"Come in, Billy, I was needing those eggs, it's almost breakfast time." Cook looked pleased to see the young man.

William carried in the cloth satchels of food, set them down gently and efficiently started to stow the groceries in their proper places. As he worked he looked at Elizabeth, who was trying not to stare at him. "And who're you, pretty thing?" he said to her.

"Don't you be chatting up Miss Lizzy," Cook scolded him.

Elizabeth blushed, and looked down, then looked directly at William, who winked at her. "Why shouldn't he talk to me, Cook?"

"I'll talk to you when Mrs. Burns takes her holiday," William said.

"You scamp," Cook said, and laughed. Elizabeth sat quietly, thinking. Mother would say that he should not talk to her because he was a delivery boy and she was the daughter of the house. Father would say that he should not talk to her because boys wanted just one thing from girls, and girls shouldn't give that until they were married. Elizabeth wasn't quite sure what that one thing was, it was something to do with how foals and calves were born, though, and bulls mounting cows. She could not quite visualize a man mounting a woman that way, though. A very strange concept, why a human would want to behave like an animal. But, why did Cook say he shouldn't talk to her? After all, he talked to Cook, and she talked to Cook. She puzzled over it, and William finished his duties and left.

"What's passing through that pretty head of yours, Miss Lizzy?" Cook asked her, noticing that Elizabeth was staring into space, not finishing the scone she'd half eaten before William's arrival.

"I was just wondering, did you think that boy... Billy? would say something vulgar to me? Is that why you didn't want him to talk to me?" Elizabeth asked.

"Well, now. That Billy, he's not so ill spoken, but he's wild. I didn't want him putting ideas in your head, understand. His kind of ideas aren't suitable for a young lady." Cook shook her head seriously. "You just disregard his nonsense, Miss Lizzy. It's of no matter."

Elizabeth nodded, but for some reason, she felt very determined to see William again. The next time was not so long after, in fact.

Mrs. Burns was ill, and she was at her sister's house being looked after, so Sheila, the housemaid, was attempting to take care of the kitchen duties. Elizabeth's mother was also doing some of the cooking, making the curry dishes Elizabeth loved so much, and that she was treated to so rarely.

Chitralekha, which in Sanskrit means "beautiful as a picture," was still as beautiful as she neared 40 years of age as she had been at 18, when the young Edward Feildric courted her in the gardens of her parents' house in Delhi. She was slender, appeared almost ageless, her dark eyes sparkled with life. She dressed beautifully and spoke with an almost perfect English accent, the slight foreignness lending her an attractively exotic air. She had borne Edward five children; three were still alive, her eldest daughter Penelope; Elizabeth; and the youngest, and only living son, Kenneth. Two boys between Elizabeth, now fourteen, and Kenneth, now seven, had died of a fever nine years before. Elizabeth and Penelope had survived the fever, being older and stronger; Kenneth had not yet been born when it passed.

Until Neddy and Ricky's deaths, Edward and Chitralekha had been very close, the love between them had grown stronger by the days and years. After the boys died, Elizabeth's father grew distant; his trips on Crown business grew longer and longer, his stays with his family dwindled. Father was home so rarely, and Mother pined for him for a while, then gained her own circle of friends and seemed to have adapted to his absence.

So, it was Monday morning, Cook was not there, and Elizabeth sat in the kitchen alone - Sheila was busy with washing. When William arrived with the groceries, he greeted her, his pleasure audible in his voice, and visible on his face. "Lizzy, what a surprise. Is it Mrs. Burns' holiday?"

Elizabeth stood up. "I'll help you with the groceries. No, Cook is taken ill. Her sister is nursing her."

"So you're playing the servant girl today? Why not?" William flirted with her as they put the groceries away, their hands colliding as they reached for the same bag of sugar, his hip brushing against her as they passed one another in the small pantry. He seemed so free, to her, so open. She was sad when they finished, and he assured her he'd see her tomorrow. "Unless Mrs. Burns has a miraculous recovery. I'll pray for her to regain her health - slowly." He winked again at Elizabeth as he left.

They talked a bit as they put away groceries almost every morning for a week. When Cook returned, Elizabeth missed him, but she didn't dare go down to the kitchen when he was expected, because Cook would see right away what was going on. For the next two weeks she kept thinking about William, but she didn't do anything. It got to be more and more urgent to her to see him, though. She decided to risk it, and practiced in the mirror till she thought she could control her expression well enough.

She went down to the kitchen that morning. Cook gave her a slice of soda bread just out of the oven. It was rich, with raisins, grated carrot, and brown sugar, and Elizabeth had almost finished it, taking the last few bites more slowly, when William arrived.

She was so happy to see him. He gave her a grin and said, "What a balmy vision, Lizzy," and she carefully didn't flirt back the way she had when Cook wasn't there, but she smiled and lowered her eyes. She wanted him to know she had wanted to see him, but, she didn't want to listen to scolding from Cook, or worse, have Cook tell Mother.

William looked a bit hurt, and Elizabeth ached for that, but she couldn't think of anything to do. She decided this had been a bad idea and that she would not come down to see him anymore. "A balmy morning, Billy, I think so too." She looked at him for only a split second, then, spontaneously gave Cook a hug, nearly making her drop the bottle she was taking to the icebox. Then she darted upstairs.

She didn't see him again for nearly a month. She went down to the stable in the late afternoon, where the carriage and the carriage-horses were kept, because she liked the horses, and wanted to give them a treat. He was hiding behind the stable and grabbed her hand as she headed to the door. "Lizzy," he whispered loudly. She felt a kind of thrill as she heard his voice.

"Billy? What're you doing here?" she asked him, smiling a bit, happy to see him.

"Come to see you, of course," he told her. Then he kissed her, leaving her a bit dazed. It felt strange, but good. He pulled her into the stable, and she went unresisting, unable to think straight. She thought the stable hand might be inside, but he was not. Having his supper in the kitchen, probably, this was about that time. Her own supper would be in an hour or so, she thought irrelevantly, as he pulled her close and kissed her again. "I can't stop thinking about you, Lizzy. I know you like me, from how you looked at me. You do, don't you?"

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. He started to run his hands across her form and she felt sensations too strong for comfort, and pulled away, frightened. "What... what are you doing?" she asked in a shaky tone.

"Hush, it comes natural," he said, and pulled her down with him to lie in the hay. He kissed her again; this time it felt different, as though he were demanding something. She wanted to scream, but her voice wouldn't do it.

She pulled away and stood again, trembling all over. "Stop this," she whispered, unable to speak louder.

"What? Think you're too good for me, do you?" He scrambled up and seized her wrist, holding her fast. She shook her head, but he continued, "I'll show you what you're good for." He pushed her down again, and pushed her skirts up, pressing her thighs apart. She felt herself almost separate from her body, as though she were standing there watching the scene transpire. From then on, whenever she remembered this, it was as though she had been a viewer, not a participant. She often thought it was fortunate that she did not remember the sensations involved as he tore away her underclothes, and raped her. After that, he left without saying anything else that she recalled, and she wasn't sure how long she lay before she returned to her body, and could stand up, go inside, and immediately draw a bath, stripping off all her clothes and washing until she felt almost clean again. Almost.