The Price of Hannah Blake (19 page)

“We will be friends,” he said. It was a statement.

She nodded. “Yes. That is what I want. I know that a girl here seems—I mean, you see everything…”

“So a man need not think a woman is her own?”

She could not look up. “I have given things, things I was not forced to give.”

He shrugged. “To live. Because this might be your life…”

“No!”

“But it must seem so, at times, and you will have what life you can, at whatever price, as long as you can.”

“I have even forgotten I am a prisoner, sometimes, for a little while,” Hannah whispered.

“There can be salvation, in that,” he said, “because from that comes the energy to survive, to fight.”

Hannah wondered, for a wild moment, if this meeting ever could lead to the bed. She blushed furiously. What
was
happening to her? She rose quickly, said, “Now, I should go,” and almost ran to the door. Before she opened it, she turned, glancing back.

David said: “Did I tell you that you are beautiful, and brave, and very desirable?”

She had no idea what to say, but he went on, “That is not for tonight. That is for you to know.”

She turned and seized the doorknob. He called, “Hannah?”

She looked around; she hoped he did not see the tears in her eyes.

“Don’t give up.”

And she slipped out the door, glancing either way, and ran for the stairs.

For some weeks, Hannah had remained ‘the new girl,’ though no one treated her differently, now. Then, shortly after exercises began, one morning, she heard a sound from the direction of the dressing room and turned her head. A girl Hannah never had seen stood there, the wardress behind her. The girl had cried out.

She wore the knee-length pants and loose blouse that was the daily uniform of the troupe. She had stopped and stepped back, her face blank and staring, as though slapped. She slowly bent over, as with cramps, but she raised her face to stare at the naked leaping figures that filled the room. The wardress blocked her retreat, taking her arm.

She was a short girl with the dark skin, eyes like night pools, and coal-black hair that made Hannah think of the gypsies at fairs. Her face had a girlish loveliness, with a sensitive mouth that twitched, now, as if she would cry. But most striking was her figure. She did not have the slender, athletic build of the others, not a dancer’s body, but a huge, prominent bosom that filled and stretched the loose blouse. Her legs flared into big hips, though her waist was small between the hips and breasts. The “new” girl did not seem to belong.

Her hand had closed over her mouth and above it the fathomless eyes had gone round in panic. Her other arm had come up, as though unconsciously, to protect her breasts. At that moment, the exercise changed, requiring Hannah’s attention, and when she looked again the girl was huddled over, head bowed, on the bench.

Just then, Hannah caught Darlene’s eye. Darlene gave her a wide grin and a wink. Hannah was not the new girl any longer.

“Be at the gardener’s cottage—where we introduced you to your husband—right after this,” said Darlene, slipping down beside Hannah at dinner. “We want the new girl, today, before the boys. Let them have her later.”

“No one has seen her yet!” exclaimed Lilly “Dress like a queen, Hannah—you remember!” Hannah felt suddenly empty, hollowed out; this is what Lilly was—affectionate, like a puppy, but without the capacity any longer to know cruelty. Hannah thought, then said, “She looks so different. And so terrified.”

“We all were,” said Darlene indifferently. “I was. It goes away. I think this girl is here for entertainment
entr’acte
.”

Hannah frowned.

“Well, we once had clowns, sort of. To entertain between acts. They horsed around. Well, with those tits, I think this could be why they brought her. You can do funny things with boobies as big as that. But sexy, too—at least to the duke.”

Hannah was silent.

Charlotte said, “I have a trick to get her there. She’s scared stiff, she’ll trust a girl. She thinks only the boys want to get their hands on those tits.”

“I can’t wait to see them,” exclaimed Myra. “What flesh! I wonder what her pussy hair is like?”

Hannah ate slowly, rehearsing, image by image, her own initiation. Incredible, how modest she had been! It didn’t matter now, dressed or naked. She admitted that she was intrigued at the thought of watching this new girl go through what she had endured: to see her stripped, that modesty outraged, desperate for anything to cover herself.

What had happened to her in just two months? What was left of Hannah? The thought filled her with a bottomless panic that grew until there seemed nothing else within her. She felt like clutching Lilly, or Charlotte, or Darlene and begging to be helped.

There was no help. And then, Darlene said, rising, “I have to get ready. Remember, you’re the new girl, Hannah,” and she seized her tray and left. Hannah looked over at Lilly, who was grinning. Lilly said, “You’re the husband, tonight!”

She thanked God that David was in his room. She did not sit, she had no time. “They are going to initiate that new girl, tonight. Her name is Miranda.”

“I saw her, of course. Do you have to go?”

“I am to do to her what Myra did to me!”

He said, slowly, “What if you refused?” He added quickly, “I am not saying that you should, but what if you did? It would be new to them, I think. Do they realize that no one forces them to do to new prisoners what their jailers do to them?”

“What will they do to me?”

“I imagine they will do anything to defend the tradition.” He grinned, “It reminds me of Cambridge.”

“Of what?”

“Oh, my life out there. Hannah. Listen, it is difficult enough to survive, here, without trying to fight the others.”

Hannah wrestled with a thought. She said, slowly, “But I am
not
surviving, am it? Not me, myself.”

He gazed as though unable to get enough of looking at her. He shook his head, sadly, seeming to see something she could not.

Suddenly, she said, “I have to go and get ready.” She turned and hurried to the door.

“Hannah?”

But she opened the door, slipped out, and silently shut it.

Hannah had selected a light chiffon gown that hugged her breasts, leaving her shoulders bare. She had piled her hair on her head and pinned it, as she and Lilly and Rachael had done many times. She wished she had lost all her freckles. All the others were beautiful, like fairies in a fairyland. Eyes were intent on the door; silence was essential. The victim must not be warned. And then, Lilly began to giggle, a little wildly, and Rachael clasped her palm over her mouth.

“Hush!” commanded Darlene. “All of you!’ But Lilly could not stop; she held both hands over her lips, half bent over, her face bright red. Perhaps, thought Hannah, all this was not so “natural” to her. She had heard of “hysteria.”

A voice just outside the door said, urgently, “In here, Miranda! You’ll be safe!” It was Charlotte. The door began to swing open and another voice, shaking, tearful, said, “Oh, I cannot thank you!”

Miranda stepped into the room, Charlotte just at her back, and looked around. The lights flared on and they burst into applause. Charlotte pushed the girl a step farther and swung shut the door; the lock turned. She held the keys aloft, triumphant. Another successful skit.

Miranda seemed a stricken animal. She backed, groping behind her for the door. She shook her head slowly, the wonderful dark curls swaying. “No!” she moaned, almost inaudibly. Her arms came up, in the characteristic gesture, to cover the huge bosom. She must have done that ever since she developed, thought Hannah, painfully aware that they fascinated men. She was as naïve and vulnerable as Hannah had been—more so, if that were possible.

Myra said, impatiently, “What are we waiting for? Let’s strip her!”

“No!” screamed Miranda. She backed into Charlotte, who seized her arms. Miranda whirled, half breaking away, and swung her fist at Charlotte. She screamed, “Traitor! I will kill you!”

They were the first words Hannah had heard her speak. It was an accent difficult to understand, although the words were English. Hannah had heard Spanish; it sounded a little like that.

Myra, Charlotte, and Rachael, all strong and quick, and with the ease of trained athletes, quickly stripped her. It was roughly done, because the girl fought like a cornered animal, but soon Miranda stood in the middle of the room, naked, seeming struck dumb. Hannah realized that this girl would not have an “easy” initiation.

Charlotte and Myra seized her arms on either side and straightened her up. All eyes were on the girl’s breasts, larger than any Hannah ever had seen, dark brown, hanging almost to her navel, with nipples of a size to match and almost black. As the girl struggled, the breasts swung and softly clapped together.

“Hey!” said Lilly excitedly, “Did anyone look at her pussy!” She pointed. “What a garden!”

It was true. Between Miranda’s broad hips—hips that looked lazy, stolid—was a belly from the base of which flared a broad, jet-black wave of hair that reached almost to her navel. It seemed thick as fur between her legs. Hannah’s own loins gave a shudder; she did not want to think it was excitement.

The audience now scrutinized their discovery, pointing and commenting, as the girl tried to bend forward to cover herself. She flushed deeply on her chest, up her neck, and across her face. And she writhed, pressing her legs together tightly, but the girls only laughed because, as she did, the breasts jiggled enticingly. Hannah stared, transfixed; this girl had no chance!

Darlene stepped forward, more queenly than a queen, in a flowing pink gown. The girl stared at her, baffled, as though Darlene had risen through the floor. Darlene advanced and Miranda shrank back—but not far, held by Myra and Charlotte—until the satin of Darlene’s gown almost brushed Miranda’s breasts. For a few moments, Darlene did not speak, seeming to savor the tension. Then she intoned, “I am Darlene, Miranda. We all are dressed in honor of your wedding night, which is tonight…”

She continued, as she had with Hannah, until, finishing, she turned to the others and ordered, “Prepare her!”

When Miranda had been half-dragged into the “bedroom” by Lilly and Rachael, Darlene fixed her gaze on Hannah and said, “Charlotte, help Hannah to prepare.”

Hannah knew, but she asked, anyway. “Prepare? For what?”

Darlene immediately perceived the opposition. She said, “Prepare you, the groom, to take Miranda’s cherry. Her arsehole cherry. Like when Myra initiated
you
. Now you get to do it. You wear the dildo.”

“But Myra wasn’t the new girl, then,” said Hannah.

“No,” said Darlene. “Myra begged to do it and the girl gave up her turn.”

“This is a game,” said Hannah wearily, “and it’s cruel. I don’t want to do it. I’ll leave right now.”

They all turned to her, then glanced at Darlene, who said, slowly, “There is no ‘want to.’ Someone did it for you, now you do it.”

This was the moment to decide, but Hannah already had. She said, “No.” She glanced at the others. Did she have any friends, allies? They seemed silenced, waiting. Was this the way to survive, wondered Hannah? Hadn’t she vowed to survive at any price? No, this was the price.

She looked around again. Myra was grinning, but Charlotte said, quickly, “You have to, Hannah. You took it, so can Miranda.”

Another girl said, “We all did.
Please
, Hannah?”

Hannah felt panic. Why were they all so alarmed?

“No,” said Hannah. She hoped her voice was steady.

“She’s a faggot!” said Myra, grinning.

Darlene nodded.

“What am I?” asked Hannah. She really didn’t care.

Charlotte said, “A man who won’t take a woman. Like Charles. If you’re a faggot, then…”

“Quiet!” snapped Darlene. “
She
decides.”

“I have decided,” said Hannah. “I don’t have to do it. And I won’t.”

Darlene’s lovely eyes of a queen were veiled but menacing. “Then strip, Hannah.”

“Why?”

Darlene turned to the others. “Strip her.”

Myra and Charlotte and the others were fast and strong, but so was Hannah, now. She hadn’t sweated like a sailor for weeks for nothing. As Myra came at her, she ducked, gave Myra’s hip a mighty shove, so Myra stumbled, and raced for the door.

It took four of them to get off her gown, and everything else, and tie her. Nude, Hannah kept lashing out with her feet. She felt no modesty, only fury, determination to fight. She forgot she needed allies; it was her battle.

“God damn, you!” she kept yelling. “God damn you!”

The fear came only when they had hoisted her onto the bed, face down, and her wrists to the top of the bedposts, and secured them so she hung, again, at full length, naked, arms stretched above her, gasping from her fight. Her breasts heaved, she was sweating. She turned her head and looked back over her shoulder. She didn’t see Lilly or Rachael or Miranda. Apparently, they remained in the little room, awaiting the next act.