A Dangerous Fortune (21 page)

She put her hands on his cheeks, pulled his head down and kissed him. This time she opened her mouth, expecting him to do the same, but he did not. He had never kissed that way, she guessed. She teased his lips with the tip of her tongue. She sensed that he was shocked but excited too, and after a moment he opened his mouth a fraction and responded shyly with his tongue. He began to breathe harder.

After a while he broke the kiss, reached for the top of her chemise and tried to undo the button. He fumbled for a moment then grasped the garment with both hands and tore it open, sending buttons flying. His hands closed over her bare breasts and he shut his eyes and groaned. She felt as if she were melting inside. She wanted more of this, now and always.

“Maisie,” he said.

She looked at him.

“I want to …”

She smiled. “So do I.”

When the words were out she wondered where they came from. She had spoken without thinking. But she had no doubts. She wanted him more than she had ever wanted anything.

He stroked her hair. “I’ve never done it before,” he said.

“Nor have I.”

He stared at her. “But I thought—” He stopped.

She felt a spasm of anger, then controlled herself. It was her own fault if he had thought she was promiscuous. “Let’s lie down,” she said.

He sighed happily, then said: “Are you sure?”

“Am I sure?” she repeated. She could hardly believe he had said that. She had never known a man who would ask that question. They never thought about how she felt.
She took his hand in hers and kissed the palm. “If I wasn’t sure before, I am now.”

She lay down on the narrow bed. The mattress was hard but the sheet was cool. He lay beside her and said: “What now?”

They were approaching the limits of her experience, but she knew the next step. “Feel me,” she said. He touched her tentatively through her clothing. Suddenly she was impatient. She pulled up her petticoat—she had nothing on underneath—and pressed his hand to her mound.

He stroked her, kissing her face, his breath hot and fast. She knew she should be afraid of getting pregnant, but she could not focus on the danger. She was out of control: the pleasure was too intense for her to think. This was as far as she had ever gone with a man, but all the same she knew exactly what she wanted next. She put her lips to his ear and murmured: “Push your finger in.”

He did so. “It’s all wet,” he said wonderingly.

“That’s to help you.”

His fingers explored her delicately. “It seems so small.”

“You’ll have to be gentle,” she said, although a part of her wanted to be taken furiously.

“Shall we do it now?”

She was suddenly impatient. “Yes, please, quickly.”

She sensed him fumbling with his trousers, then he lay between her legs. She was frightened—she had heard stories about how much it hurt the first time—but she was also consumed by longing for him.

She felt him ease into her. After a moment he encountered resistance. He pushed gently, and it hurt. “Stop!” she said.

He looked at her worriedly. “I’m sorry—”

“It will be all right. Kiss me.”

He lowered his face to hers and kissed her lips, gently at first and then passionately. She put her hands
on his waist, lifted her hips off the bed a little, then pulled him to her. There was a pain, sharp enough to make her cry out, then something gave way inside her and she felt a tremendous release of tension. She broke the kiss and looked at him.

“Are you all right?” he said.

She nodded. “Did I make a noise?”

“Yes, but I don’t think anyone heard.”

“Don’t stop,” she said.

He hesitated a moment longer. “Maisie,” he murmured, “is this a dream?”

“If it is, let’s not wake up yet.” She moved against him, guiding him with her hands on his hips. He followed her lead. It reminded her of how they had danced together just a few hours earlier. She gave herself up to the sensation. He began to pant.

Distantly, above the noise of his breathing and hers, she heard a door open.

She was so absorbed in her feelings and Hugh’s body that the sound failed to alarm her.

Suddenly a harsh voice shattered the mood like a stone through a window. “Well, well, Hugh—what’s all this?”

Maisie froze.

Hugh gave a despairing groan, and she felt his seed spurt warm inside her.

She wanted to cry.

The sneering voice came again. “What do you think this house is, a brothel?”

Maisie whispered: “Hugh—get off me.”

He withdrew from her and rolled off the bed. She saw his cousin Edward standing in the doorway, smoking a cigar and staring at them intently. Hugh quickly covered her with a big towel. She sat upright and pulled it up to her neck.

Edward grinned nastily. “Well, if you’ve finished I might give her a go.”

Hugh wrapped a towel around his waist. Controlling his anger with a visible effort, he said: “You’re drunk, Edward—go to your room before you say something completely unforgivable.”

Edward ignored him and approached the bed. “Why, it’s Solly Greenbourne’s dollymop! But I won’t tell him—so long as you’re nice to me.”

Maisie saw that he was in earnest, and she shuddered with loathing. She knew that some men were inflamed by a woman who had just been with another man—April had told her the slang term for a woman in that state, a buttered bun—and she knew intuitively that Edward was such a man.

Hugh was enraged. “Get out of here, you damn fool,” he said.

“Be a sport,” Edward persisted. “After all, she’s only a damn whore.” With that he reached down and snatched away Maisie’s towel.

She jumped off the bed from the other side, covering herself with her arms; but there was no need. Hugh took two strides across the little room and hit Edward a mighty punch on the nose. Blood spurted and Edward let out a roar of agony.

Edward was rendered harmless instantly, but Hugh was still angry, and he hit him again.

Edward screamed in fear and pain and blundered to the door. Hugh went after him, throwing punches at the back of his head. Edward began to yell: “Leave me alone, stop it, please!” He fell through the doorway.

Maisie followed them out. Edward was stretched out on the floor and Hugh was sitting on top of him, still hitting him. She cried: “Hugh, stop, you’ll kill him!” She tried to grab Hugh’s arms, but he was in a fury and it was hard to restrain him.

A moment later she glimpsed a movement out of the corner of her eye. She looked up and saw Hugh’s aunt Augusta standing at the top of the stairs in a black silk
peignoir, staring at her. In the flickering gaslight she looked like a voluptuous ghost.

There was a strange look in Augusta’s eyes. At first Maisie could not read her expression; then, after a moment, she understood, and she was frightened.

It was a look of triumph.

5

AS SOON AS AUGUSTA SAW THE NAKED GIRL
she sensed that this was her chance to get rid of Hugh once and for all.

She recognized her immediately. This was the trollop who had insulted her in the park, the one they called the Lioness. The thought had crossed her mind even then that this little minx might one day get Hugh into serious trouble: there was something arrogant and uncompromising in the set of her head and the light in her eyes. Even now, when she ought to be mortified by shame, she stood there, stark naked, and stared back at Augusta coolly. She had a magnificent body, small but shapely, with plump white breasts and a riot of sand-colored hair at her groin. Her look was so haughty that she almost made Augusta feel like the intruder. But she would be the downfall of Hugh.

The outlines of a plan were forming in Augusta’s mind when suddenly she saw Edward lying on the floor with blood all over his face.

All her old fears rose up in force, and she was taken back twenty-three years, to when he had nearly died as a baby. Blind panic swamped her. “Teddy!” she screamed. “What’s happened to Teddy!” She fell to her knees beside him. “Speak to me, speak to me!” she yelled. She was possessed by an unbearable dread, just as she had been when her baby kept getting thinner and thinner every day and the doctors could not understand why.

Edward sat up and groaned.

“Say something!” she pleaded.

“Don’t call me Teddy,” he said.

Her terror eased a fraction. He was conscious and could speak. But his voice was thick and his nose looked out of shape. “What happened?” she said.

“I caught Hugh with his whore, and he just went mad!” Edward said.

Forcing down her rage and fear, she reached out gently and touched Edward’s nose. He gave a loud yelp, but permitted her to press delicately. There was nothing broken, she thought; it was just swelling up.

She heard her husband’s voice say: “What the deuce is going on?”

She stood up. “Hugh has attacked Edward,” she said.

“Is the boy all right?”

“I think so.”

Joseph turned to Hugh. “Damnation, sir, what do you mean by it?”

“The silly fool asked for it,” Hugh said defiantly.

That’s right, Hugh, make it worse, Augusta thought. Whatever you do, don’t apologize. I want your uncle to stay angry with you.

However, Joseph’s attention was torn between the boys and the woman, and his eyes kept switching to her naked body. Augusta felt a stab of jealousy.

That made her calmer. There was nothing much wrong with Edward. She began to think rapidly. How could she best exploit this situation? Hugh was totally vulnerable now: she could do anything to him. She thought immediately of her conversation with Micky Miranda. Hugh had to be silenced, for he knew too much about the death of Peter Middleton. Now was the moment to strike.

First she had to separate him from the girl.

Some servants had appeared in their nightclothes and were hovering in the doorway that led to the back
stairs, looking aghast but fascinated by the scene on the landing. Augusta saw her butler, Hastead, in a yellow silk dressing gown that Joseph had discarded some years ago, and Williams, a footman, in a striped nightshirt. “Hastead and Williams, help Mr. Edward to his bed, will you?” The two men bustled forward and got Teddy to his feet.

Next Augusta spoke to her housekeeper. “Mrs. Merton, cover this girl with a sheet, or something, and take her to my room and get her dressed.” Mrs. Merton took off her own dressing gown and draped it around the girl’s shoulders. She pulled it closed over her nakedness but made no move to leave.

Augusta said: “Hugh, run to Dr. Humbold’s house in Church Street: he’d better have a look at poor Edward’s nose.”

“I’m not leaving Maisie,” Hugh said.

Augusta said sharply: “Since you’ve done the damage, it’s the least you can do to fetch a doctor!”

Maisie said: “I’ll be all right, Hugh. Fetch the doctor. I’ll be here when you get back.”

Still Hugh stood his ground.

Mrs. Merton said: “This way, please,” and indicated the back stairs.

Maisie said: “Oh, I think we’ll use the main staircase.” Then, walking like a queen, she crossed the landing and went down the stairs. Mrs. Merton followed.

Augusta said: “Hugh?”

He was still reluctant to go, she could see, but on the other hand he could think of no good reason to refuse. After a moment he said: “I’ll put my boots on.”

Augusta concealed her relief. She had separated them. Now, if her luck held, she would be able to seal Hugh’s fate. She turned to her husband. “Come. Let’s go to your room and discuss this.”

They went down the stairs and entered his bedroom. As soon as the door was closed Joseph took her in his
arms and kissed her. She realized he wanted to make love.

That was unusual. They made love once or twice a week, but she was always the initiator: she would go to his room and get into his bed. She saw it as part of her wifely duty to keep him satisfied, but she liked to be in control, so she discouraged him from coming to her room. When they were first married he had been harder to restrain. He had insisted on taking her whenever he wanted, and for a while she had been obliged to let him have his way; but eventually he had come round to her way of thinking. Then, for a while, he had bothered her with unseemly suggestions, such as that they should make love with the light on, that she should lie on top of him, and even that she should do unspeakable things to him with her mouth. But she had firmly resisted and he had long ago ceased to express such ideas.

Now, however, he was breaking the pattern. She knew why. He had been inflamed by the sight of Maisie’s naked body, those firm young breasts and that bush of sandy hair. The thought left a bad taste in her mouth, and she pushed him away.

He looked resentful. She wanted him angry with Hugh, not with her, so she touched his arm in a conciliatory gesture. “Later,” she said. “I’ll come to you later.”

He accepted that. “There’s bad blood in Hugh,” he said. “He gets it from my brother.”

“He can’t continue to live here after this,” Augusta said in a tone that did not invite discussion.

Joseph was not disposed to argue that point. “Indeed not.”

“You must discharge him from the bank,” she went on.

Joseph looked mulish. “I beg you not to make announcements about what should happen at the bank.”

“Joseph, he has just insulted you by bringing into the
house an unfortunate woman,” she said, using the euphemism for prostitute.

Joseph went and sat at his writing table. “I know what he’s done. I merely ask that you keep what happens in the house separate from what happens at the bank.”

She decided to retreat for a moment. “Very well. I’m sure you know best.”

It always deflated him when she gave in unexpectedly. “I suppose I had better discharge him,” he said after a moment. “I imagine he will go back to his mother in Folkestone.”

Augusta was not sure about that. She had not yet worked out her strategy: she was thinking on her feet. “What would he do for work?”

“I don’t know.”

Augusta saw she had made a mistake. Hugh would be even more dangerous if he were unemployed, resentful and knocking around with nothing to do. David Middleton had not yet approached him—possibly Middleton had not yet learned that Hugh had been at the swimming hole on the fateful day—but sooner or later he would. She became flustered, wishing she had thought more before insisting Hugh should be dismissed. She felt exasperated with herself.