The Memory of Midnight (24 page)

He spat out a breath. ‘I’ve watched you for years – watched the way you sway your hips, the way you smile at everyone but me – and I knew when you and that goatish
fool-born brother of mine were at it out on the common. I could
smell
it on you both, and I wanted it to be me.’ His voice was high, querulous. ‘I thought of it all the time,
having you beneath me, doing what I wanted with you, and now you have spoilt it.’

Dimly, Nell realized that he was waiting for her to apologize. She dragged in a shuddering breath. Nothing could make this worse.

‘I am sorry,’ she said dully.

It was the right thing to do. Ralph let out a long sigh of satisfaction. ‘Well, you are new to the way things should be between man and woman,’ he said, all understanding. ‘I
doubt not my cloddish brother knew nothing of pleasure. I will teach you,’ he said. ‘You have much to learn, but we may make a good wife of you yet.’

Nell lay awake all night, listening to Ralph sleep beside her. She throbbed all over where he had beaten and pinched her, but he had been careful not to mark her face, she realized. Her ribs
might be tender, her belly bruised, her arms and breasts covered with pinches, but from the neck up she looked as she had always done. Short of stripping down to her shift, she would not be able to
convince anyone that her husband had hurt her.

And what if he had? What could they do? She was Ralph’s property now. She was his wife, and he could do what he liked with her.

‘Mummy, is Ashfer frightened? Why won’t she come in?’

There was a red mist in front of her eyes. She ached all over and her head throbbed with pain. She didn’t want to wake up. She wanted to sink back into the merciful darkness of oblivion,
but something about the voice tugged at her. She didn’t recognize it, but it was important, she knew that. She had to pay attention.

She blinked slowly, and looked around, uncomprehending at first. The bed had gone, and so had the dark, oppressive curtains. Instead of the chamber, she was in a tiny narrow room lined with
cupboards and strange shiny boxes. A small boy crouched by a hole in the wall, peering through it.

‘Mummy,’ he said, ‘Ashfer won’t come in.’

Oscar.
Memory swung back and hit Tess like a wrecking ball. She just managed to catch her head in her hands before it crashed onto the breakfast bar. Dear God, how long had she been
unaware? How long had Oscar been here effectively on his own while she was being raped and tortured by her own husband?

‘Mummy—’ Oscar began again, only to stop at the scrape of Tess’s chair across the tiles.

‘Just a minute, Oscar.’ Her legs barely held Tess up, and she just made it to the bathroom before throwing up.

‘Are you sick, Mummy?’

Tess was curled in a foetal position on the floor, her arms wrapped round her. Shivering, she lifted her head to see Oscar in the doorway. Bink was tucked under his arm, and his eyes were huge
and brown, his mouth wobbling with distress. ‘What’s happening?’ he demanded in a thin voice that cracked Tess’s heart.

Somehow she struggled up to a sitting position. ‘I’ve just got a bit of a bug,’ she told him and ventured a smile, although she guessed it must be a ghastly one. ‘Why
don’t you and Bink watch a bit more television while I have a wash, and then I’ll feel better?’

‘What about Ashfer? She hasn’t eaten her supper.’

Tess rubbed her hands over her face, struggling to remember who Ashfer was. The cat, yes. Ashrafar. The cat who had turned tail and bolted as Nell took Tess over.

‘She’ll come in when she’s hungry, pip.’ She hoped. ‘You go and watch TV. I’ll be in in a minute.’

‘’Kay.’ Oscar hesitated then trailed off to the front room. Normally he would have been thrilled at the chance of extra television, but he could tell that something was very
wrong.

Shakily, Tess got herself onto all fours, and then pulled herself upright. Imagination or not, she ached inside and out, and the memory of being brutalized made her gag still. She ran a bath as
hot as she could bear and sat in it, scrubbing at herself until she was raw, desperate to get the feel of Ralph off her skin, but she couldn’t get clean and she couldn’t get warm.

Afterwards, she huddled into a towel and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. It was all in her mind, she made herself remember. As far as Oscar was concerned, she had been sitting in
the kitchen with him all the time. She hadn’t
actually
been raped, Tess told herself, but when she looked down, her arms and breasts and inner thighs were covered with bruises where
Ralph had pinched and twisted her flesh.

‘You must be boiling!’ Vanessa looked at Tess in surprise when she saw her hugging a cardigan around her. ‘Is that a long-sleeved T-shirt you’re wearing
too?’ She herself was wearing a cut-off jogging top that showed her enviably flat stomach, and skintight Lycra shorts. Spreading her hands, she looked significantly up at the sky, its
blueness barely feathered with a few high wisps of cloud. ‘It’s a gorgeous day, or didn’t you notice?’

Tess bent to kiss Oscar goodbye and ruffled his hair. ‘I’ve had one of those twenty-four-hour bugs,’ she said as she straightened to watch him run into the playground.
‘I’m still feeling a bit yuck.’

‘You should have said. I’d have come and got Oscar for you.’

‘I’m okay now. It’s good to get out.’

It was. Somehow Tess had got through the routine of bath, book, bed with Oscar. Fortunately, Ashrafar reappeared when she was reading a story and curled up on Oscar’s bed. Tess had reached
out a tentative hand to stroke the cat, half-expecting her to take off once more with a yowl of fright, but Ashrafar only stretched and purred, which reassured her. It meant Nell had gone . . . but
for how long?

Unable to settle, Tess had tried to watch television, but the pictures on the screen were of a reality she couldn’t connect to any more. She flicked through the channels, but every
programme seemed to involve flashing lights or complicated computer graphics. The images changed so fast, her brain couldn’t keep up, and she began to feel dizzy and nauseous. It was as if
she were wired to a different world now and she gazed uncomprehendingly at adverts for cars and broadband, for yoghurts and dating agencies, and none of it made sense.

She watched a happy family eating cereal together, smiling brightly, and shuddered as she fingered her bruises. The father looked a bit like Ralph. Behind that handsome, smiling face, was there
another vicious brute? How could you tell? When she had looked at Martin, she had seen an attractive, charming, caring man, the sort of man she expected to end up having jolly family breakfasts
with. There had been no way of knowing that before the cereal could be poured in a precise amount, the bowls had to be spotlessly clean, that the spoons had to be kept carefully aligned in the
cutlery drawer.

Tess switched off the television. In spite of the wretchedness churning in her belly, she craved human company, but there was no one she could call. Vanessa would be with her husband, her mother
didn’t like to be disturbed after nine, and Luke . . . She could hardly call Luke and ask him to come over, could she?

She had wandered over to the window instead and looked down into the street where at least there were ordinary people, out enjoying the soft summer evening. Even at this time of night, Stonegate
had its share of tourists admiring the old houses and the view of the illuminated Minster at the end of the street.

But as she watched, the world wavered and she was looking into a narrower, more cluttered street. It was early evening, and her neighbours were taking in goods from their stalls, closing up
their shutters, and sweeping the debris of the day from their doors into their gutters. John Bean’s apprentice was labouring in and out with scuttles full of refuse which he was piling up
ready for the scavengers the next morning.

‘You’re too early!’ Goodwife Carter shook her broom at him. ‘Not till seven of the clock! Your master knows that well enough!’

She leant further out of the window. There was Elizabeth, maid to the Bowes, setting down the heavy pails she was carrying and flexing her fingers before stooping to pick them up once more and
trudge on up the mid causey towards the Minster. There was John Harper, leaning against his door. She saw him exchange a lascivious look with Margery Dixon, and she raised her brows.
Margery’s husband must be away again.

With a wistful sigh, she turned away from the window, only to be brought up short at the sight of strange, softly cushioned chairs and an uncannily gleaming black box where the great bed should
be standing.

A blink, a jolt, and Tess remembered who she was. Her pulse pounded and she had to breathe deeply in and out before the roaring would subside. Her limbs felt strange, weightless, as if she might
float away, and she held onto the table to anchor herself.

So this was where Ralph Maskewe had raped his wife. Why hadn’t she realized that before? Tess wondered. She should have guessed from the configuration of rooms with the hall that was now
part of the house next door. She had already worked out that her bedroom had been the closet. Of course this had been the great chamber.

Down in the street she could hear voices, laughter. From the present or from the past? Steeling herself, Tess turned back to the window and looked down. John Harper had gone but in his place
stood another man, looking straight up at her in the window.

It was Martin.

The instinctive dart of panic had her jerking back out of sight, a hand to the hammering pulse at the base of her throat. She had been so shocked by her experience at Ralph’s hands that
she had forgotten about Martin.

Why was he just standing there? What did he want?

Heart thudding, Tess edged forward, very cautiously, until she could peer into the street without being seen. Martin was walking away, looking casually around him.

She bit her lip. He didn’t look so familiar from behind. Perhaps it hadn’t been Martin at all? It was difficult to tell now. She had been so sure it was him, but how could she be
sure about anything at the moment?

And Martin wouldn’t be hanging around in the street, she tried to reassure herself. He would have rung the bell, surely? Demanded that she pack her things. Waited inexorably until she did
as she was told.

She must have imagined it.

Still, Tess had lain awake into the small hours, afraid to fall asleep and find herself back in that great bed with Ralph. It reminded her of the nights she had lain rigidly next to Martin,
afraid to fidget in case she irritated him. But Martin had never beaten her the way Ralph had beaten Nell. He hadn’t wanted her to cry out in pain. Martin liked her to lie still and silent.
He had a horror of spontaneity and the mess of sex disgusted him. They had never had sex anywhere but in bed, where Martin liked her to wear the long silk nightdresses he bought for her.

‘I like a woman to look like a woman,’ he was fond of saying. He insisted that Tess kept her hair long, that she wore skirts and pretty dresses, lacy bras and high heels, and she,
God help her, had gone along with it – at first because she was so desperate to please him and then because it was easier to put on stockings and a suspender belt than to make a scene.

In the early days of their marriage, Tess tried to initiate love-making. Hoping to excite him, she surreptitiously read a book on how to spice up a sex life, but Martin was appalled when she
suggested some new positions they could try. He took it as a slur on his virility, and punished her with silence for a week.

Compared to Ralph, was that so bad?

Eventually she had slept, though, exhausted by her ordeal, and it was a huge relief to wake to a bright morning. Only the rawness inside and the bruises on her flesh remained to convince her the
whole thing hadn’t been a terrible nightmare.

Now she shifted as Vanessa studied her, evidently taking in her drawn features and the bruised look around her eyes. ‘You really don’t look well, Tess. Why don’t you come back
with me and have a coffee?’

‘I thought you were going straight to the gym?’

‘I can go a bit later. Come on. I’ll even find you some biscuits!’

Tess hesitated. She longed for someone to talk to, but she knew how her friend would react if she pulled up her sleeves and showed her the bruises on her arms. Vanessa would take charge
immediately. Even if she believed that Tess hadn’t made the marks herself, which was doubtful, she would insist on driving her straight to a doctor. Then there would be probing questions and
an examination, and who knew where it would end? Tess could just imagine the reaction if she told the doctor what was happening to her. There would be whispered consultation with Vanessa, talk of
stress and breakdowns and whether she should be in charge of a child . . . No, Tess wasn’t having that. She had to stay strong and well for Oscar.

She managed a strained smile. ‘Actually, I think I’ll go back, Van. Thanks anyway. I’ve got to catch up on the records. I didn’t get much done yesterday.’

‘All right. If you’re sure. Why don’t I pick Oscar up tonight, and he can come and play with Sam and Rosie? That would give you a bit of a break.’

It would be churlish to refuse. ‘That would be great. Thanks, Van. You’re a good friend.’

She watched Vanessa stretch her legs and then set off for the gym at a brisk jog, her ponytail swinging from side to side with self-satisfaction. The bottoms of her trainers were bright pink,
and they flashed up and down against the grey pavement. Tess couldn’t imagine having enough energy to lift her feet that high. It was all she could do to stand upright today.

Perhaps she should have taken Vanessa up on her offer? She couldn’t deal with this by herself, that was for sure, and what if next time she was out for longer than a few seconds? And there
would be a next time, Tess was sure. Nell would not let her go that easily. She wasn’t going to rest until Tess knew her story, of that Tess was certain.

There was her mother, of course, but Tess couldn’t imagine trying to explain her experience to her. Her mother would simply tell her that she needed to go back to Martin and stop being so
silly.