He continued to look at Lily as she stood at the door, her eyes cast down. Then, summoning her will, she said, ‘I’ve got to go, sir. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll wish you goodnight.’
He nodded. ‘Ah, and goodnight to you, Lily. Sleep well.’
She heard his words with the greatest relief, and in moments she had opened the door and was passing through into the small hall beyond.
Later, upstairs in her room, lying in bed, with the candle out, she put away from her mind the awkwardness with Mr Haskin, and thought back on the time she had spent with Joel. It was all there before her, everything, all the images of the day, the sights, the smells, the sounds. She thought of them sitting on the grass while he had sketched her portrait, she remembered the laughter of the spectators as Mr Punch had gone through his outrageous, murderous antics. She saw again the interior of the inn where, in the light through the coloured glass, she and Joel had sat over their venison pie. She saw them in the barn, and smelled again the old hay and straw, heard again the scratching of the mice in the shadows. And she thought again of Joel’s kiss, felt his mouth once more on hers, soft and warm, magical.
And now he had gone, and in a very short time he would be in France. But their parting was not for ever. He had impressed this upon her, and she knew it was true. He would have leave from his university, and he would come back and see her, and eventually they would be together, for always.
She turned, restless, feeling that sleep was a long way off. It was likely that tomorrow Mrs Haskin would return. Thinking of the woman, the thought came that Mr Haskin was sure to tell of his discovery about herself and Joel. How would Mrs Haskin react? She would not be approving, that much Lily was sure of.
Interrupting her thoughts came the faint sound of the opening of the Haskins’ bedroom door on the floor below. Mr Haskin was going to bed. Several minutes of silence
followed, and then she heard the door opening again. After that there came, suddenly and surprisingly, the sound of footfalls on the stairs. Hearing them she listened more intently. Why should Mr Haskin be coming up the last flight?
Listening still, she heard the thin treads creaking as he came on up. She lay quiet, puzzled and a little tense. Then, after a brief silence there came a faint tap on her door.
She made no sound, and another tap came, a little stronger this time, and then Mr Haskin’s voice, softly calling out her name. ‘Lily? Lily? Lily, are you awake?’
She pulled herself up in the bed. In the quiet she heard the door handle turn, and the next moment, in the faint glow from the moonlight that filtered through the crack in the curtains, she saw the door begin to open. ‘What is it?’ she said, pulling the bedclothes closer to her breast. ‘What is it?’
The door opened fully then, and he stood there, a tall, dark shape. She could not make out his expression in the gloom, but she could see clearly that he was clad in his nightshirt.
‘What do you want?’ she breathed.
‘I just wondered if you’re all right,’ he said, and she heard the faint slurring of his words. She said nothing. He remained standing there. In the silence she could hear the sound of her own breathing.
After a few moments he came forward until he was standing just a couple of feet from the bedside. She was aware of the beating of her heart.
‘Don’t take any notice of me,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t have teased you like that.’
‘It – it’s all right, sir,’ she said at once. ‘It’s all right. It doesn’t matter.’
‘Yes, it does. And let me say I’m not in the least surprised you’ve found yourself a young man. A girl as pretty as you.’
He took a step nearer and the next moment Lily felt the mattress dip as he sat down on the side of the bed. She could hear his surging breath as he settled there. She closed her eyes, unable to bring herself to look at him. ‘Yes, a pretty girl like you,’ she heard him say, ‘you should be able to have your pick of the young fellows. And not only the young ones either.’ As she opened her eyes again she saw him raise his hand, and a moment later he was bringing it to her cheek. At his touch she flinched and pressed back against the pillow.
‘You mustn’t be afraid,’ he said softly, a little gruffly, ‘I won’t hurt you. I’d never hurt you.’
Her eyes wide, she shrank from him, but his rough hand remained on her. He began to stroke her cheek, his fingers lingering upon her skin. ‘Please,’ she muttered. ‘Please.’
‘It’s all right, it’s all right,’ he said softly. ‘It’s all right.’
The next moment he was leaning forward and lowering his face to hers, and she could smell the whisky on his breath. And then his mouth was pushing against her own. Under the pressure of his lips she tried to move her head away, but his hand shifted from her cheek and gripped her chin. Held fast she lay there as his voracious mouth covered hers. A second later his wet tongue was pressing against her lips and insinuating itself into her unwilling mouth, moving over her teeth. Apart from the taste of the whisky, she could also taste the tobacco from his pipe, and something else, some sweet, sour essence in his saliva that made her almost gag and choke. Once again she tried to move her head away, and brought up her hands to try to push him back, but he was too powerful, and her efforts were to no avail.
Breaking briefly away, he drew back just long enough to mutter through gritted teeth, ‘Lay still. I’m not going to hurt you,’ and then pressed his mouth on hers again. The horror was never ending. The next moment his right hand
was grasping the bedcovers and yanking them down, exposing her nightdress-covered body. And then he was moving his own body to lay his weight upon her. Tearing her mouth from beneath his, she gave a little squeal. ‘No! No! I – I’m a good girl, sir. Please, no!’ But he took no heed, and in seconds she could feel the hardness of his sex against her thigh, pressing, pressing.
Gruffly, almost angrily, he muttered, ‘Stop resisting, will you? I’ll bet you’re not so stand-offish with that young fellow of yourn.’ She gave another little cry of desperation, and he quickly added, ‘There’s no sense crying out, there’s only you and me.’ He kissed her again, while he continued to press against her. ‘Come on,’ he said in a softer tone, ‘be nice, be nice.’ And she felt his right hand wrench at the fabric of her nightgown. As he did so she felt the cool air against her bare flesh. A moment later he was pulling up his nightshirt, and the next second was pressing against her once more. This time there was nothing between them, his bare skin was burning upon her own. He lay there for a brief moment, his rampant flesh against her, then put his hand between her thighs. He fumbled there for a second, coarse fingers exploring, and then moved to force her thighs apart. ‘No!’ she tried to cry out against him, ‘No,’ but her voice was stifled against his mouth. Another moment and he was manoeuvring his heavy body over her, and in a gasping, tearing thrust he was inside her.
When at last he had gone, she lay still for some minutes, as if stunned, and then got up and washed herself. Back in the bed she stared up into the dark, while the tears streamed from her eyes and ran into the hair at her temples.
She did not sleep that night, and the next morning when she crawled out of bed she found that there were a few spots of blood on the under sheet. But it was Monday, and Monday was wash day, and by the afternoon the bedlinen had been washed and, along with the rest of the washing, was hanging out on the clothesline to dry. She was glad of the round of chores that awaited her for she desperately needed to be occupied, though never for one moment while she worked did her thoughts stray from the happening of the night before. First thing that morning she had prepared Mr Haskin’s breakfast and served it as he sat, ready for his day’s work, at the kitchen table. Throughout, she kept her eyes lowered, and spoke no single word. For his part he gave no word to her either, other than muttering the briefest thank you, and the moment his plate was empty he was gone, riding off on the cob.
Left alone in the house she poured herself a cup of tea and sat with it. She would usually have made a breakfast of some bread and butter, but not today. Today she ate nothing. Over and over again she thought of the events of the previous day and night. How could it have been possible, in so little space of time, to fall from the very pinnacle of happiness to the deepest depths of horror and
degradation? How wonderful had been those hours with Joel, and all the things they had done together. Images conjured from the time turned over in her mind, and the afternoon and evening were before her again, in the park, the field, and the barn and the inn, in the sun and in the rain. And what had provided the most wondrous and magical of memories was now all of it sullied, ruined for ever.
All her instincts urged her to run. Every cell in her body cried out for her to pack up her few possessions and get away from the house, but she knew she could not. For the time being she had no option other than to stay. Where could she go? She had no money for lodgings and she had no other prospect of employment. She certainly could not go home to Compton Wells, for if she did, what excuse could she make? She could not tell them the reason, she could never speak of it, never admit the shame of the happening. She was trapped. She could not with comfort stay, but neither could she go.
Mrs Haskin arrived back later that afternoon, remarking to Lily that her mother was much improved, and able to care for herself again. ‘Though I shall go back to check on her tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Just to see that she’s all right, and take her one or two things.’ She expressed satisfaction that the washing had been done, and asked Lily how things had gone generally in her absence. Lily replied that she had kept busy.
Mrs Haskin regarded her judiciously. ‘Are you all right? You look a bit down in the mouth.’
Lily avoided the woman’s glance. ‘I’m all right,’ she said.
‘Well, let’s hope so. We don’t want you sickening for something. It’s enough to do with looking after Mother.’
The time dragged by, and Lily lived the days in a fog. On the Tuesday, she thought of Joel leaving England for
France, and all the while she continued with her work, shrouded in a haze of misery and shame, the nightmare of the violation never more than a breath away from her consciousness. Each day she dreaded the time when Mr Haskin would return from the factory and she would have to join him and his wife at the dinner table. At such times she was thankful that conversation was not generally expected of her, and she could sit and eat in near silence without causing comment. When she was called upon to speak, it was almost invariably in response to Mrs Haskin. As for Mr Haskin, he addressed to her only the occasional anodyne remark, and then merely to keep up appearances. At other times the odd jocular comment he threw her way was stilted and awkward, and never did his eyes meet hers.
When Sunday came, Lily went as usual to Henhurst to prepare the midday meal for Mrs Shalcross. She found the old lady much recovered from her accident, and knew a certain relief in spending some time with her. There was no pressure or stress in the old lady’s company and, when the meal was finished and cleared away Lily sat with her over cups of tea, and listened to her complaints and her gossip. Today Lily was in no hurry to leave. Joel would not be waiting for her at the park, and in the absence of time spent with him there was nothing she cared to do. She was only sure that she did not want to return to Hollygrove and find herself in the company of Mr Haskin.
When the time came for her to go, she bade the old lady farewell and left the house. As usual her route took her by the park, and she wandered aimlessly through the entrance. The sky was a little overcast today, and there was a September coolness in the air. The band was playing, but to a much reduced audience, and she felt no desire to linger and listen. Instead, she walked on to the pond, and there sat on the bench that she and Joel had shared. She thought of him as she sat facing out over the water. It was only a week
since they had been together. Just one week. That day, that last Sunday with him, had been the happiest day she could recall. How swiftly everything had changed.
How long she sat there she did not know, though from the nearby church she was dimly aware of the clock striking the hours away. Before her, at the rim of the pond, two small boys sailed their wooden boats. The time passed, and eventually they packed up their little vessels and left the scene. The bandsmen had long since ceased to play. When a few drops of rain fell, Lily rose and began to retrace her steps. There were relatively few people about now. The rain began to fall more heavily as she neared the bandstand – all deserted now by the musicians – and she stepped up onto it and sat down on one of the seats. Then, while the rain drummed a tattoo on the wooden roof, she sat looking out over the sward.
When the rain stopped, she set off back to Hollygrove; she could think of nothing else to do, and had nowhere else to go.
Mrs Haskin was in the kitchen when Lily entered the house. She was sitting by the window mending some stockings, her sewing basket open beside her. Lily was relieved to find that Mr Haskin was nowhere in sight.
‘Well, there you are,’ Mrs Haskin said. ‘How was Mother? Did you find her well?’
Lily replied that she had, spoke a little about her time with the old lady, and then went upstairs to take off her jacket and bonnet, and put on her apron. Back downstairs, she took her own sewing basket from the cupboard and took from Mrs Haskin two or three of the stockings that needed mending. For a few minutes the two women worked in silence, then Mrs Haskin said, one eyebrow raised slightly:
‘I wasn’t expecting you back just yet.’
‘The rain came on,’ Lily said. ‘It wasn’t a day for walking around much.’
‘No, I suppose not.’ Mrs Haskin paused, then added, her eyes on her darning, ‘And you had no one to meet today?’
The question made Lily’s heart sink. So Mr Haskin had told his wife of seeing Lily with Joel. But it was inevitable, she thought.
When Lily did not answer the question, Mrs Haskin said, ‘Yes, it seems you’ve been keeping a few secrets, Lily Clair. All the time we thought that after getting Mother’s dinner you were going for a nice solitary walk, or getting the train into Corster, but it seems we were wrong. You had other things to do. And, so I’m told, you were quite late getting back last Sunday night. A case of when the cat’s away the mice’ll play, I s’pose.’