‘For pity’s sake, the baby,’ said Thomasina, sounding exasperated. ‘I thought you knew that. I thought you understood.’
But Maud had not known and had not understood. She did not really understand now. All she knew was that she was being half suffocated by a man whose breath smelt of sour wine, and whose body smelt alien and sweaty, and who was doing something to her that was starting to hurt very much indeed.
‘I know it’s horrid, my love,’ Thomasina was saying, and the exasperation had gone from her tone now. ‘But it’ll soon be done, and then it’ll be worth it. You know that. It will be our child, really, yours and mine.’ Incredibly, her free hand came up to stroke Maud’s hair and then moved down to caress her breast.
But Maud could not spare any attention for Thomasina, her whole being was focused on Simon, on trying to get free and on fighting the pain. Whatever Simon was doing, and however he was doing it, it hurt. Something was slamming hard into her, setting up the same kind of pain she had every month–the pain you must never talk about, only to a doctor. But it had never been as severe as this.
‘Almost there,’ said Thomasina’s voice in her ear. Maud wanted to shout at Thomasina to shut up, because it was not Thomasina lying here, being crushed and with this rhythmic banging going on and on inside her, bruising and tearing…
She began to sob and hit out at Simon’s face, but Thomasina caught her hands at once and imprisoned them. ‘Little cat,’ she said lovingly. Maud heard, with a fresh wave of panic, that Thomasina’s voice had taken on a familiar thick throatiness. She’s finding this exciting, thought Maud, and this was almost the worst thing yet, because Thomasina ought not to find this brutishness exciting.
Simon’s face was only inches from Maud’s and his breathing was beginning to sound like the pumping of a rusty engine. Thomasina was telling him to go on, go on, Simon, and saying something about the bloody wine, told you not to drink so much, if you lose it now I’ll kill you…
She thought Simon gasped something about being nowhere near losing it–‘Hard as the devil’s forehead, trust me for that, you bitch.’ The pain slammed deeper, tearing her to shreds, and then the rhythmic pumping suddenly became very fast and the pain scaled impossible heights, and Maud began to sob and tried to fight him off, but he was too strong for her. She half fell into a black spinning cavern where there was only the pain and the crushing heaviness of his body.
Simon let out a groan and slumped down, his face buried in Maud’s neck so that she could feel his bristly chin. She really must be bleeding, because there was a thick wetness between her legs, and if it was blood it would be all over the sheets, and that would serve Thomasina right because she would have to explain it to the servants…She wondered if she would bleed to death. Then she wondered whether she cared, because the world had shrunk to this firelit room and the smell of sweat and stale wine, and to the cramping pain at the base of her stomach.
Simon rolled off her, still gasping hoarsely. His eyes closed and he dropped into a dreadful snoring sleep. His mouth fell open and the stale wine on his breath gusted into Maud’s face. Even so Maud drew in a shuddering breath of relief, because whatever this had been, it seemed to be over.
After a space of time that might have been two minutes or two hours, she was roused by Simon stumbling back to his own bed. He paused at the door, and smiled across at Maud: it was a fuzzy drunken smile but his eyes still had that horrid, knowing, gloating look. He said, ‘Sleep well, Maud,’ and went out. Thomasina stood at the side of the bed for a moment, looking down at Maud, smiling the same terrible smile. Then she followed Simon out of the room.
CHAPTER NINE