The Seige Of Dragonard Hill Part 8

Shoving her back from him, he held her by the shoulders and ordered, 'Look! See what you've done to me! Now you aren't going to leave me in such a condition are you?'

Vicky could not speak. His manner thrilled her. Although it was what she wanted, she whispered, 'What about the . . . people downstairs?'

'Them! To h.e.l.l with them! What are they compared to what you have done to me? See! Look at it!'

Poliguet's breeches lowered and his phallus bobbed its nakedness in front of Vicky's startled eyes. She stared down transfixed, not even believing her own voice as she heard herself praise, 'It is . . . beautiful.'

'Then get down on your knees and . . . kiss it. Lick your tongue around the crown. Tell it what you want from it. . . Condesa Veradaga!' He laughed at her, a jeering, mocking laugh.

Poliguet's hands were firm on Vicky's shoulders as he pressed her to the floor in front of him. She tried to tell him that she wanted to lay with him, to make deep love together, to clutch him with her contracting v.a.g.i.n.a. He a.s.sured her that they would do everything in due time. That she would have no choice of the matter. That he was the master to her now. That he wanted nothing else from her except physical fulfilment.

'Keep your husband!' he chided. 'Come to me only for . . . l.u.s.t!'

Vicky tasted the stretched skin of his phallus deepening in her throat She longed for him to pull her up to him, to embrace her, to make love to her lying down. But he would 99.not release her from her kneeling position. Not for the moment. But he a.s.sured her as she kept working on his manhood that they would do everything in the ensuing days, weeks. That he would drive into her so deeply that she would scream with delirium. That he would tease her with his phallus until she begged him to please, please let her possess it. That she would not stay one day here in this backwoods country without eagerly waiting for him to return from New Orleans, to treat her as his unworthy mistress, a s.l.u.t who did not deserve his masculine magnificence . And he warned her that if he heard of her giving herself to some other man that he would punish her, That was how Vicky had imagined their meeting would be, had hoped in her wildest dreams that events would progress. They did not. She and Poliguet talked about . . . d.a.m.nit! Greenleaf!

Conversation between Vicky and Jerome Poliguet was stilted at first, even formal, she asked him about the success of his country business; he enquired about her family's spirits after the loss of her stepmother.

It was the subject of Kate and Dragonard Hill that eventually brought Poliguet to lower his eyes and say, 'It is sad about Greenleaf.'

'What do you mean?'

'I would normally not mention anything. But as you are a member of the family, perhaps even their most ill.u.s.trious, I can say to you-' He hesitated. He appeared to be embarra.s.sed by the subject.

'Monsieur Poliguet! Please do tell me!'

'The present master of Greenleaf-' Poliguet again faltered, pitifully shaking his head.

'Barry? You are talking about Barry Breslin?'

Poliguet nodded. 'Mister Breslin is not the manager that his aunt was. This is a small neighbourhood, Condesa. Everyone knows everyone's business. That is unfortunate/ He shrugged, adding, 'There is also, you will appreciate, constant communication between the legal and banking communities in such small. . . towns/ He still appeared to be unprepared to disclose what troubled him.

'I implore you, Monsieur Poliguet. Do not hesitate in telling me anything.' She was still trying to be a supplicant, even in this tedious reality.

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'Well. . . the truth of the matter is that Mrs Abdee-the late Kate Abdee-has been signing for her nephew's expenses. She signed notes at the bank which legally involves your father-' He again shrugged, adding in a voice of disconcern '-and which could endanger your family's plantation. Perhaps. What I am saying, Condesa. . .'

Vicky sat to the edge of her chair, gasping, 'No! She didn't! Kate couldn't have been so foolish!'

'See. I have distressed you. I am sorry.' He opened both arms toward her black clothing, saying, 'You have come home to mourn your stepmother and I have been very foolish. Hasty. Stupid. How stupid of me!' He slapped the side of his forehead with the palm of one hand.

But Vicky ignored his gestures of apologies. She sat immobile, silently cursing Kate. She was distressed, not so much distressed by the content of the news that Kate's actions might have placed Dragonard Hill in jeopardy but that the subject matter had cast an instant mood of gloom over this visit. Vicky's original intentions had been dashed by this accursed family business. She saw that Poliguet was more handsome than she had even remembered him.

Rising, she said, 'I hope the next time we meet, Monsieur, we will have more . . . pleasurable things to discuss.'

'Oh, dear. J have distressed you!" He rose to his feet, looking at her with his rich brown eyes, promising, 'If there is anything I can do for you, Condesa-anything-you know I would be only too willing to serve you ... in any capacity.'

Patting his forearm, Vicky said, 'You look like a man on whom someone could lean, I will not forget your offer.' She allowed her hand to linger on his forearm, holding her head lowered in a remorseful pose. She was in fact studying the crotch of his breeches and seeing that he filled his clothing exactly as the man did in her s.e.xual fantasies. She even thought that she saw his phallus move, to spread over the bulge of his t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es.

Taking a deep breath, she reached for the black lace mantilla and, lowering it over her face, she quickly moved toward the door, down the stairs, and past the wooden kegs of nails and withered apples.

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Vicky sat glumly in the padded leather cushions of the open carriage on her return to Dragonard Hill, her mind skipping between the shocking news which Poliguet had told her about Kate, and the thought of making love to the Creole Sawyer. There was something mysterious about his dark s.e.xuality, some facet which intrigued, even puzzled Vicky. She knew that his clothes harboured a riddle and she yearned to discover the secret.

Nevertheless, the tantalizing image of Jerome Poliguet did nothing to satisfy Vicky's immediate desire for a man. She knew that she could wait no longer to consummate her fantasies-even if only in some small way.

s.e.xual frustrations often made Vicky lose all sense of decorum. She usually tried to guard herself against this but she no longer cared as the carriage moved along in the warm afternoon through the leafy countryside.

She called from the back of the carriage, 'Curlew, drive more slowly. I want to step-up over the seat and ride alongside you.'

He looked over his shoulder, thinking he had misunderstood her request.

I want to ride alongside you,' Vicky said, taking off her hat and standing onto the seat of the carriage. She held her hand toward Curlew, ordering, 'Help me! Keep driving but help me step over the seat. And if you mention a word of this to anyone I'll see that you are punished. Believe me about that, n.i.g.g.e.r!'

Curlew still did not know what Vicky had in mind until she sat alongside him and started fondling his crotch. He had heard of white ladies making black men pleasure them, threatening to punish them if they refused. Curlew kept his eyes on the road, saying 'Don't you . . . think we should at least drive into. . . the trees, Miss Vicky?'

'Noi' Vicky said, 'This makes it more exciting for me. Just keep driving if you see anyone coming. And-' She stopped. She had worked his p.e.n.i.s from his trousers. She saw that it was thick, dark and that it was already thickening with excitement. She teased, "You naughty thing! Look! You're getting hard already!'

Curlew kept his eyes on the road as Vicky's fingers pulled and squeezed on his p.e.n.i.s; she worked his loose foreskin back and forth, attempting to increase the hardness of the I02.

organ. When one hand grew tired, she turned on the wooden seat and worked with the other.

Finally, feeling an iron firmness in the p.e.n.i.s, Vicky lowered her head to his crotch. She pulled her head up-and-down, stretching her small mouth to accommodate the p.e.n.i.s.

The carriage continued to b.u.mp over the road. Curlew kept his eyes directed in front of him as Vicky kept working her head up and down between his legs. Curlew's eyes never once lowered to Vicky. He gripped nervously onto the reins, his arms held out high in front of him.

Finally, Curlew felt a tingle in his groin. Then when Vicky greedily pursued the reward of her endeavours, mouthing the black phallus long after it had reached its exploding hardness, Curlew began to look behind them on the road, to see if anybody was following them. He was relieved when Vicky climbed silently back into the padded seat of the carriage.

Vicky rearranged the black mantilla over her straw hat as the carriage pa.s.sed under the wrought iron gate and climbed the drive to the main house. She did not wait for Curlew to help her down from the carriage when he reached the front galley of the house. She quickly hopped to the gravel. The brief act of satisfying Curlew with her mouth had been the diversion she needed. Her mind now seemed more alert, better prepared to attend other problems. She virtually forgot about Curlew's existence, deciding that she would solve one of the questions which had been nagging her since her visit to Jerome Poliguet. She would find out about the rumour of Dragonard Hill being in jeopardy because of mismanagement at Greenleaf.

Rather than immediately confronting her father, Vicky decided to question Imogen. If anybody knew about this plantation, it would be her older sister. Vicky knew that Imogen held a miserly grasp on this land, as if it were almost her own and n.o.body else's.

Vicky did not bother to change into other garments but trailed her organza-trimmed black dress across the dirt I03.

fields of the nearby slope where Curlew had told her that Imogen was working today Imogen!' Vicky called, waving the black lace mantilla to attract Imogen's attention. 'Imogen! I want to talk to you!'

The sight of Vickv traipsing across the dirt furrows amused Imogen. Sne sat on her horse and smiled at her snippety younger sister coming out of the fields. She called, 'Something pretty important must have brought you out here, little sister!'

Vicky shaded her eyes against the sun and called to Imogen mounted on her horse, 'How much do yo% know about Greenleaf? The money Barry owes to the bank and if Kate had been loaning money to Barry and getting Papa to sign for it?'

The impact of such a question stunned Imogen. She gaped at Vicky, asking, 'Who have you been talking to?'

'Never mind who I've been talking to. Answer my question. What do you know about Greenleaf? Is Barry likely to lose it to the bank if his crops fail this season? Did Papa give Kate any control or interest in our land?'

Imogen pondered the question. 'Kate would have her rights as a wife. But she's dead. They'd be null and void.'

'Not if she and Papa signed for Barry, Those signatures would not be null and void-' She hesitated, asking in a weaker voice, '-or would they? Would Papa have to honour promissory notes Kate signed?'

Imogen narrowed her eyes, considering the question.

Vicky proceeded, 'Papa would honour anything Kate signed. That's what I think. If the law demanded it or not. Papa would refuse to tarnish the image of his beloved . . . Kate in any way.'

'I think you and me better have a talk, Vicky. You know something I don't and I think you should tell me all about it.'

If you haven't seen anything wrong the whole time you've been here, I don't see why I should tell you what I know!'

'Listen, don't you care if we lose this land?'

'So it is possible!' Vicky shrilled.

'Stop being so d.a.m.ned secretive. You tell me where you found this out or I'll hop off this horse and Imogen's demand immediately convinced Vicky that she I04.

would not divulge her source of information. She refused to give in to threats of physical violence. Also, she had kept many facts to herself so far since her arrival home. She did not see why she should start divulging information now about her visit to Troy. She did not trust Imogen nor did she want her to know any more about her private life than she already did.

Turning, Vicky lifted her skirts and said, 'Some overseer you've turned out to be! Ha! As dumb as the red-neck farmer who should've had the job in the first place. It's a good thing I came home while there's still a home to come to.' She turned toward the main house.

Imogen remained seated on her horse in the field. She watched Vicky disappearing-stumbling on stones, angrily kicking at clods of dirt-as she teetered and wobbled down the hill. She suspected that Vicky would consult the ledgers in the library in the main house. It was no secret that the ledgers were kept in the library. Kate had acted as both accountant and secretary at Dragonard Hill. What loans or notes they had made or signed would all be noted in the library. Imogen decided that she would let Vicky tear through the drawers of her father's desk in an attempt to make sense of Kate's book-keeping, Vicky could also have a confrontation with their father. Imogen decided that if Vicky's words were true-that a failure at Greenleaf would have an immediate effect at Dragonard Hill-it was best for her to remain silent at the moment. She would pursue her plan. She saw BO reason not to put it into immediate effect. Imogen had primed Belladonna to make love to her father and . . .

The original reason to form a plot to keep her father from philandering-even producing possible heirs-with other black women on Dragonard Hill, though, now seemed less important to Imogen as she realized that the tantalizing moment of her ruse was near. She became excited by the prospect of watching it all... her father, Belladonna, their love-making.

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Curlew knew that white women had more rights than black wenches but he had also seen-heard-that white women were supposed to conduct themselves in the manner which they themselves called 'ladies'. Curlew was not a worldly man, only a hard-working country slave devoted to the Abdee family who had owned him all his life. According to his rustic code of ethics, though, he believed that Miss Vicky had conducted herself in a manner which even the uneducated black women in Town would call shameless.

When Peter Abdee asked where Vicky had wanted to go on her excursion in Troy, Curlew muttered that they had stopped by the mercantile store, that Miss Vicky had wanted to look inside. He did not elaborate, He did not mention Miss Vicky's demands on him during their return ride home.

After leaving Peter Abdee, Curlew went to the kitchen annex to question Posey about Miss Vicky. He knew that Posey understood white people's ways. But he also was aware that Posey was very impressed with the finely-dressed young white woman from Cuba. Curlew asked his questions, as discreetly as possible, beginning by complimenting Miss Vicky, praising her beauty, then saying that she seemed more flighty, more-nervous-acting than her twin sister, Veronica.

Posey was still distressed about the theft of his umbrella which Miss Vicky had given him. At the mention of her name, he flew into a rage about Fat Boy stealing the umbrella, saying, 'If that picaninny shows his face in here I'll kill him. I hear he's living in the Shed and he better stay there. I don't know where I'll get another kitchen helper but I'll get one before I'll get another sun shade like that one Fat Boy done stole from here!'

Curlew reminded Posey that Miss Vicky had a full supply of fancy parasols, that she thought highly of Posey and would probably give him another one. These kind words induced Posey to begin speaking about Miss Vicky, to give Curlew some clue about why she conducted herself so differently from her sister, Veronica.

Posey did not have a knowledge of s.e.xual matters but I06.

he remembered stories about Vicky which the former cook, Storky, had told him in the kitchen. Posey explained to Curlew that he must be extra kind to Miss Vicky because, apart from being a countess, she had suffered a terrible accident as a girl, that a pedlar man had come to Dragonard Hill one afternoon and done something unspeakable to Miss Vicky when n.o.body was looking.

Curlew soon saw that Posey did not know any specific details about the matter and he did not press him for them. He complimented Posey on the cleanliness of his kitchen, promised to hitch a wagon for him whenever, if ever, he needed it, and to give him one of the road pa.s.ses from the stables for travelling short distances. He also promised not to mention the fact about the pedlar man and Miss Vicky to anyone. Curlew called over his shoulder, saying that he would also keep his ears open for a new kitchen helper to replace Fat Boy.

Chapter Seven.

THE SACRIFICIAL LAMB.

Jerome Poliguet rented a horse from a stable in Troy and made arrangements to leave the animal at a stable in Carter-ville where he would catch the public coach later that evening to New Orleans. He required the mount to ride to Grouse Hollow.

Claudia Goss listened eagerly to Poliguet's report about Victoria Abdee's visit to his office this afternoon. She sat on one side of the deal table in her shadowy house, slowly a.s.sembling each detail of Poliguet's report. He next proceeded to repeat the points of the plan which he and Claudia Goss had discussed at their last meeting, how Claudia would buy the Greenleaf notes and force the immediate payment of them, a sale at a highly inflated price and with crippling-retroactive-interest rates which would force Peter Abdee to mortgage his own land to pay them, a mortgage which Claudia would finance in her last step to destroy Dragonard Hill.

A narrow shaft of fading daylight poured through the dingy rags hanging in the small window cut into Claudia Goss's log cabin. A yellow dog slept on the threshold which led to the porch, a mangy dog which only occasionally lifted his head to chew between his vermin-infested hind legs or listen to the clatter of the tin plates made by the black woman, Mary, as she worked in the lean-to which served as a kitchen at Grouse Hollow.

Claudia Goss was pleased that Poliguet had informed I08.

her on his arrival that he would be catching tonight's late stage for New Orleans, that he would not be staying for supper. She did not press him to stay for a meal, preferring not to share even a sc.r.a.p of bread with anyone.

The news which Poliguet had brought to Grouse Hollow even made Claudia Goss forget to offer him a cup of coffee. She listened closely as Poliguet now instructed her in the next step of their manoeuvres.

He said, 'It was no master stroke in telling a member of the Abdee family about the precarious position of Green-leaf. Everyone in the countryside knows about Breslin's mismanagement. The only benefits we enjoy are that-for one thing-that I was able to tell the fact to one of the most. . , excitable members of that family.'

Claudia repeated the word. '"Excitable?" You find that filly. . . exciting?'

Poliguet often grew impatient with Claudia Goss. He knew she was a crafty woman-devious and cunning-but her base prurience often repulsed him. He also did not wish to divulge to anyone his interest in the woman whom he called the 'Condesa Veradaga'. He considered her to be very physically attractive. Jerome Poliguet required certain proclivities-s.e.xual preferences-in the females with whom he made love. He still was not certain that Vicky could fulfil them.

He answered Claudia, 'I am talking about Victoria Abdee's ability to cause alarm in the household. She will fan embers into flames for us. Panic will only help us.'

Sitting forward on his chair, he said, 'Now this is what I want you to do. You told me about a black man who was killed many years back on Dragonard Hill. A black man named Monk. A half-brother to Peter Abdee sired on the island of St Kitts by one Richard Abdee.'

Claudia nodded. 'That's right. The c.o.o.n's name was Monk. He and Peter was sold as young ones with that old crazy n.i.g.g.e.r wench, Ta-Ta, who died a long spell back. She was Monk's mother and a lady's maid to Peter's own ma back on that West Indian island. But Ta-Ta, she shot her own natural son, Monk, to keep him from killing. . . Peter Abdee.'

Nodding, Poliguet said, 'You also told me that this Monk I09.

impregnated a black woman on Dragonard Hill. That Peter Abdee freed the girl after Monk was killed and sent her to live on the colony for freed slaves. That Monk's wife moved to Treetops and gave birth to a son there/ 'Lloy. That was the name of her git. Lloy. Sired by Monk. Lloy's still living at Treetops. A full grown c.o.o.n now himself but he's there all right on that farm for free n.i.g.g.e.rs.'

'I want you to get in contact with this . . . Lloy,' Poliguet said.

Claudia studied the nattily dressed Creole, saying, 'You remembers a h.e.l.l of a lot of facts, don't you, Poliguet?'

'That's my business,' he answered breezily. 'That's why you're paying me.'

'Speaking of paying, what will you be expecting to see for yourself from all this?'

'We'll settle the money arrangement once we, first, get a hold on Greenleaf. But-'

'And what do you want me to do with this Lloy c.o.o.n?'

'Don't concern yourself with that now. Just make contact with him. Make yourself known. Remind him of his past. Pay a visit to Treetops in the next couple of days. Use any excuse for going there. But do not, do not, I repeat, antagonize him. You have enough enemies amongst the white people around here. We'll need a good man shortly to help us. But your loan-sharking has eliminated all the white men. So do not antagonize this black man.'

Claudia repeated, 'Antagonize?'

'Make an enemy of yourself! Do not do that. Remember that this Lloy fellow is free. I know it will be difficult for you to do but try to show him some respect. I'll give you more news when I come back next week from New Orleans.'

Jerome Poliguet bade Claudia farewell, stepped over the yellow dog spread across the threshold, and hurried to his horse. He did not want to miss the night stage south. He hoped to be in New Orleans at the early hours of the morning, a time when a certain establishment was still open on Rampart Street. These visits to the Louisiana countryside always exhausted Poliguet, requiring a call upon his favourite spot of relaxation in New Orleans, the one place where he was truly understood and satisfied.

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