'I think I had better be off,' Dick said.
'Of course not, Dick,' Harriet said. 'The child regards you as a father. Besides, you must hold her wrists. She'll never stay still, otherwise. Come on, Judith. Every delay is another stroke.'
Judith came slowly across the room, allowed her groin to hit the bed, and fell forward.
'Put out your arms,' Harriet commanded.
Slowly Judith stretched her arms across the bed; her gaze never left Dick's face.
'Hold her, please, Dick,' Harriet said.
Dick gripped the slender wrists, looked into the girl's eyes. They were like her mother's, but perhaps still darker and still deeper.
Harriet seized her daughter's skirts and rolled them up to her waist. Dick felt his gaze drawn over the girl's glossy hair to the gently rounded buttocks, watched in fascinated horror as the cane swung through the air; Harriet was chewing her lower lip with concentration. And then was brought back to the girl's expression as the eyes widened with the shock of the blow, and the flat mouth flopped open. The second blow brought a similar reaction, the third a tear, and then a shout of agony, followed by sobbed screams.
'Louder,' Harriet gasped, her hair troubling down, sweat soaking her neck. 'Let them all hear, you little slut.'
As no doubt they would, Dick thought. The wrists writhed and twisted in his grip, and once Judith attempted to get up, only to be forced down again by her mother. He lost count of the cracks, of the screams, of the sobs, before Harriet finally stopped, having run out of breath. 'There,' she panted. 'Let that be a lesson to you. You'll mind whose breeches you get inside, in the future.'
Dick released the wrists; the marks of his fingers remained on the suntanned flesh. Judith slowly subsided across the bed, trying to stop her sobs, eyes swollen, hair scattered.
'Get out,' Harriet commanded. 'Get out. Spend the rest of the day in your room.'
Judith pushed herself to her feet. Her skirts fell into place of their own accord. She stumbled rather than walked towards the door.
'And close it behind you,' Harriet said.
The door closed, and Harriet smiled at Dick. 'Christ, but whipping that child makes me want. You're home for the afternoon, Dick?'
He stared at her. 'Aye,' he said. 'Maybe . . . maybe after breakfast.' He pulled the door open, found himself on the gallery. Now why had he refused her? His tool was as hard as ever in his life. But the desire was for the girl twisting under his hands, not the woman who had laid on the blows. Oh, Christ, he thought. What have you done? Who? Tony, by making her a woman? Harriet, by exposing all that woman? And by reaching into the deepest recesses of his own mind to bring out the ghastly desires that must dominate the dream world of every man?
He stumbled down the stairs, collapsed in a chair in the withdrawing room. The plantation was silent, save for the distant rumble of hooves. Tony? No doubt he had stayed to listen to the screams.
He held his head in his hands, tried to rid himself of that vision. But the girl would stay in his mind for the rest of his life.
And sat bolt upright as a terrible suspicion crossed his mind.
Harriet's punishm
ent had been quite unnaturally severe. Unnecessarily severe. And his presence had certainly
not
been necessary, as she had whipped Judith before, and not required his assistance. And Harriet, being Harriet, would certainly have noticed that he was not quite so fervent in his love making as a year back. Christalmighty.
The hooves had stopped, but at the steps to the verandah. Tony, come back again. Where was Josh?
But there was Josh's voice, greeting someone, and being summarily told to stand aside. Dick reached his feet in a long bound as the voice slowly penetrated his seething mind, and his jaw dropped in sheer horror as he gazed at the door, and Ellen Taggart.
7
The Fugitive
Ellen wore a brown pelisse over a cream gown, and a matching brown bonnet; as might be expected, she looked extremely hot. Coat and hat were smothered in dust, and there was dust on her face, slightly diminishing the pink in her cheeks.
But it was Ellen. An Ellen who had filled out, was a tall and buxom young woman, and an Ellen who had also developed an even firmer mouth and chin.
'Ellen,' he cried. 'I must be dreaming.'
'Indeed you are not, Richard.' She gave him her hand. 'We are arrived, Mama.'
Mrs Taggart was even more warmly clad, and thus even more hot and bothered than her daughter.
'I must have a chair,' she groaned and sat down. 'My God, these boots
...
I swear my feet are swollen.' She looked around her. 'But this is a palace.'
'Filled with revolting Negroes,' Ellen observed. 'And owned by a dumb planter.'
Dick endeavoured to gather his wits. 'You very nearly induced a seizure, I assure you.' He discovered he had let go of her glove, and hastily grasped them both again. 'Ellen. How absolutely marvellous. If I could but understand. But wait. . .' He released her once more, went to the archway. 'Mr Boscawen. Mr Boscawen,' he shouted, as loudly as he could. 'Sangaree, if you please. My fiancee has arrived. See to it, Mr Boscawen, and have the girls prepare the guest bedrooms. Quickly, man.'
Ellen sat beside her mother, pulled off her gloves, and released the bow securing her bonnet. 'We shall not be staying,
at this moment, Richard. It would not be proper.' 'Proper? But your mother is here.'
She was in
specting the room with her gaze. 'This is a most palatial residence, Richard. You did not do it justice in your descriptions.'
'Ellen.' He formed a third on the settee. 'Would you please explain? If only you had given me some notice . . .'
'You would no doubt have formed some reason for delaying me,' she said. 'As you have done for four years.'
'Have you not read my letters?'
'Indeed I have. So has Mama. And so, last night, has Mistress Laidlaw.' 'Clarissa Laidlaw? My God.'
'You have not been my only Jamaica correspondent, Richard,' Ellen pointed out. 'Clarissa has been writing me for years, almost from the moment her inquiries discovered my existence.'
'Why, the bitch,' Dick said.
'Really, Mr Hilton, such language,' protested Mrs Taggart.
'Nothing less than I expected, Mama,' Ellen said. 'You may believe, Richard, that in the beginning I was almost of your opinion, regarded her tales as nothing more than scurrilous, and indeed refused to reply. Yet she persisted in informing me of exactly what you were up to. And I must confess, as the weeks became months and the months became even years, I began to wonder if there might not be at least some truth in her account. I preferred not to discuss the matter with either Mama or Papa, as I was afraid they might decide to terminate our engagement, and immediately. But I leave it to you to attempt to imagine the agonies I suffered alone in my room, comparing your letters with hers, wondering which I was to believe.'
'Cruel, cruel man,' remarked Mrs Taggart.
'Ellen,' Dick said, seizing her hands once more. 'If you'd let me explain . . .'
'I am expecting that you will, Richard,' she said. 'When I have finished. And so I waited, and languished, and suffered, until my twenty-first birthday, when I received my inheritance, and which happily took place only a few days before Bonaparte decided to end his career of crime. Then it was, my mind made up by these fortuitous circumstances, that I confided in Mama. And discovered that I had indeed been wise to wait.'
'Outrageous,' said Mrs Taggart. 'I would have had none of you, young man. None at all. As for Colonel Taggart. . . what is that?'
Boscawen had appeared with a tray of sangaree.
Dick handed them each a glass. 'Something cooling, after your journey. But you prevailed upon your mother to be merciful, Ellen.'
'My mind was already made up. I prevailed upon her to accompany me, to discover the truth for myself, to hold you to your engagement.'
'Hold me? Did you suppose . . .'
'And you may further imagine my shock and disgust,' Ellen continued, as if he had not spoken, 'when on arriving in Kingston yesterday, we repaired to the dwelling of Clarissa, as she had long invited me to do, and there learned that she had spoken not a word but the absolute truth these three years.' She paused, to sip sangaree.
'She deserves to be whipped for slander,' Dick protested, his brain whirring.
'Indeed? She invited us to stay the night, which we did, while considering our next manoeuvre. Having decided to come out today, whom should we meet on the road just now but your very own brother, who informed us that he had been dismissed his living for daring to come between you and your
..
. your paramour.'
'Good God,' Dick said. 'Of all the liars.' He squeezed her free hand. 'Ellen, believe me, I have only your good, our good, at heart. If I could speak with you alone . . .'
'Never,' declared Mrs Taggart.
'What can you possibly say to me that Mama should not hear?' Ellen asked.
'Well. . .' He flushed.
‘I
might just possibly wish to take you in my arms and tell you how much I love you.'
'Good heavens,' declared Mrs Taggart.
Ellen's expression seemed a trifle softer. 'I am hoping you will do that, Dick, and soon.'
He decided to press home his advantage. 'Then there is the matter of our wedding, as you are here . . .'
'I am hoping that that also will soon be discussed,' she agreed. 'But I would prefer that both should wait until we have completed our consideration of your present position.'
'Present position, why . . .'
'This woman, Gale,' Ellen said. 'Where do you keep her hidden?' 'Why, I . . .'
'I am not hidden, Miss Taggart,' Harriet said, stepping through the archway from the hall, nor could Dick, knowing her, doubt that she had been there for some time. She wore her pink riding habit, which she was well aware was her most flattering garment.
'My God,' cried Mrs Taggart.
Ellen stood up. '
You
are Mistress Gale?'
Dick also got up. 'Allow me to introduce you.'
'I have no desire to meet this person,' Ellen declared. 'I merely wish her to pack her belongings and leave, this instant.'
'You've a big tongue in that horse face of yours,' Harriet declared. 'Anyone would suppose you owned the place.'
'I do own this place,' Ellen said. 'By virtue of my forthcoming marriage with Mr Hilton.'
Her cheeks were pink. But then, pink spots were also gathering in Harriet's cheeks.
'I'm sure we can all sit down and discuss this,' Dick said.
'You hold your miserable tongue, sir,' said Mrs Taggart.
'Are you going to let these people talk to you like this, Dick?' Harriet demanded. 'Why don't you call the servants and have them thrown out?'
'On the contrary, madam,' Ellen said, 'it is you who are about to be thrown out. You are nothing but a whore, by all accounts. Certainly you are a wicked woman who clearly has taken advantage of Mr Hilton's generosity to feather her own nest these four years. Well, madam, your little charade is over. I will give you ten minutes to be off Hilltop, or I will have my people carry you. And should you ever venture on to this property again, I will have you whipped.'
Harriet stared at her for a moment in utter consternation, her face glowing. Dick made a move forward, fearing the worst, but was too late.
'Why, you little wretch,' Harriet shouted, and swung her hand.
But now it appeared that Ellen, for all her self-control was equally angry. And she was much the younger, stronger, bigger woman. She stepped inside Harriet's hand, seized her antagonist by the hair, dislodging her hat, swung her round while Harriet gave a gasp of horror, and thrust her away again, with all her force. Off balance, Harriet staggered across the floor and fell to her hands and knees in the doorway, her back to her assailant. And to Dick's total amazement, Ellen followed her, raising her skirts as she did so to reveal that she was wearing boots, and kicked her rival in the buttocks.
Harriet gave a strangled scream and fell forward once more, landing on her face at the foot of the stairs, and virtually at the feet of Boscawen, who, accompanied by half a dozen of the maids and Vernon the footman, had come hurrying from the kitchen to discover what the noise was about.