At Linmore, he was unaware of the effect moon cycles had on the tides, but with Holkham village almost on the seashore, everyone knew when to expect a high tide. He heard whispers about the dark of the moon being the likely time for a smugglers’ drop of contraband; and after recent events, knew well enough to keep away from the shore. He would have loved to spend his evenings riding on the beach, but the last thing he wanted was to encounter any trouble when he was alone. The same applied to drinking without company.
His sense of isolation was worse the second Sunday he was alone. He did not know whether to head for the salt marshes, watch the birds on the shore, or swim in the sea. In the end, he rode a couple of miles along the beach to the end of the plantation of pine trees, which formed a windbreak at the edge of the salt marshes. Once there he tied the horse to a tree, stripped to his underclothes and walked down the beach to the waterline.
The beach looked as it normally did, except that a strip of sand on the landward side of the dunes seemed uneven, almost as if someone had dug holes in it. He puzzled about the cause, and then realised that it would disappear after a couple more high tides.
He paddled ankle-deep for a while, and then wallowed in the surf, letting the little waves ebb and flow over him to wash away his sense of inadequacy. It felt so good, but after about half an hour, he went back up the beach as far as the sand dunes, and sat down knowing the tide would be out for a few hours yet.
It was strange to think he was alone, and nobody knew where he was, but the sense of peace was worth it. He mused, noting how the rich colour of the sky merged into the sea. Within minutes, he was asleep.
The sky was darker when he awoke, and a keen wind blew across the sand. He shivered, realising the tide had turned and was rippling closer. It looked grey now, and infinitely more menacing as it raced ahead of him along the beach to the east, the way he would have to ride.
Scrambling over the dunes, he set off up the beach at a run, thinking of lurid tales he had heard of the encroaching tide catching people unawares. Local folk knew better than to go out alone. More fool he for not heeding the warnings. Halfway up the sand, he saw his horse, still tethered where he left him by the pine trees. Joshua slowed his pace to catch his breath, and looked around to find his top clothes.
Then he saw them, in the hands of a peasant woman standing beside the horse. There was nothing for it, but to walk boldly on and claim his property. At least he was partly clad. It was not much covering, but infinitely better than a month ago when he went swimming with the other lads. His courage failed, a few yards from his objective, and he stood waiting for the woman to speak.
“I found your clothes halfway down the beach, and then this handsome fellow all alone,” she said, draping the garments over the saddle, before giving the horse her full attention.
In his haste he dressed without order. His long-tailed shirt came first to hand, but he fumbled with the buttons, and slipped his bare feet into his boots, forgetting his socks, then she turned back before he could find his breeches. At least he achieved a modicum of decency. His waistcoat, neckcloth and frock-coat could wait until he was alone.
There were too many distractions. Her soft drawl sent a shiver down his spine. Quite why he could not tell, for she was not a beauty. Her sand-coloured hair and weathered face gave her a comely air, but her gentle brown eyes were alive with humour. It made him want to smile as well.
She turned to look at him. “You must be one of the young gentlemen working at the Hall.” Her matter-of-fact voice was soothing. “I’ve seen you down here before, when I’ve been out collecting wood along the shore.”
He wondered what else she had seen. It was difficult to know what to say, but the woman solved the problem.
“I’m Tess Dereham,” she said, extending a hand in greeting, much as a man would have done.
“Joshua Norbery, at your service, ma’am,” he said, feeling the strong grip of a hand roughened by a lifetime of work. Honest hands, not scented and smooth, like so-called ladies he had known in the past.
It seemed incongruous, to be leading his horse along the shoreline, clad in his boots and shirttails, accompanied by a woman he did not know, but in Tess’s company, he did not feel the slightest urge to scramble into his clothes and dash away. He felt safe.
Maybe it was the fact that she said, “There’s no cause for you to be embarrassed at being seen by someone of my age. I’m probably a dozen years older, and married for the second time.”
He followed her through the tree line and along the path until they reached a wooden shack he had not known existed.
When she stepped through the door, it seemed natural for him to follow.
“You’d better get those clothes off, and I will find you some of my first husband’s to wear. Those women in the Holkham laundry won’t thank you for putting sand in their water.” She seemed amused at the prospect.
Sandy clothes? Then he realised she was right about the grouchy laundry workers. He waited as she went into a back room, reappearing immediately with a neatly folded pile of linen.
“Here you are,” she said. “Try those for size. You can change in there.” She nodded towards the back room.
Joshua stopped at the door, realising it was a bedroom. “Oh, but…”
“It’s all right,” she said matter-of-factly. “There isn’t anywhere else.”
Nowhere else, she said…apart from the room through which he entered the dwelling. A room stripped bare of all but necessities. He cringed, seeing rushes on the earthen floor, but no curtains at the windows.
In the centre, he saw two wooden chairs, their seats worn with age, one on either side of a well-scrubbed table, and on the top, a couple of rough platters and tankards. The sizeable barrel of ale in the corner, and small shaving mirror on a shelf seemed almost a luxury.
Tess seemed unconcerned, but he felt an intruder. It did not seem right to walk half-dressed into a room she shared with her husband. A space dominated by a cabin-type bed along the wall opposite a small-paned window that did not open. There was room for storage underneath. Not in cupboards, but screened by a strip of gathered cloth to match the faded bedspread. Despite the frayed edges touching the floor, the many-times washed linen was clean.
He looked around for a chair on which to sit. Not finding one, he sat on the bed to remove his boots, and pull his shirt over his head. As he stood up again, his coat slid to the floor, and a pencil rolled from the inner pocket, out of reach.
Annoyed, he swept back the curtain, and peered under the bed. It took but a second to retrieve the pencil, and a few more to see the wax-covered bundles stored beside a couple of wooden barrels. Then he looked away.
Aware of his indiscretion, he replaced the screen as he had found it, then stood up and reached for the dry underclothes. Try as he might, they did not fit. He almost laughed aloud. The previous owner was evidently a man with a larger girth. No matter what he did to hold the coarse long drawers in place, they slid unimpeded down to his knees.
The drab coloured undershirt looked no smaller, so he set it aside, and replaced his linen shirt, donned his buckskin breeches, and buttoned up his waistcoat and jacket. Finally, he added his stockings and boots.
Standing with neckcloth in hand, he noticed for the first time a rough wooden wardrobe in the corner, and in the tarnished reflection of the long mirror, he met the appraising gaze of the woman standing beyond the open door. How long she had been there, he did not know.
As he walked back through to the other room, with his underwear, Tess held her hand out expectantly, and he relinquished them to her care.
“The others are too large, I’m afraid,” he said, “I’ve left them on the bed.”
“Yes,” she said, with a smile. “I should have known you were too slender.”
“Thank you for allowing me to use your…room,” he said. “I’m much obliged.”
Ignoring his embarrassment, she gave her attention to his discarded underclothes.
/> “Mmm,” she said appreciatively. “This is quality linen, not like the rough cloth I gave you. There is no need to worry I will spoil it. I was a laundress up at the Hall before I married my first husband.” Having started to reflect, she said, “We were walking out together for seven years before we wed, and within a year of the wedding, he was taken with lung fever.”
Joshua started to speak, but she continued almost conversationally.
“The next time, I married a fisherman, like my father, but he’s out on the boats most nights, and when he’s not, the pair of them go to the ale house down by the harbour.”
Her words were a sad reflection of the lonely life she lived. Then, as if fearful she might have revealed too much, she said in a brisk tone, “Enough of that. If you come back next week, I promise your linen will be washed as well as they do it at the laundry.”
Riding back up the drive, Joshua realised he had forgotten to ask about charges. When he returned the following week, he found Tess alone as before.
“I hope your husband won’t object to my presence, Mrs Dereham,” he said, not knowing how else to enquire the man’s whereabouts.
“Don’t worry,” she said, with a wry smile. “He’s not here and I don’t expect him to be home for hours yet – if he bothers to come.”
It was said from the heart and Joshua was glad when she turned her attention to his linen. In that, Tess was as good as her word and the standard of cleanliness was everything she had promised. He took a coin from his pocket, hoping that she would enlighten him. “Will this be enough to cover the cost?”
“That’s far too much.” Tess seemed surprised he took a guinea so lightly.
“Please take it,” he said. “I have nothing less with me.”
It was not quite the truth, but she had so little, and Joshua wanted to give something extra to repay her kindness. He felt a sense of relief when Tess accepted the coin and placed it on the table, then watched in surprise as she took hold of his hand and turned it over.
“These are too soft to be working hands,” she said in a husky voice.
He felt a tingling sense of anticipation, as she stroked his palm and raised it to her lips, and then slid his hand inside her warm bodice.
“I have nothing else to offer you,” she said, “but you are most welcome to it, and I would be happy to serve you.”
Joshua blinked to shut out recollections of the last time his hands touched a breast, and then opened his eyes, knowing he could not avoid making a choice. To refuse and turn away as if in disgust would humiliate the woman; but to accept an offer she felt compelled to make was to take advantage of her.
Seeing the look of entreaty in her eyes, he reached out to stroke her cheek. She gave a little shiver of ecstasy as he trickled his fingers down her neck, past her shoulder to the curve of her breast, and then asked quietly, “Are you sure you want this?”
In silent response, Tess unlaced her bodice and let her skirt fall unhindered to the floor. She stood before him in mute agreement, and smiled. It was for him to take or leave and Joshua realised this gentle soul was everything he desired.
Who would have thought the drab clothes she wore hid the kind of lush curves the artist Rubens would have worshiped on canvas? Only a fool would leave her at home, unattended and unappreciated.
Warm, giving and responsive to his touch, Tess instinctively knew how to please. By so doing, she helped Joshua to shed the pent-up frustrations he had endured for months, and with it, his fear of being impotent. With a feeling of utter contentment, he slept in her comforting arms.
In a brief moment of waking, he listened to the sound of her breathing, and felt at peace. Outside, he heard the freshening wind rattling the window frame, and wondered if it might portend a storm. He knew he ought to go back to the Hall, but the realisation that Tess was lying awake watching him with anticipation, tempted him to stay. The sky was still light, so what difference would half an hour make? He had nothing better to do with his time.
When Joshua woke again he was alone, and knew by the gathering shadows in the room that more than an hour had passed. Hearing a voice outside the house, he leapt from the bed, and then realised with relief that it was Tess talking to the horse. He watched her through the window as he hastily dressed. She looked somehow different today, almost younger. Last week, he thought her hair was sand coloured. Now it looked the shade of ripening corn. Not only that, but she had softened her work-hardened hands.
One thought followed another. The fresh-smelling sheets on which they lay made him wonder if she anticipated this – or whether she normally changed the bed linen on a Saturday. He supposed that he would never know; and might never see her again.
After the intimacy they had shared, their parting was strangely formal.
Tess led the roan horse forward for Joshua to mount, before hurrying into the house and reappearing with his clean laundry. “You’d better not leave this behind, sir,” she said, “especially after coming to collect it.”
“Thank you,” he said softly, slipping one of each item of clothing into the deep inner pockets of his coat, “for everything.”
She gave a rueful smile and nodded acknowledgment. He left her standing amongst the trees her hand raised in farewell, but when he looked back she was gone.
In a daze, Joshua set off to ride his horse up the drive towards the stable block, oblivious of the gathering storm clouds and drizzling rain. Many times he and the other lads had covered the distance in ten minutes at a canter, but in his mellow mood and dawdling pace it took half an hour.
A sudden fork of lightning across the park brought Joshua to a sense of his surroundings. He urged the horse to a canter, but as he approached the stables there was a clap of thunder nearby and the deluge began in earnest. In seconds, he was drenched.
As he leapt down from the saddle, the stable clock started to strike the hour of six, and Ben Waters dashed out of the stables to take the horse under cover.
“Thank God you’re back, Joshua. We were getting worried about you in case you were down at the harbour. It’s due to be a high tide, and will be one hell of a night.”
“Sorry, Ben, I forgot the time,” Joshua said, preferring to let them think he’d been to the tavern than admit he’d spent the afternoon with another man’s wife. Not that he regretted it for a minute. He was sated. He had never felt so satisfied by a woman. Whatever was lacking before, Tess had cured him. All he wanted was to sleep.
CHAPTER 34
For the last week of August, storms kept Joshua from the shore, but when he rode down to the beach on the first dry evening after he finished work, the thought of meeting Tess’s husband prevented him from approaching the house amongst the trees. Everything looked quiet, but he had no idea of the working hours that would ensure the fisherman’s absence, or how to explain his presence if the man was at home.
I’ve come to see your wife, Mr Dereham… to ask if she would oblige me again… No, that wasn’t such a good idea, even if it was the truth. If he did that, he might be dragged off across the North Sea in a fishing boat and dropped overboard with no one at Holkham being any wiser. Joshua Norbery would simply disappear. He shivered at the thought and let a few more days go by.
Half-way through the following week, Ben Waters brought an invitation from his mother, asking if Joshua would like to share their Sunday tea.
With no valid reason to refuse, he accepted with grateful thanks and met Ben at the appointed time to walk the mile down the back drive to the cottage where they lived in the village. The groom would have saddled Joshua’s horse but he felt that it would be churlish to ride while another man walked at his side. Fortunately the Sunday afternoon weather was kind to both of them.
The food on the table was simply presented but delicious. Home-made scones that melted in his mouth, thinly sliced bread and butter lavishly spread with the new season’s preserves made from strawberries and raspberries grown by Ben’s father and grandfather in the walled garden.
/> Joshua wished that he could have given his hostess something in return, but she expected nothing, and was pleased when he praised the seed cake that he learned she had made especially for his visit.
It was one of Ben’s favourites, so she thought he might like it too. She sent him away with a chunky slice wrapped in a cotton serviette that he slipped into his pocket, and he wondered who would otherwise have enjoyed it had he not been there.
Amongst the family present, he recognised Ben’s younger sister, Mary, who was in service at the agent’s house. He had seen her earlier in the day when he sat down to eat his Sunday roast mutton with Mr and Mrs Blakeney. There were two siblings missing from the family group, but he met Ellie and Florence, the twins who were ten and little Tom, aged six, as well as Ben’s grandparents who lived in the adjoining red-bricked cottage. Being part of a family made the day one of the most hospitable he had enjoyed.
It was the following Wednesday evening when Joshua finally made up his mind to visit the shoreline again, slipping away the moment he finished work, without waiting to take his supper.
He had a strange sense of foreboding when he followed the path across the saltmarshes and a hollow feeling in his gut that vied with an aching need for information. As he approached the little house amongst the trees, he was conscious of an eerie silence. It looked strangely lost in the twilight.
When he knocked, the door opened at his touch and he stepped inside the shadowy room that he entered with Tess, but she wasn’t there now even if the kitchen furniture looked much as it did on the first occasion. He walked through an open door into the room where he had changed his clothes. The bed was neatly made as before, but the air was stale and the house had an unused feeling.
Curious, he stooped and swept back the curtain to look under the bed for the barrels that had probably contained “blue ruin”, and the wax-covered packages of what might have been tobacco. As he suspected, they had gone.
Brothers at Arms Page 37