A Country Marriage (3 page)

*

Events after that seemed little more than a blur. George, she recalled later, had seemed to be smiling as she approached, and the vicar’s welcome to the congregation had commenced in the same monotone with which he delivered all of his addresses; no distinction afforded to the celebratory nature of matrimonial union or the solemnity of a laying to rest. Perhaps, being unwed himself, the two were much as one to him.

‘In the presence of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, we have come together to witness the union of George with Mary, to pray for God's blessing on them…’ he was intoning.

Perhaps he had once been jilted. Or perhaps, the woman at whom he had once directed his affections had refused him on account of the rectory being such a mean little dwelling and Tansy Vine being such a sour-faced housekeeper.

‘I, George, take thee, Mary, to be my wedded wife…’ With a snap, her attention returned, ‘to have and to hold from this day forward…’

And then somehow, her own, trembling voice was whispering, ‘…for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish and to obey, till death us do part…’

And then it was over – to her mind, indecently quickly – and she found herself standing side by side with her new husband, watching as the clerk’s nib scratched their names below a long list of others in a ledger that exuded an aroma reminiscent of the inside of a musty trunk.

A cold finality seeped into her chest. So this was it. She glanced up to George’s face, but he was looking straight ahead, his sidelong expression seeming pensive to the point of melancholy. Perhaps he, too, had been surprised by the swiftness of it all.

Once outside again in the pale sunlight of the fading September afternoon, she gripped his arm, her eyes searching the whirl of villagers for the faces of her parents. Maybe now they would be persuaded to come to the celebrations.

‘We’ve more than enough food and ale.’ It was Hannah Strong – her voice so much more commanding than Ma’s – pressing hospitality upon her mother. She turned her head in their direction. ‘An’ you’re welcome to stop over in the barn if you can’t be done with journeying back tonight.’

But the tone of her mother’s reply meant that she didn’t need to hear her precise words to know her response. And in any event, oblivious to her turmoil, George was now leading her away and the moment for a final plea of her own was lost.

‘Well then; your carriage awaits,’ she heard him saying and looked ahead to see a chestnut mare and a farm cart decorated with lengths of white ribbon.

‘Oh, how pretty,’ she remarked, avoiding his eyes but accepting his hand up. They were, she realised then, the first words they had said to each other since making their vows and she couldn’t help noticing that as he went round to climb up on the other side, his response to her observation was a hesitant and half-formed smile.

‘Well, here we go then.’

Yes, here we go. But to what?

She wanted very much to smile back at him, but it felt far too forward yet to meet his look and so instead, she craned over her shoulder to wave to her parents. But as the cart began to bump steadily out of the village and their waving figures began to shrink in size, she was forced to bite her tongue against tears. Carefully, she risked another glance at the man sitting beside her. Was he as anxious as she was? From what little she could see of his expression it was hard to tell.

For what seemed like ages after that, they rode in silence until eventually and with a gentle sigh, he seemed to take it upon himself to make conversation.

‘We’ve a right randy ready in the barn.’

‘Oh.’

‘Pretty much all of the village will be there.’

‘Goodness.’

‘Aye, Ma an’ Pa always put on a good spread an’ it don’t matter the occasion, you can be sure it will be packed to the rafters,’ he added, the prospect raising the line of his mouth into a grin.

‘Oh.’

But as suddenly as it had started, the one-sided effort at discourse petered out, the hurdle of awkwardness once again looming. She tried to think of something to say, something –
anything
– that wouldn’t make her sound foolish – but her mind seemed blank. She bit her lip and looked out over all that remained of the recent harvest; stripes of brittle stubble separated at regular intervals by the dark lines of hedgerows showing the first ruddy tints of autumn. Still, though, she could think of nothing to say. But what
were
you were supposed to talk about when you had just become the wife of someone you barely knew?

Apparently sensing her apprehension but keeping his gaze on the lane ahead, she became aware of him reaching for one of her hands.

‘Must be hard leaving home.’ She gave a single nod, unable to trust herself to speak. ‘But you’ve no need to werret. I’m not a monster an’ I promise I’ll see you all right. This evening might be a bit overwhelming, mind, what with everyone wanting to get a look at you, but they all mean well enough an’ from tomorrow, well, I’m certain we’ll be left much alone.’ When he squeezed her hand, she gripped his tightly in return, its size and warmth conjuring memories of being little and having her father reach for her hand as they walked to church. Perhaps, though, it was best not to dwell on thoughts of her family right now. ‘Well, there’s Verneybrook, then,’ he remarked after a while longer with a nod away to the right.

She sat more upright and followed the tilt of his head. Spilling down the hillside like icing down the side of a cake was a bronze-green beech hanger and protruding squarely above it, a stone church tower. Further along, she picked out a line of dun-coloured roofs, one of which, she realised with a start, must be her new home;
their
new home. A few weeks back, he had told her that he had been repairing a cottage; one that stood in its own garden above the water-meadow. What he hadn’t said, though, was what it was like. Still, she would know soon enough now, but then seemingly, it was just one of many things that she would, in her mother’s words,
know
soon
enough
now
.

Moments later and without any prompting from George, she noticed that the horse turned onto a narrow track and as they started to descend a gentle slope in the direction of a cluster of buildings, she clasped her hands tightly in her lap. Having for so many weeks tried to picture this very moment – the moment of her arrival at Summerleas Farm – she was disappointed to find that the track by which they were approaching was separated from the house by a tall hedge and that they seemed about to enter by what was clearly the yard. In her mind she had imagined – rather fancifully as it now turned out – that they would draw up beside the front door, where she would be welcomed by George’s family and friends. Instead, at the sound of their wheels on the cobbles and apparently from nowhere, a rag-tag collection of bodies swarmed about the cart, snatches of their conversations reaching her ears,

‘Pretty dress.’

‘Aye, lovely.’

‘She don’t look all that old.’

‘Chit of a girl.’

‘An’ him five an’ twenty if he’s a day.’

‘Smaller than I thought she’d be, too, what with the Strongs bein’ a tall family.’

‘Aye, an’ not that shapely, neither. Make a yard of pump water look curvy, she could.’

‘Nice enough eyes, though.’

Brides, she knew, were supposed to blush but surely their cheeks weren’t supposed to flush to the colour of ripe plums? But then she’d defy any bride not to redden at the nature of some of these comments. Didn’t people in this village know that it was ill-mannered to discuss someone in their presence? Or did they think her deaf?

To her right, she watched George leaping down from the cart, a quick glance at his face telling her that in contrast to her own discomfort, he was entirely at ease surrounded by these people, grinning with every shake of his hand and stooping repeatedly to be kissed on the cheek. And when, eventually, he arrived at her side of the cart and held out his arms, he lifted her down with so little effort that the remark about the yard of pump water came back to mind, the embarrassment of it sufficient to send a shiver through her. Thankfully, he appeared not to notice and when he offered his hand, she determined not to let go of it, allowing him to lead her towards the open doorway of a barn and then once inside, across to a long trestle where he indicated their places at the centre of it. Now she understood what he had meant about putting on a good spread. Laid with crockery on a fine linen cloth, the table was decorated with garlands of greenery laced with threads of bryony and dotted with bursting, orange-red hips. In the light of the lanterns it looked so welcoming and so warm, and she was about to comment as much when she noticed his attention taken by something back towards the door.

‘Ready to meet the family, then?’ she heard him asking.

‘Course.’ It wasn’t lost on her that already she was lying to him. But then she could hardly tell him the truth.

‘But you’ve already met my ma,’ he added, his tone brightening as Hannah came towards them and Mary found herself being pressed to a straining woollen bodice. Lily of the valley: what a surprisingly dainty scent for such a solid woman.

‘My, how pretty you look, Mary, love,’ her mother-in-law was saying as she ran a hand over the fabric of her dress. ‘What a fine needlewoman your mother must be.’

‘Thank you, yes, she is.’ Smile politely, she told herself. No matter how you feel inside, smile politely.

‘You know, lovey, although no one would know it to look at me today,’ Hannah was beginning again with what looked to be a wry smile on her lips, ‘and you could be forgiven for doubting this entirely – but when I wed my Thomas all those years back,
I
was limber just like you!’

She concentrated her eyes on Hannah’s face. After all, it would be terrible to be caught staring at the way that her salt-and-pepper hair was standing upright from her head in the manner of someone who had just come in from battling a gale.

‘An’ this is my pa,’ she caught George saying.

Thomas Strong had an equally wild air about him: a square-set man with bristly hair that merged without break into a silver beard.

‘Well, Mary, love, for a long time I never thought to see this day.’ At the grin he shot George, she smiled. ‘But no, nonsense aside for a moment, you are most warmly welcomed to our family.’ Evidently unaware that his powerful fingers were crushing her hand, he leant as though to kiss her but instead, whispered into her ear, ‘Brook no nonsense from him, maidy and you’ll be just fine.’

It seemed like an odd piece of advice to offer but she smiled anyway. In fact, already her cheeks ached from so much smiling. Was it possible, she wondered, for a person’s face to become permanently set in an expression of delight? Many more of these pleasantries and she might find out.

‘Your pa seems nice,’ she felt it safe to comment to George when his father had spotted someone else to greet and wandered away.

‘He’s not so bad,’ seemed to be his opinion. His eyes, though, were flitting about the barn, seemingly searching for a particular face or faces among the guests. And when his gaze fell still, she followed it, not entirely surprised to see that it had settled upon a man and woman, who with arms interlinked, were making their way towards them. Indeed, they struck her as an arresting sight: the woman as tall as the man, their colouring equally dark, their forms not wanting for nourishment. Daunting. That was the word. And for certain neither of
them
could be compared to a yard of pump water. She glanced to George. ‘
This
,’ he started to say, noticing her look, ‘is my eldest brother, Tom.’

With a long, lazy grin, the brother Tom extended an arm across George’s shoulders.

‘So,
this
is what you’ve waited so long for, is it, George?’ Widening his grin even further, he took a step back, appraising her much as she imagined he would a heifer. How coarse to scrutinise her so openly. And thanks be to God that George was nothing like him. ‘My word, now
there’s
a maidenly blush for you an’ no mistake! Well, welcome to the family then, young Mary,’ he said and in reaching for her hand, pulled it with just enough force that she had to take an awkward step towards him. Bowing almost double before her, he then made great show of kissing her fingertips. Surely, it must now be impossible for her face to darken any further? To her side, she noticed that George looked equally uncomfortable but apparently unconcerned, his brother barely even backed away to pronounce, ‘What a mousey little thing. An’ so
flat
, too; summat I’ll admit to finding surprising, since I always had you marked down as a man with a liking for the more…
voluptuous
of women. Least, that’s how it’s always seemed to me and I can only speak as I find. Changed your ways, you devilskin, you? Here, you are certain she’s
old
enough, though, aren’t you? Or tell me, is that the appeal?’

She didn’t know where to look. There was clearly no point in pretending she hadn’t heard, so all she could do was avoid his stare and hope for him to move away.

‘Mary, this is Tom’s wife, Annie.’ It was George, his words spoken oddly and without inflexion. Clearly, he was as mortified as she was and for that, at least, she was grateful.