The Memory of Midnight

by Pamela Hartshorne

  He smiled sadly. ‘I tried to close my mind to the thought of you and Ralph. I couldn’t stand to think of it. I was going to sign on for another voyage to the New World, and this time I told myself I might stay, but I couldn’t go without seeing you one last time. When I found myself in London those few weeks ago, I knew that I couldn’t stay away any longer. I had to see you.’

  He lifted his head to look down into her eyes. ‘I swear to you, Nell, if I had known that there would be this malice between you and Ralph, I would have come home sooner to take you away.’

  ‘You are here now,’ she said, closing her mind to her marriage. ‘That is all that matters.’

  The past unravelled as Tom drew her to him. He unwound it as he unwound her defences, his fingers busy beneath her shift, tracing tingling patterns of desire behind her knee, on the soft skin inside her thigh, while his mouth was hot on her breast. He loosened her bodice and she tugged at his shirt, frantic to feel him hard and hot against her.

  Shameless, some would say, but for Nell there was no shame in it. Shame was in lying supine beneath her husband; shame was letting him beat and degrade her and not fighting back.

  This was not shameful. She was gift and giver, a shrivelled flower opening and blooming gloriously beneath Tom’s touch. Every hurt, every small shame that Ralph had inflicted on her evaporated in the heat that still burned between her and Tom. None of it mattered now. Nothing mattered but the race of her blood under her skin, the pounding of her heart and the need that drove them both to go further, harder, higher, more and more and more until the last memory was blotted out with the knowledge that this, this is how it should be between a man and a woman.

  Afterwards, Nell let out a long, shuddering breath. ‘Well,’ she said shakily.

  ‘Well,’ Tom agreed, his own breathing ragged, and they both laughed softly.

  Together they straightened their clothing as best they could. Deftly, Tom disentangled the laces of her bodice. He had ever been good with knots, Nell remembered, leaning back in the grass and watching the way his lashes lay against his cheek, her mouth curved with pleasure still.

  ‘What now, Nell?’ he said, looking up, and her smile faded. She sat up, hugging her knees.

  ‘Now I look to my daughter. Tom, I am worried about her. Ralph . . . there is a wrongness in him, a darkness that needs another to be in pain before he can be satisfied.’

  His fingers stilled at her bodice. ‘In pain?’ he echoed blankly. It was clear that the idea anyone might take pleasure in pain had never occurred to him.

  ‘He likes me to bleed,’ said Nell matter-of-factly. ‘Run your fingers over my back,’ she said before he pulled up her gown. She felt his hand gentling over her skin. ‘Can you feel the scars?’

  ‘The Devil,’ said Tom, shaken. ‘God’s wounds, Nell, how have you survived this for so long?’

  She shrugged. ‘I have learnt to endure, but Meg . . . you are right, there is something not right in the way he looks at her.’

  Tugging her shift back into place, she let Tom re-pin her sleeves. ‘She is only eleven, Tom,’ she said while his hands were busy. ‘I can endure the slavery and subjection he metes out for myself, but not for Meg. If Ralph lifts a finger to her, I will kill him, I swear it.’

  Her mouth hardened. ‘I have thought how I would do it too. I would be subtle. I would take some ratsbane and put it in the bottom of a porringer and pour milk over it and watch him drink it, with a smile. Or I could lace sugar sops with poison.’ Nell tilted her head to one side and considered the matter. ‘Yes, that would be better. It is Ralph’s favourite.’

  ‘Nell, you cannot!’ Tom looked at her in horror. ‘They will hang you.’

  ‘I would rather be hanged than see Ralph lay his hands on Meg.’ She tucked her hair back under her coif. ‘If I thought no one would guess, I would kill him anyway,’ she said defiantly, thinking about Janet and the doubtless many other women who had suffered at Ralph’s hands while she was with child. ‘I would.’ Her chin jutted out. ‘It would be a good thing to rid the world of him!’

  Tom took her hands in a firm clasp and shook them. ‘Nell, I have not come back to see you hang! It is too risky. Upon my life, I do not say he does not deserve it – I have felt the wounds on your back – but if he dies from poison, everyone will know that you did it, and you will hang, and what would happen to Meg then? And there would be no light left in this world for me.’

  ‘What else can I do?’ Nell cried, wrenching her hands away. ‘I am in such a narrow strait, there is nowhere else for me to turn.’

  ‘There is another way. We will go away.’ Tom got to his feet and brushed down his breeches, ready to take action.

  ‘Tom, we cannot.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I cannot leave Meg.’

  ‘That is easily remedied. We will take Meg with us.’ He held down a hand to help Nell to her feet.

  ‘It is not that easy,’ she said. ‘Ralph would never let me go.’

  ‘We will not be asking his permission,’ said Tom. ‘We’ll go to London. Who will know us there?’

  ‘He would find us. I know it.’ Nell bit her lip. She longed to let Tom sweep her away, but he didn’t know what his brother was. ‘He will never rest until he finds me and punishes me.’

  Tom was not to be deflected. ‘Then we will go to the New World. Even Ralph will not be able to find us there.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  ‘The New World!’ Nell gaped at him. She had never imagined such a thing. ‘Tom, it is full of savages!’

  ‘Would a savage treat his wife worse than Ralph treats you?’ asked Tom. ‘I think not. The few that I have seen have been proud-looking men. It is a strange and wild place, to be sure. The Captain sailed us to Roanoke last year, and we brought the last of the colonists there home with us. They were in a bad way, I’ll grant you, but already there is talk of setting up another colony. Raleigh plans to send another mission to Virginia next year.’

  Tom’s eyes were alight with the possibility. ‘Why should we not go with them? It is to be a permanent settlement, Nell. There is a whole world for us there.’

  ‘Tom, I don’t know . . .’

  ‘It would be hard,’ he said. ‘I do not deny that. And it is a strange place – stranger than we can imagine, perhaps – but there is such possibility too.’ His eyes took on a faraway look. ‘I wish I could tell you what it is like. It is wild and uncivilized, no doubt, but there you are not hemmed in by walls the way we are here. The sky is so big, you think you could walk for ever and never get to the end of it. There are no rules there, Nell. No ordinances or neighbours or a governor always watching what you say and what you do. Who would be there to care if we are truly married or no? We could be ourselves. We could make a life together.’

  His words called to Nell’s reckless spirit, the one Ralph had done his best to break. She thought about a world wild and free, where she could be with Tom, and where Meg would be safe. She had never been anywhere but York. This quiet clearing down by the Foss was the wildest place she knew. Did she really dare to sail across an ocean and make her home amongst savages?

  But what was the alternative? To watch and wait for Ralph to turn his vile interest to Meg? To kill him and then swing from the noose herself? To know that Tom was there on his own, across the seas, because she had not the courage to go with him?

  Her brothers were grown men. They could look after their mother, and Ralph could not call in that old debt now. It was cancelled when Nell married him and she had more than paid on account. They would manage without her. York would carry on as it always did. Her disappearance would give the goodwives food for discussion for a while, but only until the next scandal. Ralph would be humiliated, Nell thought with satisfaction, but he would have his wealth to comfort him.

  He would be so angry. If he found her, he would kill her. Of that Nell had no doubt.

  But she couldn’t bear to say goodbye to Tom again. She couldn’t bear to lose hope aga
in.

  ‘How shall we manage it?’ she asked him.

  ‘Would you like a glass of water?’ Tess opened her eyes with a jarring sense of reconnection with the present. She was in a room, a characterless, airless room, facing a woman in uniform across a table.

  A policewoman. Tess read the name on her badge again. Karen Davies. Yes, she remembered now. She was at the police station.

  She moistened her lips. Karen Davies was appraising her with narrowed eyes. How long had she been in the past? What had she said? What had she done?

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, remembering the question at last. ‘Some water would be good.’

  There was a pause, and then Karen got to her feet. She left the room in search of water, and Tess took the opportunity to drop her forehead onto the table. She must keep her grip. If she let the police think that she wasn’t completely in control, they would write her off as a neurotic, and Martin would exploit that with everything he had.

  When Karen came back with a plastic cup of water, Tess mustered a smile. ‘I’m sorry about that,’ she said, sipping gratefully. ‘I was just a little faint there for a moment.’

  ‘Are you ready to continue?’

  ‘Yes.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Yes. Yes, I’m fine. Where were we?’

  ‘Does anyone else have a key to your flat?’

  ‘My friend Vanessa has a spare key in case of emergencies. And Luke has one, of course.’

  Karen’s brows rose in polite interrogation. ‘Luke?’

  ‘Yes, he . . . he’s been building some shelves in the flat. But he wouldn’t have had anything to do with this,’ Tess added hastily. She didn’t want Karen going off on the wrong track and suspecting Luke just because he was a man and had a key. She was supposed to be looking into Martin.

  ‘How long have you known him?’

  ‘Since I was at school! He’s a friend!’

  ‘Please don’t upset yourself, Mrs Nicholson. I’m just trying to establish who has had access to your flat.’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with Luke.’ Desperately, Tess tried to batten down on the shrillness she could hear creeping into her voice. ‘I keep telling you, it’s my husband. He got hold of a key somehow and he’s been playing mind games, and now he’s come to York and I don’t know what to do. Can’t you give me a restraining order or something?’

  Karen straightened her notes. ‘I’m sorry to say, Mrs Nicholson, that there’s not much we can do for you at the moment. I’ve noted your complaint about your husband today, but there’s no proof that he has been in your flat. By your own account, he hasn’t been abusive or aggressive before bruising your arm today, but to be honest, if it’s only happened once, you don’t have much grounds for saying that you feel threatened by him.’

  ‘Except that I do feel threatened,’ said Tess. ‘What do I have to do? Wait to be attacked by him?’

  ‘My advice is to keep a detailed record of what’s happening,’ said Karen. ‘Particularly any proof that he’s attempted to harass you. If he rings you, note the time and how long the conversation lasted. Don’t say anything. Even if the number is withheld, a judge will be able to see from the phone records that you were called frequently and that you ended the conversation as soon as you realized who it was. They’re going to be less impressed if it seems that you had a long conversation, even if it was an argument.’

  ‘Is that it?’ said Luke, unimpressed, when Tess reported the conversation. ‘Keep a record?’

  ‘She said I should be vigilant. I got the feeling she was sympathetic, actually, but her hands are tied. Maybe Martin will give up,’ Tess added without any great hope.

  ‘He didn’t strike me like the kind of guy who gives up,’ said Luke, starting the car. He threw his arm along the back of her seat so that he could twist round and see where he was going as he reversed out, and Tess stared ahead, wishing she could just lean her head back against it and close her eyes. She wished he would slide his hand under her hair and rest it at the nape of her neck, pull her towards him. She wished she could forget about everything but this awareness of Luke that shimmered underneath her skin. She wished they were a normal couple out for a normal afternoon’s drive, instead of leaving a police station, worrying about an implacable husband and a relentless ghost.

  ‘No.’ She knotted her aching fingers in her lap. ‘No, he isn’t.’

  ‘Do you think you should go back to the flat?’

  ‘I have to. Richard’s relying on me to look after it. And then there’s Ashrafar . . . Besides, why should I let Martin push me out of where I live?’ she added with a flash of outrage.

  ‘You shouldn’t. I was just thinking about tonight.’ He put the gear into neutral and hesitated, picking his words carefully. ‘You and Oscar could come and stay with me and Dad, if you like. Martin wouldn’t be able to find you there.’

  He won’t be able to find you.

  Luke’s voice was becoming muddled with Tom’s in her head and the world seemed to blur and slide. In panic, Tess grabbed at the dashboard. Nell was back too soon. It was all happening too fast today. ‘Luke –’ she began, but she didn’t hear his answer. There was a rushing in her ears and a tugging in her head and the car was dissolving around her.

  ‘So, you have decided to leave us at last, brother?’ A choppy little breeze stirred the fur on Ralph’s gown as he stood in the yard to wish his brother God speed. He had been in a genial mood for the past few days, in public at least. At night Nell had been made to suffer even greater degradations than usual, but she set her teeth and endured it in silence. Only a few more days, she told herself, and she would never be subjected to Ralph again.

  Tom’s bag was packed and at his feet. ‘I have,’ he said. ‘I find you are right, brother, and that there is nothing for me in York any more.’ He slid a look at Nell as he said this, and she averted her gaze. She bit her lip, just a little, and when she said farewell, there was a tiny tremor in her voice.

  This was what they had planned. Ralph had to think that she was heartbroken because Tom was leaving. He had to believe that all hope was ended for her and that she was resigned to her life as his wife.

  But she was not resigned. Inside, Nell was jubilant. At last she could see a way out. They would call her a harlot or a graceless strumpet when she had gone; they would brand her an adulteress or worse. But Nell didn’t care. Now that she had made the decision, she was wild to be gone. She laid her hand on the purse hanging from her belt as if she could feel Tom’s ring pulsing with hope inside it.

  Tom was making his farewells to Meg and the servants. Meg’s lip was trembling. She admired her gallant uncle and told Nell that she wished he could stay. Nell hadn’t told her the truth yet. Her daughter was young and every thought was writ large on her face. She had no talent for deception, while Nell was discovering an unexpected aptitude for it.

  ‘God speed, Tom,’ Nell said, a little catch in her voice, as Tom swung his pack over his shoulder. Meg moved comfortingly to her side.

  ‘Do not cry, Mamma,’ she whispered, alarmed by Nell’s suppressed distress.

  ‘I will come with you to the staithe,’ Ralph decided.

  He wanted to make sure that Tom really sailed. Let him, Nell thought. They had it all planned. Tom would board the keelboat, but get the mariners to let him off past Fulford. When it was dark, he would make his way back to Janet’s house, and lay low there for a few days until the tide was right again. A friend of his, the captain of The Margaret, had promised to be there. Nell didn’t know the whole story – some sense of obligation, some favour Tom had done in the past – but Tom assured her that the ship would be ready to sail as soon as she and Meg could get there. ‘I would trust Ned with my life,’ he said.

  It was Nell’s idea for him to hide at Janet’s house. Tom wasn’t sure about it. He wanted to lurk in an ale house until the time to go.

  ‘Someone would see you,’ Nell said. ‘This is not the waterfront at Hamburg. You forget how small York is.’

 
‘But who is this Janet?’

  ‘She was my servant once. She will help.’

  Nell couldn’t trust anyone else. Her stepmother would be horrified if she knew what Nell was planning. Since Nell’s father died, Anne had become increasingly devout. She would not understand how Nell could imperil her soul by leaving her marriage. ‘It is for God to put man and wife asunder,’ she would say, and any of Nell’s neighbours would say the same.

  Janet was the only one who knew what Ralph was really like. The only one who would understand. And she owed Nell her loyalty. Nell didn’t say as much when she visited Janet, but she didn’t need to. There in the cottage the knowledge of how Nell gave her money to find a new place away from Ralph had hung in the air between them.

  Janet’s sandy brows lifted in surprise when Nell knocked on her door. Her husband, she said, had died Michaelmas past. She did well enough, she said when Nell asked. Nell wished her husband would die that conveniently. Then there would be no need to skulk away in the night and flee across the seas, but Ralph was sturdy and strong. He bloomed with health. He would not die to oblige Nell.

  ‘And what may I do for you, Mistress?’ Janet asked at last. Her eyes were sharp with curiosity.

  Nell hesitated. ‘You know what my husband is,’ she said after a moment and Janet’s gaze flickered oddly.

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Once I stood your friend. Will you now stand mine?’

  There was a pause. ‘What is it you wish me to do?’

  Janet’s expression was curiously blank as she listened, and when Nell had finished she didn’t say anything for a while. She looked at the wall behind Nell’s shoulder and a curious little smile played around her mouth.

  ‘This is your chance to pay my husband back for the vile way he treated you,’ Nell said at last, and Janet nodded, tucking the smile away. For some reason, it made Nell uneasy, but she shook the feeling aside. If Janet was smiling at the prospect of helping to cuckold Ralph, who was Nell to blame her? If she couldn’t trust Janet, who had suffered too at Ralph’s hands, she couldn’t trust anyone.