The Memory of Midnight

by Pamela Hartshorne

  After that first time in the chest, he was careful not to mark her face. For a man with such unnatural appetites, Ralph cared deeply for his reputation. It mattered to him that his fellow citizens considered him a fine man. He liked it when they nodded and bowed and whispered behind their hands about his wealth and importance. He was generous with his gifts, generous with his hospitality, and Nell was decked out in the finest silks and furs. Gold glowed at her throat and glinted on her fingers. She was the treasure chest Ralph threw open to display his wealth. It pleased him to watch their neighbours ogle her with envy. No one must doubt that she was the most fortunate of women.

  But what was their envy if he was not there to bask in it? He didn’t like Nell to go out on her own. He wanted her at home, where he could see her. Where he could watch her for the slightest transgression.

  Nell had learnt to be careful. If Ralph knew how much it meant to her to escape the house, he would forbid it altogether. So she told him that she needed to go to the market like a good housewife.

  Ralph scowled when she first raised the subject. ‘Send one of the maids,’ he had said. ‘That is what they are for.’

  ‘I need to teach her how to look out for short measures,’ said Nell, feeling her way carefully. His reputation was his vanity, the one weak spot she would exploit whenever she could. ‘You would not want it said that your wife does not know how to keep a house, would you? We must have the best of everything to set before your guests. I will not be fobbed off with anything less the way a maid would be.’

  So now she was allowed out to shop with a maid – but not too often – and sometimes she could take Mary or Eliza and show them which plants to gather from the hedgerows outside the city. Those were the best times. Nell would look up at the sky and gulp in the sight of it. She wished she could preserve it like the leaves and seeds she dried, or make a decoction of sky and light that she could unstopper and breathe in when she was back in the grand Stonegate house with its ostentatiously glazed windows and the wainscot walls that seemed to press in on her.

  And sometimes, God forgive her, she looked at the hemlock that grew in cloudy swathes out on the common and she remembered how dangerous it could be, how easily its root could be disguised as a parsnip, and she thought how much easier her life would be if Ralph would die.

  But she couldn’t think of a way to make sure he was the only one to suffer, and when she caught herself pondering the problem seriously, she caught herself up. What was she thinking? She could not kill Ralph. It would be a mortal sin and she would hang for it. No, she would tend her garden and she would endure. She would not allow Ralph to break her spirit.

  Nell was surprised at first when Ralph gave her permission to attend a lying-in when one of her neighbours was in childbed. She had thought he would fear what she might tell the other women of the way he treated her, but, of course, there was little she could say. He still held the debt over her father’s head, and he would not hesitate to punish her family if she stepped out of her role as a dutiful wife.

  Besides, she soon discovered that there was little that shocked the other women. The first time she attended a neighbour in childbed, she was reassured by the women gathered around in the chamber. They talked frankly about their husbands and the problems they had with their servants and children, but when Nell hinted that her husband was rough with her at times, they only laughed comfortably.

  ‘Oh, they all like to show how big and strong they are at times,’ they said. Nell was aghast to realize how many of them took a beating as a matter of course. It was nothing new to see women in the market place with a black eye or a swollen lip, but her own neighbours? Marriage, it seemed, gave her access to a whole hidden world she had never suspected, and sometimes doubt niggled. Would Tom have beaten her if she had married him, just because he could or because he felt like it?

  Ralph told her what he did to her at night was normal. That he was a normal man with normal appetites, while she was the frigid, unnatural one.

  If Nell hadn’t known Tom, she might have accepted it without question, but she remembered how glorious love between a man and a woman could be. It was not glorious with Ralph. It was shameful and humiliating and it sickened her every night to lie with him. Once or twice she had dared to complain, but it wasn’t worth it, for she was simply punished for not appreciating how lucky she was to be married to him. Everyone knew how much he loved her; how could she possibly complain at her fortune?

  She was allowed to church, of course, but Ralph stayed firmly beside her and she knew to keep her eyes demurely downcast. When he invited guests to the house to impress them with his lavish hospitality, it was the same. As his wife, Nell must sit modestly and display his wealth. She was not to laugh or smile or talk too deeply with anyone, especially not any man. And Nell did as she was instructed, because it was not worth the pain of defying him.

  It was not long before she had acquired a reputation for aloofness. Her old friends thought that marriage to a wealthy merchant like Ralph Maskewe had gone to her head and that she considered herself above them now. Her neighbours were similarly aggrieved to find their overtures rebuffed. Who was Eleanor Maskewe after all? Just the jumped-up daughter of an unsuccessful mercer. She was no one to hold her nose so high. Hoity-toity, they thought her.

  Her family, too, were distant now, puzzled by her coldness. She hardly saw them any more and when she did, she had to be so careful not to show them affection. Ralph was jealous of the least look, the briefest touch. He would not hesitate to take out his rage on her brothers if he chose, so the best Nell could do for them was to keep them at arm’s length. But when she saw Harry and Peter grow stiff and formal with her, it broke the little piece of her heart that remained after Tom left.

  Nell had long since abandoned the dream that Tom would find out what had happened and come and rescue her. She had not dared to send him word herself, knowing there would be no limit to Ralph’s rage if he found out, but it seemed that Ralph himself had written. He would have enjoyed writing that letter, Nell thought afterwards.

  They were dining alone in the parlour. The servants in the Maskewe house were banished to the kitchen now for their meals. It was the new way of doing things, Ralph insisted. It was for Nell to sit in her chamber and let the maids do the work, instead of working beside them the way her mistress had always done. It was seemly for her to keep some distance, he said, and Nell acquiesced for the meals, but she could not keep house sitting in her chamber. When Ralph went out, she pulled on her apron and went down to the kitchen so that she could direct the maids, Mary and Eliza, and Janet who had been servant in the house since little Joan had killed herself, more than ten years since. There was little that Nell could teach Janet, but it was her duty to teach Eliza and Mary how to keep house, just as Mistress Harrison had taught her.

  Were it not for the servants, Nell would have no companionship, but now, God willing, there might be a babe, a child she could love. Surely that would not be denied her? Nell yearned for it, but knew better than to let her husband glimpse the depth of her longing.

  ‘I trust the goods arrived to your satisfaction,’ she said to Ralph, careful not to make eye contact. She never corrected him. She never committed herself to a thought or an idea. She made herself as bland and smooth as she could be so that nothing would snag his attention. It was like a game between them, she sealing herself like a nut, he needling, prodding, poking in search of the woman he knew was hidden away inside her. Nell paid for it. If he failed to rouse her, her resistance would infuriate him and he would devise a special punishment for that night, but still, it was a point of pride for her not to give in.

  ‘Indeed. I have some fine silks and tapestries to sell.’ Ralph paused to crack the leg off a roast chicken and Nell repressed her instinctive flinch as he gnawed at it with his teeth.

  ‘Oh, and I had news of my brother.’

  Nell went very still. She wasn’t sure how he wanted her to react to this news, and there was such
a clamour of longing in her heart that she could scarcely breathe.

  ‘Oh?’ she managed, her voice a reedy whisper, and Ralph looked at her, his glance pin sharp with malice.

  ‘Are you unwell, my dear? You seem upset.’

  ‘I am quite well, I thank you.’

  ‘Yes, it seems Tom has abandoned Mr Todd,’ Ralph went on, sleek with satisfaction at his news.

  ‘I . . . I had thought he would be wise to continue his apprenticeship. He had not long to serve.’

  ‘Quite. It is most foolish of him. But Tom always was a fool,’ said Ralph.

  Nell wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of asking why Tom had left. She already knew. Tom had heard of her marriage and he would not come back to York to see her wed to his brother.

  It was madness to continue the conversation, but now that Tom’s name had been mentioned out loud, she craved news of him. She had to know. She forced disinterest into her voice. It wouldn’t fool Ralph, but her pride demanded it. ‘Does he find other employment in Hamburg?’

  ‘Nothing so sensible. He has gone adventuring, it seems. He has joined a ship to the New World and will be little better than a pirate. Mr Todd is most disappointed in him,’ Ralph told Nell, his eyes fixed on her face, avid for a reaction. ‘As am I, of course. He brings dishonour to our name.’

  Dishonour! Nell thought in contempt. Pretty good from a man who must hurt his wife before he can mount her! But she kept her expression smooth as silk.

  Her mind churned. She needed to be alone to understand how she felt. Tom had thrown away his chance to come back to York, but how would she have been able to bear it if he had?

  And how would she bear it now that she knew he never would?

  Tom had yearned so for the sea. Nell remembered how he had talked of his dreams of sailing out to the horizon and then beyond, to the New World where sugar grew and the sun beat hard and hot. Of bracing his feet on a deck as the ship pitched and reared on the waves. Now the sea spray would sting his face, and he would be happy.

  But she would never know where he was. She would never know if he was safe. She would never see him again. Never.

  Only then did the truth hit Nell and she put a hand to her stomach which was pitching as if it too were at sea.

  She would have to endure this life without Tom, and without the hope of him. It would be too much to bear were it not for the fact that it was two months since her flowers had come down. She had started to wonder if the nausea she felt was less due to Ralph and more to a child growing inside her. The thought filled her with wonder.

  And with hope. She might not have Tom, but perhaps she might have a child to light her life. Surely Ralph would not treat her so when it might hurt the unborn babe? But if she told him too soon, and she was wrong, she would suffer for misleading him.

  Aware of his eyes devouring her for the least sign of weakness, Nell decided to risk it. He wanted her to moan and cry at the thought of Tom, but there would be chance enough for that. For now, there was another day and night to get through.

  ‘I am sorry for your disappointment,’ she said to Ralph, ‘but perhaps I can give you better news, sir.’

  Ralph wasn’t expecting that. He frowned. ‘Better news?’

  ‘I have reason to believe I may be with child,’ she said carefully.

  ‘A child!’ She could see his mind going round, trying to work out the advantages and disadvantages. ‘A child,’ he said again, tasting the word in his mouth. ‘A son.’

  ‘If God wills,’ said Nell and she added, ‘and if we are careful.’

  ‘Careful?’

  ‘It may damage the babe if you are too rough with me,’ she said bluntly.

  His face worked. It was clear that he was puffed up at the thought of a son of his own, but the prospect of months without being able to beat her the way he liked was less pleasing.

  Nell bowed her head. ‘It will be as you desire, of course, husband.’

  She had said enough. It would be wise to leave the choice to him.

  Tess came round to find herself staring at the screen saver spiralling endlessly in mesmerizing patterns. She had a hand on her stomach, and she was trembling with longing.

  Please let me have the baby. Please, God. Please, please, please.

  Hope. It was extraordinary how uplifting it could be. Tess wasn’t even dismayed by the fact that Nell had taken control of her again so soon. She simmered with an odd exhilaration. Nell might have a baby, a baby that might change everything.

  And perhaps, then, she might leave Tess to her own child.

  Oscar. She had her son, Tess reminded herself. She had a job; she had somewhere to live. Her mind flickered to Luke. She had someone who believed her. She would not let herself be derailed by a cutlery drawer. She was strong enough to cope with anything Martin might do.

  Hope was better than sleep. The tiredness and distress of the night before were forgotten, and she worked on the records all afternoon, barely stumbling over the familiarity of some names. Her step was light and newly energized as she headed out to Vanessa’s house soon after five.

  ‘Thank you so much for picking Oscar up, Van.’ Tess breezed past Vanessa when she opened the door, not registering the set face or tight lips. ‘I got so much done with that extra hour or so. I feel a million times better!’

  ‘Oscar’s outside with Rosie and Sam.’

  ‘I hope he’s been behaving himself.’ Tess followed Vanessa into the kitchen. French windows at the back opened onto a garden where Oscar and Rosie were shrieking and running round in circles, their arms spread wide like aeroplanes. Oscar’s face was pink, his hair rumpled, and the back of his shirt was flapping free of his trousers.

  Tess warmed at the sight of him. Her baby. Only a few weeks ago, when she had first brought him to York, Oscar had been pale and withdrawn, prone to obsessing over details and struggling to make friendships.

  If Nell had a baby to love as much as she loved Oscar, she would be happy, Tess was certain of it.

  She turned back to Vanessa with a smile. ‘It’s been so good for Oscar to spend time with Rosie and Sam. It’s been wonderful for him to have them as friends.’

  Vanessa didn’t say anything. She was stacking the dishwasher in a very tense way. The kitchen was huge compared to the cramped space in the flat and always looked to Tess as if it was posing for an advert for kitchen design. There was an island with willow baskets underneath, a gleaming hood over the high-tech hob and a retro larder fridge.

  She had had a kitchen like this in London, stocked with every gadget she could possibly desire so that she could produce immaculate, soulless dinner parties for Martin’s acquaintances. It had always felt like a prison to Tess.

  Vanessa and Martin were alike in some ways. The thought flickered through her mind before Tess could stop it, and she pushed it away uncomfortably.

  Perhaps Vanessa could be a little bossy sometimes, but she meant well. The last thing Tess wanted was to alienate her. Oscar would be devastated if he could no longer come and play with Rosie and Sam. Vanessa was kind, and she was helpful.

  Like Martin could be kind and helpful? Tess pushed that thought aside too. Oscar was happy here, that was what mattered.

  Her smile faltered a little in the face of Vanessa’s silence. ‘I’m really grateful to you, Vanessa,’ she added after a moment, belatedly noticing the frigid atmosphere, and doing her best to warm it.

  It was clearly the wrong thing to say.

  ‘Grateful?’ Vanessa snapped off the word. ‘Really?’

  If anything, the temperature had dropped even further. Tess frowned. ‘What’s the matter, Van? You seem upset.’

  ‘Upset? What would I possibly have to be upset about?’ Vanessa shoved plates into the dishwasher racks with such savage force that Tess was afraid that she was going to break them.

  ‘I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.’

  Slamming the dishwasher closed, Vanessa wiped her hands on her Lycra gym shorts and sma
cked the kettle on. ‘Cup of tea?’ she asked in a brittle voice. ‘Oh, no, you prefer coffee, don’t you?’

  This was said so viciously that Tess could only stare blankly at her. ‘Coffee?’

  ‘You remember Sally Beckwith?’

  Thrown by the abrupt change of subject, Tess searched her memory. Sally Beckwith . . . hadn’t she been one of the cool girls when she was at school in York? ‘Vaguely,’ she said.

  ‘She’s at the same gym as me.’

  ‘Right . . .’ said Tess carefully. She had no idea where Vanessa was going with this conversation.

  ‘I saw her this morning. She was a bit late getting to the gym because she’d been in town. She had to pick up something in Goodramgate.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Tess, none the wiser.

  ‘And guess who she saw there? None other than my best friend going into a coffee shop with Luke Hutton!’ Vanessa clattered mugs together as she pulled them from a cupboard. ‘You should have remembered that you’re back in York, Tess. Somebody’s always going to see you, wherever you are.’

  Irritation flicked at Tess. In the anonymity of London, the smallness and nosiness of York, the sense that everybody knew your business, had been a charming memory. She had indeed forgotten that it had also been the reason she couldn’t wait to get away.

  ‘Having coffee isn’t against the law yet, is it?’

  Vanessa pressed her lips together as she threw teabags into the mugs. ‘You didn’t have to lie to me!’ she burst out, and Tess stared at her in exasperation.

  ‘I didn’t lie to you!’

  ‘I asked if you wanted coffee this morning, and you said you needed to get on with some work! If you had a date with Luke, you just had to say.’ Her voice trembled with emotion. She seemed so upset that Tess had to bite back a sharp retort.

  ‘It wasn’t a date,’ she said. ‘I bumped into him outside the Minster.’

  ‘And suddenly decided that you had time for coffee after all?’

  ‘I was worried about something. He seemed like a good person to talk to.’