A Country Marriage (49 page)

‘Mary, I won’t. And seein’ as we’re mulling such matters, I know you think otherwise and I can’t say as I blame you for it, but you got to understand that I don’t go about… well, go about doing
this
with other women. It’d be a lie to deny the chance ain’t there sometimes, but believe me when I say that I don’t do it. So stop werreting that I’ll lose interest all of a sudden.’

Inside her, something seemed to relax.

‘All right. Only, I’d miss this, now.’

‘Me too. I was only thinking just then about things it’d be nice to do together.’

‘Like what?’ she asked, snuggling back against him, her fears receding.

‘Oh, you know, the ordinary sort of things that folk do together, like taking a walk on a Sunday afternoon, going to the fairs, spending the harvest home together.’

‘Oh how lovely that would be,’ she murmured, closing her eyes.

‘You know, though, it’s goin’ to be hard to meet so often now winter’s upon us.’

Without really meaning to, she let out a long sigh.

‘I was thinking much the same because I can’t see when our next chance might be.’

‘Then let’s not spoil this evening by dwelling on it,’ he suggested, ‘since there’s never any telling what might happen.’

‘You’re right,’ she said, smiling up at him but thinking that the months ahead would be gloomy indeed if she was unable to see him.

‘And I can’t believe you truly think I’d tire of seein’ this pretty face and caressing this lovely body.’

‘Hmm. Now you’re just being plain daft and I
don’t
believe you!’ she told him with a laugh.

*

Once Francis had departed, Mary sat back in front of the dying fire, this time holding Annie’s baby Luke who, although wary of her, was suddenly not in the least tired. Humming softly, she smiled down at him, and as he stared back she was struck by his remarkable likeness to Jacob. She stopped rocking him to look more closely; there was no doubting that Luke was bigger and heavier than Jacob had been at the same age, and possibly his colouring was darker too, but the family resemblance was still plain. As she sat thinking about it, though, she realised that in terms of their looks, George and Tom had been the two most alike of the brothers, which probably accounted for these two babies bearing such a marked resemblance to one another. Smiling down at Luke’s unflinching stare, though, she reminded herself to point out the similarity to George when he came home, certain that he would see it too.

*

When the party from the fair arrived back at the farm, Robert was helping Lottie down from the cart as George heard Annie turn around and say to her son, ‘You get down here too, James.’

‘Much obliged, George,’ Robert called up.

‘Yes, thank you George,’ he heard Lottie respond in his direction.

‘What about you, James?’ Annie called down. ‘You got anything to say?’

‘Thanks Uncle George,’ he called back, already disappearing through the gate with the spoils of his trip.

‘It’s good seeing Lottie so much brighter,’ he remarked as he watched their shadowy figures walking across the yard. ‘You’ve been a real help to her.’

‘She still ain’t over it. Summat like that don’t just go away, you know. It’ll most likely haunt her for ages yet. Maybe Robert can take her mind off it a bit, though.’ And then, as he was turning the horse towards the ford, he heard her laugh and ask, ‘Reckon he gets a kiss goodnight?’

Giving his attention to coaxing the mare gently through the dark water, he replied, ‘No, I fancy not.’

‘What about me though? Surely
I’ll
get a goodnight kiss?’

Feeling her hand come to rest on his thigh he turned to reply, certain that she was deliberately misreading his intentions because, instead, she leant across to kiss him warmly, not stopping until he groaned and pulled away.

‘Annie, any moment now, I have to face my wife.’

But, even in the darkness, it was evident to him that she didn’t want to hear.

‘I had a lovely evening,’ she said, quickly kissing him again, and while he was struggling to resist, chose that moment to say, ‘But George, I got summat I need to tell you.’

‘What?’ Despite having had an unexpectedly enjoyable evening, it had been a never-ending sort of a day and he still had Mary to face.

‘Well, the thing is…’ she said and leaning towards him, whispered into his ear. 

Chapter 20

Repent at Leisure

‘Hello there, love. ’Tis a mite late to be out on such a cold night,’ Francis heard the surprise in his mother’s voice as she opened the door to someone’s knock.

‘Aye, I know, forgive me the hour but I need your help,’ he heard a woman explaining. Her voice was instantly familiar and yet for some reason, he couldn’t place it. He frowned and from his position on the landing where he had been about to go to bed, edged nearer to the top of the staircase, careful to avoid any sudden shift in his weight that would cause the floorboards to groan.

‘Come on in, then, love. What can I do for you?’

From the room beneath him came the sound of movement.

‘Martha, swear you won’t tell a soul?’

‘You know me well enough, love. Spit it out.’

Crouching on the tiny platform between the two bedrooms, he checked the sound of his breathing and strained to hear, the brief pause in their conversation seemingly alive with minuscule noises.

‘Well, I’m fair certain I’m carrying again.’

With a jolt, Francis recognised her voice.

‘How far?’

‘Well for certain I’ve missed two months at least, although since I been nursing, ’tis all a bit of a caddle—’

‘Why women think they’re safe on account they’re still nursing, beats me,’ he heard his mother say, unable to miss the exasperation in her tone.

‘Aye, well…’

‘Well, ’tis probably too early for me to say for certain but you’d know the signs as well as me, so if you think you are, then most likely you are.’

‘See, I know that an’ I
know
’tis early yet but that’s why I’m here.’ In the brief lull that followed, Francis carefully edged out his foot to wriggle his toes against creeping numbness. ‘I thought maybe there’s summat… you know, that you can give me… to be rid of it…’

To Francis, it was more the new composure in her voice than her words that struck him.

‘So he’ll not marry you then?’

‘See, now that’s
another
thing. Oh, I know ’tis as much my fault as his but I feel… well, I feel hard done-by in that respect,
too
, since if I’d have
known
he was married… but now I’m in this awful mess… with no decent remedy… an’ if folk find out, well, you know as well as me how I’ll likely lose everything…’

On the cold landing, Francis shook his head. Her gall almost merited admiration.

‘Well, ’tis your body, love,’ his mother was saying. ‘There’s two things that’ll do the trick, although I much prefer pennyroyal since ’tis less dangerous. Not that it’s
without
danger, you understand.’

Hearing activity, he pictured his mother searching among her vials.

‘I know ’tis risky but I ain’t got a choice.’

‘You
always
got a choice,’ Martha answered plainly. ‘’Tis just that oftentimes the choice that makes most sense ain’t the one you want. But it ain’t for me to interfere; I’ll give you what you want and then it’s up to you whether or not you use it. Just think long and hard, that’s all I ask, since it’ll make you ill.’

‘How ill?’ Her voice, he noticed, was sharper now.

‘Well, most likely the first thing you’ll notice is that you feel sick. Then you’ll
be
sick so try not to eat a while aforehand since it’ll only make matters worse. You’ll get cramps, bad cramps like you get in childbirth. You might turn delirious, feverish, see things, hear things. Your heart will race, that’s for sure and if you’re unlucky you’ll pass out. And then, later, you’ll bleed. A lot. And painfully.’ Francis winced, the prospect almost too much even for him. ‘This vial, here, is the most I can give you to get it done but not kill you. You’ll most likely suffer all manner of ills afterwards but, well, we’ll tackle them come the day.’

If there
was
a reply to this assertion, Francis didn’t hear it, the silence seeming to go on forever until he eventually heard the visitor say, ‘I’ll think on it. But in truth, there’s no other way for this to end.’

‘Well, like I said, that’s for you to decide. But if you’re going to do it, then my advice would be the sooner the better.’

‘Aye. I realise that. And thank you.’

*

‘Annie? You out here?’ George called into the freezing darkness as he scraped the door shut over the uneven floor.

‘Over here.’ He turned in the direction of her voice and, in the gloom, picked out the shape of her getting up. ‘I been out here ages. I’m crippled with cold.’

‘Aye, sorry. Bailey wanted a word about summat and kept me late.’

‘But everything’s all right, though?’

‘Hardly.’ He noticed then how she was standing apart from him, her usual assuredness absent.

‘No, well, me neither.’

When he saw her look to the floor, it occurred to him that with her arms wrapped tightly about her chest and her head bowed she seemed a shrunken wraith; all her customary spirit sapped, but steeling himself against this apparent new frailty, he forced himself to ask, ‘So?’

‘Your wife all right last night?’

He didn’t miss the way her response deflected from his enquiry.

‘I gave her no reason to be otherwise.’

‘Good.’

‘What about Ma? Did she ask anything about the fair?’

‘I didn’t see her. Didn’t see anyone, in fact.’

On any other occasion, her words would have been reassuring.

‘Oh, come here,’ he sighed, caving to guilt and holding out his arms to her. Taking two shaky steps, she collapsed against his chest, the sound of her sobbing making him appreciate for the first time that her situation was as much his fault as hers. Throughout last night, as he had lain awake listening to Mary’s gentle breathing – having noticed earlier what a picture of radiance she seemed again – he had felt unfairly wronged, unable to lay the blame anywhere but squarely at her door. It wasn’t a man’s job to deal with the consequences of being seduced and as the day wore on and he had tried to apply himself to his work, his conviction on that point had turned to anger; a cold, hard anger which had persisted right until this very moment. He had come here prepared to hate her for her stupidity, whereas he realised now that his fury might be better directed at his own recklessness. It wasn’t as though he was a fifteen-year-old lad who wasn’t entirely sure of the consequences of what they did. It wasn’t even the first time it had happened. It wasn’t even the first time since he had wed Mary, for heaven’s sake. He rested his face in her hair, comforted as always by its smell. Still, now they were in this position – again – there really was only one thing for it. He pulled her towards a pile of straw and sat her awkwardly beside him. ‘What have we
done
, Annie?’

‘I should think that’s obvious,’ she replied, freeing herself a little to look at him.

‘I mean, everything was going along so nice. We had such an enjoyable evening at the fair and then… this,’ he lamented. ‘And now everything’s ruined,
everything
,’ he added, more to himself than anything.

‘It doesn’t
have
to be.’

He shook his head and exhaled a long, jerky breath whilst through his mind passed scenes of his life falling apart. He was fairly certain that Mary would take Jacob and go back to her family. And his father would explode into an unimaginable rage and change his affairs to leave the farm to either Will or Robert. He could even picture his face, now. And his mother, well, she would probably just look extremely disappointed and tell the pair of them that they were no longer welcome under her roof. It would be, quite plainly, the end for him.

‘Well, clearly you can't have another baby,’ he told her, suddenly more certain on the point than ever. ‘There is no explanation in the
land
that would satisfy Ma as to how
that
came about.’

‘Well perhaps we should have thought of that earlier.’

‘I mean, Lord, Annie, this is terrifying. This is… well… I’m lost to know where to begin, ’tis so terrible.’

‘How is it so terrible? I already got two of your children so I don’t see what difference another makes to anyone but me.’

He felt his shoulders slump; where did he begin with such blindness?

‘Have you seen Martha yet?’ he suddenly thought to ask.

‘Aye. She’s given me what I need and a long list of warnings about what it’s going to do to me.’ He sighed again. ‘It’ll kill the baby but with luck it won’t kill me as well.’

In the moment while he failed to make a reply, her words hung disturbingly.

‘There’s no chance you’re wrong about it, I suppose? Did Martha take a look at you?’

‘She said ’tis too early for her to tell but anyway, I know. I’m not mistaken.’

Despite feeling overwhelmed by his remorse, he also knew that he had to remain resolute.

‘Then you have to go through with it,’ he said flatly, hating himself even as he said it.

‘You don’t
mean
that. Not truly, you don’t.’ He hated it when she pleaded, too; it wrenched at his insides, especially since it was his own continued weakness that had put her in this position.

‘I couldn't possibly mean it
more
,’ he replied quietly. ‘For your sake, for mine, for Mary’s, for… everybody’s—’

‘But
George
…’ she begged, her distress clearly mounting. ‘All them years married to Tom and desperately wantin’ more children and now, here I am, rid of him and yet
still
I’m not free. Now, on account of me bein’ a widow, you’re saying I can’t have this baby; this baby that we made in them moments of love. Don’t make me do this, George, I beg you.’

Despite the desperate cold, he could feel a prickly sweat creeping over his body.

‘So how else can we deal with it then?’ It was a question aimed solely at making him appear reasonable, since he knew from having spent the entire day agonising that there could be no other way out.

‘I’ll go away. I’ll keep the baby and go away.’

‘Annie, we’ve been through this afore. Where would you go? How would you keep yourself? Where would you work? You seen the terrible things that happen to women who run away. You
can’t
,’ he said, failing to add that the prospect of life without her felt unbearable. The very acknowledgment of that fact spawned an idea, though and although recognising it for the ploy that it was, he ventured, ‘If you do this, Annie, we’ll be able to go on seeing each other and that’s summat I want very much. But if you can’t do it, then we will never be able to see each other again; we will forever be apart because even if Ma lets you remain here – an’ that’s doubtful at best – I will have to act shocked that you’ve obviously carried on with some fellow and that you let him put a child in you. You realise that, don’t you? You can see that much, surely?’

‘So what you’re saying is that I have to choose between this baby and you?’

He hung his head, unable to bring himself to look at her.

‘It sounds bad put like that,’ he admitted ‘but I suppose that’s the long and short of it.’

‘Then I’ll do it.’

Bizarrely, rather than feeling relief, the finality of her response made him feel sick.

‘Annie—’

‘I’ve always told you that I love you and that I’d do anything for you. And so now is the time to prove it. It grieves me deeply and I don’t know how I’ll live with myself to think that I’ve killed a baby, but when you say it like that, the choice is plain.’

‘But it ain’t a baby. Not yet; not until it’s born,’ he remarked uncertainly. Killing a baby – that was pure evil. But then wasn’t Reverend Godfrey forever telling them that
all
sin was evil? So, in truth, was killing an unborn bastard child any worse a sin than the one that created it? No longer certain of anything any more, his head filled with the sound of his breathing and a bitter taste rose in his throat.

‘You ain’t never grown a baby inside you, George Strong,’ he heard her responding. ‘You ain’t felt one move, felt it kick, sensed when it was asleep, given birth. If you knew them things like I do, then you wouldn’t be asking me to do this.’

To his mind came the memory of her holding Luke just after he had been born. He had seen the love in her eyes and had never felt more strongly for her than at that precise moment. The very recollection, though, shot panic the length of his body and he was alarmed to realise that now, inexplicably, he wanted to take hold of her and beg her not to do it. In God’s name, what was the matter with him?

‘But—’

‘No, it’s clear to me now, George, what I got to do.’ To his surprise, she got to her feet. ‘My dearest hope is that I’ll see you in a day or two when this is all over but if not, well, think of me kindly and mind from time to time that the terrible thing I did, I did for
you
.’ And before he had the chance to gather his senses, she had crossed to the door and was pulling it closed behind her.