A Country Marriage (13 page)

Despite complaining, her father-in-law heaved himself up from his chair, stirred the spoon precisely as instructed and then let it fall with a chink against the bowl. Next to take his turn was Tom.

‘Just the once,’ she heard Hannah remind him and saw her pluck the spoon from his hand before he had the chance to get carried away.

‘Yes, Ma.’

The spoon then passed to Will and then Ellen – there being little doubt in her mind what either of them would wish for – and then to Annie. But as she watched her stare into the bowl, her face looked entirely without expression – unreadable in fact – and remained that way even when she lifted her son to the table and guided his hand as he looked back and forth uncertainly between her and the bowl.

‘Make a wish then, lovey,’ Hannah suggested; but James had already pressed his lips firmly together so that when it became clear that they would remain that way, Annie set him back on the floor. Catching her eye, Mary extended her hand to take the spoon from her only for Annie to stare right through her and then reach all the way across the table to hand it to Tabitha instead. Feeling her cheeks redden, she stepped back and stared at the floor until she heard Hannah calling George over, when she risked looking back up to see her husband calmly stir the mixture and then pass her the spoon. Suddenly, her mind was blank. What should she wish for? Unbelievably, nothing came to mind: nothing at all. Dither any longer and Hannah would be staring at her, and so without making a wish at all, she simply stirred the pudding. What a thing to miss out on! Not that she believed in the power of wishing, of course. But on the other hand, no one could say with any certainty that wishing
didn’t
work; you just had to wish wisely. Across the table, Robert was the last to take his turn and then the room seemed to resume its usual hum of activity. ‘Thank you everyone. Off you all go,’ Hannah was saying. And then to Ellen, she added, ‘Pass me the two you-know-whats, love, and give me a hand with the boiling cloths will you? Let’s get them a-going.’

From across the room she saw George beckoning her towards the door, his face still taut with displeasure as he rammed his feet into his boots and stepped out into the yard. Behind him, she hopped on one foot, conscious that in his present mood, rather than wait, he would more than likely go on without her.

‘Come on, then. Before dinner time I want to go up The Stag an’ see if Ezra Sharpe’s about. He knows a group; some folk from over Micklehampton way and after Tom’s
snide
remarks in there I’m minded to join up with them and find out more about… well, no matter; there’s no need for it to concern you.’

She followed him towards the gate. What was he talking about now? What group and what folk? And who was Ezra Sharpe? Well, bother them whoever they were, because she was desperate to speak to him about Annie. After all, surely he couldn’t possibly have failed to notice her rudeness just now? But while tripping on one of her laces and opening her mouth to call to him to wait, her eyes came to rest on the sight of his sister-in-law somehow already standing in the lane. Feeling her shoulders slump, she nevertheless hastened on, eager not to miss whatever was going to pass between them.

‘I just had to tell you,’ she thought she heard Annie saying as she hurried forward, ‘how well I thought you showed up Tom and his selfishness.’

She frowned. Assuming that she had heard correctly, it didn’t make sense. Why would Annie favour George’s view of matters, when surely her loyalty ought to lie with Tom?

‘Wasn’t my intention,’ George was replying as she drew alongside them, noticing how neither of them acknowledged her presence.

‘No?’

‘No.’

‘Well either way, it pleases me no end when you show him for what he is,’ Annie was replying, her eyes fixed on George’s and her hand coming to rest on his arm.

‘Well, be that as it may, I’ve things to see to, Annie. So if you don’t mind—’

‘I’ll see you at dinner, then,’ she heard Annie murmur as they turned to leave.

Striding on ahead, he simply waved over his shoulder; a peculiarly blithe gesture that given the tone of the entire morning left her feeling somehow outmanoeuvred. Wittingly or otherwise – it feeling beyond her now to work out which – Annie’s strange little intervention had wiped away her chance to discuss with George the earlier incident, since judging by his pace this was now clearly no longer the right moment. And plodding along in his wake, aware how firmly her teeth were clamped together, she came to realise that in all likelihood it was pointless trying to raise the matter with him again anyway, since it was quite obvious now that he hadn’t noticed a thing and probably never would.

Chapter 5

Tidings of Comfort and Joy

‘Ma! Ma!’ Mary called, surprised by catching a glimpse of her mother at one of the nearby stalls. It was the last-but-one market before Christmas and with her business done, she had been about to head for home.

‘Mary, love!’ There was something heartening about seeing the delight that followed the look of recognition on her mother’s face.

‘Ma, what good fortune to chance upon you like this.’

‘Indeed, indeed. Although I did wonder whether I might just see you here this morning. Anyway, let me get a look at you; see how you’re keeping.’ Shifting the weight of her basket against her hip, she watched her mother folding back her scarf and then looking her up and down. ‘But you’re with child, Mary. Why on earth didn’t you send word?’

‘
What
?’

‘You’re with child, girl.’

Realising what her mother was suggesting, she felt her cheeks colour and glanced in alarm at the faces of the people trying to push past them.

‘I am not. And I can’t think what on earth would make you spout such—’

‘Are you certain? When did you last bleed then?’

‘I’ve not the least notion.’ Couldn’t her mother see that this really wasn’t the sort of place to be discussing something of this nature? ‘I lose track—’

‘You’ve lost track, all right. Think on it; you been sick of a morning?’

She shook her head and took a step backwards to let people pass.

‘No. Well, once, a week or so back but the milk had turned and I didn’t notice.’

‘Was George sick then, too?’

Clearly, her mother wasn’t going give up on the matter.

‘No, but he didn’t have the milk.’

‘Just the one morning was it?’

‘
Ma
, I don’t recall. One morning or two,
I
really
don’t
know
! It was just a bit of sickness.’

‘All right, all right,’ her mother was saying more quietly now. ‘But just you listen to me a minute. You need to find out who in the village delivers the babies an’ go an’ see her. I know I’m right. I can always tell. And how other women don’t ever see it, is beyond me.’

‘What makes you so certain, then?’ If nothing else, it would be useful to know what her mother considered to be
the
signs
, even if, on this occasion, she was entirely wrong.

‘Well, it’s hard to pin down to just one thing but you’ve got a bloom about you.’

She laughed. Something that simple was easily explained away.

‘That’s more likely from being out in the cold air.’

‘No, girl, it ain’t that sort of bloom; it’s more than just rosy cheeks. You got a sparkle about your eyes, too an’ you look bigger in the chest. And your face is rounder.’

Her mother’s comment about her chest did strike a chord; a few days back she had noticed her bodice feeling oddly tight but had paid little heed. Woollens had a habit of shrinking in the wash if you weren’t careful.

‘Well, ’tis proper lovely to see you, Ma. And to see you looking well, too. How’s everyone at home?’ If nothing else, her question might at least change the subject.

‘All quite well for once, it gladdens me to say. And your Pa’s got a good piece of work at last, so that’s a help, too.’

‘Well it pleases me no end to hear it.’ She said it warmly, leaning to kiss her mother’s cheek as she did so. ‘Give my love to everyone, then and I beg you, don’t go spreading stories about babies because believe me, when I do fall, I’ll be sure to let you know!’

*

All the way home, despite not wanting to admit it, Mary had the unsettling feeling that her mother might be right. As she walked the wintry lanes, with the stiff wind stinging her eyes, she tried to think calmly, only to find that the past weeks seemed quite blurred. For a start, she could no longer be entirely sure of how many weeks she had even been wed.

Pulling her shawl closer about her, she tried to quell what felt like panic spreading outwards from her stomach. It was far too soon to be pregnant; after all, she had barely got to grips with being a wife. Looking after George and the cottage was already taking all of her time but now it looked as though she might have a baby to cope with as well. Lifting her eyes from the short stretch of track in front of her feet, she looked out across the fields to where, a little below the advancing ridge, the features of Keeper’s Cottage were just coming into view. How isolated it looked, standing there on its own above the meadows; not that dissimilar to the way she herself felt right now. If she
was
pregnant, though, she thought to herself as she continued along the lane, she could at least console herself with the knowledge that unlike being married, she knew a fair bit about babies. After all, she had helped her mother to take care of Beth and Robbie and David when they were born. Nevertheless, she still wished that her mother hadn’t put the daft notion into her head to start with because now she would be able to think of nothing else.

Back at home, she set about preparing supper but still couldn’t rid herself of the idea that she might actually be pregnant. Indeed, finding it impossible to fully address her mind to anything, she put down the ladle and placed her hands on her belly. Truth be told, maybe it didn’t feel quite as flat as it had when her mother had fitted her wedding dress but as she hadn’t seen her face recently, she couldn’t pass opinion on whether or not, as her mother had suggested, it was more rounded. And then there was the matter of the sickness. Thinking back, she was fairly certain that it had been two mornings running and not just one – but surely if you were pregnant, you had sickness for longer than that? Then there was her mother’s suggestion to go and see the baby-catcher. How, though, was she going to do that? Firstly, she would have to find out who it was and that alone would no doubt be difficult to do discreetly. Offering her hands to the fire, she let out a long sigh. Perhaps for the moment at least, there was no need to do anything. After all, it was early days and so there was no need for haste. Surely she could afford to leave it another week at least? Yes and if she was fortunate, by then she would have proof that her mother was wrong.

Much as she had feared, though, another week passed with no such sign and since the watching and waiting was becoming unbearable, she was forced into admitting that she would have to do something. The time to be certain had come. After all, it was still possible – although increasingly unlikely, she now conceded – that she was worrying for nothing. Having had several days to mull over the matter, she had decided that the best thing would be to ask Ellen. But fine an idea though that was, she would still need to be able to catch her alone.

Her chance, however, arose unexpectedly on Wednesday afternoon when she arrived at the farmhouse to find that all of the other women were in the dairy wrapping pats of butter in dock leaves and whole cheeses in muslin ready for market the following morning. Ellen, by contrast, was alone in the pantry, staring into the stockpot.

‘You on your own?’ she asked her, peering hopefully on along the hallway beyond.

‘Aye, just me for the moment. Come down for a bit of a hob an’ nob, have you?’

‘In a way, I have, yes, although…’ Clearly, this was going to be every bit as difficult as she had imagined but when she looked up, it was to see Ellen looking at her thoughtfully.

‘You all right? Only to my mind, you look a mite peaky. This weather don’t help, though, do it? Mild and soggy one day, avroze the next.’ To Ellen’s matter-of-fact assessment she raised a smile. If only it were that simple. ‘There might be the dregs of some tea in the pot, if you want to stop a while, that is.’

‘No, thank you all the same but I won’t dally.’

‘Tell you what, then,’ Ellen said in a tone that suggested she was aware of her unease, ‘help me fold these linens a moment.’

Following Ellen across the kitchen, she stood with her hand on the edge of the table, recognising it for the first time as elm – one of her father’s favourite woods – and paused to trace the outline of a dark and complicated knot with her forefinger before eventually mustering the courage to break the silence and say, ‘Ellen, I need some help.’

‘Righty-o, lovey.’

Perching on the edge of one of the chairs, she glanced quickly towards the back door, certain that if she didn’t get on with it now, then there was a very real possibility that she might lose her chance until after Christmas. And that was something that she was suddenly desperate to avoid. So reminding herself that she really had to do this, she took a deep breath and before she had the chance to think better of it, blurted out, ‘Last week, in the market, I saw Ma… and she told me that I looked… pregnant. Course, I told her straight off that she was wrong. But now I think about it, she might just be right and I don’t know what to do.’ She paused and looked up; surprised at the relief she was already beginning to feel for having told someone. ‘Ma said there would be someone in the village who could tell me.’