He had never forgotten Bess. Always he was trying for that satisfaction which he was sure Bess alone could have given him, and it never came ... not with any of them. That was why there were so many; that was why he was brutal with them sometimes, and sometimes incredibly soft. Always searching, and all because of Bess. He had often thought that if he had Bess alone with him at certain times he would have put his hand round that white neck of hers and strangled the life out of her. She deserved it. Mustn't think of Bess; it made the blood rush into his face, made the veins stand out; too much of that and he'd have to be bled again. But there was something in him. a little sentimental something that held an ideal. Squire! It was a grand title. He was proud of it, proud of his lands and his horses, proud of the position he held there. He liked to see : them curtsy on the road as he passed, their eyes full of reverence for him; but there were saucy sluts like these two from the workhouse who would smile a different smile and toss their heads; then he would be angry with himself for the dignity he I had lost; for. though he could thrash them and take them when he wished, he could not drive out of their eyes that look which showed so clearly that they understood that he was a man who could not do without women. Whatever their station, they knew it; they held it over him ... like Peg smirking there when her mistress wasn't looking. And it was all due to Bess. Bess alone could have satisfied him. He could see her now, never could forget her in fact, laughing as he chased her round the tombstones: long blue eyes with golden lashes, luring, tormenting him with the knowledge of him and of all men which she must have been born with and which was a gift from the blacksmith's! daughter. Married to Bess he would have sustained his dignity; there would have been no sly scuffling, no stolen moments with the kitchenmaids. no humiliations. What a family they would have been. They would have had children, plenty of them, for Bess was made to bear children and he was made to beget children. He would have had to keep a curbing hand on Bess, but he would have liked that, just as he liked his horses to have spirit; and by now she would be close on forty; he would be seeing some of the wildness go out of her, and he would be glad of it. They would be popular. The best squire and squire's lady ever known in these parts! He was a good squire now ... at times.; Often he was ready to take an interest in his people; a helping! hand here; a word of advice there. But if Bess had been with him; all these years it would have been different. He knew they said of him: "Squire ain't a bad squire, for all he can't keep his lecher's eyes off our daughters!" They would not have said that if Bess had been with him. But now regrets were tempered with! amusement. He drew himself up to his full height, which was: close on six feet. His clothes were those of a country squire,! sober in colour, useful rather than elegant, but today he was wearing fine lace at his throat and wrists. And Harriet, one of the few women who had never made him feel a spark of desire, was standing before him getting excited because he complimented her on her sloe wine.
Cruelty leaped up into his eyes. He was always most cruel when his pride was touched. Inwardly he laughed at Harriet, because Harriet's niece had scorned him. He foresaw fun; he was a man of his age, and fun to him meant laughing at someone in a weaker position than the one he enjoyed himself.
Life had been unkind to him. First offering Bess, then snatching her away; and then he had married Amelia. Poor long-suffering Amelia, whose mild submission to his passionate onslaughts infuriated him. She thought him coarse and vulgar; she had never said so; she was too deeply aware of her wifely duty to criticize her husband, but unspoken criticism had been more difficult to bear for a man of his temperament.
He had determined to put her out of countenance; perhaps that was why he had flaunted Jennifer before her.
He thought of Jennifer now, as he smiled at Harriet over the sloe wine.
Jennifer's fierce little body: Jennifer's parted lips. Jennifer was a devil, but she amused him more than anyone had amused him since Bess; she gave him something of that satisfaction which he had always believed he would have got from Bess. Passionate and calculating, she was clever, methodically clever; she wanted to step up from children's nurse and general housekeeper to mistress of the house. He knew it it made him laugh.
"What's the point of marrying you, Jennifer? What do I get out of it, eh? I mean what more do I get out of it?" He could be decidedly cruel and blunt. He liked to watch her rage; he liked to see her stalk to the door, threaten to leave his house; he liked all that. He had said: "Be reasonable, Jennifer. Why should I marry you? You want children?
All right have children!" What a rage she was in! But she wouldn't go; she hoped she would beat him in the end. Never, Jennifer! Never, my dear!
He rocked backwards and forwards on his heels, and looked at Harriet.
"How you manage this house so well, with just those two sluts. I don't know, Harry. I really do not. But soon you'll be having your niece to help you.”
Harriet tossed her head.
"I'm not hoping for much from that quarter, I can tell you, George Haredon.”
He smiled; then he thought of her sitting in the window seat, looking so like Bess that he wanted to kill or make love to her, or perhaps both. When he half-closed his eyes he could almost see the red blood in them. He opened them and saw Harriet, very proud of her neat and orderly home, straight from her still-room. She's got a body like a board! he thought, and tried to imagine himself married to her.
Different from marriage to Amelia, of course, for however similar, no two women were alike. More spirit than Amelia, this one had. Would it be possible to raise the blacksmith's daughter in her.
Harriet cast down her eyes. He is thinking of marriage, she sensed; and she was faintly alarmed. The marriage in her , thoughts would be very different from a marriage of reality. She took a step backwards.
"Ah!" he said.
"I got the idea that you were having the girl here to help you in the house.”
"Help me!" She was the outraged housewife.
"I can run my own house, thank you, George. I'm having her because it is my duty to have her. Could I let her stay in London with the company her mother doubtless kept!”
"Nevertheless," said the squire slowly, 'she has kept that company." A dull anger burned suddenly in him. Doubtless she had, and how haughty she had been with him!
"I shall be severe with her, if I find it necessary," said Harriet.
"She will lead a sheltered life here with me. meeting only my friends.”
"What a wise woman you are, Harriet!" He smacked his lips over the sloe wine.
"Another, George?”
Thank you, Harriet. I could not say no to wine like yours." When he took the glass from her his fingers touched hers. She was calm, though aware of that gesture, he thought. He wanted to laugh. Queer, how sane women like Harriet Ramsdale had their crazy moments! And she was crazy; he thought of the two of them together like mating a bull with a hinny!
"You're amused, George. May I ask you to share the joke?”
"No joke really just enjoying the wine and your company. But what I came for. Harriet, was this. She'll come to Exeter. I suppose?”
"Why, yes.”
"The coach is due in this evening. You're meeting her?”
"I thought of driving in the trap.”
"A long journey for you. Harry. How'd it be if I sent one of my coachmen with the carriage? Jennifer could go to bear her company on the way back.”
Her eyes glittered a little as she raised them to his.
"It's a very kind offer, George. But what trouble to put you to!”
He laid a hand on her shoulder. Boney, she was; bonier than Amelia.
Never did like thin women, thought the squire.