Beyond The Blue Mountains - Plaidy Jean - Страница 36

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Wild fury possessed him. It was all he could do to restrain himself from breaking down the door. That would be sheer folly, of course. He had to do better than that. By God, did the girl not know that he could have her brought before him, could have her whipped in public, could have her sent off to a convict ship … and, yes, could no doubt have her hanged if he cared to! He was the squire, was he not? A magistrate! A Justice! He felt the veins in his head would burst: his eyes burned with his anger. Doubtless the slut had committed many a crime which only had to be discovered. By God, he would show her! But there was nothing he could do this night. He forced himself to walk slowly back to the stables, trying to quell the angry beating of his heart. He did not want to be bled again… he must not work himself into such a fury over a mere workhouse slut. But it was not the workhouse slut well he knew that it was Bess again, jeering at him … Bess and Kitty, confound them! a, It was good to feel the horse between his knees, responding to every pressure a noble creature who knew his master. He had no wish to go home; he rode for miles, galloping and cantering across the fields, through the country lanes; and when he had had enough it was past midnight, and when he reached home it was nearly one o’clock.

He himself rubbed down his horse, for though he was a stern master he was a good one. Then he went into the house and poured himself a glass of whisky.

“I will get the taste of Harriet’s plaguey concoctions out of my mouth!” he said, and he laughed afresh at Harriet’s feeling for him, and drank more whisky, for there was nothing like whisky for keeping a man’s spirit up and he was going to Kitty. He had stood off long enough, and, damn it, he had to get the taste of that bit of foolery with the workhouse chit out of his mouth as surely as he had to get rid of the taste of Harriet’s wine.

He went upstairs. The door of her room was not locked as he had half expected it to be, but if it had been he would have had it down; he was in that mood.

“Kitty!” he called.

“Kitty!”

There was no answer.

“Ha! No use pretending to be asleep, girl.” He sat down on the chair by her dressing-table.

“Curse this plaguey darkness!” he said.

“Where do you keep your candles, girl? Get out of that bed and light one. I have had enough of your lady ways__Tonight I am going to show you that I have had enough. From now on things are going to change in this house…”

His voice was a little shaky. The mood of sentimentality was creeping in on him. In a moment he would be saying: “Kitty, let us start again … Could we, girl? I will forget what you have been, and you forget what I have been …”

He wanted Kitty. Damn it, he was getting on in years. He had done with the chasing; he wanted to settle. A man felt like that -settle and look after the children. And perhaps have more children. Three was no family for a man. More children like little Carolan. Kitty’s children that was what he wanted Kitty’s and his this time.

“Kitty!” he said, his voice soft and pleading.

“Kitty, girl.”

He groped his way to the bed and felt for her. It took him some seconds to realize that the bed was empty.

He was shouting, rousing the household.

“Here! Everybody! Where the hell is everybody! Come here at once, I say!”

And while he stood there, listening to his own voice he thought: By God, she is paying a midnight visit to a lover! What a fool I am going to look! By God! By God, I’ll make her pay for this!

A fool he was, a fool, to act without thinking. He imagined the tittering of the servants after this. If he heard any tittering, saw any sly glances, he would have them whipped, that he would.

Mrs. West, the housekeeper, came first, her dressing-gown pulled around her, her teeth chattering, her candlestick shaking in her hand.

“Where is your mistress?” he barked at her.

Mrs. West peered at the bed.

“Tis not been slept in, master!”

“I see that. Do you think I am blind!” He looked at her narrowly; she had always been Kitty’s friend, he knew. Was she hiding something?

“Look you, woman, if you have any idea, any idea whatsoever, of where your mistress is, you had better tell me at once or it will be the worse for you. Do you hear me?”

“I have not the faintest idea, master.” He knew that the woman was speaking the truth. Other faces appeared in the doorway, among them Jennifer’s. Jennifer was smiling secretly. She was thinking, as he was thinking, that Kitty had gone out to meet a lover. In a moment he would be slapping that secret smile from Jennifer’s face.

He said: “Call her maid!” and Jennifer went away and brought in Therese. Therese’s black hair hung in two plaits and her black eyes glittered.

“Where is your mistress?” demanded the squire. Therese looked towards the bed and lifted her shoulders in surprise.

“That I do not know. Monsieur.”

“Come,” said the squire, I think you do know.”

“But no. Monsieur!”

“Did you not dress her for an outing?”

“But no, Monsieur! She retired early this night. It was ‘cad-ache!” Therese held her own head and closed her eyes, then opened them and lifted them to the ceiling. Jennifer laughed. The squire said: “Get outside, all of you … Except you!” he added to Therese.

He did not watch them go, but he heard them, shuffling out, and he cursed himself for a fool to have aroused the household like this.

“Now,” he said to Therese, ‘no secrets! It is no use telling me that you did not share your mistress’s secrets and take part in her intrigues.”

“Oh, but no, no, no, Monsieur! Intrigue? What is he?” Plaguey foreigner! She did not understand when she did not wish to. Neat she was too, and cheeky with her flashing black eyes; and not too old. Her gesticulating hands were beautifully shaped.

“Damn it!” he said.

“Get out. I will speak to you in the morning.”

She went out daintily, and he sat alone in the bedroom. He would wait here for Kitty’s return, and when she came in he would take his riding crop to her. He had been soft. It was no way to treat a woman, to be soft with her. He would punish her now, in the way that would hurt her most. He would beat her white skin until the blood ran; then she could show that to her lover, and they would say he was a brute, but they would know he was master. He would beat her for what she had done to him, and what Bess had done to him; he would beat her for a hundred insults, even the one he had received tonight from a workhouse brat.

Jennifer came silently into the room. She stood close to him, thin and tall; the candlelight on her slanting eyes and pointed face made her look like a witch.

“George…” she said humbly.

“Get out!” said the squire.

She knelt beside him and lifted her face.

She said: “I have always been faithful to you … We used to be happy.”

By God, he thought, she has. And I believe we were happy in a way.

“All right, Jenny,” he said.

“All right.”

“George,” she said again, a high note of excitement in her voice, ‘why cannot we try to be happy once more?”

He was so tired; he let his hand touch her hair. She nestled close to him. He thought of past scenes; she was a passionate, strange creature, this Jennifer; he had liked her well enough once; she had been a great contrast to cold Amelia. There had been a time with Jennifer when he had almost ceased to think of Bess.

“All right, Jenny,” he said again.

Closer she came, and he smelt gin on her breath.

He said: “You have been drinking, Jenny!”

“No,” she lied. And he thought: Damn her. I cannot trust even Jennifer!

She nestled close to him. She was fuddled, too fuddled to think clearly. She tried too quickly to press home her advantage.

She said: “Oh, George, if you could know everything that has gone on in this room! If I could tell you!”

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