Woman Who Gave Birth to Rabbits - Donoghue [36]
"That's not it." His Adam's apple moves as he swallows. "This is such a ... an unfamiliar situation, would you not say?"
"Oh. Yes."
"You are..."
"What? What am I?"
"So different from the statues." He produces an uncertain little smile.
"Different," she repeats. And then, after a long moment, "In what way, different from the statues?"
He assumes a jovial tone. "Having all your arms, I suppose I mean, and your head on too!"
She stares at him like a forest creature disturbed on a road.
John gets down from the bed and walks over to the window. The boards creak. The backs of his legs are hairy below the nightshirt. He divides the curtains an inch or two, to look out. "There appears to be a light on Tulach Hill; perhaps a bonfire," he remarks softly.
Effie says nothing. She has pulled up the blankets, and wrapped her arms around her nakedness till nothing can be seen but her white face, her spilling hair.
He turns at last, decisive. "My dearest," he says, sitting on the edge of the bed and crossing his legs, "what do you know about the relations of married people?"
She stares at him. "Their parents, you mean? And brothers and sisters?"
"No, no—" and he smiles a little twistedly. "I'm referring to ... marital relations. Has your mother explained anything to you of such matters, by any chance?"
She shakes her head, looks down at the counterpane.
"What few ideas you have on the subject must come entirely from literature, then."
"I suppose so," she mutters, her cheeks dark with embarrassment.
"What worries me," says John thoughtfully, "is that you may not realise the risks entailed."
"Risks?"
"Marital life, in this special sense, is not to be entered into lightly. You are so very young—not yet twenty—and your system has been subjected to such anxiety about your father's monetary troubles—and it occurs to me now that the gentlemanly thing to do might be to postpone the whole business."
"Postpone it?" she repeats. "But I wouldn't mind—I mean, I am prepared to take any risks that, that need be taken—"
He interrupts, tapping the counterpane. "Also, I dread that any ill health on your part might disrupt our expedition to the Alps with my parents. The double excitement of travel and marital relations could prove too much for you, Effie, as it often has for women of stronger constitutions. And then if there were to be any immediate consequence—"
She blinks at him.
"A child, I mean," he says gently. "Why, we might not get to cross the sea again for ten years!"
Her mouth turns down at the edges; her crimson lip is trembling.
"Believe me, my sweet, if I am willing to control myself, it is for your own good."
"Yes," she says through her teeth. "But John—"
"Oh, my love," he interrupts, "I am asking you to trust me to decide this, as your husband. But of course, if at any time in the future your views depart from my own—if you at any point find that you wish consummation to occur without further delay, for the sake of your own health or happiness—all you have to do is tell me."
"Tell you that I wish it?"
"Yes. Truly, Effie. For instance, I would do it this very night if I felt it was your wish," he says eagerly. "Is it?"
"No," she says, looking away to the edge of the candlelight, "no, of course not, John."
He grins at her. "I think you're somewhat relieved, isn't that so?"
"Perhaps," she whispers.
"The more I think about it, Effie, the more I see that our marriage should be based on the soundest spiritual principles, not mere passion." His voice rises in enthusiasm, as if he is lecturing on art; his cold seems to be gone. "And in the fullness of time, my dear, when I make you my wife in that special sense, I think we will both be glad that we showed forbearance tonight."
"Perhaps so."
"It's a bargain, then. Our little secret bargain." John holds out his hand, and she puts hers into it, and he presses his hot mouth to the backs of her fingers.
Then he picks up her discarded nightgown as easily as a nurse, holds it high so that Effie can slip her arms in. He plants a kiss on her pale forehead. "Sleep in my arms,