by Georgia Hill
I pushed at the inert body, causing Edward to grunt once and then, to my relief, to shift to his side of the bed. I did not want to wake him and risk enduring a repeat of the humiliating process. As quietly as I could, I slid to the edge of the bed. Edward mumbled something and then turned over. He’d drunk throughout the day and I hoped it would be enough to keep him asleep. I had to get away from him. From this bed.
Wrapping my shawl tightly around me, I padded barefoot and silent to the door. Then I paused and turned back to watch Edward sleep, and thought back over the events that had brought this night about.
After our argument at the hunt ball, Richard had barely been at Delamere, preferring the fast life in London with the Parker boys and, I suspected, Flora. The aunts shrugged off their responsibility for him with relief.
When he went up to Oxford we saw even less of him. Our friendship had been severed in a way I still did not really understand. I had written many times and his rejection of me ate away at me. So I turned to gentler Edward, always my protector.
Edward, as predicted, had joined the army. He left, with the First Battalion of the Worcestershire Regiment, for Egypt. I had been pleased for him. It was somewhere he had always longed to go.
He wrote. They were long, entertaining letters. He enthused about the pyramids at Giza and complained of the Australian soldiers, who, if he were to be believed, were more trouble than all the Arabs combined.
Then, quite unexpectedly, he sent me his proposal. Should I like to be married to him? The married quarters were quite adequate, he explained, and he thought he and I would make a good fist of the job of marriage. Had he mentioned my money, then I believe I should have refused. But he didn’t, neither was love mentioned. I think, possibly, Edward was lonely. Perhaps army life was not quite as he had envisaged. And he was far from home. From Delamere. And I was lonely too. I had nothing to look forward to except an existence as dreary as my aunts’.
Daily, I saw Hester grow ever-more faded, the flower of her life strangled before it had a chance to bloom. I never knew much more of Hester’s story. I assumed, after the death of her fiancé, she had returned to Delamere to raise other people’s children and look after a vinegary, embittered sister.
I did not want to be like either of them. I wanted a life, to travel, to experience a little of the glamour I had glimpsed through Flora Parker. The unthinking, rash selfishness of youth!
Mostly, I was bored, and I have never dealt with boredom well. Richard seemed lost to me. Hester was quietly encouraging, so I said yes. I agreed to marry a man who I knew little of and did not love, certainly not as a woman ought to love the man she was to marry. But I did not fully understand that type of love. It came to me too late.
As soon as I accepted him, I regretted it. Edward had already written to the aunts, who were ecstatic. Richard remained at university – and silent. He gave no voice of approval or otherwise. The great marriage machine trundled into motion. An old dress of Hester’s was adapted for me, money scraped together for a breakfast of a sort and, before I knew it, Edward and I were married.
Memories of the day are a little blurred, but I remember Flora holding onto Richard’s arm with a possessiveness I thought distasteful. Richard, himself, said nothing to me at all, despite being Edward’s best man. I was a foolish girl to marry to get out of a life she did not want. But I wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last.
So, I suppose I deserved what had been imposed on me on my wedding night. That was the deal. I exchanged my dignity for a life that might be a little more thrilling than the one I had.
With one last look at my husband – my husband! – sleeping contentedly and snoring a little now, I closed the door behind me – and the awful scene and memory. I made my way upstairs. Without really realising where I was going, or where I wanted to be, I found myself in the old nursery corridor. I had no idea why I wanted to be there or what I would do, but it symbolised a sort of refuge, a bygone memory of simpler days. Going into the schoolroom, I stopped short.
A man was standing smoking by the window, one knee up on the window seat. He was silhouetted against the steely moonlight, but from the shape of his head and his stance I knew him immediately. It was Richard. At the sound of the door closing he turned. Even in the gloom of the half-lit room, there was just his night candle alight on the old desk. I could tell his eyes were focused on me.
‘What the hell. Hetty?’
I forgot we were enemies. I forgot we had quarrelled. I forgot we had had months of silence. I stumbled towards him. ‘Oh Richard!’
‘What is it, Hetty? Are you alright? What’s the matter?’ His voice was harsh, but I didn’t care, he was the only one I felt would understand.
‘Oh Richard, it was awful. I feel awful. Edward –’
‘Edward what, Hetty?’
His tone checked me. I stood before him, feeling foolish and chilled. ‘It … we …’ I had no words. My breath misted out in a frigid cloud.
‘You have done what married people do on their wedding night, I trust?’ He still had not moved. The cruelty, always simmering near the surface, barbed.
Why was he being like this? I had felt sure, with all his knowledge, he would understand, but he was angry. Angrier than I’d ever seen him. Now he took a step closer and I could see how white his face was. In contrast to Edward, Richard had hardly drunk all day, but now I could smell port on his breath. I felt suddenly alive all over.
‘Richard I –’ My words were snapped off as he reached out and snaked a hand around the back of my neck.
‘I see you’ve been bloodied good and proper. How does it feel, Hetty? How does it feel to be a real woman?’
His hand was hurting the back of my neck. His fingers were pressing into my flesh. But I didn’t care. To be near him was intoxicating.
‘Bloodied? I don’t understand.’
Richard lifted a handful of my nightdress and, looking down, I gasped. There was a smear, dark-reddy brown and, unmistakably, blood on the front of my gown.
‘Oh God!’ I said, with a kind of numb horror as I remembered the process by which it had got there. The whole thing was disgusting.
‘So how does it feel, little Hetty, to be married off for your money, to be a real woman at last? Does it feel good? To have your devoted Edward enslaved at last?’
His grip hardened around my neck. ‘Please, Richard, you’re hurting me.’
‘I can smell him on you,’ he sneered. ‘I can smell him … oh God, Hetty.’
His mouth crushed mine. I felt his moustache graze my already sensitised mouth and I tasted port and cigars on his breath. His tongue forced my lips open and invaded my mouth. He pulled me to him so my breasts were seared against the buttons of his dress shirt. I felt my nipples harden with the roughness and it sent a shooting arousal to my belly. His hand left my neck and searched downwards, gripping my rear through the thin cotton of my nightgown. He pressed me against him and I could feel him, hard and demanding.
‘You’re my Hetty, you’re …’ His mouth left mine and raked a trail down my neck. He pushed aside the neck of my nightgown and traced a hot tongue down to my collarbone.
I lifted my arms to entwine around his neck, to fist in his hair and bring him nearer. Was this what it was supposed to be like?
Richard released his hold on me and snaked a hand under the thin cotton. I felt hot flesh mould hot flesh. He pressed me against him harder and I returned the force with equal pressure. I was out of my mind, obeying the leaping instinct which my body craved. Acting with natural feeling, listening to the age-old rhythm, seeking the physical comfort denied to me by my husband.
My husband. Richard’s brother.
I stilled. Richard sensed the change in me and stopped too. His mouth nestled in the curve between shoulder and neck and I could hear his harsh breathing and feel his moustache scratch. His chest heaved and I could still feel his hardness against me.
So this was how it was supposed to feel. This wild cry
from the very heart and soul, this leaving behind of all rational thought. This surrender to heat, to the power. Yes, there was a kind of violence in it, an overwhelming terrible blackness that was beautiful and desperate.
We stood for a moment, bodies meshed until sanity returned.
Richard’s shoulders began to shake. I felt a hot wetness on my neck. He was sobbing into my shoulder. In all the years I’d known him, I had never witnessed him cry. Even when caned on the legs by Leonora for stealing sixpence, even when the rotten apple tree branch gave way under his weight and he fell six feet. Even when forced to visit his mother’s grave. Richard never cried. We held each other still, but with a different kind of need.
‘Oh my darling. My darling boy.’ I clutched him to me and tears of my own began to fall.
‘It was always you, Hetty.’ His voice came out, thin and ragged and despairing. ‘But you never realised. It was always you. I’ve loved you for so long, but I knew you were destined to be Edward’s. And now you have married him.’
‘Hush.’ I stroked his hair, not knowing what else to do, struggling with the tumult of emotion. Richard, who alternately drove me mad with anger or hysterical with laughter. Richard, with whom I had shared my dreams and hopes. Richard, who had given my life its flavour and excitement. Why had I not realised, until now, that it was Richard who I loved?
And now it was too late.
He released me and moved away. I began to shiver; it was penetratingly cold in the school room. In the gloom I saw him light another cigarette with shaking hands. He took in a deep drag and ran a hand over his face in a weary gesture.
‘Richard, my love.’
He held up a hand to fend me off. ‘Don’t,’ he pointed a wavering finger at me. ‘Don’t ever call me that.’ Anger lit his words. ‘You have made your choice, Hetty. This never happened tonight. Never, you understand. Now go. Go to your husband. Go to my brother’s bed.’
‘Richard?’ I moved towards him, but saw a stranger’s eyes. With a sob, I turned and fled.
The following morning I breakfasted alone. My new husband was sleeping off his hangover and Richard, it seemed, had gone riding with the Parkers.
I had married the wrong brother and Richard would never forgive me.
Rachel sat on the sofa stunned at what she had just read. She’d understood that girls of Hetty’s generation had known very little of what to expect on their wedding night, but this was almost legalised rape. Edward wasn’t to be blamed. From the sound of it, he knew little more than Hetty.
Rachel did a hazy calculation. Edward must be in his twenties by now, maybe the same age as Gabe. But inexperienced. Unlike Gabe. And then there was Richard. She hadn’t guessed, as Hetty hadn’t, that Richard truly loved her. And she’d married his brother!
Poor Hetty. Poor doomed Edward. And poor Richard. Rachel gave up a foolish little prayer that Richard survived the war.
Chapter 23
A sharp rapping at the door startled her.
Rachel rose to let in a familiar, and very modern, figure. Dressed in his usual faded jeans and scruffy t-shirt, he was instantly recognisable. What really took her by surprise was how pleased she was to see him.
‘Gabe, it’s Sunday!’
‘Just come to start the wiring,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Seeing as the place is ripped apart for the radiators, I might as well do a bit more damage.’
She followed him into the kitchen. ‘Are you an electrician as well as everything else?’ Rachel automatically flicked the kettle on. She knew what was expected. She turned and smiled at him, pleasure at seeing him washing over her. ‘You’re a man of many talents.’
Gabe grinned at her warm tone. ‘I have, as you say, many talents.’ He winked. ‘No but seriously, I’ve got enough sense to stick to the chippying. Dad’s mate Brian will come over and do the tricky stuff once I’ve got it all prepped.’
‘You must’ve left early this morning.’ Rachel handed him his tea.
‘Yes, sorry about that.’ Gabe looked embarrassed. ‘Didn’t mean to fall asleep on you. You should have woken me up.’
Rachel cocked her head on one side and pouted. ‘But you looked so peaceful all wrapped up in the rug. And snoring.’
‘I do not snore.’
‘How do you know?’ She raised her eyes to the ceiling, enjoying teasing him. ‘It was like a steam train in there.’
Gabe concentrated on his tea. ‘Yeah, well. Never had any complaints before.’ As Rachel didn’t answer, he asked, ‘Did you find out anything interesting – from those hidden papers?’
‘Mmm.’ Rachel poured herself some tea, not liking the idea of anyone knowing about whether Gabe snored. ‘Hetty married Edward. She’s endured her wedding night. And found out she’s really in love with Richard.’ She turned to face him. ‘Her now brother-in-law.’
‘God! It’s better than Coronation Street.’ He chuckled and then stopped. ‘What do you mean, “endured”?’
Rachel pulled a face. ‘Hardly any sex ed in those days. Let’s just say Edward didn’t know a great deal about foreplay.’
To her surprise, instead of saying something laddish, Gabe winced. ‘Poor Hetty. Do you think it’ll be a happy ending?’
‘I hope so.’ Rachel sighed. ‘It’s not looking promising at the moment, though.’
Gabe drained his mug. ‘Well, I hope so too. She’s a game girl is Hetty. I’m getting quite fond of her.’ He swilled his mug and put it in the sink. ‘Better get on.’
‘How long do you think you’ll be? Not that it matters.’
‘Can only do this morning. Got to be somewhere later.’
He always seemed to be going somewhere. Rachel wondered what he’d been doing the evening before to so exhaust him.
‘Well, at least it’s not Kev doing it,’ she said, more sharply than she intended.
Gabe gave her a glance. ‘Is he bothering you?’
‘No, not really. What do you mean, exactly?’ She frowned.
‘He’s a bit…has trouble keeping it in his trousers, if you see what I mean,’ Gabe said, looking down at his feet, obviously embarrassed. ‘That’s why we don’t let him be here on his own. Does a good job, but he can’t always be trusted. Not round women.’
Rachel felt sick. She’d always kept clear of Kev and disliked the greasy looks he gave her sometimes; they made her feel grubby, but she hadn’t suspected this.
‘Oh, he’s not a bad lad,’ Gabe added hurriedly. ‘He had a spot of bother a few years ago but he did his stint in Borstal and he’s been clean ever since. It’s just he can’t get a job, though, not with his record, so Dad helps him out every now and again. Not a great deal round here, you might have noticed, except for a bit of fruit-picking and that’s seasonal. Dad’s trying to give him a chance to get going in a trade.’
‘Right,’ Rachel said faintly, all thoughts of Hetty and Richard fleeing, ‘I don’t suppose there is much work going. Not for someone with his background. Well, thank you for looking out for me.’
‘No worries.’
She turned to make more tea. She found she had a strong desire for it – and to mull over this new information about Kev.
‘Rachel?’
‘Yes?’
‘That bloke, the one who came to stay. Is he a boyfriend, then?’
‘Tim? Oh no, he’s just a friend. From London.’ From somewhere, deep inside, anger was uncurling.
‘Oh right,’ Gabe nodded vigorously. ‘Just wondered. Kev thought he was okay.’
‘Did he?’ Rachel took a deep breath and blew her fringe out of her eyes. She concentrated hard on pouring boiling water into the teapot. ‘Well,’ she said, through thinned lips, ‘you might like to tell Kev that Tim liked him too.’
‘Yeah, okay.’
She turned on him. ‘Only, you might add that Tim is gay and, that along with Kev, he has a little trouble keeping it in his trousers too.’
Relief then shock flickered across Gabe’s face.
She couldn’t hold the
anger back any longer. ‘Thank you for foisting an ex-criminal on me in my own home and only just thinking of telling me,’ she began. ‘And thank you so much for protecting me from him.’
‘Rach, I didn’t mean –’
‘And thank you, too, for your interest in my private life.’ She realised too late she’d gone too far. She saw Gabe’s expression cloud. ‘Gabe, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean –’
‘No, no need to apologise,’ he said, an unusual sarcasm edging his voice. ‘After all, you can’t blame folks round here for being curious when they see you with one bloke one day and you out with Neil Fitch another.’
Any concern about hurting Gabe’s feelings fled. ‘Neil Fitch! What’s he got to do with anything?’
Gabe examined his hand. ‘Hasn’t escaped notice that he and you have been going out.’
‘And?’
‘Well, people talk.’
‘Do they?’ Rachel’s voice was acid.
‘They do in a small village like this.’
Well, you can tell this small village that what I do in my private life, in my private time, is my own private business.’
Gabe watched, through narrowed eyes, as she turned on her heel, marched to the sitting room and slammed the door shut. The cottage shuddered with the impact.
Rachel leaned against the door and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Her simple country life was turning out to be anything but. She had a known criminal lurking around, the entire village gossiping about her supposedly wanton behaviour and now Gabe was going to rip holes in the walls to match those in the floor.
She put her head in her hands. How had it all come to this?
‘All I wanted was somewhere quiet to work!’ she moaned, managing to laugh at the absurdity of it all.
An escape of a sort beckoned, though, and she really needed it.
‘If the village thinks I’m going out with Neil, then I may as well.’
The room hummed with something. More disapproval? But Rachel was in no mood to listen to ghosts from the past. She would take Neil to her parents’ party after all. Sod the lot of them. Gabriel Llewellyn included.