“They brought me here, just as they brought you. But they only thought I had no choice. It was arranged that way.”
“I don’t know,” said Hannah dully. “I don’t know about any of it.” She fell back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. After a while, she said, “What should I do?”
He leaned over her. “Don’t do anything, now. You have to keep surviving here, Hannah. And know that I’m here. Because of you—and because of the others, too, and all of this.”
“But you can leave?”
He shook his head. “No more than you can leave. I’m a prisoner to them. That’s all. I can leave if I find a way to leave.”
“But no one does.” She still stared up, not looking at him. “Can you tell me all of it, everything, and what my daddy said?”
“Hannah, I put us both in danger by telling you this much. If they knew, I might be killed. And maybe you, because you know.”
“Of course I had to know. He’s my daddy.”
“The danger is
real
, Hannah. If they even thought you knew something, the guards would get it out of you, no matter what they had to do.”
She nodded. “All right. Tell me what to do.”
“Go to your room. It’s long after curfew. Don’t change anything you do.” He hesitated. “Can you act as though nothing has changed? You don’t know anything.”
She was sitting up, moving toward the side of the bed. “I think so,” she said. She stood up now, facing him. Her arms were crossed over her breasts, hugging herself. “When you escape, can I go?”
“That is one of the things not to think about, Hannah. If you don’t think about it, try not to think about it, you will be safe. And you will know I’m here—because of you.”
“And that’s what this is about?” she asked. She looked down, her voice bleak. “That’s why we’re here together, and you talk to me?”
“Hannah, I am here because I was sent here, and I told you why. Then I met you and saw what kind of woman you are. And now, I think I may love you.”
“Oh!” She looked up, her arms tightening around herself.
“But the danger is real. Hannah that is what you can’t forget. Because we don’t want to be here. We want to be free—together.”
She went to the door, pressed her ear to it, and glanced back. She said softly, “I love you,” and backed out, pulling the door closed.
A voice behind her in the corridor said, “Come with me. This is curfew.”
At the first sound, she gave a cry of alarm and whirled around. It was Cara. She reached out for Hannah’s arm. She said, “They will punish you.”
The door opened and David stood there. Cara looked at him. “They will punish her. It is curfew. They may punish you.”
“I was hurt,” said David evenly. “They made me do a cock fight and I was hurt. They left me tied up on the lawn, at night.” He pointed at Hannah. “She found me and helped me back. I couldn’t walk by myself. She helped me. That’s all.”
Cara had taken Hannah’s biceps. She said, less certainly, “They may punish her. It’s curfew.”
“Will you tell them what I said? You can ask Charles, any of them. They left me tied, outside. I was hurt. It was night. Ask them.”
“Now, she has to go to her room. In the morning, they may punish her. I will tell them all that you say.”
“Thank you,” said David. He looked at Hannah, “And thank you, Hannah, for helping me. I would have been left outside. All night. And I was hurt. Thank you.” And he closed the door, as though no longer interested in Hannah or the matter at hand.
After a brief, silent walk, Cara stood holding open the door to Hannah’s room and said, “Do not come out of your room until I come for you. Tomorrow.”
“I understand. I will stay here.”
Cara pulled shut the door. Hannah wondered why she didn’t feel afraid. Because it seemed unimportant. Her father was alive, home, with her mum and her brothers and her sisters and he wanted to find her. He
had
found her! How? He was just a sailor. Or maybe, now a mate, but… Her family was back together after two years, but it wasn’t. She was not there.
She threw her clothes on the chair and fell back on the bed. And David had said he loved her—seemed to say he might. But she knew nothing, absolutely nothing, about how he came, or why, or why he thought he might escape when no one ever did. If he loved her, really loved her, perhaps she would be happy here. She thought of them on the beach, near the woods, making love on the grass. She closed her eyes and her hand slid down to her belly. Was this all she ever wanted, now?
How had her father found her? And why did David come? And what would he do? She wouldn’t sleep, not tonight. David was alone, and maybe he still hurt, hurt terribly. She liked his prick with the dark red bulb, a little blue around its base. Her hand slipped between her legs. This was the clit and she was wet. Without even touching.
If the prick went inside, did it feel even better than touching? How could it? She squirmed, slowly grinding her loins. If it was in there would it feel impossibly big, stretching her, making her belly wish to expel it? No, she imagined it in her, moving like the dildo, sliding in and out, and it felt good. She heaved up her loins and murmured, “Ohhh!” When she had thrown herself sideways, curling up and squeezing together her thighs, protecting herself against her own finger, she lay gasping. The racing thoughts, the questions still were there, but not pestering her. She should think about them. And then she was asleep.
Gripping Hannah’s arm, Cara led her down a corridor she never had seen. When Cara had knocked, that morning, Hannah woke still lying on her stomach, her hand beneath her. But now sun had made a white square on her hips and buttocks.
“Yes,” she had called, rolling off the bed. She washed quickly and drew on the two garments. She stepped into her sandals. Cara would wait if she didn’t take a moment longer than necessary. Anything else? No.
Now, they halted and Cara said, “Here is where they want you.” It was just a door. Cara raised her hand and knocked. The man who opened it was dressed in white. Thick black wires were around his neck and his head was wrapped in white. Looking past him, Hannah could see that the room was small and the walls white, with shelves that were lined with bottles. The man looked at her, smiled, and then looked at Cara.
“She is Hannah,” said Cara, pushing her forward. “I will wait.”
The man nodded. He said, “All right, Hannah, come in, and he stood aside. Hannah walked past him. It wasn’t the guards. Just inside she stopped. In the center of the room was a high table covered with leather; it had fixtures attached, but she didn’t know what for. It also had straps, hanging to the sides. To hold her perhaps. Well, she had been tied up.
She liked the man’s voice. He said, “I’m Dr. MacLeod. I’m not going to hurt you.”
A doctor! She had seen a doctor only once, perhaps twice, in her life. There was no doctor in the village, but once one came and talked to her mum and other women, saying that if girls in the village were going to have babies, they should come to the new lying-in hospital. They should not give birth at home. Later, Hannah’s mum said she didn’t like that. She was a midwife—sometimes, when needed. And she said girls went to the hospital to have babies and died. It was better at home. The doctor might just want money from the girls.
Other men came to the village, to the market, and especially to the fairs and they set up little booths and called in loud voices to everyone passing, until a crowd gathered. And then they tried to sell bottles, all kinds of bottles. They asked Hannah if she was sick, or tired, or had pains. Some came close and asked her if she had monthly problems. if she was worried about her monthly, because their medicine could help her. All the bottles of medicine said “Dr. This” and “Dr. That.” And the men acted as though perhaps they were that doctor. They would say, “My medicine.”
Dr. MacLeod asked, “Do you know why you’re here, Hannah?” She turned to him, and said, “I was out after curfew.”
He said, “In the room of a boy.”
“Yes,” she said, remembering how well David had explained it to Cara. “But…”
“It doesn’t matter. I have to do what they asked me to do. I still have to examine you.” He paused. “You will have to take off your clothes. I will step out of the room.”
Hannah had seized her blouse and pulled it off. Her hands were in her waistband, pushing down her bottoms. She straightened up, naked. He seemed almost to smile, but stopped himself. He said, “All right, good.”
“Now, please lie back over there.” He gestured to the leather bed. He said, “I can help you up.”
But Hannah had turned her back to it, taken a small jump, and sat on the edge. She turned her body, falling back, arms at her side. He stood gazing down for a moment. Then, he said, “I must examine your vagina, Hannah. I can cover you with a sheet, but I must look under it.”
She frowned at him. He asked, “Do you know what I mean?”
She shook her head. He said, “I need to look into your sex.”
She looked at him warily. But he seemed gentle. She spread her thighs as wide as she could, holding them with her hands. He said, “I can cover you.”
“Why?
For a moment, he gazed down at her. Her body always had been slender, with long legs, a narrow waist, and the full, high breasts. Now, she was lean and muscular, every line and curve tight. Her face had become somehow more beautiful, passionate perhaps, wiser and a little melancholy. “All right,” he said, but his eyes, as he looked at her, were sad. He slowly shook his head.
His fingers gently took the lips of her sex and spread them. He said, “Pull your legs back more, if you can. Hannah splayed herself as far as she could. She felt fingers enter her, infinitely gentle. It didn’t hurt at all. She sighed.
After a moment, he said, “All right,” and straightened up. “You can get down and dress now, Hannah.”
“Now?”
“Yes, I’m finished.”
She sat up slowly, frowning. She turned to him. “Am I sick?”
“No. Do you know what I did? I can tell you.”
She nodded. He said, “You were in the room of a boy last night and I had to see if you are still a virgin.”
“Oh!”
“And you are.”
“Yes.”
“Do you know how I knew?”
She said, tentatively, “I wasn’t broken…”
“Yes. Virgins have a membrane across their vagina…” He paused. “a tight piece of skin stretched across there, inside you.”
She nodded.
“But when a man enters you, he breaks it. Then you aren’t a virgin. Do you know that you will be punished if you aren’t a virgin? You may be severely punished.”
“The duke wants me to be a virgin.”
The doctor nodded, his lips pursed.
“Why?”
He stared at her. He shook his head slowly. Again, the sadness came into his eyes. He turned away without answering and walked to a cabinet at the side of the room. He seemed to be examining something, but he took nothing, turned, and came back. Again, he gazed at her for a moment. And then, he said, “The duke wants to be the man who enters you first, while you are still a virgin.”
Hannah nodded, but the motions were almost imperceptible, as though she didn’t know she was nodding. She said: “That is what your husband does.” She looked at him. He looked back at her, not answering. She said, “But not here. Here, everything is different.”
“Yes.”
“What if I love a man and he puts his prick in my pussy and the skin breaks? Do I have to be punished? Because it isn’t the duke?”
“I think that you would be punished, yes.”
“It’s wrong.”
“I am finished examining you. Should I call Cara, now? I’m done.”
“You could tell me something.”
“There are many things I am not allowed to discuss.”
“If a man puts his prick in you, does it feel as good as when someone licks your clit or you rub it?” She looked at him earnestly, awaiting an answer.
Again, it seemed impossible to understand his expression. But he shook his head very slowly, and maybe there was a smile, something like a smile, on his lips. He said, “It can feel just as nice, Hannah. But sometimes women like both. Why can’t you have both?”
“I think I would like both.”
“But remember about being a virgin. You know what they can do to you here.”
“I know from Maria. She showed me.” She looked down at her naked lap and, asked, after a moment, “And shall I conceive the duke’s child? It would be a bastard.”
“If you become pregnant by the duke or one of his guests you will not bear the child. You will be sent to me.”
“And I will have an abortion.” It was a statement; she did not look at him.
“Yes.”
“And I may die or perhaps I never will have children of my own.”
“Hannah, I will not let that happen.”
She whirled on him, face reddened, and cried, “But it
does
happen—and very often! Girls from my village! Many girls!”
He frowned. “Abortion is not openly discussed. It is a crime and a serious one. A crime for which the punishment is prison for the person who does it.”