A Lady Under Siege

by B. G. Preston

  “I think I’d rather be on top next. I’d like him to suck on my breasts. You, I mean. You too. But first let’s rest a bit, let’s snuggle and you hold me. I think I’m feeling him, even through your skin. You have nice skin, Derek.”

  43

  Married life—all forty-eight hours of it—had profoundly changed Mabel. She was no longer a spinster, or a virgin, she was now fully a woman, and a wife. To her mind she had attained a status higher than Sylvanne, whose position in society was precarious, as a widow without protection of family. As Mabel bustled into her former Lady’s presence she resolved to hold her head high and seize the initiative. After an exchange of pleasantries she got straight to the point. “Madame,” she exclaimed, “I’ll speak plainly. My husband let slip a hurtful remark that quite rightly alarmed you. But within it lies a truth that’s been kept from you too long. Your Gerald was unfaithful. There, I’ve said it.”

  Sylvanne felt as if the floor were cracking open beneath her feet. As calmly as she could, she asked, “How do you know that for certain?”

  “Everyone knew it, my dear. The man wanted an heir, and you had failed to deliver, so he looked elsewhere.”

  “Where, exactly? Don’t spare me particulars.”

  “Alright, if I must.” Mabel began to itemize. “There were milkmaids, the kitchen help, any number of pretty girls plucked from farm lanes in the countryside—Oh Madame, the man was quite notorious.”

  “To all but me, it seems. If you knew, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Oh my poor dear,” Mabel cried. “Don’t you know how many times I was tempted to tell you, especially here in our new circumstances, as you plotted revenge on his behalf? But I held my tongue, as a loyal maidservant should. Instead you discovered it inadvertently, by chance. My Gwynn has many fine qualities, but a discreet tongue is not among them.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Sylvanne said softly.

  “I think you do.”

  “Not so many days ago you took orders from me.”

  “Yes. And not so many years ago you sold me milk in the market. Now we’re as equals again, and I feel brave enough to speak the truth freely.”

  The truth. Surrendering to it, Sylvanne felt her spirit break, and she began to cry. Mabel came to her and very tenderly embraced her. “There, there, my sweet Madame,” she cooed softly.

  “Oh Mabel, what am I to do?”

  “My dear, there is a silver lining, if you wish to see it,” Mabel gently suggested. “Take notice that your Gerald tried to make a child with so many other women, and yet always failed in it. What does that show us? That the fault lay with him, not you.”

  ”My mother said the same,” Sylvanne murmured. “That his family’s bloodline was feeble, while mine was chock full of fit and fertile maidens.”

  “Of which you’re still a shining example, my dear.”

  “I’m not a maiden anymore.”

  “Compared to me you are, and yet I’m not too old either,” Mabel replied. A secretive smile pursed her lips a moment. “May I tell you something in confidence?” Without waiting for an answer she continued excitedly. “It’s said that sometimes a woman knows she’s with child from the moment of conception. Perhaps it’s wishful thinking, but I’m blessed with that sensation since my wedding night.” She let out a happy growl. “He certainly planted his seed deep!”

  Sylvanne managed a smile. Seeing it, Mabel exclaimed, “That’s more like it, my love! Look how much I have gained by the move to this new place, and you could do likewise. That’s really what I’ve come to say, not to dwell on people and events dead and buried. I so love this new season of my life, and my place as wife! You cannot imagine how it thrills me to say that I cannot stay, that I’ve a husband who expects me home. Suddenly I have three sons to clothe and groom, and feed them thrice a day. The poor dears need a mother’s tenderness, and the back of my hand to knock some sense into their witless little heads! They take after their father and I love them to death already!”

  With that, Mabel prepared to take her leave. “Come by for a wee chat some afternoon,” she said gaily. “I won’t confuse you with directions—just ask the way to Gwynn the poultryman’s—everyone knows it.” In a daze, Sylvanne heard herself making a promise to visit. They hugged, and then Mabel was gone, taking her enthusiasm and good cheer with her.

  Alone within the stone walls of her room, Sylvanne thought of Gerald, her mind groping randomly among jumbled recollections of married life, sifting through them for signs of his infidelity. She felt angry at herself, and humiliated, for not perceiving what had been known by all. She stalked the room, pride battered, fists clenched, muttering that she was a fool, such a fool, with mounting force and conviction, until she was nearly shouting. So caught up was she in self-disgust that she had failed to notice Thomas had entered. He was in a state of high excitement, like a boy bursting to tell a secret.

  “I could hear you in the hall, and thought you must have company,” he said. “Whatever troubles you, be gentle on yourself, my dear Lady.” Sylvanne restrained her emotions as best she could. “I need to speak to you, I can’t hold it inside another minute,” he gushed. “Last night our Meghan and Derek at last made love, and as witness to it, I must say, it was incredible! It ranks among the most splendid experiences of my life—so impassioned as well as edifying! I learned all manner of positions and potentialities for pleasure that I’d never imagined, let alone attempted! If I may plead an exception and address the Lady Meghan—”

  To his great and sudden surprise Sylvanne exploded at him. “Shut your mouth about Meghan!” she erupted. “You promised me you would never speak of her again!”

  “I said I’d do my best. Yet it became fundamental I get this off my chest.”

  “I never want to hear that name again, do you hear me?”

  “What is this?” he demanded, startled by her ferocity.

  “Promise me you will never say that name again!” she cried.

  “And if I do?”

  Standing before him, her breast rising and falling in a deep ragged cadence, she looked ferocious and vulnerable at the same time. He thought of a hellcat, cornered. In a quiet, serious voice, she murmured, “It doesn’t matter. I’m nothing to you. I’m nothing to anyone.”

  She was shivering, yet she stood proudly, bravely, with her head held high. He suddenly felt rise up in him a great pity for her and the circumstances he’d put her in.

  “That’s not true. You’re something to Daphne. And to me.”

  “I begin to see that women to men are mere playthings, to be fed lies and toyed with, like a cat scratches a half-dead mouse.”

  “If I toyed with you, it was unintentional,” he said. “I’ve never lied to you.”

  “Your stories might as well be lies, or fairy tales.”

  “Those fairy tales cured my daughter. You listened to them. For that I owe you my happiness. What can I give you in return? What can I do to make you happy?”

  She shivered severely, and her shoulders shook. Closing her eyes, she brought her hands to her face in a gesture of prayer, the tips of her fingers touching the wetness of her eyes. The idea of happiness seemed impossible to her at that moment.

  He watched her, then moved to her, and placed his hands softly on her shoulders to sooth their tremors. He almost expected her to push him away, to reject his empathy, but instead she leaned toward him, and let her forehead rest on his broad chest. He said softly, “You need the same thing I need, and that is to be loved.”

  44

  “So you’re having sex with a man you can’t stand, because you’re in love with another man trapped in his head,” Jan said.

  Meghan laughed into the phone. “Don’t say it like that. I can stand him now—I’m even starting to like him. Quite a lot, actually.”

  “Then it must be very good sex.”

  “It’s only been once, but it was great. Better than it ever was with Seth.”

  “You’re making me jealous.”
r />   “I’m even—just a sec, someone’s battering down my door.”

  Her doorbell had chimed, followed immediately by an insistent pounding. The bell chimed again. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” she shouted. She opened the door to the sight of Derek’s flushed, eager face, perched above a mass of messy, tousled red roses. With mock gallantry, he pronounced, “These are for my Lady fair.”

  “Huh. It’s just like you,” she smiled. Into the phone she said, “Gotta go. It’s Derek, bearing gifts. I’ll call in a bit.”

  “You better,”

  “Promise.”

  She hung up, reaching out to take the flowers he laid gently in her encircling arms. “I feel a bit like Miss Universe,” she said. “There’s got to be at least four dozen here, that’s a bit extravagant.”

  “Six dozen, in fact. Don’t worry, I got them cut-rate.”

  “On closer inspection they look it,” Meghan giggled.

  “They’re meant to make a huge, splashy first impression, not be scrutinized for every flawed bud or droopy petal. Can I come in or what?”

  “Of course. I have some news for you—there’s progress.” They went to the living room and she laid the roses in a heap on the coffee table. “Sylvanne found out her husband had been cheating on her, not just once or twice, but by the truckload. It was just sinking in when Thomas came along, and he handled it just right. He dried her tears and told her very sweetly that what they both need is to be loved.”

  “A human being’s only really being, when he is being, loved,” Derek sang. “He picked that up from me, I’m sure.”

  “Your advice for him to woo her was good. I really wish he’d marry her. Thomas, do you hear that? It’s like Daphne said, you’re in need of a wife. And Sylvanne needs someplace to anchor herself. She’s too proud to beg, but she’s allowing her heart to open, I can feel it.”

  “Great.” Derek said. He gestured toward the roses on the table. “I’d tell you to put them in a vase, but you’d need a forty-five gallon drum.”

  “Is that all you have to say?”

  “What? I’m happy, I’m happy for them. If they get together, great. I’m not as invested in them as you. You get to see them every night, but to me they’re second hand. They’re friends of friends.”

  “You’re more than a friend to Thomas—he knows you better than I do.” Her face suddenly broke into a wide grin. “He did say to say thank you for the performance yesterday. He found it—how’d he put it?—I think he called it passionate and edifying.”

  “Glad to hear we’re giving him an erotic education,” Derek smiled. “I think it’s time for another lesson.”

  “Now? Not now.”

  “Where’s Betsy?”

  “She’s just down the street. She took her unicycle to the skateboard park, it’s made her a bit of a star there. The boys line up to try it out.”

  “Then it’ll have to be a quickie.”

  “A super-duper quickie. Even then I don’t think so.”

  “When did she go?”

  “Ten minutes ago. I told her to be back in an hour.”

  “Fifty minutes—that’s not a quickie, that’s a slowie. A slowie with one ear cocked for the key in the door.” He took her hand, and she felt herself carried to him by some force like a river’s current. He put his arms around her and pulled her close, and felt her stretch pliantly against him. She planted kisses on his chest above the V of his collar, rubbing her nose at the base of his neck. “You smell good,” she murmured. He sat back on the couch and she lowered herself onto his lap, straddling him. She stared deeply into his eyes.

  “So we have time?” he said.

  “No. We’re keeping our clothes on.”

  “That’s okay. A lot can be accomplished with clothes on.” He undid the top two buttons of her blouse.

  “That’s far enough.”

  “Perfect for a peek. I love the view.”

  She put a finger under his chin and lifted his gaze from her breasts to her face. She looked deeply, searchingly into his eyes.

  “Are you seeing him?”

  “Uh huh. Him and you. Kiss me.” Murmuring happily, he leaned forward and ran his tongue down to the little hollow at the base of her neck, and undid a third button on her blouse.

  A child’s voice called out, “What are you doing?”

  Betsy stood in the hallway watching them, still wearing her bicycle helmet and a cyclist’s day-glow safety vest. One of her knees was skinned and bloody. Meghan, mortified, jumped from Derek’s lap, fumbling with her buttons.

  “We’re just wrestling a bit. Playing around,” Derek said.

  “I’m not stupid!” Betsy cried. She turned away and charged blindly down the hall to the front door. Meghan hurried after her, calling out for her to come back. She saw her race out the door and down the steps where her unicycle lay bent and broken on its side, saw her run across the sidewalk, darting between two parked cars into the street. “Betsy!” Meghan screamed. What happened next she saw in slow motion, with her heart in her throat—Betsy running blindly into traffic, a white minivan whose driver stared too distractedly at his phone, a screech of brakes like the sound of murder. Meghan thought she would die, until suddenly she saw Betsy, unhurt, still running, down the sidewalk on the far side of the street, to the corner, then out of sight.

  She flew down the steps and chased after her, the soles of her bare feet slapping against the unforgiving pavement. Suddenly Derek was at her shoulder, then past her, crossing the street first, and then waiting for her to catch up at the corner. Betsy had disappeared. They hurried to the next intersection. “You go that way, I’ll go this,” he told her.

  She set off alone, muttering to herself that she should never have been so careless, that she would never again let love or lust turn her into such a sloppy fool, that she was first and foremost a mother, and a mother needs to keep it together, always and forever. All the while her eyes scanned for Betsy, but there was no sign of her. Suddenly she stopped, realizing that she was moving in the opposite direction from the skateboard park, which rested on the edge of a larger park with playgrounds and playing fields that was by far the most likely place for Betsy to run to, the only sliver of green neutrality in this whole monstrous urban world of parked cars and private property. She turned and headed back that way, the way Derek had gone.

  THE PARK WAS NEARLY deserted. Derek found Betsy sitting on the black strap of a playground swing, swaying limply, indifferently, one foot dangling down to scrape a toe at the sand. She glanced up and saw him coming, then kept her head lowered as he sat in the next swing.

  “You didn’t need to go running off,” he said. “We were just kissing each other. You kind of snuck up on us.”

  Betsy said nothing.

  “You need that knee cleaned up.”

  She bent to examine the scrape. Without looking at him she said, “I thought grown-ups did it at night, in a bed—not daytime, downstairs where everyone can see.”

  “That’s not what we were doing.”

  “Why do people do it anyway? What’s the big deal?”

  He was relieved that she didn’t sound angry, or hurt, but rather, annoyed. “You should be having this conversation with your mom, not me.”

  “We’ve had it already. She told me how making love makes babies. And how people like to do it even when they don’t want babies.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. The urge to do it is stronger than the real reason to do it. The urge to do it becomes the reason to do it.”

  “It’s weird,” she said, shuddering a little. “I think it’s creepy.”

  “People do lots of weird things that don’t make sense,” he replied. “Look, Betsy—life’s chock full of weird shit that’ll knock you for a loop, but when it does, you need to remember there are people that love you and have your back. Your mother loves you.”

  “You love my mom.”

  “I like her a lot. I like you too.”

  “So what?”

 
“I don’t know so what. I’ll tell you something you probably don’t know about me. I had a kid once, and if she was alive she’d be your age, maybe a year older. So sometimes when I tell you things, they’re things I didn’t get a chance to tell her.”

  Betsy was silent a moment. “Do I look like her?”

  “No.”

  On tiptoes she spun slowly around on the swing, winding herself up, making the chains twist and tighten above her head. Then she lifted her feet and let the chains spin her a little dizzy, one way and then the other, until they settled her to equilibrium again.

  “Are you going to move into our house?”

  “What? Why would I do that? Separate bedrooms, separate bathrooms, separate music collections, and yet right next door? It’s perfect as it is.”

  “Here she comes,” Betsy said.

  “Can I tell her we patched things up?”

  “No.”

  When Meghan reached them she was out of breath, and leaned on one of Derek’s chains for support. “I knew I’d find you here,” she said.

  “We haven’t patched things up,” Betsy told her.

  “Do you know how happy I am to see you?” Meghan asked, and then her body trembled, and she began to cry. Derek made no move to comfort her, thinking it better to leave it to Betsy. Reluctantly, the girl got off her swing and put her arms around her mother from behind.

  “I’m not supposed to be hugging you,” she said. “I’m supposed to be mad at you.”

  “Be anything, darling,” Meghan answered, wiping at her tears. She turned to face Betsy. “Just be what you want.”

  “Derek had a daughter,” Betsy said.

  “I know that.”

  “Everybody knows everything but me.”

  “That’s how it is when you’re ten,” Derek said. “I know it hurts, but really, it’s a blessing.”

  “No it isn’t,” she said adamantly. “I want to know everything.”

  45

  As he did every morning, Thomas on waking and dressing went straightaway to Daphne’s bedchamber. He found her in good health and high spirits, looking out from her window with her maidservant Beth so as to catch a glimpse of the young men in martial training in the courtyard below. The wound in her arm where the surgeon used to bleed her daily had healed so well it no longer required a dressing, and without it there was nothing to indicate she was anything but a vibrant young girl. “Don’t you get any ideas about those boys,” he chided her. “There’s none worthy of you among that rabble. I’m going to find you a proper young nobleman, perhaps the son of a Duke or a Prince, or even a foreign King if you’re lucky.”