He went down the stairs and on to the verandah, where Middlesex and his army of footmen had already arranged breakfast. Fresh flying fish, fried in butter, slices of ripe green avocado pear, a plate of soft boiled eggs, and lashings of coffee, imported from England at prohibitive cost, but sweetened with Haggard's own sugar. Haggard sat down, watched the girl descending the stairs. She had been dressed in one of the shapeless gowns the house slaves wore, but her hair had been left loose instead of being bound up in a bandanna. It was still wet, and hardly moved as she came outside.
'Sit down,' Haggard said. 'Eat.'
Emma swallowed, and he realised her mouth must have filled with saliva. She sat opposite him, stared at the food.
'Eat,' Haggard said, and nodded to Middlesex, who hastily loaded the girl's plate. Still she stared at the food, and glanced at Haggard, rather like a kitten, he thought, who is being fed by strangers for the first time. She waited until he had taken his first mouthful, before starting herself. Then not all her attempts at self-control could restrain her. She tore at the food, gulped it into mouth, scarce seemed to swallow before seizing another handful of fish or fruit or another egg. Haggard leaned back to drink coffee and watch her, and she flushed, and took some coffee herself.
Th
at will do,' Haggard said. 'If y
ou eat too much now you will be ill.'
Her tongue came out, stroked egg from the comer of her mouth. Somerset came forward with a finger bowl and a napkin, but for a moment she did not seem to know what to do with it, waited for Haggard to show her.
The bowl was removed, and she drank the last of her coffee. They looked at each other for some seconds. Then she said 'Your wife is not here?'
'My wife is dead,' Haggard said.
Her nostrils dilated as she breathed, and then closed again. 'I am to work in the field?' Haggard shook his head.
'I do not understand,' she said. 'Captain said I would hang.' 'And I thought you too pretty to die,' Haggard said. 'So I bought you. For my bed.'
Once again she did not immediately seem to understand. Then her head jerked and she rose to her feet in the same instant. 'No,' she said.
Haggard gave a quick nod, and Middlesex and Essex came forward, each to grip one of her arms. She turned her head, wildly, at last dislodging her hair. 'Hang me,' she cried.
Haggard got up. 'You'll not pretend never to have had a man?'
'Never,' she said. 'Never,' she gasped, pulling on her arms, without success.
Then it's time you did,' Haggard said. Take her upstairs.
’
'No,
’
Emma screamed. She attempted to dig her heels into the wooden boards of the floor. 'No. Please. No.'
'Or will you curse me, as you cursed the mate?" Haggard asked.
She stopped struggling, gazed at him, panting.
'But
I
don't believe in curses,
’
he pointed out. 'So you'd best save your wind for screaming.'
Her eyes gloomed at him, her mouth opened as she sought breath.
He could see her nipples rising against the thin cotton as she inhaled.
Take her upstairs," he said. 'To my room."
Middlesex and Essex half carried her through the door. She had stopped screaming, but instead he heard a sob. So then, John Haggard, you are not a bad man, you are a monster. Because he believed her. But if he was acting the monster, he was only becoming what alt Barbados accused him of being, all the time. And however much he might hate himself when he was finished with this girl, he would hate himself more if he did not take her now. Besides, she was a condemned felon. She had no existence, save in him. Remember that, keep remembering that, and he need have no conscience.
He climbed the stairs. Middlesex and Essex stood just inside the bedroom door, still holding the girl. She had entirely stopped attempting to fight, seemed rather to have sagged between them.
But Middlesex was a cautious man. 'You know what I thinking, Mr. John?' he said.
'I
thinking this one going scratch you.
’
As if, Haggard thought, I have done this sort of thing every day for the past four years.
'Then tie her up,' he said. 'Tie her to the bed.
’
'No,' Emma whispered, and kicked Middlesex on the ankle.
'Annie Kent,' Middlesex bawled. 'You helping me.' It was not a question. A moment later Annie bustled into the room together with two of her girls. 'Hold she legs,' Middlesex panted, having been kicked again.
The girls got hold of an ankle each, and Emma was carried across the room to the great fourposter.
'Henry Suffolk,' Middlesex called, making the rafters ring. 'Fetch some cord up here. Stout stuff.'
'Let me go,' Emma screamed. 'Oh, please let me go.' She gasped and panted, and kicked, and was placed on the bed—a tented fourposter, but with mosquito netting presently looped to the tester, instead of drapes—and held there while Annie Kent expertly stripped the gown from her body. By then Suffolk had arrived with the ropes. Haggard watched in fascination as she was spreadeagled, one ankle secured to each of the bottom bedposts, and one wrist to each of the upper. He felt like a man in a dream as he gazed at the heaving white flesh, the straining blue veins, the surging bush of pubic hair; she had ceased begging or crying now, and fought with a deadly determination, but without the slightest hope of success.
James Middlesex stood straight, wiped sweat from his forehead. 'She ready, Mr. John.'
The slaves backed away from the bed. How their minds must be teeming with questions, Haggard thought. Nothing like this had ever happened before. They must wonder if they were not dreaming also.
He nodded. 'Shut the door.'
They filed from the room, and the door closed behind Middlesex. Haggard stood above the bed.
'I curse you,' Emma Dearborn whispered. 'I curse you all the way down to hell.'
Haggard took off his undressing robe, and she gave a gasp, and then shut her eyes.
'I curse you,' she whispered.
‘I
curse you,
I
curse you, I curse you.'
There was so much beauty he hardly knew where to begin. To kiss her would be too dangerous; her teeth were white and obviously in excellent condition. But he could finger the firm textured flesh of her shoulders, slip down to cup and hold her breasts, and kiss the nipples, which came erect despite her unger.
'I curse you,' she whispered. 'Curse you, curse you, curse you.'
There was so much to be done to her, but suddenly he knew he could wait no longer. It seemed he had wanted this all of his life, certainly over the past four years, and her legs were pulled wide, waiting for him. He used his fingers first, sliding them into her slit the way Susan had always liked, waiting for her to come wet.
Despite herself her bottom moved on his hand, and her breathing quickened. He knelt between, holding himself on his hands, stroked with his penis where his finger had gone before, slipped in and in and in, while she gave a gasp which became a cry, of mingled pain and anger and disgust, fell on her belly and crushed her breasts but retained enough control of himself to lie away from her face, came and came and came as if it was the first ejaculation of his life, so that it was almost painful for him.
And lay still, gasping, and feeling the slow growth of distaste within himself, of self-hatred that he could have done such a thing. 'Oh, Christ,' he said. 'Oh, Christ.
’
The girl had ceased moving and ceased speaking. He raised his head in alarm, but her eyes were open, and staring at him. Slowly he pushed himself up, back on to his knees, looked down at her body, more red than white now, at the trickle of blood running down the inside of her thigh.
‘I
am not always so,' he said. 'Today is a bad day.'
She made no reply, continued staring at him. He pushed himself off the bed, went to his bureau, found the long bladed knife he always wore on his belt, leaned across her to cut the ropes holding her wrists. 'Free your legs,
’
he said, and gave her the knife. He did not wish
to
look at her any more, at this moment. He went to the stand in the corner, filled the basin, washed himself, dried himself with a towel, and heard a movement behind him. He turned in time to see her, face drawn and hard and pale, hair still moving from the speed with which she had crossed the room, knife-filled hand darting forward as she saw she had been discovered; he realised he had dealt only with slaves for too long—it had never occurred
to
him she might possibly have the courage to attack him.
He threw both hands down to deflect the blade, knew he had missed. There was a searing thrust of pain into his ribs, and he fell to his knees.
Apparently he had cried out in alarm, and equally apparently Middlesex had remained on the gallery outside the bedroom, just in case, for immediately the door was thrown inwards and the butler and Suffolk both burst in. The girl was trying to withdraw the knife, either for another blow at Haggard or perhaps to kill herself, but he retained hold of her wrist and after a moment she released the weapon and pulled herself away. Her hand was covered in blood, and she looked at it in horror for a moment before turning towards the open windows.
But Suffolk already had his hands on her shoulders. The force of the pull threw her off balance, and she struck the floor with a crash and a gasp. Haggard remained on his knees. Between them they had withdrawn the knife and blood was cascading down his side, but surprisingly he felt very little pain.
'Ow, me God,' Middlesex said, 'Ow me God. Annie Kent,' he shouted. 'Fetch cloth and water. Fetch Mr. Ferguson. Fetch woman. Fetch.'
'What about this one?' Suffolk inquired, holding Emma by the shoulders and laying her flat again as she attempted to rise.
'Hold she there,' Middlesex commanded. 'Just hold she. Come now, Mr. John, you got for lie down.'
Haggard obeyed without meaning to. The floor seemed to come up to meet him. He gazed up at a ring of anxious black faces, soon to be joined by anxious white ones. He heard orders and instructions being given, he felt fingers probing at the wound in his side, and realised he was being wrapped in yards of white bandage. 'Willy,' he said. 'Are you there, Willy?'
'I'm here, John. Now just let's get you to bed. I've sent for the doctor. Easy now.'
Haggard was lifted from the floor and laid on his bed. He attempted to smile at them. 'What a damned silly
thing, Willy, to survive a duel
and be brought down by a chit of a girl.'
'She'll suffer, John. By God, I'll strip the
skin from her bones before I burn
her.'
'No,' Haggard said. 'No. Don't mark her, Willy. Wait for me.'
Now why did I say that, he wondered? I meant, don't harm her. I don't want to harm her. I have already harmed her.
The bed was soft, and now the entire room was spinning about him. He closed his eyes, and the spinning increased, whirling about his head, sending him drifting away into unconsciousness, to return to earth with a bump at an unearthly sound, a wailing, anguished scream which seeped through his open windows.
His eyes opened, and he sat up, only to fall back again. He gazed at Middlesex and Anni
e Kent, faces drawn with anxiety
.
'What is happening?
’
His mouth was dry.
‘I
s only Mr. Ferguson seeing to that murdering girl, Mr. John.' Middlesex said reassuringly.
Another scream cut across the afternoon, more dreadful than the first. Haggard forced his eyes open again, summoned all his strength, got his feet out of bed.
'Man, Mr. John, you got for stay here until the doctor does come,' Annie remonstrated.
'Away with you,' Haggard said, stumbling for the door.
'Man, Mr. Middlesex, but what we got for do?' Annie wailed.
'Go with him," Middlesex decided.
Haggard reached the stairs, clutched the bannisters, nearly fell, and regained his balance as yet another scream tore through the day making him gasp with its terrible intensity. 'Willy,' he shouted as he half slid and half fell down the stairs. 'Willy.'
Servants bustled out of the pantries and the withdrawing room and the dining room, stared at their master as, followed by Middlesex and Annie, he stumbled across the hall and on to the verandah, clutched the balustrade to look down on the half dozen overseers who were clustered there, round the naked body of Emma Dearborn. One held her ankles and another her wrists, stretched above her head. Between them her body writhed and twisted on the grass.
‘I
n the name of God,' Haggard shouted. 'What are you doing to her?'
Tickling her tits with red pepper, John,' Ferguson said. 'Oh, aye, we'll make her know she's alive. Now lads. Let's anoint her tail as well. That'll make her yelp, indeed it will.'