‘You could have talked to me! I asked you if you were all right, and you said that you were.’
Vanessa poured boiling water into the mugs and began jabbing at the teabags, while Tess pinched the bridge of her nose. She wasn’t sure what was going on. If she didn’t know better, she would have said that Vanessa was jealous, but what reason did she have to be jealous of Tess, whose life was a mess?
‘I’m sorry, Van,’ she said in a conciliatory tone. ‘It’s just . . . things have been very strange recently.’
Vanessa seemed to relax at her apology. She handed Tess a mug of tea. ‘I’m sorry too,’ she said with a lightning-quick change of mood that reminded Tess disquietingly of Martin once more. ‘I’ve been snappy myself. I told you my sister’s having another baby? Her third!’
Baby. The word set up a warning reverberation deep inside Tess. Tightening her fingers around her mug, she did her best to ignore it as she smiled back at Vanessa, relieved to see her restored to good humour.
‘Julie? No! I can’t believe she’s got two already. That’s great news!’
‘I think it’s really irresponsible of her, to tell you the truth,’ said Vanessa, purse-lipped. ‘They can’t afford another child at the moment. She’ll have to go back to work, and who’s going to look after it? She thinks because I don’t have a job I can drop everything and pick up the pieces every time anything goes wrong.’
Baby. The air itself was shimmering with the word. Tess forced herself to focus.
‘They say there’s never a good time to ha –’ Tess broke off with a gasp as an abyss seemed to yawn in front of her without warning. There was a rushing in her ears and she threw up her hands to ward off the past, but it was too late. She saw Vanessa’s mouth drop open in shock, saw the tea spraying through the air in slow motion, and then she was falling too, down, down, down, like the mug as it smashed onto the floor.
Chapter Thirteen
The latch clattered, and a gust of wet wind blustered into the kitchen. Janet came in with it, stamping the wet from her clogs. ‘Ee, it’s dreich out there,’ she grumbled.
‘Shut the door, Janet!’ said Nell sharply as the other maids set up a chorus of complaint. The kitchen was the warmest place in the house these days and Nell spent as much time in there as possible. Autumn had been long and grey, day after day of rain runnelling against the windows and turning the streets to a quagmire.
Janet huffed and rolled her eyes, but she kicked the door to and set her basket on the table, swinging the two rabbits that hung from her other hand down beside it so that she could shake the rain from her cloak.
‘What news from the market?’ Nell asked as she picked out leeks, turnips, a pat of butter, a wedge of cheese. There was a tired-looking cabbage too. She inspected it without enthusiasm. Ever since she had been carrying a child, she had been craving the tartness of strawberries, but it would be a long time before they were in the market again. She was sick of winter vegetables, sick of salt fish and salt meat and the constant dampness that clung to her clothes and spangled her skin and made the air smell mouldy and stale. They put up their shutters when the wind drove the rain down the streets, whipping it on like a furious carter, hurling it against the houses and thrusting it through the fissures in the walls. The wet pooled under the doors and between the cracks in the windows. It dripped from the roofs and dug out the cobbles and turned her garden to mud.
Yet Nell was content. In the months since she had told Ralph she was with child, he had not touched her once. His frustration was clear, but Nell kept her eyes downcast and concealed her jubilation as best she could. At night, Ralph turned away from her in the great bed, his expression surly. If he couldn’t hurt her, it seemed he did not want her at all. Nell suspected some whore was suffering in her place, and she was sorry for it, but she would not risk her babe by encouraging his blows.
Janet hung up her cloak and held out her hands to the kitchen fire where a savoury broth simmered. ‘They say there’s another harlot found dead in’t river,’ she said.
Nell looked up, startled by the way Janet seemed to have picked up on her thoughts. ‘Another?’ she said, dismayed.
‘Three since Michaelmas,’ Janet confirmed.
‘And still no one cares what is happening!’ Nell dropped the cabbage back in the basket. ‘Anyone would think they were no better than dogs, to be beaten and left to die in the street!’
‘They’re not much better than dogs,’ said Janet, unimpressed. ‘Rogues and vagabonds. Nowt but trouble.’ Just in time she remembered that Nell didn’t like her to spit on the floor. ‘One whore less to spread her legs against a wall is no loss to us.’
Janet was not alone in thinking thus, but it left Nell feeling uneasy. From all accounts, the dead girls were all vagrants, all young. She guessed that they had little choice but to lurk in the back alleys behind the ale houses and pull up their skirts for a farthing. It seemed they were all beaten too, so battered and bruised when they were found that no one would have recognized them even if anyone had cared to look for them. Nell knew what it felt like to have a fist slam under her ribs, to have her arm twisted until she whimpered, to have her wrists tied to the bedpost and her back lashed until it bled; to feel her husband’s big teeth biting into her breast. All that saved her from the dead girls’ fate was Ralph’s care for his reputation. He never touched her face. The marks of his desire lay hidden beneath her shift, tucked away by the starched ruffs at her wrists and at her collar.
She was better off than the vagrant girls at least. Her husband took pleasure from hurting her, but he wouldn’t kill her. Where else would he find a woman he could beat with impunity, and without paying a farthing?
As if her thoughts had summoned him, there came the sound of Ralph shouting for wine to be brought to him in his closet.
Instinctively, Nell flinched but Janet turned from hanging up her cloak, her face alight. ‘Shall I go, Mistress?’ she asked eagerly.
Nell had been glad of Janet’s experience when she was first mistress of the great house in Stonegate. Already thirty, Janet knew what needed to be done, and she was capable and loyal. Nell often wondered why she had not married. She was whey-faced and sandy-featured, with a thin, questing nose like a vole and pale lashes, but she was not so old or so plain that she wouldn’t make some man a good wife. Eliza and Mary teased her about John Scott, the glazier, who came to the door sometimes to mumble inarticulately and take Janet for a walk, but Janet seemed content with her place in the Maskewe house. She considered Ralph the best of masters, and couldn’t understand why Nell was not dizzy with the pleasure of being his wife. Nell had seen the way Janet stroked Nell’s gowns when she brushed them, the way she glowed at the most careless word of thanks from Ralph.
If only she knew.
‘Thank you, Janet,’ she said. ‘There is warm wine by the fire. Take two cups in case he has someone with him.’
She felt guilty for letting Janet serve him. If she were braver, she would go herself. A good wife would warm his wine with her own hands. She would carry it up to him, fetch his gown and make sure the fire was stoked. And if she were not with child, Ralph would expect her there. He knew well how much she hated the closet. He called her in whenever he could and made her stand next to the chest. He didn’t say anything, but he looked at the chest and he looked at her, and his teeth showed bone white in a smile. He liked it when she was afraid.
It was his favourite thing.
But no more. Nell spread her hand on her stomach which jutted proudly, high and round. Definitely a boy, the goodwives said, inspecting her with experienced eyes. She had let out her laces. She was doing everything she could for her son. Every morning she drank a good draught of sage ale. She rubbed powdered tansy on her belly. She kept an eagle stone in the purse that hung from her girdle.
And she prayed.
She prayed that the babe would hold. That Ralph would not beat her while there was a chance she might bear his son. Nell longed to hold the baby i
n her arms, but at the same time she wished she could be with child forever.
But Ralph was in a sour mood that night. She could tell the moment they sat down to eat in the parlour. He put on a smiling show for Janet when she served them, but Nell saw the muscle ticking under his right eye, and apprehension uncoiled within her. Something had triggered a fury of frustration in him, that much was clear. He would want to vent it and she prayed it would not be on her. She prayed that he would go out after supper, but her prayers were in vain. When he came to bed, she knew by the way he closed the door to their chamber that his abstention was at an end. The best she could hope for was that he would be less rough.
‘It is time you resumed your wifely duties,’ Ralph said, coldly stripping off his clothes. ‘No man can be expected to abstain until a child is born.’
‘As you wish, husband,’ said Nell. ‘But take care not to harm the babe.’
‘What am I, a monster?’ he snarled as he climbed on top of her.
Nell didn’t answer. She opened her legs and turned her face to the wall but it was not enough for Ralph. He heaved and grunted on top of her, but his yard would not rise and he cursed her for it. She knew better than to speak, but much good it did her.
‘This is your fault, you witch,’ he said savagely. ‘You have unmanned me! Can you do no better than to lie there like a sack of turnips? I would get as much pleasure from it!’
Nell moistened her lips. ‘I do not want to hurt the babe,’ she said carefully, but of course that was the wrong thing to say too.
‘The babe! The babe!’ His voice rose in fury. ‘I am sick of hearing about the babe. If you showed a fraction of that care for your husband, it would be a fine thing indeed! But, no, you just lie there mocking me. I can tell.’
‘No.’ She shook her head, her mind scrabbling frantically for a way out of this.
‘Yes,’ he contradicted her. ‘Do you think I do not see the way you laugh behind your hand at me?’ He yanked her up onto her knees. ‘I’ll wipe the smirk from your face!’
Frantically, Nell shoved both her hands at his chest. ‘Don’t!’
There was a moment of stillness as her voice rang around the chamber.
‘Don’t?’ Ralph echoed incredulously, but there was delight there too. At last he had his excuse and he savoured it. ‘Don’t? You dare say nay to your husband?’
‘Ralph, I beg of you –’ she began, but it was much too late. There was a blankness in his eyes she recognized all too well as he raised his hand and cuffed her so hard across the head that she fell back across the bed and tumbled to the floor.
For a moment she lay there, dazed, and then he was standing over her, naked, his mouth peeled back like a dog’s. He dragged her to her feet so that he could knock her down again. ‘Do you try to master your husband? I’ll teach you to say “don’t” to me!’
Whimpering, Nell tried to curl up into a ball, but Ralph was having none of it. He kicked her in her side until she could get herself to her knees, retching in pain, and then he dragged her by the hair to push her against the bed. He was panting, excited by her stifled moans. She lay half on, half off the bed, her face crammed into the coverlet. Her head was ringing and she could hardly breathe.
Now he was hard. Now he could take her the way he wanted to. He bucked into her, finishing with a cry of triumph, and then he took his wife and dropped her to the floor in disgust.
The pain was agonizing. Nell wrapped her arms around her stomach and rocked herself backwards and forwards on the cold boards. Tears trickled silently down her cheeks, as silently as the blood already seeping between her thighs.
‘Oh my God!’ Vanessa dropped to her knees beside Tess, who had crumpled to the kitchen floor and was curled up in a foetal position in a pool of tea and broken china. ‘Tess! What happened?’
‘My baby . . .’
‘Baby? You’re pregnant?’ Vanessa scrambled back to her feet. ‘Oh my God, I have to call an ambulance!’
‘No!’ Desperately Tess hauled herself back to the present. ‘No ambulance!’
‘But Tess—’
‘Please, Vanessa.’ With an effort, she struggled to a sitting position and put her head between her knees. ‘I don’t need an ambulance.’
‘Tess, you passed out! One minute you were standing there and the next you went absolutely white and pitched onto the floor! And if you’re pregnant . . .’
‘I’m not.’
‘You were talking about your baby,’ said Vanessa, still agitated.
Leaden with misery, Tess shook her head against her knees. ‘There’s no baby.’
‘At least let me run you to the walk-in centre—’
‘I’ll be fine.’ Tess summoned a smile, and pulled herself shakily to her feet to prove it. ‘I’m sorry I gave you such a fright.’ She looked down at the mess on the floor. Her skirt had a dirty brown stain spreading up from the hem. Pointlessly, she brushed at it. ‘Sorry about the mug too.’
‘Heavens, don’t worry about that! Sit down and I’ll make you another cup of tea. You’d better have some sugar.’
Vanessa was at her best when she had something to do. She bustled around, clearing up the broken mug, wiping the floor, taking juice out to the children in the garden. Tess was glad to sit for a bit while the pounding in her head subsided and the wrenching ache of loss began to ease.
‘Now.’ Vanessa pulled out the chair across the table from Tess and sat down at last. She had on her firm-but-kind face. ‘I’m worried about you, Tess. What’s all this about a baby?’
‘It’s nothing.’ Tess knuckled the last of the tears from under her eyes.
‘I had no idea you might be pregnant!’ Vanessa allowed hurt to creep into her voice. ‘I do think you might have told me.’
‘I’m not pregnant, Van. There’s no question of it.’ Tess stirred her tea, watching the liquid swirl round and round without really seeing it. There was nothing for it. She was going to have to tell Vanessa what had happened. She had told Luke, hadn’t she? That had been okay. Maybe Vanessa would be able to help too.
Straightening, she tapped the teaspoon on the rim of the mug to get rid of the drops and laid it carefully on the table. ‘Do you remember I told you about those vivid dreams I had when I first moved into the flat?’
Vanessa nodded to her to go on, but Tess could see a guarded look dropping into her eyes already.
‘I’ve been having them regularly,’ Tess went on, picking her way cautiously. ‘I’m the same person every time, but I get older . . . It’s so real, Van. I know you think it’s crazy, but I really don’t think these are dreams. I think for some reason I’m slipping back in time to live Nell’s life in the past.’
‘Oh, Tess, come on . . .’
‘Just now, when you mentioned a baby, that was enough to tip me back,’ Tess ploughed on without letting Vanessa finish. ‘I was here, but I was in Elizabethan York. I was . . . I was pregnant then but my husband beat me and I lost the baby and then I came round on your kitchen floor,’ she finished lamely, knowing how unconvincing she must sound. ‘I can’t explain it, Van, but that’s what happened.’
Vanessa’s silence was eloquent. ‘Now I really am worried,’ she said at last. ‘I can’t believe you haven’t been to a doctor about this, Tess.’
‘I don’t need a doctor! I’m not ill!’
‘You might not think you’re ill, but you’re not behaving rationally,’ said Vanessa in a soothing voice that scratched Tess’s nerves raw. ‘You’re talking about time travel and babies that don’t exist . . . I really think you need some help.’ Reaching across, she laid her hand over Tess’s. ‘The person having a breakdown is often the last to realize what’s happening.’
Tess snatched her hand away. ‘I. Am. Not. Having. A. Breakdown!’
Vanessa smiled sadly. ‘And how many people do you think are going to believe you about that?’
‘Luke does.’
Wrong thing to say. Vanessa’s expression shuttered and she sat back.
‘Luke would. It’s typical of him to encourage you in this nonsense. He’s always been irresponsible that way. I mean, has he thought about Oscar? Have you thought about Oscar?’
‘Of course I have,’ said Tess coldly. ‘Oscar’s my priority. He’s fine.’
‘Is he? What if you passed out like this when you were alone with him? He’d be terrified!’
‘He didn’t even notice the one time it happened.’ Too late, Tess heard the defensive note in her voice, and, spotting a sore spot, Vanessa was quick to follow up.
‘So you’ve already had one of these . . . lapses . . . when you were alone with Oscar? Oh, Tess, that’s dangerous! Have you told your mother about this? I really think it’s time you saw someone who could help.’
‘Vanessa, please . . .’
‘It’s not like the GP will send you straight off to a psychiatric hospital, if that’s what you’re worrying about.’ Vanessa leant forward once more, determinedly supportive. ‘I think it’s more likely he’ll refer you for counselling. Maybe Martin could come too.’
‘Martin?’ Tess reeled back, aghast at the idea, but Vanessa wasn’t ready to let it go.
‘It sounds to me as if these “dreams” of yours are a bizarre way of working through some of the difficulties in your relationship with him. Really, he needs to be here, so you can talk it through together, and he can be there for Oscar too. This could be just what you need to put your family back together.’
‘No.’ Tess felt cold. She pushed back her chair. ‘I should probably think about getting Oscar home. I know you’re trying to help, Vanessa, but no. I’m sorry I told you anything.’
Vanessa was determined not to be pushed away. ‘I’m very glad you did.’ She was smiling with determined patience. ‘It’s not easy being on your own and you need someone to watch out for you. You need help, Tess, and I won’t let you down, I promise.’
It sounded to Tess like a threat. She called Luke on her mobile when she and Oscar were walking home. He wasn’t answering so she left a message.
‘I’d like to see that guy you told me about, the one who knows about regression. Can you ring him for me? As soon as possible.’
The Memory of Midnight Page 23