Susie (16 page)

The lucky man was a widower called Sir Arthur Ireland. Sir Arthur was a tall, thin, ascetic man in his late thirties of a somewhat monkish appearance. He had pale-blue eyes, pale cold hands, and a very thin mouth. His clothes were elegant and his manners perfect. On the day he proposed to her, he kissed her on the cheek with cold, dry lips, and Susie was enchanted with him.

His restraint charmed her. She was delighted with his cold appearance and built all sorts of fantasies around him to explain his reserve. He talked to her at length about politics, old china, food, and furnishings, and Susie drank it all in. When she tried to talk to him, he would wave her to silence. “My dear, when your mind is mature enough to have something to say, then I will listen.” And Susie gazed at him humbly and adoringly.

Giles read of her engagement and began to pack his bags. He could not remember being so angry in his life. He did not know whether he was angry with Susie or with himself. Susie had been supposed to wait in London until he, Giles, had made up his mind about her. She was certainly not supposed to go getting herself engaged the minute his back was turned.

He arrived on the day of Susie’s engagement party. He had not been invited, but that did not stop him from attending. The public rooms of Susie’s mansion were full of guests. The wines and food were of the best. For all her faults, Lady Felicity had trained Susie well. Her household was one of the best run in London.

Giles found Susie and her fiancé in the drawing room, accepting the congratulations of the guests. Giles stood for a moment, surveying Sir Arthur Ireland. He noticed the pale wide eyes and thin mouth. He heard Sir Arthur’s dry, condescending laugh and noticed the way he refused to let Susie speak. He was about to walk forward when he was hailed by an old school friend, Harold Blenkinsop. “Hallo, hallo, hallo,” said Harold breezily. “Didn’t think you’d let that little heiress escape from under your nose.”

“Perhaps Sir Arthur has charms that I can’t see at this moment,” commented Giles dryly.

“Ain’t got any as far as I can see,” said Harold. “We’re all mystified. Y’know, rumor went around when he was married to Margery Mannering that he never laid a finger on her. Fact! I mean, no hanky-panky. Say Margery went to her grave a virgin.”

“Must be twaddle,” said Giles, but his heart had begun to beat hopefully. He suddenly felt an imperative tug at his sleeve.

“Giles!” hissed Lady Matilda. “You must come through to the conservatory with me. I’ve got to talk to you.”

Giles meekly followed her through to that room, which was at the back of the house. “Now,” he said, shutting the glass door behind Lady Matilda and breathing in the hot, damp air, “what’s all this about?”

“I never thought she would marry him in a hundred years,” wailed Lady Matilda. “I was taken up with a cunning bit of tapestry, and I kept thinking to myself, ‘I’ll just finish embroidering this bush and then I’ll see what Susie’s up to,’ but, oh dear, one bush led to another bush and then to some tricky roses, and when I finally looked up, there they both were, asking for my blessing.

“But that’s not the worst of it. Sir Arthur is said to be desperately in need of money. He only wants her fortune, and she, she’s in love with him.”

Giles felt a hammer blow over his heart.

“You must elope with Susie this minute,” urged Lady Matilda.

“I can’t,” said Giles crossly. “You say she’s in love with this bounder.”

“And she’s in for a bad shock,” said Lady Matilda, dropping her voice to a whisper. “I remember his late wife, Margery, you see. She got a bit tiddly at some house party I was at, and she staggered up to her husband, Arthur, you know, and kissed him full on the mouth.

“Well, he just
looked
at her so, and then he took out his handkerchief and wiped his mouth and threw the handkerchief away, right in front of everyone, and Margery burst into tears and cried, ‘You never want to touch me. You never have.’”

“If Susie has a hard time of it, it’ll serve her right,” said Giles nastily. He could hardly believe that with the glorious Giles around, Susie could actually fall for another man.

“Oh, don’t be so pompous,” snapped Lady Matilda. “I’m fond of Susie. Go and put a spoke in that bounder’s wheel.”

“All right,” sighed Giles. “I’ll try. But Susie is not the easiest of people to talk to. Her mind’s always somewhere else.”

His heart sank when he saw Susie. She looked absolutely radiant. The Sleeping Princess was in love but had not yet come to life, he thought as he noticed the still-dreamy look in her eyes.

He shook hands with Sir Arthur and managed to edge Susie away into a corner.

“Aren’t you happy for me, Giles?” said Susie, laughing. “Oh, I know you said all that rubbish about marrying me, but you only wanted to keep me out of mischief. Arthur will take care of me.”

Giles took a deep breath and sent a prayer up to the gods to forgive him for what he was about to do.

“You know, Susie,” he said in an urgent whisper, “since your mother’s not going to tell you, I had better give you some advice.”

“Tell me what?” Susie glanced to where her mother and father were boring a bishop.

“Sir Arthur is a very experienced man, and experienced men don’t like cold virgins on their wedding night.”

Susie blushed. “I shall not be cold,” she said angrily.

“But have you ever really kissed him?” whispered Giles. “A man like that could get very, very tired of just holding hands. Look at him now!”

Sir Arthur had been talking to the notoriously dashing Mrs. Hunter, a redhead of impeccable lineage and doubtful morals. As Susie watched, Mrs. Hunter moved close to Sir Arthur and pressed her left bosom against his austere arm. Susie began to burn with jealousy. Also, Giles’s nearness was upsetting her in a way she did not like.

She turned and walked away from Giles to put a possessive little hand on her fiancé’s arm. But for once she did not hang on his every word. She was too busy turning various anguished thoughts this way and that. Arthur had never shown the slightest sign of passion. She had been grateful, extremely grateful, for the lack of fumbling and grabbing. She loved when he took her hand in his cold, dry one. Susie felt that there was something almost holy in her love for Arthur, and in that she was almost right.

She abased herself before him, she worshiped his monkish appearance, and hung on his every word.

The more she thought about the idea of exciting Sir Arthur to some display of passion, the more attractive the idea seemed. Arthur was so beautifully remote, so chaste, so withdrawn. Susie was experiencing all the thrills of the hunter, and Sir Arthur, pompously unaware of the Diana that was about to stalk his baser feelings, held forth on the disgraceful state of the British Parliament, implying with every word how much better things would be run if he were in charge.

Susie was so wrapped up in dreams of her campaign, that she had almost forgotten Giles’s very existence. Almost, but not quite.

She glanced briefly across the room in his direction and noticed again, in a detached kind of way, that he was extremely handsome. Those tilted eyes of his were glinting down into the eyes of a very pretty girl. Susie felt suddenly sad and cross and wished Giles would go away.

Finally all the guests had gone and Sir Arthur, who was Susie’s house guest, was left alone with his fiancée and Lady Matilda. Susie wished Matilda would take her threads and needles and bobbins and stitches and go away and leave them alone. But although she yawned and yawned over her stitchery, Lady Matilda stood her ground.

At last Sir Arthur said good night after placing a chilly kiss on his beloved’s brow.

Susie went to her own bedroom, her heart beating hard. Her body ached for Sir Arthur in a pleasurably exciting and quite novel way. She could imagine the feel of his dry fingers against her neck, caressing and stroking.

But Giles’s face had an irritating habit of imposing itself on the top of Sir Arthur’s body. Damn Giles! She would show him that virgins could be as alluring as experienced women.

Susie, who did not yet know what exactly her virginity was or how it was to be lost, prepared for battle. She mendaciously told Carter she was going straight to bed and, after the door had closed behind the lady’s maid, she began to amass her weapons.

She unbraided her hair, which had been pleated by Carter for the night, and brushed it down about her shoulders. She sprayed perfume all over herself and wondered whether to remove her nightgown and look at her naked body in the mirror, but that seemed an incredibly immodest act. The nightgown was of white satin. Susie wished it were black or some daring sort of color. But virginal white it was, and it would have to do.

She picked up a book and sat down to wait until the servants were all asleep. Once or twice her courage nearly failed her. But the memory of Giles’s mocking eyes spurred her on.

She began to daydream, and as she built up the dream in her mind, she began to feel more courageous, more fascinating.

She would go to Sir Arthur’s bedchamber and awaken him with a light kiss. His pale eyes would flash fire, and he would gather her in his arms and kiss her tenderly. Susie suddenly remembered the passion she had experienced when Giles had kissed her all that long time ago after the earl had died. Would she feel like that again? If anyone could make her feel that way, it would surely be Sir Arthur.

At last the heavy marble clock on the mantelpiece chimed two. It was now or never.

She put down her book, wrapped her dream more tightly around her, and crept gently along the corridor. With a fast-beating heart, she pushed open the door of Sir Arthur’s room.

He was lying on a cane-backed bed with the covers thrown back. The moonlight was streaming in through the open window.

Susie experienced her first qualm of doubt. He was sleeping with his mouth open, and he was wearing a long flannel nightshirt. He had smooth, hairless legs and very large feet.

She lit the gas, which went on with a loud pop, making her jump. She gave a final pat to her hair and approached the bed.

It is very hard to kiss someone who has his mouth wide open, so Susie leaned forward and kissed the tip of his nose.

He made a grumbling noise in his sleep and turned on his side.

Susie looked down at him helplessly. Then she shook his shoulder. He turned around slowly, opened his eyes, and stared at her. Susie stared tremulously back.

He sat bolt upright.

“Ot a oo ooing eah?” said Sir Arthur wrathfully.

Susie thought his face looked funny and odd, but she did not hesitate.

“I am yours, Arthur!” she cried, throwing herself into his arms.

“Et offame!” screeched Sir Arthur, unwinding her arms from around his neck.

He pushed past her, climbed out of the bed, walked over to the marble washstand, and, fishing his teeth out of a glass, popped them into his mouth.

“Now, young lady,” he said, clearly and distinctly, “what is the meaning of this?”

Susie was slightly cooled by the fact that her beloved had false teeth. But who was she to demand perfection? She rushed forward again and clutched his thin body to her own vibrant one.

He was cold and rigid; body, arms, face. She rained kisses on his masklike face; she told him she loved him and wanted him.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” said Sir Arthur. “Leave me alone. All this is mawkish and disgusting.” He was trembling with distaste and anger. “I thought you were a pure girl.”

“But we are to be married!” cried Susie. “We will sleep together.” In Susie’s innocent mind, sleeping together meant just that.

“Disgraceful! Sickening!” he spluttered. “Let me tell you now, young lady. We shall have separate rooms when we are married. I do not want to be subjected to this animal behavior again.”

Lady Matilda removed her ear from the door panel and went to telephone Giles.

“Go to your room this instant!” roared Sir Arthur. “I shall speak to you in the morning.”

Susie began to experience some of the fury that hell hath nothing like.

“You’re nothing but a dried-up old stick, a mummy,” she raged. “What is up with me?”

“You nauseate me,” said Sir Arthur cruelly, and then, too late, remembered the Blackhall fortune.

“Oh, my dear,” he said, obviously making a tremendous effort, “come to me. You must not take me so seriously.”

But now it was Susie who was shuddering with horror and distaste.

“I don’t ever want to see you again,” she sobbed. “Our engagement is off. I never want to set eyes on you. And take your bloody teeth with you when you go!”

She went out and slammed the door behind her.

Sir Arthur wondered gloomily whether to sue her for breach of promise.

Susie walked along the corridor with shaking legs and down the elegant curved staircase to the ground floor. She had but one thought left in mind—to get as drunk as she possibly could.

With a rare lack of consideration for her servants, she rang the bell and kept on ringing it, until a disheveled footman appeared and stared in amazement at the sight of his mistress dressed in her nightgown and with her hair down.

“Champagne,” said Susie curtly. “Iced. And lots of it.”

“Very good, my lady,” said the footman gloomily. Just wait till he told the others tomorrow! My lady was turning out to be just as much of a slave driver as the worst of that lot.

After five minutes Susie applied herself to the bell again.

“My lady?” demanded the same footman plaintively.

“The champagne,” said Susie feverishly. “Where is it?”

“I’m still chilling it, my lady.”

“Bring it up in an ice bucket.
Now!
”

The footman shook his head. As he crossed the hall to the green baize door that led down to the kitchen, he heard someone thumping and pounding on the front door.

“Who is it?” he called through the door.

“The Earl of Blackhall,” said Giles, giving the servant the full benefit of his title.

The footman had not been very long in service. Also, he was sleepy and flustered. He opened the door, and Giles strolled in. “Tell my lady I wish to see her.”