by M C Beaton
She abased herself before him, she worshiped his monkish appearance, and hung on his every word.
The more she thought about the idea of exciting Sir Arthur to some display of passion, the more attractive the idea seemed. Arthur was so beautifully remote, so chaste, so withdrawn. Susie was experiencing all the thrills of the hunter, and Sir Arthur, pompously unaware of the Diana that was about to stalk his baser feelings, held forth on the disgraceful state of the British Parliament, implying with every word how much better things would be run if he were in charge.
Susie was so wrapped up in dreams of her campaign, that she had almost forgotten Giles’s very existence. Almost, but not quite.
She glanced briefly across the room in his direction and noticed again, in a detached kind of way, that he was extremely handsome. Those tilted eyes of his were glinting down into the eyes of a very pretty girl. Susie felt suddenly sad and cross and wished Giles would go away.
Finally all the guests had gone and Sir Arthur, who was Susie’s house guest, was left alone with his fiancée and Lady Matilda. Susie wished Matilda would take her threads and needles and bobbins and stitches and go away and leave them alone. But although she yawned and yawned over her stitchery, Lady Matilda stood her ground.
At last Sir Arthur said good night after placing a chilly kiss on his beloved’s brow.
Susie went to her own bedroom, her heart beating hard. Her body ached for Sir Arthur in a pleasurably exciting and quite novel way. She could imagine the feel of his dry fingers against her neck, caressing and stroking.
But Giles’s face had an irritating habit of imposing itself on the top of Sir Arthur’s body. Damn Giles! She would show him that virgins could be as alluring as experienced women.
Susie, who did not yet know what exactly her virginity was or how it was to be lost, prepared for battle. She mendaciously told Carter she was going straight to bed and, after the door had closed behind the lady’s maid, she began to amass her weapons.
She unbraided her hair, which had been pleated by Carter for the night, and brushed it down about her shoulders. She sprayed perfume all over herself and wondered whether to remove her nightgown and look at her naked body in the mirror, but that seemed an incredibly immodest act. The nightgown was of white satin. Susie wished it were black or some daring sort of color. But virginal white it was, and it would have to do.
She picked up a book and sat down to wait until the servants were all asleep. Once or twice her courage nearly failed her. But the memory of Giles’s mocking eyes spurred her on.
She began to daydream, and as she built up the dream in her mind, she began to feel more courageous, more fascinating.
She would go to Sir Arthur’s bedchamber and awaken him with a light kiss. His pale eyes would flash fire, and he would gather her in his arms and kiss her tenderly. Susie suddenly remembered the passion she had experienced when Giles had kissed her all that long time ago after the earl had died. Would she feel like that again? If anyone could make her feel that way, it would surely be Sir Arthur.
At last the heavy marble clock on the mantelpiece chimed two. It was now or never.
She put down her book, wrapped her dream more tightly around her, and crept gently along the corridor. With a fast-beating heart, she pushed open the door of Sir Arthur’s room.
He was lying on a cane-backed bed with the covers thrown back. The moonlight was streaming in through the open window.
Susie experienced her first qualm of doubt. He was sleeping with his mouth open, and he was wearing a long flannel nightshirt. He had smooth, hairless legs and very large feet.
She lit the gas, which went on with a loud pop, making her jump. She gave a final pat to her hair and approached the bed.
It is very hard to kiss someone who has his mouth wide open, so Susie leaned forward and kissed the tip of his nose.
He made a grumbling noise in his sleep and turned on his side.
Susie looked down at him helplessly. Then she shook his shoulder. He turned around slowly, opened his eyes, and stared at her. Susie stared tremulously back.
He sat bolt upright.
“Ot a oo ooing eah?” said Sir Arthur wrathfully.
Susie thought his face looked funny and odd, but she did not hesitate.
“I am yours, Arthur!” she cried, throwing herself into his arms.
“Et offame!” screeched Sir Arthur, unwinding her arms from around his neck.
He pushed past her, climbed out of the bed, walked over to the marble washstand, and, fishing his teeth out of a glass, popped them into his mouth.
“Now, young lady,” he said, clearly and distinctly, “what is the meaning of this?”
Susie was slightly cooled by the fact that her beloved had false teeth. But who was she to demand perfection? She rushed forward again and clutched his thin body to her own vibrant one.
He was cold and rigid; body, arms, face. She rained kisses on his masklike face; she told him she loved him and wanted him.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” said Sir Arthur. “Leave me alone. All this is mawkish and disgusting.” He was trembling with distaste and anger. “I thought you were a pure girl.”
“But we are to be married!” cried Susie. “We will sleep together.” In Susie’s innocent mind, sleeping together meant just that.
“Disgraceful! Sickening!” he spluttered. “Let me tell you now, young lady. We shall have separate rooms when we are married. I do not want to be subjected to this animal behavior again.”
Lady Matilda removed her ear from the door panel and went to telephone Giles.
“Go to your room this instant!” roared Sir Arthur. “I shall speak to you in the morning.”
Susie began to experience some of the fury that hell hath nothing like.
“You’re nothing but a dried-up old stick, a mummy,” she raged. “What is up with me?”
“You nauseate me,” said Sir Arthur cruelly, and then, too late, remembered the Blackhall fortune.
“Oh, my dear,” he said, obviously making a tremendous effort, “come to me. You must not take me so seriously.”
But now it was Susie who was shuddering with horror and distaste.
“I don’t ever want to see you again,” she sobbed. “Our engagement is off. I never want to set eyes on you. And take your bloody teeth with you when you go!”
She went out and slammed the door behind her.
Sir Arthur wondered gloomily whether to sue her for breach of promise.
Susie walked along the corridor with shaking legs and down the elegant curved staircase to the ground floor. She had but one thought left in mind—to get as drunk as she possibly could.
With a rare lack of consideration for her servants, she rang the bell and kept on ringing it, until a disheveled footman appeared and stared in amazement at the sight of his mistress dressed in her nightgown and with her hair down.
“Champagne,” said Susie curtly. “Iced. And lots of it.”
“Very good, my lady,” said the footman gloomily. Just wait till he told the others tomorrow! My lady was turning out to be just as much of a slave driver as the worst of that lot.
After five minutes Susie applied herself to the bell again.
“My lady?” demanded the same footman plaintively.
“The champagne,” said Susie feverishly. “Where is it?”
“I’m still chilling it, my lady.”
“Bring it up in an ice bucket. Now!”
The footman shook his head. As he crossed the hall to the green baize door that led down to the kitchen, he heard someone thumping and pounding on the front door.
“Who is it?” he called through the door.
“The Earl of Blackhall,” said Giles, giving the servant the full benefit of his title.
The footman had not been very long in service. Also, he was sleepy and flustered. He opened the door, and Giles strolled in. “Tell my lady I wish to see her.”
“My lady’s in the drawing room, but—”
“You should not be dressed like that in front of the servants,” he said stuffily.
Susie looked quickly up. “Oh, G-Giles,” she said with a catch in her voice. “H-he can’t stand me. And h-he’s got false teeth!”
“He would,” said Giles gleefully. “But what are you doing down here at this time of night?”
“What are you doing here at this time of night?” countered Susie suspiciously.
“I was on my way home from a party,” lied Giles, “and I saw your drawing room lights on. Anyway, I gather the engagement is off.”
“Yes,” gulped Susie. “Oh, here’s the champagne. I want to get drunk.”
“Before you do that,” said Giles, waving away the interested footman, “I want to tell you what I’m going to do with you. Now, you have made a sad mess of things up to date, haven’t you?”
“Yes, Giles,” said Susie, drinking a glass of champagne quickly and pouring herself another.
“So I suggest I should look after you.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because—hey, wait a minute. Leave some of that champagne for me. Three bottles, by George. Did he expect you to drink them all yourself? Because I’m the only person who knows how to look after you, that’s why. If you don’t marry me, just think what’s going to happen to you. Either you’re going to have men pawing all over you, or you’ll be throwing yourself at them.
“I’ll take you off, tonight, to a sort of hunting box thing I’ve got in Sussex. I’ll get a special license and marry you as soon as possible, and after you’ve been in my arms a few nights, Susie, it should cure you of running after fusty curmudgeons with false teeth.”
“Do you love me?”
Giles looked at Susie with some exasperation. He did not want to answer that question yet, even to himself. Lady Matilda had gleefully relayed over the telephone the details of Susie’s attempted seduction of Sir Arthur. He had called around immediately. He had discovered that he, Giles, most certainly didn’t want any other man to have Susie. He wanted to be the one to introduce her to the delights of love. But whether he loved her or not, he wasn’t at all sure.
“I don’t know,” he said at last. “But I’m prepared to take care of you.”
Susie looked at him sadly and a little drunkenly. She suddenly did not want to be left alone anymore.
It would be marvelous to be back at the castle and see Thomson and Mrs. Wight. She could ride Dobbin as much as she wanted, without the half of London staring at her and photographing her. And it had been pleasant to be kissed by Giles. He would not grab or maul.
“I’ll let you know in the morning,” she said at last, reaching for a fresh bottle of champagne.
“No, now!”
“I’ll get Lady Matilda.”
“No. You’re coming with me—alone.”
“Not even Carter?” said Susie in a slightly slurred voice.
“No!”
“Dobbin, then?”
“Your affection for that animal is ridiculous. But, yes, he can travel behind the carriage, and we’ll put him on the train.”
“I don’t think I want to go,” said Susie at last. “I’ve decided I want to go to sleep more than anything in the whole wide world.”
“Look!” said Giles grimly, “Sir Arthur is still on the premises. Do you want to wake up in the morning and find him? Do you think he’ll let the Blackhall fortune slip out of his grasp so easily? He’ll probably call at your bedroom.”
Slightly sobered, Susie gave a squeak of alarm.
“Where is this hunting box?” asked Susie.
“It’s a quiet little place down in Sussex, near Lewes. Mostly farming country. I don’t think it’s been used for a hunting party for about eighty years. I’ve only recently had it put in order. I plan to sell it, but we can use it first.”
“Is it small?” asked Susie hopefully, dreams of that cottage beginning to run through her mind.
“Oh, very small.”
“All right,” said Susie, the champagne making up her mind for her. Also, she had had a young lifetime of obeying orders. How much easier it would be to submit to a stronger will than to go on in this muddle.
“Good girl,” said Giles. “Now go and pack…unless you want to travel to Sussex in your nightgown!”
The sleepy footman was summoned again and told to fetch a cab to take them to Victoria Station, where they would catch the Brighton train, stopping at Lewes.
To Giles’s surprise, Susie was ready in a remarkably short time. Her bags were strapped up behind the carriage. A snorting and sleepy Dobbin was brought around and tethered to the back. The cabbie was told to drive to Giles’s lodgings first, so that he could collect a few belongings, and that being achieved, they clattered through the silent streets in the direction of Victoria Station.
Susie had fallen asleep in the carriage and only awakened when they pulled up in the forecourt of the station.
She climbed stiffly down while Giles fetched a porter. She suddenly did not want to go through with it. Giles appeared like a stern and formidable stranger.
The guard had to be heavily bribed in order to allow Dobbin to share the guard’s van, and Giles stood fretting and fuming while Susie whispered soft words in the wretched animal’s flattened ears, so that Dobbin would allow himself to be led into his strange quarters.
Susie turned a white face to Giles. She was suffering from an incipient hangover, and nothing seemed quite real—the half—deserted station, the staring porters, and Giles, still in evening dress and opera cloak, looking like some handsome Mephistopheles as he stood by the guard’s van with the smoke from a nearby engine billowing about him.
Susie did not want to go. But there was Dobbin, already on the train, and if she did not go, who would look after him?
Giles abruptly made up her mind for her by thrusting her rudely into a first-class compartment and slamming the door behind them both.
The guard waved his green flag, and the London to Brighton express gave one loud cough and shunted forward.
As a pale dawn rose over London they rattled out over the houses, and Susie was reminded vividly of her first journey to Blackhall Castle with the earl. She hoped Giles would not kiss her. But that man seemed to be wrapped up in his own thoughts, and after a bare fifteen minutes he fell sound asleep.
She sat bolt upright for many weary miles, wondering if she had gone mad, wondering how Dobbin was faring in the guard’s van, until she too fell asleep.
A steady cold drizzle was falling when the train rolled into Lewes station. Giles woke Susie.
She put her hands to her aching head. Her mouth felt dry and hot, and her brains seemed to be stuffed with cotton wool.
But there was Dobbin to see to, Dobbin to be fussed over, and the sweating and terrified guard to be placated. He said that Dobbin had tried to bite him during the whole journey.
Then there was the cabbie at Lewes station to deal with after Dobbin had kicked the back of his carriage and left scores in the paint. Giles wanted the animal left at the station until he could get a horse box sent for him, but Susie’s large eyes filled with miserable tears, and he impatiently gave the cabbie enough gold to buy that gratified man a new hansom.
Finally they jolted off under the shadow of the twelfth-century walls of Lewes Castle, past the cattle pens of the market near the station, and soon they were bowling along a narrow road bordered with high hedges on either side.
Susie tried to keep her spirits up with visions of the hunting box. “Box” sounded reassuringly small. Perhaps they would have a cozy, domestic life. She would cook him meals and smile at him as he smoked his pipe beside the fire in the evening. But Giles did not smoke a pipe. She wondered if she could persuade him to buy one.
“I forgot to leave a note for Lady Matilda!”
exclaimed Susie, coming out of her dream.
“I did,” said Giles curtly. “She’ll know where to find you. We’re nearly there.”
The carriage had been picking its way for some time down a network of small lanes. It suddenly wheeled around in front of a small lodge.
Giles rapped on the roof. “I’ll open the gates, cabbie. There’s no one at the lodge.”
After opening the gates, he climbed back inside.
The carriage rolled up a long graveled drive bordered on either side by a line of stately elms. After half a mile or so, it came to a stop in front of an imposing mansion.
“Is this the box?” asked Susie in surprise.
The hunting box was a trim Georgian manor of red brick, two-storied, and ornamented with a pillared entrance.
“Yes, this is the place,” said Giles, sounding more cheerful. “There are hardly any servants, but I keep an elderly couple in residence—Mr. and Mrs. Harrison. Old Harrison acts as butler when I need him, and Mrs. Harrison sees to the cooking.”
Susie’s dreams of a country cottage fizzled and died.
The elderly Harrisons were delighted to see their master and his “wife.”
“Don’t tell them we aren’t married,” Giles had whispered. “The local vicar is an old school friend of mine, and he should be able to tie the knot pretty soon, so it doesn’t matter one way or the other.”
Susie nodded weakly, feeling too ill to protest. She was led into a comfortable bedroom on the first floor and collapsed gratefully on a large old-fashioned four-poster bed while Mrs. Harrison, a robust lady in her sixties, unpacked her trunks and lit the fire.
She pulled off Susie’s boots, bobbed a curtsy, and left.
Susie was just drifting off to sleep when the door opened and Giles strolled in. He threw his cloak on a chair, took off his jacket, undid his collar and tie and threw them carelessly in a corner, kicked off his evening pumps, and collapsed on the bed next to Susie.
