Bessie, ashamed and embarrassed that her sons should humiliate her in front of her guests, smoothed her dress and patted her hair and then, with Raffy’s help, urged the guests to fill their cups and carry on with the party as though nothing had happened. Thomas fell into a chair and slept.
Suddenly, having got second wind Samuel lurched up from the step. Hurling abuse at Jude, he lashed out. Jude’s determination to be the peacemaker sank into oblivion.
He silenced Samuel with one swift punch, knocking him unconscious.
The wedding party ruined, the guests drifted off in twos and threes leaving only the immediate family and Raffy in the kitchen. As Bessie fussed over Samuel, Bert and Beattie stormed out threatening to never come back, and a short while later Amy and Jude made their way to the little house they were renting in the town. They walked along the road hand in hand, a fine drizzle shimmering in the light from a pale moon and the ghostly shapes of trees casting ugly shadows on the way ahead.
Jude breathed deeply, struggling to curb his anger and attempting to comfort Amy, telling her that drink was to blame and that all families fell out at one time or other; but it didn’t make her feel any better. In an attempt to dismiss the awfulness, she said, ‘He was a strange fellow, the one that looks like a gypsy.’
‘But good enough to help calm the situation,’ said Jude, sensing the same uneasy feeling he had had when he first saw Raffy. ‘I know this might sound ridiculous,’ he continued, ‘but when I looked at him, I had oddest feeling; a bit like Jonathan Harker in Bram Stoker’s Dracula or maybe Dorian Grey. It was like looking at myself.’
Amy gasped. ‘That’s why he looked so familiar the day I saw him outside the library. He reminds me of you.’ She giggled. ‘They say everyone has a double somewhere and now you’ve found yours; but don’t go getting any ideas about growing your hair or wearing an earring,’ she added.
Chuckling at the strange coincidence they quickened their steps, the amusing interlude lifting Amy’s spirits. However, by the time they reached Wentworth Street the unpleasantness at the farm came back to haunt her. The day that had started out so beautifully had been ruined, and the beautiful memories she had hoped to hold on to would forever be marred by bitterness and violence. She wondered if it was an omen of worse to come.
11
Still wearing her wedding dress, Amy Leas stood by the bed in the larger of the two upper rooms in number 2 Wentworth Street, breathing in the fresh, clean smells of soap, bleach and new paint. Three weeks before the wedding Jude had acquired a pit house and now, having spent days and nights scrubbing, painting and papering, they would sleep here, together, for the first time.
Letting her gaze drift around the room, Amy told herself she should be deliriously happy but she was struggling to come to terms with the violence that had spoiled her special day. And now she was faced with another problem.
Anxiously, she gazed at the bed she had made up the day before with brand-new, white sheets and a blue patterned bedspread. Would she know what to do once she lay under them with Jude at her side? Would he? Did men automatically know? She didn’t think she would. Shivering, she crossed the room to the small fireplace with its chipped green tiles, and taking comfort from the glowing embers in the grate she spread her trembling fingers.
Jude watched her, his dark eyes bright with love and anticipation. He would have given anything to prevent Samuel from spoiling the day, and on the journey home he had mulled over how he should have handled things, but in the heat of the moment all he had wanted to do was bash the living daylights out of the lout. Still, he thought, it would all blow over, and he wasn’t going to let his brother-in-law spoil his wedding night as well.
He began to undress, and sensing that Amy’s disappointment and nervousness was no less than his own, he removed only his jacket and shirt before going to stand behind her. He leaned with both hands on the mantelpiece, his lips brushing the nape of her neck. He felt the tension leave her body, her shoulders relaxing under his kiss. Bringing his hands round to her back he undid the buttons of her dress, his calloused fingers fumbling over the tiny loops. Amy stepped out of the pool of linen at her feet, and turning, she fixed her eyes on his with a thoughtful, considering stare. Jude gazed back, his dark eyes gleaming with love and desire. Amy felt a sudden loosening, as though he had pulled a string deep inside her.
*
Afterwards, Amy had no idea how they had progressed from the fireplace to the bed, only that time had been filled with the most wondrous sensations. Jude lay contentedly by her side, his hand cupping her breast, his smile euphoric. Amy turned to gaze into his face, her smile telling him that this marriage was destined to be a marvellous journey
*
In those first heady weeks of married life Amy and Jude lived a charmed life. Each weekday Amy worked in the library and Jude his appointed shifts down the pit, time spent apart filled with anticipation for the time they spent together in their own little home. Nestled on the shabby couch in the parlour, the room’s only piece of furniture, they read from their ever-increasing collection of books kept in two stout cardboard boxes at either end of the couch, Jude’s to the right and Amy’s to the left. They read favourite passages out loud, sharing the joys of literature, new ideas and old histories. They talked at length, weaving dreams of the future and they made love, often.
On a blustery day at the end of March, Amy stepped backwards out of the dry-dropper closet into the yard behind the house. She hated the closet with a passion. Shared with her neighbours, she took her turn to clean it every other week. But today wasn’t cleaning day. She was there this morning because, like every other morning in the past week, she had vomited her breakfast.
At first, she had blamed it on the fish they had eaten in a cafe in town. Now, she was certain she was pregnant. Clammy perspiration moistened her hands and forehead. This wasn’t what they had planned. They had only been married seven weeks and Jude was going to college in September. Fear clutched at Amy’s heart.
Jude was sitting at the table when she returned to the kitchen.
‘Oh, are you up already?’ she said. He didn’t start work until two that afternoon and she had hoped to slip away to the library without having to face him. She turned her back, pinching her cheeks in case she looked as pale as she felt.
‘I couldn’t sleep,’ he replied, riffling the pages of the book in front of him. ‘I thought I’d do a bit of studying. That syllabus says this chap’s an absolute necessity.’ He held up a battered copy of The Complete Works of William Shakespeare.
Amy’s heart plummeted.
‘In that case I’ll leave you and Mr Shakespeare in peace,’ she said, trying to sound cheerful enough to hide the feeling that she was sinking into a bottomless pit. She pulled on her coat, and instead of sharing their usual warm, parting kiss on the lips she pecked Jude’s cheek and then hurried to the door, saying, ‘I’ll see you at ten.’
‘“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day; thou art more lovely…”’ Jude called after her, disappointed by the fleeting sign of affection.
Amy left him to his reading and walked to the library thinking that reading hadn’t done either of them much good if she was pregnant. After that first night of unbridled passion they had reluctantly agreed to practise birth control until Jude had completed his course and obtained work. To that end they had read Charles Knowlton’s book quoting Annie Besant’s words on family planning. But Annie, a woman Amy admired for her socialist views, seemed to have let her down.
*
Jude came home from work, and Amy let him take his bath and eat his supper before telling him what, she was sure, he would not want to hear. Now, as he sat on the couch in the parlour she watched as The Complete Works slipped from his grasp.
‘I don’t understand how it happened,’ Amy concluded, her voice barely above a whisper. She was standing in front of the hearth facing him, and although the heat from the fire warmed her legs her insides felt cold as ice. She stooped s
lightly, her blue eyes begging understanding as they sought his.
Jude raised his gaze, his eyes widening as his brain slowly registered her words.
‘It changes everything doesn’t it?’ Amy’s voice wobbled, her throat thick with unshed tears.
‘You could be mistaken. We’ve been so careful.’ Jude sounded desperate.
Amy shook her head. ‘I called with the doctor after work. I am having a baby.’
This time her voice refuted any misunderstanding. She went and sat beside him, wanting him to take her in his arms.
Jude sat stock-still, couldn’t move, because once he moved time would start rolling again, and when it did, he knew that nothing would ever be the same. Amy watched him struggle with his thoughts, her own a mixture of sorrow tinged with disappointment; sorry for quashing his hopes but disappointed that he found not one ounce of joy in what they had created.
‘I’ll have to forfeit my job in the library,’ she said, flinching at the thought of it, and at the same time inwardly willing him to show some signs of pleasure.
‘And I’ll have to carry on hewing coal,’ Jude said, the feeling of loss so deep that his words sounded completely hollow. He prodded the copy of Shakespeare out of reach with his toe, lit a cigarette and then stood up. ‘I’m off for a breath of fresh air,’ he said, walking out to the yard. He closed the door quietly behind him.
Amy watched him go, the disappointment she had felt earlier now swelling into full-blown anger. It wasn’t her fault alone. It had taken both of them to make a baby and the least Jude could do was accept it with some grace. When she heard him come back inside, she hurried upstairs and began to undress. She didn’t want to talk to him. A few minutes later Jude entered the bedroom.
Amy slipped off her chemise, naked for a moment before her nightdress enveloped her. Jude eyed her willowy figure. They might yet be saved; miscarriages were common enough. Disgusted by the wickedness of the thought, he joined Amy in bed. She was lying flat on her back gazing at the ceiling.
He made no mention of his dashed hopes to further his education. Instead, he leaned over her, brushing her lips with his before saying, ‘I’m sorry.’ He laid his hand on Amy’s stomach. ‘This baby’s blessed to have a mother as wonderful as you.’ He crushed her to his chest. ‘I love you, and I love our baby. We’re a proper family now.’
Amy felt reassured, yet secretly she grieved for his lost opportunity.
12
Beckett’s Park Hospital
October, 1918
Amy walked the length of the large airy room, pausing now and then to greet the nurses and family members of other Jude’s fellow patients. He was sitting in his usual chair gazing out of the window at the burnished sycamores and beech that vied with fatheaded chrysanthemums of various hues. Whether or not he appreciated the glorious riot of colour was difficult to tell, but Amy admired them fulsomely, saying that she would like a garden like that, one day.
Jude nodded his head. On her last two visits he had focused his attention on her for much of the time, meeting her gaze with a benign expression on his face. He had let her hold his hand without pulling it away, and at the end of her most recent visit he hadn’t flinched when she pecked his cheek.
The gardens duly commented on, she pulled up a chair so that she was facing him. Then, throwing caution and the doctor’s advice out of the window, she took the battered copy of The Man Who Would Be King from her bag and began to read aloud: ‘The Man Who Would Be King.’
She glanced at Jude. He stared back, his eyes glittering.
Amy continued, ‘Brother to a prince and fellow to a beggar if he be found worthy. The law, as quoted, lays down a fair conduct of life, and one not easy to follow. I have been fellow to a beggar again and again under circumstances which prevented either of us finding whether the other was worthy.’
Amy paused, and raising her head she saw that Jude’s eyes were riveted on her face. She carried on reading and had just read ‘and was promised the reversion of a Kingdom, army’ when gurgling noises in Jude’s throat had her glancing up, alarmed. Perhaps Dr Mackay was right. Was Jude about to start shouting and blaspheming? Was reading a disturbing influence? She bit down on her lip, watching and waiting. His lips twitched, and then he muttered, ‘Go on.’
Amy’s blood sang, and a hot, excited feeling invaded her entire body as she began to read again. He had spoken to her.
Barely able to decipher the words, her eyes blurred with unshed tears and her voice shaking, she read, ‘But today, I greatly fear that my King is dead, and if I want a crown I must go and hunt for it myself.’ Then the words stuck in her throat and she croaked to a stop.
‘Kipling,’ said Jude.
‘Yes, love, it’s Kipling,’ she stammered, beside herself with joy.
He closed his eyes. The taut, bitter lines round his mouth relaxed into what Amy could only describe afterwards to Samuel and Bessie, as the way he used to look when he’d heard, seen or read something wonderful, the one with his lips pressed together as he stretched them slowly and nodded his head.
13
Barnborough
Summer, 1913
The night of Amy and Jude’s wedding, Raffy Lovell had stayed at the farm long after everyone else had left, and Samuel and Thomas were in bed. Bessie had made a pot of tea, and as they sat by the hearth Raffy softly asked, ‘Whatever happened to my boy that I left ye to care for?’
Bessie swallowed, almost choking on a mouthful of tea. It brought tears to her eyes, and thinking fast, she forced more tears to join them. ‘He died,’ she whispered, her wet cheeks and stricken features giving credence to the lie. ‘Measles,’ she added, keen to convince Raffy.
Raffy shook his head sadly and rubbed his jaw. ‘Measles,’ he repeated slowly. His brow wrinkled and his eyes darkened as he looked searchingly into Bessie’s face. Then he gave a little shrug and said, ‘So he never grew to be a man?’
‘I did my best for him but it wasn’t enough,’ she mumbled, squeezing out a few more tears, and looking suitably penitent. Then, eager to change the subject, she began to talk about how the farm had suffered since Hadley’s death, Raffy listening patiently and making sympathetic noises. He made no mention of Jude or Beatrice, or of his intentions to stay in Barnborough. Bessie had seemed glad of his company, content to unburden herself to one who understood farming, and before he left, he had kissed her gently on the cheek and promised to call again when he was passing. Bessie, sad to see him go, had told herself it was for the best; it was dangerous to have him near and Samuel wouldn’t want Raffy about the place.
Raffy was well aware of that and was biding his time, waiting for the opportune moment to return to Intake Farm. To his good fortune, Kitty Rose, a gypsy woman he had met on his travels had pitched her caravan on the edge of the town and Raffy was sheltering there. Sly and smooth-tongued, he had a way of persuading the townsfolk he met in the inns to gossip about the Elliot family. How were they managing now that Hadley was dead, he asked, his voice thick with concern? Rumours that Samuel and Thomas were drinking heavily and the farm going to pot were just what he wanted to hear. When he had heard enough, he made his move.
*
It was a bright May morning, Bessie in the dairy feverishly cleaning churns and worrying over the cows in the milking parlour. Harry Sykes, the farm labourer, had refused to work with Samuel, and Samuel’s reputation being what it was, no replacement could be found. Wearily, Bessie rolled a churn into the milking parlour then came to an abrupt stop, the churn clanging on the flags.
Raffy lolled in the doorway, smiling ruefully.
‘What the…?’ Bessie stuttered, her hands flying to her hot, pink cheeks then up to her dishevelled hair. She patted it ineffectually, embarrassed to be caught performing a labouring man’s task.
‘How be ye, Bessie?’ Raffy asked softly. ‘It looks to me like you be needing a hand.’ The gentle words brought tears to Bessie’s eyes. Raffy moved closer, placing his arm about her heaving shoulder
s. ‘Now, now girl, don’t take on. I’m here to comfort ye and put things right. Where be those sons of yours?’
‘Still in their beds,’ Bessie said, moving out of Raffy’s reach to upright the churn. She moved with none of her usual sprightliness.
Raffy shook his head disbelievingly. ‘Still abed, and Top Clough only half ploughed and Low Fold run to weeds.’ He sighed at the sorry state of the farm, but secretly he was pleased.
Before Samuel and Thomas appeared downstairs, the milk churns had been filled and delivered to the gate for collection, the cows released from the milking parlour to the meadow and the horses hitched to the plough, waiting to be taken to Top Clough.
‘If you’re to stay there’s to be no mention of your kinship to Beatrice,’ said Bessie, and believing that everyone had a guilty secret and that Raffy truly loved her, she made him swear to keep hers.
Raffy had just cleared his plate of eggs, bacon and sausage when Samuel and Thomas lumbered into the kitchen. They made a sorry-looking pair, their blubbery features still wearing signs of the drink they had consumed the night before.
‘What the bloody hell is he doing here?’ bawled Samuel, squaring up to Bessie. Thomas stood a pace behind trying to copy him.
Bessie glared first at Thomas and then at Samuel. ‘He’s here because this farm needs him,’ she said, mentally adding ‘and so do I.’ She lifted two heaped plates. ‘Sit down and get your breakfasts.’
Lured by the sight of eggs, bacon and sausage, Samuel and Thomas sat down. Bessie slammed a plate in front of each of her sons and then placed her hands palms down firmly on the table. ‘This farm’s gone to rack and ruin since your father died, and I’ll not stand by and let that happen when there’s a good man offering to save it.’
The Collier’s Wife Page 10