Calico Road (25 page)

‘And what did you overhear?’ he probed patiently.

‘Talk of thieving, I think.’ She hesitated, then added quickly, ‘But I don’t know any details.’

‘All right.’ He heard her walk out, finished settling the old mare for the night and went into the inn. The usual regulars were drinking in the public room, his meal was ready, Phoebe was teasing someone about a puppy. It was all very normal.

Only . . . there was something about Andrew Beardsworth that left him with a bad feeling. Toby hoped the man would never come into his inn again.

And if anyone else sought help in escaping from him, Toby would give it willingly. He hated to see weaker folk bullied and ill-treated. Hated it with a passion. People had bullied him till he grew tall and strong. He’d never forgotten how it felt to be thumped and not be able to thump back.

Jethro received a letter two days later, delivered by Andrew’s groom.

Jethro re-read the epistle, then screwed it up and threw it into the fire. He’d had a careful eye kept on Fletcher and the man was showing little enough ambition these days, spending a lot of his time reading so he’d heard. His lip curled into a pronounced sneer at that thought. Who did the fellow think he was to sit around reading, like his betters?

Should he do something about Fletcher?

No, he’d promised his father to leave the man alone.

And anyway, he didn’t like breaking the law. His father had always been scornful of this, but Jethro felt the law was what held society together, lifted them all above the level of savages.

He’d make sure his carriage was in good repair if he travelled in that direction, though. That road was the quickest way over the moors to Tappersley, and if Andrew married Harriet, they would inevitably have a closer association and drive across to see them quite often.

Jethro hadn’t told Sophia that he had a bastard brother. Why should he? It wasn’t something to be proud of.

But he’d continue to have a watch kept on Fletcher. The money it cost was irrelevant. What mattered most was his peace of mind and the security of his family.

Jethro took Harriet and Sophia to visit his friend, as arranged, amused by how mildly Andrew spoke in the women’s company, how he fussed over the lady he was planning to marry. Not like him at all. He was usually brusque and to the point. Was he the right husband for Harriet? Who could tell? But at least his mill was doing well and she’d be secure. And away from her mother. Jethro had never seen anyone as keen to leave home as she was.

‘The village is very ugly and the house a bit small,’ Harriet said when they got back to Parkside and the women were alone, ‘but it’s very new and modern inside, and I like that.’

‘Shall you marry him, then?’

Harriet nodded. ‘Yes. He’s to come and speak to Mama and Perry, though we both know they won’t refuse his suit, not if your Jethro approves of him.’

‘There’s still time to back out if you have any doubts. Jethro won’t force you, not if I ask him not to.’

Harriet looked at her. ‘What do you mean by “have any doubts”?’

‘Well, his daughters were very subdued. It seemed to me that those girls were afraid of him. And his servants seemed cowed too.’

‘I don’t want uppity step-daughters, and I prefer servants who know their place.’

‘I see you’re determined to see no fault in him. Very well.’

Harriet went to hug her sister. ‘Please understand, this is my chance to escape from Mama and spinsterhood.’

‘There are other men.’

‘Why haven’t they approached me then? It’s as if they’ve been warned off – since Oswin. You don’t suppose your husband . . . No, of course he wouldn’t. Anyway, I shall get what I want out of this marriage and I hope I can give Andrew the sons he wants.’

The wedding took place a month later, during the whole of which interlude Mrs Goddby complained or wept or raged at her ungrateful daughter, saying she didn’t know what would become of her, left alone in her old age. Almost as an afterthought she kept insisting it was impossible to be ready for a wedding in such a short time and made little effort to arrange things.

‘You won’t be on your own, you’ll have Perry to look after you,’ Harriet kept repeating, though she was growing very impatient with her mother.

‘A son’s not the same. There was no
need
for you to marry, Harriet, no need at all.’

‘But I want to.’

‘“Marry in haste, repent at leisure.” You hardly know the man. And he has mean eyes . . .’

After the ceremony Harriet climbed into her husband’s new carriage and sat back to enjoy its comfort. His daughters were to stay with Sophia and Jethro for the night and Andrew would send the carriage for them the next day. He said little on the way back and it was getting dark by the time they arrived at Tappersley. He ushered her into the house and a maid came to take her cloak.

‘We’ll retire at once, Nan,’ he said to the servant.

Harriet looked at him in surprise, wondering why he hadn’t asked her what she wanted. But she said nothing. If he wanted to consummate the marriage straight away, she wouldn’t protest. She was rather nervous of sharing his bed, if truth be told, so the sooner she found out what this mysterious act was like, the better.

In the bedroom, he waited while maids brought up bedwarmers and hot water. When they were alone her husband looked at Harriet in a way that made her heart lurch in sudden panic.

‘Take off your clothes, but don’t bother with a nightgown. I’d only rip it off you.’

She stared in shock at this blunt speech. ‘Is there a dressing room?’ she asked, feeling even more nervous now.

‘No. We dress and undress together.’ He moved across and unfastened the pearls he’d given her as a wedding present, then squeezed one breast hard and pinched the nipple, so that she let out an involuntary whimper of pain. ‘Well? What are you waiting for? Take them off or I’ll do it for you.’ He stood back to watch her undress.

Hands trembling, she began to unfasten her clothes. When she would have needed a maid’s help, he stepped forward and dealt with the laces and ties.

As she stood there clad only in her chemise and the last petticoat, Harriet looked at him pleadingly. ‘Please let me get into bed before I take these off, Andrew. I feel embarrassed and you’re still fully clothed.’

He laughed. ‘I won’t be for much longer.’ Reaching out, he pulled the clothes roughly from her body.

She cried out once in shock, then pride made her bite back further protests and she forced herself to stand still as he ran his hands down her body, then pushed her towards the bed and began to take off his own clothes.

‘You
are
still a virgin?’ he asked conversationally.

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Good. There’s nothing I enjoy so much as deflowering a virgin.’

She
didn’t enjoy the experience, which she found painful and humiliating, but tried to do as he wished.

When it was over he rolled off her, saying, ‘You were telling the truth anyway. That’s a good start.’ Within seconds he was asleep.

Harriet didn’t fall asleep till after the clock in the downstairs hall had struck midnight.

Was she to face this every night? It was a higher price to pay for being a married woman than she’d expected. A tear trickled down her face. She’d loathed every minute of it, loathed the roughness, the touch of his hands, even the smell of him.

Oh, dear God, how was she to endure a lifetime of this? And how could Sophia possibly
enjoy
it?

The following afternoon Harriet met Andrew’s children and their governess, Miss Swainton. Kate and Marianne were the quietest, most subdued girls she had ever met, hardly opening their mouths and mainly confining their answers to her questions to a yes or no.

‘How did you find my daughters?’ Andrew asked over their evening meal.

‘Very quiet and polite.’

‘Good. That’s what I want. I’d beat them myself if they were impudent or disobedient.’

She blinked in shock at the callous way he had dismissed the girls. ‘I wondered if they should join us for the evening meal sometimes?’

‘No. They do all right as they are. Don’t try to interfere in their upbringing.’

‘I thought you’d want me to act as a mother to them.’ She had been looking forward to it, Harriet realised.

He gave her a long, level look. ‘No. I want you to give me a son. That’s the main reason I married you.’

‘I see.’

He resumed eating and she didn’t try to introduce any further topics of conversation. Didn’t dare.

PART 4

1831

12

September – October

M
eg stood in the hall, listening shamelessly while her brother admitted to their mother that he’d proposed marriage to Emmy Carter – and been turned down. When she heard Netta making threats to leave if he married the girl, she could stand it no more but joined them and begged Jack to pay no attention. He loved Emmy, had done for a long time. He should ask her again, refuse to take no for an answer. ‘If you want to get wed, you do it,’ she told him. ‘Life’s too short to waste a chance of happiness.’ Which of course brought her mother’s wrath down on her as well as him.

Later she found the marks of a slap on Nelly’s arm, for the child bruised easily, and threatened her mother with retaliation in kind if she ever found her beating her granddaughter again. ‘I’ll hit you back twice as hard . . . take a stick to you if I have to. Fancy taking out your anger on a two-year-old child!’

Her Nelly was such a quiet, good little thing, playing on her own in a corner or trying to help with simple tasks. There was no need whatsoever to beat the child.

After he found that Emmy had left town secretly, poor Jack grew even quieter. Meg saw him several times taking Emmy’s dog for walks, which seemed to lift his spirits a little. He even brought it round for the children to play with and suggested adopting it, but of course their mother wouldn’t agree to that.

Then Meg met Liam Kelly one Sunday when she was taking Nelly for a walk. After that, what the rest of the family did became less important to her. Liam was her own age, a sunny-natured young fellow who clearly found her attractive and with whom Nelly lost her usual shyness.

They met a few times and when they did they talked easily, laughed and were happy together. Hope began to rise in Meg that something would come of their friendship, that because of it she’d escape from the misery of her mother’s house, she and Nelly both. It seemed the only way to escape.

Then one day Liam failed to turn up for their prearranged meeting, something so unlike him that she went round to his house to ask if he was all right. She’d not yet met his family but he’d talked of taking her home and introducing her so she plucked up her courage and knocked on the door, worried about him.

There was a scuffling and whispering inside the house, then the door was opened by an old woman who stood there unsmiling. ‘Yes?’

‘I’m Meg Pearson. Is Liam here?’

‘He’s busy.’

‘He was supposed to meet me, so how can he be busy? Can I speak to him, please?’

The woman folded her arms across her body and scowled. ‘No. And he won’t be meeting
you
again, not after your mother’s visit.’

‘
What?
’

‘You heard me. My Liam would never take up seriously with a girl who had a mother as nasty as that one.’

‘Let me talk to him,
please!
’

She shook her head. ‘He doesn’t want to, not now. And none of us wants him to, either. You know what they say: look at the mother before you marry the daughter.’

‘But I’m not like—’

The door slammed shut and Meg walked away, anger seething within her. Why had her mother done that? But the anger was soon replaced by the pain of rejection and Meg went to her old haunt by the reservoir to weep for a hope destroyed.

And of course her mother was unrepentant, saying she wasn’t having a daughter of hers marrying a Catholic, and from a low Irish family too. After that Meg could hardly bear to speak to her. If it hadn’t been for Nelly, she’d have left long ago. Oh, the things you had to bear for your child!

Only Jack understood how upset she was and scolded their mother for interfering. He’d long suspected that she lay behind Emmy’s refusal of him. But it was too late for Meg to mend her fences with Liam. Was she never to find happiness?

Then Nelly fell ill of a fever, as so many young children did, and Meg forgot everything else in her worry for her child. She didn’t dare take time off work because she was afraid Roper would replace her as Peggy had, but she was worried sick about how carelessly her mother nursed the child. Nothing Meg did or threatened seemed to make any difference. Her mother simply insisted she was doing all anyone could.

On the fourth day of the child’s illness Meg nearly didn’t go to work, but Nelly seemed quieter, more at peace when she kissed her goodbye, so in the end she tore herself away. She knew that her daughter would need extra delicacies to help her recover, delicacies that only her money could provide, so forced herself to go out.

When Jack came into the shop that afternoon and told Roper that Meg was needed urgently at home, terror froze her in place for a few seconds. Then she pulled herself together, snatched her shawl and followed him outside. He was avoiding her eyes, so she grabbed his arm and forced him to stop. ‘What’s wrong? What’s happened?’

He stood rigid, saying nothing, but a tear rolled down his cheek.