'You mean, we would be poor?', I asked. 'Not quite-not that.
Not that as yet, at least. We shall retain the house, dismiss a servant here and there, but you have need, my pets, of furs and dresses, ballgowns, fancy underclothes and jewelry-all that becomes young ladies of your class'. 'I do not need…' I clenched my fists. 'J do', said Jane, and laughed the tinkling laugh she always laughs, one with no malice in it but a summer's chime.
'Oh, you', said I. Papa rose, took my hand, said many were the roads that led to Rome. His eyes were just a trifle tearful, so I thought, but took it for a trick of light. 'Arnold is foppish, weak. Your allowances-yes, for you both-I have arranged already. They are large. You will neither of you need to wheedle for the things that you will need, my dear. A covenant is signed, the ink is dry'.
'You mean, Papa, that we are being sold', I said. I turned my back to him. He spun me around again. I thought of his discovery of James and me and felt unkind. He had not birched me as he might have done. 'All things have price. One pays with words or gestures, gifts, or kind, yet we lose nothing in the giving if we give with a free heart. Is that not so?' He drew me to him, kissed me on the mouth in sight of Jane. 'I do not know', I mumbled, pulled my lips away, stared at the floor but clutched still at his arms.
'Perhaps…', said Jane. She stopped; she had no words to follow her perhaps. A laugh, a crash of glasses from downstairs, brought us apart, I fiddling with my dress and silent then. I had a need to be caressed, my bottom to be soothed; it fretted me. Stir of my hips; they saw my hips a-stir. Jane breathed out softly; Papa turned away, moved to the door and hesitated, as he often did when in my room.
'Perhaps -yes. All things are perhaps', he said.
'We shall come down', said Jane. Her tone was crisp, brought order to my mind, a suddenness of some decision that I gathered up.
'My room-I wish it kept', I said. 'Of course. What else?' He gazed at me, was gone. I touched my wardrobe, knew its old, blank stare. The long and time-stained mirrors on the door, surrounded by fancy scrolls of wood, would hold my image ever on. When someone stood before them, they would see me there. All was propriety downstairs, as Jane had said. Only two cushions tossed upon the floor showed evidence of wanton play. I wished to examine them as might a scientist, but went to Mama and received a kiss. Her lips were over-moist, as too were Eveline's. Arnold stood pale and wan, top-hat in hand. I could not imagine him with riding crop, as Papa sometimes carried, nor a gun. Farewells were said, James kissed me on the eyes, which I thought sweet. His trousers were not fully buttoned, though, were twisted at the front where he, in haste, had missed a buttonhole.
I whispered to him so; he blushed. 'Come, chaperone', I said to Jane. I had a merriment of slight hysteria. All stared at first, then laughed in turn. 'I will take your arm', said Arnold. Suddenly he came to life. His Papa, I believe, had frowned at him. 'No, thank you, Arnold, I have Jane's', I said. Our bodies moved like leaves that drift in a slow breeze. The servants bowed to me upon the steps, the sunlight-dreaming of past summers-shone. 'The carriage is not clean', I said to Arnold. Jane sat with me of a purpose, and he forced to face us both. 'Ah, no', he uttered-had no more to say, save for such spinnings in his mind as might occur but could not, would not be produced. The gravel chinked and grated underneath the wheels as our procession moved. Mama waved, Papa waved, and Eveline. Julie had not come, alas, though much had wanted to, had been transported off to Paris, but would soon return. I wondered if she had said her prayers in French these past few days, and were her stockings straight, as mine had been. 'Shall we play croquet later, do you think?', Jane asked. I stared at her, and Arnold gaped. 'Two balls and a stiff stick', she murmured in my ear, then bit the lobe of it, made me say 'Ouch!' 'I say!', said Arnold. -'Oh, be quiet', said Jane to him.
I laughed; the laughter welled up from within, threw my head back till tears came in my eyes and Arnold's face became a perfect blur such as I wished it ever to remain.
CHAPTER 8
Some houses have little to be said of them, except they stand foursquare and have sufficient greenery to flirt and flow around their stolid walls, shrubs flourishing, upstarting trees, and sad, brown borders that lament the deaths of flowers when Autumn comes. Arnold's-I should say his father's, rather-was imposing, turreted in the fond manner of an architect who believes the Crusades still to be unfinished. Armoured, hollow men stood in the hall. All looked baronial and overdone. I did not like the crossed assegais on the walls, the hide shields. The stuffed birds were nice. 'We shall have pleasant days here', Constance said. Arnold dispersed himself upstairs. The drawing room was langourous and grand with silk and braided chairs, a crimson ottoman, a fine old Davenport. 'It may be so', I answered cautiously. Her Mama, Hilda, weighed me up and down and smiled. Jane fiddled with some cut flowers, looked about, and had an air on her as if she did not mind the place. My room-I had my own room, as it seemed- was next to that of Constance who then guided me around. 'The beds squeak sometimes-are you used to that?', she asked. 'I am, yes', I replied and stared her out, at which her eyes dropped, disconcerted, as I thought. 'We favoured you with lips and tongues', she said and then embraced me quickly as if I might retreat. I did not fold my arms defensively between us and was kissed upon my eyelids just as James had done. How easy it becomes to tell ourselves sometimes that such and such a one is nice when they are not! I wished to say she had outraged me, though in aftermaths I never bleat.-'You are delicious to make love with-did you know?', she asked. 'You know much more about it than I do-or seemingly. Where, then, is Arnold?' 'He? He will be seen to. Do not fret as to his cause. He has his weaknesses; I know them well.' 'I'm sure you do'. I turned my back on her and fiddled with the curtains. Velvet green they were, and not quite to my taste. Quite unabashed, she came behind me, licked her tongue around my neck. 'I am not incestuous, Emily. D'you think I am?' 'I care not…', I began, and then her Mama came in. I felt the smile of Constance on my neck together with her pointed tongue that made me quiver-tickle-tingle all at once. Her arms around my waist, my bottom bulbed into her belly, still she did not move. 'Shall you play maid at tea, or Emily, or Jane?', she asked. 'I? No-I did it yesterday, Mama, or was it last week? So much happens here'.
'Last week? Last year? Your legs were much admired. Dear Emily, she does not know of what we speak, though. Let her choose between herself and Jane. It is her day'. 'It is? I had scarce noticed if, I said. The sun's rays were stooping shallow on the lawn. A blackbird uttered its bright song. 'She has a touch of humour on her, Mama, does she not-it is very sweet. You are sweet; did you know that, Emily?' She turned me-all were fit, it seemed, to turn me as they would. I wished to beat at her, at her brown dress. Instead, I laughed, and thought myself a fooclass="underline" a weakness in me I could not disperse. In their strange commonness, bizarre of tongue, was a rough strand of jollity that meant not to offend. Hilda departing, Constance stroked my face. Fingers of velvet, yes, she had. 'You have not played “maid”?', she asked. 'It is not so common in the county here. Papa says it is not, at least. A girl is dressed up as a servant girl, but with a skirt that shows her legs, and with an unstarched blouse with buttons all undone. She serves, we toy with her, then Arnold takes his pleasure of her. Such he is allowed to do.