A Country Marriage (43 page)

She giggled.

‘This is nice.’

‘See, I told you you’d like it,’ he replied, ‘an’ I ain’t anywhere near the best bits yet.’

‘And what bits are they?’ she asked, laughing and slapping a mound of suds onto his chest.

‘Why, them ticklish toes, ma’am.’

Pressing more suds onto him, she laughed.

‘You’re daft!’

‘It has been said.’

Closing her eyes, she could feel that she was smiling; every handful of warm water trickling down over her body seeming to wash away all of her earlier tension and doubt. How that could be, though; how could such behaviour – such
sinful
behaviour – feel so perfectly natural? But with no desire to breathe new life into earlier misgivings, she held her face to the sun, relishing the warmth of its rays and the feel of him gently rubbing her dry.

‘Well, it seems a reasonable job,’ he said, breaking into her thoughts so that she opened her eyes to look back at him, ‘but maybe I should check, lest I missed anywhere.’

‘Oh I don’t think you missed anywhere; you seemed most thorough.’

‘I’d like to think so, aye but ain’t that for
me
to decide?’ he asked, and with what appeared to be very little effort, lifted her, giggling, from the stool to carry her down the garden, where he set her carefully in the grass. ‘First, then, I should check your back,’ he said, and when she turned to lie on her front she felt his lips lingering wherever seemed to take his fancy, each unseen kiss creating a delicious ripple of pleasure, each touch merging with those before and after in a sensation of mounting anticipation as he claimed every now and again to have found somewhere that he’d missed, an omission apparently only capable of remedy by what felt like a long and deliberate stroke of his tongue.

‘Seems to me you need more practice,’ she sighed into the grass, deciding that, in point of fact, practice seemed the very
last
thing he needed, particularly given the glorious sense of expectation he was building inside her.

‘Maybe,’ she heard him whisper in her ear, ‘but I think I can claim satisfaction with my work.’

She opened her eyes, and lifting her face from the grass, turned to see him smiling.

‘You sure?’

‘Aye.’

‘You don’t want to check no more? Only, in the name of thoroughness, I don’t mind.’

‘No,
you
may think I need more practice but ’tis not a bad job for a beginner.’

‘No?’ No, now it seemed that he was going to propose something else and the very realisation seemed to quicken the beat of her heart.

‘Come here,’ he coaxed, holding out his hand.

She took it, allowing him to pull her closer until she could put her arms around his neck and inhale his smell: wholesome, arousing and so very different to George. In fact, it occurred to her then that he was about as different to George as it was possible to be. For a start, he was more muscular, less angular, more pleasing, somehow, and the hair on his body was so fine and pale that he appeared almost not to have any. And while George’s skin was coarse and generated within her no desire to touch it, this skin was smooth and sleek, enticing her fingers to explore.

She would have been content to sit there forever, running her fingers round and round on his chest and filling her head with his scent, but he was pulling her gently onto his lap, and for a brief moment they sat, just breathing, barely touching each other, mindful of what was about to happen and acutely aware that this exact and precious moment would never come again: there could only be one first time and this was it. Tantalisingly slowly, and with the merest of touches, he brought his lips to hers so that she responded by closing her eyes and then opening them again to look back at him, entirely unable to speak. Almost as slowly, he kissed her again but this time she kissed him back, softly, until he responded the same.

‘I promised you this would be special,’ he whispered, his words sending a warm wave all the way down her back, ‘so let me show you something,’ he said and pulling her closer, lifted her thighs over his so that they were facing each other. Then without taking his eyes from hers, he put his hands on her hips and lifted her body, manoeuvring her slowly and gently back down exactly where he wanted her. Instinctively her eyes flicked shut and as she heard him moan, she gave an incoherent murmur of her own.

‘I want to bite your neck,’ she breathed, astonished at the response of her own body.

‘Then do it,’ he replied softly. ‘Bite me real hard.’

Feeling him start to move her hips back and forth, she bit firmly into the base of his neck and, unable to help herself, gave a long groan. Then she felt him edging his fingers between their bodies, down over her stomach and then down further still until, without warning, her body convulsed. Stunned by the effect of his touch on that single, previously undiscovered part of her, she felt a shock of excitement spiral outwards, and gave a muffled sound of surprise while with the lightest of touches he started to move his fingers more deliberately. In a frenzy of sensations, she bit harder into his neck, alarmed by what was happening to her until instinct took over and, bewildered by disbelief and elation, she shuddered, triggering his own eager response.

For a while afterwards neither of them moved, until eventually she freed herself from his embrace to look at him, tears streaming down her cheeks and every inch of her body still seeming to pulsate.

‘How did you do
that
?’

She noticed that for a moment he didn’t reply, appearing equally overcome by her response but eventually saying simply, ‘Magic.’

Staring back at him, she shook her head.

‘But I don’t even know what happened. I ain’t the least idea, ’though it felt for certain as if for a moment there, I was floating.’

‘But was it lovely?’

‘It was… well… it was—’

‘Just say it was lovely,’ he suggested, smiling and wiping at the corners of her eyes.

‘It don’t seem enough,’ she told him earnestly. ‘It deserves more than that, although I don’t know what—’

‘Then kiss me instead,’ he suggested.

‘Afore I do though,’ she said, meeting his eyes, ‘can you make it happen again?’

‘I could always try; if you’d like me to…’

‘Oh, I would, I would,’ she whispered back. ‘I very much would.’

*

For a while, Mary drifted around the cottage, still unable to believe the wave of contentment seemingly carrying her about. She couldn’t remember her body ever feeling so relaxed, her legs so wobbly and uncertain, nor her mind so curiously free from all concerns; but even though she felt surrounded by a cosy warmth, her senses had never been more heightened or alive.

She stood inside the doorway, staring down the garden painted golden by the late-afternoon sun.
Now
she understood the point of making love. She
knew
her mother had been wrong. She just knew by the fact that while life was randomly unfair, and a woman’s lot was based on a rather haphazard set of circumstances – fortuitous or otherwise – God could never have intended pleasure to be so one-sided; He had, they were told, created men and women equal, but to her mind, men had obviously worked out the implications of such equality and conspired to keep secret a woman’s pleasure, awarding themselves, instead, the power to force her to submit, thereby removing in one fell swoop both the need for any effort on their part
and
the possibility that she might decide not to give herself voluntarily.

Catching sight of her son, his arms and legs held aloft as he gurgled happily, she said, ‘You know, by most folks’ reckoning, Jacob, I’ve become a real wicked woman, but I don’t
feel
wicked at all. Mostly I feel… relieved and unburdened.’

Turning her eyes back to the garden, she followed the fitful progress of a white admiral butterfly as it made its indecisive way towards the blackberry brambles. The whole matter of love and desire seemed to make sense now, except that if Francis knew how to bring pleasure, then why didn’t George? Or
did
he know but preferred not to share it? The question was a troubling one, which, given that she had no wish to sully her lingering joy, she decided to bury, at least for now.

Later that evening, as they were eating supper, though, she became aware of George studying her closely, something that made her stiffen.

‘You look… full of health,’ he remarked. ‘All sort of… pink and glowing.’

‘Do I?’ Looking up at him and then looking back down at Jacob on her lap she added, ‘Well, ’tis surprising what a nice lay-down in the afternoon can do for you, ain’t it Jacob?’

‘Maybe you should do it more often, then,’ he replied, pushing his fork into his food, his curiosity evidently satisfied.

‘Maybe I will,’ she told him, trying to ignore the dawning realisation that, perhaps, the worst part about telling a lie wasn’t in fact the lie itself, but the need for it in the first place.

Chapter 17

A Divisive Legacy

Snoozing in his chair one evening, George was startled awake by the sound of a sharp rapping.

‘Everything all right, Pa?’ he asked, opening the door to come face to face with his father.

‘Fine son, fine,’ he said as George stood aside to allow him in. ‘Evenin’, Mary. Hope I didn’t wake the little ’un,’ he added, reaching out a dirt-ingrained finger to Jacob, who immediately ceased crying to gurgle and grab at it.

‘Sadly not,’ she said with a sigh as she struggled up from her stool. ‘He just won’t go down tonight but I’ll take him off out of your way, now.’

‘No, love, sit yourself down a moment,’ Thomas said to her as she was turning for the ladder, ‘I’ve summat to say to
both
of you.’ Puzzled and instantly uneasy that his father seemed to want to talk to them together, George avoided looking at his wife but sank onto the nearest stool and reached to pull another alongside. But, as Mary sat down beside him, Jacob started to whimper and wriggle to be free from her lap. ‘May I?’ he heard his father ask.

‘Aye, course,’ Mary replied and handed her son to her father-in-law. ‘He’s a bit of a handful when he’s restless though.’ But, once on his grandfather’s lap, Jacob fell silent and stared with fascination at the old man’s face, extending a pudgy pink finger towards his chin.

‘A handful? No, you ain’t no trouble, are you, lad?’ Thomas asked his grandson, who was now completely absorbed by his grandfather’s silver beard.

In the moment of his father’s distraction, George took the chance to look over at Mary, but she merely shrugged her shoulders and returned his puzzled expression.

‘So, what can we do for you, then, Pa?’ he steeled himself to ask, there being, he supposed, no reason to assume that his father was bringing bad news.

‘Well, it’s like this, son,’ Thomas said, shifting the weight of Jacob on his knee. ‘You no doubt recall that a long while ago now, I made my will.’ George nodded. ‘And in keepin’ with the generations of Strongs afore me, I made sure that the farm would, on my
demise
, as them solicitors is so fond of saying, pass to my firstborn son.’ George nodded again, realising, then, the purpose of his father’s visit. ‘Now that, of course, was dependent upon him havin’ a son of
his
own.’

Looking quickly away from his father, George stared at the floor wondering what had come to light. How could he
possibly
have found out about James? Or even about James and Luke? He was certain that Annie wouldn’t have said anything but maybe Ma had done more than put two and two together? It wasn’t entirely unthinkable; there had been at least two or three occasions recently when he’d caught her looking distrustfully at him, but he’d always put that down to his guilty conscience. Suddenly, the small room felt stifling; the walls were threatening to suffocate him and there was an odd ringing in his ears. Surprising even himself, he shot to his feet.

‘I’ll just… open the door,’ he said to detract from his reddening face. ‘’Tis mighty warm in here,’ but as he said it, he could feel the way that both of them were regarding him and was grateful for the distraction of Jacob starting to struggle and protest on his father’s lap.

‘Ma, ma, ma.’

‘Here, let me,’ he heard Mary say, and turned to see his father handing Jacob back to her. He sat back down with his stomach knotted hard; what was Pa sidling up to?
What
did
he
know
?

‘Where was I?’ Thomas asked with a frown. ‘Oh, aye, Tom’s son. Well, course, as Tom ain’t with us no more, the question now arises of how the farm should pass on. And in that respect, this week past I went into Wembridge to see John Sherfield.’

Feeling Mary looking at him for an explanation and finding it hard to control the shaking in his voice, George explained, ‘John Sherfield is Pa’s solicitor. He holds the papers for the farm.’

‘Oh,’ Mary nodded, trying to restrain Jacob’s flailing fists. ‘Shush, Jacob.’

‘An’ after these past months spent dilly-dallying, I asked him what I should rightly do.’ Reflecting on his father’s last words, George found himself wondering why, if the farm was now going to pass to Will, his father was making this great story out of it? And why had he mentioned Tom’s son? Clearly, something in this respect had been troubling the old man, but determining to admit to nothing, he held himself stock-still and heard his father give a lengthy sigh as he prepared to continue. ‘It didn’t seem like a good idea to leave it to Will since he ain’t got no sons of his own, and with poor Ellen, well, there don’t seem a likelihood of that changing any time soon.’ Had he just heard that correctly; his father was entertaining the idea of not leaving the farm to Will? In the moment of his father’s hesitation, he could feel Mary looking at him, her expression suggesting that she was clearly wondering the same thing. ‘So I’m going to leave Summerleas to you, George, since you already got one son and as far as I can see, thanks to Mary here, he’ll be the first of many. That way, the farm is assured of staying in the family, least as far as
I
can see to it.’ Briefly, all George knew was that, in his disbelief, everything around him seemed to blur. This was just about the
last
thing he had been expecting to hear when his father had shown up at their door. ‘Now I’m sure this is a surprise to you, a shock even—’

‘You’re not wrong there,’ he interrupted his father, and although his eyes were still wide with amazement, he could feel the relief flooding his body; his earlier terror being replaced with elation. ‘I never seen that coming, Pa,’ he said, unable to prevent his mouth forming into a grin. ‘In truth, I hadn’t thought about it at all but if I had, I would’ve been sure you’d leave it to Will…’

‘Aye, an’ if he had a son, I might have. Though…’ Having started to say something, Thomas Strong then appeared to wonder as to the wisdom of it, pausing a while before eventually adding, ‘I always thought you the better fellow for the job. Will’s… well, he’s reliable and hard-working and I don’t think more of you than him but you seem to understand Summerleas better. You got what it takes to look after the whole thing; a feel for it. Will’s a good hand but you’re a good farmer; that’s the nub of it.’

To his surprise, George felt himself blushing; not only had his father never openly praised him before but it felt good to be acknowledged as more suitable. Exhaling a long breath, he let go of Mary’s hand.

‘Does Will
know
?’ he asked.

‘Not yet, son, no. I wanted to speak to the two of you first. Once John Sherfield clarified matters in my mind, it wasn’t a difficult decision. Not only are you better suited but you’ve shown me that you can knuckle down and make things work. I know it wasn’t easy for you to walk away from the farm and take up work for the estate, but you did it and I’m fair proud of you.’ Looking at his father’s eyes, George felt certain there were tears welling. ‘Tom couldn’t have done what you did. He was too idle, as well you know, and Will wouldn’t have been suited to taking charge of men up there, so it’s as I say; I’m proud and so should you be. And Mary, love, you’ve given him a fine son and I reckon ’tis on your account that he’s so settled.’

At this last remark, George felt his throat tighten. How was it possible for his father to be so close to what ought to be the truth and yet so far from what really was? He was anything
but
settled.

‘Well, I don’t know what to say.’

‘Might I ask something?’ he heard Mary’s voice asking from beside him, and looked to see Jacob finally asleep on her lap. He
did
love her, genuinely he did, it was just that – ‘What happens if Will and Ellen
do
have a son, in a few years’ time, say?’

When he looked back at his father, it was to see that he was nodding his head.

‘’Tis a sensible question, love, and when I asked the same thing, John Sherfield pointed out to me that although I can make a new will at any time and for any reason, if I believe this is the bettermost arrangement, then, for the sake of all concerned, I should keep to it.’

‘So, you’re saying that even if, one day in the years to come, Will
does
have a son, Summerleas will still go to me now, anyway?’ he asked.

‘Aye. Like I say, son, I’ve made up my mind and for the reasons I said a moment ago,
you’re
my choice now. And in turn, I expect you to leave it to this ’un here, your eldest,’ Thomas was saying, extending an arthritic finger towards the sleeping Jacob.

George gave another long sigh; it was all rather too much to take in.

‘Does Ma know?’

‘Aye. And for once,’ his father said with a smile, ‘she thinks I’m doing the right thing.’

‘So when will you tell the others?’

‘When you come down for dinner with us the morrow. I’ll do it then.’

Without meaning to, George raised his eyebrows.

‘All right,’ he said, shaking his head and blowing out a long stream of air as his father got slowly to his feet. ‘Well, Pa, I’m… shocked, truly I am.’

‘Aye. Your ma said you would be,’ he replied with a hint of a smile. ‘Don’t get up, love,’ he nodded, seeing Mary trying not to wake Jacob. ‘See you both in the morning for church, then.’

‘Indeed,’ George replied, and following his father to the door, closed it softly behind him and then leant back against it, still shaking his head. ‘Well,
that
was unexpected!’

‘So what does it mean?’ Mary asked, looking directly at him.

‘Other than that we’re to be the next master and mistress of Summerleas Farm?’ he replied, his mouth forming of its own accord into a disbelieving grin.

‘Good Lord. I never thought to one day live in the farmhouse.’

‘I never thought to one day
own
it!’

‘No, I’m sure not. But what I think I’m
trying
to understand, is do we still keep living
here
now, then, or what?’

He scratched the back of his head and then ran his fingers through his hair.

‘I don’t think anything changes yet,’ he said, trying to picture the implications. ‘I don’t see as it affects us until Pa…
passes
on
, but maybe we’ll learn more tomorrow when he tells the others.’

‘That ain’t going to be easy, either, since I fancy Will and Ellen will have been expecting it to go to them. Surely they’re going to feel hard done-by, aren’t they?’

‘Aye,’ he agreed, too engrossed in his own concerns at that moment to fret too much for his brother, since even if tomorrow did answer a few more questions, it certainly wouldn’t do anything to settle some of his more private worries, like how would Annie react to the news, and, when it came down to it, who, exactly,
was
his eldest son…?

*

Later that night, wide awake in bed, Mary lay trying to work out what this astonishing turn of events would actually mean. There was no doubting that the news was as providential as it was unexpected and that, rightly, George was thrilled. But then, farming was in his blood, and what man wouldn’t eagerly embrace the independence and freedom that came with being the master somewhere like Summerleas? But it was also clear now that the repercussions of Tom’s death were going to prove far wider than anyone had so far appreciated. Of course, it had left Annie a widow and James and Luke fatherless, but it also seemed now that it was going to affect both Will and Ellen and herself and George in ways that neither couple might once have imagined. When she had wed George, although at first she had assumed that he would continue to work at the farm – not appreciating that he would need to find work elsewhere – she had never, ever, thought that he might one day own it. And in keeping with that, from her very first glimpse of Tom and Annie, she had always pictured them one day taking over; after all, not only was Tom the eldest son but Annie was possessed of the same confident manner and forthright determination as Hannah, and had always acted as though it was entirely her right, which only served to somehow enhance the way in which, unlike herself, Annie appeared completely suited to the role.

And then there was the farmhouse itself; such a step up from Keeper’s Cottage that she wasn’t even sure she could picture herself living there, or indeed, what life would be like; all that work, all those people, all those needs. It couldn’t possibly be more different to the isolated and solitary life that she led here, muddling along as she saw fit. There would be all of those souls depending upon George and the decisions he made about crops and cattle and making ends meet – although like his pa had said, not that he wasn’t cut out for it – but it was just such a huge responsibility that she wondered now whether George had yet come to appreciate it. Or how it might change him? And then there were also the duties that would pass to
her
, too. Without question, people did what Hannah said because from decades of experience, she knew what she was talking about and, well, simply because she was Hannah. But the closest she herself had ever been to farming was tying a few sheaves for the harvest – and not making a very good job of it at that, either. And all of
that
worry was
before
she came to consider the prospect of living among the family, day-in, day-out.