by Janet Woods
‘A sow, is it?’ he muttered, and pulled her back against him, shoving his pelvis hard against her buttocks so she could feel his gross arousal. His other arm came round her, his fingers kneading and pinching. ‘A sow’s got better than these little teats.’
Suddenly it dawned on her what he was about to do. Sickened by his crudeness she began to struggle as he half-pushed, half-dragged her towards the sty. The pigs hunched into a corner and squealed nervously when he dragged her inside.
Throwing her face-down across the trough, he dropped his trousers, laughed and, dragging her skirt up to her waist, proceeded to finish the act he’d started the night before. Every thrust brought a grunt from him, and every grunt a gust of onion breath, so she felt nauseated as well as violated. By the time he gave his final grunt, she felt completely humiliated. Dragging her upright, he grinned at her and said, ‘By Christ, you’re a skinny-arsed sow.’ Then he threw her face-down again, leaving her bruised and sore, retching into the stinking mud as he strode off.
The chores finished, and with Daisy supported on her back in a shawl, Siana strode across one of the many hills of the Purbecks. She had come further than she intended, at least two miles, and was on a rise not far from the sea. To her left, the rocks named Old Harry were visible. Just within range of her vision, and to her right, was Corfe Castle, where King Edward the martyr had been murdered. The Roundheads had later reduced it to ruins whilst fighting the royalists.
Between the two hills were some ridges, where the remains of a Roman wall offered shelter from the wind. There, she set the burden of her sister down to play. She’d been told the ridges and tumbled stones in the area were part of the defences built by the Romans when they’d conquered Britain.
Here, perhaps, the soldiers had lived together, talking of wives and children left behind. Some would have died here, never to see their families again. Their bodies would have nourished the tough heathland grasses until their bones had become one with the chalky hills.
The day was warm and Siana would have liked to idle for an hour or so, but she didn’t have time. Time enough perhaps to escape for a short while into a book. She could read the remaining chapter or two whilst she rested before heading back.
Carefully she removed a book from inside her bodice. Within seconds, she was absorbed in the pages.
Daniel came across her there. He was out walking the hills as he often did. The sea glittered silver, the light stretching into a glaring horizon where a bank of purple-edged clouds was piling up. There would be a storm before morning. Although summer had lingered, the wind over the water cooled the body and Daniel was seeking shelter, a place where he could sit and think.
A child’s giggle drew his attention as he topped the ridge. Below him in the hollow, Siana sat, her back against a boulder, her glance firmly on the pages of a book resting on her knees.
The child was a pale, thin little thing, her laughter a delightful sound as her hand tried to close around a butterfly dancing over the golden dandelion heads. He experienced a moment of wonder that the child could laugh. What was the future for children like her, her tattered garments revealing her abject poverty? If she survived her short childhood, she’d only be handed over to a peasant labourer to bear his children year after year.
Daniel frowned, wondering who the child belonged to. Surely not Siana?
As he thought her name, she glanced up. Her hand came up to shade her eyes and they looked straight into his. She didn’t appear surprised, almost as if she’d been expecting his arrival and had sensed him there. She closed the book in her lap and waited for him to join her, smiling as he scrambled down the slope.
‘People don’t usually come here. They think it’s a haunted place,’ she said.
‘And is it?’
‘Sometimes the wind sounds like voices. I dug up a Roman coin here once. My hand closed around it and I could feel the ghost of the man who’d last held it, as if he was inside my heart and head.’
‘Did he say anything to you?’
‘He felt homesick.’ Her smile was tentative, as if she couldn’t make up her mind if he was teasing her or not. ‘My stepbrother took the coin from me.’
Without being invited, he sat beside her. The sun-warmed stones provided a comforting rest for his back. Flower scents were trapped in the humid air of the dell.
‘Daisy, you can’t eat that,’ she said, and leaned forward to remove a clod of earth from the child’s mouth. A kiss was placed on the child’s face to compensate, an apologetic glance came his way as she stated the obvious. ‘I have come too far and my sister’s hungry.’
Daniel had the feeling it was a permanent state. He took an apple from his pocket, splitting it in half with a twist of his wrists. He offered both halves to her. ‘It’s not much, but better than eating dirt.’
Colour crept into her face. ‘We don’t usually eat dirt and I wasn’t begging for food, Mr Ayres. I’ll take some apple for Daisy, though.’
‘I didn’t imagine you were begging. It would please me if you’d take it all. It’s only an apple and I ate its twin just a few minutes ago.’
He thought she was about to refuse. Then the child saw the fruit and began to grizzle, waving her hands in the air, her fingers fluttering and insistent like those of a pianist in the middle of a concerto. Siana took the pieces, glanced shyly at him and said quietly, ‘Thank you, Mr Ayres.’
‘You might prefer to address me as Daniel when we’re alone,’ he said, and took the book from her lap, smiling when he saw the subject matter. He’d forgotten about the artist. ‘This is serious reading for a girl of your age. Why Michelangelo?’
‘I feel the need to learn about people of the past, of other lands. It reminds me there is more to life than what the eyes see.’
‘In what way?’
‘Well . . .’ She stared into space for the moment it took for her mind to formulate her answer. ‘The more I think about people like Michelangelo, the more I wonder. First, the man himself. What did he look like? Was he married? How many children did he have? How long did it take him to paint a picture or carve his statues? Then you start wondering about his country. What were the houses like, the clothes . . . the landscape? It seems to come alive then, and there’s an urge to go there and see for yourself.’ Her voice trailed off. ‘Not that someone like me ever could, and I wouldn’t even know how to get there. It’s nice to be able to read about it though.’
‘Ah . . . you’re a historian.’
Her head slanted to one side and her green eyes glinted. ‘Do you seek to mock me for trying to educate myself, as you did when we had tea together?’
He flushed. ‘Will you accept my apologies?’
‘If they’re sincere.’
‘They are.’
Her face cleared and she smiled as she reached out to lightly touch the bruise on his face. Her voice had a husky undertone, like nutmeg sprinkled on honey. ‘You’ve had an accident.’
‘It’s nothing,’ he mumbled, reliving the humiliation of the moment her stepbrother had hit him. He couldn’t tell her about that.
There was a sudden rumble of thunder in the distance and she rose to her feet, her arms reaching down for her sister in the same movement. By the time Daniel struggled upright, Daisy was secured in a sling fashioned from her shawl, her skinny legs splayed either side of Siana’s hip. Outlined against the melting sky, Saina’s pose was womanly and natural. ‘Return the book to the rector, please, Daniel. I’ve finished it.’
He was loath to part with her company. ‘Would you like me to test you on the contents, see how much you’ve learned from it?’
She slid the uneaten portion of the apple into her pocket, shook her head and said, ‘I must get home before the storm breaks. My mother needs me at home.’ Then she was gone, her hair a torment of darkness in the wind. A pair of scuffed and stained boots stuck out from under the frayed hem of her faded skirt as she strode away. They were men’s boots, too large for such slim ankles to support. Dan
iel suddenly felt sad for her circumstances.
He was tempted to go after her, but didn’t. Instead, he climbed to the top of the ridge and stood there, watching her walk over the hill.
She had a natural grace. Her back was upright despite her burden, her hips had a rhythmic swinging motion that owed nothing to artifice. Much to his chagrin, she didn’t look back once.
Daniel had enough arrogance to know his dark looks had attracted women from an early age, but he’d never thought he’d be drawn to a girl who didn’t seem aware of his attraction. It was a humbling experience.
He told himself she was the wrong girl for him and, despite the circumstances of his birth, his social inferior. When he wed, his bride needed to be a woman with the means to help him establish his business.
She appeared to sink into the crest of the next hill, growing smaller and smaller as though she belonged to the earth and it was sucking her into its depths. It was an illusion, he knew, a trick of the light as she made her way down the other side, but at the very last minute he imagined she turned and waved to him.
He experienced delight that she’d spared him a moment of her attention, then a stray thought quirked into his mind. Perhaps he’d seen only what he’d wanted to see. Damn it, Siana was an attractive girl. It was only natural that he’d be attracted to her.
He shook his head to clear his mind, bewildered by the road his thoughts were taking. They had only just met, yet she intrigued him with her enigmatic ways. He shivered as he gazed around him. Had she really felt the presence of a ghost of a soldier stranded far from home?
He shook his head in disbelief. He must take heed of his mother’s advice and not encourage the girl. From now on he must make every effort to try to avoid Siana Skinner.
4
The slice of barley bread was stale. Siana scraped dripping across the surface before handing it to Josh. ‘Here,’ she said, remembering the apple and pulling it from her pocket. ‘It’s gone a bit brown but it’ll have to do.’
It wasn’t half enough food for a growing lad. Josh wolfed it down, then licked his forefinger and harvested the crumbs from his shirt.
Her brother was small for a twelve-year-old. Born before his time, he’d barely survived his first year of life. A thatch of mousy hair flopped onto his forehead when he propped his chin on his hands. He gazed at their mother now through guarded blue eyes.
‘Will Hastings’s missus was turned out of her cottage today. She was crying fit to bust. They accused her Will of burning a haystack, but it ain’t true. They shot him dead for nothing.’
‘Whatever it is you think you know, I advise you keep your mouth shut about it,’ Megan said. ‘It’s too late to save him now.’
‘They said our Tom seen him do it. He’s a bleddy liar.’
‘Best you don’t let him hear you say that.’ The thundery weather had set the milk on the turn. Siana handed Josh a chipped jug. ‘Run over to Croxley Farm and see if they’ve got any milk to spare so I can sop Daisy’s bread in it before I settle her down to bed.’
‘Our Tom would rather feed it to his pigs than give it to us.’
‘If you’re quick he’ll still be at the boozer. Take this ha’penny to offer, it’s all I’ve got. Mind you, don’t offer it unless you have to. That fancy wife of his might give you some from the kindness of her heart if you minds your manners. I heard she ain’t so bad, even though she won’t give us the time of day in church on Sunday.’
‘Not her. She has to do what Tom tells her else she gets a good hiding.’ Josh grinned. ‘No need to spend a ha’penny, anyways. That cow of hers will give me a good squirt or two without kicking up a fuss. She’s a right obliging old moo.’
Siana exchanged a grin with her mother after Megan shouted out after him, ‘Be careful Tom doesn’t catch you at it, then.’ There was no real warning behind her words. Josh’s light-fingered ways drew a blind eye when a wild rabbit or a fish occasionally appeared in the larder. He had more lives than a cat, and more cheek than a monkey on a hurdy-gurdy.
‘Why don’t you sit down, Ma? I’ll see to the rest of the chores.’
Megan stood in the doorway, her glance on the clouds purpling the sky. There was an air of sadness about her. ‘I dreamed of your father this afternoon. He was searching for me. Smoke came from his eye sockets and his tongue spat fire. You have the sight, daughter. Tell me what it means.’
Her words made Siana fearful. ‘It’s the weather, Ma. It was only a dream.’ Siana took the opportunity to ask her mother again, ‘Tell me of him, Ma. I have the right to know.’
‘Perhaps it’s time I did.’ Her mother sounded weary. ‘Gruffydd Evans is his name. He was a Methodist preacher by profession, and a man who cast a long shadow.’
Siana sucked in a deep, shocked breath.
Megan gave a faint smile. ‘Now you know, daughter. He took what he wanted, then left me bleeding on the ground and walked away without giving me a second glance.’
Tears came to Siana’s eye. ‘Oh, Ma.’
Her mother’s voice choked on a sob. ‘The only good thing to come of it was you, my girl.’
Siana slid a comforting arm around her mother. ‘Hush, Ma. You’re tired and melancholy and the weather’s getting you down.’
Her mother’s hand folded over hers. ‘Listen, Siana mine. The babby is dead inside me, I knows it. Good thing too, because we can’t afford another mouth to feed. I’m worn out from carrying children and tired of praying for their eternal souls.’
‘Stop it, Ma.’
‘You’re not a Skinner. If anything happens to me when this one’s born, you get out quick. Take Daisy with you. Josh’ll be all right, he’s a lad.’
‘You’re talking nonsense.’ Spooked by a low rumble of thunder, Siana shivered. ‘Where would I go without money?’
‘You’ve got your piece saved with the reverend. Ask him for a reference, then you can get away from the district and go to the city. He might know someone who’s able to offer you employment. When you marry, don’t settle for a poor man. Find someone who has a bit behind him and can look after you both.’
Knowing what her mother’s life was like, Siana wasn’t sure that she wanted to marry anyone.
‘The biggest mistake I made was to take up with Bill Skinner. He and Tom are two of a kind. Bill’s no better than Tom, touching you every chance he gets. It ain’t no accident, though he makes it seem so. Promise me you’ll go.’
‘I promise,’ Siana said, mostly because her mother’s voice had become agitated and she wanted to calm her.
As she kissed her cheek, she shuddered at the thought of her stepfather, who came home drunk every night and beat her mother at the slightest provocation. She’d learned to avoid his groping hands most of the time, but if anything should ever happen to her mother . . .
Neither of the women saw Bill Skinner sidle away from the window. As he sometimes did when his boss was away at market, Bill had taken the opportunity to sneak home early. As was his habit, he’d concealed himself to listen and watch.
Sometimes, he’d been rewarded. Once he’d followed Siana to the stream and watched her strip the clothes from her ripe young body to reveal her breasts with their hard, thrusting nubs. She was a virgin still. He’d made sure she remained that way, discouraging any lad who’d dared to call on her with a good thrashing. Oh yes, he’d made sure Siana wasn’t bothered.
Today, though, he’d heard something entirely unexpected. He was angered by the deception of the two women. That treacherous wife of his would pay for it later, but not Siana. He had plans for her, and he didn’t intend to mark that sweet young body of hers . . . not when it was going to earn him some money.
But first, he had to pay someone a little visit. Without a coin in his pocket a man didn’t feel like a man. If all went well, tonight he might be able to manage a drop of the good stuff. Although a grin split his face from one ear to the other at the thought, his eyes displayed his humiliation. They glowed with the mean, simmering rage of
a mad dog.
Richard White had finished his dinner and was relaxing with a glass of brandy when Bill Skinner requested permission to see him. Mrs Leeman’s disdain clearly showed in her face when she disturbed him in the study, where he’d been pondering the merits of gas lighting.
‘Bill Skinner is here, sir. He wishes to see you.’
‘Did he say what about?’
‘Oh yes. sir.’ And her sniff conveyed the disapproving eloquence of her thoughts on the matter. ‘He says he’s come to pick up young Siana’s wages.’
‘Show him into the kitchen, Mrs Leeman, I’ll talk to him there,’ Richard said, dismayed on Siana’s behalf. This would be a setback for the girl. After Mrs Leeman had gone, he opened the bureau and took out his account book, giving a cursory glance at one of the columns. Smiling to himself, he counted out an amount of coins.
Bill Skinner was standing near the back door, cap in hand. Mrs Leeman hadn’t invited him to sit. She stood on the other side of a large scrubbed table, staring at the man, arms folded across her chest and a rolling pin clenched in her hand. Richard smiled slightly at that.
The kitchen was warm, the cast-iron cooker gleamed with lead blacking and the brass rails and handles gleamed proudly. Siana was a conscientious worker. A kettle sang on the hob, sending steam spurting out through the spout. On the table, candles guttered, the flames twisting and bending with the draughts coming through the chinks in the door and windows.
Mrs Leeman’s chair was set by the fire and occupied by her tabby cat, who gazed at him momentarily through slitted eyes, then went back to sleep. A basket next to the chair contained her sewing.
‘Good evening, Mr Skinner,’ Richard said. ‘How may I help you?’
Bill Skinner pulled an ingratiating smile onto his face. ‘I’ve come to collect the bit of cash my daughter put aside, sir. My wife’s been taken poorly and I needs to get her some medicine and such.’
‘I see. Does Siana know you’re here?’