But if they were friends in their fashion, they were not friends to whom he could speak, in whom he could confide, who could in any way alleviate his lonely bitterness. Which but grew as Alison grew, and became more bitter herself, and more plaintive.
‘I
f only Emily were here,' she moaned. 'You are the hardest man in all the world. Mr. Haggard. What harm could it do, with my belly this hideous size?'
'You knew I was the hardest man in all the world when you married me,' he pointed out with savage humour. 'And Emily will not enter this house again.'
'You will drive me insane,' she shouted, throwing her pillows on the floor, insane, do you hear, insane.'
' Tis of course a grievous hardship,' Dr. Harrowby explained, on one of his weekly visits from Derby. 'For any woman, but for a young girl who is in all the prime of her beauty, why, I know not how they put up with it. On the other hand, the rewards, the feeling of the babe in their arms, are usually sufficient to compensate for the long months of misery. Usually. We must hope and pray that it will be so in this case.'
'Hope and pray?' Haggard demanded.
'Well, Mr. Haggard, there is no question that your wife is taking it harder than most. She tells me she did not wish the child, does not wish it now.'
'Neither of us had expected a pregnancy so soon,' Haggard said.
'Of course, sir. But it is the future that must concern us now. Your wife must want to have the child, or the risk, to both mother and babe, will be greatly increased. Mrs. Haggard is in a most unhappy state of mind. She says you do not go near her.'
To be screamed at?' Haggard demanded.
'Can you not look on her as unwell, Mr. Haggard? Once the ordeal is over, she will be herself again.'
Then I will be happy to be with her,' Haggard said.
Harrowby sighed. 'Well, then, sir, would it not be possible to accede to her request and have her sister to stay, at least until the confinement?'
'It would not be possible,' Haggard said.
'As you say, sir. But I feel I must warn you that it is impossible for me to guarantee a successful delivery unless I am actively assisted by the mother.'
'You cannot guarantee it even then, Dr. Harrowby,' Haggard pointed out. 'So do you do your best, and leave the rest to God.'
Did he want her to die, he wondered? Of course he did not. He wanted to hold her in his arms again, even while she seethed with sexual discontent. But he had been speaking the truth; he did not really think it made any difference at all whether or not the mother wanted the child. No one could have wanted Roger more than Susan, and it had done her no good at all. While as for having Emily back in the house . . . that would be to lose Alison altogether.
Anyway, he reminded himself, it is only for a short while. Then it will be over and forgotten. As indeed it was. Harrowby was in attendance with a midwife, and the birth was amazingly easy. 'A son, Mr. Haggard,' the doctor said. 'You'll not lack for heirs.'
Haggard held the tiny little boy in his arms. This one,' he said. This is my true heir.' He handed him over to the midwife, sat beside Alison. Her eyes were open, but she scarce looked alive, her hair matted with sweat and sticking to her head and shoulders. 'Happy, my sweet?'
'Leave me alone,' she said. 'Just leave me alone. Haggard.'
Haggard looked at the doctor, who shrugged,
‘I
imagine Mrs. Haggard wishes to rest, sir,' he explained. 'But I suggest you allow the boy to suck, ma'am, if you will. Your milk will not be in yet, of course. But 'tis best he gets into practice, so to speak.'
To suck?' She raised her head. 'You expect me to give my breast to
that?’
'Well, ma'am, it is nature's way.'
'You'll find a wet nurse,' she said.
'But ma'am
..."
'Just get out of here,' Alison Haggard commanded. 'All of you. Leave me alone.'
Leave me alone. Haggard knocked, softly, and then turned the door handle. But the door was locked. As it was locked most of the time, nowadays. He had not slept in his own bed for near a year. She was playing the spoiled brat again. But how did she exist, a woman alone in her bedchamber?
His bedchamber, and he had been patient long enough. He knocked again.
'Go away,' she said.
'Sweetheart,' Haggard said. 'If you do not unlock this door I am going to break it down.' He could feel the anger simmering in his belly. So what would he do to her? He could not throw her out as he had done Emma. Besides, when he saw her again . . .
The key turned, and the door swung inwards. He stepped into the room, watched her climbing into bed. It was early December, and she wore both a nightgown and a robe; but not even the heavy garments could hide the sliver of figure, the pink soles which he could remember from the night they had put Brand to bed.
She settled herself beneath the blankets, looked up at him. 'Well?'
Haggard closed the door behind him, once again turned the key.
'What do you want?' she asked in some alarm.
To sleep with you,' he explained, undressing.
'You can't,' she said. 'I am not yet recovered.'
‘I
t is three months,' he pointed out. 'Harrowby says you will be as well as ever in your life.'
Her tongue showed for a second, then disappeared again. 'I am still full of milk. Look.' She opened her bodice.
'What do you do with it?' Haggard asked. His belly was swelling, with a terrifying mixture of desire and anger.
‘I
squeeze it out. Like this.' She took the nipple between thumb and forefinger,, pressed very gently. The milk trickled on to her stomach.
'It seems a waste,' he said, keeping his voice even with an effort. 'When the boy could use it.'
'The boy does not starve,' she said. That girl has more than I could ever produce. And would you have me with sagging tits?'
He removed the last of his clothing, stood by the bed. it would scarce matter, as I am not allowed to touch them.'
'Mr. Haggard . . .' She hesitated.
He sat beside her, took her in his arms. He slid one hand between them to touch her breasts, to feel the sticky wetness crossing his palm as the nipples rose against it. He kissed her eyes and her nose, fastened on her mouth, felt her fingers biting into his back.
'Mr. Haggard,' she said. 'I'll not be pregnant again.' ' Tis unlikely so soon,' he agreed, reaching down to spread her legs, and finding them tightly clamped together. 'I'll not,' she gasped. 'It will be rape.'
'A man cannot rape his wife.' Haggard sat up. 'You'll not pretend you don't want it.'
'Want it?' She raised herself on her elbow. 'Give me your hands, Mr. Haggard. Oh, give me your hands.' She herself pulled the skirt of her nightgown to her waist. 'Please, Mr. Haggard.'
He moved closer, obliged, had his fingers imprisoned in that warm wonderland, watched her eyes turn up and her tongue loll. He kissed her mouth, very gently extracted his hand.
'My turn,' he whispered.
'No,' she gasped. 'No.' Her knees came up and she rolled away from him as he would have come on top. 'For Christ's sake . . .'
'Let me use my hands, Mr. Haggard. Please. The sensation will be no different. It will be better.'
‘I
am not to enter you again?'
'No,' she said violently. 'No.' She bit her lip. 'Please. Not for a while. I could not endure it, Mr. Haggard. I would go mad. I could not stand it.'
'My penis?'
'The pregnancy, Mr. Haggard.' Her legs slowly straightened, and she turned to face him again. 'Not you. The pregnancy. Let me, Mr. Haggard.' She reached for him, but he rose to his knees above her and just out of reach.
'You are behaving like a silly little girl,' he pointed out, the
anger returning. 'For God's sake, you had the easiest of deliveries. You are perfectly healthy in every way. Can't you understand? Tis just in your mind.'
‘I
won't.' She shut her eyes. 'I won't, I won't, I won't.'
-
'Silly child,' Haggard said, and moved towards her. Her eyes opened, as did her mouth.
'No,' she shouted, and threw up her hands. He caught her wrists and flattened them on the bed, lay across her, driving her knees flat. He got his toes between her ankles, slowly prised her knees apart, forced his own knee between—but she wriggled her hands free and scratched at his cheek. The pain made him gasp and half rise, and another wriggle sent her on to her face, trying to crawl away from the bed.
He threw himself on her, pressing down on her shoulders. She gasped and squirmed, attempted to kick. Her legs were spread. Haggard pushed himself between, caring not where he made his entry, his anger and his desire and his frustration mingling together into a tremendous climax which hurled the girl flat to the bed and kept her there, driving the breath from her body, making her bite the sheet, bringing a thin trickle of sound from her mouth.
'No,' she moaned. 'No, no, no.'
Haggard gasped, and lay still, his weight pressing her flatter yet.
'No,' she whispered. 'No, no, no.'
The self-distaste spread over him. It might have been Mary Prince lying here, with coal dust staining the bedclothes. But it was his wife.
He pushed himself up, got out of bed, went to the washstand.
‘I
apologise,' he said. 'You have kept me waiting for too long.' Alison made no reply.
Haggard dried himself, went back to the bed. She had not moved. Her feet dangled over the edge, her bare bottom seemed to shiver, but perhaps with cold. He gathered her feet and turned her straight, lifted the sheet and placed it over her, got into bed himself.
'You'll not sleep here,' Alison whispered, her back to him.
'It is my bed, my darling,' he said. 'As much as yours.' He attempted a smile. 'At least you'll know you are not pregnant.'
'You have abused me in a most unnatural fashion,' she said.
'Oh, come now. It was an accident, brought on by your own stupidity.'
Alison rolled over and sat up. She gathered her bedjacket over her breasts, got out of bed. 'Where are you going?'
'As you have pointed out, Mr. Haggard, this is your bed, therefore I must find another.'
He felt his anger returning. She really was in the most absurd mood. But it was a mood she had been in for too long. 'You want to remember that the entire house, and every bed in it, is mine.'
She turned to face him, her arms folded to hold the bedjacket close.
Haggard pointed. 'As you are my wife.'
Her chin came up.
‘I
wish to visit London. I wish to visit Papa.'
Haggard frowned. 'You wish to leave Derleth?'
'Yes.'
'You wish to leave me?'
Her tongue came out, went back in again. 'For a season.'
'Do not suppose your father will be pleased to see you. Who will settle his debts should he quarrel with me? Or will you tell him you have been abused? Even that will hardly equal his desire for money.'
'My father is no more contemptible than any other man,' she said.
'Or do you propose to shout from the rooftops that you have been buggered by your husband? Do you suppose even that could possibly make me less popular than I am? You cannot ruin me, socially, Alison. I am ruined, socially, merely by being Haggard. So do not be a fool. Come back to bed.'
Her eyes gloomed at him. 'I wish to visit London, Mr. Haggard. I have been confined here for upwards of a year. It will be Christmas in a month. I wish to visit London.'
'You wish to bed your sister
, you mean.'
Once again the tongue, showing for an instant. 'We do not harm each other, Mr. Haggard. Nor do we quarrel. Nor are we cruel to each other. I wish to be away from this . . . this coal dust. Just for a season.' This time she licked her lips. 'If you will let me go, Mr. Haggard, I will be good to you, when I come back. I give you my word.'
'You will be good to me,' Haggard said, his anger once again mingling with the returning desire, as he watched her standing there. The most beautiful girl in England. And she was his. There was nothing she could do about that. Nothing any one on earth could do about that. So why was he afraid of her moods, of her
angers and her scorn
s? Why was he even afraid of her perversions? They were all equally his, equally to be enjoyed. Why, indeed, did he not take her back to Barbados? There was the answer to all their problems. Surely Emily could hardly follow them there. But his instincts warned him that Alison's reaction to such a proposal would be hysterical. Time enough for that when she had had more children.