A Country Marriage (56 page)

Wiping the back of her hand at the tears on her cheek and nodding her understanding, she was left to watch in silence as he tore up the steps to the lane and was gone.

*

‘George,’ Mary called up the ladder as she held the flame to the lamp wick and then waited for it to take hold before replacing the smoke-bronzed chimney, ‘two of the hens haven’t come in yet.’ Blowing out the taper, she paused to listen. ‘So I need to go and find them afore it gets too much darker.’ She waited again, her pulse racing so fast that she felt giddy. ‘I’ll be back… by and by.’ Taking the pained grunt that came in response as acknowledgment, she slipped out of the back door and with her sing-song summons to the chickens – louder tonight than strictly necessary – she passed quickly by the henhouse and on across the damp grass, plunging without missing a stride into the water-meadow where the frost-burnt grasses were standing defiant against the first onslaught of winter. To the south-west, the pale disc that had struggled all day to offer any rays of warmth had sunk defeated behind the spinney, abandoning everything to a palette of half-tones and rising mist. ‘Chickie, chickie, chickie,’ she called, and looked around until he appeared, the only sign of life in the monotone landscape. Wordlessly she sank against him.

‘Listen,’ he greeted her without preamble. ‘We ain’t got much time but I got a plan. George is right. Forgetting the fairness or otherwise of all this, I got to get away from here. If I end up in the Bridewell, then there’d most likely be no way out.’

‘Cruel, fate, ain’t it? George goes protestin’ but it’s
you
that ends up having to leave.’

‘Aye, maybe but just listen an’ don’t say anything yet. Afore all this happened, I’d already got to thinkin’ that I wanted to take you away from here.’

‘
Take
me
away
?’

‘Shh, Mary, this’ll be a lot quicker if you just listen a mo’.’ Enveloped as they were by the murk, she shivered and nodded, oddly reassured by the frantic pace of his heart through his jacket and grateful for the opportunity to be with him, no matter the strangeness of the circumstances. ‘So, as it seems I got to leave here, I want you to come with me. I couldn’t stand to leave you struggling along in Keeper’s Cottage with George not even caring whether or not you got vegetables he’s so occupied elsewhere—’

‘He’s not
always
like that,’ she replied, the haste with which she came to her husband’s defence surprising her. It wasn’t lost on her that the remark seemed to make him change tack.

‘Not always, maybe but the thing is, I love you and he don’t. I want to look after you. I want to go to work knowing that you’re going to be warm and safe and happy an’ lookin’ forward to me coming home in the evening. I want to eat the food you cook, I want to fall asleep with you at night and wake up to you every morning. I want to make love to you at dusk and again at dawn. I want to make sure you got shoes and a skirt, for heaven’s sake. I want to care for you, love you. Wouldn’t you
like
that?’

She hesitated, frightened by the rate at which things seemed to be getting out of control.

‘There’s nothin’ I’d like more, truly there ain’t, but I’m wed to George an’ I got his son so I can’t think that he’d just let me go.’

‘No, I know. He wouldn’t. So we wouldn’t tell him.’

‘Francis—’

‘I’ve a place for us to go. I got… friends, and they’ll help us.’

‘For certain? You know that for certain?’

‘I do. They live about three hours’ walk across the heath. ’Tis perfect; in the middle of nowhere. No one from Verneybrook would know it and I’ll wager few people from Wembridge either; it’s very… private. And they’ll help us. We can bide with them as long as we need. They’ll look after us until we can move on elsewhere.’

‘Elsewhere
where
? Once you leave the farm you won’t have work. Or money.’

‘When the time comes, we’ll go south to the coast, to Millbrook or Eling, Lymington even; they’ve timber mills, boatyards, brickworks, all sorts. No one will ask questions; we’ll be just another young family looking for work. An’ back in the summer, I started to put by some money. It ain’t a great deal but it’ll get us going. Think about it, Mary,’ he urged, his eyes suddenly seeming to shine. ‘It would be a life for us together, away from all this hardship and creepin’ about. Wouldn’t you want that?’ Shrouded by the grey of the failing light and against the warmth of his body, it sounded idyllic. ‘And, God willing, in time we’ll have children. Not that I wouldn’t treat Jacob just like he was my own. What do you say, Mary? Come with me.’

‘I scarcely know
what
to say,’ she answered, the thoughts in her head as fuzzy as the indistinct landscape around them. ‘I wish there was time to think about it sensibly.’

‘
I
wish there was time, too. I hadn’t thought for us to go in a rush like this but in truth now we’ve no choice.’

‘George would come looking for us,’ she pointed out. ‘Especially once it was plain that we’d gone together. He’d be in a right fury.’

‘Aye, no doubt he would, but he’d never find us, I promise you. See, this place we’d go, no one knows it and no one knows that
I
know it, not even my ma.’

‘These people,’ she asked, seeing that he was desperate to reassure her but also aware now of how little she actually knew about him, ‘how is it you know them?’

‘Well,’ he replied, ‘I’ve known them five years or so. I used to go there on and off for work, and I still go and see them now and again. I’m always welcome there and so would you be. They already know about you, anyway.’

‘
They
do
?’

‘Yes.’

‘And they know how I’m wed?’

‘They do. An’ they won’t judge you for it since their own affairs are a bit… unusual.’

‘Oh Francis. This is all so sudden!’

‘For you that mid be, aye. But not for me. I’ve wanted to do this a long while now. I love you and I want to make you happy.’

‘And I want to
be
happy,’ she answered, looking back at him to see his face, straight and serious yet full of tenderness and concern. ‘All right, then. I’ll come.’

‘You
will
?’

‘Aye but ’tis risky for you, mind, you know that, don’t you?’ she said, somehow maintaining a plain expression until, at the sight of his puzzlement, she began to giggle. ‘Since inside of our first week together, you’ll most likely want rid of me.’

‘Not a chance. I promise you that now, Mary Strong. Not a chance.’

*

Propped uncomfortably against the bolster, George stared yet again towards the tiny window of the bedchamber. If he didn’t soon escape this suffocating little room, and this confinement to bed like a sickly infant, then he truly believed that he would turn mazed in the head. It was torment enough that he could scarcely move without suffering searing pain, but his wife’s frequent and liberal doses of Martha’s sleeping draughts seemed to be condemning him to perpetual stupor. And that was without the fact that the hours of silence and isolation seemed to be inclining him to morbid introspection. One moment his mind was reliving the bloody disintegration of the protest; the next, agonising over the crumbling of matters closer to home. A wiser man might have argued that both had come about as a result of recklessness – and to a certain extent he supposed that might well be true – but while he couldn’t really be held responsible for the outcome of the protests, he
could
be held accountable for the state of affairs between him and Mary.

What was it his mother had said to him that evening? In his woozy state, the harder he tried to recall her words, the less he seemed able to do so, although he was fairly certain that it had been along the lines of either following his heart and being prepared to deal with the consequences, or knuckling down and making the best of things. Well, look where following his heart had got him: two bastard sons and a world of anguish that showed no sign of ending any time soon. And for what: for the gratification of a physical need? Well, perhaps the time had come to reckon the cost. In fact, no: there was no need to even do that, because if he was prepared to be truthful with himself even for just a minute, then he already knew what he should do; had known for a while, now. Annie might still be able to lure him in, but she was – and always had been – a manipulative and unpredictable woman. Whereas Mary, well, despite what he had put her through, she had always been steady and true. And, in her own quiet way, had even become quite a pretty little thing just lately, too; had developed something of a bloom about her, especially on the odd occasion when she seemed to make something of an effort with her appearance.

Yes, perhaps the time had come for him to do right by her;
for
better
,
for
worse
and all of that. Start behaving like a decent husband; that’s what he needed to do now. In fact, once he was fit and well, he’d sort out her vegetable garden like she’d been asking him to; see to that drainage for her. And maybe he’d see what else she needed, too. Cloth to stitch some new garments for her and the boy might bring a smile to her face. And who knew: this turnabout of affairs might even mark a sort of a new beginning for them. After all, if things at home could be put on a better footing, then maybe he wouldn’t even have
need
of Annie any more.

Goodness: what a relief to have come to his senses! Better still, not only was it beginning to feel like the right thing to do, but the very act of having finally reached a decision seemed to be helping his whole body to feel less tense. And in this instance, he didn’t think it to be solely down to the effect of Martha’s tinctures, either.

Chapter 23

For Better, For Worse

There was still a while until dawn when Mary’s chaotic dream was brought to an abrupt end by a thunderous pounding noise. At first, she wasn’t entirely sure whether it was part of her dream but seconds later it sounded again and as George stirred awake beside her, she realised that someone was at the door. Without saying anything, he hauled himself upright and stumbling across to the ladder, made his way slowly and uncertainly down. Groggily, she strained her ears above the drumming of her heart, until eventually she heard the door closing and saw the dim light from a candle spreading very slowly up through the hatch.

‘What is it?’ she asked when George reappeared looking grey and dishevelled.

‘The bailey. He came to check that I’ll be back at work today. Says if I don’t show, questions will be asked and he’ll be sent down here to find out what’s going on. He made it plain he sympathises but that he won’t put his job on the line for me.’

‘Oh.’ With her heart beating a little less frantically, she watched as he sat cautiously on the bed and put his head in his hands. ‘But can you
go
back? You can scarce walk.’

She saw him shake his head and then wince as the healing wounds on his neck stretched with his movement.

‘I’ve no choice. ʼTis decent of him to come here and warn me, knowing what he does. He’s taking a chance with that alone.’

Without any real thought, she got out of bed and padded round to sit next to him.

‘Well, if you got to go, I’ll help you dress but you got to move about real slow; you ain’t been on your feet these last two days.’ When she looked at him for acknowledgment, he nodded.

‘I can manage. Why don’t you get back into bed? It’s cold,’ he said softly, lifting his head and bringing his hand to rest on her knee, a gesture that struck her as uncharacteristically intimate.

Distractedly she got up but he remained sitting where he was. Getting back into bed, she pulled the blanket up to her chin and stared ahead at the shadowy wall. Then it dawned on her. Today: it was today! A thud of recognition in her chest caused her to gulp for breath as she realised that this morning – very soon now, in fact – Francis would be waiting to take her away from her husband, away from this cottage and away from her life here in Verneybrook. Stretching out a hand to steady herself, she felt a wave of nausea welling up from her stomach until, giving a single retch, she leant over the side of the bed.

In what seemed like an instant, she became aware of George appearing beside her.

‘Mary?’ She could feel the cold of his hand on her shoulder, easing her upright. ‘What’s the matter?’ She shook her head and wiped at a dribble of saliva on her chin, still reeling with nausea. ‘Mary,’ he asked more urgently, ‘are you all right?’

‘I th-think so,’ she replied, but her voice seemed faint and her limbs were shaking uncontrollably.

‘’Tis probably the shock of waking so quick,’ he suggested, and thinking to herself that it was indeed shock, she murmured something that sounded like agreement. ‘Lie down,’ he urged, and when she reluctantly complied, confused and anxious, he pulled the blanket on top of her. ‘You’re shiverin’ badly,’ he pointed out and, looking around helplessly, lay stiffly down alongside her and put his arms around her. Even in her panic, she realised that being held by him was peculiar; strange when it should have been familiar. ‘You need to get warm,’ she heard him saying and felt him start to rub the blankets around her body.

‘Be careful of your ribs.’

‘Maybe I should warm you some milk,’ he ventured, the thoughtfulness of his suggestion seeming ludicrous, given that at that precise moment, it was only his continued presence that was thwarting her attempt to leave him. Somehow, though, she couldn’t find it in her heart to belittle his good intentions by pointing out that there wouldn’t be any milk unless he went to the farm to fetch it.

‘No,’ seemed all she could manage by way of reply.

‘Maybe not,’ he seemed to deduce for himself.

In her mind she cast frantically about for a means to hurry him on his way, but her thoughts were in turmoil and the feeling of sickness still persisted, too. All she could think was that she had to get him out of the house so that she could work out what she needed to do next. Wrapped inside the blanket and beginning to prickle with sweat, she managed to say, ‘I’m… hot.’

‘Are you? Good, that’s better then,’ he replied, releasing his hold on her a little.

‘Too hot.’ But when she tried to sit up and push back the blanket, he wouldn’t let her.

‘No, bide there, Mary. I don’t want you to get up and faint or summat. I’ve already enough injuries for the both of us.’ His sudden concern for her was so utterly unexpected and seemed so genuine that she felt her eyes filling with tears. It was so long since he had shown the least interest in her well-being, and now it seemed that he had chosen today, of all days, to do so.

‘You don’t want to be late getting to work,’ she ventured. ‘Truly, George, you should get ready. It’ll take you a good deal longer to walk there today.’ She looked at his half-lit form sitting awkwardly by her side and wondered what time it was. With their usual routine gone by the way she had no measure of the hour and, looking quickly towards the tiny window, was able to determine only that beyond the fingers of ice creeping up it, everywhere still looked evenly black. Then something that Francis had told her came starkly to mind: that they must be away from Verneybrook by sunrise since his freedom depended upon it, and that if she hadn’t arrived by the hour of eight, he would assume that she had changed her mind and go on without her. The recollection of his words panicked her afresh, and with her thoughts in a frenzy, she tried to recall whether the church clock had struck yet; in the winter months, the first bell was at seven and she was fairly certain that it had long since rung.

‘Aye, you’re right,’ her husband finally seemed to agree. But having forgotten what it was she had said, she eyed him warily. ‘I’d best be on my way.’

A tiny flicker of relief stilled her sickly panic, and from under her lowered lashes she watched him stand up, hover uncertainly and then, with considerable difficulty, bend to reach for his clothes. Slowly, she too sat up and swung her legs down to the floor; once he was gone there would be no time to waste. She ought to start dressing, too.

‘Here, let me help with that,’ she said going around to him, unable to watch him struggling with his shirt. ‘An’ I better come down and help you on with your jacket, then you’ll be all set.’

‘Aye, maybe. But that can wait just a minute, only there’s summat I want to do here, first.’ Adjusting the front of his shirt, he turned carefully to face her and while inwardly she cringed at this further delay, his fragile expression gave her an unexpected stab of pity. ‘Mary,’ he began gently. She noticed that he was looking at her now, really looking at her, something that only heightened her anxiety and sent gooseflesh down her arms. ‘I know this is an odd time to choose for saying this but…’ Unnerved by the candour of his stare, she looked down and stared purposefully at her bare feet on the worn floorboards. An odd time? To say what? What did he know? And unless she was much mistaken, there was something different in his eyes; sadness maybe but something else, as well. Quelling her impatience, she remained perfectly still and waited. Then, to her surprise, she felt him lift her hair away from her face and felt drawn to look back at him. ‘I want to say I’m sorry.’

‘S-sorry?’ she repeated, stumbling over the word. ‘For what?’ Of its own volition, her right knee had started to quiver and she pressed her foot hard onto the floor to try to quell it.

‘For being such a terrible, bad husband.’ It was such a startling admission that she continued to look at him, finding it both strange and unsettling to see his gingery-brown eyes actually looking back at her after having for so long only seen them screwed up in anger or dislike. ‘I’ve treated you real badly, especially these last few months but I ain’t going to make excuses for it. There was summat that I… well, in truth I don’t suppose it matters since ’tis done with now.’ Although she may have had no idea what he was talking about, she was certain that she had never seen such genuine regret. ‘I realise now that I been a fool and I can’t believe how you’ve put up with me. I been real evil to you at times but you’ve never spoken out against me, not even once.’ This new honesty from him was disconcerting and very unlike the man he had become of late, all secrets and dark moods. ‘I know I don’t deserve it, Mary but if I promise to change my ways, do you think you could find it in your heart to forgive me?’ So all this time he had
known
the distress and anguish he was putting her through and
now
he wanted to apologise? Unbidden tears started streaming down her face, something that seemed to prompt him to move closer and reach for her hands. ‘I’m so sorry, Mary, truly I am. I know I’ve hurt you but please forgive me and tell me we can be all right.’ Before she could answer, he had wrapped his arms around her but although she could feel his heart beating, he may as well have been on the far side of a vast chasm for all the closeness she felt.

‘I…’ It felt as though her mind was a void. She no longer knew this man – his dark and distant behaviour had seen to that – and although he was admitting fault, he didn’t appear to be about to elaborate further, leaving her mildly curious as to the source of his guilt but not entirely sure that she truly cared any longer. The plain fact was that they should never have married; it had quickly become clear that he would have been better suited to someone older and more his equal; someone who would have been better able to understand him. Someone more like Annie, it pained her to realise now. He was asking whether they could still be all right together, so this was her one chance to answer him truthfully and say that no; it was beyond them to be happy together now. She risked a glance at his face. His eyes seemed to reflect remorse, but it wasn’t enough;
he
might harbour regret and want to start afresh but she knew then that
she
didn’t. And she was more certain of that now than ever.

She could feel that he was looking at her again; she still hadn’t answered him and momentarily at least, she didn’t think that she could.

‘Mary,
please
, can you find it in your heart to forgive me…?’ Unexpectedly, something inside her cracked and she felt it instantly. Deep in her very core, a dark hollow was opening and sucking her dream of happiness down beyond reach, twisting it out of all recognition and squeezing the very life from it with such strength that she knew without a doubt, that nothing she did now would be enough to rescue it. Her one chance of unconditional love was at this very moment waiting for her along the path behind the church – eager and hopeful – while here, sitting on their bed, her husband was begging forgiveness and promising her better. But to go after her dream of happiness with the man who was offering her the earth was, she suddenly realised, precisely that; just a dream. After all, what was it her mother always used to say to her about having her head in the clouds?
Stop
daydreaming
girl
.
Life
isn’t
a
fairy
tale
. And when it came down to it, that was what she was doing, wasn’t it: dreaming?

Deep inside, it felt as though her heart was being torn very slowly into tiny, tiny, ragged shards by the realisation and the pain of it was unbearable.
Now
he wanted to love her. Once, she would have given anything for this, but he had waited until
now
to want her; now that she no longer wanted
him
. Francis was the man she wanted to spend her life with. Would it even be possible to continue living and breathing if she never again felt the warmth of his arms around her, never again felt the tenderness of his kiss on her lips, and never again came alive under his touch? From some deep fissure tears streamed, bleak and jagged, as the cruel truth continued to crush her precious dream. Was it possible for a person to drown in their own tears? It would feel like a fitting end. ‘Can you?’ his pitiful plea broke through her utter despair.

She opened her mouth, not certain that she could form any words.

‘Course.’

‘So you still love me?’ he asked, regaining a little composure.

‘Course.’ But even to her own ears her answer was devoid of all emotion and she didn’t risk looking up. How ridiculous it seemed now, to imagine that her life could ever be any different. Yes, she had been foolish in the utmost. And selfish; selfish to even think of depriving Jacob of his father and of Summerleas, his birthright.
This
was her life, here in Keeper’s Cottage and one day yet to come, as mistress of Summerleas but either way with George, the man she had wed of her own free will, for better or for worse. It was what she had agreed to on her wedding day and it was what she had got. From the depths of her despair, she could just make out the sound of the church clock starting to chime the hour and, wretchedly, she counted it striking eight times before answering. ‘I still love you.’

Perhaps, she reflected, she should be grateful that after all of this time, it still felt wrong to lie. But just lately she’d had a lot of practice and had learned enough to recognise that whilst the best of lies were hidden among half-truths, the worst of lies were told for love.