Inheritance Feud

Chapter 17

Chapter 17

That he had discovered her, and knew at least some of her secret, was too terrible a thing to think of all at once. Mrs. Retford would send her packing, back to Emmett's, and then

Morven Doon was smiling now, with closed lips. He looked like a tall young devil. Suddenly Livia knew she was in his power, to do with as he would. The light eyes shone. "You're lying, Livia."

"Oh, sir-"Suddenly she began to scrabble with her hands, red with constant scrubbing, against her apron. It was no use denying anything. "I'm not doing any harm, sir," she pled. "Please "

"If my aunt has a maid named Mary, whose name is really

Livia; and who, last year or so-What became of the child you carried, my wench?"

"It died." She was sullen now; it was only a matter of hours and it'd all end. She should have known it couldn't last; nothing did. Why couldn't she hate him more? She wasn't, perhaps, a good hater; she hadn't hated even Priddy, who'd undone her; or Gammer, who'd killed off her baby. He was still talking, that terrible young god on the stairs. What did he want of her now? It didn't matter, it didn't matter. "What is your other name, Livia?"

"Millarch," she said dully. Morven rocked on his heels a little, savouring the firm wood of the staircase. He was enjoy ing his power over Livia. He would, he had decided from the beginning, make her do whatever he wished; it was all part of the plan. To know a woman . . . and those breasts, when he could handle them, would ease his dissatisfaction with himself, with life. Already he felt less dissatisfied.

He took a step nearer. "When did my aunt say you were to return today, Livia?" he asked her. Her new colour fled. "Please, call me Mary, sir. The reference says Mary Reid. I I swear I'm not doing anyone harm, sir. If you'd keep silence, I-I work hard here, sir. It's a good place; I-ha'nt had a place before. If you send me back-oh, sir, you don't know what it can be like, back there; you couldn't know."

Her voice had dropped, not raised itself like most women's into a wail. He had begun to admire her; he found her, already, a challenge; most servant-girls would have become a weeping mass of jelly by now, but she-Morven came down the two remaining steps and took her chin firmly between his fingers, lifting her face.

"You have a pointed chin," he said, "and the eyes of a witch. You are a bad wench, Livia, I think. When did you say my aunt told you to return? I asked you, and you should have answered me. Answer your master."

She had closed her eyes. "Sir, four o'clock, but-"

He kissed her briefly, handling her in a way that left no misunderstanding. Afterwards, he was pleased with himself; she couldn't know, from that, he thought, that it was the first time he'd even kissed a woman. He kept up the swaggering pose he had allotted himself. "Four o'clock leaves little enough time to lay you down on a bed," he said. "I shall be in the north spinney this evening at half-past seven. You will come to me there."

"Sir-oh, no, sir! Please, sir, no!"

"If you do not come-" he varied the words with kisses, nips, more fondling-"if you do not, I shall tell my aunt you are not Mary Reid, but Livia Millarch; that you have had a child by someone; that you are not the good, reliable young woman the reference says; that you have wanton ways. Have you not, Livia?"

"No, sir, please, you see-"

"Then she will whip you, and send you back whence you came. And without a reference you will never find another situation. Is that not so?"

"Maybe." Livia was defiant; the pryings of his mouth and hands had aroused unwilling fires in her. Her red mouth set obstinately, tingling already where he had kissed it. She heard him laugh.

"Are we not sun and fire, wind and water?" he asked her.

"You will see." He watched her whisk away then with her broom and duster, saying she'd work to do; he was not deceived, she would come to him. He let himself out at the front door shortly and walked down the moss-grown steps, Doon of Malvie in his own mind, more so than an hour since. It wouldn't be the last time he crossed the threshold, or his sons. Livia should help him at the commencement of the plan. Afterwards, it would all become clearer.

She did come that evening, but not till he had almost ceased to expect her and was taut with anger. The sun had gone down and she wore her grey cloak and hood. Her face was still sullen and he could see, in the half-dark, that she'd been crying; when he drew her to him her cheek was still warm with late tears. "Why?" he asked her, mocking. "You're used to it, are you not?"

She did not reply. She let him handle and unlace her pas sively, as though she had been a doll. He was aware of a mounting excitement in himself; this was his first woman ...

Morven was not clumsy. Afterwards he remembered that he had at some time shaken her hair free of its riband, let it tumble down and run his fingers among it, just as he had promised himself a year ago he'd do. By then, there could have been no need for his hands elsewhere; they were lying together on the grass.

"There was this man before," he kept saying, bewildered, still half angry, at her passivity. "Was there only one, Livia? Was there?"

That it should matter was, he should have known already, strange. She herself knew. "I came, didn't I?" she said. "What more d'you want?"

"Don't you like me-Livia?" He had taken her swiftly by then; was it the first, second time? He remembered asking, afterwards, again, if she liked him. Why should it matter? She'd do as he said. He was more than himself, now, more than any man had ever been; emperor, conqueror. "Livia

She was lying quite still, the darkened grass beneath her averted cheek. He could see the black crescents of her lashes, as though she slept. She wasn't really asleep; she couldn't be; he shook her. "Livia, Livia!"

Suddenly she turned to him and he could see the slate-dark pools of her wly-opened eyes. Slowly, she slid up her arms and drew his head down, and kissed him on the mouth. "It's different when you do it," she told him. He wanted to shout with laughter, exultation. She went on talking. "I'd meant it should never happen again," he heard her say. "I

meant to turn into a good hard worker for her, and the rest.

But now ... well, it's different." She could explain nothing

further to herself or him. He was her man, she knew. She

would obey him. He kissed her again, and laughed. The moon rose for them presently above the trees. They hadn't felt the creeping cold of night, either of them, where they were lying together; now he felt her begin to shiver. "I'll have to go," she told him, "before they lock up." He watched, presently, while she entered by the garden-gate and into the house by the door which led through the kitchen. Morven waited for a while to make certain no untoward light shone out, meaning Livia was discovered; then he made his own way slowly back to Aaron's. They couldn't taunt him any longer, after tonight, with not having had a woman; no, by God! He felt himself, striding at last through the moonlight, different also, more massive in some way. He was a man; Doon of Malvie. The plan wouldn't fail.