A Country Marriage (32 page)

‘Huh. Perhaps it would be better if he didn’t
come
home,’ Annie replied, an observation that caused Ellen to flinch.

‘Talk like that don’t help, either,’ Hannah rounded on her, her finger aimed accusingly, ‘and you’d do well to mind that, my girl.
We
will look after Lottie and
we
will deal with Tom.’

‘And who’s going to look after me?’

‘
You
ain’t
my
concern. Now, I’m going up to wake Thomas an’ as you might work out for yourselves, he won’t be best pleased with any of this. So for your own sakes I suggest that you all keep out of his way.’

As she swept into the hall, with the room seeming to reel in her wake, the women were left sitting in silence.

‘I’ll just go and see if Lottie’s gone to sleep,’ Martha eventually announced.

‘Aye and I’d better go and…’ Ellen added, getting up and going through to the scullery where Mary watched her starting to fiddle without purpose.

Left alone with Annie, Mary didn’t know what to say. Her head felt as though it was bursting with rage and yet at the same time it seemed to be churning over events as though trying to make sense of them.

‘I’m sorry about what he did to you,’ she became aware of Annie saying flatly.

‘It weren’t
your
fault.’

‘Maybe not, but why didn’t you tell me?’

‘George told me to keep quiet and anyway, what would you have cared?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. But I do know that what he dishes out ain’t nice.’

‘No,’ she answered equally flatly. Until today, she had almost managed to consign her ordeal to the furthest corners of her mind, but now the episode was as fresh as the day it had happened, although with the discovery of Lottie’s misfortune, she was aware of a new feeling as well; a feeling of which she was still trying to make sense. ‘It’s odd,’ she found herself trying to explain, sensing then that Annie might be the only person who would understand, ‘but because I… well, because I got away from him and Lottie didn’t, I feel guilty.’

‘That’s what he does to you. That’s why I told you I was sorry. It gets so that
you
become the one apologising for how
he
is.’

‘But that don’t seem right at all.’

‘Nor is it. But look at me: I’m testament to the truth of the matter.’

‘Shouldn’t
no
one
feel obliged to apologise,’ she observed, glancing along the hallway and then lowering her voice, ‘for him being an animal.’

‘They shouldn’t, no.’

She let out a long sigh. There was just so much about this that she couldn’t reconcile, on top of which there was now another feeling that she couldn’t shake either; a feeling of needing to understand the man who had done this. And so, despite the fact that she felt hot with shame to be even thinking about it, she steeled herself to ask, ‘Annie, forgive me asking you this if you will but why did he do…
that
to her? I mean, I know it wouldn’t have been any less awful any other how but why didn’t he just… you know…?’

‘Because it’s what he does.’

‘But why? It’s not normal.’

‘
He’s
not normal. Truly, I assure you, he’s not.’

‘So what made him pick on Lottie, then?’

‘Mary, I ain’t the least notion, although I’ve long noticed how his eyes go to the young and limber ones.’

‘And what he tried to do to her; is that what he does to
you
?’

‘It’s how he likes to take his
pleasure
, aye. He don’t want me at the front, like any normal man; he forces me to submit at the back.’

‘But that’s terrible.’ It was. It was just too terrible to contemplate. But at the same time as feeling utter revulsion, she also felt sympathy. ‘How on earth do you live with it?’

‘Oh, you’d be surprised at the horrors you can get used to when there’s nothin’ you can do to change it.’ Stealing a look at Annie’s face, she tried to understand her apparent resignation but no matter how she considered it, she didn’t think she would ever get used to being treated in such a way. ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ Annie was beginning again, ‘I don’t just take it as he’d like. I’m not easy prey; never have been. No, I’d been looking after meself a long while before Tom Strong got started.’

‘But why provoke him then, if this is what happens?’

‘Oh,
I
don’t know. I suppose because it ain’t in my nature to be compliant when I know summat ain’t right. Believe me, I know as well as anyone that I’d probably suffer a lot less misery if I just submitted. But being difficult is the one thing I
can
do to let him know that he hasn’t broke me… and as just about the only thing I
can
do is make him angry, then I do. I know it’s pitiful and for certain I come worse off for it but I doubt it’d be much less awful if I just gave in anyway.’

‘But can’t nobody do nothin’ about him; not even Pa Strong, I mean?’

‘Tom?’

‘Aye. Why does he get away with behaving like it?’ Seeing how Annie’s shoulders slumped and how she made no attempt at a reply, a frightening truth began to dawn. ‘He’s going to get away with it; with what he’s done to Lottie, ain’t he?’

‘Most likely.’

‘But it ain’t right; he shouldn’t be able to. I mean, I know you’re his wife and that’s… well, the way it is, I suppose, although that’s bad enough, but Lottie—’

‘At least he didn’t strike her.’

‘Pretty small comfort for
her
,’ she remarked and watched as Annie shrugged.

‘Look, believe me, Mary, I’d see him swing, too but as far as I know, there’s no law against what he does to me. Like you say, I’m his wife. And even if there was some or other law, well, you seen how his mother won’t hear a word against him, so no one would ever speak out. An’ the same’s true for Lottie; he’d just deny it. And who here could afford to say any different?’ She shook her head. ‘No, much as it grieves me to say this, the only way he’ll be stopped is when he’s dead and buried.’

‘I hadn’t the least notion.’

‘Why would you? Just thank the Lord that
your
husband’s different.’

‘I do.’

‘Well make sure you do because I’d give anything to have your life.’

With a shake of her head she regarded Annie’s shrunken bearing, finding it hard to believe that this was the same person who barely twelve hours since had strolled with such effortless composure through this very room and engendered within her a hankering to be blessed with even a fraction of her assurance. But now, in those few short hours, both Ellen
and
Annie had professed envy for her life; an existence that she herself found to be lacking in more ways than one.

‘You sound awful tired,’ she said, her discontent feeling selfish in the circumstances.

‘I am. I’m tired of
all
of it. I’m—’

‘Well, she ain’t asleep,’ Martha announced, interrupting their thoughts as she reappeared in the kitchen, ‘but I’ve done all I can for now. So I’ll call again on the morrow and then again over the next few days if needs be but in the meantime, she’s going to need looking after.’

‘Show me what to do,’ Annie said and in response to the looks of surprise from both women, added, ‘Look, if she’s got to be cared for, I’ll do it. But you’ll need to show me how.’

‘You sure you’re up to it?’

‘I’m fine. Takes more than a few blows from that animal to stop me doing what’s right.’

‘Fair enough then but you’ll need to send someone up the beech hanger for sweet woodruff. Then I’ll show you how to make the wash to bathe her with.’

And as Annie pushed herself up from her chair to follow Martha through to see Lottie, Mary was left to lower her head to the table, realising that for her part, all she could do now was sit and wait – weary and anxious – to see what would happen when George and Will eventually returned with Tom.

*

‘Any news?’ George asked, arriving at the farmhouse before dawn the following morning.

His mother shook her head.

‘Nothing, son.’

‘You know, Ma, if I thought he was lying barely alive in a ditch someways, I’d go and look again but we searched everywhere.’

‘I know you did.’

‘And truth to tell, I can’t afford to lose a day’s wage on account of his—’

‘I know, son,’ Hannah said, placing her hand on his arm. ‘Maybe it’s like you said last night; maybe he’ll wake up somewhere this morning and make his way home again, right as rain.’

‘Aye, maybe he will.’

Chapter 12

Inquest

When George had gone to work the next day, Mary tried to settle to her chores. Her mind, though, was so preoccupied with thoughts of Lottie and Annie that halfway through the morning she realised with a jolt that she had barely achieved anything at all. Sighing with frustration, she stood in front of the table, and staring down at the greyish mound of dough that she was supposed to be turning into a loaf, she pounded it with her fist. Yes, Tom had done some unspeakable things that were going to haunt them all for a long time to come – but she was beginning to realise that by constantly going over those events in her mind, she was avoiding facing up to something else that she also wished hadn’t happened: her encounter with Francis Troke and, more worryingly, what it had revealed about the state of her marriage. Ahead of her, she now realised, stretched a lifetime of lying obligingly beneath George night after night, except that now, she had the added burden of knowing that there actually
was
something more. From the very start, she had suspected that there was something missing but now she knew that it wasn’t just in her imagination because, for the first time, she could put a name to it: desire. It was a situation that ought to be simple to deal with; after all, having lived without it so far, she ought to be able to continue doing so, although in light of what she now knew, it was a notion that felt hard to accept. Pensively, she weighed the unappealing ball of dough in her hand and then, snapping from her reverie, dumped it into a bowl, draped the nearest cloth over the top, and stuck it on the mantel to rise.

In gloomy and sluggish fashion, the long and cheerless morning dragged itself into an equally dreary afternoon, and needing to do something about the miserable mood hanging heavily about her like a damp fog, she snatched up her grizzling son, then wrapping his blanket about him, set off for a walk. A watery sun was half-heartedly attempting to break through a low and dismal sky, and without much idea of where she was heading, she trudged up the hill towards the cross, singing gently to Jacob in the hope that he would fall asleep and at least afford her some peace in which to bear her melancholy. But, recognising the form of Reverend Godfrey coming out through the lychgate, she slipped quickly out of sight through an opening in the hedge. Once on the other side, she ambled down the sloping pasture, her eyes drawn out over the patchwork of pale fields. Echoing across the stubble came the harsh ‘
korr-krock
’ of a pheasant, and although at first glance the trees still appeared to be in full leaf, here and there she could just make out early glimpses of autumn; a golden-brown sheen to the beech hanger at the edge of the estate, swathes of bracken turning russet on the common, and a shock of bright yellow diamonds on the birches in the valley.

Eventually, her aimless wandering led her as far as the riverbank, where she stood for a moment and stared without seeing into the slate-coloured waters of the River Wem. If only things would go back to being normal. What, though, given recent events, was normal? She shook her head, recognising that whatever it was, standing there hoping for it was unlikely to bring it about. But as she lifted her head and started to turn away, something rippling at the base of the reeds caught her eye. After the rain of the previous night, the river, running swift and high, was lapping at something it had trapped against the bank. With only the mildest of curiosity, she took a few steps nearer and then, still not sure what it was writhing in the current, she took another. But as her eyes made sense of the weirdly distorted objects held firm in the reeds, she froze and then let out an ear-splitting scream, to be joined a second later by a shrill and frightened cry from Jacob.

*

‘Now, you’re clear, all of you, what it is you’re to say?’ Mary heard Hannah ask and watched as she looked from one sombre face to another as they stood together in the kitchen.

Although her mother-in-law’s eyes were rimmed with red and her cheeks were pink and puffy, her mouth was nonetheless set in her familiar expression of grim determination such that the only person who dared to answer her was Annie, her sickeningly coloured bruises clearly visible despite her carefully draped shawl.

‘Don’t werret yourselves,’ she said, her tone defiant, ‘I shan’t give the game away and sully the family name.’

‘I won’t be able to
lie
.’

When she turned towards Ellen’s voice, it was to see that she was shaking.

‘You won’t need to. They’ll most likely not want to ask you anything; Annie, Mary and maybe George or Pa is who they’ll want to speak to. And anyway, no one’s being asked to lie; we just don’t need
all
of the truth coming out. That’s different.’ Listening to her mother-in-law’s assertion, she couldn’t see how lying was any different from not telling the truth. Her mother would have called it a sin of omission and she still felt distinctly uncomfortable at what she was being asked to do. ‘Right, well then, let’s go and get this over with,’ she heard Hannah nevertheless adding, and saw her moving towards the door.

In solemn procession, the family followed her across the yard to the barn where, earlier in the day, Will and George had set out chairs and stools on the nearside and a table and two chairs on the far side but as they reached the entrance, her feet refused to carry her any further.

‘I can’t
do
this,’ she whispered to George. ‘I can’t go in there.’

‘We been through this, Mary. You got to. You ain’t got no say in the matter. Believe me, if there was any other way for this to be done, I would make it so. Like I said earlier, just keep your eyes down until you’re spoken to and then look straight at the person asking the question. That way, you won’t have to look at… well, you know…’

‘I feel sick.’

‘I know. So do I. But once it gets under way, it’ll be quick. You mind what we talked about?’ She nodded. How could she possibly forget? ‘Come on then, I’ll lead you right up the far end. Keep looking down and just follow me.’ Evidently thinking that she was about to refuse, she felt him grasp her hand and walk quickly through the doors so that she had no option but to follow. And when they reached the end of the row of stools, he put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her onto the last one. ‘Bide there,’ he instructed, looking around. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’

Now
where was he going? But as she opened her mouth to beg him not to leave her alone there, he was already halfway back to the door, where she could see Annie hovering uncertainly. She watched as he said something to her and saw how, in response, his sister-in-law trembled. Then, with her leaning on his arm, they crossed the barn back towards Mary, where he eased Annie down onto a stool. Among the people now starting to file in, she noticed Martha Troke with her husband Samuel and for a moment, she panicked that Francis would be with them. Holding herself rigidly and hardly daring to look back up, she eventually risked a quick glance in their direction, a wave of relief rushing through her when it appeared that they were alone.

Forced into waiting for something to happen, the gathering of family and villagers started shuffling, while, on the other side of the trestle, the shorter of two men arranged some papers and whispered something to the other. Carefully, she shifted her weight on the stool and did her best to avoid looking at the table in front of her. To her left, she could feel George repeatedly squeezing her hand, which, although no doubt meant as comfort, was, in reality, having the effect of increasing the anxiety already stiffening her limbs. In the last few hours, he had been over with her time and time again what she was to say when she was, as they all expected her to be, asked to relate her version of events but now, sitting here in this dreadfully cold barn, with the stench of decay choking her nostrils and sickening her stomach, her mind felt utterly blank. It was the shock, he had told her earlier; shock that she mustn’t allow to play tricks with her recollection of events.

Slowly, the older of the two officials got to his feet; the new and absolute stillness around her serving only to intensify her anxiety further. Fixing her eyes on the man’s face, she could think only that he looked weary, but as he started to address the gathering, her stomach knotted hard.

‘…inquest on Thomas Strong Junior…’ his voice, she noticed, was surprisingly high for a man but not altogether lacking in compassion, ‘…for permitting the use of their barn for this purpose…’ But she was so racked with nerves that she couldn’t concentrate on what he was saying until she suddenly became aware of him asking, ‘Might I know who it was that found the deceased?’

Feeling George pull her hand sharply upwards, she shot to her feet.

‘I did,’ she said, staring directly at the coroner and ignoring the body of her brother-in-law lying on the trestle before her. Aware that her trembling hands seemed to have taken on a life of their own, she clasped them together, feeling how scores of eyes had turned to look at her.

‘And you are?’

‘Mistress Mary Strong of Keeper’s Cottage. The d-d-deceased is…
was
… my brother-in-law.’

‘Then Mistress Strong, would you tell us, if you’d be so kind, how you happened upon your brother-in-law’s body?’

Noticing the younger man at his side writing something on a sheet of paper, she swallowed hard and started to speak slowly, dreading reliving those moments.

‘It was Monday afternoon, around the hour of two, I think. Jacob, my son, was restless so I decided to take him out for a w-walk. Normally I’d go down through the water-meadows but it had been raining in the night an’ I thought it’d be all muddy underfoot, so I went up Church Hill instead.’ She swallowed again and kept her eyes directly on the coroner’s bald head, but then, without warning, her mind went blank.

‘Please, do continue.’

‘Oh, aye, well. Yes. Near the top of the lane there’s a gap in the hedge where you can go through into the field. So I did. And I walked down towards the river. I don’t know why, really, since the reeds are thick there and you can’t get to the water. That’s why no one much goes down there. But anyway, I did.’ She looked at him again and saw him give a single nod. ‘I walked along for a bit and then up ahead I seen summat in the reeds.’ As her voice spoke of it, her mind conjured the stiff rustle of the summer-bleached reed stems and the gentle flutter of their purple-grey seed feathers and pressing her eyes shut, she exhaled a long breath before continuing. ‘See, I thought maybe some children had been along there trying to reach the water… or maybe someone had been fishing… so out of curiosity I went to look…’

‘And what did you see?’ the official coaxed.

‘I seen something white in the water. I didn’t pay it much heed at first but as I drew closer it looked quite large an’ I thought it odd for someone to leave summat so big behind. It looked like a piece of cloth. But when I got near, it seemed to be floating in the shape of a shirt and I thought it even more strange for someone to leave their shirt behind.’ Forcing herself to swallow, she glanced back at George, but his gaze was fixed firmly ahead. ‘The water was moving it about and then on the edge of it, near the bank, I seen summat red and I thought it looked like a neckerchief… or a scarf.’ She paused again; picturing what she had at first thought to be rags caught in the reeds and being worried at by the current, and then recalled the strange blue-grey hue of his flesh seen under the water. The silence around her was now absolute and her body so tense that she could hardly breathe. ‘Th-then I seen h-hair. At first I thought it was riverweed but then I seen that it was hair; dark hair with grey bits. And then I screamed and ran back up the field to the lane. I ran to Martha Troke’s house since it was closest by and because I knew that her husband would most likely be in his workshop and he was, so I told them what I seen.’

‘Thank you, Mistress Strong, for that account. You may be seated again. Is er… Mr Troke present here today?’ the coroner asked the room.

She felt George’s hand pulling her back down to her stool, where she slumped, her breathing rapid and her hands dancing in and out of focus in her lap. Somehow, she had managed to avoid looking at Tom’s bloated and sinister form, and as tears of relief began to run down her cheeks, she started to shake. With George squeezing her hand tightly, she tried to concentrate on Samuel Troke’s voice relating how he had run down to the river with Abe Sharpe and dragged Tom from the reeds but found him to be long-since dead. With each silent sob, she felt her whole body heave, but when Annie was called upon to speak, she held herself rigid to listen.

‘He was same as he always was,’ she heard her say and then in response to a further questioning, ‘Well, like most men, he was real fond of the ale. And it
was
harvest home and he
had
been in the field all day drinking cider. I mean, he looked sound enough when I left but that was quite early on since I wasn’t feelin’ too good; I hadn’t been all day.’ Then, as she was asked about her face, Mary sensed a collective holding of breath. Yes, this was what most of the villagers were there to hear. ‘I ain’t no saint, ask anyone hereabouts. It was harvest home. I like cider. I was too worn out to bother with a candle and them stairs is awful tricky in the dark.’

‘You contend, then, Mistress Strong, that you fell and struck your face?’

‘My face struck somethin’ wooden and struck it real hard, that’s for sure.’