A Green Bay Tree Page 4

  So, he felt his true calling was that of glorified bailiff. But that was no reason, surely, for him to behave like a provincial rustic all the time?

  Maybe not. But he did. Forgetful of all social obligations, he had to be nagged and bullied for days before he would shake the straw out of his hair and take his sister to a dance, a party or a rout.

  There, he'd be an embarrassment. At even the most dignified gathering, he would simply buttonhole some other rural bore, then spend the entire evening discussing crop rotation. Or the relative advantages of speading horse shit as opposed to cow muck all over the wretched fields.

  Mrs Darrow also preferred to be at home. Cajoled and bamboozled into chaperoning her daughter to those few balls and assemblies to which Lalage managed to arrange invitations, she sat all evening with the rest of the Mamas, grumbling about her servants and her ailments. When she should, of course, have been finding a rich man for her daughter to marry.

  ‘God's teeth, girl! You're only sixteen.’ As her maid laced her into a horribly constricting pair of stays, in order that she might then squeeze into her one fashionable gown and take her daughter to an evening party in Warwick, Mrs Darrow groaned. ‘You've plenty of time to become a society beauty,’ she muttered. ‘Dawkins, that's enough. If it won't fasten, leave it. I shall wear my brown silk.’

  ‘Your brown silk?’ Lalage screwed up her face in despair. ‘Oh, Mama! You can't wear that odious old sack.’

  ‘Lally, do you wish me to accompany you to the Harrisons’ rout?’

  ‘Yes Mama, I do.’ Lalage bit her lip. ‘But couldn't you just try to get into the blue satin? Please? Breathe in. I'm sure the hooks will meet.’

  * * * *

  In view of the dullness of her home circumstances, Lalage was always more than glad to see Alex Lowell. Recently returned from Europe, Alex had acquired delightful French manners and a wardrobe full of beautiful Italian clothes. Blond, slim and so elegant in his embroidered waistcoats and snowy white breeches, the very sight of him made Lalage's heart lighten.

  He was so unlike her shabbily–dressed bore of a brother. In everlasting black broadcloth or brown homespun, Ellis looked like a parson down on his luck. His coarse cotton shirts and woollen stockings seemed especially repulsive when compared with Alex's cambric linen and fine silk hose.

  ‘I don't see why Alex bothers with Ellis any more,’ she muttered, as she and her mother sat in Mrs Darrow's bedroom one dull morning, watching the rain slide down the window panes. ‘He's such an eternal bore. Bragging about his precious wheat yields. Rhapsodising over his tenant farms.’

  ‘Alex is a farmer too, Lally.’ Mrs Darrow shrugged. ‘Perhaps he finds Ellis's conversation interesting.’

  ‘Interesting?’ Lalage tossed her curls in scorn. Yawning, she scratched her left armpit. ‘Has Nell finished turning my pink silk yet?’ she asked.

  ‘I expect so. Don't fret. It will be ready in plenty of time for Lady Ingham's party.’

  ‘Good.’ Lalage inspected her finger nails. She really must stop biting them — she wasn't a child now. ‘Oh God!’ she wailed. ‘I wish we weren't so poor!’

  ‘My love, we're not poor.’

  ‘We are! We live in a hovel, and we dress in rags.’ Lalage rose to her feet. Now, irritably clicking her fingers, she paced the room. ‘Turnips,’ she muttered. ‘Fences. Drains. Manure. Great heavens! How can Alex bear it?’

  Alex couldn't bear it, in fact. As it happened, he found Ellis's unremittingly agricultural conversation every bit as tedious as Lalage did. So he never listened.

  Instead, he watched. As Ellis's dark eyes flashed with excitement, as his handsome face was animated by his latest enthusiasm, Alex sat and gazed. It was enough to be there. To be with the person he loved best, in all the world.

  * * * *

  The sole heir to a large, unencumbered estate, at twenty four Alex Lowell was by far the most eligible bachelor in the district. Fair game for every Mama with a daughter to wed, he was bombarded with invitations to every single music party, assembly, ball or evening gathering for miles around. He was also being nagged by his father, who wanted him to find himself a decent wife. She should be a woman with fortune, further expectations and good wide hips, who could present him with a dozen strong sons.

  Mr Lowell even had a list. Inspecting it, Alex found most of the girls upon it were fat, imbecile or ugly. Usually all three.

  So, whenever he could, he was glad to make his escape to Easton Hall, to the peace and sanctuary of the Darrows’ placid, undemanding society. But, even there, he was not safe. Just turned sixteen, Lalage Darrow was a tall, strong–featured, dark–haired girl of the sort Alex usually found very attractive. She was on the look–out for a husband.

  A rich husband, naturally. Old or young, handsome, plain or even downright repulsive, these considerations were irrelevant provided he had cash.

  Alex was wealthy. Lalage began to eye him in the greedy, covetous way a tigress might gaze upon a nice, fat deer. She started to court his good opinion.

  ‘Ah, Mr Lowell,’ she began sweetly, bumping into him as he stood idly in the entrance hall one cloudy morning, looking up at the darkening sky. ‘Are you going out today?’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Ellis had gone to visit a tenant farmer, and Alex was bored. Now, he was trying to decide between a short walk round the shrubberies or a nice little nap. He stifled a yawn. Perhaps he'd go for the nap. ‘What about you?’ he enquired.

  ‘I'm going to the village.’ Lalage smirked. ‘I have an errand of mercy to perform. One of the cottagers — ’

  ‘Is sick?’ suggested Alex, smiling.

  ‘Yes.’ Lalage licked her lips. She grinned back at him. ‘Well, I told Ellis I would take her some broth. You know how conscientious he is about his tenants.’

  ‘Indeed I do. He's an excellent landlord. Or he will be, one day.’

  ‘Quite.’ Lalage did not wish to hear a speech in praise of her brother. ‘Do you think it may rain?’ she asked.

  Alex looked up at the clouds. ‘It's quite probable,’ he replied. ‘But it may hold off for an hour or two. If you were to go now, you'd probably escape a soaking.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ Lalage sighed. ‘But it's so tedious, walking such a distance all alone.’

  ‘Would you like me to go with you?’

  ‘Could you?’ Lalage grinned. This was easy! ‘Have you the time to spare?’

  ‘Of course.’ Alex offered her his arm. So Lalage picked up her basket, and off they went.

  They had plenty of subsequent opportunities to be together. Lalage made quite sure of that. Delighted to find Alex seemed to like both her company and conversation, she sized up the state of her other personal assets.

  Sighing, she saw that her complexion was too sallow and her chest too flat. Her feet were rather big. Her wrists were inescapably bony. Her knuckles were lumpy, too.

  But she had thick, black hair, big, dark eyes and a full, red mouth. She decided these little charms would have to do. She set out to enchant him.

  For his part, Alex observed that Lalage Darrow had changed. Once a rather dirty, smelly, scrawny child, she'd become an extremely good–looking young woman. A beautiful one, in fact. As tall as he was, and as straight as an arrow, she had none of those awful bumps and protuberances which distort the average female shape, making it vastly inferior to any handsome boy's.

  For Lalage had no hips. Not much in the way of a bosom, either. Mere pincushions, her little breasts were far removed from the horrible, pendulous mammaries Alex found absolutely repellent. He imagined Lalage dressed as a boy. Her long hair tucked under a highwayman's three–cornered hat, breeches tight on her long, straight legs, she had a velvet jacket slung over one shoulder. The very idea made his heart thump and his pulse race.

  He flirted mildly with her, and she grinned back at him. She came down to meals with her bodice so tightly laced that even her tiny bosom bulged dangerously above it. Ellis appeared not to notice. Or, if he did, not to care. T
here was nothing to care about. He did not imagine Alex would seriously court a penniless, sixteen–year–old girl. He would never seduce the sister of a friend.

  * * * *

  ‘Are you particularly anxious to learn all about the cultivation of winter wheat?’ demanded Lalage. It was early evening. Dinner was long since cleared away, and Lalage and Alex were walking in the knot garden. Lalage stooped to pick a sprig of rosemary. ‘Are you especially interested in the domestic habits of the turnip?’ she enquired.

  ‘Not really.’ Alex laughed. ‘Not at all, in fact. But you were sitting next to me, you see. That more than made up for the tedium of your brother's dinner–time conversation.’

  He took Lalage's hand. Raising it to his lips, he kissed it. ‘Nothing could be as fascinating as you are,’ he said.

  ‘Ellis wouldn't agree.’ Lalage pouted. ‘He adores a parsnip. But when he looks at me, he merely sees his grubby little sister.’

  ‘Ellis doesn't look at you with my eyes,’ Alex said.

  It was becoming chilly now. The wind was getting up, and in the east the stars began to glow. Lalage was dressed in the flimsiest of silk gowns, and soon she started to shiver.

  ‘Are you cold?’ asked Alex.

  ‘A little.’ Lalage was in fact half–frozen. That evening, her hair was combed away from her forehead and coiled in braids at the back of her head, so her shoulders, most of her back and a great expanse of her bosom were bare. ‘It is rather fresh out here,’ she said.

  ‘Then shall we go indoors?’ Alex increased the pressure on her fingers. ‘We can enjoy each others’ company as well indoors as out.’

  ‘Yes.’ Lalage looked at him. ‘Come to my room,’ she whispered. ‘To talk a little.’

  ‘Had we not better sit with your brother and Mama?’

  ‘Mama has gone to bed. Ellis has ridden over to Hadley, to see some boring stock–breeder.’ Lalage sighed. ‘Oh, Alex! I get so lonely. Every night, it's the same. I sit at my window in the twilight, all by myself.’

  ‘Poor Lally. You need someone to cheer you up.’

  ‘Yes, I do.’ Lalage sighed again. ‘Come up with me. Just for half an hour.’

  ‘Won't your maid be there, turning down your bed and so on?’

  ‘The servants are all in the kitchen at this hour, stuffing themselves. Alex, please come. No one will know.’

  Alex pulled her towards him. He kissed her on the mouth. Together they went into the house.

  * * * *

  Then Alex took over completely. Shutting Lalage's bedroom door behind him, he bolted it. Crossing the room, he pulled the curtains closed.

  He threw off most of his own clothes, leaving them in tumbled, tangled heaps all over the room. But, after tugging ineffectually at a few of her laces, he abandoned his efforts to undress Lalage herself.

  Instead, he pulled her over to her bed, then told her to lie down. Dragging up her voluminous skirts and petticoats, he took her without further ceremony, as greedily as a man dying of thirst gulps water.

  She let him get on with it, lying supine and relaxed as the most available of harlots. When he'd finished, she laughed. ‘So that's what it's about,’ she said, smirking up at him. ‘That's all there is to it. So now, negotiations can begin.’

  ‘What?’ Alex frowned. ‘What exactly do you mean by that?’

  ‘Well.’ Lalage giggled. ‘You have been rather presumptuous, haven't you? If I told Ellis about this, he'd break your neck. Then roast your carcase on the village green.’

  ‘I doubt that.’

  ‘Really? Then you don't know him as well as you think you do.’ Her bodice hanging open and her skirts up round her waist, Lalage licked her lips. ‘Rape, Alex,’ she whispered. She stroked his neck with a ribbon. ‘That was rape. The wanton violation of a helpless child. A capital offence, yes?’

  Alex said nothing.

  ‘Oh, well.’ Lalage affected a huge yawn. ‘Don't speak to me. I don't care. I shall get dressed.’

  Alex eyed her appraisingly. He shook his head. ‘Lally,’ he said casually, ‘give me a kiss.’

  ‘No. You've had enough kisses for today.’ Lalage pulled the lace out of her bodice. Then she began to re–thread it through the eyelets, frowning in concentration as she worked.

  ‘I said, give me a kiss,’ repeated Alex. But rather more sharply this time.

  ‘I said, no.’ Not looking at him, Lalage sucked the end of the thread, and went on with the job in hand.

  So she was taken completely by surprise when Alex pushed her on to her back, and pinned her down to her bed. When he let his whole weight fall on top of her, and gave her a bruising kiss which cut her lips against her own teeth.

  Laying one forearm across her throat, he tugged viciously at her skirts and petticoats, snapping the laces which held them. He took her again, but far more roughly than before. This time, it hurt. Lalage would have screamed if her mouth had not been gagged with his.

  For such a small, slim man, Alex was very strong. Much stronger than she was. Although she struggled and fought, Lalage was unable to push him away. For when she tried, the pressure of his arm increased, crushing her windpipe, half choking her.

  ‘Now,’ he said, ten minutes later, ‘that was rape. That's what men are hanged for. That's the capital offence. Do you see?’

  Lalage glared at him. Her throat in spasm, she was unable to speak.

  Alex pushed damp blond hair out of his eyes. ‘I didn't take you by force that first time,’ he went on. ‘If anything, you seduced me. I didn't even take your virginity. But I have now. So go and tell your brother all about it. If you dare.’

  Her eyes bright with anger, Lalage stared at him. Licking her lips, she found they tasted of her own blood. ‘Beast!’ she croaked. ‘Filthy pig! I'll see you hanged, I swear I shall!’ Then, suddenly pathetic, she sobbed. ‘How could you do that, to me?’

  ‘Yes, I thought a few tears would come next.’ Alex laughed. ‘Lally, my darling, don't cry. I may be a vile seducer, a filthy satyr and all the rest of it, but I'm also a very wealthy man. You like that, don't you? That's why you find me irresistible, after all.’

  ‘I hate you! I hate you worse than poison. I don't find you irresistible, not in the least!’

  ‘Yes, you do.’ Complacently, Alex smiled. ‘I'm the heir to the biggest estate in the area. I'm richer than your brother will ever be. That's why you set out to captivate me. Why you grin and leer at me. Why you walk round the house with your bosom falling out of your gown.’

  Lalage sniffed.

  Alex rolled on to his stomach. ‘Lally, may I touch you?’ he asked.

  She did not reply. So now Alex traced the outline of one little breast. He trailed one finger down her stomach, then let it lie in the pool of her navel. ‘I can buy anything I want,’ he said. ‘I could buy you. You are, after all, for sale.’

  ‘I'm not!’ Covering her face, Lalage burst into tears of humiliation and distress. ‘I'm not for sale at all.’

  ‘Of course you are. Forgive me for contradicting a lady, but you should understand this. Girls like you are so many heifers. Bred for the marriage market. Think about it, and you'll see it's so.’

  He looked at her. ‘Aren't you white?’ he whispered. ‘White, smooth and perfect. Darling Lally! You needn't have gone to all this trouble, you know.’

  ‘What?’ Lalage sobbed again. ‘I was a virgin,’ she wept. ‘I gave you something I can never give another man.’

  ‘I know, darling. I know.’ Alex moved her hands away from her face. He kissed her lips. ‘You're so like Ellis, aren't you?’ he murmured. ‘Same fine eyes. Same straight nose, dark hair and pale skin. Except for a few essential differences, you're almost the same person.’

  ‘Are we?’

  ‘Yes, indeed.’ Alex kissed her again. ‘I was about to fall in love with you,’ he said. Wistfully, he sighed. ‘I would have liked just a little more time. To flirt a while. To undress you in my mind. To plan my first meal of you, to linger over the bill
of fare.’

  He shrugged his shoulders. ‘It doesn't matter. I'll marry you, anyway.’

  ‘You'll what?’ Incredulous, Lalage stared at him. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I'll marry you. That's what you want, isn't it?’ Alex laughed. ‘Well, you want my money. I'm afraid being bedded by me is the price you'll have to pay.’

  Lalage licked her salty, bloodied lips. Money! Masses of it, coffers of it, full to overflowing. She looked into Alex's eyes. ‘It's a bargain,’ she said.

  ‘Of course it is,’ Alex agreed. ‘You must cut your hair,’ he told her. ‘It's too long for the modern fashion.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Indeed it is.’ Fingering her gown, Alex shook his head. ‘Good God, look at this rag. Was it your mother's once? We must get you some presentable clothes. I'll see about an allowance for you, straight away.’

  Lalage cheered up.

  As Alex dressed, she watched him. She would take his money. She'd spend it like water. He owed her that, at least.

  She wouldn't forget what he'd done to her, or what he'd said. One day, she would make him suffer as she just had. Justice would be at her hands, not at a rope's end. But, like the rope, she would show no mercy.

  * * * *

  Alex Lowell married Lalage Darrow, taking her for his wedded wife a mere three months after he'd taken her to bed.

  Defying his own father, he'd amazed hers, who had quickly given his consent before the young squire changed his mind.

  Now she was his, signed, sealed and delivered. Now, he could have her any time he pleased. He could summon her to his presence. She would have to do just as he said. That was the deal.

  On the whole, Alex thought he'd made an excellent choice of bride. Young, ignorant and unschooled, Lalage was biddable, co–operative and obedient. As receptive to new ideas as ever her brother was, she learned the language of love as fast as Alex could teach it, and soon became eager to contribute new words and whole phrases of her own.

  ‘You're exhausting,’ groaned Alex, after an afternoon spent reworking some especially difficult syntax and going over it yet again. ‘Lally, you wear me out.’

  ‘Do I?’ Jumping from the bed, Lalage stretched. Still full of energy, she danced across the room. Stopping in front of a looking–glass she studied herself, turning this way and that. ‘I'm getting fatter,’ she said. ‘Especially around my behind.’