Maggie's Child (12 page)

She took a small carry lamp from one of the marquees. She would arrange for Lizzie take it back to the organisers the next day. One last glance at her husband reassured her walking home was her best option. Fragrance from the soft meadow grass filled the night air as she walked. It shimmered with the evening mist settled upon the flower heads. Her lamplight added to the glisten. It was a beautiful sight. An owl rustled and gave a half hearted hoot. His day was just about to start. A small bat swooped and played, it too was celebrating the arrival of dusk. Stars popped into view, scattering themselves amongst the sapphire blue sky. Maggie thought back to when she was a child. Life was much simpler then; she would sit for hours watching the stars, enjoying quiet moments. Tomorrow would grant her a husband with head pain and a heavy workload. Just for once in her life she wished for a simple moment. To be transported back to childhood and the innocence of youth.

‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ Once again the voice needed no introduction. Maggie stopped walking. Could this be the perfect end to a perfect day?

‘Why sir, surely you are not following me? I agree, it is beautiful. So many stars, so many wishes to make.’ She turned to face him this time, fearing he would consider her ill mannered if she did not.

She had never considered a man beautiful before, but he was just that; beautiful. His eyes had reflections from her lamp, and she thought even without that, they would sparkle.

He did not smile. He just looked at her. She became very conscious of her appearance. Shabby clothing and dishevelled hair. In an automatic reaction, she put her basket down on the grass and smoothed her hair back into her cap.

‘No. Leave it’ Stephen Avenell reached out and removed her cap. He tugged on the ribbon that held, what Maggie considered unruly tresses, in place. His finger traced a slow, lingering path down her neck, over her shoulder, and across the top of her breast. A breast that rose rapidly with every stroke.

Mesmerised, Maggie allowed him to take the liberty. Hypnotised by his actions, she shook her hair loose. Jacob had never made a simple gesture romantic. The man before her changed her whole world, with that one simple act.

‘There, much more pleasing to the eye. A thing of beauty should never be tied down.’

Maggie sensed the words were not spoken just about her hair, and her body trembled. If asked to look for her willpower at that very moment, she would not be able to do so. Nor would she be able to find her voice.

‘It has been a pleasure meeting you, Mrs Sawbury. I hope our paths cross another fine day. Good evening to you, and my regards to your husband.’

Maggie said nothing. There was nothing for her to say. The man she could love if given permission walked away. Her meadow god no longer, he had returned to his earthly status, the untouchable son of the village squire. A tear in honour of what might have been slid slowly down her cheek. The owl close by gave a full and enthusiastic bellow of hoots, and Maggie chided herself for her fanciful thoughts.

The journey home was one she would never forget. Her arrival home was one she could she could  have done without.

Chapter 12

Screams echoed around the hilltops. Loud, frantic voices joined them. Maggie ran the last short distance towards the noise. Chaotic movement of lamp lights and voices appeared to be coming from their farm.

Their small group of staff gathered around Lizzie’s home. She rushed to one of the men and tugged his sleeve.

‘Mason, what on earth is going on?’

‘Oh, mistress, it’s dreadful. Don’t go in, please come back.’ The man made a grab for her arm but she shook him off and stepped inside the small building.

‘Lizzie. Lizzie, where are you? Lizzie? What is going-’ Maggie stopped talking and grabbed hold of the slim table beside her.      

Her friend was kneeling beside one of the village boys and it was obvious his body was drained of life. Maggie took in the scene; she had an inkling about what might have had happened. Her husband had beaten him with his bare hands. A drunken rage taken out on a young man who had shown interest in Lizzie. She hesitated to say her thoughts out loud. Jacob was a hot-headed fool, but to kill another man on his farm and get caught was not something even he would do. To say she suspected he had carried out the killing might influence the thoughts of others. In order to have carried it out, he must have left the fayre the same time as her and raced the cart home. If she had not lingered in the meadow, she might have been able to prevent the incident.

‘Where is my husband?’ she shouted to the group outside the room. ‘He needs to be informed.’

‘The squire’s men have taken him, Maggie.’ Lizzie spoke through sobs. ‘He’ll hang for this, to be sure, but-’

‘But what? You have doubts? Who saw it? Was it definitely him? Did he kill this boy?’Maggie threw question after question at those who were eager to listen.

‘I asked the same, but it appears nobody saw nor heard a thing. I found Peter when I returned from the milk shed. I only left him for about one half hour. I really am not sure Jacob is in the wrong. He had drunk so much and the last time I saw him, he could barely stand. He couldn’t focus either. Larky said he saw him vomiting in the lane earlier. But the cart is by the farm entrance so he mustn’t have walked. Oh, Maggie, he is a cruel mouthed man with hard fists, but if he is innocent this time, he should not be made to suffer for somebody else’s wrong.’

The room fell silent at her words, those who had entered knew what she said was true.

‘I agree, it would be a wicked thing to do. Now someone fetch a blanket and cover the lad. Has his mother been informed? If I remember rightly, his father passed on a few years ago.’ Maggie collected her wits about her and gave out instructions to anyone who stood nearby.

‘Mrs Sawbury?’ One of the men addressed her.

‘What is it, Larky?’ She held Lizzie in her arms for warmth and comfort; they both felt the chill of the night air, and shock.

‘One of squire’s men wants a word. I have set him in your kitchen, it is more private there.’ The youth screwed his cap in his hands, anxious he had done the right thing.

‘Very well. Thank you, a wise idea. Now, can I trust you to look after Lizzie until I come back?’Maggie asked

 ‘She’ll be alright with me. You go and sort this horrid business out. Now Lizzie, a cup of tea I think.’ Larky took over and Maggie slipped out of the cottage.

She addressed those who had no need to be in the yard, other than to find gossip to spread to the village. The last thing she needed was a lynch party on her doorstep. With the amount of alcohol consumed that day there would be many in the village, and surrounding areas fired up for a lamplight court. An innocent babe would be found guilty by a blood hungry mob.

‘This is a sad night for us all. I for one am doubtful of my husband’s wrong doing; he was too drunk. You all know me well enough to know, if he was guilty I would be the first to hand him over to the authorities. Now I need you all to focus on the poor boy that lies cold in my cottage and support his mother. I must away to speak to someone and I need you all back here in the morning. We have work to carry out, and any information you glean I’d appreciate it if you bring it to me first. Goodnight to you all, and God bless.’

As she walked out of the cottage, she nodded to the group who stood to one side and allowed her through. Each one touched her arm, a combination of reassurance and pity.

Maggie crossed the yard, glanced at her henhouse and made a mental note to prepare a chicken for the following day. It then dawned on her with Jacob in custody she would have to carry out his workload too. Her nerves were jangled; she needed something to aid the shock.

Her world stood still when she entered the kitchen. There at her table was Stephen Avenell.

He stood the moment she stepped into the room.

‘Dreadful business, Mrs Sawbury.’

Maggie nodded but said nothing. She walked to the fire and added another log, went to a shelf and lifted down a jug and poured two glasses of cider. She handed one to the man who had unleashed new feelings within her. A want. A need...

She raised her glass. He reciprocated. The parlour door was ajar, and she could hear the tick of the clock from inside, it was the room she now wished had a fire roaring in its grate. The kitchen was not the place to entertain this man. Lowering herself into a seat at the table, she listened to Stephen talk about the dead boy. She watched his mouth move and longed to reach out and touch his lips. She thought it ironic that Jacob’s arrest was a blessing for her in more ways than one.

‘My men are fetching his mother as we speak. I wanted to find out more about the situation, about the mystery surrounding his death. It must be a dreadful shock for you. My father is not in robust health, so asked if I would take his place.’ Stephen took a sip of his drink.

‘Maggie, my name is Maggie.’ Her voice came out in a whisper. She couldn’t bear hearing him call her by any other name. It was indeed a terrible shock and Maggie needed some form of comfort, even if it was only to hear him say her name. It was a selfish need, but nevertheless, she needed to break down a barrier between them. To silently give him permission to want her back. He gave a gentle smile. ‘Maggie. Maggie of the meadow.’  he said, and Maggie knew she was his forever.

‘Maggie. Do you believe your husband is in the wrong? Do you think he killed that boy?’ He leaned across the table and tapped her hand as if to waken her from her trance like state.

Finally she found her voice. The moment between them had gone and real life stepped in its path.

‘Sire, my husband is a violent man; a bully. He is capable of killing with his fists, but I am convinced he did not carry out this unfortunate beating. You know how much he had drunk during the day. You saw him at the end?’ Maggie waited for a response and Stephen nodded. ‘Lizzie said he never sought her out as he is so inclined when full of ale. By not doing so it indicates he-er- he was incapable of many things. He was seen being ill in the lane by another on the way home, although that puzzles me because he came home on the cart. He must have been capable of clambering up and down upon it without any problem, but I am certain he would not be fit to fight. In answer to your question; no. No, I do not think he is a guilty man.’ Her mouth was dry and Maggie took a long drink of cider. She watched as Stephen sipped his and ran his tongue over his lips. She fought back the urge to walk over and kiss him.

Concentrate, Maggie. Stop this fanciful nonsense. Your husband’s life is at stake.

‘In which case, we must find out who is the culprit. However the chances are they have crossed into another county by now. I will return tomorrow morning with the constable. I am afraid he will need to ask all who live on the farm several questions about your whereabouts tonight. I can give you an alibi, and –’

Maggie interrupted. Her voice had a baseline of anger running through it; she could not believe he had the gall to say the words he had. All affection she held for him that day fell away with his offer.

 ‘An alibi? Why on earth would you think I need an alibi?  Besides, what will you say? Mrs Sawbury stood like a street whore in the meadow, while I loosened ribbons from her hair?’

She stood up, and walked to the door. The meeting had ended, and it was time for him to leave.

‘The workers and I will be here in the morning to answer all questions. I walked home alone, and was greeted by each and every one of them after the event. So you see sir, I have no need of your alibi, and going by your behaviour this evening, it will come at a price.’ She looked to the floor, to allow him to see the tears would be a sign of weakness.

He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. His shared disappointment, a deep hurt.

‘Stephen. My name is Stephen and I ask no price.’ His voice penetrated its meaning, and she shuddered with desire. A quick movement of her head released his fingers. Fingers that had burned into her flesh, leaving no visible mark but a definite scald of want.

He moved silently away, and the door clicked shut. Maggie leant her back against it, Stephen Avenell had pulled at a thread in her heart. He had shown her how a man could turn a woman’s head. His gentle flirtations left her wanting more. Her heart beat so fast when he stood near her. Each smile he offered made her long for his kiss upon her lips. He had power over her and left her body tingling like nothing she had experienced before. Her thoughts were stopped by a rapid tap at the door. Maggie, too tired to move called out, tensing with hope it would not be Stephen returning to fan her flames, and play havoc with her emotions once again.

‘Come in.’

With relief she smiled as Lizzie entered the room, her faced flushed red with tears. Her voice hoarse.

‘Peter’s mother is with him now. T’parson has arrived and Mr Avenell has asked that all costs are to be invoiced to the squire. Very generous. Oh gal I hurt so, we were gettin’ along so well. He were a gentle soul, who would beat him to pulp? Who could do such a thing? Dreadful. Cruel. I left him there while I finished milking; when I came back he lay in a blanket of blood. When I went to him it was to bathe wounds, not to scream over a dead body. A shock gal, such a shock.’ Lizzie sobbed, and Maggie held her in her arms, she led her to a seat.

‘Who else have you entertained recently? I am not a fool and you need to be honest. If you have two admirers, one may have killed tonight. Think girl, think. As much as I dislike my husband, I need him to run this farm, not hang from a tree. Now think hard.’ She put her arms around the girl’s shoulders and dried her tears with the corner of her pinafore.

Lizzie came out with one name and clapped her hand to her mouth. ‘Larky. Me n’ him had a bit of fun a while back nothing of the wrong doing game, mind. He’s not the sort of man for me. No, just a bit of flirting and teasing. Do you think it could be him?’

Maggie thought about the youth her friend mentioned. Quick-tempered, eager to please, with a weak character. Nothing in his looks would turn a girl’s head. In a field of corn, he would be the puniest stem. ‘He claimed to have seen Jacob in the lane. I am still not certain that is true. Jacob came home by the cart. If he was so bad he had to stop and be ill in the lane, I am not certain he would be able to control the horse again. He left the cart at the entrance of the farm. I think he just rode it home as best he was able. Maybe Larky said those things to make it sound as if Jacob were innocent, too drunk to do anything. And he was there to assist him. This would remove suspicion from himself. We all know how much of a burden Jacob can be when he is full of the drink.’ She and Lizzie sat pondering over her words.