Seasons of Love

by Anna Jacobs

  Helen walked home with stars in her eyes, but wasn’t so lost to reality as to forget to stop outside the village and check once again that her clothes bore no traces of the woods. Nor did she mention to her parents the encounter with a man who must, she realised when she thought about it in bed, be one of the actors.

  At the road, Robert swept her a bow which had taken him weeks to perfect when he first left his father’s butcher’s shop and ran away to join a theatrical touring company as boy actor and general dogsbody. ‘Perhaps we shall meet again,’ he murmured in his softest voice, his eyes warm and his expression openly admiring.

  ‘Oh, I do hope so!’

  He watched her walk away then walked home smiling. Until now, he hadn’t found any willing maidens in Stowby, but this one was not only beautiful, she was stupid. Just made for a man like him. She should be grateful, really, that he was taking an interest in her. She would probably dream about him for the rest of her life.

  ‘What have you been doing, Rob?’ Roxanne asked that evening, as they were waiting to go on stage. ‘You’re looking particularly smug.’

  ‘Never you mind, dear.’

  ‘I hope you’re not pursuing the milkmaids again.’

  He didn’t deign to reply. Milkmaids or fine ladies, they were all much alike in bed. Made to serve a man’s needs.

  He was waiting for her in the woods the following week, and for several weeks thereafter. He called her his water nymph and he made her laugh. She lived for those meetings. Suddenly there was something beautiful in her life.

  The afternoon Robert first kissed her, she was upset about something, and he was trying to comfort her. When the kiss led on to other familiarities, she didn’t at first understand what he was trying to do and it was a moment before she realised that he had bared her breasts.

  ‘Oh, Robert, you mustn’t!’ she protested, then gasped as his hands caressed her. And those hands were so delicately sensitive to her needs that before she knew what was happening, she was clinging to him, gasping and writhing in ecstasy. She hadn’t known such exquisite pleasure existed. Surely, surely something so marvellous couldn’t be wrong?

  And as he continued to murmur endearments and assure her that this was the way all men and women showed their love to one another, that he loved her so much, so very much, she somehow couldn’t protest again. No one had ever used the word love to her before. No one had ever held her, cuddled her, whispered sweet things to her.

  Afterwards, when it was over, he kissed her again and begged her pardon. ‘I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you, my little love.’

  But she couldn’t regret anything. If Robert loved her, then they would no doubt get married one day soon.

  She had found a way to escape Mr Wintermaine!

  She floated home on a cloud of ecstasy.

  Robert was thoughtful as he tramped back into Stowby. It got actors a bad name to seduce young virgins, and she’d been so willing, he hadn’t expected her to be untouched. If what he’d done got known, the company might not be invited back here - or anywhere else.

  No! Surely it couldn’t matter that much. Her father was only a country parson. He would have no power to do anything to harm the company. And the chit was damned pretty, in spite of that dreadful brown rag she always wore. Besides, the damage was done now, so he didn’t see why he should stop enjoying himself. He grinned as he walked along. She was a very responsive young woman, for all her inexperience. She’d enjoyed it, too, even the first time.

  When he got back to his lodgings, the feeling of pleasure faded and he began to frown. He wasn’t looking forward to the evening’s performance. He’d had several quarrels lately with his leading lady. Roxanne didn’t like anyone else to get more applause than her and she’d even dared to criticise his acting skills. Since she had joined the company after buying a half share in it, things had been rather awkward at times. Maybe he should look for another position. But not yet. He intended to enjoy the rest of this season in Stowby very much indeed.

  The weather conspired to allow the two lovers to meet several times more, for every Thursday but one was fine and the woods deserted of all but them. Each time they met, Robert made love to her - though it was the kisses and cuddles Helen craved most. No one had ever cuddled her in her whole life before and she found herself dreaming of the way he held her close, waking with a warm feeling in her belly, absolutely longing for their next meeting.

  And he loved her. He said it so often. Mr Wintermaine had never even hinted at feeling any affection for her. She was so glad she was going to marry Robert instead.

  When Helen returned home from market one day in early September, the bubble of joy burst abruptly. The maid was waiting for her on the kitchen doorstep. ‘You’re late. And your father wishes to see you. Immediately. In his study. You’re in trouble again, miss.’

  Mary’s words shocked Helen rigid. It had been a long time since she’d received a formal summons like this. ‘What have I done?’ she whispered, desperately trying to think.

  ‘Don’t you know?’ When the girl did not move, Mary clicked her tongue in annoyance and gave her a push towards the study. She didn’t want to get in trouble with the master for not delivering messages quickly enough. He was in a foul mood today and taking it out on everyone else, as usual. He’d made the mistress cry twice in the past hour. That poor lass was for it.

  Helen tiptoed along the corridor and raised one trembling hand to knock on the door of her father’s sanctum, a room she only visited for the purpose of dusting it - or when she was in serious trouble.

  She was so desperately afraid that she nearly turned and ran away, for she could guess what had happened. They must have found out about Robert. It could only be that. They would be so very angry. But at least she couldn’t marry Mr Wintermaine now, so it would be worth a scolding, or even a beating. Robert had brought her the only happiness she had ever known and she wouldn’t allow it to be taken from her. She would not.

  She took a deep breath and knocked.

  Chapter 2

  When Helen entered the study, both her parents were waiting for her, standing together at the other side of her father’s desk. It was unprecedented for her mother to be there as well. Helen’s heart began to thump and knock in her chest.

  She went to stand before them, eyes lowered, hands clasped, fear paralysing her throat muscles.

  The study had been the scene of so many scoldings, she couldn’t even enter it to dust the bookshelves without becoming nervous.

  Septimus Merling was finding it no easier to speak. He pressed his lips tightly together to keep the rage in and as he looked at his daughter, he knew such bitterness of failure that bile rose in his throat. For she was as like his mother in character as she was in looks, in spite of the careful way he had brought her up.

  He remembered his mother quite clearly, though he’d been scarcely ten when she caused a scandal by leaving his father and running away with another man. It was this scandal which had prevented him from getting on in the church, he was sure.

  His mother too had had chestnut hair curling naturally around an oval face. She, too, had had that creamy complexion and those hazel eyes which sparkled with intelligence and mischief. Why could Helen not have resembled his wife, who was the most modest and virtuous of women?

  Beauty was of no value to the daughter of an impoverished country clergyman. And it was a snare for any woman.

  As the silence continued, Helen could bear it no longer and raised her eyes inquiringly.

  To Septimus, her face seemed suddenly more beautiful, more sensual, more knowing of evil than ever before, as he later declared to his wife. He set his hands on the desk, leaned forward and glared at her. The inquiring look faded from Helen’s face and was replaced by fear.

  ‘ Who is the man?’

  ‘Papa? I - I don’t understand.’ But she did understand. This summons was definitely about Robert. How could they possibly have found out about her meetings with him?


  ‘Don’t lie to me, wretched girl! Who is the man? Who is it who has got you with child?’

  Chalk-white now, she gulped for air, could find none and as the room turned black and whirled around her, she slid to the floor in a faint.

  For a moment, neither of her parents moved, then Mrs Merling looked at her husband.

  ‘Leave her!’ he ordered. ‘ He that toucheth pitch shall be defiled therewith!’

  After a few moments Helen struggled back to consciousness, to find herself lying on the floor, her head aching where she’d bumped it on a chair. She looked round, not understanding what had happened, then, as she saw her parents watching her, she remembered and terror filled her again.

  She closed her eyes, but the silence continued, so she opened them again and tried to sit up.

  Neither of them made an attempt to help her up, and her father stood looking down at her with that cold disgusted expression which she so often saw on his face. Only it was worse this time.

  She pulled herself to her feet, but the room was still lurching around her and she had to sit down abruptly on the nearest chair or fall over again.

  She didn’t cry. When had weeping ever softened his heart? Instead, she tried to come to terms with the idea that she might be expecting a child. How did one get with child? Was it, could it be -

  the loving? What a wonderful way to beget a child!

  When she looked as if she might be able to answer sensibly, Mr Merling repeated his questions.

  ‘Who is the man? Who has got you with child?’

  Helen was jerked out of a brief rosy dream of a son who looked exactly like Robert. She shook her head numbly. Her father would be so furious when he found out she had been meeting an actor. She had hoped Robert would come with her to tell her family they wanted to marry. It would have been safer for her. She had decided to ask him about it next week, for the company would soon be leaving Stowby and she wanted to go with them.

  Slowly Septimus Merling unfastened his belt. He strode round his desk, caught his daughter by the shoulder and pulled her to her knees in front of him.

  Helen didn’t plead or protest, for she knew what was coming. As she braced herself for pain, the belt descended upon her back. At first she held in her cries, then she began to gasp and moan, for he had never hit her so hard before.

  ‘Father, don’t!’ she begged. ‘Let me - ’ Another blow stopped her short and it was so hard she whimpered in pain.

  ‘You shall scream before I’m done,’ he muttered. ‘Scream out the name of your seducer. I shall cleanse you of this evil, whatever it takes to do so. You shall not follow in my mother’s footsteps.’

  Helen struggled to get away, but he was a strong man and had no trouble holding her down.

  And in the end she did scream each time the belt descended.

  Eventually Bertha Merling came round the desk and took her husband’s arm. ‘She cannot bear any more, Septimus.’

  He breathed deeply and closed his eyes for a moment, then shook his daughter hard. ‘Confess your sins, you whore of Babylon. Who - is - the - man? ’

  Helen was in such a haze of pain that she could hardly thing straight. ‘Robert. Robert Perriman.’

  ‘I know of no such person. You’re lying.’ He hit her again.

  Desperate, she shrieked, ‘I’m not. He’s an actor. I met him in Stowby.’

  For a moment, Septimus let her go, holding on to the edge of the desk as shock made him suddenly weak. Then he seized her again. ‘Dear God! The shame of it! An actor! At least my mother ran away with a gentleman.’

  Bertha left the room, holding a handkerchief to her eyes.

  Only when his daughter lost consciousness did he stop and push her away from him with his foot. He threw the blood-stained belt down and sank into his chair, trembling still with rage.

  As he came to his senses and realised what he had done, he was not only angry at her for her sin, but angry with himself for losing his temper, for demeaning himself like that.

  In the end, he walked out to seek refuge in his church. As he passed his wife in the hall, he said curtly, ‘You may tend her now, then lock her in her bedroom.’

  As he knelt before the altar, he felt no pity for his daughter. Like his mother, she had placed herself beyond forgiveness. Now, she and her shame must be sent away from Dendleford for ever.

  And as quickly as possible.

  When Helen regained her senses, she was lying on her bed face down, with the maid, Mary, bathing her back. ‘Lie still, miss. I’ll try not to hurt you, but we have to get the pieces of your shift out of the wounds or they’ll fester.’

  Mary bent to her work, disgust filling her, and anger too. This decided it. She’d been wondering whether to give notice at quarter day. Now she would definitely do that. The man was a monster. He’d always been a nasty piece of work, for all his show of piety, but he’d gone quite mad today.

  And the mistress never said him nay, not even today when her daughter was being beaten senseless. Mary had peeped through the kitchen door and seen Mrs Merling standing in the hall, wincing as she listened to the screams.

  She was a poor kind of mother, a broken reed of a woman. But Mary didn’t have to stay here and put up with such things. She had a little money saved and could leave the village for good, move on somewhere a bit livelier. And she wouldn’t keep her mouth closed about what had happened today, either. She definitely wouldn’t.

  The pain was so bad that Helen groaned and writhed, soon fainting again. Which was a good thing, because Mary managed to get the back clean before the poor girl came to her senses again.

  It was no wonder she’d got pregnant, because they’d kept her completely ignorant of life. And in spite of their mean, carping ways, she’d been a nice child, always polite and grateful for any bit of attention. She wasn’t like her brother, that was for sure, for he had resembled his father even at the age of five, and he grew more like him as he grew older. Two nasty creatures they were.

  When she’d finished, Mary covered the poor girl with a cotton sheet and left her to sleep. Then she went into the village, ostensibly to buy some sugar, but actually to spread the tale.

  For days Helen lay in a haze of agony, tended only by the maid. The wonder was, as Mary told her cronies, the poor lass didn’t lose the baby. She’d be scarred for life where the buckle had bit in, though. As if girls weren’t always getting themselves pregnant, for nature would out. And where was the harm, as long as the fellows married them?

  The villagers lost no time in spreading the news more widely afield. For all his piety, the parson wasn’t liked in Dendleford.

  For most of the days that followed Helen was alone, locked in the attic, too weak even to sit up.

  She had no idea what was to happen to her.

  Time passed very slowly. She listened to the sounds of the household going about its daily tasks below her and escaped from time to time into her memories. Neither of her parents made any attempt to see her.

  And although Mary was quite kind to her, she’d whispered that she’d been told not to speak a single word to her and then said no more.

  As she grew a little better, Helen tried to make plans to escape. She had to let Robert know what had happened. Mary was the only one who could help her, the only one who could get a message out to him. The next time the maid came to tend her back, she whispered, ‘Can you take a message to Stowby for me?’

  Mary shook her head immediately and glanced over her shoulder. ‘I daren’t, Miss Helen.’

  ‘But you’re my only hope. If we don’t tell Robert, he won’t be able to rescue me.’

  Her father’s voice boomed up the stairs. ‘Mary! I hope you’re not talking to that sinner.’

  ‘Oh no, sir. She was just moaning as I dressed her back.’

  There were footsteps on the stairs and a shadow fell across the bed. Helen didn’t even try to see who it was. She knew those footsteps.

  When Mary had gone back downstairs and the key
had grated in the lock, Helen wept, silently into her pillow. That night she touched the blackest point in her whole life and afterwards she lost hope, refusing to eat, for what was the point?

  Life continued as it always had for the other members of the household, following the rigid pattern set by the master. As she listened to the noises from below, Helen thought it was as if she had ceased to exist. Downstairs the mornings still began with prayers in the parlour. Her father’s voice had a peculiarly penetrating nasal quality and twice a day, she heard him praying for the Lord’s continued blessings upon his family and household.

  Her mind wandered from one idea to the next. Why he should think them blessed by the Lord was a thing she had never been able to understand. She knew that, unlike her brother, she had always been a great disappointment to him, the cross he had to bear, for he had never hesitated to tell her so. Her older brother was a model son, who had recently followed his father into the church and gained his first position as a curate.

  Edward was as poor as any villager, they all were, but he was just as proud as his father. And he disapproved of his sister almost as much as his parents did.

  ‘Why?’ she moaned to herself as she tried to find a more comfortable position in the stuffy little room. ‘Why do they all hate me so? And why are we so very poor?’ A village as small as Dendleford couldn’t provide lavishly for its parson, but Helen knew that the Merlings were connections of Lord Northby on her paternal grandmother’s side. Yet they were never invited to dine at Northby Castle, which lay just west of Stowby, the largest town in the district, nor had his lordship made any attempt to help his relative to a more substantial living.

  Perhaps when she was better, she could run away and obtain employment as a companion to an old lady? Or even get a position as a maidservant. Anything would be preferable to staying here.

  Or best of all, she thought, as she lay there, still dizzy with pain, Robert would come and rescue her and carry her far, far away from Dendleford. Only he didn’t know she needed rescuing, or he would surely have come for her by now. If she could find some way to escape, they could run away together and get married. For if she stayed, if she did have her child in Dendleford, her father would make its life as miserable as hers had been.