knees hugged against her belly, and her hands tore at her breasts.
'Water,' Haggard shouted. 'Fetch water. And butter.' He crawled towards her.
'Let her suffer, John,' Ferguson said. 'And you should be in bed. You're bleeding again.' He attempted to grasp Haggard under the armpits to help him to his feet.
'Let go of me,' Haggard said, and Ferguson withdrew as if stung. Haggard reached the girl, and Middlesex was already beside him with a bucket, while Annie had a smaller bucket filled with home churned butter. Haggard emptied the water over the girl's chest, bringing another moan, then gently parted her hands and rubbed the butter on the swollen nipples and aureoles. Tears were flooding from her eyes and he did not know if she could see him or not.
'She's going to burn, anyway, Mr. Haggard,' said one of the bookkeepers. 'Petty treason, it is, to take a knife to a master. She has to burn.'
Haggard thrust one arm under Emma's knees, the other under her shoulders, reached his feet with a gigantic effort. He could feel the blood trickling down his naked leg.
'John . . .'Ferguson reached for him again. This is madness.'
'Away.' Haggard said, and found himself at the foot of the steps, the entire afternoon revolving round and round his head. He gritted his teeth and commenced the ascent, foot in front of foot, step by step. The girl was making a peculiar moaning sound, and she was shivering as if frozen, for all the heat in the afternoon.
Amazingly he was at the top and crossing the hall. But in front of him loomed yet another Bight, an endless accumulation of heights to be mounted. His teeth were clamped so tight he could almost feel the enamel wearing away. But up he went, again and again and again, aware that Middlesex was immediately behind him, waiting to catch him if he fell backwards.
The gallery. And in front of him the opened door to his bedroom. Now the afternoon had turned black, and he could hardly breathe. He fell forwards, keeping his balance by an act of will, hit the bed with his thighs and fell across it, the girl rolling out of his arms to come to rest against the pillows where she had so recently rested her head.
'Help me,' Haggard snarled. .
Middlesex held his legs and got him into the bed. He rolled on his back, stared at the canopy above his head, watched it turn black. And felt the girl beside him.
'Don't die, Mr. Haggard,' she begged. 'Please don't die.'
CHAPTER 2
THE MISTRESS
The flickering light of a candle caught Haggard's attention, and he found he could focus. On Tom Meade's face, examining his wound, bending over him. 'You took your time,' he said.
Meade's head turned. 'Awake, are we? Well, that's something.' He straightened. 'You've lost enough blood to kill most men. There's a trail from here to the front steps and back again. What were you trying to do, commit suicide?'
Haggard tried to sit up, but found he could not move.
'Now you listen to me,' Meade said. The wound itself isn't serious; the blade was deflected by a rib. But you're dangerously weak. A fever now and you wouldn't have a hope in hell of survival. So you just lie in that bed for two weeks. Not a minute less. I'll be out each day. Now let go of that witch and I'll take her into town.'
With an enormous effort Haggard turned his head. Emma Dearborn lay, or rather crouched, beside him; his left hand gripped her right wrist. She gazed at him, with huge, beseeching eyes.
'Come along, girl,' Meade said. 'She stays here,' Haggard said.
'For God's sake, John, have you forgotten? She stuck the knife into you. Don't you suppose she's just waiting for an opportunity to do it again? Hand her over and we'll have her hanging by morning.'
Haggard continued to look at the girl. Her tongue came out and circled her lips. 'She stays here,' he said again. 'But you lot can clear off. I need my sleep.'
Meade drove both hands into his hair. 'Have you lost your senses entirely? She
'Water,' Haggard shouted. 'Fetch water. And butter.' He crawled towards her.
'Let her suffer, John,' Ferguson said. 'And you should be in bed. You're bleeding again.' He attempted to grasp Haggard under the armpits to help him to his feet.
'Let go of me,' Haggard said, and Ferguson withdrew as if stung. Haggard reached the girl, and Middlesex was already beside him with a bucket, while Annie had a smaller bucket filled with home churned butter. Haggard emptied the water over the girl's chest, bringing another moan, then gently parted her hands and rubbed the butter on the swollen nipples and aureoles. Tears were flooding from her eyes and he did not know if she could see him or not.
'She's going to burn, anyway, Mr. Haggard,' said one of the bookkeepers. 'Petty treason, it is, to take a knife to a master. She has to burn.'
Haggard thrust one arm under Emma's knees, the other under her shoulders, reached his feet with a gigantic effort. He could feel the blood trickling down his naked leg.
'John . . .'Ferguson reached for him again. This is madness.'
'Away.' Haggard said, and found himself at the foot of the steps, the entire afternoon revolving round and round his head. He gritted his teeth and commenced the ascent, foot in front of foot, step by step. The girl was making a peculiar moaning sound, and she was shivering as if frozen, for all the heat in the afternoon.
Amazingly he was at the top and crossing the hall. But in front of him loomed yet another Bight, an endless accumulation of heights to be mounted. His teeth were clamped so tight he could almost feel the enamel wearing away. But up he went, again and again and again, aware that Middlesex was immediately behind him, waiting to catch him if he fell backwards.
The gallery. And in front of him the opened door to his bedroom. Now the afternoon had turned black, and he could hardly breathe. He fell forwards, keeping his balance by an act of will, hit the bed with his thighs and fell across it, the girl rolling out of his arms to come to rest against the pillows where she had so recently rested her head.
'Help me,' Haggard snarled. .
Middlesex held his legs and got him into the bed. He rolled on his back, stared at the canopy above his head, watched it turn black. And felt the girl beside him.
'Don't die, Mr. Haggard,' she begged. 'Please don't die.'
CHAPTER 2
THE MISTRESS
The flickering light of a candle caught Haggard's attention, and he found he could focus. On Tom Meade's face, examining his wound, bending over him. 'You took your time,' he said.
Meade's head turned. 'Awake, are we? Well, that's something.' He straightened. 'You've lost enough blood to kill most men. There's a trail from here to the front steps and back again. What were you trying to do, commit suicide?'
Haggard tried to sit up, but found he could not move.
'Now you listen to me,' Meade said. The wound itself isn't serious; the blade was deflected by a rib. But you're dangerously weak. A fever now and you wouldn't have a hope in hell of survival. So you just lie in that bed for two weeks. Not a minute less. I'll be out each day. Now let go of that witch and I'll take her into town.'
With an enormous effort Haggard turned his head. Emma Dearborn lay, or rather crouched, beside him; his left hand gripped her right wrist. She gazed at him, with huge, beseeching eyes.
'Come along, girl,' Meade said. 'She stays here,' Haggard said.
'For God's sake, John, have you forgotten? She stuck the knife into you. Don't you suppose she's just waiting for an opportunity to do it again? Hand her over and we'll have her hanging by morning.'
Haggard continued to look at the girl. Her tongue came out and circled her lips. 'She stays here,' he said again. 'But you lot can clear off. I need my sleep.'
Meade drove both hands into his hair. 'Have you lost your senses entirely? She
Similar Books
