she could lift her up and squeeze more blood from the gash in her throat.
‘About earlier,’ said Nayland, ‘what I said … I’m sorry, I just get …’
‘I know what you get,’ she replied. Christ, did he have to try and have a heart-to-heart now? This was hardly a convenient time. ‘Look.’ She set Georgina back down as the flow of blood slowed to a trickle. ‘We’ll talk later, all right?’
A pause. ‘OK.’ A longer pause. ‘Is the maid with you?’
Patience had been talking, Elizabeth realised. ‘Of course she isn’t – I’m taking a bath. I gave her fifty dollars and told her to take the night off.’
‘Patience seemed to think you were going to take her out … dancing.’
Elizabeth laughed. ‘Does that sound like me?’
‘No,’ Nayland had to admit. ‘I was surprised.’
‘I told you, I gave her some money and packed her off. Now go away – we’ll talk later.’
‘Fine.’ There was a shuffling on the other side of the door while Nayland decided if there was anything else he could say. He realised there wasn’t and she listened to him walk away slowly, closing the dressing-room door behind him. Finally, peace.
She went back to Georgina and lifted her up by the ankles. Elizabeth was a strong woman and certainly not averse to flexing her muscles. Still, she was glad the girl had been so slight. She squeezed the maid’s body, trying to work as much of the blood as possible out of it. There was always going to be wastage, she decided, maybe a couple of pints retained by the body despite her best efforts. Looking down into the bath she decided there was more than enough. If one small splash had had such a pronounced effect how could all this not revitalise her completely?
But what if its potency faded after death?
Elizabeth grabbed a large sponge, climbed into the tub, squatted down and got to work.
The blood was cooling quickly. She dragged the loaded sponge up her legs, the skin glowing with warmth to begin with before quickly chilling off. Then she rubbed it across her shoulders and chest, letting the liquid run down. She dropped back so that she was sitting in the thick puddle, working fast to paint every inch of herself, forcing the sponge into every hated fold and crease. The blood thickened on her as it began to clot and dry, her limbs sticking to her torso as she tried to shift in the bath and become more comfortable.
She soaked up more on the sponge and squeezed it out over her head, massaging it into her hair and scalp and finally her face. She closed her eyes as lightly as she could and doused herself, letting the fluid run from her forehead in a dripping curtain. She used her fingers to rub the blood in, massaging her cheeks, pushing her fingers along the side of her nose, working the skin hard. She nearly choked as she accidentally snorted in a little, feeling it run down the back of her throat like salty syrup.
Her neck, too: no more sagging jowls or puckered throat. She rubbed and rubbed, dipping her hands into the blood beneath her and smearing herself all over, obsessively returning to every part of her that she had grown to hate, pinching and twisting the skin, letting her nails scrape at it, punishing it for being so weak, so pathetic and old.
Eventually, muscles aching and her whole body sticking to the bath beneath her, Elizabeth lay back and relaxed.
The smell was pungent but not unpleasant – she wanted to be reminded of the potency of what she was lying in, the animal richness of it.
How long did it take to work? Perhaps the longer she had it on her body the greater the effect? Though surely there was a limit? She could hardly shrink away back to childhood here in her slick second womb. Her skin tingled, though whether that was from the rough attention she’d paid it or whether it was proof that the blood was taking effect she couldn’t say.
She realised she’d been holding her breath and she let out a sigh that bubbled through wet lips.
She
‘About earlier,’ said Nayland, ‘what I said … I’m sorry, I just get …’
‘I know what you get,’ she replied. Christ, did he have to try and have a heart-to-heart now? This was hardly a convenient time. ‘Look.’ She set Georgina back down as the flow of blood slowed to a trickle. ‘We’ll talk later, all right?’
A pause. ‘OK.’ A longer pause. ‘Is the maid with you?’
Patience had been talking, Elizabeth realised. ‘Of course she isn’t – I’m taking a bath. I gave her fifty dollars and told her to take the night off.’
‘Patience seemed to think you were going to take her out … dancing.’
Elizabeth laughed. ‘Does that sound like me?’
‘No,’ Nayland had to admit. ‘I was surprised.’
‘I told you, I gave her some money and packed her off. Now go away – we’ll talk later.’
‘Fine.’ There was a shuffling on the other side of the door while Nayland decided if there was anything else he could say. He realised there wasn’t and she listened to him walk away slowly, closing the dressing-room door behind him. Finally, peace.
She went back to Georgina and lifted her up by the ankles. Elizabeth was a strong woman and certainly not averse to flexing her muscles. Still, she was glad the girl had been so slight. She squeezed the maid’s body, trying to work as much of the blood as possible out of it. There was always going to be wastage, she decided, maybe a couple of pints retained by the body despite her best efforts. Looking down into the bath she decided there was more than enough. If one small splash had had such a pronounced effect how could all this not revitalise her completely?
But what if its potency faded after death?
Elizabeth grabbed a large sponge, climbed into the tub, squatted down and got to work.
The blood was cooling quickly. She dragged the loaded sponge up her legs, the skin glowing with warmth to begin with before quickly chilling off. Then she rubbed it across her shoulders and chest, letting the liquid run down. She dropped back so that she was sitting in the thick puddle, working fast to paint every inch of herself, forcing the sponge into every hated fold and crease. The blood thickened on her as it began to clot and dry, her limbs sticking to her torso as she tried to shift in the bath and become more comfortable.
She soaked up more on the sponge and squeezed it out over her head, massaging it into her hair and scalp and finally her face. She closed her eyes as lightly as she could and doused herself, letting the fluid run from her forehead in a dripping curtain. She used her fingers to rub the blood in, massaging her cheeks, pushing her fingers along the side of her nose, working the skin hard. She nearly choked as she accidentally snorted in a little, feeling it run down the back of her throat like salty syrup.
Her neck, too: no more sagging jowls or puckered throat. She rubbed and rubbed, dipping her hands into the blood beneath her and smearing herself all over, obsessively returning to every part of her that she had grown to hate, pinching and twisting the skin, letting her nails scrape at it, punishing it for being so weak, so pathetic and old.
Eventually, muscles aching and her whole body sticking to the bath beneath her, Elizabeth lay back and relaxed.
The smell was pungent but not unpleasant – she wanted to be reminded of the potency of what she was lying in, the animal richness of it.
How long did it take to work? Perhaps the longer she had it on her body the greater the effect? Though surely there was a limit? She could hardly shrink away back to childhood here in her slick second womb. Her skin tingled, though whether that was from the rough attention she’d paid it or whether it was proof that the blood was taking effect she couldn’t say.
She realised she’d been holding her breath and she let out a sigh that bubbled through wet lips.
She
Similar Books
