Jane and the Damned Read Online Free PDF Page A

at him with dislike. “You‧re a fool,” she said. “And your maidservant is with child by you, and your wife doesn‧t care because she‧s taken the miller as her lover.”
    She had no idea where the thought came from, but she saw it as clear as day: the maidservant stood before a mirror, smoothed apron and skirts over her belly, and wondered how long it would be before she showed; and a man dusted with flour slapped the buttocks of the physician‧s wife as though they were plump sacks of grain.
    “What!” The physician backed away. “She rambles, ma‧am. Clearly it is a case of insanity.”
    “Or of truth, sir,” Jane said. How easy it would be to grasp his coat and sink her teeth into the folds of his neck—even though those folds were stubbled and greasy and the blood beneath ran sluggish and unhealthily thick.
    Without even bowing, the physician gathered his bag and coattails around him in lieu of dignity and left the room.
    “Jane, that was a shocking thing to say!” Mrs. Bigg said. “Where did you get such a wicked, unladylike idea?”
    “I did hear something of the maidservant, Mama,” Catherine said timidly. “I expect I may have mentioned it to Jane, for everyone is talking of it.”
    Jane nodded, running her tongue over her canines. Theyached, and she hoped a trip to the dentist was not in the future (but no, she knew deep down inside it was not so—besides, why both teeth, at the same time?). “I‧m tired,” she mumbled.
    “Of course you are, my dear,” Mrs. Bigg said. “How would you feel about some laudanum? No? Some wine? You are looking a little better, but still too pale, and these pretty hands of yours are so cold.”
    “I am feeling well enough, ma‧am, although somewhat fatigued.”
    She turned down offers of tea, warming pans, more coals, and the contents of Mrs. Bigg‧s medicine chest, and was relieved when Catherine insisted her mother go to bed. After extracting from all three a promise that they would wake her if Jane became worse during the night, Mrs. Bigg picked up a candlestick and left the room, admonishing them not to stay up gossiping.
    Catherine turned so Cassandra could untie the laces of her gown. “Hurry, it‧s freezing. Jane, did you hear what I heard: that the miller‧s parts are abnormally large?”
    “Catherine!” Cassandra scolded. “What a shocking thing to say. Is it true?”
    “Oh, indeed. Apparently he is most popular. There, your stays are unlaced. Quick, unlace me and then we can talk.”
    “We mustn‧t tire Jane,” Cassandra said. She tugged at Catherine‧s laces. “Oh, they‧re knotted, you tiresome girl. My fingers are almost as cold as Jane‧s.”
    Catherine, at the dressing table, reached for rags to curl her hair while Cassandra labored at her laces. Jane searched her reflection—she was there, and surely the indistinct quality of the image was only because the flames of the candles wavered in the drafty room.
    Catherine and Cassandra, in their nightgowns and caps, their stays and petticoats and shifts tossed onto a chair, ran over to thebed. Catherine jumped beneath the covers and gave a squeal of surprise. “Jane, you are so cold! I shall send for a warming pan.”
    “No, we‧ll warm up on Cassandra.” She nudged her sister with one foot. “Pray faster.”
    On her knees at the side of the bed, Cassandra, head bowed and hands together, gave her a distinctly un-Christian look. “Hold your tongue, and should not you pray, too?”
    “I‧m ill,” Jane said.
    “I‧m cold,” Catherine said with an exaggerated chatter of teeth. “Oh, do come to bed, Cassandra, I‧m sure God won‧t want you to catch your death.”
    “… and restore my dear sister to health. Amen.” Cassandra climbed into bed on the other side of Jane and tied the ribbons of her nightcap beneath her chin.
    “I cannot believe you swooned from being kissed,” Catherine said. “What did Mr. Smith do?”
    “He kissed you?” Cassandra sat up.
    Catherine