When the door opened to a rush of cold air she jumped. Almost, cold and wet as she was, she had dozed. Her hands were coming to life and her face burned uncomfortably in the warmth of the fire.
Charlie strode to the table and lit the lantern. ‘Ale,’ he said, filling a large jug from the barrel in the corner and setting it on the range. ‘And bread and cheese for the boy. You all right for a moment?’
She nodded. ‘Just cold, that’s all.’ Her hands ached as the warmth crept into them and cruel stabs of pain had begun in her feet.
He set the poker in the fire. ‘We’ll soon have you warmed up.’
She heard him clattering behind her, opening cupboards, setting things upon the table. She set herself grimly to stop herself shivering and gritted her teeth against the pain in her feet. Charlie did not seem in the least tired or cold. She was not about to show less stamina than he. She watched the poker as it began to glow a little in the heart of the fire.
Charlie mulled the wine, set a pewter mug full in front of her. ‘Drink that while I take this out to young Petie. I’ll be back in half a tick.’
She sipped the drink, relishing its warmth and the comfort it brought as it slipped down her throat and spread its strength into her shaking body. It was hard to say if the pain of returning life in her hands and feet was any improvement on the frozen discomfort of half an hour before.
When Charlie came back he came straight to her. ‘Tha’ss Petie taken care of. An’ it looks like the worst is over. A couple are in labour, but are managing all right on their own—’
‘How many have we lost?’
‘Three ewes and four lambs. It could have been worse. If you hadn’t seen that killer—’
She leaned forward, grimacing with pain, and rubbed at her painful feet through her wet boots.
‘Good God, girl,’ he said, softly, ‘what kind o’ boots are they to be runnin’ around in the snow in? Give ‘em here—’ He knelt before her and held out his big hands. Thankfully she lifted her foot for him to pull off her boot, but could not suppress a sharp cry of pain as he jerked it from her painful foot. The skin was white and bloodless as stone, and as cold. He chafed it gently then set it on his lap and reached for the other boot. She could feel the warmth of his hands on her skin, but oddly at a remove, almost as if her feet no longer belonged to her. He rubbed them in turn, briskly and then gently as the warm blood returned and brought with it a glowing, aching pain. She caught her lip between her teeth. The momentary pain was excruciating. Unselfconsciously he opened his jacket and tucked her left foot inside it whilst he rubbed her right. His face was concerned. ‘Tha’ss right daft to have let yourself get as cold as this!’ he scolded, not looking at her, his big hands chafing her ice-cold ankle.
Her left foot, tucked close to his chest, had almost stopped hurting, and she could feel the warmth of his body begin to glow through her skin like the warmth of a fire. She looked at the brown, bent head, the intent face. She fought an impulse to put out a hand and brush away the bright drops of moisture that the melting snow had left upon his thick hair.
He tucked her right foot against his chest and started on the left one, rubbing the foot, chafing the ankle and the calf of her leg. She was warm now, glowing with warmth. Her shirt was uncomfortably damp on her shoulders, and she could feel the wet hem of her skirt against her bare legs.
The movement of his hands had become slower, more gentle. A small, delicious shiver that had nothing to do with the cold rippled through her. The warmth that now glowed in her like a live coal seemed centred somehow dangerously deep, dangerously disturbing. The scene was dreamlike – the kneeling man, the flickering light of the fire, the feel of his strong, work-hardened hands upon her skin. Eyes half closed she watched those big, stained hands against her own white skin, watched the curve of his long lashes against his weather-brightened cheek, the curl of his brown hair against his ears; watched and, dreamlike still, felt the warmth grow and spread to flood those deeper parts of herself that until now only one man had ever touched or known.
He sensed it. She knew he did. His hands ceased their movement, but he did not look up. His big hand closed over her foot, drew it with the other close to his chest. For a long moment neither of them moved. She could feel the calloused hardness of his palm on her delicate skin. Then, very suddenly, he lifted his head and looked at her. His eyes were narrowed a little, his mouth straight and unsmiling. Her heart had taken on an irregular, almost frightened beat. Neither of them spoke, but the silence was suddenly thick with excitement. His eyes searched her face, unafraid, unsubmissive, fiercely questioning. She could not look away.
He sat back on his heels, setting her bare feet upon the cold floor. The touch of his hand brought fire to her body. He watched her for a moment longer. Then he stood up, easy and unhurried, stood before her, towering above her so that she had to tilt her head far back to keep her eyes on his.
He offered his hands.
She sat absolutely still for a moment, and then almost without thought placed her small hands in his. Quite naturally and with no effort he drew her to her feet, close to his body. The jacket fell from her shoulders. Still holding her hands he bent to her and for the first time in a year she tasted a man’s demanding mouth. In that brief, aching moment she was lost. The treacherous demands of her young body opened her lips beneath his. She felt his body tense and harden, thrusting against hers. Then he stepped back abruptly and she was left, trembling and bereft, watching him with eyes that pleaded no matter what her efforts to prevent it.
He took a visible breath. His hands were fisted at his sides.
Sharply, with a movement so violent that it startled her he turned and, striding to a wooden door in the corner of the room threw it open with a crash. Beyond it she could see a neat stark room, its only furniture a rough pine chest, a dresser upon which stood a chipped china jug and bowl, and a bed, neatly made, its cover homespun and rough.
He lifted his chin, his eyes meeting hers in challenge. Stay – or go. I’ll not beg Your Ladyship. She heard the words in her heart as clearly as if he had spoken them into her ear.
Her head as high as his she walked past him into the tiny room. It was very cold, and the only light was that which fell through the open door from the other room. When she turned he still stood by the door, watching her, the arrogant confidence of him suddenly gone.
She lifted her arms. ‘I’m cold, Charlie,’ she said softly.
His loving was nothing like Danny’s, nothing like the cunning Guido’s. It was without subtlety or guile, a straightforward act of physical pleasure tempered by tenderness but brutally forceful and totally satisfying to them both. As she had known it would be. Her climax came almost as soon as he entered her, and then she was able to share with delight his demanding pleasure as he thrust himself to join her. Afterwards she lay, relaxed and tired, against his big, strong-muscled body, refusing to think, at ease and truly happy for the first time in months. Yet thoughts of the world could not be entirely blotted out. What they had done was, in the eyes of most of society, almost as bad as murder. If it ever came to light she would be a laughing-stock, ostracized, sneered at, scorned.
She sighed a little. ‘I had better go home. They’ll be worrying.’
He leaned on one elbow, looking down at her, his face sombre. As he opened his mouth she put a finger to his lips. ‘Don’t,’ she said. ‘Don’t spoil it. Don’t talk about it. There’s nothing to be said. Just – we must be careful. For Gabriella’s sake. For my mother’s sake, and for Robert’s mother’s too—’
‘And for your own, Your Ladyship—’ He smiled, but the words held a tiny, bitter edge.
‘Yes. And for my own.’ No matter what, Jessica was still a Hawthorne.
She rode home through the steadily falling snow, Charlie striding beside her, and not once did they speak. In the darkness beyond the windows of Old Hall she reined in, bent to him and kissed him, long, hard and passionately. Then before he could stop her she chirr
uped to the little mare and rode across the drawbridge and into the courtyard.
* * *
It was, as they had both known it would be, a hopeless affair from the start. But yet, in those first months they could not keep away from each other. As spring brought green to the world at last and then burgeoned into a summer that in its warmth and splendour seemed to be trying to make up for the truly dreadful winter they made love not often but whenever they safely could, almost every time swearing, each in concern for the other, that it must be the last, but never being able to hold to their resolution, always coming together again in that small bare room beside the cottage. For those few short weeks almost everything for Jessica became subservient to those clandestine meetings. She was overjoyed when Theo’s books realized almost 2,500 guineas between them, thus covering not only most of the money that Robert had taken but the whole of Patrick’s debt as well; but as she talked to carpenters and tilers, workmen and bricklayers a part of her was with Charlie in that austere little room that had become their haven. She never tired of his lovemaking, never tired of the beauty and force of his strong, work-toughened body; but yet she knew that if they were to avoid disaster they must break with each other before they were discovered. It was not only Jessica’s peers who would be shocked and disgusted by such a liaison – Charlie had to live with the village and its prejudices. He too, were their association made public, or even suspected, would be ostracized by his own kind. Both their lives could be ruined. Yet still they hungered for each other.
They lay one early May afternoon, half-sleeping, warm sunshine slanting through the unshuttered window and falling across their bare legs. Jessica wriggled her toes a little. A cuckoo called as she flew across the woodland that was lush with the year’s new growth. The gentle bleating of the sheep was as much a background noise as was the song of the birds, so familiar had it become. They had followed Charlie’s plan and enlarged the flock in the spring, when the other farmers were short of feed, and the land across the river had, to Giles’ unconcealed chagrin, come to Jessica. Jessica knew from her mother that at the last moment he had offered the money for it himself, hating to see New Hall land returning to Old Hall, but Maria had been adamant. Her bargain had been with Jessica, and she had stuck to it. Thinking of Giles Jessica stirred a little, her dislike of her brother twinging like a touched nerve. Relations with Giles and Clara were certainly at a low ebb, and their latest snub, though she denied it vehemently to herself and to others, had stung.
Almost as if reading her thoughts Charlie, whom she had thought to be sleeping, said suddenly, his eyes still closed, ‘Ha’ you spoken to your brother this week?’
She turned her head on the pillow, surprised. ‘No. Why?’
‘I just wondered.’
‘Wondered what?’
His eyes opened. ‘If he’s told you. About the letter.’
‘Letter? What letter? Oh—’ Jessica grimaced, ‘Not another of those stupid threatening things?’
‘Tha’ss right.’
‘This come as a warnin’ for you – iffen you doan get rid those machines you’ll ave your stacks burned afore next moon – signed, Cap’n Blood!’ Jessica’s voice was half-amused. ‘Oh, come, Charlie – you don’t take these things seriously, do you? Giles must have had at least half a dozen—’
There was a small silence. ‘There’s bin strangers in the village,’ Charlie said, apparently inconsequentially.
Jessica had been stroking his chest, that was furred with hair like the warm pelt of an animal, playing with the nipples that stood erect and dark among the soft brown hairs, watching in mischievous amusement as his tired body stirred to the rhythm of her playing fingers. At his words she stopped, coming up on one elbow, a small frown furrowing her forehead. ‘What sort of strangers?’
He pulled a face, deliberately nonchalant, not looking at her. ‘Just – strangers. Talkative, like.’
‘Talkative about – machines? About New Hall’s threshers?’
Again apparently at a tangent he said, ‘There’s bin some bad trouble north of here.’
‘Yes, I heard. Riots. Barn and rick burnings. Machine smashing. Are you telling me there’s some connection?’
His face was peaceful. ‘No idea. Don’t have no threshers meself. But—’ he turned his head, ‘—worth watching, p’raps. Worth tellin’ someone – someone who might be at risk, like – to keep an eye—’
She knew the effort that warning her must have taken. In common with the rest of the local population Charlie detested Giles and the regime at New Hall that had impoverished the village and filled the workhouses to overflowing. But Giles was Jessica’s brother, and warning had been given.
She smiled a little. ‘Thank you, Charlie. I’ll pass it on. If I get a chance.’
‘What about the big shindy on Saturday? A word in an ear – naming no names—?’
She made a small, rude sound in which amusement was sourly tempered. ‘I’m not going to the May Ball. I wasn’t invited.’
His eyes, that had closed sleepily, flew open again. ‘Why not?’ he asked, sharply.
She shrugged a little. ‘I’m given to believe because of my delicate position in being a deserted wife. My dear brother and even dearer sister-in-law want to shield me from any unpleasant gossip. Any excuse being better than none at all. I don’t care. I didn’t want to go to their beastly silly ball anyway.’
He turned his head, looking up into her face. His eyes were sombre. ‘You sure tha’ss the reason?’
‘Of course it isn’t. They just don’t want me there.’
‘No other reason?’ he asked, quietly.
‘Of course not. What other reason?’
‘Try – you carryin’ on with a farm hand,’ he said. ‘Try – rumours an’ gossip an’ people that can’t keep a still tongue in their head.’
She shook her head, positively. ‘No. I’m sure that isn’t it. You know that Giles and I don’t get on. And Clara and I have never been exactly bosom friends. Why should they bother to ask me to their ball? I probably wouldn’t have gone if they had. No, Charlie, this is a family affair. Nothing to do with us. No one knows.’
He tucked an arm about her and drew her to him, close to his side, his other hand reaching to cradle her small head on his shoulder. ‘It can’t go on, Jessie,’ he said. ‘We have to stop. For both our sakes.’
Her hand slid down his body. ‘Once more,’ she whispered, feeling him stir beneath her fingers. ‘Just once more. Then we’ll stop.’
Chapter Seventeen
But they did not – almost they could not – stop. They were young, their bodies were eager, and both had been alone too long. The summer abetted them – long warm day following long warm day in languorous succession, days and nights that might have been made for dalliance in shadows, days and nights that might have been made for the sharing of pleasure. Charlie’s skin browned like a nut. The heat of the sun made the most industrious indolent and susceptible to the temptations of the flesh. It was too hard to give up. When she found him stripped to the waist and scything the fresh-scented grass for winter hay she thought almost anything could be sacrificed to their loving. If they lived in a fool’s paradise then so be it. At least for this short summer it was worth it. She would not look further.
With the money available and the good weather holding the work at Old Hall went on at great pace. The roof was made secure and the rotting timbers replaced. The first of the many summer storms that thundered about their heads but did not penetrate the newly-tiled roof was a cause for celebration. Jessica negotiated with a neighbouring farmer at a very favourable price for the return of some of Old Hall’s original holdings, sold off by Robert’s father a few years previously. Despite the losses from the wild dog the South Downs crosses had proved a great success and they made a respectable profit on their lambs. Charlie still held out on the matter of the Merino ram – royal patronage notwithstanding. He was not convinced that in exposed East Anglia the improved wool justified t
he producing of less hardy stock, and after the hardships of the past winter Jessica was inclined to agree with him. They sheared in June, and she marvelled at the skill of the men who made the handling of the strong and bulky sheep look like child’s play. Charlie well knew the advantages of employing the best – a clumsy shearer could ruin a fleece and reduce the wool to little more than chaff – and a gang from Norfolk, well known in the trade, were taken on for three days at a few shillings more than the going rate. The money was well spent. Jessica watched them work, neatly and deftly, handling the animals with ease and confidence, laughing and chafing as they sheared, the thick fleeces piling up, perfectly cut, the sheep untroubled, relieved to be free of the burden of their wool, walking white and fresh as driven snow through their captor’s legs and out into the waiting folds.
In the fields on the other side of the river New Hall’s crops grew, golden and straight, a promise of prosperity in this perfect year. The grain stood tall and full-eared, rippling in the summer breezes like a deep, gilded sea. The trees of the parkland cast the familiar pattern of their shadows in the brilliant sunshine and New Hall gleamed as golden as the ripening fields about it. But brewed by the heat the occasional storm broke the peace of the summer’s days – and beneath the apparently tranquil surface of the village’s day-to-day life trouble was brewing as surely as the summer storms. Jessica knew it, and it disturbed her. She sensed it in the guarded greetings of people who had never before been anything but open and friendly, felt it in the subtly changed, hardening attitudes of those other landowners with whom she occasionally had dealings. The strangers of whom Charlie had spoken came and went. Questioned about them he was non-committal. Jessica could well understand why. Charlie Best was caught in the middle: a tenant farmer, neither landowner nor hired hand, he had to remain neutral. Throughout the summer there were spasmodic outbreaks of violence in and around the area, particularly in Norfolk and Suffolk. Special Constables and in some cases small troops of yeomanry were brought in and billeted in some of the larger villages and towns in an attempt to quell the unrest. One such group of Special Constables was brought in to Long Melford, and Jessica, shopping in the pretty little town, found it very strange and not a little disturbing to see them drilling in a nearby field, sweat running down their faces, badges glinting in the sun as they marched and turned, swinging their truncheons.
The Hawthorne Heritage Page 52