Her mouth dropped open, and yet she could not doubt for a moment that he meant it. Her brain seemed to seize up with rage, and she discovered a tremendous hot flush spreading upwards and outwards from her belly to make her cheeks catch fire. But he was urging her on again, and now they were once again at the top of the grand staircase, and at least a hundred eyes were gazing at her as she started the descent.
'You've not had a chance to speak with anyone individually,' Corbeau said. 'It would be good were you to do so. Jules, old friend. Jules Romain, my dear. Jules is my manager. Without him I have no doubt Rio Blanco would grind to a halt.'
Romain, a short, fair man, bowed from the waist. 'Monsieur chooses to flatter me, madame. May I present my wife, Seraphine.'
She was taller than her husband, and surprisingly plump, for a Creole. She did a half-curtsy and gave a nervous smile; being a woman she could tell that all was not well.
Georgiana gave her a cold smile and found herself meeting someone else. But their names and their faces were a blur. She had never been so angry in her life. And she was not going to put up with it. If he thought he could bully her, well... he would have to be taught differently. As he would have to be taught differently about humiliating her, as well.
'Charles, my dear, dear fellow,' Corbeau cried.
They had reached the terrace and some welcome fresh air, and looked down the marble pathway to the gates, where a carriage had recently halted. And these new arrivals were clearly no petit-blancs. Georgiana realized; the man, tall and with a distinguished face, was as expensively dressed as Louis, and the woman, also tall, slender, with a plain enough face but incredibly haughty features, her mouth twisted in a perpetual sneer, her eyes darting shafts of silent criticism, wore diamonds in her auburn hair.
'Charles de Morain, Georgy. Angelique, what do you think of her?'
The woman took Georgiana's hands. 'You sweet child. Why, Louis, she is absolutely lovely. And do you know, Georgiana ... I may call you Georgiana, I hope ... I had even supposed that he was no more than a lovesick swain with his talk of you.'
Georgiana stared at her.
'Angelique will be your own special friend, sweetheart,' Corbeau said. 'The Morain estate is our neighbour. Charles indeed is my rival. Eh, Charles?' He threw his arm round his friend's shoulder.
'I owe you a deep apology, my dear,' Angelique de Morain said to Georgiana. 'For not attending your wedding. Alas, little Paulette was not well. She is only three years, you know, and I thought for a moment it was yellow fever. It was not, of course, but then, one cannot be too careful.'
'I thought I did not recognize your face,' Georgiana said. 'But then, there were so many French-speaking people present I really could not keep track of them all.'
'Ah, yes, of course,' agreed Madame de Morain. 'But I really am sorry not to have visited Jamaica. You must tell me all about it, whether it is as barbaric as is claimed.' She smiled as Georgiana's mouth opened. 'But now you are here, my dear child. There is nowhere in the world like St. Domingue, and in St. Domingue there is nowhere quite like Rio Blanco. They have made you comfortable?'
'Oh, yes, indeed, madame,' Georgiana declared at the top of her voice. ‘I am so well looked after, by Louis, and by his housekeeper, Mademoiselle Gislane. You know her, of course? I am surprised she is not present this afternoon. She is present at all other times, apparently.'
The entire assembly had fallen silent, and now Angelique de Morain's mouth drooped open. And then she looked at Corbeau, who smiled, although his eyes were terrible to see.
'She is such an amusing child, Angelique,' he remarked. 'Full of humour.'
'Do you know,' Georgiana remarked, still speaking very loudly, 'when you are all gone, my dear Angelique .. . you do not mind if I call you Angelique, I hope ... he is going to beat me with his belt. So I think you should stay as long as possible.'
'My dear,' Angelique whispered. 'It really will not do.'
But Corbeau continued to smile. ‘I think we should play a game,' he said. 'My wife is a trifle excited, and no wonder, as she has never visited Rio Blanco before. We shall play skittles. What do you say to that, Georgiana? You may work off some of your excess energy.'
'Skittles, monsieur?' Romain asked, some of the colour fading from his face. 'There are children present.'
'Then send them home,' Corbeau suggested.
'Skittles,' Angelique cried, and clapped her hands. 'What a droll idea. I do love skittles. Especially as Louis plays them. Come along, my dear.' She thrust her arm through Georgiana's and escorted her along the terrace.
'I really can find little of interest in children's games,' Georgiana complained.
'This is a game for adults. It takes a steady hand.' Angelique halted where the marble steps led down to the lawn, the crowd of overseers and their wives behind her; all conversation had come to a stop, and Georgiana discovered to her horror that it was not, as she had first supposed, on account of her. For there was a great deal of activity on the lawn, at the far end of which nine pits had been dug in the grass, obviously some time before. Thus Louis must have intended this, some time before. Now she watched the Negro drivers bringing forward nine male slaves, each man wearing manacles on his wrists and ankles, and each man moaning with a peculiar intensity.
'Oh, my God,' she whispered.
'Oh, indeed,' Angelique agreed. 'Louis has a way with him.'
'But...' Georgiana stared at the men, being forced in turn into the pits, while other slaves stood by to pack earth around them and leave them unable to move, only their heads exposed to view. 'They are criminals?' She pulled herself free and ran to Corbeau's side. 'Murderers, who are condemned?'
He looked down at her. 'I do not imagine so,' he said. 'I do not permit my slaves to murder one another.'
'Then ...' she licked her lips. 'What is their crime?'
'They have committed no crime, surely, Madame Corbeau,' de Morain said. 'Or they would be punished.'
'Punished?' she shouted. 'You do not call that, punishment?'
'I am merely using them for sport,' Corbeau said. 'Now - come.' He took her arm. 'You, as the guest of honour, are going to roll the first bowl. And I will wager that you can do no more than knock out a few teeth.'
'You ...' she stared from him to the waiting people some smiling, others vaguely apprehensive, but none, so far as she could estimate, experiencing the nausea which was spreading upwards from her stomach. She turned to stare at the nine slaves, who returned her gaze, mouths open to gasp the breaths which would soon be robbed of them forever, at the gardeners, who waited in a group some distance farther off, at the brilliant flowers in the garden beyond and the cloudless blue of the sky over the ocean. Then she wrenched her arm free again and ran for the house.
Georgiana felt rather than heard someone in the room with her; the pillow was so tightly pressed over her ears she could hear nothing at all. But now she allowed it to relax, just a little, and now too she opened her eyes. She did not even have any idea how long she had lain there, across her bed, her entire mind a seething mixture of indignation and horror. But now it was nearly dark, and she could hear the buzzing of insects. And the house was quiet.
'Are you awake, madame?'
Georgiana sat up.
'Ah.' Gislane held a candle, and this she now took around the room, lighting all the others. 'The master wishes to see you.'
'To see me? Did you see what happened out there?'
'I know what happened,' Gislane said. 'I did not watch it.'
'Were they ...' she bit her lip.
'The men all died, eventually.' Gislane completed her task and returned to place the candle in the holder by the bed.
'Oh, my God,' Georgiana said. 'You speak so calmly.' 'Did I suppose my tears could help those men, madame, then be sure I would weep.' 'It has happened before?'
'Not since I came here. But I have only been here a few months.'
'A few months,' Georgiana said. 'Then ... it was you Louis sought when he left
Jamaica.' 'I believe so,' Gislane said. 'To torment me?'
'That I cannot say, madame. If you will get up, madame, I will help you to undress.'
'Undress? To sleep with that... that monster?' 'He is your husband, madame.'
'And your lover.' But Georgiana got out of bed, stared at herself in the mirror, watched the beautiful white-skinned girl moving behind her, felt her fingers on the ties of her gown.
'I am sure that he will prove scarcely less of a lover to you, madame. As you said this morning, you have every advantage over me. Except one of age, I think.'
'Christ, how you can be so easy in your mind ... tell me of his other cruelties, Gislane. I beg you.'
'He has shown no cruelty, before this afternoon, madame. Except with words. He is fond of being cruel, with words. And yet...' she hesitated.
'What. Tell me what.'
'He creates fear, in his people. This much I can feel, madame. So I suppose that he has played skittles before, at the very least.'
'Oh, my God.' She raised her arms, allowed the nightdress to be draped over her shoulders. And then turned, to seize the mustee by the shoulders. 'What am I to do, Gislane? What do you do? Do you ... do you feel any afinity for those black people?'
'I would hope to feel some affinity with all people, madame,' Gislane replied.
'But my husband does not.'
'He is a planter, madame. I do not think one can be a planter, and the son of a planter, and the grandson of a planter, without coming to regard slaves as subhuman.' She gazed at the white woman.
Georgiana's hands dropped. 'As I am the sister of a planter and the daughter of another and the granddaughter of another,' she said. 'Yet would I not needlessly kill a dog. To die on Hilltop, a slave must commit a serious crime against a white man. You say I must go to him?'
'No, madame. I said you must prepare for him.' She watched the great doors, which were at this moment opening. Louis stepped inside, wearing a pink and gold undressing robe.
Georgiana turned to face him, but her knees shook.
'Well?' he demanded. 'Have you recovered?'
'I ...' she licked her lips. But she knew now that she could not fight him with open defiance; she lacked that strength. 'I must apologize, Louis. I ... perhaps if you had warned me what to expect.'
'Warnings entirely spoil the effect of any event,' he remarked. 'Do you not agree, Gislane?'
'Yes, Louis,' she said, as quietly as ever. 'Do you wish me to retire?'
'I do not wish you to retire,' he said, and pulled the bell cord. Almost immediately a footman entered with a tray on which there was a flagon of wine and three goblets. ‘I have had my homecoming spoiled,' he said. 'I think all of our guests had my homecoming spoiled.' He gave each of the women a goblet of wine, took one himself. The footman placed the tray on the table, and withdrew, closing the doors behind him.
'I have apologized,' Georgiana said, feeling her determination to be patient and meek draining away. 'Am I then to be punished? Do you mean to whip me, Louis?'
'It would certainly be no more than you deserve,' he agreed. 'But then, as you are expecting it, it would be less than useless. But I certainly wish to be entertained. It is your duty to atone for your misbehaviour this afternoon, in order that you may restore my esteem for you. You understand this, my sweet?'
Oh, God, she thought. What does he mean? What can he mean?
'So drink your wine,' he said. 'And let us retire.' She gulped at the liquid, but relief was starting to seep upwards from her belly. After all, he wanted nothing more than some special attention this night. And after all, no doubt she could provide that, this night.
'Thank you, Gislane,' she said. 'You may leave.'
Gislane watched her master.
Corbeau smiled. ‘I have said that I wish Gislane to stay. Now come, ladies, to bed. And Georgy, take off that nightgown. It is a charming garment, and becomes you enormously, but I prefer the flesh.'
She stared at him, and then at the mustee, and found that her fingers had insensibly wrapped themselves around her own throat.
'No,' she whispered.
Corbeau's smile faded into a frown. 'You refuse to retire with your own husband?'
'I ... yes, in those circumstances. What do you take me for?'
'A woman,' he said. 'Who will obey me. Oh, I recognize that in many ways you are still a child, Georgy. It will be my pleasure, and Gislane's, too, I have no doubt, to make you into a woman. Will you assist madame, Gislane.'
Georgiana stared from him to the mustee, who moved forward, her face still impassive. 'You ... you will not do this,' she shouted. 'You will not. You ...' she swung her hand, and Gislane leaned backwards to avoid the blow. Then her arms were caught by Corbeau, and pulled behind her body.
He laughed in her ear. 'See how she flutters, Gislane. Do you remember fluttering like that, only a short while ago?' 'Yes, Louis.'
'You ...' Georgiana gasped for breath and kicked. But the mustee remained out of reach.
'I think I am going to be very happy,' Corbeau said, perhaps to himself. 'And do you know, I had wondered if a girl like this could ever truly make me happy. I told you to assist madame, Gislane.'
At last the black eyes moved, from Georgiana's face to Corbeau's, questioning, and receiving a nod of confirmation. Gislane came forward again, and Georgiana panted, and kicked again. But now she moaned with pain as well, as Corbeau twisted her arms, and there was no strength in her frantic movements. Gislane seized the thin material and pulled, and again. It ripped at the shoulders, slid down Georgiana's body, hung around her thighs for a moment, and then settled in a white mound on the floor.
'Bastard,' Georgiana screamed. 'Nigger lover. I hate you. By God, but Robert will kill you for this. Robert will...' she drummed her heels on the floor as she was dragged across it by her husband. Gislane was behind her now, and a moment later she was in the bed, and held there in turn while the mosquito netting was released to unfold, and leave the three of them confined and concealed within. Still she fought, twisting her body to and fro, kicking with her legs, but slowly the futility of it was reaching her, as Corbeau continued to smile down at her, and continued to hold her arms above her head.
And as Gislane slowly undressed, kneeling at the foot of the bed.
‘It occurred to me, this morning,' Corbeau said, 'that you had taken quite a liking to Gislane, Georgy. Or did you merely seek to humiliate her?'
'Bastard,' she shouted again. 'Wretch. Foul thing from the pit of hell.'
'But even wishing to humiliate someone reveals a considerable feeling for them,' he pointed out. 'Had that not been so, I would hardly be wishing to humiliate you now. And I do not, really mean to humiliate you, Georgy. Only the part of you that does not yet recognize that you are a Corbeau, and not a Hilton. Georgiana Hilton must be buried forever, together with her Hilton arrogance and her Hilton dignity and her Hilton prurience. I wish to replace all of those things with a Corbeau arrogance, with a Corbeau dignity, with a Corbeau ability to understand pleasure, and to take it. Only thus can we truly be man and wife. Only thus can you truly hope to attain, and hold my love.'
Georgiana panted, and heaved her body a last time, for Gislane was naked and kneeling beside her.
'You may kiss madame,' Corbeau said.
Gislane hesitated. 'Will she not bite me?'
Georgiana heaved and kicked; her legs were free. But they could not reach anyone.
'No.' Corbeau's face came lower, hovered over his wife's. 'You will not harm Gislane, Georgy. I made that plain earlier today. Do you remember?'
Georgiana sucked saliva into her mouth, pursed her lips to spit at him, and had her throat seized. She nearly choked.
'You will submit,' Corbeau said. 'To her, and to me. As we shall no doubt submit to you, my sweet. And besides, you do not want to fail yourself, do you? The ultimate reward, of possessing me, will go to the one of you who pleases me best. It would be a sad thing if, on your first night in your new home, you were bested by a
cafe-au-lait:
Georgiana discovered that her arms were free. Slowly, painfully, she brought them down from above her head, and found them around Gislane's shoulders.
Dawn, and the sounds of an awakening sugar estate. For a moment Georgiana supposed that she was still on Hilltop. There was the same stealthy rustle throughout the house, the same muted bustle from the distance, where the slave gangs were beginning their task of weeding the fields, the same distant clangs from the blacksmith's shop and from the factory.
But there were other sounds as well, and these were unfamiliar to her: the constant rustle of trees by the river, the constant low rumble of surf, only a mile away on the beach where the Atlantic rollers came to a throbbing rest, and with these unfamiliar sounds, unfamiliar smells; where Jamaica had smelt hot, and at times even parched, here the sea-breeze wafted gently through the bedchamber, and carried with it the accumulated moisture of the ocean. It was a clean smell, a healthy smell; it made her awake with a curiously clear head, a feeling that this day much could be accomplished.
And in a few moments it also brought memory. She sat up, her entire body clammy with sweat, her heart pounding, her cheeks burning. But she was alone in the bed. Although there could be no doubt, from these tumbled sheets, these body-scented pillows, that this bed had been shared, and shared, and shared.
Cautiously she stroked her lips, which were sore, and felt slightly swollen. Thoughtfully she pulled her fingers through her hair, which was tangled, and lay in a mass on her shoulders. Tentatively she rolled the sheet back from her waist, and the flesh on her left thigh seemed to turn blue as she looked at it. She could not remember receiving the bruise. But it could have been caused by any one of a number of embraces, of sudden movements, of passion-filled undulations. Because in time she had been as passion-filled as they. 'Oh, God,' she whispered. How could she ever look at them again? How could she ever look at anyone, again?
Mistress of Darkness Page 42
