just one word, ‘Master! Master!’
Not until she had managed to thrust him down into the chair, saying, ‘Stay, stay, Master, for God’s sake, while I get Winnie,’ did a little of his sanity return, and he checked her with his hand gripping her arm. Then he wiped the sweat from his face while he gulped air into his lungs, and he continued to hold her until he had the power to speak, when he said, ‘Take . . . take it out and bury it.’
‘MASTER!’
‘Do as I bid you.’
‘B . . . but, Master.’
‘Go on, do what I say. And quickly.’
She backed from him and slowly went into the bedroom, and as if approaching a lion’s cage she went towards the bed. And there she separated the mother and child. The cutting of the umbilical cord was not new to her, she had helped her mother on several occasions. And she knew what to do with a newborn child; if it didn’t yell straight away you took it by the legs and held it upside down.
Frantically she looked about her for something to put round the child. Her eyes alighting on the mistress’s cashmere shawl, she grabbed it and put it over the infant, then rolled it on to its face so that she could lift it up without touching it. As she straightened her back it gave a thin cry, and at this her eyes and mouth sprang wide and her terrified glance went towards the dressing-room door, then returned to the wrinkled face peeping out from the fold of the shawl, and she muttered, ‘Oh, God Almighty!’ Placing the child on the day couch at the foot of the bed, she ran into the dressing room and, standing before McBain, she spluttered, ‘I, I can’t. I c . . . can’t Master, ’tis alive, breathin’.’
McBain had been sitting with his head deep on his chest, almost as if he was asleep; and now his whole body jerked upwards and he grasped her again, by both arms this time, and slowly he said, ‘Listen to me, girl. It’s for the best. You have seen it; imagine if it were allowed to live. Each time I looked on it I would see it as God’s hand on me in retribution . . . you understand?’ He stared into her red sweating face. He knew she was a simple girl and here he was asking her to understand something he was only dimly comprehending himself. It was all bound up with the saying that God is not mocked. Delia had been right, but he felt the retribution wasn’t because he had lusted with this young girl so much as that he had done it while praising God. Jesus Christ’s one abhorrence was a hypocrite, and the thing in there was God’s answer to hypocrisy . . . and in this moment he hated God for it.
‘No, Master, no.’ She was whimpering like a hurt animal.‘Molly, you love me?’
‘Aye, Master.’
‘Then do as I bid you. Look.’ He got to his feet, still holding her. ‘Take it to the copse and drop it into the pool, the bog part.’
Her head was back on her shoulders wagging in desperation. ‘But what’ll you say, Master, what’ll you tell them? Dead or alive, Winnie and Miss Jane, they’ll expect to see it.’
He shook her impatiently now, then whispered, ‘It came away in bits. Tell them that, it came away in bits and you put it in the muck cart. When you come back you can take the afterbirth and dump it there. Go now, go on.’
He thrust her towards the bedroom door, and like someone drunk she staggered into the room again. Stopping for a moment she looked over the foot of the bed at the inert, distorted, unsightly figure of her mistress; then she grabbed the small bundle in the shawl and crept out of the room.
When she reached the bottom of the stairs and heard a door above her open with a squeak, she knew that Miss Jane had woken up, and at this she took to her heels and flew through the kitchen, out into the yard, and along the road towards the copse.
Davie sat on the side of his bed looking out of the low attic window. The rain had stopped, the moon was shining and seeming to be wafted from one scud of clouds to another by the high wind that was
Not until she had managed to thrust him down into the chair, saying, ‘Stay, stay, Master, for God’s sake, while I get Winnie,’ did a little of his sanity return, and he checked her with his hand gripping her arm. Then he wiped the sweat from his face while he gulped air into his lungs, and he continued to hold her until he had the power to speak, when he said, ‘Take . . . take it out and bury it.’
‘MASTER!’
‘Do as I bid you.’
‘B . . . but, Master.’
‘Go on, do what I say. And quickly.’
She backed from him and slowly went into the bedroom, and as if approaching a lion’s cage she went towards the bed. And there she separated the mother and child. The cutting of the umbilical cord was not new to her, she had helped her mother on several occasions. And she knew what to do with a newborn child; if it didn’t yell straight away you took it by the legs and held it upside down.
Frantically she looked about her for something to put round the child. Her eyes alighting on the mistress’s cashmere shawl, she grabbed it and put it over the infant, then rolled it on to its face so that she could lift it up without touching it. As she straightened her back it gave a thin cry, and at this her eyes and mouth sprang wide and her terrified glance went towards the dressing-room door, then returned to the wrinkled face peeping out from the fold of the shawl, and she muttered, ‘Oh, God Almighty!’ Placing the child on the day couch at the foot of the bed, she ran into the dressing room and, standing before McBain, she spluttered, ‘I, I can’t. I c . . . can’t Master, ’tis alive, breathin’.’
McBain had been sitting with his head deep on his chest, almost as if he was asleep; and now his whole body jerked upwards and he grasped her again, by both arms this time, and slowly he said, ‘Listen to me, girl. It’s for the best. You have seen it; imagine if it were allowed to live. Each time I looked on it I would see it as God’s hand on me in retribution . . . you understand?’ He stared into her red sweating face. He knew she was a simple girl and here he was asking her to understand something he was only dimly comprehending himself. It was all bound up with the saying that God is not mocked. Delia had been right, but he felt the retribution wasn’t because he had lusted with this young girl so much as that he had done it while praising God. Jesus Christ’s one abhorrence was a hypocrite, and the thing in there was God’s answer to hypocrisy . . . and in this moment he hated God for it.
‘No, Master, no.’ She was whimpering like a hurt animal.‘Molly, you love me?’
‘Aye, Master.’
‘Then do as I bid you. Look.’ He got to his feet, still holding her. ‘Take it to the copse and drop it into the pool, the bog part.’
Her head was back on her shoulders wagging in desperation. ‘But what’ll you say, Master, what’ll you tell them? Dead or alive, Winnie and Miss Jane, they’ll expect to see it.’
He shook her impatiently now, then whispered, ‘It came away in bits. Tell them that, it came away in bits and you put it in the muck cart. When you come back you can take the afterbirth and dump it there. Go now, go on.’
He thrust her towards the bedroom door, and like someone drunk she staggered into the room again. Stopping for a moment she looked over the foot of the bed at the inert, distorted, unsightly figure of her mistress; then she grabbed the small bundle in the shawl and crept out of the room.
When she reached the bottom of the stairs and heard a door above her open with a squeak, she knew that Miss Jane had woken up, and at this she took to her heels and flew through the kitchen, out into the yard, and along the road towards the copse.
Davie sat on the side of his bed looking out of the low attic window. The rain had stopped, the moon was shining and seeming to be wafted from one scud of clouds to another by the high wind that was
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