Scarlet Widow

by Graham Masterton

  Unless, perhaps, that demon was somebody who believed themselves to be possessed. She couldn’t help thinking of the Widow Belknap, dancing naked in the woods and screeching for vengeance.

  She supposed that she could appeal to some of Sutton’s congregation to help her, such as Rodney Bartlett and Peter Duston and William Rolfe, but they were all family men, and after what had happened to Nicholas Buckley and Francis it was really too much for her to expect of them. Not only that, there was a risk that they would rush in as a mob and give Jonathan Shooks the chance to escape and take Noah with him, or to do him terrible harm.

  After a while she stood up and went to the hutch in the kitchen for her writing materials. Before she started writing, though, she went to the trunk in the hallway and took out her father’s notebooks.

  *

  When Jonathan Shooks came back she led him into the parlour and handed him the letter, rolled up and tied with string and sealed with crimson sealing wax.

  ‘This is for your client, whoever he is. I have also made a copy for you, identical in every respect, so you can be certain that I am not trying to deceive you. Not that I would dare, with you holding my son as your insurance.’

  Jonathan Shooks took the rolled-up letter and tucked it into the side pocket of his coat. Beatrice handed him the copy that she had made and he unfolded it and read it carefully, his lips moving slightly as he did so.

  I Beatrice Anna Scarlet being the relict of the Reverend Francis Keyes Scarlet do hereby declare and pledge that I intend willingly and irrevocably to deed and transfer to Mr Jonathan Shooks acting as proxy for a person whose identity by our common consent is to remain confidential thirty acres at least of that demesne lying adjacent to the Sutton parsonage which I have been bequeathed by my late husband, this acreage to include both part of the orchard and the Sutton Brook. The exact dimension and specifics of the said acreage to be determined by mutual agreement.

  When he had finished reading it, Jonathan Shooks nodded. ‘Very good, Widow Scarlet. You should have been a lawyer yourself. I believe my client will be well satisfied with this.’

  ‘If I were not the widow of a man of God, Mr Shooks, I would damn you to hell.’

  Jonathan Shooks said, ‘Do you know, Widow Scarlet, you excite me more than any woman I have met for many years.’

  ‘What?’

  He carefully put down the letter on the occasional table beside him and took a step towards her. ‘I said that you excite me, Widow Scarlet. You stirred my blood the very first moment I set eyes on you, and your spirit and determination have stirred it all the more.’

  ‘You had best leave now, Mr Shooks. I want my son returned to me as quickly as you can, and that is all.’

  ‘I’m afraid that there is one more gift I want from you before I bring back your son.’

  ‘You already have my word that I will give you thirty acres of my land. What more do you want?’

  Jonathan Shooks took another step forward, until he was close enough to touch her. ‘I want you, Widow Scarlet. I want to enjoy with you the pleasure that your late husband enjoyed, God rest his soul.’

  ‘Mr Shooks, I must ask you to leave. Please go and fetch me back my son.’

  ‘Not until you have given me what I desire. What better way could there be to seal a bargain? It would prove your sincerity beyond a shadow of a doubt.’

  ‘I am widowed only a matter of days,’ said Beatrice. Her heart was beating so hard that she could hear the blood rushing in her ears. ‘You cannot ask this of me.’

  ‘Do you want your son returned safe and well?’

  ‘Of course. But what you are suggesting – it’s monstrous!’

  Jonathan Shooks smiled and raised one eyebrow. He stayed where he was for a moment and then he turned around and left the parlour without another word. He opened the front door and Beatrice felt light-headed with relief. He had simply been playing with her after all.

  ‘Samuel!’ he shouted. ‘Samuel, come here!’

  She heard Samuel make one of his whooping noises and then Jonathan Shooks came back into the parlour, with Samuel shuffling close behind him. Samuel smelled strongly of horses and saddle soap.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Beatrice demanded. ‘I thought you were going to go to fetch my son. I have already given you my written promise.’

  ‘As I said, Widow Scarlet, you need to prove your sincerity in deeds as well as words.’

  ‘You dare to touch me!’

  Jonathan Shooks grinned at her and started to tug at his cravat. ‘Yes, Widow Scarlet, I do dare!’

  ‘Get out of this house, sir, at once! And take this fond mute with you!’

  ‘Samuel,’ said Jonathan Shooks. ‘Restrain this firebrand for me, if you will.’

  ‘Don’t you touch me!’ screamed Beatrice. ‘Don’t you dare to lay one finger on me! Caleb! Jubal!’

  ‘You know and I know that your men are down by the brook cutting wood and that they cannot possibly hear you, no matter how loudly you call for them.’

  He took off his coat and dropped it on to the floor. Then he started to unbutton his britches.

  ‘Get away from me!’ Beatrice shouted at him. And then, when Samuel took a step towards her, ‘You, too! I shall see you in the jail for threatening me like this!’

  ‘You want to see your precious son again, don’t you? Then this is the price of his safe return. Samuel!’

  Samuel seized Beatrice by her right wrist and wrenched her towards him, so hard that she almost lost her footing on the rug. She slapped at him with her left hand, but he was far too big and strong for her, and he twisted her around and pinned both of her arms behind her back, forcing them up so hard that she felt he was going to tear them out of their sockets.

  ‘Leave go of me! Leave go of me!’ she screamed, but Jonathan Shooks slapped her cheeks, first one way and then the other, and said tersely, ‘Hold your peace, Widow Scarlet, or I will cut out your tongue and render you as mute as Samuel.’

  Beatrice struggled and kicked but Samuel’s grip on her arms was relentless, and no matter how furiously she kicked beneath her petticoats it had no effect at all except to make her bed-gown billow out.

  Without warning, Samuel pitched her forward, first on to her knees and then face-down flat on the drugget. Kneeling down beside her, he rolled her over on to her back, levering out her arms one after the other, but still gripping both of her wrists so that he was holding them together above her head. The strain on her shoulder muscles was agonizing and she cried out, ‘No! Dear God, you’re hurting me!’

  ‘Pain and pleasure are inseparable, my beautiful young widow,’ said Jonathan Shooks. ‘Surely you have read enough of your Bible to know that.’

  ‘You devil!’ she panted.

  Jonathan Shooks took off his silver-buckled shoes and then rolled down his stockings. Next he stepped out of his britches, although he kept his thigh-length shirt on. Finally, he took off his grey-haired wig. His own hair underneath it was dark but cut very short and bristly, He knelt down, too, but between Beatrice’s legs, with both knees on her gown to restrain her from kicking so violently. He leaned over her until his face was only inches from hers and their noses were almost touching. She turned her face away. She could smell something bitter on his breath, like wormwood.

  ‘Don’t you want to kiss me?’ he asked her in his low, coaxing voice. ‘Surely you don’t want to make love without kissing me.’

  She kept her face turned away and her lips tightly clenched.

  ‘Such a reluctant mistress!’ said Jonathan Shooks, and Samuel hissed with laughter, pulling her arms up even higher so that she couldn’t stop herself from letting out a little mewl of pain.

  ‘To Satan, it is a sin for a woman to be reluctant in fornication, did you know that? How can you not offer yourself willingly to a man who lusts for you like I do?’

  Saying that, he grasped the neck of her gown with both hands and tried to tear it apart. At first the stitching held firm, but he tu
gged at it again, and then again, and then the black linen ripped and her white breasts spilled out. Jonathan Shooks took a breast in each hand and cupped it, to feel its weight and its tautness, and then rolled both of her nipples between finger and thumb until they knurled and stiffened.

  She kept her face turned away while he was caressing her, but she could sense that he was staring at her all the time to see if he was exciting her.

  ‘Her tempting breasts the eyes of all command,’ he quoted, ‘And gently rising, court the amorous hand.’

  Beatrice knew that there was nothing she could do to stop him from doing what he wanted, so she closed her eyes and lay absolutely still, in spite of the pain in her shoulders. As Jonathan Shooks continued to massage her breasts, around and around, and Samuel sniggered and snorted as he watched him, she tried to think of Francis, and how much she had loved him, and of Noah, and to forget that she was even here, lying outstretched on the parlour floor, unable to break free.

  Jonathan Shooks eased himself up a little, taking his knees off her gown. She could have kicked out again, but she thought that would only arouse him even more, and so she remained utterly lifeless. He took hold of the hems of her gown and her petticoats and forcibly wrestled them upwards, a few inches at a time, until they were bunched around her waist.

  Samuel let out a whoop and then a whirring sound like a wooden rattle, which for some reason made Beatrice feel nauseous. Her mouth filled with bile, which she had to swallow. She wasn’t even going to give Jonathan Shooks the satisfaction of knowing that he was making her feel sick.

  She could feel him stroking her pubic hair, over and over again, with the palm of his hand. Although he was doing it so softly and so gently, she could hear him breathing harder and harder. Then she felt his fingertips opening up her lips. She shuddered, and every nerve-ending in her body shrank as if she had opened up her front door naked in the middle of winter.

  ‘So liquid,’ said Jonathan Shooks in little more than a murmur. ‘She feigns not to want me and yet her juices say that she is brimming with desire.’

  Oh dear Lord, let this be over with, thought Beatrice. Oh dear Lord, don’t let him hurt me. Forgive me, dear Lord, for this sin, because I have no choice.

  She heard a soft rustle as Jonathan Shooks lifted up the front of his shirt and then she felt him position the glans of his penis between her lips. It seemed to be enormous, like a bull’s penis. How was she possibly going to take that inside her? It was huge. She closed her eyes and prayed again that he wouldn’t hurt her. She waited for what seemed like almost a minute and then he slowly started to push himself into her.

  She felt his penis go in about two or three inches and then he retracted it a little because she was so tense and her vagina was so tight. He paused, and then pushed it in again, and this time he went in so far that he made her jump and she felt as if he was almost touching her heart. She still kept her eyes tightly closed but that couldn’t blot out her other senses. She could still hear him breathing and grunting, and she could still feel his wiry pubic hair pressing up against hers, and his testicles nodding between her thighs.

  ‘Ohhhm’ he groaned. ‘There is nothing to compare with this, Samuel! Taking a young woman in her widow’s weeds!’

  He kept up a steady, tireless rhythm, and with every stroke he pushed his penis into her as far as it could possibly go, until her pubic bone began to feel bruised.

  Please, dear God, let it be over. Please, dear God, let this not be me.

  Quite unexpectedly, Jonathan Shooks said, ‘Samuel,’ and drew his penis completely out of her.

  Has he finished? Has he relented? Why has he stopped?

  She allowed herself to open her eyes for a split second and she saw him kneeling upright, holding his erect penis in one hand, as if it were a thick red sceptre. With the index finger of his other hand he was making a circular motion in the air.

  ‘Samuel, turn her over.’

  ‘No!’ she screamed, and kicked out wildly, like a bucking pony. But Jonathan Shooks immediately snatched at her ankles and Samuel gripped her wrists even more tightly. Between them, they rolled her over until her face was pressed against the carpet. She could smell the bull’s gall that Mary used to clean it and it made her retch. All the same, she managed to choke out, ‘You will go to hell for this, Mr Shooks!’

  Samuel made the most hair-raising of noises, a high-pitched screech that ended with a gargle that hardly sounded human.

  ‘Hold her fast, Samuel!’ said Jonathan Shooks, and then he clasped the cheeks of her bottom and parted them as wide as he could. He snorted with effort as he drove himself into her, but Beatrice was conscious of nothing except how much it hurt. He leaned forward so that almost all of his weight was on top of her and buried himself into her as deep as he could. In spite of herself, she began to sob. This was so painful, and so humiliating, and it made her feel so miserable.

  Jonathan Shooks was breathing hard against her neck. He drew aside her long tangled hair and reached around to dab at her cheeks with his fingertips. He felt the tears sliding down her cheeks and then he ran one finger across her lips so that she could taste their saltiness.

  ‘Oh, Widow Scarlet,’ he said as he did so, and inside herself she felt him shudder, and quake, and shudder again.

  *

  Afterwards, he stood up and dressed himself as unhurriedly as if he were in his own room at the Penacook Inn, admiring himself in the looking-glass as he replaced his wig and tied up his cravat. Beatrice remained lying on the floor, although she had pulled down her petticoats and her gown to cover herself.

  When he had put on his shoes Jonathan Shooks stood over her and held out his hand. ‘May I help you to your feet, Widow Scarlet?’

  Beatrice refused even to look up at him. Instead, she stared at the turned mahogany leg of the chair next to her.

  ‘Very well, whatever you wish,’ he told her. ‘But I will be as good as my word and bring your son straight back to you. It has been a pleasure to do business with you, Widow Scarlet, and if at any time you would care for more pleasure, you have only to send for me.’

  Beatrice stayed where she was and didn’t answer him. Eventually, Jonathan Shooks said, ‘Come along, Samuel. It’s time for us to leave this young lady in peace.’

  They left the house and Beatrice heard them driving away. When they were out of earshot she reached out for the chair and painfully pulled herself on to her knees, and then to her feet. She wanted to cry, but she told herself not to. Crying could come later, at night, when Noah was safely home. She went into the kitchen and pumped some water into a bowl. Then, lifting her gown and her petticoats, she washed herself, wincing because she felt so sore. There were blood-spatters on her petticoats, so she would have to change them.

  She slowly crept upstairs, clinging on to the banister rail like a woman three times her age. She had always thought of herself as outspoken. It was her father who had taught her that, because he had been obliged to deal daily with people who were stupid and feckless and ignorant. Until now, however, she had never thought of herself as vengeful. Not as vengeful as this. Not so vengeful that she could happily have seen somebody whipped until their spine appeared through the flesh on their back, or hanged.

  Thirty-three

  Even though her hands wouldn’t stop trembling, she carefully stitched the neck of her black mourning gown where Jonathan Shooks had torn it apart. When she had dressed again, she carried one of the kitchen chairs out to the front porch and sat there to wait for Noah to be brought back to her.

  She could hear Jubal and Caleb chopping away at the trees beside the brook, but she couldn’t face seeing anybody at the moment, let alone telling them what had just been done to her. After the first wave of disgust and vengefulness had subsided, she now felt as numb and as cold as the frozen girl that she and her father had found kneeling in a doorway that long-ago Christmas Day in London.

  She sat there for nearly two hours while the day turned around her, and the hu
ge white clouds rolled over, and the shadows from the oak trees along the driveway gradually shrank. She could hear the birds chattering and the leaves rustling, but all she could think of was Noah.

  At last, at the far end of the driveway, she saw Jonathan Shooks’s calash. It stopped and she could see Samuel lifting Noah down and setting him on the ground. The calash drove off, leaving Noah standing there by himself.

  Beatrice stood up, knocking over her chair with a clatter. ‘Noah!’ she called out. ‘Noah!’ She gathered up her gown in one hand and ran towards him, waving. ‘Noah! Mama’s here, my darling! Noah!’

  Noah started to toddle towards her, too, both arms lifted, crying as he came.

  There was still fifty yards between them, though, when Beatrice saw somebody step from out of the shadows of the oak trees. It was the brown-cloaked figure with the staff. He was heading towards Noah as if he intended to intercept him, poling himself along with his staff so that he could walk more quickly.

  ‘No!’ screamed Beatrice. ‘Don’t touch him! Leave him alone!’

  She ran even faster, although her petticoats made her stumble and almost trip over. But the figure had obviously heard her, because he stopped and stood motionless, and then he bowed his hooded head, turned round, and made his way swiftly back towards the trees. Beatrice scooped Noah up into her arms just as the figure disappeared.

  ‘Mama,’ sobbed Noah, clinging tightly round her neck. His face was dirty and his hair smelled of grease and his clout was sodden. She carried him into the house and through to the kitchen where she undressed him and gently washed him. She examined him very carefully but there were no bruises on him.

  She carried him up to his bedchamber and dressed him in a clean white smock and combed his curls. He still clung to her, but he had stopped crying now and at least he smelled clean. She carried him back down to the kitchen and sat him in his high-chair and warmed up some milk for him. He was too little for her to ask him what had happened, and how he had been treated, so all she could do was smile at him and kiss him and sing him ‘Hickory Dickory Dock’.