Cutler 05 - Darkest Hour

scrutiny. When Bill Cutler gazed at me, he gazed at all of me, his eyes traveling up and down my body every time he spoke. I felt just like one of the slave girls must have felt on the auction block.
    "And what are those chores? Besides looking after your baby sister, that is?"
    "I help Papa with his bookkeeping," I said. Bill Cutler's smile widened.
    "I thought you might be doing something like that. You look like a very smart young woman, Lillian. I bet you know his assets and liabilities to the penny."
    "I know only what Papa wants me to know," I said quickly. He shrugged.
    "Ain't found a woman yet who let a man control what she wants to know or do, if she's got a mind to do it or know it," he teased. He had a way of rolling his eyes and pressing his lips together that made everything he said seem to have a second, and more licentious, meaning. I was happy to see Vera come to the doorway.
    "The Captain sent me," she said.
    "The Captain?" Bill Cutler repeated, and he laughed. "Who's the Captain?"
    "Mr. Booth," she replied.
    "Captain of what? A sinking ship?" He laughed again. Then he held out his arm for me to take. "Miss Booth?"
    I shot a glance at Vera who looked confused and annoyed, and then, reluctantly, I took Bill Cutler's arm and let him lead me away.
    "Shall we examine the grounds first?" he asked when we reached the entryway.
    "Whatever pleases you, Mr. Cutler," I said.
    "Oh please, call me Bill. I'm William Cutler the Second, but I prefer being called Bill. It's more . . . informal and I like being informal with pretty women."
    "I imagine you do," I said, and he roared.
    When we stepped out on the porch, he stopped and gazed over the grounds. Showing them made me feel ashamed. My heart ached to see how the flower beds had been neglected, how the iron benches had been left to rust and how the fountains dripped with dirty water.
    "This must have been one helluva beautiful plantation at one time," Bill Cutler said. "Coming up that drive, I couldn't help but think about it when it was in its heyday."
    "It was," I said sadly.
    "That's the trouble with the Old South. It don't want to become the New South. These old dinosaurs refuse to admit they lost the Civil War. A businessman's got to look for new, more modern ways of doing things, and if good ideas come out of the North, why then, use them, too. Now you take me," he said. "I've taken over my father's boardinghouse and built it up into a fine place. I get some very high-class clientele coming to stay there. It's a prime piece of property on the ocean. In time . . . why, in time, Lillian, I'm going to be a very wealthy man." He paused. "Not that I'm not well off now."
    "You must be well off, spending all your time at cards and winning the homes and property of other more unfortunate people," I snapped. He roared again.
    "I like your spirit, Lillian. How old are you?"
    "I'm just about seventeen," I said.
    "A right prime age . . . unspoiled and yet you've got a certain look of sophistication about you, Lillian. Had many boyfriends?"
    "That's none of your business. You want to tour the plantation, not my past," I retorted. He roared again. It seemed like nothing I could say or do would upset him. The more obstinate and unfriendly I was, the more he liked me. Frustrated, I took him down the steps and around to see the barns, the smokehouse, the gazebo and the sheds full of old and rusted equipment. I introduced him to Charles, who explained how bad things were and how much machinery had to be replaced. He listened, but I found that no matter what I showed him or no matter whom I introduced him to, he kept his gaze on me.
    It made my heart flutter, but not in a way I enjoyed. He didn't gaze at me with soft, gentle eyes as sweet Niles had done; he looked at me with unbridled, wanton lust. When I spoke to him and described the plantation, he listened, but he didn't hear a word. Instead, he stood there with that wry smile, his eyes full of desire.
    Finally, I announced our tour had ended.
    "So soon?" he complained. "I was just beginning to really enjoy myself"
    "That's all there is," I said. I wasn't going to go too far from the house with him—I didn't feel safe alone with Mr. Bill Cutler. "So you see, you've won yourself a headache," I added. "All The Meadows will do is drain your pocketbook."
    He laughed.
    "Your father rehearse you to say all that?" he asked.
    "Mr. Cutler . . ."
    "Bill."
    "Bill. Haven't you heard or seen anything this past hour? You claim to be