Miss Trent replied, ‘I repeat, sir, I do not know. Perhaps your relatives yesterday.’
Olivia was holding her breath.Would they guess it had been Jared?
‘But I was with her all the time,’ Miss Trent added. ‘They sang carols together, that is all.’
She felt a gentle squeeze of her hand and relaxed. Miss Trent would not betray her, even if she knew.
‘I knew it was a mistake to ask them here!’ her uncle roared. ‘Meddling in my affairs! I will not have that family over my threshold again.’
He’s a wicked man, Olivia thought. He takes everything from me. First my money and now my only hope of friendship and a little happiness with Jared. She wanted to hit him, to push him backwards into the fire. She pursed her lips and flared her nostrils to stem her mounting rage.The gentle squeeze of her hand tightened. Miss Trent felt the same about her uncle. They could push him together! Then she felt a gentle tug.
‘Come along, Olivia. We have reading to do in the schoolroom. ’
Harriet dared not look at her charge for she knew that they thought as one about the injustice of her situation and it would not do for her to show this. She focused her eyes on the gentlemen and wondered why young Hesley seemed so shocked by the suggestion that he should go abroad. Resentment, she could have understood. But he appeared astounded and his pallor indicated more than anger. It was none of her business, except that it involved Olivia. And her inheritance. She had not known her charge was an heiress. It was not unheard-of for gentlewomen to have means of their own but not, she had thought, in the Mexton family.
‘Sit down, Miss Trent!’ the master barked. ‘Olivia, go to your chamber. You, too, Hesley.’
‘Thank God,
’
young Hesley exclaimed.
‘
I
’
m off to Swinborough Hall for New Year.’
Harriet frowned.The master did not often ask to speak with her. It made no difference to her that Olivia was an heiress. But if the girl was to grow up as a wealthy lady, perhaps she needed more education than Harriet could provide. Someone more used to the ways of society. She hoped he would not dismiss her in favour of another governess.
‘Sherry wine? Take it. I insist.’
Harriet took the glass he offered. He was tired, she thought. He has never fully recovered the energy he had before he was attacked, and now he looks more like the ageing gentleman he is.
‘You have a way with her.’
‘Sir?’
‘Olivia. She has turned away from her wild ways in your care.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘She will become a lady, after all.’
‘I hope so, sir.’
‘Like you.’
Disarmed, she replied, ‘I did not have her advantages, sir.’
‘But her behaviour, her demeanour . . . Commendable, Miss Trent. Are you settled here?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I am not. I am used to more company. Since my accident - well, you know of the pleasures I have given up.’ He paused. ‘You wrote the letter for me.’
Harriet was silent. Mrs Cookson had told her that his mistress had left the Riding. The master had terminated the lease and closed the house.
‘I am advised not to join my grandson and my friends at the races and the pugilistic meetings. Adam Harvey orders for me this sherry wine instead of whisky. What sort of life is that for a gentleman? Eh?’
Harriet looked at her hands.
‘Nothing to say, Miss? Well, what would you know of a gentleman’s life, anyway?’
What indeed? She wondered where this was leading.
‘And I shall not even have Hesley to talk to after I have packed him off across the ocean.’
‘You have Olivia, sir.’
‘The child? Is that your answer?’
Harriet finished her sherry, placed the glass on a side table and half rose to her feet. ‘If that is all, sir?’
‘It is not. Sit down.’
She did so.
He slammed his own glass down, grasped the whisky decanter and poured himself half a tumbler that he swallowed in one gulp. ‘I need company.’
‘You sent your visitors away, sir,’ she pointed out.
‘Not them, for God’s sake! They make my hours even more dull, not less. You, Miss Trent, you are a different matter altogether.’
For a moment she was astounded. Her? The penniless orphan he employed to discipline his wayward niece? How could she enliven his days? His tastes, she thought, were not for her skills as a teacher.What could she offer him? Conversation? Reading? A game of chess? Surely he would have no interest in such occupations.‘I’m afraid I should not be good company for you, sir. I do not share your tastes.’
‘Do you not? I like my books.’
She was mildly surprised, but believed him. He had a good library.
‘I should read if my eyes allowed it,’ he went on.
Ah, now she understood. He
had
changed since his accident. With his grandson abroad, life would be quieter. There would be time for reading.
‘Mr Harvey once suggested that Olivia read the news-sheets to you.’
‘I have in mind someone more adult.’
‘It would benefit her education, sir.’
‘You will read to me, Miss Trent,’ he said firmly.
He gave her a small smile, the sneer that told her the matter was closed. Her heart sank. She would have to spend part of her day reading to him.
‘When shall I attend you, sir?’ she asked.
‘Oh, I like to read before I sleep.’
It was reasonable, for she, too, preferred that time. But she felt uneasy. Then saw the mockery in his eyes, the suggestive way in which he slouched on his chair and raised his glass to her.A frisson of fear ran through her. No, she was being fanciful. He did not mean - he could not mean . . .
Her heart began to thump. He was goading her to entertain himself. As her anger mounted, she tried to sound calm. ‘You will be tired, sir. May I recommend the afternoon instead?’
‘After supper, Miss Trent.You will come to my chamber and read to me. Tonight.’
She gave a nervous half-laugh. ‘You toy with me, sir. You cannot expect me to visit your chamber at such a late hour.’
‘You will do as I say.’
She stood up, panic clutching at reason. Whether she had misunderstood him or not, he would not mistake her answer. ‘No, sir. I shall not. I am governess to your ward.’ She dared not look at him for his anger would have alarmed her more.
Her heart was still pounding as she closed the library door behind her. She leaned against the wood panelling. Even the eyes of the animal heads mounted on the walls seemed to mock her. What kind of woman did he think she was? She was a charity girl but that did not mean he was entitled to her virtue as well as to her labour. She must calm herself before she went to the schoolroom. She turned towards the kitchen.
‘Mrs Cookson, may I have a little of your rum?’
‘You look as if you’ve had a fright.’
‘It’s nothing. Really.’ But she was shaking.
‘You’d better sit down. I’ll make you a hot toddy.’
‘Thank you.’
‘The master been telling you off?’
‘Yes - yes, that’s it,’ she hedged. Surely she had imagined his proposition.
‘It doesn’t do to cross him.’ Mrs Cookson mixed the toddy and handed it to her. ‘Although with young women like yourself, it fires his blood, if you take my meaning.’
‘
No, I do not.’ But she did. And she did not regret disobeying him or walking out of his library without leave. She would do the same again. He should not have humiliated her for his sport, even though he was her employer.
‘About Olivia, was it?’ Mrs Cookson asked.
Harriet wished it had been. ‘She still has those bad dreams, you know. Do you know when they started?’
‘She came back from the West Indies with them. All them black men scared her half to death, I expect.’
Harriet sighed. ‘It is much more likely to have been the loss of her parents that traumatized her.’
‘The master’s apothecary said she would grow out of them.’
‘I hope so. Have we sweet milk for her tonight? It helps her to sleep more soundly.’
‘Aye, I’ve put some by.’
‘I will have rum with mine.’ Harriet wished only for oblivion to forget about the master’s sinful insinuation.
She was awakened, suddenly, by a chill across her body as the bedclothes were thrown aside. Startled, she blinked in the glow of a candle on the box near her head.
‘Olivia, is that you? What is it?’
‘It’s I, Miss Trent.’ His voice was slurred and gravelly.
The master? The aroma of cigars pervaded her nostrils. He was in her chamber? Her mind assembled itself. Her disobedience. Would he drag her out of bed and beat her? She had not been beaten since she was a young pupil at Blackstone. But she would bear it with fortitude. She lowered her voice to a whisper: ‘If you wish to punish me, sir, can it not wait until morning? You would not wish to wake Olivia.’
‘Then come quietly to my chamber as I ask.’
No! Her body tensed. He meant her to obey him! She raised herself on one elbow and whispered, ‘Not at this hour of the night, sir. Please go back to your chamber before Olivia hears you.’
‘You’re a stubborn soul, aren’t you? Well, so am I and I am master in this house, as you well know.’
Her eyes were becoming used to the candle and she saw beyond its pool of light his jacket discarded on the floorboards. He wore no boots and was already unbuttoning the flap at the front of his breeches.
Alarmed, she sat up properly. ‘Are you mad, sir?’
He pushed her back onto her mattress, half falling on top of her as she spoke. ‘Do you think I do not mean what I say? You have much to learn. And if you are so concerned about the child you will make no sound yourself.’
‘No, sir, stop! You must not!’
‘Quiet.’ He pinned her to the bed and covered her mouth with his hand. The other hand was already searching under her nightgown, shoving the soft cotton upwards and around her waist, grasping the flesh of her thighs and groping between her legs. His knees were between hers, pushing them apart. She struggled and squirmed and squealed, her own hands flailing at first, then trying desperately to prise his away from her mouth and from her most private areas.
He paid no heed to her pleas to stop and she could smell the whisky on his breath. It did not seem to matter how much she struggled because his greater weight was pressing her into the mattress, crushing her. She could hardly breathe. His fingers probed and poked until they found what he was searching for and she yelped in pain. She thrashed her legs, her feet tangling in the bed linen. But to no avail. Quite suddenly a charge ran through her, a stab of pain she had never known before, which stunned her into momentary stillness.
He had entered her,
entered her
. He had done it so swiftly that, at first, she could not believe it was happening. But it was. He was thrusting inside her, grunting harshly. It was over quickly. He exhaled noisily, then flopped all over her, smothering her, squeezing the breath out of her, until she thought she might faint.
She could not move. She lay there, shocked, silent and in sheer disbelief that this had happened. She inhaled with a shudder. He had taken her virtue. In a few short seconds it was gone.What kind of man was he to demand that of her because she had disobeyed him? He was an evil man. Certainly no gentleman.
How could he?
She was not one of his tavern girls. She was his niece’s governess.
The man had no shame, no scruples. But she had known that already from his behaviour.Yet she had never supposed he would do this. Not even after their conversation in the library. She lay there not knowing what to think or what to do. Tears welled in her eyes as her distress mounted.
His mouth was close to her ear and she felt his lips move against her neck as he said softly, ‘There, Miss Trent. That was not so difficult, was it?’ Then he climbed off her, picked up his jacket and left. The candle flickered in the draught from the door.
She was wide awake, the tears rolling down her face now. But still she was unable to move her limbs until the sound of the bed creaking next door forced her into action. She pulled down her nightdress and covered herself with bedding. Had she wakened the child? Dear heaven, she hoped not!
How could he take her good name so coldly and callously?
How could he?
She had no family or position, and no money of her own until she was one-and-twenty. Her virtue was all she had had and
he had taken it
. She saw it so clearly now. He had taken it because she had refused to go to his chamber and give herself to him.
It was a lesson, she realized. He had done this to punish her for disobeying him. Olivia had said she must do as Uncle Hesley bade. Olivia! The reason she was here. She was growing into a sensible young woman under Harriet’s care, but how could she continue to teach her after this?
She must go away. Tomorrow. She would demand an interview and give notice to quit with immediate effect. She turned her head from side to side on the pillow. She could not leave Olivia now. They were so much more to each other than pupil and governess. Their bond had grown strong, as she had hoped it would, and it would break Harriet’s heart to desert her now. She could not do it. Not now she had become so close to her.
But she would have to. The master surely would not expect her to stay. He would turn her out. He would not wish a defiled woman to teach his niece about moral conduct and duty.
Harriet lay wide awake, wondering where she would go and how she would get there without money. The wind and rain battered her window, the noise reminding her of whippings in the laundry at the poorhouse. She had been younger than Olivia was now, but the memory of cold and hunger lingered. After a while she got up and washed herself where he had invaded her. The water was cold and she shivered. Her most delicate skin was stinging and she could still feel him there. She could not get out of her mind what he had done. She wrapped herself with linen as if, somehow, it would protect her and climbed back into her narrow bed. She had thought that life at Blackstone had prepared her for anything, but not this. She did not know what to do except cry into her pillow. And weeping did not help.