A Country Marriage (15 page)

Before she knew what was happening, everything in the room was a blur of movement; Hannah and Tabitha were standing up and clapping and Ellen, although apparently leaping up from her chair, seemed to take ages to arrive at her side of the table and wrap her in a hug.

‘Surprised enough for you?’ she was asking.

If only she could stop trembling enough to respond, not that anything she might have managed to say would have stood a chance of being heard above the sound of Tom arriving alongside George to slap his back and roar his approval.

‘Well, well,’ he was booming, ‘she obviously
is
to your liking, then.’

‘Congratulations, brother!’ she heard Will add more genuinely as things around her gradually became less distorted.

‘Thank you, Will, thank you,’ she became aware of her husband replying.

But despite the flurry of kisses and embraces, over her mother-in-law’s shoulder, she caught sight of Annie, her face bearing the crooked expression of someone caught completely by surprise. Unable to disentangle herself from Hannah’s clasp, she nevertheless managed to turn her head to watch as Annie lifted her son from his chair and led him stiffly from the room, saying as she passed them by, ‘C’mon James, son, let’s get away from all this nonsense.’

*

‘Well, that was truly wonderful, wasn’t it?’ Ellen remarked as she untied her apron and hung it on the back of the scullery door. ‘A real family occasion, with everything so agreeable for once.’

‘Just perfect,’ Mary agreed as she tiptoed with her along the hallway to peer at the menfolk still sitting where they had left them more than an hour earlier.

‘Well, seems they’ll be content to sit and talk nonsense for a while yet,’ Ellen whispered. ‘So how about you and me wrap up warm and take a few steps outside?’

‘Oh, yes. Let’s,’ she replied. ‘I could really do with some fresh air after all of that eating.’

*

Not long after the two women had set out, George too, decided that some air was called for and so, rousing himself from the table, he stumbled out into the yard, stretching and yawning in the hope of clearing his head from the effects of his overindulgence. From force of habit, he glanced towards the south-west to see the final pale patch of sky holding out against nightfall. Then, as his eyes returned to the yard, they fell upon Annie leaning against the wall. Knowing that she had seen him come out, he remained where he was, able only to watch while she strode towards him. And then, feeling her arm about his waist, he felt her guiding him towards the dairy. But it wasn’t until he tried to object that he discovered just how deeply the amount of ale he had consumed was affecting his ability to both think and speak; so much so that once through the door, all he could do was allow himself to be propped against the wall to watch while she lit a lantern and set it on the bench. If there was one thing that he could tell for certain, though, it was that with her hands planted on her hips like that, she had something on her mind.

‘George, look at me,’ he could hear her saying, her tone impatient. ‘And for heaven’s sake stop leering; I’ve summat to say to you.’ With some difficulty, he hauled himself more upright and lifted his gaze from her chest. ‘Although Lord knows, I can only
pray
that what I have to say will reach into your liquor-filled head because by the look of you, it’s by no means certain. Anyway, the point is, I want to apologise to you and I’m only going to do it the once.’ Apologise? Something about the way she was looking at him suggested that he ought to listen, even though most of his powers of concentration seemed to be entirely taken up with remaining upright. ‘I knew this would be a waste of time,’ he heard her saying, knowing that she would press on nevertheless. ‘See, it’s been playing on my mind how the week before your wedding, I behaved bad. I won’t say I
lied
to you that day because I didn’t. Far from it. Everything I said that day was true an’ my feelings in that regard ain’t changed. But I shouldn’t have done what I did. An’ so for that I ask your forgiveness.’ He was fairly certain that he was nodding but given the determined look on her face he could only hope that it would be enough to keep him out of trouble. ‘I reckon it’s why you been avoiding me, though and lookin’ back, I ain’t surprised.’

Until then, lingering warmth from the brandy he had consumed had been keeping him from growing cold. Now, though, the effect was beginning to fade and the seeping chill that was replacing it ought by rights to have been sharpening his thoughts, except that the heady musk of her body seemed easily as intoxicating. Blinking rapidly, he regarded her more carefully. It was true that he had been keeping out of her way – vivid memories of her behaviour in the barn that day mixed with a not-inconsiderable gnawing of his conscience had been making sure of that – on top of which, he thought he’d made things perfectly clear to her.

‘Annie, if this is some sort of…
ploy
…’ If nothing else, he needed to be careful to choose words that wouldn’t provoke her.

‘No, hear me out, George,’ she seemed particularly quick to reply. ‘It hurts me real bad to see you with that… that
girl
because she ain’t in the least bit right for you. She won’t never understand you like I do. See, I understand this
longing
of yours to see fairness for all but you can be sure she ain’t got the least grasp. Nor does she know what it is that fires you; what you need from a woman.’ While he knew full well that she was right, he had no intention of letting her see it, but as he tried to decide how best to word a denial, she surprised him by taking a step backwards and saying in a resigned manner, ‘But still, here we are, both of us wed to the wrong people now and nothing we can do about it.’

‘Now just hold on a moment—’

‘Oh come on, George, stop fooling yourself. She ain’t what you need, not in the least.’

He might need to tread carefully but he wasn’t going to let her ride roughshod over him.

‘Well, you believe whatever you want but like you say: she’s my wife. And if you care for me as much as you say, then you could at least
try
to make my life less difficult.’

‘Oh aye? All right. Then tell me how and I’ll do it. Tell me.’

The wall at his back was now truly ice-cold but at least it seemed to be bringing lucidity to his thoughts.

‘Well, you could start by being nicer to her. I mean, you don’t have to be her
friend
but it’d cause me far fewer trials, if you could at least find your way to be civil to her.’ He could feel her eyes boring into him, apparently piercing right through his skull and deep into his thoughts.

‘All right.’

‘What?’

‘I said all right. Like you said, I don’t have to be her friend – I’m near on twice her age after all – but if it’ll make less trouble for
you
, then I can do it.’

The speed and ease with which she agreed left him suspecting a trap.

‘Well… much obliged, then.’

‘I’ve told you time enough; I want to help.’

‘Good. Because it’d be a great help for me
and
for Mary.’

‘Oh, be quite clear about it, George, I ain’t doing it for
her
; I’m doing it for
you
.’

‘All right…’

‘But it seems only reasonable then, wouldn’t you say, that in exchange, you do summat for me?’

Seeing the steeliness in her eyes made his heart quicken. He may be drinky but he’d seen her in this mood enough times to know that to rile her further was to flirt with danger. Still, maybe what she wanted was innocent. There was only one way to find out.

‘And what would that be, then?’

‘Oh don’t go getting all in a lather; I said what I did before was wrong. No, it’s just that if I’m going to be nice to your
wife
, then I want
you
to treat
me
decent, too; at least be friendly like you were before she got here.’

‘If that’s all…’ It did sound innocent enough; reasonable even. It didn’t make him feel any less wary, though. ‘If all you truly want is for the three of us to be
friendly
, as you put it…’ But was she genuinely intending a truce or was this was all just part of yet another of her elaborate plots, as yet to unfold. All he knew for certain was that she was standing perilously close and that her breasts looked magnificent, barely restrained in that fetching blouse.

‘That’s all I want,’ she replied and took a small step backwards. ‘Just stop ignoring me.’

‘All right then.’ With his vigilance beginning to subside a little, he reflected that on this occasion he appeared to have been let off lightly but then a fraction too late, he noticed the smile on her lips as she moved quickly to press herself against him and bring her mouth to his, remaining there briefly before kissing him for just long enough to feel him respond.

‘Rest ye merry, George,’ he heard her murmur in his ear.

Slow of thought, he blinked – but already she had stepped away, picked up the lantern and turned to walk out of the dairy, leaving him in the absolute darkness, stunned, aroused and not entirely sure of what had just happened.

For a moment afterwards, he remained where he was, and then forcing himself to move, he went to the door, edged it open and peered out to see that she must already have gone back indoors. Then, still bewildered, he straightened his jacket and set off in the same direction, imagining briefly as he did so that over on the far side of the yard he saw the outline of Tom stepping abruptly back into the shadows.

Chapter 6

Thy Brother’s Wife

In the short, damp days of January, Mary became restless. She was tired now of the clattering, bare branches of the fruit trees and longed to see instead signs that their leaf buds were poised to burst open. She craved sight of the cheering, buttery celandine in the hedge banks and the first clumps of frogspawn in the ponds. Below in the water-meadow, it felt as though the widgeon had been grazing long enough now and she yearned to see them gone, back to the marshes downstream, taking with them the flocks of plump lapwing that had spent all winter standing motionless to watch for the movement of insects in the bare earth. She had become frustrated that there was still little she could do outdoors on days when the sky hung statically overhead like a dimpled, grey blanket and the view across the fields was smudged by drizzle, such that even the mere hint of a dry day ahead sent her into a frenzy of activity to air the cottage and see to the laundry. Having seized just such an opportunity one bright and gusty morning, she was standing in the yard hanging out freshly laundered clothes when she heard footsteps coming down the side of the cottage. The tread sounded heavy, like George’s, and wondering how it could be him, she turned, equally astonished to see that it was in fact Tom.

‘Mornin’ Mary.’

She stared back at him, the width of his toothy grin giving her the impression that he was pleased with himself; satisfied by the recognition that she was startled to see him.

‘Good morning—’

‘Fine one for a change,’ he continued, sparing her the trouble of deciding what to call him. She had never quite managed to address him simply as Tom – his name always refusing to leave her tongue – the result being that she usually refrained from calling him anything at all.

‘Aye.’ Presented with his company, though, she felt much as she did about his wife; that whatever her view of either of them, their position in the family made them deserving of a certain respect. ‘To what do I owe this pleasure, then?’ she asked and determining not to let him see her discomfort, continued pegging garments to the clothes line, pleased with the way that they billowed and snapped in the crisp breeze.

‘Is it, then?’

‘Is it what?’ she asked, pressing the last peg firmly onto the line and turning to look at him. He was leaning against the corner of the cottage, his arms folded loosely across his chest.

‘Is it a pleasure?’ he pursued. She shook her head. What on earth was he asking her and more importantly, why had he come calling in the first place? He might know that George would be at work. ‘Fine view from up here,’ he went on to observe. For want of something better to do, she followed the line of his gaze out across the bare fields to where in the low sunlight, the filigree forms of oaks and elms were being picked out against a collage of oblongs in hues from chocolate brown to the palest of greys. She did wish he’d come to the point, though; she had so much to be getting done and that was without the fact that it was too cold to be dallying here in the wind. ‘Forgive me, am I keepin’ you?’ he asked, his eyes going to the empty basket she was holding against her hip.

‘Well, there’s always a lot to be doing,’ she began. ‘And George is at work, obviously, but I’ll tell him you came by.’ The brisk wind was lifting strands of her hair about her face and in her increasing irritation with his continued presence she grabbed it to tuck behind her ear.

‘No, no need,’ he replied, appearing content to just stand and watch her.

‘So you won’t mind if I get on, then?’

By way of response he extended his arm towards the back door.

‘Course not. I’ve far more sense than to come between a woman and her workload.’

With no care to hide her frown, she went inside and put down the basket but when she turned around, it was to find him leaning against the dirn, watching her again.

‘Would you mind closing that?’ she asked, wishing that she had the courage to add,
on
your
way
out
.

‘Aye, draughty old morning,’ he agreed, closing the door decisively behind him. How could she tell him that she’d meant for him to remain on the other side of it? Clearly, she couldn’t. And worse still, he seemed intent on making himself at home; bending to pull two logs from the side of the hearth and then placing them into the flames. She shook her head, watching as he prodded the logs with the poker before holding out his hands to the heat. ‘You quite warm enough?’ he asked, settling himself into George’s chair. ‘Only you don’t look it in that thin blouse.’ He seemed so sure of himself; so confident that she wasn’t about to challenge him. ‘Maybe you want to come over here with me and warm up. I shouldn’t care to think of you getting cold, up here all on your own for so long at a time.’

What
was
his game? Not that it mattered: she just wanted him gone.

‘Not much happening down at the farm today, then?’

Unmoved by her tone, he stretched his arms above his head and leant back in the chair, his shirt pulling out of his breeches. And although she swivelled quickly about, the picture of his midriff still managed to etch itself into her mind.

‘No, there’s plenty afoot. My brothers are hard at work spreading shi—
manure
… on the grain fields. And since they’re well enough employed, I thought I’d take meself off for a little walk. One of the pleasures of being in charge, you see.’ His patronising tone made her recall how George had told her about his brother’s attitude to work – or more accurately, to getting other people to do it. ‘And when I found meself here on the lane, I thought, well, I haven’t called on my new sister-in-law since she arrived in Verneybrook. And that’s rather remiss of me, wouldn’t you say?’

Called on his new sister-in-law? What was the matter with the man?

‘Well, thank you for that… courtesy. But I do have rather a lot to do, so…’ Perhaps if she hinted hard enough, he would take his leave.

‘Course,’ he said, surprising her by getting to his feet. ‘Another time then.’

Despite this being precisely what she had hoped for, his words felt more like a warning than a request.

‘Aye, course, another time,’ she nevertheless agreed. After all, it would be daft to upset him now that he was so close to leaving and so, hastening across to open the front door for him, she stood back while he passed and then watched for a moment to make sure that he did indeed make his way up the bank to the lane.

Thank goodness. For a moment there, she had thought he was never going to leave. It was true that by virtue of being family he didn’t need a reason to call on her but his visit had certainly left her feeling uncomfortable. It wasn’t so much his being there in the first place but rather the way that he had made her feel self-conscious and awkward in her own home; dirty, even. After all, how many men made social calls to their brother’s wife in the middle of a workday morning? And given the nature of their relationship, how appropriate were some of his comments; comments that she sensed he had made with a view to testing her in some way?

Looking out through the tiny window at her laundry flapping in the wind, she sighed. Maybe she was just being overly fearful. After all, she knew well enough that he was possessed of a forward manner and so wasn’t it entirely possible that it was simply as he had said; that he had been out for a stroll and feeling bored – or inclined to mischief – had thought to amuse himself? Ultimately, it had proved harmless. And that being the case, then perhaps she wouldn’t mention it to George, since not only did she risk making a fool of herself but also of causing trouble where, just maybe, none had been intended.

*

A week or so later and Mary was again standing in the garden contemplating the morning ahead. It was another fine day, the sky appearing to have been fashioned from handfuls of puffy white fluff thrown joyously against the exuberant blue of the heavens. And deciding to make the most of it, she went back indoors to fetch the blankets that had spent the mouldy months of winter growing stale on their bed.

When she stepped back outside moments later, her attention was caught by a robin redbreast bobbing up and down on the roof of the woodshed as it gave forth a burst of liquid song; a few plaintive phrases before a pause to listen for a rival’s response. Cocksure, it puffed out its scarlet feathers and she smiled, thinking it curious that when faced with an adversary, human beings and birds both chose to puff out their chests. And with Annie in her Christmas finery coming back to mind, it occurred to her that it wasn’t only the males of the species that did so, either. She shook her head and laughed, and with the blankets beginning to weigh heavy on her arm, started to hum as she spread them along the line.

‘If I were you, I’d take that last one off again sharpish, since I fear that your line is about to give way.’ Startled, she spun about. Tom. And although it appeared that he had been watching from the corner of the cottage, he was now walking towards the apple tree and the end of her line. ‘Lift ’em off again and I’ll take up the slack for you.’ Unnerved by the way he seemed to have arrived from nowhere, she nevertheless did as he instructed and then carried the heavy blankets back indoors, returning moments later to find that he had already tied off the line higher up. ‘There, that should do it.’ For a moment, she stood watching him test the line with his hand, and then when he seemed satisfied with his handiwork she turned to go and retrieve the blankets. But as she lifted them from the table, she could feel that he had followed her in and was standing close behind her. What on earth was he doing? She spun around, ready to challenge him, but before she could form her thoughts into words, he was saying, ‘Here, allow me,’ while in the same instant picking up the blankets and then heading back out to the line. ‘Hang away then, young Mary,’ he commanded as she arrived alongside him. His authority seemed to leave her little choice and so, taking particular care to avoid the directness of his stare, she took the blankets one at a time from his arms and hung them back over the line. ‘There; see how they no longer drag the cobbles?’

What, precisely, was he trying to do: ingratiate himself into her good books? Make amends for unsettling her the other day? Unsettle her further? It was completely beyond fathoming, except that if it was the latter, then he was succeeding.

‘Yes. And I thank you for that.’

‘Think nothing more of it. Now, what else can I do for you while I’m here?’

Leave
, was what she wanted to say; not that she would dare.

‘Nothing, thank you, truly.’

‘You certain?’

Why this sudden desire to be helpful? After all, it was George’s contention that he was utterly work-shy. It didn’t make sense.

‘Yes, truly, there’s nothing, not unless you fancy chopping that pear wood.’

‘Chop wood for you, eh?’

She had meant her suggestion to sound light-hearted, imagining that either he would appreciate the joke or, at the prospect of having to break into a sweat, would simply invent a reason to leave. Unfortunately, while he did indeed seem amused, he also seemed in no hurry to leave. In fact, he seemed to be unbuttoning his waistcoat as though preparing to set to work.

‘Oh, but I wasn’t serious!’

‘No, no, young lady. Your wish, as they say…’

And since he was already setting off down the slope, she was left to scamper in his wake.

‘No, truly, I beg you, leave it be. George will get to it soon enough, he just ain’t had the time this last week.’

‘Then allow me to set straight to it.’

She stood bewildered, watching as he cast an eye over the tangle of pruned branches and then ducked into the woodshed. What had she done? What
had
she done? Now he would be here for ages. And she would have to be nice to him. What moment of madness had made her think that it was safe to jest with the man?

From inside the woodshed came the sound of him sorting through George’s tools and then, when it fell quiet, she saw him reappear with an axe and a saw and carry them over to the trees where he laid them on the grass. Without further comment, he slipped off his waistcoat, held it out for her to take and then set about pulling the nearest branch from the pile.

Good heavens: he was actually going through with it. Against all the odds and in the face of everything George often said about him, he truly was going to chop firewood. George. Oh Good Lord. He would be livid.

In front of her eyes, though – and with nothing she could think to do about it apart from wrestle the saw from his hands – neat piles of logs and kindling were already building up. She shifted her weight. She rubbed her arms. She shrugged her shoulders. And then, utterly dismayed, she went back indoors. But even once she was inside, she was still drawn to keep checking through the window on his progress. Weighing in her mind the size of the remaining heap of branches against the completed stack of logs, she tried to work out how much longer the job would take him. And then it struck her that if he was determined to see this through, there was nothing she could do about it. In the name of politeness, she would take him a drink – after all, he did seem to be thoroughly applying himself to the task – and then she would simply leave him to it.

‘Ale?’ she asked, walking down the garden to hold the mug at arm’s length.