A Mother’s Gift: Two Classic Novels. Josephine Cox
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He was enjoying every minute.
‘I’m sorry. Was I supposed to ask?’
‘Not now.’ Taking her blouse by the shoulders he ripped it clean off her back. ‘It’s too late to turn back now.’ Leaning forward he kissed her neck, then wiped his tongue along her throat. ‘If you’re game, then so am I.’
For the next fifteen minutes they played and touched and he took her without feeling or shame, with an insatiable hunger, and in the same aggressive manner that he might sink his teeth into a fat lamb chop or swill back a tankard of ale.
Afterwards, while she was dressing, he threw a few coins on the bed. ‘That’s for your trouble.’ He threw down another. ‘And that’s for what you’re about to do.’
‘And what might that be?’ This time, Lynette was not so sure of herself. He had been unexpectedly rough and slightly cruel, and she was right to be wary.
‘Fetch Lucy Baker to me.’ He wagged a finger in warning. ‘One word to her about what we’ve just done, though, and your pretty face won’t be so pretty any more.’
Astonished that Lucy would know such a man, she told him, ‘Lucy isn’t here.’
She had hardly finished when he caught her by the throat. ‘You’d best not be lying to me!’ he hissed.
‘I’m not lying.’ Fearful, she began to struggle. ‘She skivvies at the squire’s house, Haskell Hall – all the way over in Comberton village. She’s there now. Let me go, please. I’m telling you the truth.’
Throwing her on to the bed, he stood over her. ‘What time will she be back?’
‘I’m not sure. Five, maybe six o’clock. She likes to work long hours. She needs the money for—’
‘Shut your mouth!’ Taking hold of her he yanked her up and held her close, kissing her mouth, her hair, her eyelids. ‘How do I get there?’ His voice resembled the soft, deadly hiss of a snake.
Cringing at his touch, she told him, ‘Across the fields at the end of this road towards the water-tower.’
‘How far?’
‘Take the bridle-path, alongside the brook, towards the village of Comberton-by-Weir. It’s signposted. Head for the hilltop, and you won’t go wrong. Once past Overhill Farm, go down the other side and you’ll find the squire’s house half a mile on. It’s called Haskell Hall. You can’t miss it – a big old house with great trees lining the way up to the entrance. It’s about a mile and a half in all.’
Throwing her aside he scowled. ‘Ah, well. I suppose I’ve come this far, another mile or two will seem like nothing.’
Before he left he warned her again. ‘We had our fun and that’s an end to it. But one word to anybody, especially to Lucy, and you’ll rue the day. D’you understand me?’
Fearing for her life, Lynette nodded. ‘I won’t say anything.’
‘Good girl.’ For an unbearable moment he stared her out. ‘I expect I’ll see you when we get back.’ Grabbing her hair in a bunch between his thick strong fingers, he drew her head back and kissed her throat. ‘Oh look, you’re starting to bruise.’ With a devious grin, he screwed a straightened finger into her forehead until she winced. ‘Not a word!’ he whispered. Then he went on his way, whistling merrily as he strode briskly down the pavement.
So far it had been a good day, he thought smugly.
Seeing Lucy would be the icing on the cake.
Back at Bridget’s house, the woman herself had arrived; large-boned, with her mass of fiery hair and eyes green as a cat’s in the dark, she was as Irish as the Blarney Stone, filling the front parlour with her presence. She was astonished to find one of her young people in tears. ‘Hey now!’ She dropped her bag into the nearest chair.
‘Aw, will ye look at that!’ she exclaimed. ‘You’ll have eyes like split walnuts if you don’t stop the bawling, so ye will.’ Sensing a man was involved, she demanded to know, ‘Who was he? What did the swine do to you?’ She banged her fist on the dresser. ‘Sure, I’ll have the bloody head off his shoulders if he’s messed you up.’ And by the ample size of her, she was well capable of carrying out her threat.
‘It’s got nothing to do with any bloke.’ Afraid to reveal the truth, the young woman lied convincingly. ‘It’s just that I’ve had this awful toothache all day and it’s giving me some gyp.’
Bridget relaxed. ‘If that’s all, you’d best get yourself a drop of the hard stuff out of the dresser. That should see you through the night, and if you’re no better in the morning, you can take yourself off to the dentist. All right?’
‘All right.’ Lynette gave a sigh of relief. ‘Oh, and there was a man here … not a client or anything like that,’ she added quickly.
Bridget was disappointed. ‘Pity. So what did he want?’
‘He was looking for Lucy.’
‘Was he now? And did you tell him where to find her?’
‘Yes. I told him she was working over at the squire’s house. He’s gone there now, to meet up with her.’
‘Mmm.’ Bridget did not like the sound of it. ‘And what did he look like, this fella?’
The young woman shrugged, her bottom lip turning down as she pretended to recall his features; while in truth she would never forget them. ‘Rough-looking, I suppose, but handsome all the same.’
‘That doesn’t tell me much, does it? A description like that could fit anybody.’ Bridget threw herself into the chair opposite. ‘Come on, Lynette – what else?’
‘Well, he had a weathered face as though he’d been in the sun a lot, and he was carrying a kitbag.’ As the images burned deeper into her mind, her speech quickened, as though she wanted it all said and done with as swiftly as possible. ‘He was dark-haired and he had this look about him – a real mean, peevish kind of look. I tell you what, Bridget, I wouldn’t like to be Lucy if she’s got deep in with that kinda fella. No, I certainly would not!’
Bridget was curious. ‘For someone who’s got a bad toothache, you seem to have found enough time to get a real good look at him.’
‘Well, o’ course I did, because he stood on the doorstep and wouldn’t go until I told him where Lucy was.’
‘What, you mean he got nasty?’
‘No, I don’t mean that at all.’ She had not forgotten his parting threat. ‘He wanted to know where she was, and at first I wasn’t sure whether to tell him, then he stood his ground and I had no choice.’
‘So you told him, and he went?’
‘That’s right. I had to get rid of him. To tell you the truth, I didn’t like the look of him.’ Involuntarily, she shuddered.
‘I see.’ Bridget detected a great deal of fear in Lynette’s manner. ‘He sounds like a nasty piece of work,’ she said quietly. ‘You sure that’s not why you were crying just now?’
‘No!’ Leaping out of the chair, Lynette laid the palm of her hand over her mouth. ‘It’s this damned tooth. It’s driving me crazy.’
Bridget got out of her chair and wrapped her arms about the girl. ‘You’re to fetch a drop of whisky out of the cupboard, then get yourself off to bed. Come down later, when you’re feeling better. A good night’s sleep, then it’s the dentist for you first thing in the morning.’
Before Lynette left the room, Bridget had one more question. ‘This man … was he a sailor, d’you think?’
‘He could well have been a matelot,’ the girl said. ‘He did have a tattoo – oh, and sailors do have kitbags, don’t they?’
Bridget