The Price of Hannah Blake (18 page)

“And so much else that is urgent and lamentable that our government must address, and always with too little time. There are thousands in East London, today, in much the plight of the duke’s—well, you say ‘prisoners—”

“Prisoners for life!”

“But my point, First Lord, my point, please.”

“If the great war that threatens in Europe—not now, but coming, perhaps…”

“It must not come!”

“But the highest concern of our government must be to ask how and when it might… You are first to acknowledge this.”

The prime minister sighed. “Go on. We must reach some decision, you know.”

“If that war should come—and it is but one contingency among many, but of greatest concern—then England may not survive without allies. America…” He paused. The prime minister only waited. “and if this country should be revealed at such a time as dissolute at its heart, its moral heart, as old in corruption and licentiousness at every level, an empire gone…”

“Oh, enough!”

“Then what a fine argument and bitter rhetoric will the opponents of such an alliance make of that revelation? What will be said in the pulpits and the press and among the powerful in government, finance? They will say: Let old and hollow empires go the way of all such empires in history.”

The prime minister rose abruptly and his look was terrible. “That will not be said of the finest, most productive, most cultured, and responsible—responsible!—nation on this Earth!”

The first lord had become dogged. “It should not be said, to say it would be shameful, but it will be said, the argument will be made—among many others, of course—and it will ring true, sir, if this scandal becomes the talk and delight of the whole world.”

For yet another half hour the conversation went on, the sun now below the tree tops and shade creeping across the clearing. It was a painful half-hour for the first lord, and he trembled, but he knew things he could not in honor reveal even to the prime minister, so he slogged on. It ended when the prime minister rose, walked over to the forest giant he had hoped to fell, today, but now would not, and took up the axe. He swung at the tree, harder than even he had intended. He swung again, and again. The blows were fierce.

The first lord waited. He could do no more.

Then the prime minister turned, still holding the axe, as though he might attack the first lord himself, and said, “Thomas…”

His given name! The first lord held his breath.

“Get the information we must have. Get it, however, you must! Get what I need to put before the duke…” He frowned. “Even Her Majesty, and I will end this thing as best I can. But get me proof, or I can do nothing.”

“I have set in motion already what is needed to secure such evidence, Prime Minister. I will have it within the month, I expect.”

The prime minister gazed at him. How the makings of catastrophe seemed to spout and grow, silently and stealthily, and then bloom before his eyes. “Bring it to me.”

He called loudly and the head of security came down the trail at a run. He said, “Send down the others, then take the first lord to be refreshed, to rest, and to ready himself for dinner. He will be our guest tonight. Tell Catherine.”

“But…”

“I will work a bit longer on this tree. No monster can be brought down without persistence.”

And he took up his axe.

How had she persuaded herself that David paid special attention to her? She was one of a dozen women—no, more, counting the instructresses—who were both beautiful—if she was—and unreservedly on display.

He seemed to adjust as quickly as had Hannah. Yes, he panted, then gasped, through his first days; she wondered how a man could lose such sweat! And he plopped down wearily at the bell. When the longed-for final bells chimed, he turned, head bowed, and plodded toward the dressing room. But he fit. Why did that disappoint Hannah? Should he fight? Where did that get you?

Strolling in the gardens, she asked Darlene. She broached it off-handedly, an item of gossip, first chatting about other things, then remarking, “I would have thought that boy, David, would be tough to break-in. Look how he took care of Charles.”

Darlene was not a chum of Hannah’s, or anyone’s; she cultivated the reserve, the degree of separation, of a leader, but that seemed to mean letting others know what they must. She said, “Charles will kick his balls, for him.”

“What? How will he?”

“The cock fight,” said Darlene. “In two days, the far garden just before dusk.”

“But what
is
it?” Hannah was alarmed.

“You’ll see, if you wish,” said Darlene, “it’s exciting—but not for the men in the fight, maybe.”

“But he hit Charles just once and Charles went down!”

“This has special rules and Charles is the champion. David, I am sure, has never imagined this sort of thing.”

Hannah hit on a tactic for the conversation. She said: “I suppose you are right. He didn’t resist anything in the first few days—as Myra did. He became one of us.”

Darlene bent to pick an especially brilliant peony. “No, you saw him only when they brought him to great hall. He already had had three nights with the guards.”

Hannah barely suppressed a gasp. “He can’t have! Three nights! I saw nothing.”

“You know that they can’t mark you.”

“Then what…?”

“I don’t know. Who would tell me? He doesn’t talk. But they have ways of whipping you, slowly—not the flogger—that are agony but don’t break the skin. Besides,” she said, smiling, “the boys have their little sac of treasure. Do you know?”

Hannah nodded. It was monstrous! She hated this place and everything about it. She had watched her brother, just nine, go balancing along a fence rail, calling “look, Hannah, look!” and, at that moment, slipping, falling straight down, one leg on either side of the fence rail. And Hannah had understood, right then, about “the little sac of treasure.” She had managed to remove, ever-so-gingerly, the trousers of the screaming, weeping, red-faced boy and look. There seemed nothing wrong, but for more than half-an-hour he could not be stopped screaming and clutching himself. And for several days he limped like an old man, legs spraddled. What could the guards not do to a young man like David, tied, helpless!

But she only said, “Foolish. Wasn’t he warned like the rest of us?”

“This happened before he ever reached Maria—or any of the boys—or me. By then, he was as you saw him that first day they brought him to class.”

“That is the most glorious peony, Darlene! I love the gardens! How fortunate we all are!”

“Let’s take it to dinner.”

“Shall we pluck more?”

“One beauty shines for them all.”

As they walked back, Hannah struggled with questions coming too fast to count. How could David with a scornful remark and smile assent to fight Charles—to have Charles “kick his balls for him”? Perhaps he was confident he could win? But then the other boys, lined up if Charles fell. And why did he
resist
till the guards were called? Cara had warned Hannah again and again what resistance would mean. And three
days
! Had it required three days until he walked nude into the great room, glancing around him casually, as though without defiance?

Would he now be a Myra, savoring the cruelty that she learned—or a Lilly, devoted to the world of the troupe and savoring its gifts—or a Rachael, ever-scanning the walls, calculating? Now she knew she would not wait until he took notice of her, talked to her—if he ever did. She had to warn him. Meals didn’t work. To sit down and talk in whispers would become news. Better would be his room after curfew. She knew, now, that curfew meant she had to be in her room. That would mean no one else would be in his room or would see her come or go.

When the time came, it felt like the night she went to Charles and that awakened the racing pulse, images of dismissal. She dressed and fixed her face as she had that night. And she went barefoot, on tiptoe, after curfew, running the corridors and stairs, pausing at corners, running again. At his door she drew her breath, knocked lightly, and, without waiting, pushed it open and slipped in.

She stood, back to the door, bosom rising and falling, and said: “I’m sorry. It’s Hannah. I didn’t dare wait outside the door. It’s curfew. Is it all right?”

The gaslights were lit but low, the room dim. He sat in the single broad, comfortable leather chair, one leg over its arm. He wore his trousers but nothing on top. In the dim light, he looked dark, brooding. He asked, conversationally, “Hannah?”

She stepped forward. “Me.”

“Oh, yes, well…”

“I had to come.”

He rose and gestured at his chair. “Then sit down.”

The room was not furnished for guests. There was one easy chair. “Oh, no, I can sit on the floor.” She added, “I don’t mind!”

He relapsed into the chair and she came over quickly, turned and lowered herself, sitting before him with her legs crossed beneath her. They learned and practiced the pose. At first, it was agony after a few minutes; later, it provided a special comfort. She looked up at him. “I had to come. You are supposed to have that awful fight with Charles. In two days. I’m sure you don’t have to do it.”

“I accepted the challenge, you know. I don’t know what a cockfight might be, between men, but I have been told the time and place. I will be there.”

“Why? It’s all a game! Why do you care? You could be hurt again, in…” She stopped. Perhaps she should not say she had heard about the guards.

He waited.

What could she say, now,? She said, “I think that he will kick you and try to hurt you—really hurt you.”

He reached down and indicated his crotch. “Hurt me here? I know all about
that
!”

She blurted out, “Did the guards hurt you terribly? Unbearably? How could you let yourself be hurt again?”

“The story of guards has reached the rest of you? Tell me. How does that work? How does word get around? Who told you?”

“Darlene,” said Hannah. “I asked. You see, they make sure that somehow you hear what happens if you don’t…do it all right.”

He nodded.

“And did they?” asked Hannah.

“They did many things. When you wish to break a man, you don’t ignore that. It was bad, but they take care not to injure you. That’s something.”

Hannah struggled to understand the neutral, contemplative tone with which he discussed his ordeal. “But you could not stand it again! You shouldn’t!”

“If I must.”

It was infuriating. Men were like this! Why
must
he? “I will be there, so if you are hurt I can help you. I don’t know what I can do, but I can comfort you.”

“You can be punished for breaking curfew, can’t you? You are taking a chance, coming here. Would that mean the guards, too? If so, you must leave immediately. At all costs, that must not happen.”

“Not the guards, for that. They can confine you. Other ways.” She looked down, thinking, and then said, “But why not me, why at all costs? It happened to you.”

“I cannot think of a woman in the hands of those guards.” His tone now was like a cutting tool, brooking no resistance. “And in a manner of speaking, I chose what happened to me. I knew.”

“You didn’t think they would break you?”

“No, I did not. I did not expect it. And when I had had enough, I called a halt.”

“You gave in.”

“For then, yes. Could you not get in great danger for a conversation like this—if I were not to be trusted?”

“I don’t want you to fight Charles.”

“You are very caring, Hannah. And brave, too. Don’t be at the fight. There is no need. Whatever happens, I shall manage.”

“I will be there.”

He shrugged. “Should you be getting back?”

Was he dismissing her, through with her? She hardly could suppress the questions that rose in her mind. She said, “The great risk is in coming and going. I think there is less risk, later. But if you want me to…”

He made a gesture of pushing her back to the floor although she had not moved. “But enough about the fight, all right?”

Did you ever win an argument with men? “I was newest here, before you, you know. Some weeks…” She frowned. “Eight, I think. A few more.”

“And you have not forgotten the feelings, the first feelings.” It was a declaration.

“No!” she exclaimed, but then added, “Well, I no longer think about being naked, for anyone to see, and once thought I must die should that occur.”

His eyes seemed larger, glistening where the light struck them. She wondered if he was imagining her body beneath the black shift. He said, softly, “They take everything, don’t they, Hannah? Modesty, privacy, freedom, your body and what you choose to do with it.” He added, “I am not asking. I know.”

“They can’t know my thoughts, if I don’t tell them. And they have not taken my memories; those are mine. They do not know my longings.”

He was studying her intently. His face seemed beautiful to her. What was happening to her? A girl infatuated with a new boy?