Inheritance Feud

Chapter 58

Chapter 58

Samson the mulatto, who had waited two hours behind the rose-garden hedge, grunted with satisfaction. The woman wouldn't give further trouble till he'd got her to the boat, and not for a long time thereafter. They could be well out to sea before she came round, and then it was his master's concern what befell.

Cautiously, he wrapped Hermione's now lolling head in the sack again, more loosely than before; and moving with a care proportionate to his burden's light but valuable weight made his way down the slope towards the shore and the small-boat, already moored unobtrusively below. It was a better method than that of the shaft, which they had at one time, before William said Sam Aitken had made him place boulders on it, intended to use to convey Mrs. Hermione by force at night from her bed. But even with the steps and iron stanchions, carrying a woman down that way would not have been easy. Doon, however, thought everything was possible. Perhaps he had reason. Samson glanced once, over his shoulder and the weight still lying on it, back at the house of Baron, disappearing now as he descended the slope. "It will not be long before it is yours, my master," he thought. "Will you be content then?" For Theon's happiness was of great moment to Samson; had Doon not once saved his life?

II

Hermione awoke to an awareness of three things, she was in a bed; under the roughness of a single blanket she was n***d, and when she opened her eyes, which she did with reluctance, the world rocked and heaved. It was not only that they were at sea, and that this was the cabin of Theon's boat; so much she knew, and also that she was tipsy. They-Hermione blushed as she realised the significance of the word; it would have been the coloured servant who did Theon's bidding like a familiar of the devil-they had undressed her. Where were her clothes?

She looked about, aware of rising misery, anger and shame. They had taken her clothes, even her shift, away. Without them, how could she escape? She knew, as if she could read his mind, that Theon had long since planned every detail of her capture; that he would soon come, and that she had not -had never had-protection from him. He had always inten ded to have her. Why had she thought, even briefly, that it could be worth while to resist? No one could resist Theon. He came soon. She lay and looked at him in sick silence,

not moving or protesting as the cabin door opened, revealing

him as he stooped briefly below the lintel. He closed the door

but did not trouble to bolt it. What need has he? she thought

bitterly. It's his boat. Everyone on it does his bidding. The

cabin, she knew, reeked of brandy: her senses still swam, and her head ached badly. He showed no embarrassment, staring down as though he could see her, "You are awake," he said, though she had not spoken. "Does your head hurt?"

"I wonder that you trouble to ask," she replied unsteadily. She was assailed, at sight of him, by a creeping cold fear, a deadly lack of feeling. It was as though she were already a corpse, and whether or not he now ravished her had no mean ing as it would once have done had she been still alive. Like the dead must, she felt her flesh shrink back against the bones; she could neither shudder, withdraw nor protest. This was the final outrage, that Theon could have his way, and she feel nothing; she, the widow of Godfrey whom he had lately killed, could feel nothing. Theon... The faint, half-forgotten memory of the magical young lover and seducer of that early time at Mains, till now invested with some of the warmth and colour of youth, left her. This was a stranger, to whom she must yield because he permitted her no choice.

He made no haste to take her; she could feel the coldness in him also. He leaned for some time against the wall by the bed. "You know," he told her, staring past the sloping wooden walls which he could not see, and out to the unseen water sliding past, meantime empty of ships, "you know that I must compromise you to obtain Baron. There seemed no other way. I had to force it, Hermione."

"You do not flatter me, at any rate," she said grimly. She closed her eyes, and heard him talk on, to himself rather than to her. "Leave you there, queening it; while I took my place on the list as a possible suitor among others? I, an ex-convict? The time I called, your servants showed me the door by your order; had I persisted, the county would have had me removed in some way, as obstructive to their unchanging social pattern." The pale, compelling eyes turned on her, forcing her to open her own. "There is no limit to what your gentry may achieve in the way of thoughtless cruelty. Have I not suffered from it all my life?"

"My own father treated you with kindness and you reward him thus-"

"Ah, do not beg the question," he said, smiling. "Uncle Philip meant me to have you, and to have Baron, which is mine by right. Now I shall carry out his will-and mine." He laid a hand on her, pulling down the blanket from her n***d shoulder and breast. She writhed away.

"I loathe you, Theon," she said clearly. "Nothing is real to you except Baron, a pile of stones. It is an insult to my husband's memory to name him here, but he did more for Baron than you ever, with your idle dreams and boasting. could do in a hundred years-you brutal, lying, murdering, ravishing criminal do not touch me, now or ever, I will not, I will not-"