Evil in a Mask

The portly Frau Gunther nodded sympathetically. 'I felt sure, Herr Oberst, that there must be some such explanation. It makes me shudder to think of what the poor lady must have suffered. But please be assured that my husband and I will do everything possible for her comfort and yours.' Pointing to a door behind him, she added, 'Would you now like to go in and see your wife?'

Feeling that he must have time to think before deciding what to do about Lisala, Roger replied, 'No. Her delivery having been so recent, it is essential that she should remain undisturbed. I feel, too, that for some nights at least it would be detrimental to my wife if I shared her bed; and my servant will shortly arrive with my baggage. Could you provide me with another room?'

'I can if the Herr Oberst would not mind a small one on the top floor of the house.'

Roger raised a smile. 'As a soldier, I consider myself lucky when I have a roof over my head. You will forgive me if I leave you now. I have urgent work to do at headquarters.'

With a bow to Frau Gunther, he stepped past her and stumped down the stairs. Turning into a high-walled alley that ran alongside the house, he paced up and down for half an hour, thinking furiously. He did not believe for one moment that Lisala had been raped; but his story that she had would at least protect him from the degradation of being secretly mocked as a cuckold, and should gain sympathy for her rather than opprobrium.

Deciding that it was better that he should himself announce the awful event, rather than let it reach the Court by way of gossip spread by the Gunther household and the doctor who had delivered Lisala, he went to the mansion which had been taken over for Napoleon, and requested an audience with the Empress.

Half an hour later she was condoling with him on his misfortune. When a girl in Martinique, she had heard of occasional cases in which Negro slaves had gone mad and raped white women, so she accepted Roger's story without question. He said that Lisala would, of course, resign her appointment and, as soon as she was sufficiently recovered, he intended to send her back to Paris. Josephine, who was the most kind-hearted of women, replied:

'If that is her wish, I will not oppose it; but it would be said that I had dismissed her, so imply that she is guilty of a crime and lead to her being ostracised by society. It would be most cruel to inflict further suffering on her after the terrible experience she has been through. By showing special warmth towards her when she reappears at Court, I can ensure that no malicious person dare cause her embarrassment.'

Having thanked Josephine for her generous attitude, Roger went out to prowl the streets, but found that, to walk unimpeded through the narrow ways overhung by the upper storeys of the old, timbered houses, was next to impossible. French and Russian officers, Hussars, Chasseurs, Cossacks and Artillerymen jostled the gaping town-folk, while coaches and carriages, occupied by notables, frequently blocked the way. The inns were equally crowded, and there seemed no place in which he could think out quietly what he should do about Lisala. In desperation, he returned to his billet.

There Herr and Frau Gunther asked him to honour them by supping with them. Feeling churlish but quite incapable of making polite conversation, he refused, sent his servant out for a couple of bottles of wine, and went up to his room. During the next two hours he drank the wine, but it did not make him even mildly drunk and, when he went to bed, he had formed only one decision. He must rid himself of Lisala as soon as possible.

Next morning he left the house early and, somehow, got through his dudes. Then, unwilling to talk with his brother officers, he ate a meal at an inn, but found difficulty in swallowing. Feeling that he could no longer put off the interview from which his whole being shrank, he went to his billet. No-one was about, so he walked straight upstairs to the room in which he had seen the infant. A cradle had been procured, and old Josefa sat there, rocking it. Without giving her a glance, he crossed the room and pushed open the far door.

Lisala was sitting up in bed. As is so often the case with women soon after their delivery, she had never looked lovelier. Her cheeks were a little pale, her splendid, wide-spaced eyes glowing with health, and her milk-filled breasts showed clearly through a nightdress of gossamer-thin muslin. As he entered the room, her lips parted, showing her perfect teeth, in a smiling greeting.

Grim-faced, he stood at the end of her bed and demanded harshly, 'Well, Madame; what have you to say?'

She shrugged. 'Only that I regret that the child is not yours. I could not be certain, and hoped up to the last moment that it would be.'

‘Who is its father?'

'Why, Baob, of course.'

'I suspected as much. And that this was no case of rape, otherwise you would have told me of it. You admit then, that you willingly gave yourself to a Negro?'

'He was an African Prince.'

'Prince, be damned! He was a Negro slave.'

Lisala's eyes flashed. 'He proved a better lover than you.'

'Maybe. I am not accustomed to competing with black giants. But how could you possibly have brought yourself to submit to this abomination?'

'I did not submit. He would never have dared lay a finger on me had I not encouraged him by allowing him one hot afternoon to see me naked, then lain down on my bed and beckoned to him.'

Roger gave a gasp. 'My God! Such conduct is utterly iniquitous.'

'It is not when one feels a great urge to be made love to, and a stalwart man is readily available.'

'Lisala, we all feel such urges from time to time. But ordinary decency demands control. For a woman of your birth to give herself to the first man who comes along is positively outrageous.'

She sighed. 'It may be so for some people, but is not in my case. You have never understood me. From the age of thirteen I craved for such sensations. Knowing nothing of men at that time I satisfied these sensations every night myself. Then in Tehran my Russian Prince came along and taught me the full joy of being possessed. For a few months after he left I was driven nearly crazy with desire. You arrived and, you will recall, at the first opportunity I positively flung myself at you. In you I found something more than physical satisfaction. You are handsome, courageous and fascinating to talk to. But such attributes weigh only when I am with you. On the long voyage we made from the Persian Gulf and up the Red Sea, I took the First Officer of the ship as my lover. While crossing the Mediterranean, a young super-cargo fulfilled my needs. Then came that ghastly crossing of the Atlantic, when we were daily together, yet could never be alone. During that time I nearly died of frustration. In Rio we again enjoyed a brief intimacy. Alas, my father put an end to that. When he had forced you from the house, what was I to do? To meet you in secret or, in that rigid society, secure one of my father's friends as my lover, proved impossible. What does a black skin matter, provided the man be vigorous? Baob meant nothing to me. When you killed him I felt not a qualm; but those afternoons when he ferociously enjoyed me gave me peaceful sleep at nights.'

Appalled, Roger stared at her, then he asked bitterly, 'And after I left you in Portugal, during the time I was in Madrid, whom did you pick on to satisfy your insatiable lust?'

She smiled serenely. 'Junot. He is something of a blockhead, but passable to go to bed with.'

For a minute Roger remained silent, considering the situation. Lisala's admission that she had had an affaire with Junot touched him in a very soft spot. He was well aware that Napoleon's Generals and their wives were an immoral crew. When away in distant commands, the men invariably took mistresses, and their wives, left as grass widows in Paris for many months, frequently took handsome young officers as their lovers. But he was not prepared to have it said that, during his absences, his wife was easy game for any man who wanted to jump into bed with her.