The Journal of a Vicar's Wife (11 page)

I opened the door quietly, and could hear muffled words and sounds. Such sounds were unmistakeable, for they were the same ones I uttered with Mr Goddard. Moans, sighs, and the beating of flesh against flesh met my ears.

I was terribly torn. For, Lord forgive me, I was aroused and hungered by the sounds; but by equal measure, I was worried for Miss Swan and appalled by Jonathan’s lack of consideration for his lady’s well being.

After a time, I could listen no further; I simply had to act! I opened the door, fortuitously, as they met with crisis.

The scene that met my eyes was of carnality personified. Jonathan was sprawled across a semi-clad Miss Swan, his tight, muscular buttocks flinching in the last paroxysms of pleasure. Miss Swan’s pale thighs were spread wide and welcoming.

‘Well, this is certainly not what I expected to find,’ I said, when I finally found my tongue. Naturally, my derision was targeted toward Jonathan, rather than Miss Swan.

‘Mrs Reeves,’ Jonathan gasped and pulled himself from the lady. His face burgeoned red, and I saw a flash of hard, male erection as he tugged a dusty sheet to cover their exposure. ‘What are you doing here?’

I could scarce believe it; he sounded
angry.

‘I wished to speak with you, Mr Reeves,’ I replied with as much civility as the scoundrel deserved.

I heard him inhale deeply, as if he were trying to resolve himself to speak. ‘Then you could do so when I return to the vicarage. You need not follow me about in this most unbecoming and peculiar fashion!’

I felt a hot flush of surprise rise up to my cheeks. How dare he! He had caused the ruination of a young woman. This was not the Jonathan I knew, and had so long admired. This was some other man entirely. I never had felt so grateful to be married to an honourable man, for despite Frederick’s many, many, faults he is no scoundrel.

‘My manner is neither unbecoming, nor peculiar,’ I snapped. ‘I had thought to see what you two were up to. I couldn’t mistake the look in Miss Swan’s eyes when she captured sight of you at church, and when you both disappeared so mysteriously down the lane … Well, I thought I ought to check upon you to ensure no vice was undertaken. I see …’ I looked pointedly at Miss Swan, and added sadly, ‘I have come too late.’

Jonathan angled his body in such a fashion as to obscure the semi-clad Miss Swan from my eyes. I could see anger and outrage glisten in his eyes, as he pushed a tuft of hair from his brow.

‘I would be much obliged if you left immediately,’ he said.

I could not leave, certainly not. I had to help Miss Swan, whichever way I could. I did not wish her to be a woman in my position – married off to the first suitable man who asked. I would not wish it upon anyone.

‘Oh, I am certain you would be,’ I replied to Jonathan, ‘But I shall not be leaving, not just yet. I have matters most pressing which need be discussed.’

Poor Miss Swan flinched, and her stricken face paled even more. The poor dear was mortified, as was I when Jonathan happened across me and Mr Goddard.

‘The time for speaking is not now. Please leave,’ Jonathan argued.

I shook my head. I could not leave, not just yet. ‘I shall when I am ready, Jonathan. First, however, I wish to speak with … you both.’

I tried to offer a look of sympathy to sorry Miss Swan as I caught her glistening eyes.

Jonathan swore beneath his breath. ‘If you are so damnably adamant, at least give us a moment to dress. This is highly unbefitting for us all.’

He was, of course, quite right, and so I agreed to allow them privacy to dress, and swept from the room.

As I waited, I worried about what I should say to Miss Swan. How could I warn her when she had already fallen so far? Perhaps it was the proverbial pot calling the kettle black, I do not know, but I felt that she deserved something more than Jonathan’s poor treatment. At that moment, I considered myself blessed I had not fallen quite so easily into his arms. Perhaps I should be thankful I’d insisted on a marriage proposal before anything untoward had taken place. Perhaps I was better off with Frederick after all? Certainly, if this was Jonathan’s true nature, perhaps I had been saved from a marriage worse than this that I endure.

I waited a goodly time before entering the room once more. The door was old and moulding and I hadn’t noticed just how dusty the place was until that moment. Miss Swan stood in the room, an arm’s breadth from Jonathan. I walked towards her, my face creased with sympathy. I took her cold hand and patted it gently, offering consolation as best I could.

‘There, there, you are not the first, nor the last, I fear to fall for the charms of Jonathan Reeves.

I wanted her to know that she was not alone, for I had suffered due to this family, and would suffer to my dying day. ‘Has he promised you passion? A future?’ I asked, and watched her plain face flush and confirm my fears.

I felt another hot stab of rage, and threw a withering glance at Jonathan.

‘Mr Reeves?’ she asked very softly. ‘Whatever does she mean?’

I watched Jonathan’s face grow increasingly guarded. ‘I cannot fathom her meaning.’

‘Can you not?’ I retorted.

‘No, madam, I cannot,’ he growled.

‘Well, for that I am wounded,’ I replied, for genuinely I was. Did he remember nothing of the affections we shared? Had he never considered the consequences his failed proposal had on my life? Could he not see that he was in some way responsible for the dreary existence I now endured? I turned to Miss Swan.

‘Has this gentleman – though I hesitate to use the word – promised you his hand?’ I asked gently.

Miss Swan did not reply, but her face grew ashen.

I shook my head. ‘So he did me, many years ago, before I married his cousin.’

The young lady gasped.

‘He promised me that he would save money for our future. He made me think we had one.’

Jonathan released a low growl. ‘Maria …’

‘Allow me to finish, Jonathan,’ I said. ‘You have taken your ruse further with Miss Swan than you ever did with I – still it is my Christian duty that she ought to know your true intentions do not involve matrimony at all.’

‘That is untrue,’ he growled, and his fists clenched by his sides. ‘I love Miss Swan. I will marry her as soon as I can finance a good home for her.’

‘You loved me once,’ I added. ‘You told me so.’

I looked towards the stricken young lady and felt a terrible guilt. Was I wrong to burden her with this information? Yet, she had a right to know. She must know that dallying with men could have a disastrous effect. I am no angel, I know this. I am in fact a terrible, wicked sinner – but perhaps I could save Miss Swan the same fate.

All I could do was try.

‘Maria,’ Jonathan argued. ‘We were terribly young.’

‘Yet, you promised me a future,’ I replied.

‘Your father refused my offer, and my father forbade me. There was naught else I could do.’

‘We could have gone to Gretna Green,’ I whispered.
And saved me from this lonely marriage
, I did not add.

Jonathan’s sigh was one of pure frustration. ‘We could have eloped to be sure – but as I recall, you swiftly left and married my cousin instead.’

I felt my face contort unhappily. Was that what he thought? That I’d
wanted
this lonely life with Frederick? Of course, I could have refused him, but my father had given me precious little room to refuse. Surely Jonathan knew that? If Jonathan had just left me well alone, perhaps I’d not have had to marry Frederick at all. Then I would never have been tempted to be unfaithful.

I was about retort when poor Miss Swan screamed, ‘Enough!’ Her eyes were wild and terrified and she lurched to retrieve her discarded bonnet. ‘I have simply heard enough! Excuse me.’

She moved towards the door, but Jonathan disallowed it. ‘Martha … please, don’t go. We ought to discuss this.’ There was such a note of longing and passion in Jonathan’s voice that I wasn’t sure I’d heard correctly. He gripped Miss Swan’s hand, his face a mask of passionate agony.

‘Release me at once, Sir!’ Miss Swan shrieked, pulling wildly at her arm.

Jonathan released her, and the lady hesitated not a moment but fled from the house.

I stood there some time, in absolute, resolute silence, watching a conflux of emotions pass over Jonathan’s face.

‘Why?’ he croaked, his tone bitter. ‘Why did you do this?’

I found myself biting my lip. ‘I didn’t want her to end up like me.’

Jonathan loomed before me, angrier than I could ever have imagined.

‘Like you? Miss Swan is
nothing like you.
’

I recoiled, the sting of his words painful to hear. Still, I
had
to make him understand.

‘Because of our failed courtship, my father pushed me into my marriage. You
know
how terribly unhappy my marriage is with Frederick. I wanted to protect her from …’

‘No!’ he snarled. ‘You didn’t. You just want Miss Swan to be as miserable as you are. I had a plan for the future, Maria, a plan to make Miss Swan a good home, and now you’ve ruined it! You selfish, wicked woman.’

I reeled at Jonathan’s poisonous words.

‘No,’ I tried to say, but he would not have it. I do not think I have seen such fury on the face of a man before.

‘I had thought you above this petty jealousy, Maria. I thought I understood you, and you understood me. Rest assured, woman, I shall speak to your husband of your infidelity. I should never have kept it a secret.’

‘Jonathan, no! You mustn’t.’

He narrowed that furious gaze upon me. ‘I must, and I shall, Maria. I was a fool to trust you.’

‘No, no!’ I cried. ‘He’ll …’

‘He’ll what? Shame you? Beat you? Kill you?’ Jonathan snarled. ‘Well, so be it. I shall not grieve for you.’

With those terrible and final words, Jonathan left me there in that dusty and dilapidated cottage.

As I write my recollection late this evening, I can hear Jonathan and my husband speaking. Of what? I can only fear.

Monday, 12
^th
July 1813

I awoke this morning to an empty house, empty except for the bustling Mrs Cartwright and Minny. I dressed modestly and all but crept like some devilish fiend down the stairs to observe and assure myself there was no Jonathan or husband in the vicinity waiting to confront me with my wickedness.

I had heard the men speaking until the wee hours of the morning.

I shuddered and walked into the kitchen.

If Frederick knew, why had he not thrown me from the house? I half-expected to see him glowering beyond the door, but when I opened the kitchen I was confronted not by my angry, cuckolded husband, but Mrs Cartwright kneading bread instead.

I heaved a sigh of relief.

‘Mrs Cartwright?’ I spoke softly, ‘Have you seen the Vicar or Mr Reeves this morning?’

Mrs Cartwright bustled from the kitchen. ‘Yes Ma’am, Mr Reeves has taken a hack to London, and the Vicar is doing rounds.’

I hesitated, and ran a hand down my bodice. ‘And they were in good spirits? Nothing untoward?’

Mrs Cartwright’s eyes narrowed. She knew of Jonathan’s discovery; any business in the vicarage was not news to her. ‘In fine spirits,’ she said, stiffly. ‘Nought to concern yerself with.’

My shoulders sank lower with relief. ‘Well, that is very good.’

Mrs Cartwright’s smile was only mildly sympathetic. ‘Yes, it is.’

‘Will Mr Jonathan Reeves be back, do you know?’ I asked.

She nodded, ‘Yes. In a week or so.’

I frowned then. ‘Oh.’

After this stilted conversation I took time to do some sewing, hoping it should take my mind of my troubles. As I pulled it from my sewing box, I saw my Bible, flowering with new strips of paper, placed purposefully beside my seat.

I could not read it now. I would not.

Tuesday, 13
^th
July 1813

My husband was surprisingly kind to me today – though I do not deserve it.

Still nothing has been said about Jonathan or the wicked secrets he keeps. So it is that I shall walk about on tenterhooks, fearing the release of that dreadful information.

At breakfast, Frederick greeted me quite cordially and even poured my tea before Minny had the chance. There was a lovely air of gentility about him that I am not at all accustomed, yet could appreciate, even though my every spare thought seems to be afflicted by fears of discovery.

‘Have you plans for the day?’ he asked, his quiet gaze thoroughly unsettling me.

‘Why, no,’ I replied, trying to stem the skittish tone in my voice. ‘I had thought perhaps to offer my afternoon at the Bentley’s farm.’ I hesitated, brushing my skirt. ‘Mrs Bentley is in confinement with her sixth, and I had thought she may appreciate an extra pair of hands.’

My husband’s brow furrowed, but his eyes brightened with evident approval. ‘That is very generous of you,’ he commented, and sipped at his tea. I watched his hands curl about the handle of the cup and worried at my lip.
How would it feel to have that hand wrapped about my waist with affection and passion?
I wondered, but shook the thought away knowing it fanciful. My husband has never held me with affection, let alone passion.

He was quiet for a moment, as he took another sip.

‘You have been quiet,’ he commented. ‘Do you feel at all well? Here, have more tea …’ He poured me another cup. I bit my lip again.

Of course, his uncharacteristic concern for my health was pleasing, but it also made my heart hammer with fear. If I could not suppress my fears, his questioning would no doubt increase – and if it increased, how long would I be able to keep up my charade?

‘I am well,’ I replied with false brightness.

He didn’t return the sentiment; instead, he frowned. ‘I trust it is not Jonathan’s departure that has caused your subdued mood?’ His voice was soft.

Panic, strong and pungent, stabbed through my body, and I prayed it would not show upon on my face.

‘No, not his departure, and I am not at all subdued …’ I replied and gripped at my freshly poured tea.

‘Good,’ he replied. He fondled his cup of tea again. ‘Have you by any chance been reading that text?’