“Karl? Thank goodness you’re back! Are you all right?” He stirred from his reverie and turned to face her. “Of course. What is it, Charlotte?”
She would have rushed to him, but the look in his eyes stopped her. The tranquillity that had drawn her to him had been replaced by something fervid and disturbing.
“You were gone for such a long time,” she said, foolishly nervous. “I was so worried.”
His mouth softened a little. “There’s never any need to worry about me, liebchen. I can take care of myself quite effectively.”
She hugged herself, shivering although she was not cold. “But did you find anyone?”
Karl paused. “No.”
“So, Madeleine can’t have been attacked, then. It would be too awful to think that there was a stranger wandering round the grounds! She doesn’t seem to remember anything. We’re certain she just passed out. The doctor says she will be all right, but my aunt’s sitting up with her to make sure… “
She trailed off. Karl was looking at her strangely, as if he had completely forgotten about Madeleine. “Ah. Good. You know you should not… “
His eyes were embers. He moistened his lips. “You should not have come here, Charlotte.”
She should have left then, but she hesitated for the fatal few seconds. She felt the voiceless magnetism again. His beauty cut the ground from under her, more than ever now they had kissed and touched.
But the blameless warmth they had shared in the garden was darkening into a compulsion. And although she thought she had never experienced the feeling before, she recognised it—from dreams, from the secret heart of her subconscious. When he said, “You should not have come here,” she did not need to ask why.
Molten panic ran through her. The darkness in Karl’s expression lay on the whole room and it was pulling at her. She knew what would happen if she stayed in the room. She knew it was wrong, sinful, dangerous; and knowing it, she began to walk towards him. All sense of self-preservation vanished. She felt like a child wading through a warm lake, suddenly stepping over a shelf and sinking into deep water.
He stood up and came to meet her. He took her hand and lifted it, his forearm twisted round hers, as if to hold her and keep her away from him at the same time.
“I should make you leave,” he said. “I should not have come back at all.”
She couldn’t move. She closed her eyes, felt his hand tighten on her fingers, while the waves of dread and excitement fell heavy as honey through her. This must not happen. The words hung there in the darkness, like guilt, but they were nothing to do with her.
“Please don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t make me leave.” Then his hands curved into her hair, and he was kissing her temples, her cheeks, her mouth. Just for a moment his lips rested warm and silky on her throat, so that she felt her own pulse beating against them. Then he leaned his head against hers. “Oh God,” he said. “Charlotte.”
After that, they did not speak for a long time. There was a wordless communication, as if their eyes were not lenses but tunnels of light leading directly from one mind to another. Karl was no more in control than she was as they moved slowly to the curtained bed.
She felt only one pang of fear as they shed their clothes, an echo of images of revulsion and pain she had conjured about Henry—but it was distant, only there to show her how far removed that was from this. Karl peeled the layers of silk from her with such reverence, stroking trails of heat over her skin. And then the astonishing sensation of his hair brushing her breasts and his mouth on the buds of her nipples… As his arms slid round her, as their limbs entwined pearl-white against the cover, she knew there was nothing to fear. Their love-making was gentle, compelling, hypnotic. And Karl caressed every curve of her with rapt amazement, as if she were a goddess.
And his body, too, was breathtaking; creamy and flawless. She’d never dreamed of such masculine glory, sculpted from moonlight; still less that she would dare to touch it, to stroke him everywhere, nervously at first then with growing boldness; even there, the dark hair between his thighs and the forbidden dark fruit that she’d never even dared to imagine, the long rigid stalk of the phallus that was like a blind serpent questing for her. Even that was beautiful, and terrible.
We should not… The thought became a meaningless chant, fading away. This is wrong… .but no, that was in another world, a desiccated world to which she and Karl no longer belonged. They swam together in a realm where morality and constraint had no place. Had never existed.
Wondrous, that he was stroking her soft skin and the secret places that no one else had ever seen or touched. Heat swelling and dew gathering against the warmth of his palm. Wondrous that she could allow this and feel no guilt, only rapture. Delirium. The mask of the ice-cool angel fell away and he was a demon, all fire and appetite. A serpent piercing her. A sword of flame, spilling waves of crimson pleasure. Only the faintest whisper of pain and then it was swallowed up in fever, wild hunger, amazement that they were doing this… ah, doing this…
Now she found the truth that lay at the heart of everything; all the fears, veiled warnings, knowing smiles, restrictions; the blood-red stamen at the centre of society’s tightly folded flower. The paradox of an ecstasy that was fretted with danger.
And in it she found breathless, instant addiction. The Crystal Ring… had Karl murmured those words? Yes, like crystal it was, a blazing circle of diamond, beating outwards in waves of light. And it was like blood; hot, flowing, pulsing, animal. He smiled down at her cries and then she felt him falling with her, sharing the sweetness, the astonishing sweetness so intense it verged on pain…
Only as the waves faded there was a moment of discord when she felt his mouth pressing like a circle of darkness on her neck… as if the fulfilment of physical desire unleashed a more sinister passion in him.
It happened too quickly for her to react. She anticipated pain and she arched to meet it, not caring… but the pain never came. Instead he turned his face away with a groan. His hair lay silky across her throat but his arms were rigid as if he were struggling to push himself away from her.
Then she felt him relax, and when he turned towards her again there was an unreadable distress in his eyes. “I will not,” he whispered. “God help me, I never shall.”
She had hardly enough breath left to speak. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, liebling.” His face was tranquil again, his eyes amber veils over his soul. He smiled at her and stroked her cheek. “I hope you aren’t sorry.”
With the ecstatic light still trickling over her like sweat, she said, “No. I could never be sorry.”
* * *
Chapter Seven
No Spoken Word
When Madeleine woke, she knew that she had died. The oak posts of her bed had turned to stone. So had the canopy and the curtains, their folds not soft but rigidly sculpted, ingrained with the dirt of ages. The walls of a crypt rose cold and shadowy around her. The chest of drawers was an altar, stained with light the colour of blood. She was a stone effigy lying on a tomb, and she would be here forever with the shadows and the spiders.
But there was something moving at the foot of the tomb. Two lifesize puppets with painted wooden heads, swivelling their jagged black and white faces towards her and away again as they chattered. They moved in jerks, their wooden jaws snapping open and shut. Their speech sounded like flies buzzing. As in a dream Madeleine watched them without fear, only with a kind of bewildered paralysis.
One of the heads turned to her, and she understood what it said. “Are you awake, dear? How are you?”
The puppets were coming towards her, but as they moved, they changed. Their outlines seemed to soften and she realised that were her father and her aunt. She cried out, “I’m sorry!”
“Whatever for?” Her father leaned down towards her, his features clearly human and familiar. Pale grey eyes, creamy moustache, scent of pipe tobacco.
“For dying. I didn’t mean to.”
He looked sideways at Elizabeth. Their faces turned shiny and grotesque again. “Dying, you say? Nonsense.”
“I shall be dead forever. You mustn’t come to visit me.” It all seemed clear as she spoke. I’ve lived my life in a cloud of light, I never thought of the future… never dreamed I wasn’t infallible. Immortal. Now the delusion had been whipped aside like a painted screen to reveal the ugliness of reality. Why have they come to visit my tomb? Is it right for the living to mock the dead, to caper about like marionettes, flaunting their life?
“Oh, Maddy, I was only flirting. Quite frankly, I thought it would do you good to realise you can’t always have everything you want.”
“I love him. No one else does.”
Clasping her hand, Elizabeth said, “My dear, I didn’t realise how strongly you felt. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. I’d forgotten how painful love can be when you’re young. I know this is very hard for you to accept, but don’t you think, if he felt the same, he would have said something by now?”
“He does love me. I know he does.”
Elizabeth went quiet. Madeleine thought, Who am I really talking to, Aunt Lizzie or the marionette? I don’t know what’s real. Then her aunt said, “Well, for the sake of your poor heart, I hope you’re right. But don’t you think it’s rather strange, the way he chose to vanish into the garden with Charlotte last night?”
Madeleine had no memory of that, only of going out on to the terrace… the tall figure she had thought was Karl, until she saw the blue eyes and the hard white face… then the aching dizziness… then Karl and Charlotte bending over me! Fear went through her, but she pushed it away. “That’s impossible.”
“I think it’s quite incredible. In the unlikely event that Karl has taken a romantic interest in Charlotte, I thought she was too terrified of men to let him anywhere near her. Yet the fact is, they were together, and looking so sheepish about it, I can’t believe they were only discussing science.” Aunt Elizabeth’s mouth was a grim line. “Of course, I’ve always suspected that Charlotte’s ‘shyness’ is just an excuse to be selfish. There’s a streak of contrariness in that young lady that’s almost wicked.”
Madeleine couldn’t listen. “No, Karl couldn’t like Charlotte. She has Henry.”
“Indeed she has. And if she does have some idea of chasing Karl as well, I’ll knock that out of her right away. Don’t worry, darling.”
Madeleine nodded, but her aunt’s voice seemed distant, echoing off the crypt walls. Everything was decaying around them; time was crumbling the stone itself to dust. She had to breathe very deep and blink hard to hold the world in place. “I must see Karl,” she said.
“Later. You’re not well enough to see anyone just yet.”
“Then I shall get well as fast as I can,” Madeleine said resolutely.
***
“I could never be sorry,” Charlotte had said, yet by the following morning, remorse was already threading icy tendrils through her.
As she sat at breakfast, she felt as if her iniquity was branded on her forehead. Surely it must be blindingly obvious what had happened between her and Karl—yet everyone carried on as if they had noticed nothing. There was no sign of Karl. David and Anne sat talking business with Elizabeth. The house guests drifted in and out of the breakfast room, reading newspapers, discussing the weather or sport. Madeleine made an appearance, looking pale but smiling bravely. She did not speak to Charlotte. Her friends, making jokes about one too many White Ladies, took her away to be cosseted in one of the drawing rooms.
Nobody mentioned the events of the previous night; life had already returned to normal. But not for Charlotte.
She had left Karl in the early hours, not wanting to risk discovery when the maid came in with the tea, but alone in her room she had gone into a state of shock. Gods, what have I done?
And where was Karl? She knew he never ate breakfast anyway, but he usually made an appearance to be sociable. She was possessed by an unreasoning terror that she would never see him again.
What had seemed so enchanted the previous night seemed heinous in the light of day. It was as if a cold wall of glass had come down between them, the very instant she left him. If he walked in now, what on earth would they say to each other? However offhandedly they tried to behave, Elizabeth was too sharp not to see the signs.
Yet the memory of that otherworld remained clear and shining, colouring everything. How could she regret it? It had changed her forever. In a dream she wandered out of the breakfast room and along the corridor; unconsciously looking for Karl, frightened of finding him, terrified that she would not.
She stopped to look through the letters on the upper hall table and Anne came up to her, dressed in riding kit. “Charli, I’ve hardly had a chance to speak to you since last night. You look almost as pale as the invalid. Are you all right?”
“Yes, but I—I’m rather worried about Maddy.”
“Oh, if she’s out of bed already, she’ll be fine. I thought I ought to warn you about this morning’s subject of gossip before you hear it anywhere else. They’re all speculating about you and Karl.”
Charlotte’s eyes widened. “What about me and Karl?”
“Oh, come on! Disappearing into the depths of the garden.”
“Oh, that.” She leaned on the table, uttering a short sigh of relief.
“Isn’t that enough? What else have you been up to?” Anne said teasingly. Her eyes were bright, unaware of the darkness that haunted Charlotte. “I know you hate it, but don’t take any notice; gossip is people’s lifeblood, and no one escapes it all the time. It was like that for David and me before we got engaged.” Charlotte sifted through the letters, spread them in a fan on the polished surface. “All the same, I wish they wouldn’t. I shan’t dare show my face today.”
“Nonsense. The good news is that your folks have decided not to say anything to you about it.”
Charlotte bit her lip. “I knew they were talking about me behind my back. I hate that.”
“I know. I don’t like it either. That’s why I’m telling you. It’s too much for the Prof and David to believe the worst, so they’ve decided to give you the benefit of the doubt. You’re still a little white lamb in their eyes.” Anne looked steadily at her, concerned. “But you can tell me the truth, Charli. Is there anything going on between you and Karl?”
Charlotte didn’t know what to say, even to her best friend. She felt a sudden urge to confess everything, but the words would not come. She could not bear the experience to be confined and lessened by someone else’s judgement… not even Anne’s. “There might be,” she whispered.
“Oh dear,” Anne said softly. “Would you like to talk about it?”
“I can’t. I’m sorry. I need to collect my thoughts.”
“Nothing like being on horseback for clearing the mind. I’ll wait for you to change, if you like.”
The idea of escaping into the fresh air was very tempting—but what if Karl reappeared and she missed him? “I’d like too—but really, I’m too tired. I think I’ll stay in this morning.”
“No stamina! See you later, then.” Anne began to walk away, then turned back. “You ought to think very carefully about Henry, you know. This could turn into an awful mess.”
It already is, thought Charlotte. Heaven and hell.
She was beginning to think she had imagined everything, that Karl had vanished like a ghost with the dawn. But as she passed the library, she glanced in and saw him sitting on the brown leather couch. Although there was a book open on his knee, he was gazing out at the garden.
Her head was spinning. She almost walked straight past, but it was too late, he had turned and was looking at her. The graceful way he stood up as she walked to the couch was enough to reawaken a melting sensation that went from her throat through her abdomen to the soles of her feet. Everything about him was more poignant now for being so sweetly familiar.
“Where have you been?” she said.
“I had to
go out for a while.” He lifted her hand and turned it over to kiss the inside of her wrist. “I’m being so unfair to you, liebchen.”
His words seemed ominous. “How?”
“Sit down.” They sat easily together, resting against each other, no awkwardness between them at all. Charlotte relaxed. They belonged together; that was the way it had felt from the beginning, if she had only realised it. “Last night… I know it was wrong, but you must not feel guilty, Charlotte. The blame was all mine.”
“No it wasn’t!” She was surprised at how indignant she felt. “Do you think I have no will of my own?”
His eyebrows lifted and he almost smiled. His eyes remained serious. “Your will is stronger than you know, but that’s not what I mean. I don’t believe you could give yourself to someone unless you trusted them completely, could you?”
“No. But I do trust you completely.”
Karl sighed. “Ah. I know that, you see. I have knowingly betrayed your trust. That’s why I say the blame is mine.”
The seed of dread began to grow heavier. “What on earth do you mean?”
“That I can make no promises to you. I would if I could, but it’s impossible.”
All at once her foreboding became a fearful coldness. She’d had no thoughts of the future and the idea of marrying Karl had not even entered her head. Now he said “impossible,” disturbing visions began to settle, one by one, like crows within her. She tried to chase them away but in flurries of blackness they returned. Did I hope… ? “I wouldn’t presume to ask or expect any such thing,” she said faintly.
“But you have every right to do so. This is a society in which marriage and virtue mean everything. They mean nothing to me, but it’s you who has to live in this world, Charlotte, not I. You are the one who will suffer. I knew this, but I am selfish and I let it happen anyway.”
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