A Country Marriage (28 page)

Chapter 11

Aftermath

Listening to the depressing
pit-pat
of falling rain, Mary lay staring up through the rafters to the wavy rows of roof tiles, mindful of the empty feeling that seemed to have settled in her stomach. For most of the night she had dozed uneasily, her long, wakeful periods spent grappling with feelings that veered between absolute amazement and profound regret; but now, with the coming of daylight, what felt more troubling was the realisation that the hollow ache nagging at her insides had very little to do with guilt and rather more to do with disappointment.

Wary of disturbing George, she remained perfectly still and let her mind wander back yet again to yesterday evening and the most astonishing moment of her life. The encounter had been so utterly unexpected and left her so astounded that she wasn’t even sure there was a word for the way it had made her feel, although she did have a very clear recollection of being completely overcome by what must surely have been desire. And now, this morning, she longed to fill these few rare moments of peace with that exhilarating feeling of being so gloriously alive. She wanted to relive the exact moment when his mouth had met her own and the feeling of how startled she had been; startled that someone was kissing her, startled that he was kissing her so beautifully, and startled at how she had wanted to respond. And then there were his hands; warm and soft but purposeful and even now, the memory was enough to make something inside her give an excited lurch. Tensing with shame, she glanced hastily over her shoulder, but as her eyes fell on the form of her sleeping husband, she quickly pressed them tightly shut.

What on earth was she thinking? Of
course
she felt guilty; it was just that until now, she hadn’t been sufficiently awake to appreciate it. In the hazy idyll between slumber and waking, a leisurely recollection of last night’s events felt harmless – like lingering in a pleasant but unfinished dream – but in the damp grey light of dawn, the unpalatable fact remained that last night she had been mere seconds away from betraying her husband. If it were possible to consider infidelity as a series of steps in the wrong direction, then she would have to admit to trespassing over the first few, even though she
had
stopped short of full and irredeemable betrayal. But in that respect, she also recognised with some certainty that if the moon hadn’t broken through the clouds when it had, then she might not have come to her senses. It was a realisation that made her shudder, since it meant that this morning life was only going to go on as it always had purely because the clouds had broken just in time. Shaking her head at the notion, she managed an ironic smile. No doubt her mother would have called it a sign from God; a sign that she was to save her soul from sin. And perhaps it was. In any event, at least this morning she might still be able –
just
– to look her husband in the eye.

From the corner of the room, the sound of Jacob’s wriggling was growing louder, and relieved for a reason to put some distance between herself and her husband, she eased back the blanket, swung her feet slowly down to the floor and padded silently across to the cradle. Staring down, she could see that her son’s tiny fists were just beginning to stir, and although his eyes were still tightly closed she could see that his pink mouth was working up to sending out his first exploratory cry of the day. Swiftly she scooped him up, and with her finger resting gently against his lips, carried him quickly down the ladder.

In front of the empty fireplace, with her son held close against the chill of the room, she sat watching him feeding, her thoughts broken only when she heard the sound of George moving about overhead.

‘Oh dear Lord,’ she heard him groaning, and was unable to restrain a smile at the sight of him apparently trying to hold his head steady while descending the ladder.

‘That bad, is it?’ she asked from behind the fall of her hair as he slumped onto a stool at the table and rested his head in his hands.

‘Ale alone don’t normally get me this bad.’

‘Maybe it ain’t the
ale
so much as the
amount
of it,’ she felt the need to point out.

‘Aye. Fair said.’

‘Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself. ’Tis a rare occasion an’ you did work hard,’ she told him, anxious that his attention should remain on his own plight and well away from hers.

‘If you say so.’

‘Look, I’m near done here,’ she said, motioning to Jacob, ‘so why don’t you go an’ get washed and I’ll fetch you summat to eat? Then you’ll most likely start to feel better.’

‘Aye, maybe,’ he replied and got up to walk stiffly towards the back door, ‘but better or not, I told Ma we’d go down to help with the clearing up before church.’

‘
Before
church?’

‘Aye, I know. I regret
that
now too, although it seemed sensible enough at the time since I thought it’d spare us the rest of the day.’

‘Hm.’ But her displeasure was quickly overtaken by the mention of church, where, she realised then, it would be difficult to avoid seeing Francis Troke. Indeed, even if their paths never crossed for any other reason, she would still have to risk coming face to face with him every Sunday morning. Mindful of the fact, she gave a long sigh and came to the reluctant conclusion that all she could do was to remember the discomfort she felt now and use it as a reminder of what happened if you were ever tempted away from the straight and narrow.

*

‘Only you two up, then?’ Mary heard George enquiring as she followed him through the back door of the farmhouse to see Will and Ellen standing side by side in front of the kitchen fireplace.

‘Aye, just us,’ Ellen was replying with a yawn. ‘Those who least deserve it somehow sleep the longest.’

‘Good do, though,’ she heard George remarking and saw the grin that he raised in his brother’s direction.

‘Aye, it was that. Although wait till you see the barn; ’tis in a fearful state.’

‘Ah, the unfortunate aftermath of a good randying.’

As she watched her husband sink, in apparently resigned fashion, into his father’s chair, she sighed. This truly was the final straw; it was bad enough having to give up half the morning to clear up the barn but what she wasn’t about to do was waste even more of it reliving last night.

‘Look, George, forgive my plainness but I can’t be dallying about here all morning.’

‘No, all right,’ he replied, in apparent agreement.

That he still seemed in no hurry to get up from the chair, though, made her shake her head and when her action caught Ellen’s eye, she heard her say, ‘Tell you what, Mary, as you’re going over there anyway, wake Lottie for me, would you?’

‘Very well. Come on then, George. Rouse yourself. Let’s go and see what we’re up against.’

Leaving the warmth of the kitchen for the dampness of the yard made her grimace, and as she arrived at the door to Lottie’s room, she found herself calling to her with the sort of forced brightness she’d often heard her mother use. And with her head angled to listen for a reply, she stared back across the idle yard. After last night’s gaiety the house looked dreary and forlorn, while overhead the sky this morning seemed to be imbued with the same reluctant mood as most of the family.

‘Lord,’ she heard George exclaim from further along. ‘It’s a mess all right.’

With her spirits sinking further at the prospect of the work that lay ahead, she rubbed her arms against the soggy chill and called again, but when she was still unable to hear movement she pressed her ear to the door. No doubt the poor girl was as worn out as the rest of them but she couldn’t let her sleep any longer; Ellen would be needing her help, on top of which, Ma Strong would soon be expecting to see plenty of work under way. And so, after tapping more loudly, she clicked down the latch and edged back the door, screwing up her face as the bottom of it grated across the tiles. Faced with the near-darkness inside, she stood for several moments until, accustomed to the lack of light, her eyes made out the shape under the blanket.

‘Lottie, love, you awake? Only, you really
must
get up now.’ Something about the rawness of the room sent a prickly sensation across the skin on her arms, and bothered by Lottie’s continued silence, she extended a hand towards what she imagined to be the girl’s shoulder. When she brought it to rest, though, the shape under the blanket jerked unexpectedly. ‘Sorry, Lottie,’ she stammered, gulping air in her surprise. Well at least the girl wasn’t… well at least she was alive. ‘Forgive me but are you all right?’

‘No-o.’

‘No?’

‘No.’

‘What’s the matter then?’

‘I can’t…’

Why was it that everything seemed sent to test her this morning; to force her to dally over things of such little import?

‘Can’t what?’ she asked, bringing her hands to rest upon her hips.

‘I can’t say.’

‘You can’t
say
? Of course you can say. Just tell me what’s wrong. I mean, are you ill?’

‘Not
ill
…’

For Lottie to behave so oddly struck her as peculiar; as though something must be truly amiss. But if she wasn’t ill, then perhaps…

‘Lottie, last night, did someone give you cider?’

‘No…’

‘Mead then?’

‘No.’

She lowered herself onto the edge of the bed. This really was the last thing she needed.

‘Look, how about I move this blanket away from your face so you can tell me what’s the matter, then?’ Receiving no response either way, she folded back the cover, shocked by the blotchiness of Lottie’s face. ‘Hey, you been crying?’ Oh, why had she sounded so impatient just now? Clearly, something was properly wrong. ‘Look, why don’t you try an’ tell me what the matter is, then? Or… or maybe you’d rather I fetched Ma Strong?’

‘No! Not Mistress Strong, please, no!’

‘Well, all right then but if you don’t want to talk to
her
, then you’re going to have to find a way to tell
me
what’s wrong because if you don’t, I can’t help you. You do see that, don’t you?’

‘Please d-don’t be cross with me, Mary. I
want
to tell you but I can’t… or I’ll be sent home.’

‘Oh come, now, don’t be daft; why on earth would you be sent home? Who said so?’

‘
He
did. He said if I tell anyone, he’ll make good and sure I’m sent home.’

‘You’re not making any sense, love.
Who
did?’

‘
I
can’t
say
.’

‘Oh, Lottie, this is getting us nowhere, truly.’

‘I’m sorry, Mary but I just can’t.’

With a shake of her head, she cast her eyes about the room. And then it occurred to her.
He
. Lottie had said ‘he’. A man. And he wanted Lottie to keep quiet about something. Flashing through her mind was the face of Francis Troke. Oh, good Lord: what if, when she had spurned him, he had gone and…

‘Lottie, this man – the one who told you not to say anything – did he do something to you?’

‘He…’

‘What, Lottie? Tell me, what did he do?’

‘He… he… oh,
must
I say? He said not to. He said no one would believe me.’

Feeling how her throat had tightened, she tried to swallow. No, while she didn’t know Francis Troke from Adam, something about him told her that this wasn’t his doing.

‘Lottie, did he…’ but how ever was she going to put this to such a young girl, ‘did he harm you?’ Fixing her eyes on Lottie’s face, she held her breath. But there it was: the tiniest nod. ‘At the harvest home?’

A slight shake this time, she was sure of it.

‘After.’

‘He came in here, then?’ Another nod. ‘Oh, Lottie,’ she managed to say, grabbing for a handful of blanket as she felt herself reel backwards. ‘Who? Who was it?’

‘No… he said if people find out, I’ll be sent home and I don’t want that. ’Specially not now.’

Breathe, she reminded herself; breathe.

‘It’s all right, Lottie. No one’s going to make you go home. But I got to ask you, love, are you hurt?’

For a moment, she thought that Lottie wasn’t going to answer, but then with the slightest nod of her head, she said, ‘Awful bad.’

‘Right, well, then…’ Why was it suddenly so clammy when only moments ago it had felt so cold? And why couldn’t she think what to do next? Think, for heaven’s sake! Who should she tell? Ma Strong? No, she probably wasn’t up yet. Ellen? Yes, tell Ellen and then
she
could tell Ma Strong. Yes. That would be better. ‘You bide there then, lovey and I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

Rising from the side of the bed, she walked slowly across to the door and closed it gently behind her, but once outside, she ran full pelt across the yard and burst into the kitchen.

‘Mary…?’