A Country Marriage (21 page)

‘Annie, I don’t know what to say—’

‘No, well…’

‘Although I hope you didn’t do
this
just to spite him.’ It was bad enough to have his suspicions about his brother confirmed but even worse if he had been lured into betraying him for some petty gain on her part.

‘And
I
hope
you
didn’t.’

‘Look, I’m not the one who came up here with only one thing in mind,’ he said, suddenly resolute that most of the guilt should be hers.

‘Fair enough.’ Goodness she was quick to concede. ‘I won’t lie. I knew you’d be alone up here but I make no apology; I saw this as my one and only chance. And given that my husband long since destroyed the last of my pride, I reckoned on having nothing to lose.’

‘Annie…’ He looked at her, his chest heavy with what he knew to be regret; regret that he had let go the opportunity for both of their lives to have been so different. ‘I never realised he was so cruel. What he does…’ Perhaps if there was guilt to be shouldered, then all things considered his ought to be the larger share.

She shrugged.

‘Why would you? There’s nothing to be gained by talking about it. No one would believe even the better half of it, anyway – certainly not your ma and pa – although I’ve long fancied they know what he’s like but prefer the blind eye.’ She paused for a moment and he watched as she bit absently at her bottom lip. ‘You know, there’s many a time I’ve thought serious about running away. But with no family to go to and a five-year-old son, what would I do? And it don’t help that I can picture all too well what would happen if he came after us.’ He saw her shudder as though suddenly cold. ‘It’s all
my
fault anyway. Just lately I been thinkin’ a lot about that day me an’ Ellen met the three of you at the fair. It was always
you
I wanted, right from the very first moment I seen you. So why did I take Tom’s arm?
Why
did I have to try an’ make you jealous? I could have just waited for you to come around to me but
no
, I had to ruin it, didn’t I? That one tiny mistake. My life would have been so different, wed to you.’

He held himself rigid, struggling against the teetering feeling inside; against the need to let her know that it wasn’t
only
her fault; that every day for the last five years he had rued his backwardness that night. But something was locking his tongue in his head; something was telling him that this was no time for a confession that would change everything, forever. He looked across at her. She was running her hand backwards and forwards over the grass but still staring out over the meadow.

‘You can’t be sure how it would have worked out, Annie or that I would have made you happy,’ he answered, opting for partial honesty over an outright lie, something he had a feeling he might not be able to deliver convincingly.

‘Oh but you would have,’ she said without a moment’s hesitation and turned towards him. ‘For a start, I know for certain that you wouldn’t demean me like he does. All your worst habits together wouldn’t add up to a single
one
of his. I see how you treat Mary; you’re kind and gentle with her. You ain’t got a cruel bone in your body. I would have been happy wed to you even if you hadn’t loved me… but I know you would have. Here, let me show you,’ she said, pushing his shoulder back down onto the grass and settling herself across his thighs.

‘No, Annie—’

‘I’m begging you, George, don’t deny me the feeling of how it can be, of how a man is supposed to make a woman feel.
Please
.’ As she bent low over him, he looked back at her. In his heart was dismay, regret, guilt – all of them there in abundance – but all of them overshadowed by the most powerful feeling of all: desire. ‘See, I know what you like. I understand you,’ she was saying, her lips hot and moist on the side of his neck, then the top of his shoulder, ‘I can give you what you need,’ the base of his throat, under his chin, ‘…what you don’t get from…’ and then his mouth, ‘so please, let me do this for you.’

‘Annie, don’t. This is unfair—’

‘When… was any of this… ever… fair…?’

‘I…’ In the end though, what difference did it make? He could protest all he liked but they both knew that he was never going to be able to resist. And in any event, it was already too late for fears of regret. She was leaning forward, her dark tresses swaying in time with the movement of her body and as he looked back at her, he noticed how her pale skin had taken on a luminous sheen against the baleful sky. She was right, of course; she did know what he wanted; exactly what he wanted and she was the only one who ever had.

‘So tell me now, George,’ she said a little while later as she lay panting at his side, ‘that we wouldn’t have been happy together.’

‘No,’ he replied, breathing equally heavily. ‘I don’t deny what you do to me Annie. How could I? But we should at least be honest with each other, since this ain’t what you’d like to think it is; it ain’t love, not real love.
This
,’ in frustration he waved his hand at nothing in particular, ‘is
lust
and most certainly a sin of thought even had we the strength not to give in to it.’ But barely had he finished speaking when he was bewildered to see her spring to her feet and in one movement snatch up her skirt, step into it and pull it up over her hips. Hearing her curse as she fumbled to fasten it about her, he sat up, trying to fathom the abrupt change in her behaviour, while avoiding looking in his direction, she plucked her blouse from the grass, pulled it arbitrarily over her head and wrestled with the ribbons at the front. In a panic, he leapt to his feet and grabbed her by the wrist, ‘Annie… ʼtis but the truth.’

Struggling to pull herself free, she looked at him defiantly.

‘No, George, don’t. You made yourself perfectly clear. I opened my
heart
to you but I see now that you don’t feel the same. And
that
makes you almost as bad as
him
.’

‘
Oh
no
you
don’t
,’ he started to say, tightening his grip on her wrist as she shook her arm to be free of him. ‘I may well be weak where you are concerned but I’m
nothing
like
him
. And you know that for the truth, otherwise you wouldn’t have come up here.’

From very close by, another clap of thunder made her jump but without answering him, she wrenched her wrist free from his grasp and turned quickly about. Feeling shame for his carelessly flung words that said more about his own guilt in all of this than hers, he let her go. He may well have spoken the truth but on reflection, he could have been less blunt about it, especially after what they had just shared. He turned back down the garden, frustrated by the way they had parted, another flash of lightning bringing his attention back to the present. The breeze was carrying the smell of rain, and sensing that it wasn’t far off, he darted about to usher in the hens. Then he untied the cow and led her up to the outhouse, where he closed the bottom of the door behind her before going to the pump to douse himself with water and retrieve his breeches. More thunder reverberated in his ribs but as he dashed across the yard to go inside, he heard her voice yelling breathlessly and spun around to come face to face with her.

‘George, George!’

She looked ashen and shocked and his heart skipped a beat.

‘What?’

‘You better come quick. ’Tis Mary. The baby’s coming. Tabitha was sent for you. I met her coming across the ford.’

‘
Tabitha
?’

‘Go. Quick.
Run
.’

In one, swift move, he grabbed his shirt and pulling it on, ran up the bank to the lane just as giant drops of rain started to splash all around him. Quickly the rain became torrential but it didn’t slow his pace, even as he reached the ford and a vivid image came to mind; they had sent Tabby to get him. Thinking about it made him shudder; even if she had knocked at the front door – which few of the family ever did – then finding no answer she would have come around to the back. Common sense also told him that having been sent on such an urgent errand, she wouldn’t have simply walked off without finding him, no matter how unreliable she could be at times. At the very least she would have walked down as far as the vegetable plot and looked around… where she would clearly have seen or heard them. Picturing the scene sent gooseflesh over his wet skin. It had been a very narrow escape, since there really would have been no earthly explanation as to why Tabitha might have stumbled across him and Annie, entwined and naked on the grass.

*

Pacing about in the mugginess of the parlour, bedraggled and anxious, George winced and looked helplessly to Will for reassurance as Mary’s cries became more frequent and more terrifying. Then, abruptly, they ceased altogether. With a panic-stricken glance to his brother, he sprinted along the hallway hoping that the silence signalled the baby’s arrival rather than something that he couldn’t even contemplate. Beside the door, he hovered uncertainly and then felt a wave of relief as he heard a jumble of congratulations being pierced by the shrill cry of a newborn. With his breathing rapid and shallow, he stood in a turbulent whirl of emotions, clenching and unclenching his fists. Perspiring excessively, he felt for a moment as though he was going to be sick but somehow, through his turmoil, he became aware of Will putting a hand on his arm.

‘I think it’s all over.’

It was as much as he could do, though, not to shake him off.

‘Aye,’ he replied, grateful that no one could read his thoughts; in truth it was far from over. This moment – this very moment that should be the proudest of his life – was beset by unconscionable guilt. How was it even possible to go from the most unbelievable euphoria to the deepest pit of regret in such a short space of time and on account of two such miraculous but utterly conflicting events?

He wanted to ask himself why he had surrendered to her but it was a question without purpose; he knew full well why. He had needed to remind himself of what it could be like, of how alive she made him feel. But he also realised now that he had been fooling himself if, for one moment, he had thought that giving in to his desire would somehow cure him of it. That was the problem with an obsession; it always remained just that, an obsession – and he could see now that all he had done was to simply reignite his desire and fall even further under her spell. Standing with his fists clenched at his sides, a mixture of helplessness and anger washed over him but feeling the wariness in Will’s look, he stopped pacing back and forth and uncurled his fists. How was he
ever
going to face his wife, though? And more to the point, how on earth was he going to live with what he had done?

‘You can come in now George,’ he heard Ellen saying as the door to the bedroom swung open and she stood there smiling. In his quandary, he felt her reach up to kiss his cheek but inside he was convinced that it wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was pretty certain that he was supposed to be overwhelmed by happiness and amazement for the miracle of birth – not guilt ridden and sickened by his own weakness. What he wanted to do most was to halt time for a moment, repent and compose himself, but Ellen was looking at him, her face suggesting concern. ‘George, are you all right?’

Giving her a single nod, he went awkwardly into the darkened room with his heart thudding so rapidly that he felt weak. For a moment, all he could see were blurry shapes until blinking rapidly, he became aware of Mary propped up against a pile of pillows, staring down at the tightly swaddled baby in her arms. As he approached, she gave him a tired but happy smile, leaving him with no idea of what to say. She looked hot, exhausted and with her hair plastered damply about her face, very young indeed; a greater contrast to Annie it being hard to imagine.

Aware that he was trembling, he lowered himself gently onto the edge of the bed.

‘Well, say hello to your son, then,’ she was saying to him.

Still unsure whether he could trust his voice, he leant to kiss her forehead. She felt hot and clammy.

‘’Tis a boy then,’ he said unevenly, praying that his emotions wouldn’t betray him. He wanted to cry, certainly with relief and happiness for the safety of Mary and the baby but rather more to release the excruciating guilt weighing down his limbs.

‘Aye.’

‘Guess we’ll be namin’ him George then,’ he said, conscious that his words didn’t sound like his own and wondering then whether it was fair to burden a baby with the name of his weak-willed and treacherous father.

‘Aye but he needs another name to call him by,’ she pointed out, breaking into his rambling thoughts.

‘If you wish.’ Perhaps his heart was beginning to slow just a little.

‘I thought maybe George Jacob sounds nice. And then we can call him Jacob as he grows up.’

He looked back at her. She was holding their son towards him but, momentarily, he hesitated and when he took him from her it was gingerly, unable to recall ever having held a baby before. And George Jacob seemed so unbelievably small.

‘Aye. Fine,’ he agreed. ‘Is he all right?’

‘All perfect,’ he heard her assuring him. ‘Quite a good size too, Martha says, although he looks awful tiny to me.’