Free The Marquis of Westmarch by Frances Vernon Page A

other’s glittering, black-lashed, water-grey eyes. “You are my friend. I am not that way inclined! No, Westmarch, leave go of me!”
    “My friend. Yes,” said Meriel very gently, touching Auriol’s cheek. He paused and swallowed and stood up straighter. “Do you know sir, you spoke of sodomites, but you need have no fears on that head.” Auriol listened, and Meriel at last removed his hands and vigorously rubbed them. “You said that Juxon had some hold over me and indeed, it’s true. You see as a man I cannot make a normal marriage, that’s why I thought of little Rosalba — Juxon is the only person in the world who knows, who knows that I am deformed, I am not a man, not a true man. I wish you might have cause to fear sodomy from me, indeed.”
    There was another quick silence, unbroken even by a wave’s crash. “What do you mean — you are not a man?” said Auriol.
    Now both were white-faced with tears in their eyes, but Meriel looked almost triumphant, like a young man drunk on tales of courage and gallantry imagining his own most glorious death.
    “I cannot beget children. I am not properly formed. I — I’m not — in short, I am a woman, sir. So you see, you need have no fear, dammit.”
    A whining seagull flew past their heads; out to sea a foghorn sounded.
    “I am a woman,” said the Marquis, in a loud clear voice. “I am, it’s perfectly true.”

CHAPTER FOUR
Maid Rosalba Established in Life
    “Nonsense! What the devil d’you think you’re saying?”
    The Marquis sat down unsteadily on a neighbouring rock. She would not sit with Auriol. She looked exhausted, but arrogant, and strangely young, and as though she were about to laugh.
    “It’s true,” she said. “I — was born — with a deformity that caused me to be mistaken for a boy.”
    “No. It’s not possible. A man — a person cannot change his sex! When do you —”
    “Oh, but I did, Wychwood,” she interrupted. Her voice was very high and light. “I am glad, sir, very glad to have you know. I have been close to madness, so many times, with the horror of it. No, it was right to tell you.”
    “Prove this to me, what you say.”
    “What, damn it, would you have me show myself naked before you? No, never, oh, no!”
    From that moment he began to believe her, though it struck him, commonsensically, that if they were in love, one day she would have to show herself to him if it were true. Imagining the scene, he turned red, returned to reality and said, “But this hardly seems to be more than a dream, how could it be otherwise? I don’t believe you! How can you expect me to believe you?”
    “Come here, sir,” said Meriel, making room on her rock. “I will show you enough. Come.”
    Slowly he obeyed her, but he did not sit down. “See my face,” she said, looking up at him with pinched lips. “Touch it if you will.”
    The skin was as smooth and nearly as flawless as a child’s on the forehead, cheekbones, and nose. But when he touched the lower half, it proved to be rough, and then he noticed pale downon the upper lip. It was such faint down as a woman might well have, but he exclaimed:
    “Damn you, you shave !”
    “How should I go about, looking like a girl ?” She spat the word. “Oh, I try to shave, yes, sometimes. For the sake of appearance.”
    “Have you run mad? What is this rigmarole?”
    Meriel stood up, unbuttoned her riding coat, grabbed his hand and pressed it against her tunic. She fumbled for the right place, and held it there. “There. Will you still think me a liar? Will you?”
    Auriol blinked rapidly. Through the cloth he could feel a little mound, scarcely bigger than half a peach. He said nothing.
    “Excellent!” said Meriel, closing her coat.
    “Are you a — a hybrid?” whispered Auriol, wiping the hand that had touched her on his sleeve.
    “I think not — I wish I were, I might then feel safe — masquerading as a full man. You’re pale as a ghost, sir!” She was blushing, and