A Country Marriage (35 page)

‘I don’t think…’

She glanced at his expression. That it was shaped by disapproval was beyond doubt, but having got this far, she was determined to make the best of it.

‘Even Ellen knows more’n I do but she seems to think I shouldn’t be bothered about it.’

‘And she’s right. All you need to know is that none of it means trouble, neither for us nor Summerleas.’

‘But that man in the churchyard,’ she risked venturing. ‘Who was he? I know he ain’t from hereabouts.’

‘No, he ain’t. He’s a man they call “the Captain” but more than that I can’t tell you, since he puts hisself at great risk by coming to places like Verneybrook to tell folk about what’s going on elsewhere and how… how it can be for the good of all.’

‘And so does he come to your meetings at The Stag, too?’ This time when he looked at her, she sensed more than just his displeasure and worrying that she had pushed too far, hung her head. ‘Forgive me, that’s none of my business.’

‘No, The Stag is just folk from hereabouts; it’d be too public a place for a man like the Captain.’

Goodness; he hadn’t told her to mind her own business. Maybe then…

‘So is it dangerous, then, meeting like that?’

‘Look, Mary, maybe I’ve said enough. I’ve certainly said more than I should have and I give you fair warning, here and now, that I don’t expect you to pass it on – not even to Ellen, in fact,
especially
not to Ellen since I don’t want it reaching Pa’s ears – nor do I want you trying to talk me out of having a part in it. All you need know is that it’s summat I feel real strongly about and if that troubles you, then well, ’tis unfortunate but you’ll just have to find a way to live with it.’

Bother. And it had been going so well, too.

‘Oh, no, all I was going to say,’ she said, thinking frantically, ‘was to ask you to be careful, only if you ended up in gaol, I don’t know what we’d do.’

‘Well, all said and done that’s a reasonable-enough request, so I give you my word that I’ll be careful. I’ve no axe to grind in the way of some, nor am I hell-bent on disturbance for the sake of it like others, but I pledged my support a long time back and if I’m called on again—’

‘Again?’

‘What?’

‘You said
again
; if I’m called on
again
.’

‘If I’m called on
again
like I was when I was asked to go and hear the Captain speak and to persuade others of the merits of our aims—’

‘Oh, I see.’ While it felt rude to interrupt him, the fact that he appeared to have been honest with her so far made her inclined to spare him the embarrassment of now having to concoct lies. ‘No, no matter. Like you said, ’tis none of my business.’

‘No, it’s not. And if for your part you promise to stay out of it, then for mine, I give you my word that I’ll be careful.’

‘So—’

‘No, Mary, we’re done with this now. And
if
you overhear things being spoken of, then I must ask you not to pass it on. Do you understand?’ With a deflating sigh she nodded. ‘Well, I’m trusting you to be as good as your word on this, since a number of people could be in a deal of trouble through idle gossip. You realise that, don’t you?’ She nodded slowly. There it was, though: the mention of trouble again. ‘Then since I’ve answered your question, we’ll speak no more of it.’

Disappointed, she hung her head and playing with Jacob’s fingers, thought that he hadn’t really answered much at all. In fact, all he had really done was ignite her curiosity further.

*

Arriving at the farmhouse the following evening, George came across his father in the barn, apparently examining a sack of oats but in reality, far away in his thoughts. The night was already sharp with frost and his breath was hoary in the air as he rubbed his palms to stave off a shiver and ask, ‘All right, Pa?’

‘I’ve been worse, son, ’though not much.’

He watched his father letting the coarse oats trickle steadily through his knobbly fingers back into the sack and with only passing interest asked, ‘How’s Francis Troke settling in?’

‘Real fine.’

‘Aye?’

‘Aye. Shows more vigour than any of you did at that age,’ his father commented with a chesty laugh. ‘Far more eager.’

‘Maybe that’s because you’re not his pa
and
you’re paying him.’

‘Aye, ’tis barely wages but no doubt that’s true,’ his father replied, although to George’s mind, his thoughts were still clearly elsewhere.

‘Well, don’t be out here too long then, Pa. I’m just nipping indoors.’

‘Right-o.’

After the rawness of the barn, the kitchen felt uncomfortably warm but was empty apart from Lottie standing in front of the fire folding linens and humming to herself. Not having thought to encounter anyone, he fixed a smile.

‘Hello, Lottie. Mistress Annie about?’

‘She’s in the parlour, Master George, resting her feet.’

‘Right.’ And then, suddenly aware of a peculiar need to explain his purpose for being there, he found himself adding, ‘Then I’ll just go and see how she is.’ But as he set off down the dark and bitterly cold hallway, he felt to be on the point of changing his mind; he didn’t even know for certain what he was doing there, thinking it felt as though something beyond his understanding was drawing him. Once or twice over the last few days he had tried to convince himself that this persistent compulsion to see her was simply guilt for what had happened – an assuming of some sort of responsibility for ensuring that she was all right – except that deep down, he knew that didn’t explain why, as work drew to a close each day, he found himself wishing that he was going home to the farm, rather than to Keeper’s Cottage. He even imagined – in point of fact he
often
imagined – what it would be like to go through the kitchen door and find the fire aglow, supper on the table and her generous embrace awaiting him. But as, inevitably, he had to banish such thoughts, it wasn’t guilt that he was left feeling as much as an increasingly hard-to-bear sense of regret.

Reaching the partly open door, he paused with his fingers on the handle before cautiously peering in to see her sitting in front of the fire with her feet on his mother’s footstool, her eyes closed and her hands clasped loosely about her belly. At the sight of how pregnant she suddenly looked, his throat constricted and ashamed at the nature of his thoughts, he was about to turn away when as though by some peculiarly female sense, she opened her eyes and seeing him hesitating, beckoned him over.

‘Well
you
look guilty an’ no mistake,’ she observed, stretching her arms above her head.

He stared at his boots. If he looked guilty it was because he felt it; not that there was any need for her to know that.

‘Forgive me, did I wake you?’

‘No.’

‘Good because I didn’t mean to.’

‘This is a nice surprise.’

As she said it, he noticed a wry smile creep across her lips.

‘Aye,’ he said, deciding that on the contrary, it was in fact a terrible mistake. ‘How are you, then?’

‘All right.’

Her tone, he thought, seemed to convey an element of surprise.

‘Good. I’m glad.’ In the name of all things holy, what had possessed him to come here? Redirecting his gaze to the fire, he went across to reach for another log, placing it in the flames and watching as they briefly died back under its mass. ‘Young Lottie seems better.’

‘Aye, every day she seems a bit less harrowed, I suppose, although the nights are still bad. She wakes crying from terrible nightmares, you know. It ain’t right.’

‘No,’ he agreed solemnly. ‘But you’ve done well with her.’

‘Odd, ain’t it; my evil husband molests her and she ends up like a younger sister to me. ’Tis nice though; we share confidences.’

‘Not too many, I hope.’ Although he tried to make his response sound light-hearted, a prickle of panic caught in his chest and guessing from her smile that she could tell, he hastened back across to sit down.

‘Well, when neither of you can sleep nights, you get to talking.’

‘That’s what bothers me.’ The laugh he gave this time sounded forced even to
his
ears.

‘You jealous?’

No, he wasn’t going to let her draw him down that route.

‘I’m surprised she wants to stop on here, what with all the reminders there must be.’

‘It’s different with him gone and she’s young enough to get over it, eventually.’

Acutely aware of the brittle feel to the silence that fell between them, he leant forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped loosely together.

‘So you’re keeping all right then?’

‘Why have you come, George?’

Briefly, he dropped his head and stared down at the patch of worn rug between his boots.

‘I’m really not sure.’ As always, her directness floored him. ‘I just wanted to see you, if that don’t sound too feeble.’ Looking back up, he noticed how calm and contented she looked; more so than he had seen her look in years.

‘It don’t sound feeble to me. It gladdens my heart.’

Ruing what now felt like a rather rash disclosure and sensing the proximity of dangerous territory, he leaned back in the chair.

‘Christmas will be a bit solemn, won’t it?’

She inclined her head, as though considering his point.

‘Maybe, although this last week or so there’s been a marked change in your Pa’s mood. I don’t know that I can say for why but I do know that young Francis Troke is turning out to be a godsend. Maybe that’s lightened his load a bit.’

‘Aye, that may be.’ What was it about the silences that fell between them that made him so nervy? He glanced quickly across to see that she was staring into the flames. In the gentle light, she looked radiant; pink cheeked from the fire and abundant with health – exactly how she always appeared to him in his mind – and the effect was intoxicating; almost too much for his weak will. Stride across, scoop her up and kiss those dark, pouting lips; that was what he wanted to do. Instead, he shifted in his chair, reminding himself that apparently, it was just such recklessness on his part that had put her in that state.

‘How’s Mary?’ she asked, breaking the spell.

He stood up sharply. He shouldn’t be here. He was leaving himself open to all sorts of temptation and if anyone walked in now, he’d have a hard time explaining why he was there anyway.

‘Fine. And I’d best be getting back to her.’

‘Not without what you came for, though, eh?’ Although he recognised that her attempt to get up from her chair was deliberately half-hearted, he was still unable to prevent himself from stepping towards her. And despite the fact that every inch of his body was bristling, he put his hands under her elbows and helped her up. Her eyes were now just inches away, staring directly into his. ‘I imagine
this
is what you came here for,’ she murmured, and placing her warm lips on his, let them remain there a moment before gently kissing him. Entirely lost, he closed his eyes, feeling certain that everything around him swayed. ‘Well, goodnight now then, George,’ she whispered, and crossing the room towards the door, left him standing, mesmerised, in front of her empty chair.

*

Throughout the next day, George’s encounter with Annie worried at him like the persistent stabbing of a thorn in the sole of his shoe; troubling him from the moment he opened his eyes in the morning until the moment he closed them at night. The reason for his exhausting agitation was no mystery to him; with Annie now widowed, he had begun to resent being married to Mary, something that was enough by itself to make him feel deeply remorseful but that was being worsened by the fact that he knew it wasn’t his wife’s fault. Despite the considerable perils that arose from spending time with Annie, she made him feel at ease; able to be himself, whereas when he was with Mary he had begun to find himself longing not to be, the result of which left him with a body that ached with disillusionment and a mind that wouldn’t settle.

And when the day came to an end and he traipsed back to Keeper’s Cottage, supper with Mary was always a tense affair; an atmosphere that he knew to be entirely of his own making. And such was his desperation to be gone that, as soon as his bowl was empty, he would leap up, telling her that he had to go to The Stag. Unsure why that should sound less suspicious than saying that he was going to the farm – and in any event, not waiting to hear her response – he would hasten away, striding a short distance up the hill towards the cross before glancing quickly over his shoulder and then ducking through the hedge to turn back down through the water-meadow and eventually make his way up through the fields to the farm.

Stealing unseen into the parlour on this particular evening, he bent to light the fire laid ready in the hearth, struggling to steady his hands and acutely aware of how his skin seemed to be bristling with anticipation.

Then, hearing footsteps coming along the hallway, he swivelled about just in time to catch the waft of crisp night air brought by her skirts as she swept in through the door and collapsed heavily into a chair, her cheeks flushed and her eyes alive.