Enormous crowds had turned out with flags waving for the occasion. They lined the route of the trains and swarmed on the viaducts to cheer the proud and powerful locomotives, with their tall chimneys and their ability to pull long trains of carriages packed with many hundreds of passengers.
The Glasgow passenger shed was like a fairy palace. The rails were boarded over and the whole area used as a hall.
‘What do you think of it?’ Luther asked Augusta.
For a minute or two she was unable to reply. Only someone like Luther could have envisaged something in such a grand style. Three of the walls were stunningly covered with Grecian drapery. The tunnel wall was curtained with enormous lengths of pink calico. The whole place was illuminated with gas jets, some of which formed the outline of a locomotive. A military band was playing in one of the arcades.
‘It . . . it . . . quite takes one’s breath away.’
There was indeed an exuberance about the whole affair that nothing managed to crush; not even the hitch of the rope breaking on the incline plane at the tunnel before all the carriages had been drawn up. This meant the banquet was delayed until five o’clock, but champagne and claret flowed so continuously that nobody was capable of worrying about anything. Augusta took it for granted that Luther would not now think of going to the navvies’ celebration. It would take them all their time after the banquet to get home and change and be ready to welcome their guests to the ball.
Fortunately it would not be necessary to offer a dinner to anyone after the sumptuous spread at the station banquet. But she had organised a buffet supper and a bowl of punch in case it might be required.
The banquet tables were served by an army of waiters who dispensed tureens of soup, dishes of potatoes, roast turkeys, each stuffed with a bullock’s tongue, boiled rounds of beef richly glazed and ornamented, lobsters and so many other delicacies that Augusta lost count.
Toasts were heralded by a toast trumpet and the first toast proposed by the chairman was ‘The Queen’ and this was drunk with enthusiastic cheering.
Next came Prince Albert, the Prince of Wales, the Queen Dowager, the Princess Royal and other members of the royal family—all drunk amid loud cheers. Then came the toast to the army and navy, after which Colonel Fleming in the name of Lord Hill and his brother officers begged to return thanks for the honour done to the army.
‘To the ladies in particular,’ he said, ‘we feel deeply indebted for the manner in which they responded to the toast. We flatter ourselves that we have the ladies always on our side, for they pity the military for the dangers which they encounter. In return the military men love and adore the ladies because they do pity them.’
This was greeted with resounding cheers.
‘The blue jackets of old England,’ he went on, ‘require no compliment from a soldier. They do their duty nobly and fearlessly on all occasions when their services are required.’
Toast after toast followed but none brought forth louder cheering than: ‘Mr Luther Gunnet, the man who made this farsighted and ambitious project a working reality . . . .’
And afterwards, when the proceedings were over and Augusta and Luther were leaving, the company honoured them with a spontaneous standing ovation. Luther acknowledged the applause with a grin and a jaunty wave while Augusta with a more regal air merely smiled and gave slight movements of her head.
Their carriage was waiting outside and she was settling herself comfortably on its cushions when Luther, instead of following her, nonplussed her by saying, ‘See you later.’
‘Luther!’ she cried out in panic. ‘Surely you are not going to the navvies’ dinner now?’
‘There’s still plenty of time.’
‘Do not be ridiculous, Luther!’
It was no use. Already he had summoned a hansom and the cab was clattering away over the cobbles.
She felt quite faint. Leaning back in the carriage she tried not to think of the disasters that might occur on this, the most important evening of her life. She failed. Luther could, indeed probably would, arrive at Gunnet House not only late but drunk. He might even arrive in a drunken state after the guests were already in the house and everyone would witness his disgrace. And what disgraced Luther Gunnet disgraced his wife and children. She could not bear to contemplate such a scene. They would be socially ruined. She had a terrifying sensation of déjà vu. She might have known that Luther would always despoil her life. Just as he had despoiled her mother’s and father’s.
Her mind was so distraught she did not know what to do and on an impulse she called to the coachman to hasten to where her mother resided. Sickened by the prospects of Luther’s coarse and disgraceful behaviour she longed for comfort and communion with someone of sensitivity and gentility.
As usual, the coach had to stop at an inconvenient distance from the cottage because the bush and tree-lined road leading to it was too narrow. After she alighted she began picking her way along the muddy track but was soon brought to a halt by the sound of Mrs Cameron’s voice raised in anger. Rounding a bend in the lane Augusta was able to see, a couple of hundred yards ahead, a group of women arguing round the water pump. Her mother, as petite and dainty as ever, but with sleeves rolled up and skirts hitched, was giving one of her neighbours a piece of her mind.
‘Mercy, the very idea! No, I certainly will not wait in turn for water behind you or anyone else, I know my place all right. The trouble is, you do not know yours! In future you’ll keep a civil and respectable tongue in your head when you address me. Never forget that I’m a lady!’
This last warning was delivered in a screech of fury more akin to that of a fishwife.
Even more shocked and confused, Augusta retreated back to her carriage without being seen. The unexpected picture of Mrs Cameron with sleeves rolled and arms akimbo, coupled with such piercingly uninhibited sounds, increased her feelings of agitation and general insecurity. Trembling from head to foot she collapsed back against the carriage seat and allowed herself to be transported to Gunnet House.
Once there, she had to lean heavily on the footman as he helped her to alight. It was only with a supreme effort that she managed to walk into the house without assistance.
Upstairs in the master bedroom all the evening clothes had been laid out in readiness by the maid. She sat down in front of the dressing-table, willing herself not to give way to panic that could so easily tip over into hysteria. The vision of Luther arriving home and causing a disgraceful scene kept returning to terrify her. How dare he torment her like this! He was always the same. He took positive delight in tormenting her. It was a sadistic streak that she was only too well aware of. It took different forms, some so subtle and devious she had not realized his intent at the time. On other occasions he was purposely and crudely obvious.
She removed her bonnet, jacket and skirt with vague, fumbling fingers. Her concentration was so splintered it never occurred to her to ring for the maid. It was a much as she could do to grope into her dressing-gown. The beautiful evening dress lay untouched. She was suspended in such a state of anxiety she was incapable of contemplating anything except Luther’s return.
The moment she heard the horses’ hooves and the clatter of the carriage her whole being tightened with apprehension. Yet as always when he entered there was the strange thrill of excitement she experienced in his presence. She turned to face the doorway at least outwardly calm and composed, her dressing-gown ribbons tied neatly up to her neck. He seemed perfectly sober. Yet there was something wrong. His face was pale and hard set. Peeling off his coat he tossed it aside and began unbuttoning his waistcoat. Even in the way he performed this simple task she detected something ominous.
‘I met an old friend,’ he said.
‘I am not interested in your navvy friends at the moment. We have a duty to our guests. A duty that already you have made extremely difficult to fulfil with propriety and decorum.’
‘What about your duty to me?’
She raised an eyebrow
as he approached her. ‘What do you mean? I have always been a good wife. I have always obeyed your wishes.’
To her astonishment he lashed out at her with the back of his hand. Instinctively she averted her face, but the blow caught her on the side of the head, stunning her as much with amazement as with the force with which it was inflicted.
‘Luther, our guests!’ she cried.
‘To hell with the guests.’
‘You are drunk.’
‘No, but Maureen had a few glasses. She turned up at the navvies’ celebration, and very talkative she became. I have also spoken to the coachman and the footman and they confirmed what she told me.’
‘Oh, and what did she tell you?’
‘You know damn well what she told me. You were supposed to have nothing more to do with the Camerons. Yet I find that Maureen and other members of my staff have been ordered by you to dance attendance on your bitch of a mother.’
‘No, that is not true, Luther.’
‘She has eaten my food. Employees whose wages I pay have cleaned her house, washed her clothes, taken her for jaunts in my carriage.’
‘Luther, for pity’s sake, let us discuss this at some other time. It is imperative that I am not flustered and upset. It is my duty to create a dignified and pleasantly welcoming atmosphere in which to receive our guests. They will be arriving at any moment. I must ring for my maid to help me into my ball gown.’
She gasped in pain as he roughly jerked her away from the bell-pull.
‘Augusta, have you ever known me to go back on my word?’
‘No.’
‘If I make a threat or a promise, I keep it.’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, listen carefully because I mean what I say. If you ever defy me again by going to visit Mrs Cameron, you can stay there. You will not get back in this house. If you choose to remain here as my wife you must promise never to have any contact with that woman again.’
‘But I am her only daughter, her own flesh and blood. How can I allow her to suffer? How could she survive on her own?’
‘She’ll just have to.’
Her face was a colourless mask and she stared at him for a long time in silence.
‘Well, Augusta,’ he said eventually, ‘what is it to be?’
‘You are a wicked man.’
‘So you keep telling me.’
‘You take sadistic delight in tormenting me.’
‘Come now!’ His words, half reprimand, half denial, were honeyed with sensual overtones.
‘I hate you and I do not want you to touch me ever again.’
He tutted and shook his head. ‘You don’t mean that.’ Slowly, deliberately, he began loosening the top ribbon of her dressing-gown.
‘I had better ring for the maid,’ she faltered. Hard fingers dug into her arm preventing her from doing so. She eyed him with cold dignity.
‘You know that I am staying.’
‘Yes, I know you’re staying.’
‘Well, kindly remove your hand from my arm. There is no need to use force.’
‘Let me see your arm.’
‘What?’ Surprise scattered her defences and before she could recover, he was easing the dressing-gown from her shoulders.
‘Let me see it.’
‘It is all right. It is not bruised.’
She stepped back, her legs jamming against the dressing table. He moved closer, his fingers caressing her shoulder while his eyes flowed over her, exciting her against her will, even through her distress.
So often Luther’s gaze held a barely hidden obscenity when he looked at a woman.
‘Luther, please allow me to get dressed.’
‘You know you like me to look at you, and that’s not all you like me to do.’
‘Luther! The guests!’
‘I told you,’ he said quietly, ‘fuck the guests.’
‘Oh! Luther, please. I feel quite faint with apprehension and it is imperative that I retain a ladylike decorum to greet them.’
‘Every inch of smooth skin. So peachy I want to bite into it. You even taste like a peach. Sweet and soft . . . .’
‘No, Luther. Don’t. You are hurting me.’
His mouth softened and his tongue moistly caressed her as he removed her under-garments, fondled her breasts and slid his lips round and over them.
A vision of every person of rank and importance for miles around arriving at any moment battered like madness at the door of her mind. The horror of it seesawed with her physical rapture. And when he lifted her into his arms and carried her towards the bed she raged and struggled against him.
‘You bastard!’ she said.
His laughter held a note of mock surprise. ‘That wasn’t very ladylike.’
‘You want to bring me down to your level.’
‘Where is that, Augusta? Here in bed lying beside me?’
Despite her rage her voice broke. ‘I know what you are trying to do.’
He cupped her face in his hands and whispered: ‘I’m going to look at you. At every part of you from the gold silk of your beautiful head, and the feathery tufts deep in the warmth under your arms . . . .’
‘Luther, I beg of you . . . .’
‘Yes, beg me.’
Her ear tuned into footsteps in the corridor and on the stairs, acutely sensing the anxiety in the quickness of them.
‘The servants will be wondering what’s happening. They will be getting worried and . . . .’
‘And your breasts are just big enough to cup in my hands like this so that I can caress and kiss them. And look at them. And your soft belly and the downy blonde hair at your groin.’
‘Luther, please, oh, please . . . .’
‘And every warm, moist fold of you.’
Her bemused brain thought it detected the sound of carriage wheels. Her mind was deranged with anxiety yet her body slackened and accommodated his every touch. Gradually her mental delirium infected her body and she was no longer in control of her physical movements. All she knew was that he excited her beyond words.
Then he said in a cool, quiet voice next to her ear:
‘They’re arriving. Listen! There’s a carriage.’
She began to moan louder and louder as his lovemaking increased in force.
‘Listen,’ he kept whispering, ‘they’re here! They’re here!’
Afterwards she lay shattered and helplessly weeping while he with his usual vitality arose, washed and dressed, and in a matter of minutes was plucking her from the bed as if she was no more than a feather. His speed bewildered and confused her.
‘Get washed and dressed. Come on!’
It was as if he was rasping a command to one of his navvies. She fumbled with the sponge and water. He flung the towel at her.
‘Move!’ Then snatching at her clothes he pushed and pulled and jerked her into them. ‘Stop that snivelling and sit down at the dressing-table. You put on your earrings, I’ll fasten the necklace.’
‘My God,’ she said, ‘I cannot go downstairs like this.’
‘Like what?’
‘For pity’s sake . . . .’ She gazed imploringly up at him through the mirror.
‘You’re beautiful,’ he said. ‘Look at yourself, woman! You’ve never looked so radiant. Flushed cheeks, shining eyes, quivering little rosebud of a mouth. I could take you all over again.’
The fear in her eyes made him grin and bend over to kiss her ear.
‘Come on.’
She wandered after him across the room.
‘Take my arm,’ he said. Already he had opened the door and was leading her down the stairs to the saloon.
A gaggle of distracted servants looked as if they wanted to faint with relief at the sight of her.
‘Oh, ma’am,’ Kennedy hurried forward. ‘People have arrived. They are in reception taking off their cloaks. The rest of the staff are attending to them but we didn’t know when to . . . .’
Luther interrupted her. ‘We’re waiting to welcome our gu
ests. Show them through.’
Then he signalled to the orchestra at the opposite end of the long room. Suddenly everything burst into life and gaiety. The chandeliers brilliantly sparkled. The servants stood ready with trays of glasses shooting up bubbles of champagne. The musicians enthusiastically swayed from side to side. Lady guests came swooping forward, their gowns a riot of colour, their hands outstretched in happy greeting. The gentlemen followed behind, immaculate in military uniforms or cravats and tailcoats. But none smarter than Luther, his white silk waistcoat, frilled shirt and high cravat a brilliant contrast to his luxuriant black hair.
Augusta, her cheeks still flushed, stood beside but a little behind him, the rich gold glimmer of her ballgown accentuating her look of suppressed excitement as she held out her hand to each guest. Luther pushed his out firmly, confidently. When everyone was rainbowing the walls of the saloon with colour, and glasses were clinking merrily above the rhythm of the polka, he turned to Augusta and looked down at her with narrowed eyes.
‘My dance, Mrs Gunnet,’ he said. Then, with a hint of mockery in his smile, ‘May I have the pleasure?’
‘Mr Gunnet,’ she murmured, before allowing herself to be led into the centre of the floor and whirled triumphantly away.
Other B & W Titles
by Margaret Thomson Davis
A Darkening of the Heart
A Deadly Deception
Burning Ambition
Cydesiders at War
Double Danger
Goodmans of Glassford Street
Light and Dark
The Breadmakers Saga
The Clydesiders
The Glasgow Belle
The Gourlay Girls
The Kellys of Kelvingrove
The New Breadmakers
The Tobacco Lords Trilogy
Write from the Heart
COPYRIGHT
First published 1981, 1995
by Black & White Publishing Ltd
29 Ocean Drive, Edinburgh EH6 6JL
www.blackandwhitepublishing.com
This electronic edition published in 2014
ISBN: 978 1 84502 806 0 in EPub format
The Dark Side of Pleasure Page 27
