The Other Wife: A sweeping historical romantic drama tinged with obsession and suspense. Juliet Bell

      ‘Go away. I’m starting dinner. Your father will be angry at me if it’s late.’

      Richard shrugged. ‘He’s not home yet. Went out with clients and won’t be back for ages. Plenty of time for a bit of fun.’ His smirk made Betty’s insides clench. She was sixteen. She knew exactly what he was talking about.

      ‘Piss off.’

      ‘I don’t think so. We’ve fed and clothed you all these years. It’s time you started paying us back. And I know just how you can do that.’

      Betty shook her head. ‘No.’

      Richard lunged towards her. She staggered backwards, cracking her hip on the corner of the big table. She stumbled. That was enough for him to get to her. He pushed her back onto the table and trapped her there between his arms and his body. She wriggled backwards. He laughed.

      One hand grabbed her wrist. The other dug into her thigh. ‘You can pretend you don’t want to, but we both know you do, don’t we?’

      His arm pushed down across her chest, and his free hand pulled at her knee, forcing her thighs wide. ‘Come on. I know you give it to the boys at school.’

      His hand starting pulling at her skirt. Betty stared up at the ceiling, her panicking mind searching for something… anything.

      She twisted her shoulders as hard as she could. It unbalanced him and she sat up, leaning forward, trying desperately to push him away. It wasn’t enough. She just ended up closer against his body. He laughed again. ‘I knew you’d be up for it.’

      He held her tight against his body now, while he struggled with his own clothes. ‘I bet you like to suck cock, don’t you?’

      A wave of nausea hit her. She leant forward as far as she could. One last effort. The pot for the potatoes was still on the stove. If she could reach that, then she’d have something she could hit him with. She reached and her fingertips brushed something – the handle? She tried to grab. The burning pain seared through her hand. She screamed without thinking. Richard looked behind himself. He pulled her hand into his grip, staring at the red welt that was appearing across her palm. ‘Does that hurt?’

      Betty had no fight left. She nodded silently.

      He smirked again. ‘Good.’

      He tipped her back onto the table. Looking into his eyes, she saw a kind of madness there. Nothing would stop him now. Not her pleas, or her injury. Not even fear of his father finding out. She’d had boys before, but this was something else. They’d wanted her. Richard just wanted to have her, to show her that he could. Betty closed her eyes and pictured the fire. She concentrated on the burning sensation in her hand, and in her mind that grew into flames dancing in front of her, warming her. Carrying her away.

      ‘What in God’s name…?’

      Richard was off her in an instant. ‘Father?’

      Betty pushed with her uninjured arm, and pulled her knees up onto the table, dragging her skirt down to cover herself.

      ‘What in God’s name is going on here?’

      Betty stared down at her blistering hand. She didn’t speak.

      ‘I was… she…’ Richard stumbled and stuttered over the words as he stuffed himself back into his trousers.

      ‘She what?’ His father’s voice was cool.

      ‘She started it.’

      Betty shook her head.

      ‘She came on to me. Been coming on to me for months now.’

      Mr Mason nodded. ‘And you couldn’t resist the urge?’

      Richard bent his head towards the ground. ‘Sorry, Father.’

      Betty waited for the consequences. She’d heard Mr Mason shout at his son through the walls sometimes. But instead of anger, Mr Mason just nodded. ‘Young men have needs.’

      He stepped forward and slapped his son briskly across the shoulder. Then he looked at Betty. ‘And you fancied this one.’

      Richard shrugged. ‘She was up for it.’

      Betty burned with rage. ‘I was not. I…’

      Mr Mason held up a hand. ‘Quiet. You’ve done enough.’

      The older man was staring at her, though not with want, like she’d had from Richard such a short time before. This was something else.

      ‘My mates all want a go with her. That’s half the reason they all want to come round here.’

      Mr Mason nodded. ‘That’s interesting. Very interesting.’ He turned back to his son. ‘I forgot the contracts for the Northam land leases. Could you fetch them? Should be on my desk.’

      Richard hurried out of the room.

      Betty still sat huddled on the table.

      Mr Mason folded his arms. ‘I’m thinking I might get a new cleaning girl in.’

      Betty nodded, confused.

      ‘Maybe it’s time you played more of a part in the business, if you know what I mean? Does that sound good?’

      Betty didn’t know what he meant, but it seemed to mean less cleaning, so she nodded.

      ‘Good. We’ll have to get you some new clothes.’ He looked her up and down. ‘Nicer things so you’re nice for my associates to look at. I’ll give you money to go shopping. Would you like that?’

      Now Betty understood. She was to look pretty and make people happy. ‘Yes, Mr Mason.’

       Chapter 17

       Jane

      ‘Sue says she did it with her boyfriend on New Year’s Eve. At a party.’

      ‘I bet she’s lying.’

      ‘No, she told me it didn’t last long, but they definitely did It.’ The two girls giggled wildly as they carried their bags up the stairs to the dormitories.

      I watched them go. I hated the start of the new year. During the summer holidays, Helen and I got to be alone at Our Lady. For ten years now, summer had been my favourite part of the year. We would read and talk, and now we had the added joy of watching our garden flourish. The Christmas services with only the two of us and the nuns, rather than with a chapel full of giggling girls, were beautiful and I was able to feel the presence of the Lord in the calm and the music.

      Then school would start, and all that peace was shattered.

      This year we were moving into grade twelve. I was almost seventeen, almost a woman, according to the calendar, but nowhere near what the other girls would consider being a woman. I’d barely talked to a man outside of the priests at confession, and that certainly didn’t count. Those giggling girls gossiping about who had and hadn’t done it already lived in a different world.

      I let myself out the back door of the boarding house. As a senior boarder, the nuns didn’t seem to mind if I went where I liked around the school grounds after lessons were over. The garden was wilting a bit in the late summer heat, but it was still beautiful. The roses were continuing to bloom, and we had trained a white bougainvillea from the neighbouring garden to climb to our side of the fence. Helen had said that that was a sort of magic – it was like stealing, but nobody lost anything. The more people loved and cared for the plant, the more there was to go around. There were tall sunflowers, their faces raised to the clear blue sky and delicate blue Agapanthus. Helen and I had made a shady bower, with green grass to sit on, and she was there now, resting against the garden wall and reading. Throughout the summer, this little oasis had given me so much joy, but now I found myself looking at the scene with a sense