Mad Alice Lane

Chapter Six

"Samuel?" I said, worried by his deadweight. "Samuel?"

He lifted himself on to his elbows and placed a kiss on my lips.

"What a lovely creature you are. Lord forgive me, but I think of you often, Alice. I find that I am only sorry that I could not bed you properly."

He drew himself off me, and began to tuck his undershirt into his breeches when he spotted the blood on my shift.

"I hurt you?"

"No, Samuel," I tried to reassure him with a smile. "But I was a virgin."

"A virgin?" he looked horrified.

"Yes," I said, offended at his shock. "Of course, I was."

"Dear Lord. What have I done?" He took my hand in his. "You must forgive me, Alice. I had no idea; if I had known-"

"This would not have happened?"

"I-"

"You did nothing that I did not wish you to. I came to you willingly, and I would do so again."

He was silenced. I quickly pulled my shift and dress to my ankles, and he buttoned up his breeches. We were suddenly awkward in each other's company. I had not thought to question my actions so soon. Was I now worthless? Had I simply fulfilled a purpose?

He turned to leave, but finding the door locked, looked back. I reached into the pocket of my dress and retrieved the key. He was on the threshold before turning; he came to me once more. He kissed me softly on the lips, cheek and finally, forehead.

"Had I known, I would have been more gentle and given less thought to myself. I seem to forever be making myself a monster in your eyes and I am truly sorry for that. I will make it up to you, on that you have my word. Goodnight, Alice; and thank you."

That night I slept with a red leather-bound copy of Robinson Crusoe under my pillow and dreamed of desert islands.

Despite our awkwardness the night before, there was no question in my mind, nor, I believed, in his, whether we would meet in the library on the following evening. While at first we resumed our lessons - I had long since moved past Dafoe and could then boast a reasonably elegant script - as soon as our bodies brushed against each other, it didn't take many seconds for our lips to follow suit. Our initial encounter had been borne out of grief and comfort, now a relationship far beyond teacher and student was blossoming, and it seemed impossible to deny it.

My fingers no longer fumbled at his buttons, nor his hands around my shift. After that first painful, misunderstood encounter, we were beginning to learn each other's bodies as I had once learned my letters. I responded to his touch with pleasure, and in turn, he looked me in the eyes when we made love, and his monster fed by the grief for his lost daughter was temporarily assuaged.

He was a moral man, however, and some nights we did not touch at all, while others I was left to sit on the little stool on my own in front of a dying fire with only a book for company. He never explained these absences and I knew his conscience was torn.

I thought that I would feel more torn myself if I had had any loyalty for his wife, Priscilla, but I had nothing but dislike. In the four years she had been my mistress, I had never had a pleasant word from her; the best any of us hoped for was civility. She was not the gentlewoman of my imaginings but still she was no tyrant; simply a woman who never looked beneath her. I gave no thought to her feelings until one day I learned that she was with child again.

My emotions were a mess of anger and guilt: anger that Samuel was still undertaking his husbandly duties with her, and guilt that I was participating in adultery. I even felt pity for the woman but not as much as I felt for myself, a mere servant. I could offer only illicit temporary comfort while she occupied his bed.