‘But he was devastated by Miss Brough’s request. They had only just seen the Rector and fixed the date for the wedding. The banns ...’
‘Then you have a blackguard for a son, I’m sorry to tell you.’ Prosper rose abruptly and reached for the letter. ‘I shall have to have that as evidence, because when he is found, Ryder Yetman will be apprehended and prosecuted for kidnap and seducing a minor. Miss Woodville is but eighteen years of age.’
‘I know.’ John’s lower lip trembled. ‘Oh, Mr Martyn, you have no idea what this news has done to me. A moment ago the sun shone; now there is nothing but black clouds. Oh, how can I break this news to Mrs Yetman? What will my poor wife say?’
‘She will probably disown her son,’ Prosper said in a low, vibrant voice, ‘as Eliza’s mother has disowned her daughter.’
For many weeks after the news spread that Ryder Yetman had eloped with Eliza Woodville, that he had deceived not only his ex-fiancée Maude Brough but his family, the town of Wenham was in a state of shock. As far as the townspeople were concerned, it was a pleasurable shock. What was agony for the respective families was meat and drink to the gossip mongers who thronged the High Street on market days, who went from shop to shop, tavern to tavern, or who gathered in one another’s cottages behind closed doors.
A scandal of such proportions had not happened in Wenham for years, and the good people of the town made the most of it.
There was, of course, genuine sympathy for the well-liked parents of the truants. There were those who felt real distress on the Woodvilles’ account and were genuinely concerned about the effect on Mrs Yetman’s health. For days John Yetman could not bring himself to go to his office because so many people wanted to stop him in the street and commiserate with him.
One whose grief on behalf of the family was real was the schoolmistress Miss Agatha Bishop, like Catherine Yetman a native of the town by adoption rather than birth. She was fond of the Yetman family; she had taught all the children, for she had first come to the village school as a young woman in her early twenties and was now nearly fifty.
Agatha Bishop was a good, wise woman. She was one of the many who liked Ryder Yetman and found it hard to believe he had done what he had. She hurried to the Yetman house to console her friend Catherine whom, knowing her nature, she was not surprised to find sitting composedly by the window overlooking the river doing her needlework.
Miss Bishop was shown in by the maid and greeted with great cordiality by the mistress of the house, who, however, did not rise to greet her guest.
‘I hope you will forgive me, my dear,’ she said, pointing to the chair the maid had put next to her. ‘This is not one of my better days.’
‘I quite understand.’ Agatha Bishop put a hand on her arm. ‘I came as soon as I heard.’
‘I knew Ryder was not happy –’ Catherine put aside her work and removed her spectacles ‘– but I did not know why. If only he had spoken to me. I thought we were so close.’
‘I am sure he would have wished to speak to you, Catherine.’ Agatha pulled her chair a little nearer to her companion. ‘But he must have known what you would say. He could hardly have told you he wished to elope with Miss Woodville and expect you to approve. He was in the grip of a passion that, clearly, he was unable to control.’ Miss Bishop’s face was a little flushed as though the thought excited her too.
‘I had no idea he was even well acquainted with her,’ Catherine went on. ‘Apparently she had been secretly visiting him at his cottage – the cottage he was supposed to be preparing for his bride! I heard that young Lady Woodville herself once found them there, thought it unusual and warned her sister-in-law to be more cautious. Now that it is out it appears the servants knew all the time. Ted up at Pelham’s Oak is a cousin of Peter, our gardener. Everyone knew but us and the Woodville family.’
‘It’s always the way.’ Agatha nodded sympathetically. ‘In fact Ryder and his uncle ...’
‘Oh, don’t mention that man to me!’ Catherine said, picking up her needlework and stitching rapidly. ‘If only he’d go away too.’
‘He spends more time with our dear Victoria than is good for her reputation.’ Miss Bishop pursed her lips. ‘If he does not declare himself I am afraid he will compromise her.’
‘Goodness, is it as bad as that?’ Catherine looked appalled.
‘She is besotted with him. She doesn’t even have to hide her fascination.’
‘But he has said nothing to us.’
‘I think John should talk to him.’
John has no influence over his brother, Agatha. Anyway, he has too many things on his mind. He is devastated by Ryder’s elopement. He feels it reflects on the whole family. It does reflect on the whole family. Hugh Brough, the miller, is furious. He says Ryder has made a laughing stock of Maude. I can’t tell you the damage all this has done to our name in the town of Wenham. I don’t think the Woodville family will ever speak to us again.’
Agatha Bishop sat back, her face thoughtful. She was a tall, comely woman with smooth skin, dark brown eyes, and iron grey hair which she wore in a bun.
In her youth she had been very pretty, and several of the local men had sought her company. But, rather like Agnes Yetman, she thought at the time that none of them were quite good enough for her. She rejected them all and, since then, had set out to win the reputation of someone wedded to her work.
Miss Bishop was always sought out by people in need of counsel; those who found the Rector too fierce, his wife too forbidding, parents unsympathetic or spouses too close. They would go to Miss Bishop, who had known them all for years, taught most of them, and was sufficiently detached and level-headed to offer good advice.
‘Did you consider calling on dowager Lady Woodville?’ she asked after a while.
‘Lady Woodville?’ Catherine looked at her in horror. ‘I would not dare. I last saw her at her son’s wedding and she was so kind to us. How could I have imagined Ryder ... I would not dare approach her ladyship. She will never forgive us.’
‘It’s not as though it were your family,’ Miss Bishop began, but just then the door opened and Agnes put her head round.
‘Oh, Mother, I didn’t know Miss Bishop was here.’ Agnes came slowly into the room. ‘Am I disturbing you?’
‘Of course not, dear.’ Miss Bishop beckoned her in, noting to herself how well Agnes looked, as though the scandal about her brother had not touched her.
‘Mother wanted me to get something from Blandford. Herbert Lock is taking me in his pony and trap.’
‘Oh, is Herbert here?’ Her mother looked round with interest.
‘He has business in the town, Mother. He is picking me up in about an hour and Father will bring me back.’
‘Such a nice boy, Herbert,’ Catherine murmured encouragingly.
‘Not a boy, Mother, a man,’ Agnes corrected her.
‘Well, such a nice man. He has been with us so long I still think of him as a boy.’ Catherine ferreted about in her work basket and produced several cards on which there were the remnants of different coloured wools.
‘If you would take these to the wool shop and ask Mrs Best to try and match them for me,’ she said, ‘I would be so grateful, dear. And do try and cheer up your father. There is nothing we can do about Ryder. Nothing. Life has to go on, has it not, Agatha?’
‘Oh, I agree, Mother,’ Agnes said and, nodding politely to Miss Bishop, she made for the door.
‘Agnes looks well,’ Miss Bishop remarked after the door had shut behind her. ‘Did the business with her brother not upset her?’
‘Maybe she is a little envious.’ Catherine looked rueful. ‘Agnes lives in a dream world. I’m only hoping she will agree to settle down with a nice boy like Herbert Lock who has spoken to my husband for her – although he has yet to declare – it would be the making of her.’
For a while, as the pony pulling the trap trotted briskly along the well-worn road between Wenham and Blandford, neither driver nor passenger spoke.
Herbert was aware of a tightness around the collar, a constriction in his chest, and breathing, even in that pure clear air, seemed difficult.
Agnes was clearly preoccupied with other things – probably the business about her brother. But she looked cheerful enough as she sat holding on to her hat, staring ahead of her, humming a tune he didn’t recognise. Preoccupied with her brother, but maybe not upset in the same way as the rest of the family.
As they crossed the bridge and climbed the hill out of Wenham, reaching level ground at the top, Herbert brought the pony to a halt just off the road at a spot overlooking the river. It was a sultry day, and though the sun still shone the sky overhead looked ominous. Herbert got out his handkerchief and mopped his brow.
‘Why, Herbert is the drive too much for you?’ Agnes asked with a mocking smile.
‘It’s warm for the time of year.’ Herbert tugged at his collar. ‘Take your coat off,’ Agnes suggested, her eyes on the road again as if she were in a hurry to be off.
‘Would you mind?’
‘Of course I wouldn’t.’
She smiled at him, and he felt encouraged by her concern. His spirits soared. Agnes had never given him the slightest hint that she was interested in him, but her father said she might be. She had been too well brought up to betray emotion. Herbert cleared his throat.
‘Agnes ...’
‘Herbert,’ she said impatiently, ‘would you start up the pony again? I have to be in Blandford before the wool shop shuts.’
‘There’s plenty of time, Agnes. There is something I want to ask you.’
‘Ask away,’ Agnes said in a merry voice which renewed Herbert’s hope, and, taking off her hat, she began to fan it back and forth across her face.
‘Would you marry me, Agnes?’
Agnes went on fanning for a while as if she hadn’t heard him; but he saw that her expression had changed. She finally stopped fanning and looked at him.
‘Can you be serious, Herbert?’
‘I’m very serious, Agnes,’ he said stiffly, feeling so hot that he thought his collar would throttle him. ‘I hoped ...’
‘I cannot marry you, Herbert,’ Agnes said before he had time to tell her what it was he hoped. ‘I don’t love you.’
‘You don’t know me, Agnes.’ He let the reins drop and tugged at his collar and tie. Misinterpreting the signal, the pony stepped on to the road again and recommenced its brisk trot towards the town.
Seeing his opportunity slipping away, Herbert seized the reins and tried to stop the pony, who took no notice, as if he too were keen to get to the shops before they closed.
‘Whoa, whoa there,’ Herbert called desperately.
Agnes started to laugh. She jammed her hat on her head and, carefully holding it with one hand, she went on laughing until her face was red. Herbert finally managed to get his pony under control, and the beast came to a stop where the Wen joined the Stour about a mile further on. Angry, red, confused, Herbert gazed at Agnes.
‘Why are you laughing, Agnes?’ he demanded.
‘Because it’s all so funny,’ she said.
‘Why is it funny? I don’t find it funny.’
‘Oh, it is funny,’ she insisted, slapping her knee, but her smile disappeared. ‘You’re trying to propose marriage and the pony bolts. He thinks it’s funny too.’
‘I don’t see what’s funny about it,’ said Herbert, looking very aggrieved.
‘You mean you were serious?’
‘Marriage is a very serious thing. I wouldn’t attempt to joke about it. Look, Agnes.’ He turned towards her, the reins still loose in his hands. ‘I realise you’re upset about Ryder. Perhaps it was not a good time to choose. But I am serious, and I will ask you again. I have asked your father...’
‘Who of course said yes,’ Agnes exclaimed, ‘because he would do anything, especially after what has happened to Ryder, to have me settled.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I tell you one thing, Herbert: if I have to go to my grave as a spinster I would never marry you. You are a clerk, and you will remain a clerk in my father’s business ...’
‘I am a partner,’ he spluttered. ‘A full partner.’
‘You oversee all the clerical work. You have a clerk’s mentality. And if you ask me what I think of my brother, I admire him. I am not upset at all. He had the courage to reach out and grasp happiness when he had the chance, instead of marrying that boring Maude. Boring, like you, Herbert. I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth. Now, please drive on, or I shan’t be able to carry out my mother’s errand.’
John Yetman was sitting in his office attempting to summon up some interest in his work. He knew that he could not grieve forever about Ryder, and, in many ways, he hoped he never saw him again; that he and the woman he had seduced, had vanished from sight and would be seen and heard of no more.
He looked at his watch and wondered where Agnes had got to. It was after half past five and the shops would be shut. He heard footsteps running up the stairs and locked his drawer.
Getting up, he took his hat from the hatstand and was about to put it on his head, when he saw the face of Herbert through the frosted glass door and flung the door open.
‘Is Agnes finished, Herbert?’ he asked jovially. Then, seeing the expression on his partner’s face, he clasped him by the shoulder.
‘Whatever is the matter, man? Agnes is not hurt, is she? There’s been no accident?’
‘Agnes is very well, Mr Yetman,’ Herbert gasped. ‘She was laughing fit to bust when I last saw her. She thinks I am an ass, sir, the funniest fellow in the world; a donkey if ever there was one.’
Herbert collapsed on to a chair, his arms hanging limply.
‘She said she would not marry me if I was the last man in the world, Mr Yetman.’ He paused for a moment and gazed at him. ‘You could have spared me this, sir, you could have warned me.’
Quickly John Yetman put his hat back on the stand and, crossing the room, stood by Herbert’s side.
‘My dear Herbert, I had no idea. None at all ...’
‘You could have spared me the humiliation, the indignity, Mr Yetman. You could have prepared the way and found out how she felt. You told me she liked me ...’
‘Of course she likes you.’
‘I thought you might mean in another way. As a future husband. She does not like me in that way at all. She says I am a clerk, with the mentality of a clerk. You could have spared me all that, Mr Yetman, if only you’d asked her how she felt. That was the reason I spoke to you.’
‘Herbert, I had no idea.’ John ran his hand agitatedly across his brow. ‘Of course I would have spared you this humiliation. But the news of Ryder – it came the same day, you remember, that you spoke to me – it drove everything out o£ my head. Oh, my poor fellow. I am so sorry. I had no idea you would declare yourself so soon. Look, let me speak to Agnes. I will talk to her tonight and ...’
‘I never want to see her again, sir.’ Awkwardly, wearily, Herbert got to his feet; his face was covered with a film of perspiration and his thick blond hair stuck to his forehead. His Adam’s apple wriggled uncomfortably over the knot made by his tie. ‘You introduced me as your future son-in-law. You gave me every hope. It was not fair, not just. I never want to see any of your family again. I am giving my notice from this very minute, Mr Yetman. I will leave today.’
‘But, Herbert ...’
‘You Yetmans know how to humiliate people, don’t you, sir?’ Herbert gasped as he made his way to the door. ‘You know how to put the boot in and make a person feel really small. Ryder did it to Maude Brough, pretending he loved her and wanted to marry her. The moment she released him he ran off with someone else he’d secretly been seeing all the time. He never loved Maude at all. Now Agnes ... oh, how she laughed at me. And you could have spared me the whole thing, sir. But you didn’t. Now, Mr Yetman, I am going to clear my desk and, as God is my witness, I will never darken your door again. Never.’
7
Ryder Yetman
lay on the grass, his back propped against the wall of the cottage, warmed by the sun, gazing at Eliza as she put Lady through her paces in the field next door. He had his old felt hat tipped over his eyes to keep out the strong rays of the late summer sun, and the heat, the feeling of peace and fulfilment, made him somnolent; but still he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Her graceful seat on the horse, her poise, recalled the first day he had seen her at Pelham’s Oak.
From then on he observed her, though he never betrayed it by a glance, and he never spoke a word other than to pass the time of day.
In time he met Maude Brough, who was more attainable, who would help fill a cold, empty bed. Then, like some mirage, Eliza had come riding up to him as he thatched the roof, and soon after that he knew she felt the same as he did.
Eliza. His Eliza.
She glanced at him and, aware of his gaze, waved. He waved back, pretended to close his eyes, and soon the sounds of Lady’s trotting stopped and Eliza, dressed in her man’s shirt and riding breeches (this time an old pair of his), flopped down beside him. Dressed like a man, but very far from being one.
He reached out to encircle her waist, and their mouths touched. A lock of her hair fell over his eyes. He unbuttoned her shirt and cupped her breast in his hand; the large nipple at the tip grew erect and hard. Her tongue brushed his mouth and he slowly pulled down her breeches, and then his.
They coupled like animals in the field with no one except, perhaps, a stray bird or two to see them. Their breeches lay at their feet, the sun was behind them and they started to laugh.
‘If Mother could see me now,’ Eliza began, but he put his hand over her mouth.
‘Ssshhh,’ he said. ‘Don’t spoil it.’
He thrust more deeply, spurting his seed into her, and she closed her thighs so tightly over his that they seemed like one flesh.
Eliza moaned a little, and he kissed her eyes, his hands encircling her face.
‘I love you,’ he said. ‘Love, love, love.’
The People of This Parish (Part One of The People of this Parish Saga) Page 15