Mistress of Darkness (54 page)

'No,' she whispered.

Corbeau's smile faded into a frown. 'You refuse to retire with your own husband?'

'I ... yes, in those circumstances. What do you take me for?'

'A woman,' he said. 'Who will obey me. Oh, I recognize that in many ways you are still a child, Georgy. It will be my pleasure, and Gislane's, too, I have no doubt, to make you into a woman. Will you assist madame, Gislane.'

Georgiana stared from him to the mustee, who moved forward, her face still impassive. 'You ... you will not do this,' she shouted. 'You will not. You ...' she swung her hand, and Gislane leaned backwards to avoid the blow. Then her arms were caught by Corbeau, and pulled behind her body.

He laughed in her ear. 'See how she flutters, Gislane. Do you remember fluttering like that, only a short while ago?' 'Yes, Louis.'

'You ...' Georgiana gasped for breath and kicked. But the mustee remained out of reach.

'I think I am going to be very happy,' Corbeau said, perhaps to himself. 'And do you know, I had wondered if a girl like this could ever truly make me happy. I told you to assist madame, Gislane.'

At last the black eyes moved, from Georgiana's face to Corbeau's, questioning, and receiving a nod of confirmation. Gislane came forward again, and Georgiana panted, and kicked again. But now she moaned with pain as well, as Corbeau twisted her arms, and there was no strength in her frantic movements. Gislane seized the thin material and pulled, and again. It ripped at the shoulders, slid down Georgiana's body, hung around her thighs for a moment, and then settled in a white mound on the floor.

'Bastard,' Georgiana screamed. 'Nigger lover. I hate you. By God, but Robert will kill you for this. Robert will...' she drummed her heels on the floor as she was dragged across it by her husband. Gislane was behind her now, and a moment later she was in the bed, and held there in turn while the mosquito netting was released to unfold, and leave the three of them confined and concealed within. Still she fought, twisting her body to and fro, kicking with her legs, but slowly the futility of it was reaching her, as Corbeau continued to smile down at her, and continued to hold her arms above her head.

And as Gislane slowly undressed, kneeling at the foot of the bed.

‘It occurred to me, this morning,' Corbeau said, 'that you had taken quite a liking to Gislane, Georgy. Or did you merely seek to humiliate her?'

'Bastard,' she shouted again. 'Wretch. Foul thing from the pit of hell.'

'But even wishing to humiliate someone reveals a considerable feeling for them,' he pointed out. 'Had that not been so, I would hardly be wishing to humiliate you now. And I do not, really mean to humiliate
you,
Georgy. Only the part of you that does not yet recognize that you are a Corbeau, and not a Hilton. Georgiana Hilton must be buried forever, together with her Hilton arrogance and her Hilton dignity and her Hilton prurience. I wish to replace all of those things with a Corbeau arrogance, with a Corbeau dignity, with a Corbeau ability to understand pleasure, and to take it. Only thus can we truly be man and wife. Only thus can you truly hope to attain, and hold my love.'

Georgiana panted, and heaved her body a last time, for Gislane was naked and kneeling beside her.

'You may kiss madame,' Corbeau said.

Gislane hesitated. 'Will she not bite me?'

Georgiana heaved and kicked; her legs were free. But they could not reach anyone.

'No.' Corbeau's face came lower, hovered over his wife's. 'You will not harm Gislane, Georgy. I made that plain earlier today. Do you remember?'

Georgiana sucked saliva into her mouth, pursed her lips to spit at him, and had her throat seized. She nearly choked.

'You will submit,' Corbeau said. 'To her, and to me. As we shall no doubt submit to you, my sweet. And besides, you do not want to fail yourself, do you? The ultimate reward, of possessing me, will go to the one of you who pleases me best. It would be a sad thing if, on your first night in your new home, you were bested by a
cafe-au-lait:

Georgiana discovered that her arms were free. Slowly, painfully, she brought them down from above her head, and found them around Gislane's shoulders.

Dawn, and the sounds of an awakening sugar estate. For a moment Georgiana supposed that she was still on Hilltop. There was the same stealthy rustle throughout the house, the same muted bustle from the distance, where the slave gangs were beginning their task of weeding the fields, the same distant clangs from the blacksmith's shop and from the factory.

But there were other sounds as well, and these were unfamiliar to her: the constant rustle of trees by the river, the constant low rumble of surf, only a mile away on the beach where the Atlantic rollers came to a throbbing rest, and with these unfamiliar sounds, unfamiliar smells; where Jamaica had smelt hot, and at times even parched, here the sea-breeze wafted gently through the bedchamber, and carried with it the accumulated moisture of the ocean. It was a clean smell, a healthy smell; it made her awake with a curiously clear head, a feeling that this day much could be accomplished.

And in a few moments it also brought memory. She sat up, her entire body clammy with sweat, her heart pounding, her cheeks burning. But she was alone in the bed. Although there could be no doubt, from these tumbled sheets, these body-scented pillows, that this bed had been shared, and shared, and shared.

Cautiously she stroked her lips, which were sore, and felt slightly swollen. Thoughtfully she pulled her fingers through her hair, which was tangled, and lay in a mass on her shoulders. Tentatively she rolled the sheet back from her waist, and the flesh on her left thigh seemed to turn blue as she looked at it. She could not remember receiving the bruise. But it could have been caused by any one of a number of embraces, of sudden movements, of passion-filled undulations. Because in time she had been as passion-filled as they. 'Oh, God,' she whispered. How could she ever look at them again? How could she ever look at anyone, again?

How could she ever look at herself, again?

The crisis was closer than she had suspected. Strong white fingers were reaching through the mosquito netting, to gather it into a cloud, and whisk it away from the bed, in the same movement securing it with its cord. The room ceased to be a mist and became startlingly clear, and almost cool. And the mustee stood by her bed, dressed in a blue gown, black hair severely restricted to the top of her head, magnificent face etched across the morning, unbruised and unmarked, black eyes as impassive as ever.

'Good morning, madame,' she said. 'I am afraid that I quite forgot to ascertain whether you preferred chocolate or coffee, and so I have had both prepared.'

Georgiana stared at her. Should I then, take your hand, and kiss it, she wondered? Or should I instead kiss your lips, your body, hold you once again in my arms, as you held me last night?

'Madame?' Gislane repeated, patiently.

'Coffee,' she said. 'I will have coffee. And a mirror.'

'Of course, madame.' Gislane fetched the mirror from the dressing-table, handed it to her mistress, then returned to the table for the cup of coffee. Georgiana found her hands trembling; she had to hold the glass in both hands to see herself. Georgiana Hilton. Oh, no, no, no, no. Georgiana Corbeau. Now, and forever more.

The coffee waited by her shoulder. She laid down the mirror and took the cup, and her fingers brushed the other's. She would not look at them, buried her nose in the cup as she sipped.

'It is ten o'clock, madame,' Gislane said. 'And your bath is waiting. The master went aback some hours ago, but he invariably returns at eleven, for breakfast. He has invited you to join him there.'

The master. Oh, God Almighty, the master. She had quite forgotten his existence. Because he had been the least important of the three of them. Until the very end. The very end, when she had been defeated and yet been allowed to possess the fruits of victory.

'It is her first night,' Corbeau had said, gently, smiling at her. 'We will allow her the honour.'

And Gislane had also smiled. Contemptuously? But then she had not cared.

Yet must she now ape the mustee's calm, her self-possession. 'And do you also attend breakfast, Gislane?'

'No, madame.' Gislane held up the undressing robe, and waited.

'But you have, before.'

'Yes, madame. For my first three months on Rio Blanco I was permitted to play the lady of the house. The master found it amusing.'

'And the master must always be amused. Does he ever punish you?'

'To punish me would be to destroy me, madame. The master is a very sensible man.'

'But he knows, your hatred. Does he not fear that you might poison him?'

'Of course not, madame. Should I poison the master, I would be executed, by the government. Had I not a strong desire to live, I could easily have found many less painful or humiliating ways of dying, during the past five years.'

Georgiana smiled at her. 'So, you are a coward, and a woman of no moral stature whatsoever. As I always suspected.' She got out of bed, turned her back to allow the undressing robe to be draped around her shoulders, and felt the fingers again. This time they rested on her flesh for a moment. No doubt deliberately.

'Indeed, madame. It has occurred to me that moral virtues have little to do with survival. The two things are incompatible.'

'And a philosopher,' Georgiana declared. 'But then, I have observed that philosophers are invariably also cowards. They prefer to meditate than to do. Yes, I am ready for my bath.'

Was she acting? She could not be sure. She sat in her tub, and this time the girls were allowed to remain, and assist Gislane in her ministrations. Because she was sated? Or because she was afraid that otherwise she might not be able to contain herself? Was she then realizing that her life on Hilltop had been no more than a primitive existence, magnificent as she thought it at the time? How Louis must have smiled, at their simplicity, their inadequacy.

How he must have wondered, if his chosen bride could possibly rise to the heights of opulent omnipotence, in thought and word and deed, which was his privilege.

A knock sounded on the door as she was being dried. Gislane glanced at her, and received a nod. The towel was wrapped around her shoulders, to hang down to the floor about her, while one of the maids hurried forward to open the pink and white satin.

'Madame de Morain, wishes to call upon Madame Corbeau.'

Gislane's glance was this time surprised. Georgiana smiled. 'Come in, Angelique. Come in.' She crossed the bedchamber, Gislane hurrying behind her to keep the towel in place. 'How good of you to call.'

Angelique de Morain swept into the room in a flurry of rustling skirts, looked around her for a moment, as if she was a stranger to this part of the
chateau
- which was something to know, at any rate, Georgiana decided - and then held out her arms to envelop the young woman. And kiss her on the cheek. Now, Georgiana thought, what would she say were I to kiss her on the mouth, seek out her tongue, allow my hands to stray from her shoulders. How long would it take that scandal to travel from one end of St. Domingue to the other.

'Oh, my dear,' Angelique cried. 'I just had to come and see if you were all right.'

She stepped back, and seemed to notice Gislane for the first time.

'But of course I am all right,' Georgiana declared. 'Did you suppose Louis had flogged me? You may see for yourself.' She shrugged herself free of the towel. 'Those marks are several days old.'

'Oh, my dear,' Angelique cried, and glanced anxiously at the servants.

'They are about to dress me.' Georgiana walked across the room to stand before the mirror, raising her arms to allow Gislane to spread the powder. 'You'll stay to breakfast, of course.'

'My dear,' Angelique said. But she advanced farther into the room. 'I should adore it, but I am on my way to Cap Francois. I but stopped ...'

'To make sure I was all right,' Georgiana said. 'I hope you are reassured.' She bobbed her head as Gislane dropped the shift over her shoulders.

'Oh, indeed I am reassured.' Angelique was frowning. 'You have not introduced me to your friend.'

'Friend?' Georgiana stared at them in the mirror, puckering her mouth in delicious bewilderment. 'I have no friends here, Angelique. Saving you, of course, my dear.' Once again she stared at the face behind her. 'Oh, you mean Gislane. Gislane is not a friend, my dear Angelique. She is my maid.'

'Your ...' Angelique de Morain's mouth made a perfect O.

'Her name is Gislane Nicholson. Of course, she is not only my maid. She is also Louis's housekeeper.' Angelique's mouth snapped shut.

'And she is not white, you know,' Georgiana said. 'She only appears to be white. She is ... what are you, exactly. Gislane?'

Was the girl angry? It was difficult to tell. There was not even colour in her cheeks. No doubt, during her years as a slave, she had heard herself discussed like a cow sufficiently often to become used to it.

'I am a mustee, madame,' Gislane said, quietly.

'Who hates me, and would kill me, had she the courage,' Georgiana said happily, nibbling Gislane's ear as her gown was settled in place and her sash secured.

'Good heavens,' remarked Angelique de Morain. 'I wonder you bear the creature's presence.'

'I do not know how I could exist without her,' Georgiana remarked, and wondered if she was not, on a sudden, telling the truth. 'Besides, you know, she makes Louis so very happy. Now come, Angelique. You'll at least take a cup of coffee?'

'No. No, I simply must rush. Isn't the news terrible?'

'News? What news?' It was Georgiana's turn to frown.

'The news from Paris, of course. There have been bread riots. Can you believe it? Rioting for bread? And then, that horrible business with the necklace.'

'What horrible business with the necklace? I must confess that I have never been to Paris.'