she had a friend. She flew a large circle and to the east saw a single dot of red which might be a campfire; but as she completed the arc to the southwest the small collection of lights which marked the town drew her. She darted off towards it.
Except for the drawing room and Lucy’s bedchamber, the governor’s bungalow was in darkness with nary a figure in sight. Still, Amelia carefully circled the structure before coming down to the lighted window of the girl’s room. She fluttered there, beating her wings and hoping to attract her attention. She stopped this when she saw that her friend was not alone. She was conversing with Rebecca Crawley, or rather listening to her. Amelia hung at the window and waited.
The bedchamber, as all the rooms, was overcrowded with furniture. A four-poster bed was pressed against one wall, a dressing table filled a gap between the head of the bed, and a huge mahogany dresser hulked along the wall, covering the bottom half of the window. Against the other wall, leaving scarcely room for the door to open, was a large wardrobe in which Lucy had stacked her husband’s and her own clothing in an attempt to keep them from the dust which covered everything. Alongside the bed an Axminster carpet had been laid out. On it were three stuffed easy chairs and pieces of luggage which made the space into an irregular maze.
Lucy sat on the bed, which was perhaps the only comfortable and free place in the room, for the chairs were piled with odds and ends. It also provided enough space for the wooden frame of her embroidery tapestry which was before her though the canvas was still blank. The governor’s lady shared her bed, reclining on it and taking up much more space than the girl, who was forced to huddle against the bedhead.
Rebecca Crawley with only Lucy as a guest had stopped any pretence of dressing appropriately for morning, noon and evening. She wore a pink domino, more than a trifle faded and soiled, and marked here and there with pomatum; but her arms shone out from the loose sleeves of the garment, which was tied tightly around her waist so as to set off her still trim figure. As she reclined on one elbow, she sipped on a glass of brandy, thus breaking up into paragraphs the monologue bemoaning her fate.
‘Is not this a strange and dismal place for a woman who has lived in a vastly superior world? Was it my fault that I put the interests of my country first and, I admit it, was naive enough to be led on by my Lord Steyne? Politics, my dear, is not for us women, and so alas and to my detriment what was to have been discreet became indiscreet and the subject of vain journalists who slung low jibes in my direction. Calumnies, but they hurt, my dear, they hurt as if I was being struck by arrows and I was too, arrows of outrageous fortune. I, who but followed the dictates of my husband, had to continue to do so when he was shunted off to this post.’
She took a sip of brandy and passed one of Lucy’s lace handkerchiefs across her eyes.
‘But, alas, it is the lot of women to be alongside their men and I am the truest wife that ever lived. When he was made governor here, I accompanied him, though my heart bled to leave my child, my one darling boy behind; but it was for his own benefit. If he had come with me, he might have become as low as any of these savages. Still, I am as true a mother as I am a wife, and my heart bleeds for him.’
She affected to break down and her sobs filled the handkerchief, though behind the concealing cloth her eyes remained dry.
‘O you poor thing,’ Lucy declared, ‘to be far from hearth and home and the sight of your dear child. I pity you. I couldn’t bear it. I have not your strength and devotion.’
‘And do not forget the luxuriant salons I frequented. I was in the highest of high, society, kings and princes and ambassadors were at my feet. Alas, to be denied all that; but, my dear, I admit it – I have always been restless and if I am here today, then tomorrow I shall be back among those who are my equals. It will be soon too,’ she declared with a tinkle of silvery laughter.
She had another swallow and changed the subject as her mood shifted. ‘And you are going to fill in your days with embroidery. Ah, the delicate work I once did and displayed to great appreciation. Pretty pictures of my ancestral home, but I shall not bore you this night with that. I must go to my dear husband.’ And taking her now empty glass she wound from bed to door and disappeared with a ‘Sweet dreams await you’.
Lucy looked after her and shrugged, turning her attention to her blank canvas. She had failed to get her friend to sketch in a topic and she had not the skill. She knew it; she knew it, and what would she now do to fill in her days? She sighed and fiddled with her wool, then gave a start as from the halfblocked-up window, there came a flapping sound somewhat like a gentle rapping. She tried to lean over the sideboard to peer through. Only the darkness of the night. She sighed again and then suddenly there came again that rapping, but this time it was a gentle tapping at her chamber door. She made a moue. Not that old Rebecca Crawley again with her endless sad stories of a once bright life turned as dismal as the colony to which she had been exiled. She could relate to the poor woman, but it did become tiresome to listen on and on. Maybe she should help herself to her husband’s brandy and dull the next monologue with it. Again that soft rapping. She meandered her way through the chairs and luggage to the door and opened it to her delight.
‘Amelia,’ she gasped as the naked woman slipped into her room and into her arms. ‘You knew that I was feeling peevish and so came to me. Let me hug you some more. I was languishing, thinking you were far out on that – that trail, as that American I once met persisted in saying, although we had regular roads and streets where we lived.’
‘Enough, sweet child. I missed you and could not leave you moping here or me moping there. How dusty and tawdry this place is ... as dusty and as melancholic as the land. Perhaps I have been here too long?’
‘What, you just arrived! I won’t let you leave after only a hug. If this is all that you have for me, you should have brought your dog. I shiver when I imagine his tongue on and in me, and I a young wife too.’
‘Silly, sweet, I meant this land; this end of the earth place. I’ll be with you for a little while.’
‘Well, it is the ends of the world.’
‘It is; but we have each other,’ smiled Amelia, manoeuvring Lucy towards the bed.
‘Wait, Mela – can I call you that? Once I had a good friend, a chum called Mina, and she was somewhat like you, though not as much fun. Wait until I am free of my clothing. Help me! I don’t want to spot it and I doubt that that woman will be back this night, for she seemed somewhat tipsy. She has a thirst for the brandy.’
‘And your Mela has a thirst for you,’ replied the woman, unlacing her, then thrusting her down upon the bed and pressing her lips hard against her neck. She kissed the pulsating vein, then thrust her fangs into it. The iron taste of fresh young blood overwhelmed her senses for a long moment, but only until she felt Lucy’s throat tighten to emit a shriek. Quickly, she put her hand over the girl’s mouth and nose, cutting off her air supply. Lucy’s body began bucking as she fought to get air; but Mela, with the hunger on her, continued to deny her blessed relief while she drank up her blood. With the girl slipping away from consciousness, she finally released her.
Lucy lay there shuddering all over. It was as if she had passed through a little death and found that she still endured. At last, her breathing and body settled. Languidly, she turned and pressed herself against her friend’s naked body. It was so cool and drew away her own warmth. Timidly, her hand went down past Mela’s belly and her fingers brushed her pubic hair. ‘You are dry and arid there,’ Lucy murmured, ‘and I have not the strength to arouse you. Mina used to like my hand doing this to her, but she was so moist.’
‘Well, the land out there is dry and arid, and I have only supped on you a little this night. Next time, you shall find me as drenched as you may wish.
