Without a Mother's Love (19 page)

He gave her a sneering smile. ‘I’m sure she is growing up as we speak.’

‘Sir.’ She remained standing before him.

‘That is all, Miss Trent. Go and listen at the bedchamber door if you care for such entertainment.’

‘I wish to speak with you, sir.’

‘Well, make haste. A bottle of brandy awaits me.’

‘You promised your servants that you would recommence paying their salaries on the first quarter-day after the wedding. Did you mean it, sir?’

‘I did. Your mistress inherited her capital on her marriage and my grandson is a wealthy man. I have power of attorney over his affairs while he is abroad.’

‘You have thought of everything, sir. Now that I am companion, as well as governess, to Mrs Mexton, I should like an increase in my salary.’

‘The devil you would! I suppose Cookson has put you up to this.’

‘No, sir. I have extra responsibilities as Mrs Mexton’s companion, and I believe that I am worth it.’

His lined face took on its usual mocking leer.‘Do you, indeed?’ ‘You would not wish her to revert to her wild ways when her husband is away, sir. And, of course, she may be with child by then.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘What do you want?’

‘Another twenty pounds a year, sir.’

‘I mine coal, not gold, Miss Trent. You can have ten.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

She turned to leave before he changed his mind. As she reached the door, he called after her, ‘I shall enjoy making you earn it, Miss Trent.’

Humiliated, she hurried to the sanctuary of the kitchen, where Mrs Cookson was preparing supper. She had learned to ignore his taunts and harden her core, like the piece of jet he thought she was. An extra ten pounds a year would enable her to start a new life eventually, away from the South Riding where no one knew of her time here. But she vowed not to leave until she was sure that Olivia would be happy as mistress of Hill Top. And wherever she went she would find a way of coming back. She could not leave her for ever.

Upstairs, Olivia heard the squeaking and grating of the pump as the girls filled their buckets with water. It was still light but Hesley closed the heavy brocade curtains, casting a dull red glow over the bedchamber.

‘Well, cousin, we’re stuck with each other so we’d best make a good fist of this.’

‘A fist? Don’t hurt me, Hesley. Please don’t hurt me.’

He sighed. Perhaps it was as well he was going overseas. At least she’d be grown-up when he got back. Meanwhile, if he wanted to be sure of her plantation, he had to get on with this. Still, she wasn’t much younger than some of the tavern lasses he’d been with in town.

He removed all his clothes and stood naked in front of her. She sat up in bed, fascinated. She had never seen a man undress before and now she saw how different he was from her. She felt un unusual nervousness come over her as she watched his limbs and muscles move, and those brownish dangling things he had where she had none. Was that what he did it with? It didn’t look very frightening. She was puzzled and her mouth turned down at the corners.

‘Smile at me, Olivia. You’re pretty when you smile.’

She did.

He threw back the bedcovers and added,‘Take off your nightgown and lie on your back.’

She obeyed, and as she shuffled down the bed she noticed the thing stirring and swelling and sticking out from his body. He grinned at her when she protested as he tweaked her nipples with his fingers, then climbed over her, straddling her body with his hairy legs. She tensed, unsure of what he would do next.

‘Put your arms above your head,’ he said, and ran his hands all over her naked body, following the contours of her small breasts, waist, young rounding hips and finishing at her thighs.

He sat back on his heels so that his arched swelling was pointing at her face and she saw a bead of moisture at its tip. He hadn’t hurt her yet and she looked up at his face. It was set in a grimace and his eyes were glassy as though he were looking through instead of at her. He grabbed at a pillow, shoved it under her back, and then his fingers were between her legs exploring her very private areas. Her breathing became laboured as she tried to recoil. But he persisted, and when he found what he was searching for he played around with her, making her tingly and she felt a restlessness in her limbs. And then he stopped doing that and she held her breath as he pushed her legs apart and stretched out on top of her, his heavy body forcing her deep into the feather mattress.

She felt the pain, a short, tearing twinge, as he pushed himself inside her. It seemed as though he was tearing her in two and she cried out for him to stop. But he did not hear her. Or, if he did, he did not heed her cries. His face was somewhere above hers, angry-looking, as he kept driving into her, again and again, making the wooden bedstead creak. She remembered the creaking and crying from previous nights. Miss Trent had lied to her. It did hurt and it was punishment.

Sweat from Hesley’s face dripped on to hers and she licked its saltiness from her lips. He was so heavy that she could hardly breathe. He was beating her with his body as Uncle Hesley had done to Miss Trent and all she wanted was for him to stop. Eventually he did. Quite suddenly, with a forced groan from his throat as he flopped on top of her, smothering her with his sweaty, hairy chest and stomach.

Then he rolled off her and she lay perfectly still, naked and uncovered, not sure what she should do. The sharp hurt had ceased, but there was a dull ache in the pit of her stomach and stickiness about her private areas. Miss Trent had told her to wash afterwards and she half rose to search for her nightdress.

‘Stay where you are. I haven’t finished with you yet.’ He laid a heavy leg across her.

‘But you’ve done it once! You don’t have to do it again!’

‘Don’t argue with me,’ he growled. ‘Ever.’

She lay there anxiously, wondering what he would do next. After a while he turned towards her and told her to watch as he stroked himself until he began to stir and swell again. ‘Now you do it. Like this.’ He guided her hand towards him, and she did as he had bade her, feeling his hot flesh harden and lengthen under her touch. And then he fingered her, making her tingle again, and pushed inside her. ‘Wet. That’s better,’ he said, and rolled onto her to do it again, pushing into her time after time, heaving and sweating and crushing the breath out of her body.

She kept begging him to stop but he didn’t until, eventually, he let out an animal yowl and held himself up on his hands with his head flung back. His face was red and angry and she thought he was going to hit her.

‘Good girl,’ he said, and flung himself across the bed on his back ‘You’ll do.’

‘Well, I don’t want to do it again!’ she protested. ‘I won’t!’ She hardly dared move. Her insides were hurting and her back ached. She felt cold and exposed, splayed over the pillow without any clothing, her legs apart and her arms above her head.

‘You will do as I say,’ he replied harshly, and got out of bed to use the chamber pot.

She pulled away the pillow and slid out of bed, feeling sick and dizzy. She was sore and wished suddenly that she was out in her hidden garden, building mud castles. But she wasn’t. She was a wife now and this was her duty. And she had pleased Cousin Hesley. He had said so. Good girl, he had said. She hoped Miss Trent could stop the stinging. But it didn’t hurt as much as she had thought it would, certainly not enough to make her cry, and she wondered why Miss Trent had always cried so much afterwards.

 

Later, Harriet undressed in her new bedchamber.As she brushed her gown and hung it in the cupboard, she glanced at the closed door that linked with the adjoining chamber.The master’s chamber. She washed her hands and face, smoothed on a little salve and combed out her hair, fixing it under her nightcap. In the looking-glass on her chest of drawers, she watched the closed door behind her. It stayed firmly shut.

She crossed to the window. There was no moon or stars. All she saw was blackness, and all she heard was silence. She had risen at six and, although she was tired from this unusual day, she knew she would not sleep. She crept across to the door, very carefully turning the knob. It was locked. She heaved a sigh, went back to pull the curtains at the window and eventually slid into bed.Yet she dared not blow out the candle for in the dark she would not be able to watch the door.

The key grated in the lock and the door swung open silently. There was a lamp glow from the room beyond that was blotted out as the master’s frame filled the doorway. He was clothed in a dressing robe and held a brandy glass in his hand. ‘Good evening, Miss Trent,’ he said.

She feigned sleep. He had been without her for a month. He could do without her for longer. Surely even whores could choose when they worked.

He came into the room and lifted the bedclothes. ‘Don’t pretend with me. Your candle still burns. Open your eyes.’

She did. ‘It has been a long day, sir. I am tired.’Too exhausted to sleep, in fact.

‘Have some of this.’ He offered her his drink.

She suppressed a sigh, rolled to the edge of the bed and sat up.

‘That’s better.’

She gulped it down. She needed courage tonight. ‘I shall not do it, sir.’

‘You will. Blackstone ceded guardianship to me when you came here.’

‘But I am not your slave, sir, to do with as you wish, when you wish.’

He turned on her angrily, surprising her with his response. ‘What do you know about slaves?’

‘I was a teacher at Blackstone, sir. I read pamphlets and news-sheets that came my way.’

‘And I suppose as a penniless orphan you have sympathy with these abolitionists?’

‘I have sympathy for the slaves, sir.’

‘The devil you have! You are paid for your services, Miss Trent. If you were my slave, I should not have to pay you anything.’

‘But you have not paid me yet,’ she pointed out, as angry as he was.

‘You know the reason for that. I have given you bed and board and clothes for your back. Indeed, have I not just agreed to pay you an extra ten pounds per year?’

‘I believe I am worth that amount, sir.’

‘I shall be the judge of that. Come here to me.’

‘No, sir. My extra salary is for my services towards Mrs Mexton.’

‘You waste my time with words. I care not for your views, Miss Trent. You will do as I ask.’

He took the empty glass from her hand and pulled her to her feet. She moved away from him but he did not release her hand. He grasped her chin and held her face steady as he tried to kiss her. She turned her head away and tried to push him off. But he was taller and stronger than she and he pinned her to the bedpost, blocking any way out. She grappled to remove his hands and they struggled. She heard the stitching rip on her nightgown.

‘For God’s sake, do not fight me, woman, or I shall have to hit you.’

‘I should rather you hit me than invade my body without my leave.’

He cursed her and pushed her back onto the bed. ‘Why must you be so tiresome? I do not want this constant battle between us.’

‘Neither do I! You are a cruel and wicked man!’

‘Aye. So you’ve said before. But I have no wish to hurt you, Miss Trent. You will find that, if you do not fight me, I shall not hurt you.You may even begin to enjoy yourself.’

‘Never. I do not want this, sir.’

He sighed and smiled. ‘I think you do, if only you will allow yourself the pleasure.’

‘You are wrong, sir.’

He became impatient. ‘What if I am? I am an old man with needs. Needs that you can so easily satisfy and I do not care for coyness.’

‘Then do not take that which is not freely given to you.’

He looked at her in silence for a long minute. ‘I’m afraid you have no choice in this matter.Your maidenly protests are tedious. It is time to be adult about our arrangement.You are, after all, now paid more for your services.’

‘I did not ask for money for this, sir.’

‘Perhaps not. Because if you did you would know that you are worth more, much more, than you requested. However, I know the acquisition of money is important to you, so let us strike a bargain.You may have the other ten pounds a year you asked for if you do not fight me so. What do you say, Miss Trent? A truce?’

She closed her eyes, feeling defeated. He was not going to give up. She contained her instinct to strike him across the face in the certain knowledge that it would only inflame him further. ‘You are a vile and despicable man,’ she said.

‘But you agree?’

She looked away. He took off his dressing robe, sat on the bed and stroked her breasts. She did not move.

‘You do agree,’ he said. ‘You have the salary you want and we shall speak no more of it.’

He left her feeling weak and exhausted, worn down. It was not the physical invasion of her body that tired her, but the attack on her sensibilities that kindled an inner anger, which grew and festered. She hated him. But she hated herself more for complying with his wants. She had not thought it was possible to despise herself any more than she already did, until she reflected on their bargain.

She tried desperately to reason with herself. She would be one-and-twenty soon, and a portion of her stipend would be hers in the spring.The increase would enable her to leave at midsummer. There would be enough to prevent starvation until she found another position.

She still had her testimonial from Blackstone. It would be difficult to explain away the last year, but she would not lie. Perhaps not tell everything. A sin of omission. She prayed for guidance and wondered whether the Lord had already forsaken her. For, although she tried desperately not to think of it, she knew what she had become.

Whore. Whore. Whore.

She breathed the word over and over to herself as penance.

Chapter 14

‘I don’t believe it! You are younger than my sister Josephina.’