Lady of Hay

by Barbara Erskine

  He levered himself off the sofa and stood looking down at her, forcing himself to be calm. She was watching him docilely enough, her eyes still mocking, but he thought he could see fear as well, hidden, but there, as she stared at her husband and waited.

  He smiled grimly. “Stand up, Matilde,” he said slowly.

  Hesitantly she obeyed him and stood quite still. He looked at her for a moment, then he turned to the tape deck in the corner. From his pocket he produced a cassette, which he slotted into the machine. He switched it on and listened as the first strains of an unaccompanied flute began to play in the room, then he sat down on the chair facing Jo. She had not moved. Her head was held at a defiant angle, her eyes watching him with cool disdain as he sat back and folded his arms.

  “Now, my lady,” he said softly. “I want you to show me some wifely obedience.”

  ***

  Matilda stared at her husband in horror. Behind him the blind flute player was sitting cross-legged on the floor of the window embrasure. She could hear the everyday noises of the castle all around them; any second someone would walk into the solar. She heard feet pattering down the spiral stairs in the corner and the swish of skirts on the stone. They hesitated then ran on down toward the lower floors, the sound dying away into the distance.

  “Take off your mantle and gown, wife.” He repeated his order.

  She glanced at the musician who played on as if he had heard nothing.

  “My lord, I can’t—I need my maid. Please, this can wait until nightfall—”

  “It cannot wait until nightfall.” His eyes narrowed and she could see the vein beginning to throb in his neck. He drew the ornately decorated dagger from his girdle and tested the blade gently against his thumb. “If the fastenings of your gown defeat you, I shall cut them for you.”

  She swallowed. She had only to call for a servant, to scream, to turn and run. He could not force her, not here. Not now. Yet something held her. She could not tear her eyes from his. Obediently she felt herself unfasten her jeweled girdle and let it fall to the floor. Her scarlet surcoat followed it. She paused nervously. “My lord, not here, I beg you—”

  “Here, Matilda.” She felt his hands on her head, slipping off the gauze headdress, allowing her hair to fall loose over her shoulders, then he was unlacing her gown, pushing it down so that it too fell to the floor. She was left clad only in her shift. She shivered violently in spite of the warmth of the early-autumn afternoon.

  Behind her the flute player shifted his position slightly as the trembling notes of his tune died away. There was a long silence, then, unbidden, he began to play again.

  “Take it off.” William stood back and folded his arms.

  Matilda crossed her hands on her breast, clutching the embroidered neck of her shift. “Would you have me stand naked before the servants and before your men?” Her eyes blazed suddenly, her fear eclipsed by a wave of scorn and fury. She dodged away from him but he was too quick for her. He caught her wrist. “I’ll have you stand naked at the whipping post, my lady, before the whole world, if you defy me,” he said evenly. He tore the flimsy shift from her body, tossing it to the rush-strewn floor. Panic-stricken, she raised her hands toward his face, clawing at him frantically, and beneath her nails a bloody welt opened down his cheek. With a curse he caught her by the hair, jerking her head back as greedily he seized her mouth with his own, his hands catching hers and holding them still as she struggled frantically to escape him. Behind them the flute player played on.

  William was breathing heavily, sweat pouring from his face, and with a shudder she stood still, sensing suddenly that part of his excitement came from the knowledge that she was afraid. Raising her chin slightly, she stared at him disdainfully. He released her wrists immediately and she took a step back, proud in her nakedness, feeling his eyes on her body that only weeks before had been swollen and misshapen, but now had slimmed back, with the resilience of youth, to a lithe tautness. Only the fullness of her breasts betrayed the recent childbirth, and as she moved her head the heavy curtain of her hair swung forward to hide them from him. He licked his lips and slowly he began to remove his mantle.

  Once again she could hear steps on the spiral stairs at the corner of the chamber. They were coming closer. She could hear knocking—a loud insistent banging at a door. Near them someone was shouting. She ignored the sound, her eyes on her husband’s face, a flicker of mocking amusement showing in her expression as she saw him glance over his shoulder toward the rounded arch covered with a curtain that led toward the stairs. Abruptly he threw his mantle around her shoulders.

  “So,” he breathed. “We are interrupted after all, but only for a while. You will forget this little incident until we have another opportunity to be alone, do you hear me?” He drew her to him, his hands locked in the embroidered border of his mantle, her body pressed against his, his eyes fixed on hers. “You will remember nothing about it, nothing at all, but when I order you to come to me again, you will come, Jo, do you hear me? You will come.”

  ***

  “Jo!” Nick was banging on the door again. He tried the key a second time and cursed. “Jo? I know you’re in there. Open the door!”

  Outside the apartment upstairs a face appeared, peering over the winding bannisters. “She’s in there all right. I saw her earlier.” Sheila Chandler came down a few steps. “It’s Mr. Franklyn, isn’t it?”

  Nick gave her a brief smile. “She doesn’t seem to be hearing me.”

  “Perhaps she’s asleep. What with the baby keeping her awake and everything.”

  “Baby?” Nick stared up at her. He frowned with a sudden shiver of apprehension, mechanically taking in the immaculate wave of the woman’s hair and her elegantly cut silk shirt, then he turned back to the door and thumped on it with his fist. “Jo, if you don’t open this door I’m going to break it down!” His voice echoed up and down the silent stairwell and above him Sheila Chandler’s eyes rounded. Silently her husband came to stand beside her, staring down.

  When the door was unbolted at last they both craned forward. Only Sheila saw that it was opened by a man.

  “Sam?” Nick stared at his brother. “What the hell is going on? Where’s Jo?”

  Sam stood back to let him in. He closed the door, and as he did so Nick caught sight of a long raw scratch on his brother’s face. Sam was in shirt sleeves—two buttons from the front of the shirt were missing.

  “What the hell has been going on here?” Nick repeated as he thrust Sam out of his way and strode into the living room. It was empty. From the stereo the lonely, monotonous sound of a flute wove a pattern into the silence.

  “She went into some kind of spontaneous regression.” Sam was leaning against the wall, watching his brother closely. “She asked me to come over after she’d been having a series of nightmares about the baby—”

  “The woman upstairs talked about a baby.” Nick frowned.

  “That is the strange part.” Sam threw himself down on the sofa. “Apparently they’ve heard it wailing. Assuming the noises do come from this apartment, I can only put forward the hypothesis that the sounds come from Jo herself.”

  “You mean she’s crying?”

  “Either that or the sounds are being created by the strength of her emotions. You’ve heard of poltergeists! Noises created by energy charges within an individual.” Sam wiped his face with a handkerchief. Noticing the blood on it, he frowned. “She…she flew at me when I tried to restrain her,” he said quietly, dabbing at the scratch. “No, don’t worry. She’s all right now. She’s asleep.”

  Nick gave him a long, hard look. Then he strode down the hall toward the bedroom. Jo lay on the bed wearing her bathrobe, her hair loose around her shoulders.

  “Jo—” Nick sat down beside her and took her hands gently in his. “Jo?”

  “Don’t touch her.” Sam had followed him. His voice was sharp. “I was about to awaken her when you started trying to break the door down. May I suggest you go and pour us
all a drink while I sort things out in here?”

  Nick’s eyes narrowed. “I’d rather stay.”

  “I am sure Jo would prefer it if you did not. She would be extremely embarrassed to think you had seen her like this.” Sam walked to the bedroom door and held it open for him. “Wait next door, please. This won’t take long.”

  Nick hesitated, then with a shrug he walked through to the living room. He reached for the bottle of Scotch. It was empty, and he began to rummage in the cabinet, unconsciously straining his ears for the sound of voices. In the distance he could hear Sam’s gently monotonous tones, and on impulse he tiptoed back toward the bedroom door and listened.

  “Can you hear me, Jo?” Sam was standing over her now, looking down. “When you wake up you will remember nothing of what happened while you were hypnotized today, do you understand? You will remember that you asked me to help you, that is all. You will awaken calm and happy, but you will remember that next time I wish to hypnotize you, for whatever reason, you will agree. You will hear my voice and you will obey me. Do you understand me, Jo?”

  Nick pushed open the door. “What the hell are you saying to her, Sam?”

  Sam did not look around. “Do you understand me, Jo?” he repeated. “Now, when I count three you will wake. One. Two. Three.”

  On the bed Jo lay quite still, then slowly she opened her eyes. She looked around her, completely dazed, her gaze going past Sam to Nick.

  “You haven’t answered my question, Sam,” Nick said furiously.

  Sam smiled coldly. “Nor do I intend to. My methods of professional practice are none of your business.” He sat down on the bed next to Jo. “How are you feeling now? You had another little fainting spell,” he said.

  “Fainting?” Jo hoisted herself up on her elbow. “I don’t understand. What time is it?” She tried to sit up but Sam pushed her gently back against the pillows.

  “Rest a minute, Jo. You’ll be all right in a short time, I promise.” He pushed the hair back from her face with a cool hand.

  Jo was staring at him. “You!” she said suddenly. “You made me take my clothes off! You stood and watched me while that man was playing the flute. You said he was blind, but he wasn’t, he was watching too—”

  A frown crossed Sam’s face. “You’ve been dreaming, Jo,” he said. There was an edge to his voice.

  “Oh, no, I remember clearly. You ordered me to take off my clothes.” Her voice shook. “You had given orders that no one come in, hadn’t you? I expect everyone in the castle knew what you had planned for me. Did that make you feel big, my lord? Did it? Is that how you get your pleasure?”

  Jo scrambled across the bed away from him and stood up. She tightened the belt of the bathrobe. “What a shame that someone came!”

  “Dear God, she’s still in the past,” Nick murmured. “Sam, it’s happened to her again. For God’s sake, wake her up properly!”

  “Jo?” Sam ignored him. “Jo, calm down. Don’t you recognize me?”

  “Of course I recognize you!” She pushed her hair back off her face. “You’re—” She stopped short, groping for a name. A second later she put her face in her hands, shaking her head from side to side. “You’re not William,” she whispered between her fingers. “You’re not William, you’re not…you’re not.”

  Sam caught her wrists and pulled her hands away from her face. “Who am I, Jo?” he said. His eyes held hers.

  “Sam,” she whispered. “You’re Sam.”

  “And who is this with me?” He was still holding her wrists.

  “Nick.” Her reply was scarcely audible.

  He released her. “Fine. I suggest we all have a cup of coffee. Nick, rather than snooping in here, perhaps you could do that much for us?” He rounded on his brother harshly as Jo walked slowly over to her mirror and stood before it, staring at her face. Numbly she picked up her comb and began to draw it through her hair.

  With a shrug Nick went into the kitchen. His hands were shaking as he picked up the kettle and held it under the tap.

  Behind him, he did not see Sam walk swiftly down the hall to the living room, where he slipped the cassette into his pocket and then picked up Jo’s dress and her bra and panties from the carpet and stuffed them behind a cushion on the sofa. When Nick appeared he was standing at the open French window staring out across the square.

  “How is she?” Nick slid the tray onto the low table.

  “Confused and disoriented.” Sam did not turn around. “Give her a little time and she’ll be fine.”

  “She needs help, Sam. If this is going to happen spontaneously, for God’s sake! She needs psychiatric help.”

  “You seem to forget, Nick, that that is what I’m here for,” Sam said, turning at last to look at him. “I warned you both what might happen if she got involved in this. Now all I can do is help. And first I want to see to it she doesn’t go near that quack Bennet again.”

  “He’s in the States.”

  “Good.” Sam smiled enigmatically. “Long may he remain there.” He raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t told me, incidentally, what you are doing here. I thought you were in Paris until the weekend.”

  “I changed my mind. That was a pretty damn fool trick to play, sending Judy after me. What was the idea exactly?”

  Sam sat down. “It was her idea. I just gave her the name of the hotel. Where is she now?”

  Nick shrugged. “I told her to get lost.”

  “I see.” Sam’s gaze narrowed. “And you thought Jo would be interested to hear all this?”

  “I don’t give a damn if she’s interested or not. I was worried about her. I saw that article Pete Leveson wrote and I thought she must be going out of her mind to give him the story. You have seen it, I suppose?”

  “I’ve seen it. And she didn’t give, Nick. He took.” Sam stretched his legs out in front of him slowly. “I must say I think it was singularly naive of her to talk to him at all, but she’s not herself these days, as we can all see. I want you to leave her alone, Nick.” He sat forward suddenly. “Do you understand me? I want you to keep away from her. She can’t cope with any more hassle.”

  “I don’t think that’s for you to say, Sam.” Behind them, Jo had appeared silently in the doorway. She was wearing jeans and a deep-red silk shirt, unbuttoned at the throat. Her face was still very white.

  Sam climbed to his feet.

  She looked from one to the other. “I keep getting the feeling you two are trying to run my life for me,” she said. “I’m very grateful and all that, but I don’t need it.”

  “You do need help, Jo.” Sam’s voice was gentle. “And I think you realize it. That was why you called me this morning.”

  Jo bit her lip. “I wanted someone to talk to. But full-scale analysis, no.”

  Sam grinned back amiably. “You couldn’t afford me, love, not for full-scale analysis! But seriously, I do want to help you. I have to go home tomorrow. I’m giving a lecture on Friday and another on Monday at a postgraduate conference, but after that I can come back, and I want you to agree to see me then, just to talk things through.”

  She frowned. “I won’t need to, Sam. Really.”

  “If you really don’t need to, we’ll forget it, but if you have any more dreams, any more crying babies, then you must call me. Promise?”

  Jo sighed. “All right. I promise.”

  “I’ll give you my number in Edinburgh so that you can reach me there as well. And I don’t want you to go back to see Bennet. He’s away anyway at the moment, I gather, but he’s not competent to help you, Jo. He doesn’t know how to cope with the reactions he’s getting from you and, more to the point, neither do you. I know you’ll do the sensible thing.”

  Jo grinned. “You’re the first person who has ever said that to me,” she said. She reached forward and kissed him on the cheek, then she frowned. “What is that awful mark on your face?”

  Sam glanced at Nick. “I scratched it on some wire,” he said quickly. “Don’t worry. I�
�ll live. And now, I must go and get on with some packing. I’ll give you a lift back to the apartment, Nick, shall I? I’ve got your car. It’s parked around the corner.”

  “Then I’ll have the keys.” Nick held out his hand. “Perhaps you’d grab a taxi, Sam, if you don’t mind. I’ll come on later. I want to talk to Jo.”

  “It will be easier if we drive back together.” Sam’s tone was insistent.

  Stubbornly Nick shook his head, “I’ll be along later.”

  “Jo—” Sam appealed to her. “You’re tired. You don’t want Nick here.”

  “That’s all right, Sam, thanks. But I do want to talk to Nick, as it happens.” Jo smiled almost apologetically. She stood on tiptoe and kissed him again. “You’ve been very sweet, Sam. Thanks for coming.”

  Nick closed the door behind his brother thankfully and stood for a moment staring at it. Mortice, Yale lock, chain and bolt. Why the bolt, in broad daylight when Sam was here? He shot it experimentally.

  “What are you doing?” Jo was behind him; she looked apprehensive.

  “I was wondering why Sam found it necessary to bolt the door. Unless it was you, of course?” He eyed her thoughtfully.

  “I never bolt the door. What are you talking about?”

  The particular shade of burgundy silk she was wearing suited her exceptionally well. His eyes traveled to her breasts, outlined beneath the low-buttoned blouse. They seemed more prominent than usual. She was looking very beautiful. “Then Sam must have done it,” he said. “Did you ask him to hypnotize you, Jo?” He moved away from the door and picked up his empty cup. He stared at it absently.

  She nodded. “I heard the baby crying again and Carl Bennet wasn’t there and I didn’t know what to do, so I called Sam. He was marvelous, Nick.”

  Nick put down the cup. “He is pretty good, so I’ve heard,” he said cryptically.

  Jo smiled. “You heard right.” She raised an eyebrow. “So. How was France? I gather you had company while you were there.”

  “I thought Sam might just find it necessary to tell you she had come after me,” Nick said cynically. “It was the end of us, if it’s of any interest. As far as I know, she’s still there.” He glanced at her. “Jo—”