Property of a Lady

I put out a hand to touch her face – her skin felt like cool satin and her hair was so soft and sensuous . . . But then, between one heartbeat and the next, I knew this was as far as I could go. She was too defenceless, too serene. I felt the madness drain from my heart.

I am not sure how long I stood there, the house silent and still all around me, the light still flickering over the bed, but I think it was quite a long time. Then there was the soft beating of wings beyond the window and the shriek of some small creature in the dark gardens as the owl pounced on its prey. It penetrated my frozen stillness, and I turned to the burning tallow and blew it out. It guttered almost at once, but it left a thin ghost-trail of itself on the air and a thread of evil-smelling smoke.

In the bed, Elizabeth turned her head and opened her eyes.

She saw me at once – I was standing against the partly-curtained window, the light behind me, and she must have seen an anonymous outline that she recognized was not her husband. She started back in the bed, one hand clutching the sheets about her in a gesture of defence – needless, of course, for I would not have hurt her. A door opened and closed below us, and there was the sound of someone coming up the stairs. Elizabeth screamed, and the footsteps quickened at once. I heard William Lee’s voice calling out.

‘Elizabeth? What’s wrong?’

He ran along the landing and burst into the room, and his eyes widened in horror. What he saw must have been as clear as a curse – the dark figure of a man standing in the room, his wife half sitting up in the bed, her hair tousled. I thrust the now-cooling candle and its macabre holder into my coat pocket and prepared to make a bolt for it, although where I would have bolted to, I have no idea. William stood between me and the door, and there was a forty-feet drop from the window, even if I could have got it open.

That was when he shocked me. He said, in a dreadful, sneering voice, ‘So this time you’ve brought your filthy whoring into the house, you cheating bitch.’

He was across the room in two strikes, his hand raised, and I waited for her to flinch, to defend herself verbally and physically. Indeed, I was ready to leap to her defence and be damned to them recognizing me.

But she said – and her sneer matched his and overrode it, ‘If I’m a whore, who made me one! If you could ever raise your manhood above half-mast I mightn’t have looked elsewhere!’

‘A decent woman would know nothing of such things,’ said Lee. ‘You were a slut before I married you – and your father glad to pay me to be rid of you and your whoring! If I had known that at the time—’ He turned to me. ‘As for you, whoever you are, get out of my house, for there is no gratification for your fornication here tonight!’

Through my panic and horror I realized I was standing with my back to the bedroom – in the dark bedroom he could not see my features. I started across the room, keeping my shoulders hunched and my face turned away, hoping I could get to the stair before he saw who I was, praying he would not attack me. But once outside I paused on the landing. My mind was still reeling from what I had heard, but if Lee intended violence towards Elizabeth . . .

I heard him say, ‘Tomorrow, Elizabeth, you will leave this house and go to wherever you choose. You will leave our daughter with me. I will not have her brought up by a trollop.’

‘Did you really think Elvira was your daughter?’ said Elizabeth, and she laughed.

I felt, rather than heard, Lee’s recoil. He said, ‘Oh God, you bitch. But on our wedding night—’ There was a pleading tone in his voice. ‘Elizabeth, surely that night—’

‘Did you count that as a demonstration of manhood?’ she said. ‘Or of fertility? I promise you, William, those few drops you managed to wring out that night would not have spawned anything!’ There was such derision in her voice that I winced.

‘But Elvira— Elvira isn’t my daughter?’ It was half a question, half a sob, and I felt a deep pang of pity for him.

‘Of course she isn’t. An inch of flabby skin that hangs like a turkey’s wattle, and you think it would father a child!’