Chapter Twelve
Today after lunch Julie said her spirits have improved. “I won't be dismal.”
“Of course not.”
“I don't like people who continually fret.” She turned the teacup and looked around the room. “Do I seem happier?”
“Yes, I think so.”
She wore a light summer gown and her throat was bare. Her face had a pink glow. I thought the room was much too warm. I waved my fan.
Julie quivered. “But it's the future that concerns me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I can't live here forever.”
“Yes, you can.”
“I certainly cannot.”
“Darling, I want you to stay with us always. Don't you want to?”
“Claire, I simply can't.”
“But why not?”
“It's not fair. And I do want a house of my own. If only John hadn't gone down in that silly balloon. It's awful, isn't it? Being a widow is so ridiculous. I don't have anything. I ought to have something. Don't you think I ought to have something?” She waved a hand at me.
“You do have an income.”
“It's a pittance.”
“You shall stay here as long as you like.”
“You and Edward have been perfect darlings.”
“We do love you.”
I couldn't help it. I had to imagine them together. Oh, how comical it is. Perfect darlings. Does she call him a perfect darling when she rides him? I wonder what she thinks when they do it. One cant help wondering. One can't help thinking of them together.
“What do you think of Walter?
She looked at me. “What?”
“Walter Bramsby, darling. What do you think of him? Have you changed your mind? Do you find him more appealing these days?”
“I think he's a bore.”
“Oh, you don't mean that.”
“Men are… impossible.”
“Useful at times. I should think he'd make a decent husband. He seems adequate, doesn't he? I mean he seems to have the proper attributes.”
“What attributes?”
“Darling, he seems capable enough. He seems qualified to entertain a woman. More than qualified, I should think.”
“Oh that.”
“I don't know, of course. I'm sure you know, but I don't.”
“I don't know anything about Walter.”
“Darling, you can't mean…”
“Yes, I do mean. I don't know anything.”
“Nothing at all?”
“Nothing important. If you must know, I haven't been close to a man since John. It's not nice of you to ask, but since you did, you now have the answer.”
“I didn't ask.”
“I think you did.”
So there it is. She denies knowing anything about Walter. She denies that anything happened in that theater box. She denies whatever it is that goes on with Edward. Their secret meetings in his flat in Bedford Way. She denies everything. She claims to be a model of virtue.
“Indeed.”
“What?”
“Julie, darling, I think you ought to consider marrying Walter Bramsby. He's quite suitable, you know. He has a decent income and he seems quite fond of you. I think you ought to consider it.”
“I thought you said you wanted me to stay with you and Edward forever and ever.”
“You do know what I mean.”
“I do, I do. All right, I'll give Walter Bramsby my deliberate consideration.”
“Shall we have more tea?”
I never know what fills her mind. Is she serious about Walter? I think of them together. The way she milked him in the theater box. Walter says she does it often. He says she likes to do that more than anything else. She tells him she likes to see the spurting. He says she drives him completely mad.
After that Julie and I talked about clothes. I said she ought to think about a new wardrobe. “The fashion changes so quickly now.”
“I don't know what I want.”
She looked down at her frock. She ran a hand over her bosom. I suppose Edward likes her fullness there. He likes the rounds, the flesh heaving. “I'll take you along to my dressmaker.”
She smiled at me. “Oh, never mind that.”
“Darling, you must. It's a pity you can't wear my clothes, but our measurements are too different. You have more bust.”
“And more bottom.”
“That too. Will you agree to come with me to Mrs. Childers?”
“Yes, if I must.”
“A new wardrobe for the new season.”
“I shan't be able to pay her until Christmas.”
“Don't be silly, darling, Edward will pay. He's certainly rich enough to afford to dress two women.”
I found myself gazing at her throat, the soft hollow that sometimes pulses when she feels excitement. It was pulsing now. My sister has the loveliest complexion imaginable. How exquisite she is, how completely exquisite in that open summer gown.
Then Perkin brought a fresh pot of tea, and when the girl left, Julie said: “I should like to see her poked.”
“Poked?”
“The maid. I should like to see her with a man.”
I was speechless a moment. Then I laughed. “Darling, that's very naughty of you.”
“I should like to see a man in her bottom. She has a nice one, don't you think?”
“You've never talked this way before.”
“I don't know why.”
“We shouldn't talk of the maids like that.”
She made a face. “But why not? She's only a maid.”
“It upsets them.”
“She didn't hear me. Besides, we do things with them, don't we?”
“Yes, we do.” I looked at her. “And what do you do?”
“Do?”
“What do you do with them?”
She blushed. “I do what one does.” Then she smiled. “Or to put it more exactly, it's the maid who does what she does. I don't do much of anything.”
“Is it nice?”
“I'd rather not talk about it. I don't think we ought to talk about it.”
“She licks you, doesn't she?”
“Claire!”
I laughed. “Darling, there's no need to conceal it. I have her do the same, you know. I do like it.”
“You said we oughtn't to talk about them. In any case, I won't admit to anything. I won't admit to anything at all.”
I wondered about it. I wondered about what she actually did with the girls. All three. I know she's had each of them in her room. Is she ever tempted to kiss them? Selby is the prettiest. And the prettiest little bijou. Is my sister ever tempted?
She talked of Paris. “We ought to visit soon.”
“Perhaps at Christmas.”
“I don't like the crossing in winter.”
“Then perhaps next spring.”
“Mother's letters are so ridiculous.”
“Do you think much about them?”
A bubbling laugh came to her lips. “One must always think about them.”
“The other day I thought about the grange. That day you called me to the barn.”
“I did not call you. On the contrary, it was you who called me.”
“You always say that.”
“Claire, it's true.”
“Not quite, darling. I have the memory of it.”
“I don't think you do. You never remember exactly. You always have it wrong.”
“Wrong?”
“Where he was.”
“In her bottom.”
“In the other place.”
“Oh dear.”
“And it was your doing, Claire. I insist it was your doing.”
Her face was hot. I could see it in the color. “That's not true and you know it, don't you, darling? I don't know why you pretend. I have a complete memory of it. I was in the garden when you called me. You made me climb up that horrid ladder. Then you pulled me to have a look at them. She was on her knees. She had her skirts thrown up and he was definitely in her bottom.”
“It's all a lie!”
Her teacup rattled. She had such bitterness in her eyes. Her lips always swell when she's angry. She has such lovely lips.
Walter is so helpless. He sits beside me in a hansom in Mortimer Street. The carriage encounters a break in the road and he pouts. “Where are you taking me?”
“To Bloomsbury, darling.”
“But where?”
“Does it really matter? I thought you were fond of my company.”
“I like to be aware of my destination.”
“Yes, of course you do.” I pat his thigh. He has such marvelous thighs. I wonder if Julie is aware of them. Delicious.
He groans to protest when my hand finds the front of his trousers. “Claire, darling, not here.”