Maggie's Child (11 page)

When she reached a small brook that ran alongside the field where the fayre was being held, Maggie took in her surroundings. Lush green vegetation was dotted with colourful splashes of flowers. Across the field she could hear the sounds of people coming together, laughing and chatting. Children ran around the perimeter of the nearest field playing tag.

The rippling brook was clear and she could see the pebbled bottom. It looked inviting, and Maggie took the opportunity to paddle. She slipped off her boots and stood with the cool water rippling over her toes. She raised her skirt and enjoying the pleasurable sensation as her feet cooled down.

‘A great place to dally and paddle.’ A male voice startled her. It was too well toned to be one of the villagers.

 Embarrassed, Maggie dropped the hem of her gown and silently cursed the fact it was now soaking wet. With care she stepped out onto the small embankment; to slip now would add to her embarrassment. Sunshine glared behind the man and blurred her vision. She could only make out the outline of a well formed figure. She fumbled with the ribbon that secured her bonnet while she spoke.

‘I beg your pardon, sir. I thought I was alone. Forgive me if I intruded upon your privacy.’ Maggie slipped her feet into her boots as she spoke.

‘Forgive me, good lady. I am the one who arrived after you. A pleasant day for the fayre and an impulsive paddle, is it not?’ Now the sun shielded her eyes, Maggie could see he had a clean shaven faced. A face most pleasing to the eye. He held out his hand in greeting. ‘Forgive my manners. Stephen Avenell, how do you do?’

Maggie made pretence of shaking out her gown in order to wipe her hands. She was embarrassed. The son of the squire had just watched her paddle in the brook.

Her hand looked tiny in his slender one. His skin was soft, and Maggie was pleased she had rubbed a little lanolin and rose water into hers that morning. The roughness wouldn’t be quite so obvious.

‘A pleasure meeting you, sir. Maggie Sawbury, wife of Jacob from Windtop farm. It is a pleasant day indeed. Now if you will forgive me, I must be on my way. I have to set the feast with the other wives and have dallied long enough.’ She went to her basket and other parcels she had been carrying.

‘Allow me. I am heading that way myself.’ As he took the parcels from her arms, she melted in his smile, drowned in his blue-green eyes and lusted after his lean body.

She shivered with the shock of what she had just experienced. He was around her age, certainly no older than twenty two, and for Maggie, the perfect specimen of a male. His hair had natural waves and a honey-tinged gloss. It sat just above his collarbone, curled around his ears and shimmered in the sunlight. His skin was unmarked, his jaw line strong and his neck sleek. His nails were well manicured, but not in a feminine way. Maggie tried in those few seconds, to find a fault. His voice, had it been a fabric would have been the purest silk.

‘Shall we?’He strode forward, and Maggie, feeling slightly like a naughty child, hung back for a view of his rear. He wore summer britches and waistcoat. His jacket was slung over one arm. Maggie could see the outline of his shoulders and buttocks as they moved. A stallion horse; she was reminded of a purebred stallion.

Shame on you, Maggie. Oh, just look at the way his muscles move. So powerful. Stop it Maggie, stop your sinful thoughts.

 
‘Have you forgotten something, mistress Sawbury?’ He swung a look back at her over his shoulder. The white of his teeth and the soft crinkle around his eyes were the final ingredients Maggie needed in her love potion. She drank it in, the whole picture. Golden field, distant marquees, wild flowers, blue sky and a god in its midst.

‘My apologies, I needed to button my boot.’ Maggie caught up with him. She stayed to his left side and side glanced to satisfy her visual need of his face.

‘Is your husband experiencing a good year on the farm?’

‘He is, sir. Although I think the modern methods are taking over his way of working. The world moves at a faster pace nowadays.’ Maggie did not want to think of Jacob and Stephen Avenell in the same world. One was chipped coarse granite, the other sculptured smooth marble. ‘How is your father’s land faring? I understand he has new threshing machines. I have heard them in the lower fields. I must go and see them working one of these days.’

Any excuse to see you again, my fine gent.

‘They are a time saving piece of equipment; however there is a lot of resentment amongst the farmhands. They fear for their jobs. He reassures them but they are nervous.’ He swung her a smile and Maggie experienced a new sensation ripple through her body.

Please go away, you are too delicious.

‘I think that is why my husband holds onto the old ways so tightly. The staff certainly works for their wage on our farm.’ Maggie wished she could withdraw the last statement. It came out in a resentful tone.

‘I have heard your husband has a tough code to work by at Windtop. Oh, here we are, the annual summer fight amongst the hollyhocks.’ He threw back his head and laughed. Maggie joined him, she had enjoyed the five minutes they had walked together. His humour was refreshing and his appearance intoxicating.

‘Where the bloody hell do you? -Forgive me Mr Avenell- I did not see you there. I do hope my wife has not been making a nuisance of herself. She has a habit of showing me up in public. A burden I am cursed with for my sins.’ Jacob stood before them. Maggie could feel her cheeks rising to a heat that would pink them a shade more than usual. In all probability several shades higher. She was furious and embarrassed.

‘On the contrary, Mr Sawbury. Without your wife I would not have found my way here.’ He turned his back on Jacob and addressed Maggie.

‘Mistress Sawbury, thank you for rescuing me from the brook, and showing me the correct way across the meadow.’ He winked at her and Maggie found it hard not to giggle.

She dropped her knee as Jacob would expect her to do. ‘You are more than welcome, sir. Thank you for assisting me with the packages. Good day to you. I will leave you to discuss the finer points of farming with my husband.’ She gave a soft smile of gratitude. She realised he knew her husband was a bully. His quick thinking had saved her from a public tongue lashing. It was laughable to think the squire’s son was claiming to be lost on his own land. Fortunately Jacob was full enough of ale it had not registered with him.

‘Dear husband, if you will excuse me, I have to attend to the food. I will save you a plate. Only the finest for my hard working man. Goodbye gentlemen.’ Maggie could feel laughter bubbling up inside. Jacob’s face was one of disbelief. He could do nothing, and she had spoken as if he was a lord. It did not occur to him she was teasing at his expense.

‘Very well. Oh and Maggie, save me one of the meat pies, they will soak the ale and I intend to sup me one or two today. Now sir, how is the squire?’Jacob steered Stephen towards the marquee that housed his favourite product; wheat beer.

Maggie entered the largest marquee. Table after table were laden with every type of food in season. Baked pies, pickled fruit and vegetables, bowls of meat jellies, chunks of fresh bread and sweet cakes. Each filled the air with their mouth watering aromas. Maggie placed her goods around and found Lizzie resting on an upturned pail. She was sipping a rosehip cordial, enjoying the well earned rest.

‘You got a drop of gin in that, Lizzie?’Maggie teased.

‘Get away with you. If I have one more, I will sleep forever or sing under the table.’ Both women giggled.

‘So who was that fine beast you trotted across the meadow then, Mrs Sawbury?’Lizzie grinned up at Maggie. She burst out laughing when she saw Maggie blush. ‘Ah, a dalliance in the bushes were it?’

Maggie was anxious Lizzie stopped her tormenting. If Jacob heard her words, he would hit out first then ask questions. Even then he would not believe her answer.

‘Stop the silly talk, Lizzie. You know full well I never trotted anyone over the meadow. The squire’s son, Stephen, found himself cut off by the brook. I showed him the way around it, and as we were both headed in the same direction, he carried my parcels. As any gentleman might. Now you and I both know, if you say things like that in front of Jacob, it will mean the devil will play. I beg you to not mention it again.’ She mopped her brow with the edge of her pinafore. She found herself using the same reason as her escort had to her husband. Both had fabricated a story to save face.

Lizzie’s voice dropped a level, and now had a serious tone to it. ‘I’m sorry, gal. I never gave it thought. You know I would never bring trouble to your door for the sake of it, please forgive me. My tongue ran away with me. You are a loyal wife and it was wrong of me to say any different.’

Lizzie stood up and Maggie gave her a hug.

‘You are forgiven. For the record books, if I was a single woman, that man would not have walked through the meadow before laying in it. In a field full of cattle he is the prize bull.’ She laughed aloud when she saw Lizzie’s mouth fall open in amazement. Even Maggie was surprised at her own words. She flounced back into the marquee and joined in with happy go lucky friends and neighbours.

Two hours later, it was Maggie’s turn to take a break from replenishing plates and serving the gentry. She sat on Lizzie’s upturned pail and closed her eyes against the lowering sun.

‘It’s a busy life you lead, Mrs Sawbury. A busy life indeed.’ The shadowed figure in front of her and the silky voice needed no introduction.

 Maggie kept her eyes closed and she smiled in a lazy carefree manner. Her body was relaxed and she was too tired to jump up to conform to the rules of etiquette. Besides, she had an inclination that Stephen Avenell was enjoying the view. Earlier she had unlaced the top two sections of her gown and a fraction of her bosom could be seen. The girl in her decided to enjoy a little flirtation to end the day. A day that would end in ensuring her drunken husband kept his hands to himself, and she was back in the usual, dull routine that dictated her life. Maggie decided she was going to enjoy this one pleasurable moment. It was harmless fun.

‘Mm, you cannot beat the warmth of the sun going down on one’s skin.’ She lay back slightly more and crossed her legs, all the while pretending she did not know who stood before her. ‘Whoever you are, would you step slightly to one side. You are depriving my body of one of its pleasures.’ Still she kept her eyes shut. To open them would now be a mistake. She would not be able to remove her eyes from the meadow god she had been replaying in her mind.

‘My sincere apologies, my lady. I for one would never wish to deprive your body of any pleasures. Good day to you and my compliments upon the delicious feast you bestowed upon us today.’

With those words, Maggie sensed his shadow move away from her body. She knew he was leaving. She remained still, barely breathing. Everything about their encounter had been a new experience for her. She had never been so forward with a male before, nor had she broken social class rules. There was no doubt in her mind that the squire’s son felt the same. He teased, flirted with words and left her wanting more.

She moved from her seat and watched him walk through the marquee. All female eyes were upon him. Common remarks were bandied about, but Maggie just watched the flanks of the man she knew would be on her mind for a long time to come.

Her thoughts were broken into by one of the women asking if she needed a lift home on their cart. Maggie thanked her and said she needed to find her husband.

‘Him? You best be home and out of harm’s way my girl. He’s full of one barrel and nigh in the bottom of t’other.’

‘Is he really that bad, Sarah?’Maggie was not looking forward the answer.

 ‘He is spoiling for a fight, and you know what he is about when he does that. Anyone will be his punch partner.’

Jacob would need careful handling, and Maggie wanted Lizzie to be safe for the night.

‘Leave him to me, Sarah, but do me a favour and take Lizzie home. She will have enough on her plate tomorrow, and I want to ensure she gets a good night’s rest. No doubt those who cannot hold their liqueur will give her extra work in the main cottage by the morning.’

‘We can take her and some of these baskets, if you like. Then all you have to worry about is the big man himself.’ Sarah waved Lizzie over. ‘Well girl, you are coming back with me and my lot? Let us take some of these for your mistress, and get on the road. We’ve a journey ahead.’

Maggie smiled. Sarah made it sound as if they had another continent to conquer, rather than a ten minute cart ride home.

She tidied away all she had to, and made her way towards the loud noise coming from one side of the field. She could see the lamps and straw wick lights glowing around a group of men. Some were singing bawdy songs; others were sitting quietly enjoying the end of their one day holiday. The majority were debating farming techniques and how they were destroying farming, or improving it, whatever their view.

Jacob was in full form, thigh slapping, and table banging his answers or opinions. He scorned anyone else’s valid import, and became louder and louder the more he supped.

‘A shilling in the pound tax is what they are after now. A man’s money is no longer his own. Scoundrels the lot of them.’

Maggie sighed. If she tried to get him to leave now, she would only create a problem for herself. She could see Big Joe sitting beside Jacob, who had now stood up and leaned back against the edge of their cart with his foot resting on a stool. He was in full flow, and those who knew him well enough just listened. Joe was nodding and waiting for the right moment to take his leave. He was good man, and could handle Jacob in awkward situations. Maggie surmised it was better if she walked home rather than removing her husband’s prop. His audience would see him home. She watched as he puffed out his chest with importance as he spoke. Against Stephen Avenell he looked unkempt. His body and face bloated with drink. Maggie shuddered.

No point in wishing any different, Maggie Sawbury. What is done is done.