Chapter 32

Her Dedicated Hell

 

The first day lived in our new home would evidently be our last, for the following dawn we were accosted by criminals so fearless as to beat upon our door and demand entry. Despite the dog’s ferocious audible protection, the beating and murderous shouting outside did not cease. Rape and pillaging were no concern, in that I had become accustomed to the former during the night, and the particular horde would not be absconding with the furniture since she had primarily come to awaken her master lest the fool be late his first day of new employ.

“Kill!” was my instruction to Randolph upon opening the door, and a good licking he gave the servant, who then set to giggling worse than Eric had after each instance of ravishing me throughout the evening.

Into the bedchamber went I with the dog, who evidently had slept the night upon me, in that I was covered with his fur. Into the bedchamber to have Randolph leap upon his master’s spine and bark enough to arouse the dead. But Eric was not dead, only drained; and only after I struck his flank with his own boot did the cur consent to awaken, aware then of his dilemma, up and on with his clothes, the wife pleased to see that for once in their married life his man-stick was a twig and not a trunk.

An astonishing change had transformed this sinner during the night, for hair had appeared on his face. I thought the dog had slept upon Eric as well, all that beast fur against his skin causing a similar growth; and should I therefore expect a coat to arise from my entire person any moment? But, no, male sinners had hair on their faces akin to that of average animals, though godly beasts do not scrape the stuff off each morning. And so did Eric proceed, Elsie down to the common well to retrieve water thereafter heated for the master on our personal wood stove, whose fire was enclosed, praise God, though the entire object was metal, curse the devil. After lathering his face with a fattish smelling soap, Eric nearly killed me. A horrifying knife he began rubbing against a piece of dead animal hide, and then—and then he cut away at his face as though skinning himself or murdering himself or cutting his own breast away. I could not look, though he did, staring into a looking glass to make certain that he slaughtered himself properly. Immediately I searched for a bag wherein I could pack my things and abscond, but since nothing was present I cared for, I would exit alone. But Miss Elsie would not allow this because I was yet in my nightclothes: no running away from the beard until properly dressed. And wait till he’s nicking himself, lass; then you’re truly to be upset.

So mad was all this humor that I determined to remain, for Eric was departing regardless.

At least he wore no wig.

Out the door with him and away from my body. Then to convince the servant that my wedding night had been as joyous as she wished. Now straighten the bed, miss, for this be a servant’s chore despite any connubial horrors you might encounter there.

Eventually I settled in this day by awakening fully, the poor disposition brought by the criminal horde at my door and the one in my bed dissipating. Unfortunately, it was replaced by a more intrusive emotion, one to have nearly vanquished me before, in an even wilder environ. I envisioned boredom. Was the previous night the measure of my married life to come? Would my existence be one of buttocks so constantly sore that I could only walk obliquely, Elsie thinking that I was lost, when in fact my bottom was simply impossible to guide? This sexual exposure had so entrenched Eric’s gender stench in my own skin’s crevices that the first morning after our marriage’s consummation, I well took to sprinkling myself with a lady’s powdered scent, but only after first applying ground tea, a preferable material that unfortunately would not adhere. Observing this activity, Elsie gained great satisfaction along with enlightenment, understanding that no more was required to make me a lady than a million consecutive butt couplings, and so might society be defined.

In this manner, my days proceeded. My greatest concern was Rathel’s response to learn that after all her years of devious effort, after planting the killer witch upon her victim’s very man-stick, Eric yet remained alive. This fear of further vengeance was more discomforting than any tribulation of my average married day. Eric awoke each morning with difficulty only to be at his face with a satanic blade, then vanish. After his exit, the dog and I would walk endlessly while Elsie ruined the home by making it spotless, stoking the fire, emptying the chamber pots, washing the laundry and thereby removing my own smell from my own apparel. Toward the day’s end, Eric would return from his accounting. Then we would eat, speak of nothing, and soon the odor in the man would rise, his wife thereafter walking the dog until she could no longer stand, returning home to receive her husband’s smells within her warehouse (rear entry) until she could no longer recline.

As part of ruining the household, Elsie prepared meals, and I nearly wept to find that my own personal home would not be free of burnt animal flesh. Elsie and Eric insisted that the race of sinners could not live without meat longer than a few days, so a few days after the wedding, fat they did seek. In my foolishness, I believed the traitors until Elsie came home with chops, which immediately I wrested from her and hurled through the open window onto the street, thereafter wiping my hands madly across my hem to remove the death smell; and damned be my spirit if I would allow Randolph out the door to gain the flesh himself. Then I shouted in a sane fury that I would take all of Eric’s flesh infinitely within me and accept Elsie’s having her way throughout the house, but with God as my moral support, no living creature would eat another in my home unless I was killed and eaten first. Thereby did I become mistress of the household.

From that tirade on, I became known by my own husband as the little Rathel. The Dentons remained vegetarians, however, though the heinous dog was oft found sneaking home with lizards on his breath, but he had an excuse in being only human. Everyone else but me was a sinner. And I was gaining vast power over these people. So much they loved me, I believed, that through my own implacable will and crafty wisdom I would connive them into abandoning London and venturing with me to live in the wilds. But I knew in my heart that the three would kill and eat me first.

• • •

In this manner, my weeks proceeded. Since Eric was too poor to afford the opera (praise God) despite his desire to attend this function with me, the husband and servant presumed that a substitute would be church attendance in the very chapel in which all three of us had been wed. They did not understand, however, that my God lived in forests, not the caves of these sinners’ buildings. Not being so foolish as to argue about God and thus be expelled from the household as Lutheran, I did well attend services with my family. There came boredom again, though no desire had I to exchange the church choir for musical theater. More and more, however, I mentioned mountains.

Eventually I became better at this married life, if only because a quantity of Elsie’s oil for cooking plant life I kept near the bed to dip the husband in too often each evening with no explanation to the servant and none dared sought. Occasionally Miss Elsie slipped over to the Rathel’s to visit the local servant populace. Always did Amanda herself well meet the miss for news of the young marrieds, though no direct query was made as to the quantity of Eric’s phalli. All was bliss according to Elsie, who never conveyed to me any negative response from her former mistress. Then the other raft of relatives became subject in our tenement, for a side of this family existed apart from my (my?) own.

“Mrs. Denton,” Eric offered one evening before molesting me throughout the night, “I am considering presenting ourselves to my parents in order to demonstrate how excellent a life we have achieved. Upon comprehending my safety and happiness, Father will not refer to you in the wicked manner as before, but well apologize in his goodness.”

“Bless us all, sir, for your father’s goodness, a mendacity so vast as to cure the world of its unkind emotions. But if you recall, Mr. Edward’s previous characterizations of me were accurate. He might therefore apologize for what? After all, you were the one to steal his dog.”

“He might have described the events about you with some accuracy, but his depictions of you did not include true understanding. His talk was of murder and evil, whereas you are all sweetness and virtuous living—excluding your starving your husband and raving on about hill land and the like.”

“Sir, I am not distressed by your father’s misconstruing me. But if ever again he applies to his son the hatred he displayed in this flat, I shall slap a sense of Jesus into his sinning mouth.”

“Please, Alba, you speak of my father.”

“Indeed. Make your own plans, sir, for our being received at the Dentons’ household. During this visit, if one befalls us, I shall remain most ladylike, for here I am glib and capable. But presume suffering, for what if we have not waited long enough? What gain in achieving nothing but your weeping, for which the cruel wife shall berate you? Is your life so lacking in excitement that you seek parental agony? Am I not the one bored in this household, whereas you and the pets are ever amused?”

“And how is it you are bored, miss?”

“Missus.”

“How is it you are bored, missus, in that the suffering of your prior life should have provided you with excitement to last for at least one full marriage?”

“I am bored, sir, because women do not ejaculate,” I retorted. But before he could implement his gender’s endless capacity therein, the wife walked her dog for the evening.

• • •

After church one Sunday came a person to our door, most unusual in that the few visitors to our home were salesmen of useless household implements, except for the one so practical as to provide me with an instrument for his castration, in that his wares were razors for shaving. These vital business folk never appeared on the Sabbath for fear of being stricken to death by Jesus, no doubt, though other days were scarcely less provocative considering Elsie’s commendable threats of sending Randolph’s teeth directly into their goods or their guts. But the person coming that Sunday had most durable goods, so it seemed, in that Eric grasped the man with an embrace I rarely allowed him, this entwining followed by glad speaking and happy laughter. And after the husband greeted his guest, the wife had a cackle to see Lord Andrew.

The gent was well set within our home, Elsie fulfilled to be serving tea to so fine an individual. To begin his conversing, Andrew stated his difficulty in finding us.

“For a month, I’ve been asking Edward to describe your location clearly, but for some reason he has been unable. Finally, I contacted Amanda Rathel, who has a better memory than my son. But at my age, this memory of mine is the least reputable of all. Forgive me, Eric, but I can scarcely recall attending the wedding myself, as though I were never present.”

Though Lord Andrew’s disposition was cordial, Eric knew to reply without humor.

“But, sir, could the world’s greatest grandfather miss my life’s only wedding? And how do you find your tea, Grand?”

Since Eric had demonstrated sufficient tact for an entire family, the conversation proceeded with ease. After a certain expected chatting regarding Eric’s business, including Lord Andrew’s pondering why Eric no longer was employed by his father, the guest quit this area of potential discomfort by asking the recently wed couple how their life together proceeded.

“As perfectly as possible, Grand,” Eric replied, “what with the unenvious and utterly gracious lady of the household—we are so fortunate to have Miss Elsie.” And Lord Andrew laughed heartily as I made to throw my tepid tea against the heathen husband’s face.

“In fact,” Eric continued, “Alba herself is exactly descriptive of my life, and that is perfect, though the wife makes implications of boredom, which I can scarcely comprehend.”

Andrew then became nearly agitated as he looked up sharply from his saucer to declare, “But of course, the lass is correct! A lady’s life is one of boredom when her husband works at his employment constantly. And knowing young Eric, he doubtless neglects his wife’s affections.”

After choking on my tea or those words, I introduced Lord Andrew to this man who was certainly not the young Eric he knew, offering next to display all the welts secured directly by Eric’s affection.

“Then surely what you need, Alba,” Lord Andrew replied after the men’s laughter had subsided, “is to rest from this affection, and vacation on the sea. Yes, child, you and Eric must come sailing with me.”

Eric then clapped his hands together as though at an opera’s climax or one of his own, replying to his grandfather, “The idea you present is superlative, Grand, and most thankfully received.”

“I hope you will find it so, Eric, in that a great interval has passed since last you sailed with me. I would also hope that the young wife will appreciate the notion.”

“But of course she does,” delighted Eric promised as he looked to me. “Constant are her expressions of love for the out of doors and wild land. What could be more wild and out than the English Channel?”

“Penstone Place,” I muttered.

“But, Alba, you seem less than enthralled,” Eric noticed. “I have seen you in the water, missus. Have you a specific aversion to the salt variety?”

“Sir, the ocean I well love—when standing at its edge. But I am incapable of being upon its expanse, for I have a great aversion toward drowning.”

“You jest, ma’am,” Eric returned. “I have seen you…swim…most spectacularly.”

“Sir, that swimming you witnessed was each moment a struggle for my life not to be taken by water. With Lord God reading the deepest truths of my heart, I swear that no greater terror inhabits my dreams than the fear of being beneath water forever, and forever there being dead.”

Eric was staring at me, reading my deepest truths, perhaps, staring at me with a neutral visage as he silently, profoundly accepted the latest lesson of his missus.

“Ah, and what a pity I find here, dear Alba,” Andrew responded. “And this is no fear to be overcome?”

“No, sir, not within my allotted lifetime. Nonetheless, I truly thank you for the offer, and hope my incompatibility with water will not erode our felicitous bond.”

“Never, Alba, for no decent man would fail to appreciate so comely and authentic a lass, no more than a poorly remembering elder could forget her.”

Into the sea of his tea Eric was staring, and did he find me in this ocean? Was I the lemon slice perilous on the cup’s edge, in some future to slide down the porcelain beach and be lost in the pekoe?

“Please, Lord Andrew, continue your warm and welcome conversing by speaking of those boats with which you are familiar.”

“Familiar, missus,” Eric responded, forging a new trail in our talking. “Why, this gentleman owns them.”

“But a few,” came Lord Andrew’s modest reply.

His interest in this conversation improving, Eric mentioned a veritable fleet, boats small and large, including the grand Queen’s Flight.

“This Queen’s Flight might be especially what, sir?” I inquired of Lord Andrew.

“The Queen’s Flight is a vessel of proportion, Alba. A ship of twelve masts and great grace in the water, of thousands of tons and many more thousands of knots of experience on the seas.”

“The boat is very large, Alba, one rigged for sailing the deepest oceans,” Eric added; and I could sense his desire to speak with Grand and me, though only now was he regaining the ability, so moved had he been by my…swimming.

“To what end, might I ask?”

“Most recently to supply the American colonies with further populace and items for their living,” Andrew replied.

“I have heard mention of this region, Lord Andrew,” I continued, “but know not its nature.”

“The politics might interest you,” Andrew ventured.

“Preferably I would learn of the area’s exotic animals and wild lands rather than be inundated with social implications, if you please. Have you lived there, sir?”

“I have not, Alba, in that the Americas are lands for younger folk—especially you. Since the societies there lack the sophistication and elegance of England, so virtuous and thinking a lady could only benefit their culture. There are cities and towns in the colonies, but none as great as London. As for wilds, why, there are more wild lands and more wondrously varied than all of England and the European continent. America is a land of deserts and forests, of mountains and tremendous lakes, of endless fields and infinite canyons.”

Then I turned to Eric and ordered, “We depart tomorrow.”

“Very well, missus,” he replied, “but you will have to walk, in that you’ll not allow yourself on shipboard.”

“You’d best wait, my child, until you gain your sea legs,” Andrew offered, “for walking those thousands of miles through the ocean might be most wearisome.”

“I can well imagine,” I said, then had to set my tea down because the liquid there bade me drown, a sea in my own home containing Marybelle and Mother. Too much of Eric’s concern with…swimming…had emigrated to the colony of his wife.

The visit concluded with less weighty emotions, Lord Andrew’s departure a privation to our family. I later asked Eric of the expense of this Queen’s Flight type of vessel, and whether the impoverished might own one. Utterly not, in their great costliness, he replied. Then I inquired why we had not sought funds from Grand instead of Rathel, and whether potential existed for our procuring additional moneys if required from him. No, Eric answered, for then my father would hate both me and Grand.

Not until that evening and our own bed came mention of that conversation, an early segment to have set the husband toward lasting distress.

I had tightly wrapped my dressing gown around me as we lay in the dark, an abnormal state of attire in that usually Eric set at my corpus with his own while I was yet in waking clothes. The source of Eric’s restraint soon become evident.

“Of all the blatant torments you have calmly described from your past, I had insufficient notion that your being in water was near their equal.”

“I would rather move through water than lose another body part. The greatest horror for me is not the experience, but past experiences of myself and my family that foretell a wet end I cannot contemplate.”

“But when your dreams are nightmares, is the water not torture within that realm? Yes, it is, I know without your answering. Well have I come to understand this Alba, by your change of voice and the difference in your eyes. And if you had not abolished tears from me, I would now be weeping against you; for you are my wife and my love, and no pain is worthy of the one I hold most dear. So if in my sleep you notice me weep, understand I shall attempt to control this weakness, but moreover understand that my thoughts and love are all for you.”

Eric then rolled onto his side to face away from me. But within this marriage, Eric was not alone in connubial comprehension, for I as well had knowledge of my spouse. Eric, in his intended generosity, would not be having sex with me that night.

Not easily did I achieve sleep, in that my routine was disrupted because my buttocks were not. But eventually I arrived at slumber, well pleased to have sensed no tears from Eric.

And dream I did. Having tea with Edward, I often fell into my cup, and how delighted was Eric’s father to see me nearly drown. But the cup seldom had enough liquid to submerge me, and when the tea tide was high, I always landed upon the lemon rind, which floated and conveyed me near the colonies, as near as Eric, who did his best not to weep because the sour fruit burned my skin, he knew, and never before had he understood the torment of my life of eating no meat. Disembarking the rind, I found myself upon a bed with twelve posts that rocked to and fro, for not enough sails had I to protect me from a hot wind that cut through me from head to groin, stabbed me like a corn cob, an arm with bark, a…

God alone could know the dream Eric was snatched from by my hearty beating upon his shoulder, having pulled my baby slot away from his ready man-stick, which had entered me normally but most unacceptably. And when Eric awakened enough to see and gasp and cower, I told the fool that I had not become his mother and thus could have no man named Eric inside my cunt without killing him, and finding oneself dead was no way to wake in the morning. Shake him I did most harshly until he acknowledged my words, that the loss from his taking me so would not be his pleasure, but his blood, literally his bleeding life; and did the beggar understand? Yes, missus, yes he did; anything to end the shouting and bruising, good evening to you, over he rolled and to sleep.

The next day, I invented a new type of clothing, an inelegant rag to be wrapped around me before each night’s sleeping, tied so as not to be removed without my knowledge. As for inconvenience, the husband would simply have to eject all the lust from his system before the wife settled to slumber, lest he eject all his blood instead. Before I awoke to become a seamstress to Elsie’s great curiosity, I dreamed again.

Insufficient clothes had I in my floating armoire to prevent sailors from populating my colony with their mizzenmasts, though I repelled most with the loudest tea in the wilds, that region settled by the one successful sailor being a new land less social than England, for he jibed me from the stern, not the sternum.

• • •

In this manner, my life proceeded. Few thoughts had I of any past existence, preferring to wish for some superior life beyond the drudgery of London. But I could think of none, for what wild land would fit me now that I had a family? Would Elsie revert to eating lizards? Could Eric build so fine a timber cave as Marybelle? How long would Randolph last before drowning in a bog? Neither could I abandon these friends, for so authentic was my love for them that truly they formed with me a family; and this witch would accept no life, not even in Paradise, in which she was alone.

So bored I became that I nearly entered the contest of needlework. Grandly satisfying herself by being too much of a servant for this household, Elsie walked through her chores as though a witch through a forest. Unlike the latter type of human, however, Elsie in any empty interval would settle with metal shard and thread to manufacture doilies and other flat constructions that the mistress insisted she well loved draped all over her home. I soon observed, however, that part of this activity was stabbing oneself occasionally in the finger—and was this not as bad as shaving?

So bored I became as to look forward to Eric’s daily return so that we could torment each other with jest. But all my felicity was ruined the day I looked through the front window to see Eric on the street with his arms about another woman. Eric was embracing her absolutely, in a manner not allowed with me, and with equal intensity were they weeping, weeping and fruitlessly attempting to converse. Perhaps their failed speaking was not due to tears, but sourced from their foreignness; for were they not different types of persons, as though sinner and witch? Finally, Eric with gentility pressed the woman away, and with tears she departed, Eric turning to the steps and waiting, waiting until his face was dry before moving up to his tenement; for tears were not allowed with his wife as they were with his mother.

Poorly he concealed his distress, but I made no notice, attempting to respond to him normally. No explanation was given by the husband nor questions asked by the missus. And we retired that evening with none of that man smell from Eric and no penetration, for the first day in our wedded life Eric not making love with me, not even in his dreams.

• • •

“Surely, madam, you are neither so wealthy nor unkind as to refrain from granting this minor request.”

“But I cannot contemplate why a lady such as yours would be seeing herself upon a rough and common wagon as mine.”

“As previously explained, I have need of conveyance; yet despite my apparent social position, mine is a state of financial stress. Therefore, I offer you this coin to allow me to ride with you on your return journey from London.”

“But, ma’am, I am taking to my farm these bad fish behind to help in growing things, and they are smelling now and will be doing it worse. And to ride beside me on this coarse seat of wood you might rip your fine dress, or worse, be seen by your social friends or minister.”

“Enough discussion,” I told this woman near ugly enough to be a witch, though none of our smell had she, and witches are never fat, as was she, extremely, in that we do not eat to excess, nor smoke, as did she, extremely. “Are we a pair of politicians going at each other’s ears with inconsequential and repetitious words of scant content?” And up I clambered beside her. “Or are we but womenfolk about our affairs, you returning to your home, and I to Gravesbury Reach? The latter we are, and here is my coin and my words of thanks for your conveyance.” Then, after pressing the money into her palm, I settled beside her, staring firmly ahead as though we were underway. With a tremendous sigh as though releasing all the pressure from the fat within her, this woman with word and gentle strap encouraged her elder horse to proceed.

As though animals, we went without speaking, the driver soon proving herself accurate in assessing my position. After a length of Hollet Street and a turn at Missingmile Avenue, we passed a person who well stared at me, for there was Theodosia rendered static by my sight. Though she seemed prepared for speech, with that wide opening of her mouth, the servant had no verbal response, as though weakened by the sight of an angel, barely managing to lift her hand toward me as I waved and heartily smiled.

And a fine ride it was, up in the air and open to all sensations, the rich smell of decaying fish following along as though a friendly pet traipsing after master. As though never before in London, I gained an unusual awareness of the society around me, understanding that these lovers and those businessmen all had families of their own, and when not on the streets, they were in their homes as though alternate worlds. Even the drunkards living in shrubs had families, though surely lost. Despite proceeding out of the city, I had no feeling of quitting, for how could I forsake these families when one was mine? My intent was no more than respite, for I was on a holiday. But abandoning London remained my true desire: not the physical means, but the emotional logistics.

• • •

“I am now to desert you here, miss?” the large woman confronted me. “All that is here is nothing. No persons pass near here except to pass by. And how is it you will be returning?”

“Being rationally adult, I shall accept the responsibility for myself, though you can scarcely imagine the honor I gain by your positing yourself as my mother. Be off, then, woman, and pray you may find good use for my pence…. And I pray that despite my unkind and needless remark about my own beloved mother, you will accept the truth of my appreciation for your transport and your kindly concern.”

Then I was alone. An increasingly fine state I was gaining, though the woman’s ending apprehension had nearly destroyed my prayerful pride in having survived another bridge. How strong I had felt to be so high and exposed on naught but a plank above the river yet pass over with no panic, no death. True, for those minutes, I had scarcely breathed, feeling that too great an intake of air would disrupt our travel and spill me into the water, which I did not view, though I smelled it, did not feel though it touched me everywhere. What a religious accomplishment the crossing was, and for minutes thereafter I could only praise the greatest Lord and God for allowing me to live through another river.

The smell of sinners was not so intense here, though I viewed across the Thames some indiscernible construction, between us a distance I cherished; for although not the same substance as that beyond Lucansbludge, it was more enrichening than the materialistic air above the Rathel’s roof. Cleaner was the river here, lightly rippled by a breeze. Every swell I viewed, those beyond smaller as their distance from the observer increased, though each ripple seemed immediate, the separation of their quiet lives not removal but a connection via God’s glorious substance of space. Some activity I could sense far beyond, plumes of smoke from sinners, boats on the Thames, but none were strong in my experience. Behind, too ensconced on a sinners’ roadway to be as wild as I, wagons passed as the woman said, gone without coming near. These as well I ignored until one approached to bring Amanda Rathel.

She formed her own space, instructing the coachman to move away, this distance to segregate the greater society of London from Rathel’s particular life. The mistress then approached her daughter, a murderous witch not evil enough for the demon lady.

“You have come for a swim, madam,” I spoke, “or might I hope you’ve dreams of drowning yourself?”

I saw her as never before, measuring the woman as though only now fully able to discern sinners. How remarkably young she appeared for all her living, but was her life not mainly of arrangements for other people to live and to die? How handsome was this lady, even in her middle life, the short lives of sinners come and gone like a cut witch’s teat. Well could I understand how she had drawn men to herself—wealthy Franklin, vivid Edward—for despite all their feigned, godly spiritualism, were sinners not a people to send body after body, passion after lust? How mundane for so well-souled a race.

“Why is he not dead?” the social lady demanded. “Why have you not proven yourself the witch I know you? Why does the bastard yet live?”

“Oh, and Mistress Amanda, never have I heard you curse. Lie, yes, and here again is your favorite trait; for the tremendous hatred you have is from Eric’s legality, the very fact that from your baby slot he did not and could not issue.”

“Much have you learned of my life, meddling witch.”

“Bless your compliment, dear mother. As for lives, importantly I have learned of mine. Never would I have done so except for your machinations that forced my education. Therein I learned of witches, and through experience, the white one. Learn I did how Satan kills through them, and also how any man might survive.”

“Not forever will this bastard avoid your sex. Kill him, witch, and depart from London. Sleep with him and be done with us all.”

“Oh, but lady, sleeping kills no one. Not even your wretched soul could supply nightmares intense enough to kill. What you mean is another obscenity: you mean ‘fuck.’ But, mistress, this man is my husband and well we mate and often. Extraordinarily often, so I understand, compared to common women. But this woman is not common. She is the witch and the white witch to draw men to her cunt and consume them. But this joy you’ve expected for years I now deny you. Eric is drawn to my sex better than any man, for I allow and encourage his coupling in that he is thereby pleased. But I have learned how the husband can avoid the deadly baby slot. Instead, the target allowed is the anus. Yes, Amanda, a man is perfectly safe fucking any witch within her bum’s hole, and therein does Eric gain great ecstasy from me. Every night, often, and often in a dead sleep. So accomplished am I at saving my husband that even when he sticks his prick you would love on your mantel against the wrong entry, he finds a closed hole he may not enter. Then to the rear does he march, and well up into my arse I take him, allowing his stick to wallow until his baby seed is accelerated far within me. To absorb his sperm makes me smile, mistress, if only because I can now spit his semen at you.” And, yes, I spat at the Rathel’s feet, though languidly, as though she were scarcely worth the effort.

At once she leapt toward me with a fury never seen, worse than during that clock beating, because then her abilities were tempered by drink, but here she was all hatred. But my front she faced now; so upon reaching out to strike me dead, the lady met my fingers. Both my palms I thrust to her cheeks and jaws, knocking Rathel to her backside. From this position, the startled sinner looked up to me as I commented on her situation.

“I suggest, lady, that you not assault a British citizen, lest Queen Anne herself spit in your direction.”

“You satanic bitch!” Rathel shouted, appearing less than the lady for sitting on her virgin arse in the dirt. “I will have you be what you are. You will kill the Eric bastard or your perverted arse shall be the soot beneath my mantel. Kill the bastard or I’ll prove you the witch. I shall prove that you murdered Bitford to gain transport out of London, and murdered Cameron because he discovered your identity. I will have you burned without beheading, bitch, so that long you will suffer, more than you ever dreamed, more than your mother.”

Being a lady, I replied mildly while straightening my cuffs, “Of course you shall, dear mistress, as soon as you teach Jacob Naylor to become so complete a fool that he will overlook your pimping deaths. Whenever a man died by my body, you were the cause. Aware of your expertise in witches, all of London will believe that you ever understood me the killer. So tell your tale, Amanda, and you will die in more pieces than I. Until you choose your own suicide, become accustomed to Eric’s happy life.” And I stepped away with a smile, gesturing for the distant driver to return his charge to her home, to her dedicated hell.