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I turned off the tarmac and took the gravel path that led to a bridge over a stream and into a field of rocks and brown-tinged wild grasses that edged the marshy wood. Eventually I came upon a moss-covered, crumbling stone cemetery where various Dufferins with important-sounding titles were buried. Some were so old the etchings were faded. It was overgrown and unkempt. I skirted around a mosaic of leaves stained with gold, orange, red, and brown, and stood at the edge of it wondering what I was really doing there.
A simple, old gray marble stone under a yew tree caught my eye. I walked up to it.
Here lies my child,
Marian Ella Dufferin.
1821–1822
I will not rest until my heart
is cut out from my cold body and
interred inside her little chest of frigid bones.
It began to drizzle but I stood for a long time mesmerized by the gruesome request. I tried to imagine such a blind, unthinking love. My mother never loved us like that. I slid my hand along the cold marble. Tomorrow I decided I would come back and tidy up the grave, pull out the weeds.
My hair was soaked by the time I reached the castle. It was enshrouded in mist and I felt again the sense of eerie sadness. The stones had absorbed it and radiated it.
I went up to my room, dried my hair, changed into warm clothes, and went to the breakfast room. Mrs. Littlebell nodded to me. She seemed to have thawed toward me. When I slid a piece of bacon into a napkin she saw me, but quickly averted her eyes.
I hung around until Misty arrived. She smiled at me.
‘How are you this morning? I saw you up and about so early.’
‘Yeah, I went for a walk to the cemetery.’
She picked up a plate and helped herself to two sausages. ‘How morbid. Why?’
‘I was curious about the history of this place. And I saw a really interesting baby’s grave. Do you know anything about it?’
‘Well, that will be Countess Isabella Thorn Dufferin’s child. Supposedly her ghost is unable to rest in peace because she wanted her heart to be buried with her child and her husband refused to allow it.’ Misty turned her face toward the window. Great big drops of rain were running down the glass like fat slime. ‘God! Another fucking rainy day.’ She plonked down her plate, now also with two slices of toast, and sat. ‘What will you do today?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe I’ll explore the castle.’
‘Have fun… Just so long as you keep away from the Lady Anne tower.’
As I was leaving the breakfast room Mrs. Littlebell hurried toward me. She had a little package in her hand. She gave it to me.
‘This is his favorite—black pudding, made from pig’s blood.’
I took it from her gratefully. ‘Thank you.’
*****
That afternoon I found the grotto. I had never seen anything like it before and I was fascinated. A room made totally from thousands and thousands of shells pushed into soft cement. There were mermaids carved into the wall and an old man with a long beard. Was he Neptune? The old man of the sea? My mother had told me about him. When I was leaving it I came across Ceba. He stopped and stared at me. I put the bacon and the black pudding on the ground and walked away in the other direction. When I was about twenty yards away I saw him standing by the food looking at me.
‘I’m not scared of you. I’ll get you yet, Ceba,’ I said softly to myself.
*****
Then it was nine forty and I was sitting on my bed naked but for my dressing gown, swinging my foot and listening to the sound of my slipper hissing against the floor. I realized that I was impatient for her to come. I wanted to go to him.
Misty arrived at nine forty-five. There was a strange expression on her face.
‘What?’ I asked her.
‘Nothing,’ she said and smiled.
We walked together to the room. Inside the room she turned to me. ‘Kneel on the bed.’
I knelt on the bed and folded my legs underneath me.
‘I am not going to bind you today, only blindfold you.’ She picked up the blindfold and held it in front of my eyes. ‘You will not remove your blindfold for any reason whatsoever? Is that understood?’
‘Yes.’
She secured the covering firmly around my eyes.
‘Please remain in this position until he comes.’
‘I will,’ I said softly, but in fact, my heart was soaring. It was a small victory, but it was an important concession. I would not be chained like an animal.
I listened to her footsteps die away and waited until I heard his. Now that I was not so nervous I could hear that he was not alone. Ceba was with him—his nails clicked on the wooden floor. Guy opened the door and came in alone. I heard the weight of Ceba dropping to the ground.
The door closed.
Slowly, I leaned forward until my bum was in the air and my nose touched the sheet. I inhaled the fragrance of citrus. I turned my face and laid on my cheek. I heard him come forward and stop in front of me. For a few seconds he did nothing, and the muscles of my sex contracted with anticipation. Then the mattress behind me gave way to his weight and I felt warm, strong hands grab my hips. His palms were so big they almost went all the way around my girth.
Without warning he swiped his tongue along my exposed slit with a long, lingering stroke. A small sound of pure pleasure escaped me. My thighs began to quiver as wet heat gathered between my legs.
He lifted his head.
‘You have a beautiful pussy.’
I frowned. Pussy must be slang. I had never even considered the idea that my sex could be beautiful. Surely everybody’s was the same.
As if he had heard my thoughts he elaborated. ‘Pink and fleshy and pouting like a spoilt child… And so fucking wet. You have a pussy that begs to be fucked,’ he said and inserted a finger into my sex and then two. He was stretching me again.
I swallowed with the sensations his stroking was producing inside my body.
‘Look at you. You’re dripping all over my hand. There is only one thing about you I don’t like.’
I said nothing.
‘Ask me what.’
‘What?’ I whispered.
‘I don’t like it that you are silent. Today when you come I want you to scream loudly and hard. I want you to wake the dead with your screams. Can you do that?’
He didn’t know that I had been reared in silence. I nodded.
‘A yes would have been better.’
‘Yes.’
He reached to my nape and gathered my hair in a bundle. With a gentle but firm grip he twirled it in his fist as if it was the finest silk that was running through his hands… And pulled. That way he brought me back to my knees and arched my body backwards. I felt him move, and sensed that his chest was massive, brawny, and full of muscles as it flashed around me before his lips covered the tip of my breast. I bit my lip as my nipple hardened inside the warm wet cave of his mouth. He removed the cave.
‘Don’t just bite your lip—moan, gasp, whimper, or say my name,’ he said softly.
I swallowed.
He sucked my nipple, hard. And this time I let myself go. I made a small sound that was totally foreign to me. Almost like an animal sound. When he left my nipple he pulled his head back and I felt his eyes on the tip as it hardened even more, as if it was yearning for the return of its warm cave. I pushed my chest out toward him.
‘My impatient one,’ he murmured softly and ran his palm over the over-sensitized tip.
My neck lengthened. My juices ran down my legs. ‘Ahhh…’
‘That’s better,’ he encouraged and ran his tongue along my exposed neck. By now I was aching for satisfaction. Aching to be filled by him. Still holding onto my hair he ran the four fingers of his other hand along my throbbing crack as I shivered with pleasure. It was too much and yet not enough. I stiffened with need. He brought those slick fingers to my lips and smeared my own juices on them.
‘Open,’ he instructed.
I opened my mouth and he slipped his fingers in.
