Spider Light(96)
‘Of course you did. It’s all right. You’re safe now.’
‘But he did find me. He came right up to the mill, and stood in the doorway for a moment. He was huge. He was the hugest man I’ve ever seen, and I was so terrified I couldn’t even scream.’
She broke off again, sobbing.
‘Miss Rosen, do try to be calm. I’m sure we can—’
‘He shut the door,’ said Louisa, as if George had not spoken. ‘So I couldn’t get out. And he saw me at once: he pulled me out from behind the waterwheel, and pushed me down on the floor over there. He was laughing–a horrid throaty sort of laughing–and then he lay on top of me—His hands felt like iron bars–he was so strong. I can’t tell you how strong he was.’
‘But look here,’ said George, not really wanting to know what had happened next. ‘None of this actually proves it was someone from Latchkill.’
‘He was from Latchkill,’ sobbed Louisa. ‘I know he was. He was mad–anyone could have seen that. He had great grinning teeth–like a giant’s teeth in a fairy story–and immense clutching hands. He slobbered over me–all over my neck, I thought I was going to be sick when he did that. And he lay on top of me for what felt like ages–he was so heavy I thought he would crush me to death, and I couldn’t cry out because he put one of his hands over my mouth. But he used his other hand to unfasten…And then he–he kept on hurting me, over and over, only I don’t quite understand what he did—’
‘You don’t have to tell me that part,’ said George hastily, recognizing this for extreme naivety, but nevertheless deeply embarrassed. ‘What did the man do afterwards? When he had stopped–uh–hurting you?’
‘He stood up and laughed again, as if he thought he had done something very good indeed. And then he went out,’ said Louisa. ‘I didn’t see where he went because I was crying and I was trying not to be sick–I didn’t dare go outside in case he was still there, and I thought I might have to stay here for hours and hours. It was awful, because my grandfather wouldn’t know where I was–nobody would know. And then you came in.’
‘Miss Rosen, I’m afraid we’ll have to tell someone about this. Because if you mean you were raped—’
She flinched at the word and began crying again, and this time it ended in what sounded, even to George’s inexperienced ears, dangerously like hysteria. He had a vague idea you smacked people’s faces if they were hysterical, but clearly this was unthinkable in the present situation so he said that Miss Rosen must calm down, and he would take her home. Did she feel well enough to walk along to Toft House if he helped her?
‘You don’t need to tell your grandfather any of this if you think it would make him ill. Perhaps you could say you fell over somewhere? That wouldn’t upset him, would it?’
‘I don’t know. But I feel a bit better now. And I don’t think I was really–what you said–do you?’
‘Raped?’ said George, and her cheeks burned with embarrassment.
‘I can’t possibly have been,’ she said. ‘It’s a very shameful thing, isn’t it? People talk about you in whispers, and you never get a husband. So I really don’t want it to have been that. Only…’
Oh God, what now? ‘Yes?’ said George, warily.
‘I don’t know how to explain it to you.’ Even in the dimness he saw the hot colour come to her cheeks. ‘There’s blood,’ she said in a rush, not looking at him. ‘It’s–I mean it’s where he hurt me.’
George, struggling with his own embarrassment, managed to ask whether a doctor should be fetched.
‘No, please don’t. I’d be too ashamed,’ said Louisa at once. ‘I don’t know, really, why I told you, only you were so kind and I was so upset.’
‘The–the bleeding is part of being raped,’ said George after a moment.
‘Is it his blood or mine? If it’s his, I don’t care, but if it’s mine I don’t know what to do–Will I die from it?’
In as down to earth a tone as he could manage, George said, ‘It will be yours, but I don’t think it will go on for very long.’ He hoped this was right. ‘Could you walk home if I came with you? It’s not very far to Toft House, is it?’ He knew exactly where it was, of course: it was one of the houses that formed part of that absurd private dream. How many times had he walked past it, and stared longingly through its gates, and thought–if only…He glanced at Louisa Rosen, and the speck of an idea dropped into his mind.
As he took her arm, ideas were tumbling through his mind. Once at Toft House, Mr Rosen would surely invite him in–the nice, well-mannered young man who had been so kind to his granddaughter. He might offer George a glass of sherry, which was what the people in those houses did, George knew all about that. If so, he would accept the sherry and make polite conversation.
Aloud, he said, ‘I think we might tell your grandfather that you tripped and turned your ankle in a rabbit hole. And that you lay stunned and helpless for a little while. I know it’s an outright lie, but—’
‘I’ll have to lie, won’t I?’ said Louisa. ‘I shan’t like it, but if grandfather thinks I was–attacked, he’d probably be ill again. And even if he wasn’t, he’d want the man found and brought to justice, so the truth would come out, and everyone would know what had happened.’