“Yes!”
She pants-is ill advised to pant, obeys, her bottom to my finger lewdly put. Her face is hid. That is the trick of it. Quick then I loop the rope about them both. Her cry-head jerks-but all is now too late.
“Stop it! You dare! What are you at-what at?”
“Amelia, be quiet, my love. Do you not like such games? Tie the ends, Susan. Be strong at your task and I will bind their thighs!”
“No! I will not have it, Laura, no! Leave me not upon him-the beast will come!”
“As he may-as he may, my pet.”
The pale one has not moved but gawking stands. I pass the other length of rope across their thighs, beneath the chair. She is secured as ever tar to feathers, birds to lime.
“You will rob me-I know you will rob me!”
Upon her cry the pale one edges to the door, is smacked, retreats.
“Of what, Amelia, would I rob you? Have you a heritage save of sin? The servant will loose you later, upon midnight, upon my uncle's second coming.”
“I shall cry out, arouse the neighbourhood!”
“You will not. There is too much to be unfolded here, I think. Girls-come. Susan-close the door.”
“Aid me-ee-ee-eeh!”
The door is closed, the pale one frets and stares. “There will be trouble about it-I know there will be trouble about it.”
“Gather up your clothes, child. Go. Have you no wanderings to make, no journeys to complete or end?”
“I wanted to leave. She wouldn't let me leave. I ain't got no money to leave with. My sister at Walworth said she would take me in. You ain't going to whip me as she did?”
“To what end would I whip you?”
I descend, drawing them down, as head girl to pupils. A rumpling, a rustling in a cupboard and the pale one is dressed. I put a sovereign to her hand. It will suffice her journey yet and more. Boards creak, doors thump, and she is gone, vagrant upon the night to some far shelter.
“Let us have wine, Susan.”
“There are others, captive as I. Have you come to betray us to the world?”
Her voice is gentle as I would suspect. The melons of her breasts press through the silk. Perhaps her mother once, upon purchasing it, folded it away, dusted it with lavender. I know the wooden drawers where such things hide, awaiting emergence, smooth to clothe, eager to drink when dirty, scrub of brush and sweet of soap.
“You like white wine or red? I will pour it for you. There is one above-Delphine. I have seen only her. From the first you took my fancy. When you were put to it, were you stubborn, cried? Here-I have poured white for you; it will better suit your tongue. You may tell me your history later perhaps. I would have every word and strain of it, each hour of longing, languor, and despair. Where are you from?”
“Hereford. I am come not long here-was left to her disposal and return.”
“She has made pretty play with you. You are not so hard done by, perhaps. Will your mama greet you, your sisters kiss your cheek, your diaries be scoured for secrets?
“I had none. I swear I had none!”
“Had you not? You have no need to fret. You have come, as all maidens do, to the lusting of the cocks.”
“You will not release her-let her down? If you do not release her, I may go. May I go?”
“Upon Hereford? Such a journey? In the night? The inns will be closed, the steam trains dormant. Those who issue tickets sleep. I shall put you up. Were you never put to it before?”
Her face suffuses and she hides her eyes. The glass trembles like a sparrow in her hand. In sitting with her I encompass her shoulders, take her mouth, wine to wine, small whimpers at my lips.
“I was birched for it, though lightly, yet would not.”
“Lightly? A play about your rosy bottom made? Lower your chemise-let me kiss your nipples.”
“May I go if I do? Oh, your touch!”
“Clasp not your thighs together so quickly. Let them part. What a prettiness is there, what plumpness and what curls! Issue your tongue a little 'twixt your teeth and let it come to mine. Ah, you are ardent with your lips! Do you not like the feel of it? Were you not fingered thus a little 'mid your birchings?”
“Yes. Was forced to part my thighs, display my nest- put to dark cupboards and my drawers drawn down. Amelia would not listen-she would not listen!”
“For what shall one listen, my pet? The pantings of breath, skitterings of shoes upon the boards? How hapless were you! Better to have let him juice you than cry out and raise the house in full alarm. Learn your discretions, wriggle your bottom, hold your thighs wide, let the cock enter and be done with it. In its pulsing your delight shall prove. Sperm-drops upon your nest-what matters to it?”
Wide-eyed, I have her down, her legs at stretch. Her silky belly twitters to my touch.
“Shall I let him? Should I let? Oh, he has a big one!”
“Minx! You have seen it? Did you not twiddle the knob, breathe your desires, fall back upon your bed, your drawers at droop and raising your chemise?”
“No! Yes! He almost put it in. Oh, what a lewdness you make of things between you all! I bit his hand, was birched again and fingered, cried out for Mama. Thunder rolled, for it was such a day, was almost then undone, clawed at the sheet and tried to crawl within. His hand clamped to my mouth, but then he came, raining of storm-sperm to my bottom-cheeks. Oh, at the telling of it I am shamed!”
“What moods you purvey! Have you learned the words from me or were they ever in your mind? There are others here. What of the others here?”
I let her rise. The mood is gone from me. I am neither the player nor the play, but stand without. My aunt will send me notes and explanations, confitures and comfortings. I shall wear white again, shall comprehend the rose-ness of a rose, patter my feet upstairs and down, seek shade beneath the awnings, sun in winter.
“We are coming, Laura, coming. Why came you not before?”
Voices heard. I know the voices heard, one shuffled as within another-two who speak as one.
The door opens. The space beyond is betrayed.
Those who enter are the two in my drawing.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Here are the narrower lanes of Time and space. Do not touch the walls for they are but the shadows of the walls brushed by the shadows of the leaves that last year died. Here patience frets as moves a tiger in a cage.
“Why did you not come before? Why not?”
Hannah's question is repeated as I hail a carriage.
“The road was devious-many were the turns, the windings and the seekings.”
I have as yet no anchor to my speech. The words are cast and roll about like chessmen who have lost their way across the board. Her bottom, tight in cotton drawers, stirs in her waiting. I have made my dispersals, disposals-Susan to an aunt in Putney gone, Delphine released to lustful lassitude and feet-stabbed sheets, Amelia loosened from her bonds sufficiently to extricate herself.
“You may come upon me in better circumstances.”
Thus my last words to Amelia. Of my uncle I expect to see little or nothing again. He will lurk in woodlands, become old and dribble. My aunts will send across the fields to him cold meats, the later of the wines, forbid his entry to the house. On coming upon him in my ridings, I shall turn my horse's quarters to him, adjust my tricorne that unseeing, spur away.
Such are the defences one raises and yet often so lightly that a firm intruder-one steady of purpose, implacable, adventurous-may tread them down and come in his stridings over the fallen barriers. I would not run then but would lean against a tree, feeling for the bark with my fingertips as though it might protect me, for it growls silently in its roughness.
There are hauntings of recollections about me now. How firm and polished Hannah's bottom feels. I pass my hand across it and beneath as we enter the conveyance. Did I first feel and touch the stalk that probed her secrecy, her breasts loosed and wobbling? There was a moistness of mouth upon my palm, a gartered thigh thrust over on my own. So sandwiched between us, she received him first. Cups and saucers tinkled; there were voices. Perhaps these tinklings and these voices are part of some otherness. I do not know. As yet I do not know. The side of a chaise-longue rattled to a wall. In her strugglings. Her mouth opening, there was a greater wetness on my palm which I at first kept tight against her lips until I sensed him well embedded, planted up between her cheeks, ready to ream, and bringing lust to love.