He grabbed her hands and thrust her away, a look of mocking speculation in his eyes. 'Go down to my house. Wait in the kitchen.
She went, shivering in excitement like a filly at stud, towards the farmhouse that was not his house. She was the mistress of Ingersley. The farm belonged to her. She controlled everything and could have Mike replaced as factor if she so chose. He didn't know how precarious his position was. But tonight was not the time to remind him of it.
She went in by the front door and down the dark passage to the kitchen, where she waited, not daring to light a lamp that might be seen from the cottages across the yard. There was an airy, fresh smell and his house was neat and clean, as if a woman's hand had been at work. A jar of wild flowers stood on the slate window ledge under a starched muslin half-curtain that was as white as snow. A sour taste came to her mouth at the thought of another woman in his life but she dismissed the thought. Rumour quickly spread and there had been no talk on the estate.
He came in, ducked his head under the low door frame, shot the iron bolt on the door and stood before her. Then, without a single gesture of affection, he held her at arm's length, looked into her face and in a hard and bitter voice said, 'I once thought you loved me.'
'I do,' she said in a small whisper, to soften him. 'There's no one else.’'
He was not listening. He did not wash himself at the sink first, but with callused and dirty hands tore the dress from her shoulders and began ripping away his own clothes. But he did not bend to suck on her breasts or tease the reddish hair on her pubic mound as before. Instead, with his eyes averted, he tightened his grip on her shoulders and pressed his thumbs under her collar bone until she cried out.
She pulled back and said, 'Not here! We can be seen.'
'I don't give a fart in the wind who sees you.' He was sweating lightly and the acrid odour of unwashed maleness was overpowering.
She had never seen him like this -teeth gritted, lips drawn back, eyes flicking over her with an expression of pure hatred. She tried to push him off, but she was imprisoned between the table at her back and the heavy, hard body that was pressing the very air out of her so that she could not cry out but could only gasp, 'Stop. You are too rough. You're hurting me. I don't want you to ...'
'Yes, you damned well do.' He lifted her and threw her on to the clean, scrubbed deal table and pulled her arms high, holding her wrists together in a fierce grip while with the other hand he opened the table drawer and took out a towel. He bound the cloth about her wrists and tied it tightly, then threw her face down over the table with her tied wrists in front of her throat.
'You are hurting me!' Panic made her voice high and pleading. Her cheek was close up against the smooth coldness of the table and the force of his arm was hard across her back. She cried, 'Stop. I'll have you thrown off my land.'
'Your land? I dinnae think so...' A harsh, ironic laugh came blasting. 'This is Scotland. There's nothin' ye can do, woman, without your husband's approval. It's your husband's land. He'll throw you off before me, I'll see to that.' His weight came down on top of her and his voice was thick and hoarse. 'You like it rough, don't you, lady?' he said as he pulled her legs apart and forced her knees onto the table.
Her back was breaking. She wanted to scream but dared not attract outside attention. 'What are you doing ... ?' But her cries were muffled by the weight on her shoulders. She could not move her arms. The pain in her knees was excruciating.
His fingers were working inside her, groping for the Dutch cap. 'Ha! You made ready for this, didn't you? Bear down!' he ordered, and hooked his finger over the rim and drew it out of her. 'Gordon probably thinks ye want a son as much as he does. Ye'll no' be needing this, now ye're a married woman,' he said, and he threw it on to the stone slab floor and ground it under his heel.
'Please ... Mike ... please... ' But she could not stop him from taking his own pleasure with violence and animal sounds and her legs forced wide and the cold stone under the soles of her bare feet.
'Ye'll conceive tonight, woman. Then what will ye do?' he said in time with his grunting and thrusting hard into her, again and again, slamming her hips into the edge of the wooden table. Going on until at last, in spite of herself, she was tightening and flowing and crying out in a sustained wail of hurting, release and delight at the feel of his coming high and hard into her.
‘Enjoyed that, did you?' he said when finally she went limp and he helped her up. He said, 'Lie on your back. On the table.'
She held up her bound hands. 'Untie me,' she begged.
'No. You used to order me to tie you up. You like your men violent.' He pulled her to the edge of the table so he could take her hard and roughly again. He said, 'I'll make sure ye're well and truly in foal. And ye'll be slung out. With your husband at sea there's no possibility he’s fathered your bairn.'
This time she did not respond but fought against him. But, bound tight, aching across her drawn-back shoulders, she was helpless as he took his pleasure of her, ignoring her cries for him to stop. When he had done, he released her bonds and, still naked himself, watched her try to dress herself with shaking hands. She said in a frightened voice, 'You won't get away with this. Never - never again will I allow you ...'
He laughed. 'Oh, but you will, Ruth. Your husband will cast you out and ye'll come crawling back to me. Until that happens, it's me that wilnae. I'm still looking for a wife, remember?'
She ran, crying, from his house, dodging into shadows in case she were seen. Later still she sat in a hot bath for two hours, trying to soak away all visible traces of her ordeal and praying that she had not been impregnated. Her prayers were answered. A week later she knew that she was not with child. She had a spare Dutch cap. Before long Mike Hamilton would come crawling back to her.
Now, sitting beside Gordon in the car, Ruth watched the hired car ahead and saw Mike Hamilton turn his head sideways so that when he spoke to his bride his glance would slide across the twenty or so yards of road that separated them to try to engage her eyes, to gloat. She said to Gordon, 'The service was over quickly. Mercifully short, wasn't it?'
'Mercifully?' Gordon said in a cold voice. 'They made their vows before God. In church. A registry office ceremony is a poor substitute.'
'You think we ought to have married in church?'
'I think our marriage got off to a poor start.'
Surprised, she turned her head away from the window and the view of the coast to look at him and say, 'Why do you say that?' Then, before he could answer, 'I want you to make love to me tonight. Do you have to go back to the blasted ship? The announcement is not due until eleven a.m. tomorrow.'
'It is my ship, my duty. And I am serving my country.' His hands tightened on the wheel and Ruth saw his knuckles whiten, belying the calm expression on his handsome face. He said, 'You cannot be so crass, Ruth.'
'So crass as to what?'
'So crass as to expect me to abandon my responsibilities, for the sake of ten minutes in bed with you.'
'I was not thinking of bed, dear.' She saw the pink flush of excitement under his eyes and knew that he would struggle against arousal as she said, 'I thought on top of your desk - or in the bath.'
He took a deep breath. 'In the bath,' he said. They were driving in at the South Lodge gates, passing guests, mostly farmers and townspeople, dressed in their Sunday best, who were walking up to the house. A few moments later they pulled up behind the bridal car that had halted before the entrance, where six happy Land Army girls formed a guard of honour. Mike and Lucy were being greeted at the top of the stone steps by the hired butler and watched by cheering waiting-on staff, all locals who knew the bridal pair. Lucy, carrying a bouquet of white roses, wore a suit of cream linen, with an emerald-green picture hat that gave definition to her round face.
Gordon relaxed, smiled and said to Ruth, 'Look at that welcome. They are going to be a popular couple. An asset to Ingersley.'
Ruth made no reply, and no more reference to her invitation to Gordon to share he
r bath before he returned to the ship. Her eyes were cold but that was due perhaps to tiredness and worry about tomorrow's declaration. They ought to be loving and good to one another. This bickering was unworthy of them both. He said, 'I know it's been a lot of work for you, dear. Mrs Stewart will come up trumps. She always does.' He took Ruth's arm. 'Come! We have our duty to do.'
The programme was that they would first be served with champagne and wedding cake while the speeches were made, then would go down to the garden for photographs while the cold buffet food was brought up to the dining room. After the meal, the bridal pair would be waved off for their honeymoon which, Gordon knew, was to be spent at the farmhouse.
Twenty minutes later, in the drining room with the windows open and welcome breaths of cool air wafting in, Gordon indicated to the house servants that the guests' champagne glasses be topped up in preparation for the speeches. When this was done, the servants went back to stand in the doorway more so as not to miss any of the action, than to attend the guests.
Gordon called for quiet. 'Mr and Mrs Hamilton,' he began, to smiles and giggles. 'Before I propose a toast to the bride and groom I would like to say a few words about my own personal pleasure in witnessing the marriage of, if not one of my oldest friends…' there was a burst of laughter here '..then certainly a man whose friendship I have treasured for much of my life.'
He looked at the bridegroom as he spoke and saw that he had embarrassed Mike, whose eyes were misting even as his jaw clenched. He continued, 'But I am not here today to make sentimental declarations. The hours between peace and war are fast slipping away and this is no time to face the struggle ahead single-handed. Mr and Mrs Hamilton will need each other's support in the trials to come. I am delighted that they have found one another. Lucy is a farmer's daughter. She will be a loving wife to a man I am proud to call my friend.'
There was a little burst of applause. The expression on Mike's face was almost shamefaced, as if, Gordon thought, his farm factor was surprised to hear how highly esteemed he was. Gordon would bring the speech to an end now with the news he had saved until last. He held up his hand for quiet again and continued, 'But before I sit down and let others do the talking, I wish to announce to you all that as from yesterday Mr Hamilton is no longer in my employ as factor. Instead, he and Lucy are the new leaseholders of the farmland of Ingersley.' The room had fallen silent. 'I have seen my lawyer and have signed over my interest in the land for the next five years. After that time, and depending upon both the Hamilton and the Campbell family circumstances, the lease will either be renewed or the Ingersley estate and land will be offered for sale to its new tenants...Mr and Mrs Michael Hamilton.'
He saw Ruth's face go white, then red. His decision had angered her instead of relieving her of the responsibility for all this land. But he had made the best decision, in the best interests of all of them. Mike Hamilton was now free to run the farm as he wanted and Ruth could go back to Cheshire, where she'd be safe. If he were killed then the proceeds of the sale would be Ruth's security. If he survived, when the war was over - and if their marriage was still viable - they might start again, somewhere peaceful, somewhere else.
He waited until the applause died down before saying, 'Please raise your glasses to the future joy and prosperity of the happy couple.'
The toast was replied to, 'The happy couple!' then in an explosion of excitement everyone was talking, congratulating the couple and discussing the new circumstances and rank of the delighted bride and groom. Gordon glanced across at Ruth and to his alarm saw that she was as white as death, holding on to the back of a chair as if she were about to faint.
'Get help. Quickly,' he said to one of the servants before he went to Ruth's side.
Downstairs, in the kitchen, Andrew's Ma was coming to the end of her tether. Her face was pink and shiny and her eyes darted from one to another of the ten or more people crowded in there. She called out, 'Take the sal volatile upstairs at once, Bessie. In the cupboard over the sink, girl!' then, louder, 'The smelling salts. Lady Campbell has fainted.'
Someone said, 'I'm not surprised. She won't have any more say in the running of the estate now the Commander's signed it over.'
'He's what?' came the reply.
'Tell us later,' Ma ordered. 'It can wait.' She wiped the back of her hand across her forehead with a smile and a pretence of weariness before turning to Flora and saying, 'Sorry, lass. What a day to come and meet me. But we'll have a right wee blether when the wedding's over.'
When she gave her attention once again to the kitchen sides - the bunkers, Ma called them - that were laden with trays of food. There were tiny triangular sandwiches and sliced brown bread and butter. On an enormous silver platter lay a salmon mousse, moulded into a fish shape, decorated with lemon and lime slices and surrounded with a creamy tarragon mayonnaise. There was tender cold roast beef, the thin pink slices overlapped on a bed of shredded lettuce laid out on ashets -the Scottish name for the huge china serving plates that were dotted about the kitchen. There was an ashet of cold roast ham with dressed sweet apple slices, there were ashets of sausage rolls and sliced ham. Green salads and cold potato salad filled great glass bowIs and all were being carried by hired staff. They scurried, loading food on to trolleys under Ma's watchful eyes, putting the trolleys in the lift, sending them up to the waiting-on staff who had earlier laid out tables for twenty people in the dining room.
Flora said tentatively, 'Can I help you, Mrs Stewart?' her cheeks flaming as they did when she was self-conscious. They had not had a chance to be alone yet. Ma still did not know that Andrew had proposed to her.
'It's all right, lass,' Ma said before turning away again and calling out, 'Don't take the trifles and fruit compotes up yet,' to one of the kitchen maids - and back again to say to Andrew, 'Take Flora outside. They'll be going down to the garden for photographs, the Commander told me.' She smiled, took Flora's hand in hers and passed her over to Andrew. 'Don't get in the way. Stand well back.'
Andrew led Flora outside to find a sheltered spot out of the blazing sun, which would be ideal for photographs and torture to her. He said, 'What a devil not being able to tell Ma.' Then, 'This wedding is a big surprise to me.' He took her hand and led her to a shady corner by the servants' side door where a rose tree, rampant with yellow blooms, clambered all over the porch. He said, 'Remember I told you about them? You could have knocked me down with a feather! Ruth Bickerstaffe marrying the Commander only days after I saw her and Mike Hamilton riding out, ignoring everyone.'
'Maybe you were mistaken,' she said. Andrew had told her that he thought the woman who was now Lady Campbell was no better than a whore. 'Best to think that anyway.'
'Why?'
'Because your Ma still works here.'
'You are like Ma, you know.' He slid an arm about her waist and pulled her close. 'I've never heard you say a bad word about anyone.'
Flora said, 'I like your Ma. Will she take to me?'
'She already has, I can tell,' Andrew replied with absolute confidence. He knew Ma's every facial expression. She was going to love Flora as much as he did. 'You'll have a chance to talk to her when this wedding breakfast's over.'
It was two o'clock. Andrew said, 'Kiss me before they come out and catch us,' and she did, pressing her soft lips on his, quick and light like the brush of petals. He held her tight for a few moments, whispering in her ear, 'I love you, Flora. Let's go. Let’s be on our own somewhere, as soon as we've told Ma we're getting married.'
She pushed him away gently, for she was afraid that someone would see them. 'Let's keep it a secret,' she said. 'If we tell them, we'll never get away on our own.' Then, seeing his crestfallen face, 'I love you, Andrew. I want to be your wife.'
No girl had ever loved a boy as much as she. Then a chilling premonition that these were their last hours together came sweeping over her, just as she knew it would for the dozens of young couples today who were marrying at registry offices and churches all over the land. She thought
about the evenings of songs and music round Mr Davidson's piano -Andrew playing the popular songs, Mr Davidson the traditional airs, and she singing her heart out, delighting them. Would there be any more such times? She clutched his hand. 'I'm afraid for you - for where you'll be sent, tomorrow.'
'I'll be all right, love. We've got the best captain in the navy, and the best ship.' He gave her the smile that made her head spin. He had beautiful teeth, white and even in his wide, generous mouth. Flora thought he looked like Clark Gable, only younger, more manly and handsome. She stood on tiptoe and kissed him again, quickly because she could hear the kitchen staff, noisy in the passageway behind the door. On the lawn a photographer was setting up his tripod, looking through the little viewing window then going to set small stones and sticks where the groups would pose.
Andrew pulled her aside, clear of the doorway. Ma came out and said in a voice high with excitement, 'I'll stand here with you two. Then I can point them all out to Flora,' as the guests came round from the front entrance to gather in little knots around the photographer. The bride and groom appeared and Flora, catching Ma's excitement, said, 'Isn't she just beautiful -and he's good-looking.'
Hearing Andrew's chuckle, Ma said, 'Wait till you see the Commander and Lady Campbell - they are like film stars.' She ignored Andrew and said to Flora, 'Give me a hand up, love. I'll have to stand on the wee stone wall to see properly.'
Flora eagerly gave Ma both hands. Ma didn't let go but pointed excitedly with her free hand while she gripped Flora's and said, 'Here they come! The Commander and Lady Campbell!'
Flora looked -and the smile left her face, a metallic taste came into her mouth, her face drained of colour and her knees buckled. The Commander was the man -the magistrate -who had put her away in Guthrie's,twice.
Andrew caught her before she could hit the ground. Ma wanted to watch the wedding party, so he made light of her anxious offer to help get Flora inside. 'It's the heat,' he said. 'She'll be better out of the sun,’ and he half carried his fainting darling through the door and into the dark, cool kitchen, where he pulled out a chair and made her sit.
The Weeping Tree Page 12