would not be stifled.
She said coldly: “Keep your coarseness for the serving maids!”
He wanted to shake her. Who had driven him to serving maids? She had! She and Bess between them. He began to whistle, to show her that he did not care for what she said. If he wished to, he would have her as surely as he would have any serving maid that pleased him. But, he wished her to know, it did not please him… not at the moment.
“Do not think I am eager for you,” he said with nonchalance.
“Not me! Too many you have had, my dear. It takes the bloom off, believe me.”
He let her walk past him; he watched her hurrying across the lawns and into the house. It might have been Bessie so alike they were.
Damn Kitty and damn Bess! He kicked the earth under his feet and wondered what he would do. He went to the stables, still undecided, and called to Jake to saddle his favourite horse. Then he rode out of the grounds and into the road, and galloped furiously; the thudding of his horse’s hoofs and the feel of the sweating body between his knees comforted him. He could do what he wanted to with this animal; he almost wished it were not so docile. He would have relished using his whip, but he was too good a horseman to do so without a reason. He wanted to slash out at someone though, so he went to Harriet.
Here he could laugh and be brutal in a clever, subtle way; queer that the prim spinster could give him the comfort denied him by the voluptuous Kitty.
“You’re a wonderful woman, Harry!” he told her. Cruelly he laughed within himself, and if her skin had not been so yellow, he would have kissed her there and then. But he could never bring himself to that; besides, it would spoil the fun. And good fun this was; baiting poor old Harry was as good as baiting a bear or the pitching of two cocks one against the other.
He stayed long with Harriet; he stayed for a meal, sat at the long table in the cool dining-room and carved the saddle of mutton for her. And how she twittered about him, and how she worried that he would defy the proprieties and stay all the evening; how she dreaded he would and longed that he would!
Emm waited on them at table and afterwards brought coffee, and Emm was brown as a berry and smooth too a real country wench, ripe enough, sly enough. He watched her when Harriet wasn’t looking, and he touched her bosom with a careless hand when she bent over him to serve him from the dish of potatoes. She quivered as a horse does; rippling through her body. Ripe and sly, he thought. And his mind was full of Emm as he looked at Harriet, and Harriet saw thoughts there that made her shudder, because she felt they were of her.
He sat, sprawled out in her drawing-room, and the clock ticked on. Inwardly he laughed, and was soothed for the slights he had suffered from Bess and from Kitty. He sat on, drinking elderberry wine until the clock struck ten.
“Good gracious me!” said Harriet.
“Did you hear that, George? Ten of the clock, I do declare, and you with that ride home before you!”
“The ride is nothing to me, Harry.”
“But I was thinking of what you might meet on the road. George. I do declare the roads get worse and worse.”
“Bah! I would like to see the man who would dare ask me for my purse! He would not get away with it and his life.”
She eyed him with a wistful softness.
“Doubtless you would be reckless, George.” she said softly, ‘but that does not ease my mind.”
“By the Lord Harry!” cried the squire.
“Are you going to offer me a bed?”
He could scarcely stop the smile curving his lips. It was such a good joke that; but she did not appear to hear it.
There are beds and to spare in this house,” she said.
“I will tell Emm to prepare a room. Emm!” she called.
“Emm!”
“My good Harriet,” laughed the squire, ‘you’re to put all such thoughts out of your head. A ride in the dark has no terrors for me, I can tell you. I enjoy it!”
“I know, George. I know.”
He felt himself aglow with her admiration. He was glad he had come; he was glad he had stayed. Why let Kitty humiliate him? Why have let Bess? There were women in the world who thought very highly of him.
Emm appeared in answer to the call. Candlelight softened her, hid the grime of her. Her eyes were large and soft like a fawn’s eyes.
Harriet hesitated. The squire roared out: “Get a lanthorn, girl, and light me to the stables!”
Emm said: “Indeed I will, sir!” and went out.
The squire rocked backwards and forwards on his heels, smiling at Harriet, well pleased with himself.
“Good night, Harriet, m’dear.”
“Good night, George. It has been most pleasant.”
“We will repeat the pleasure, Harry. No, no! You shall not venture out into the night air. I’ll not allow it. There is deadliness in the night air, Harry.”
Ah. he thought, laughing, and magic tool Starlight could throw a cloak of beauty even about such as workhouse Emm.
Emm appeared in the hall, holding a lanthorn in her hands.
“Come you on, girl,” he said.
“The hour is growing late.” He did not look at her, but he was aware of every movement of her body as she passed him.
“Goodbye, Harriet.”
Harriet stood in the doorway. The lanthorn, like a will-o’-the-wisp, flickering across the grass on its way to the stables.
“I shall not move till you have shut yourself in from this treacherous night air, Harriet.”
“George, you are too ridiculous!”
“Is it ridiculous then to care for the health of one’s friends?”
She closed the door. She thought how charming he was, under the right influence. What a certain woman could have done for him!
The lanthorn flickered against the darkness of the stables. It was a lovely night. There was no moon, but a wonderful array of stars. They seemed bigger than usual, like jewels laid out for show on a piece of black velvet. He began to hurry across the grass.
“Emm,” he said softly.
“Emm! Wait for me!”
She was beside him, and as he laid a hand on her shoulder, she stepped back a pace. Sly, silly girl, he thought. But he was in no hurry; he preferred a little dalliance.
He said: “Lead the way, girl. Lead the way!”
And she went before him, holding the lanthorn on a level with her youthful head. His eyes were fixed upon her appraisingly; all young creatures were beautiful by starlight.
“You are a nice girl, Emmie,” he said.
“Often have I noticed that.”
She did not speak, and he roared out: “Did you hear me?”
“Yes, sir,” she said, her voice trembling.
“Thank you, sir!”
“You like me, Emmie, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes, sir.”
She had a grace, this girl; the fawn-like quality was very much in evidence. She seemed to him to be poised for a fleet and startled withdrawal.
Damn it! he thought, his veins swelling. She was willing enough. Brown as a berry, and ripe as plums in September. He would have fun with her, right under Harriet’s prim nose.
“Emm!” he said.
“Put that plaguey lanthorn down, and come here.”
She came and stood cautiously before him. He put out his hands and he felt the quiver run through her.
“Now, Emmie, girl, nothing to be afraid of, nothing to be afraid of, eh?”
He talked soothingly as he talked to his horses.
“Come on, Emmie girl; come on, now!”
Then he seized her and kissed her, and felt his blood run hot through him. She was not too clean, and she smelt of the dinner s
he had cooked the dinner he had eaten with Harriet.
He was exultant, laughing at Bess and Kitty really, getting the better of them in some queer, subtle way.
But Emm was panting; she wrenched herself from his grasp suddenly; she was as agile as a young monkey.
Damn her! he thought. Wanted chasing, did she? These workhouse girls were giving themselves airs indeed! By God, did she forget he was the squire, about to confer an honour upon her! Had she been listening to that other one, that Janet who was saving up her virtue for some blundering farm labourer? No, no! She wanted a chase some of them did; liked to lead a man a dance. But that was the ladies. The workhouse girls were giving themselves the airs of ladies these days! She would lead him a dance, make him chase her over the garden, taking good care not to escape from him, and be caught conveniently when they had both had enough of the chase; and laughing and panting, and perhaps biting and scratching, she would give way. Well, well, he was in a good humour and the night was before him. He set out after her across the lawn. She was fleet though. She was in the house. She had shut the door on him. And what could he do, confound the girl, but tap timidly for fear of Harriet’s hearing, and then when she said from the other side of the door, “Please go away!” he had to plead: “Emm! Emmie, girl. What is wrong with you? Come out, I say! Come out, I tell you!” But she did not come. And how could the squire stand pleading at the back door with a girl from the workhouse!
Wild fury possessed him. It was all he could do to restrain himself from breaking down the door. That would be sheer folly, of course. He had to do better than that. By God, did the girl not know that he could have her brought before him, could have her whipped in public, could have her sent off to a convict ship … and, yes, could no doubt have her hanged if he cared to! He was the squire, was he not? A magistrate! A Justice! He felt the veins in his head would burst: his eyes burned with his anger. Doubtless the slut had committed many a crime which only had to be discovered. By God, he would show her! But there was nothing he could do this night. He forced himself to walk slowly back to the stables, trying to quell the angry beating of his heart. He did not want to be bled again… he must not work himself into such a fury over a mere workhouse slut. But it was not the workhouse slut well he knew that it was Bess again, jeering at him … Bess and Kitty, confound them! a, It was good to feel the horse between his knees, responding to every pressure a noble creature who knew his master. He had no wish to go home; he rode for miles, galloping and cantering across the fields, through the country lanes; and when he had had enough it was past midnight, and when he reached home it was nearly one o’clock.
He himself rubbed down his horse, for though he was a stern master he was a good one. Then he went into the house and poured himself a glass of whisky.
“I will get the taste of Harriet’s plaguey concoctions out of my mouth!” he said, and he laughed afresh at Harriet’s feeling for him, and drank more whisky, for there was nothing like whisky for keeping a man’s spirit up and he was going to Kitty. He had stood off long enough, and, damn it, he had to get the taste of that bit of foolery with the workhouse chit out of his mouth as surely as he had to get rid of the taste of Harriet’s wine.
He went upstairs. The door of her room was not locked as he had half expected it to be, but if it had been he would have had it down; he was in that mood.
“Kitty!” he called.
“Kitty!”
There was no answer.
“Ha! No use pretending to be asleep, girl.” He sat down on the chair by her dressing-table.
“Curse this plaguey darkness!” he said.
“Where do you keep your candles, girl? Get out of that bed and light one. I have had enough of your lady ways__Tonight I am going to show you that I have had enough. From now on things are going to change in this house…”
His voice was a little shaky. The mood of sentimentality was creeping in on him. In a moment he would be saying: “Kitty, let us start again … Could we, girl? I will forget what you have been, and you forget what I have been …”
He wanted Kitty. Damn it, he was getting on in years. He had done with the chasing; he wanted to settle. A man felt like that -settle and look after the children. And perhaps have more children. Three was no family for a man. More children like little Carolan. Kitty’s children that was what he wanted Kitty’s and his this time.
“Kitty!” he said, his voice soft and pleading.
“Kitty, girl.”
He groped his way to the bed and felt for her. It took him some seconds to realize that the bed was empty.
He was shouting, rousing the household.
“Here! Everybody! Where the hell is everybody! Come here at once, I say!”
And while he stood there, listening to his own voice he thought: By God, she is paying a midnight visit to a lover! What a fool I am going to look! By God! By God, I’ll make her pay for this!
A fool he was, a fool, to act without thinking. He imagined the tittering of the servants after this. If he heard any tittering, saw any sly glances, he would have them whipped, that he would.
Mrs. West, the housekeeper, came first, her dressing-gown pulled around her, her teeth chattering, her candlestick shaking in her hand.
“Where is your mistress?” he barked at her.
Mrs. West peered at the bed.
“Tis not been slept in, master!”
“I see that. Do you think I am blind!” He looked at her narrowly; she had always been Kitty’s friend, he knew. Was she hiding something?
“Look you, woman, if you have any idea, any idea whatsoever, of where your mistress is, you had better tell me at once or it will be the worse for you. Do you hear me?”
“I have not the faintest idea, master.” He knew that the woman was speaking the truth. Other faces appeared in the doorway, among them Jennifer’s. Jennifer was smiling secretly. She was thinking, as he was thinking, that Kitty had gone out to meet a lover. In a moment he would be slapping that secret smile from Jennifer’s face.
He said: “Call her maid!” and Jennifer went away and brought in Therese. Therese’s black hair hung in two plaits and her black eyes glittered.
“Where is your mistress?” demanded the squire. Therese looked towards the bed and lifted her shoulders in surprise.
“That I do not know. Monsieur.”
“Come,” said the squire, I think you do know.”
“But no. Monsieur!”
“Did you not dress her for an outing?”
“But no, Monsieur! She retired early this night. It was ‘cad-ache!” Therese held her own head and closed her eyes, then opened them and lifted them to the ceiling. Jennifer laughed. The squire said: “Get outside, all of you … Except you!” he added to Therese.
He did not watch them go, but he heard them, shuffling out, and he cursed himself for a fool to have aroused the household like this.
“Now,” he said to Therese, ‘no secrets! It is no use telling me that you did not share your mistress’s secrets and take part in her intrigues.”
“Oh, but no, no, no, Monsieur! Intrigue? What is he?” Plaguey foreigner! She did not understand when she did not wish to. Neat she was too, and cheeky with her flashing black eyes; and not too old. Her gesticulating hands were beautifully shaped.
“Damn it!” he said.
“Get out. I will speak to you in the morning.”
She went out daintily, and he sat alone in the bedroom. He would wait here for Kitty’s return, and when she came in he would take his riding crop to her. He had been soft. It was no way to treat a woman, to be soft with her. He would punish her now, in the way that would hurt her most. He would beat her white skin until the blood ran; then she could show that to her lover, and they would say he was a brute, but they would know he was master. He would beat her for what she had done to him, and what Bess had done to him; he would beat her for a hundred insults, even the one he had received tonight from a workhouse brat.
Jennifer came silently in
to the room. She stood close to him, thin and tall; the candlelight on her slanting eyes and pointed face made her look like a witch.
“George…” she said humbly.
“Get out!” said the squire.
She knelt beside him and lifted her face.
She said: “I have always been faithful to you … We used to be happy.”
By God, he thought, she has. And I believe we were happy in a way.
“All right, Jenny,” he said.
“All right.”
“George,” she said again, a high note of excitement in her voice, ‘why cannot we try to be happy once more?”
He was so tired; he let his hand touch her hair. She nestled close to him. He thought of past scenes; she was a passionate, strange creature, this Jennifer; he had liked her well enough once; she had been a great contrast to cold Amelia. There had been a time with Jennifer when he had almost ceased to think of Bess.
“All right, Jenny,” he said again.
Closer she came, and he smelt gin on her breath.
He said: “You have been drinking, Jenny!”
“No,” she lied. And he thought: Damn her. I cannot trust even Jennifer!
She nestled close to him. She was fuddled, too fuddled to think clearly. She tried too quickly to press home her advantage.
She said: “Oh, George, if you could know everything that has gone on in this room! If I could tell you!”
“Why the hell did you not tell me?” he demanded.
“How could I … of the mistress? There was not one lover, George. There have been scores!” She tittered. He hated tittering women.
“There are things I might tell you, George, if you were to ask me.”
Vivid pictures crowded into his mind, and Kitty figured largely in them all. Red mist swam before his eyes. He was so wretched and miserable and lonely, but Jennifer was too foolish to help him; a drunken sot of a woman she was nowadays. He stood up suddenly and sent her sprawling. He laughed at her and touched her with his foot, not violently, but contemptuously.
“Get out, you drunken slut,” he said. Jennifer got up; she stood before him pleadingly.
“Get out!” He put his face close to hers.
“And do not let me see you in this state again. It is bad enough to have a harlot in my nursery. I will not have a drunken harlot, do you hear!”