the acrid taste of hysteria in my mouth, in my throat, and I hated it.
“You kill me? Now, that is one of the most amusing things you have said to me
since I met you.” He shrugged. “As to the marriage contract?what nonsense, all
those silly promises to you. What can that possibly have to do with my wishes
now? It is just a worthless piece of paper, designed merely to calm your
anxieties, so that, my dear, you would consent to this marriage. And of course
you did consent. You were quite willing to have a supposedly harmless older man
take care of you after your grandfather died.
“Just look at you, white, trembling, your eyes so afraid they’re showing black
in the candlelight. Listen to me, Andrea. All women are whores at heart. You
cannot be that unlike the rest of your sex. You just need a bit of practice,
some experience, which I will give you, to learn about your true nature.”
“No, not all women are whores, that is ridiculous. My mother wasn’t a whore. No,
it was my father.” The instant the words were out of my mouth, I no longer saw
Lawrence’s face staring down at me, so close really, but I no longer saw him. He
simply faded into nothingness.
I was shaking my head, violently, and the words just erupted from my mouth. “No,
I don’t want to go back there.” But I didn’t have any choice. I was warding all
the blackness away with my hands, but it didn’t stop the images that were now
alive in my mind, a child’s mind. It was like yesterday, so very close to me,
beside me, at last finally inside me, and I couldn’t escape it. I had tried to
forget, but of course I hadn’t. I was there once again, and it was perfectly
clear. I saw myself as a child of eight, curled up on a window seat behind heavy
curtains in my father’s study. I was dozing over the book I had pulled down from
one of the shelves. I was awakened suddenly by low hearty laughter followed by
some very odd sounds. I looked out around the curtains. There stood my father
and a parlor maid, and they were tightly pressed against each other. They were
kissing each other frantically, wildly, he pulling at the cap that sat atop her
hair, his fingers streaking through the thick curls, and he was moaning and so
was she, and arching up against him, strange keening sounds coming from her
throat.
I didn’t know what to do, and so I stayed quiet and just stared at them. He
lifted her and tossed her down to the soft Turkey carpet, lowering himself over
her. I saw him pulling at her gown, tossing her petticoats up until they frothed
around her face. Her hands were on his shoulders, kneading him and pulling at
his clothes. She was moaning as his hands slid up under her petticoats. Her legs
came apart, her knees spread wide, and I watched my father pull back. He pulled
apart the buttons of his britches and pulled out this immense hard shaft of
flesh that was attached to him. And then he shoved it between her legs. I saw
her legs go up and clasp him around his hips. They were kissing and rocking back
and forth and crying and moaning, like animals, like animals, and they didn’t
stop, stop, stop.
My mother’s pale face appeared before my eyes. She was strangely silent, dark
shadows scored the delicate flesh beneath her eyes. She was staring at my father,
and I heard her scream at him of his lechery, his unfaithfulness, and it shamed
her to her soul. I felt her hatred of him and of Molly, the maid who had let him
throw her skirts around her face and stick himself inside her. And she was
screaming of other women and what he had done, and her humiliation and pain. But
he didn’t care. He just looked at her, then turned and walked away.
Suddenly, my mother’s face faded away, and I saw Molly’s face, heard her
dreadful screams. I knew then that I was in the servants’ quarters on the third