by Mary Mackie
‘Well, well,’ Miss Peartree said heartily, smiling through her tears as the carriage lurched away. ‘Let us pray they will be happy. Come, Dolly.’ Leaning on the little maid’s arm, she moved away, not wishing to discuss the event. There wasn’t much to be said, except lies…
Jess remained where she was, standing in the church gateway with the morning breeze teasing a tendril of hair across her cheek as she watched the carriage turn on to the main driveway.
Beside her, Rudd said, ‘Matty seems happy, any road.’
He would, daft great lummox, she thought tiredly.
‘He knows what he’s doing, Jess.’
‘Do he?’ She threw a shadowed look at him.
‘We had a long talk about it, him and me. Happen he’s grown up. He’s a different man from the one I first knew, when he was letting Jim Potts lead him by the nose.’
Jess wished she could believe that. It seemed to her Matty was still being led by the nose, this time by Lily and his own blind worship of her. She had bad misgivings about it all, her earlier unease about Matty now settled into a dark shadow across the future. ‘You’ve helped him a lot,’ she said. ‘I… I’m grateful for you takin’ him under your wing. He could easy have gone wholly wrong.’
‘The lad only needs a bit of encouragement. If he keeps in the right company, he’ll do all right. Now he’s got Miss Lily to consider…’
‘Maybe you’re right,’ Jess sighed. ‘Well, howsomever, “What can’t be cured must be endured,” as Granny Henefer used to say. That’s done now. For better or worse.’ She still didn’t believe it, though. Standing there with the early sunlight slanting across the park, she did not believe that her brother had married Lily Clare, knowing her to be pregnant by Ashton Haverleigh. They’d claim the child was early, of course – they wouldn’t be the first to use that old excuse. Folk would wink and nod, and that would be another nine-day wonder.
But after the child was born, when the novelty and the excitement were all over, would Lily Victoria Clare be content as Mrs Matthew Henefer?
‘What about you?’ Rudd asked.
‘Me?’ Surprise made her look fully at him. ‘How d’you mean?’
‘Well, you don’t plan to spend the rest of your life in that nursery, do you?’
Feeling as though a spear had torn into her vitals, she turned away, blinking against the bright, low sunlight. ‘Why not?’
‘Because you’re worth a sight more than that, that’s why.’ His hand fell on her arm, pulling her back to face him. ‘Jess… Jessie, lass… It’s probably not the right time, but I hardly get to see you lately and I want you to know… I’ve talked with your Matty about a lot of things. I know I was wrong to doubt you. Forgive me, lass. Let me have another chance. Will you? I’ll not pretend I understand about this preacher chap, but I know there’s got to be another side to it. I know you’ve been hurt. Was it through him? If only you’d talk to me, Jess!’
The passion in him stunned her. She’d never expected to hear him talk that way.
‘Don’t you know how it hurts me, the way you keep cutting me out?’ he asked her. ‘You make me feel you don’t trust me. What is it you’re afraid of, lass? I’d never hurt thee. Never in a million years. Tha knows how I feel about thee, surely? So how about it? I have to see the squire today about the shooting. I could ask for his say-so, and then see the rector. We could be wed by the end of October.’
Jess stared at him, a hand to her head partly to keep the sun out of her eyes and partly to hold her whirling thoughts. Wasn’t this what she’d wanted, to be swept off her feet by Reuben Rudd? ‘Wed?’ she managed.
‘That’s what I want, Jess.’
‘Reuben…’ she got out. ‘Oh, Reuben, bor! I don’t deserve it. To hear you say things like that… I’m wholly humbled. On’y…’
She could feel the stillness in him. ‘Only?’
‘Only there’s things I have to do, and think about. There’s Miss Bella, and… and I reckon Miss Lily’s goin’ to need me for a while yet.’
Frowning, he searched her eyes for answers, knowing there was more to it than she would say. ‘Miss Lily’s got herself a husband now. She’s not your concern any more, if ever she was. What makes you think…’
‘I just feel it, Reuben. ’Sides… you’ve a real busy time comin’ up, what with the shootin’ season, and watchin’ for poachers, and all those other things you have to do. You hen’t got time to be thinkin’ about your own concerns, and nor have I.’
‘That’s just excuses, Jess. What are you trying to tell me? Am I wrong? Don’t you feel the same?’
She stared at him, seeing his dear face behind a dazzle of hot tears. Feel the same? Of course she did! She loved him with a love that was an echoing, aching emptiness inside her. She couldn’t imagine anything sweeter than being his wife, living in that cottage with him, cooking and cleaning for him, helping him with his birds, walking with him through his woods, learning from him, sharing joys and sorrows, supporting and being supported; waking up beside him every morning… lying beside him at night – dear heaven, not that!
‘I can’t,’ she whispered. ‘Reuben… I’m sorry, but… I just can’t.’
Slowly, carefully, Rudd removed his hands from her and stepped back. She couldn’t see him clearly, but she knew she’d cut him deep.
‘Then I’ll get back to my birds,’ was all he said, and whistled to Dash who was waiting nearby. ‘So long, lass.’
* * *
Lily could hardly believe how tiny the Fyshers’ cottage was, crammed in with seven similar cottages around a narrow yard where animals roamed, babies crawled and washing hung to dry. ‘Sprat’ Fysher was away at sea, fortunately, so his wife Fanny and her new baby slept downstairs, leaving the front bedroom for the newlyweds. To Fanny Fysher, her brother Matty’s bride was like a being from another world.
The youngest Henefer – Joe, who was eight – asked silly questions and made idiot remarks that maddened Matty. Joe, and the quieter Sam, who at fourteen was working at the coconut matting factory, had the back bedroom, behind a partition wall so thin you could hear every breath. Under those circumstances, Matty did not try to consummate his marriage. That suited Lily. She needed time to think.
All the time she was in Lynn, she felt as if she were in a play whose run would end once they returned to Hewinghall and normality. She would go back to being Bella’s governess; she would meet with Richard, somehow; Matty would provide the screen she needed to preserve appearances. But beyond that everything would fall back into place.
Unhappily, it wasn’t that simple.
For one thing, she was expected to live with her new husband at Park Lodge, attending the big house every morning to give formal lessons while the afternoons were reserved for more informal pursuits. She saw little of Richard, who was usually absent when she took Bella down to the private drawing room for her half hour with her mama. However, he did contrive to leave a note for her in the book she was reading. It read,
Forgive me, oh my dearest love. I have not forgotten, but discretion is vital at this time. I long for you. When the time is right we shall be together. We shall find a way. Until then, forgive me if I seem aloof. If I were to spend more than a few moments in your company I fear I might not be able to be strong. I find myself envying Henefer with a passion so strong it consumes me. Does he hold you as I did? Does he make you sigh? Do you kiss him so tenderly as you kissed me? Ah, Lily… Lily, I love you more than life. You are mine. For ever mine. Soul and mind and flesh. Bone and nerve and sinew. Do not forget me. But forgive.
Lily wept over the note, kissed it a hundred times and, remembering, vividly imagining, found herself needing Richard’s nearness.
Perhaps Matty sensed the softening in her. When he decided that evening to assert his husbandly rights, he found her not unwilling. She closed her eyes and imagined he was Richard, with Richard’s lips, Richard’s hands, Richard’s body. He hadn’t Richard’s finesse, but his enthusiasm made up for it
and she found herself shuddering with wondrous release as he groaned aloud in his own ecstasy.
From then on they made love whenever they could. Matty was astounded by his young wife’s eagerness, and for her part she had found sexual release to be a sure means of comfort. But, ‘Oh, Richard,’ she commented to her journal, ‘how long must it be like this?’
Twenty-Six
As autumn turned to winter, the keepers were busy. Rudd’s campaign against the poachers kept him and his men out most nights and resulted in a flurry of encounters, some violent. Several poachers – including a Potts cousin – were brought to court and sent down for varying terms at Norwich gaol. Jess worried about Rudd. He’d thrown himself into his work regardless of his own safety.
Soon, though, she had cause for other concern – this time over Matty. When not on duty he began to spend all his evenings at the ‘Nelson’, as Eliza Potts was only too happy to inform anyone who would listen.
‘He soon got disappointed in his new wife,’ she was heard to remark one day as Jess went to the drying room to fetch the nursery linen. ‘She think herself too good for him. Well, what sort of a life do he have, out all hours and all that’s waitin’ for him that fussy Miss Peartree and a wife a-mournin’ her lost love?’
Furious, Jess showed herself at the laundry door, where Eliza and the other laundrymaids were busy amid clouds of steam and a scent of grated soap. ‘Hen’t you never finished your mischief-makin’, Eliza Potts?’
Eliza merely tossed her handsome head. ‘I’m on’y repeatin’ what Dolly Upton say. You’re a sorry lot, you Henefers – Matty gone gartless over a woman and you so hoddy-doddy you can’t catch a man at all. Still, blood will tell, as Preacher Merrywest alluss say. “Some folk are born to grief,” he say. “And some do fetch it home by the pailful.”’
‘Merrywest say anythin’ but his prayers!’ Jess retorted. ‘And them he shout for fear the Lord have turned his back.’
‘Hah! There speak a woman scorned! First by a preacher, then by a gamekeeper. Who’ll you try next, Jess Henefer – the lavender-cart man?’
She wasn’t worth arguing with. Jess turned on her heel and walked away, mortified by the sound of laughter in the steam behind her.
Matty never talked about personal things, but when she saw him he seemed content. Lily was still outwardly the same, light and smiling, sometimes singing, but the face she wore might cover all manner of hidden emotions. Jess no longer understood her. She was especially puzzled when news came that Clemency Haverleigh had given birth to a daughter whom she named Jane Mercy; and Lily’s only reaction was to say, ‘Jane Lassiter was her best friend at school,’ for all the world as if she didn’t care.
When Bella fell ill, with a chill that turned to whooping cough, Lily volunteered to move back to the big house, to help Jess nurse the child. Jess was grateful of a respite during the day, though she sat with Bella through the nights while Lily slept in her old room. Sir Richard and Lady Maud were frequent visitors, too – the squire quietly worrying himself to death, Jess thought, while her ladyship was more showy, disturbing Bella more than comforting her.
Lady Maud chose to blame Ching for her daughter’s illness.
‘Keep that horrible cat out of here!’ she screamed on one occasion when Bella had just drifted into sleep. Bella woke with a start, and began coughing again. Ching made himself scarce.
However, after a terrible day or two when Bella’s life was feared for, the crisis passed and she began to recover.
‘You should go home to your husband now,’ the doctor advised Lily. ‘You must rest. You’re looking a little peaked.’
‘I’m quite well,’ she assured him. ‘Don’t concern yourself about me, Doctor Michaels.’
He fastened his bag, threw his coat across his shoulders. ‘I’m concerned for all my patients, Mrs Henefer. But I do have a special soft spot for you. I was called in when you were found, you know. The Clares were anxious to know that you were healthy. And you were – a very healthy girl-child indeed.’
‘Strong gypsy blood,’ Lily said, her tone deceptively light.
‘You may be right.’ His velvet-brown eyes surveyed her narrowly. ‘Even so, you must take care. If you need any help, I am there.’
Jess gathered that he was telling Lily he knew she was pregnant, but Lily elected merely to smile and say, ‘You’re too kind, doctor.’
* * *
After that, Lily found many reasons to spend a night now and then in her old room at Hewinghall. If Bella was even a little off-colour, Lily would insist on staying. Or perhaps the wind was too cold, or the frost too hard, or the snow too deep. Even to herself she didn’t fully admit that she was avoiding her husband: the novelty of marriage had lost its first bright allure. Matty was not Richard; he hadn’t Richard’s finesse, and as the child inside her grew she found lovemaking increasingly uncomfortable. Besides which, his conversation was so limited – he didn’t understand about books, or music, or theatre, and when she and Cousin Oriana discussed the finer things of life Matty made it clear he was bored. As often as not, he took himself off to the inn at Martham, where he spent most of his evenings. He often came in quarrelsome with drink.
‘I see no point in struggling to get home when my husband won’t be there!’ she said crossly to Jess. ‘He never comes in until late, if he appears at all. He knows I’m concerned about Bella. Besides, I have never liked being out in the dark, Jess, you know that. And in my state of health I must take care when the weather’s bad.’
Her ‘state of health’ remained rosy, but as Christmas approached Jess saw that the pregnancy was beginning to show. Nor was it long before other eyes noted the clues – they’d been expecting something of the kind. Now they began to count the months. ‘That wouldn’t surprise me if that little ’un come in time for a slice o’ the weddin’ cake,’ was the general feeling.
Lily knew what they were saying. But she had had long practice at wearing a smile while dying inside. Behind hands, everyone knew her marriage had been rushed through for a purpose, but to her face they’d never dare mention it. She told herself she didn’t care. She was carrying Richard’s child – perhaps Richard’s son – and Richard loved her. She closed her eyes to the rest.
When she was at Hewinghall, she was happy, knowing Richard was close by, finding reasons to stay so that he could come to her and love her. Then, the world beyond her room ceased to exist. There were only he and she, together in the night, safe in their nest. Nothing else mattered to her, not Jess’s worried looks, not Cousin Oriana’s remonstrances, and certainly not Matty’s increasingly bitter nagging. None of them knew the real, wonderful, miraculous truth, that Richard Fyncham was the father of her child. Her lover, her soulmate, her dearest darling…
On Christmas Eve, though, she was at home at the lodge, alone with Miss Peartree enjoying the fire and a glass of mulled wine, when the happy sound of carol-singing, accompanied by an accordion, reached them. Lily went to the window and pulled the curtain aside, seeing several lanterns shedding light over the little knot of singers well wrapped against the cold. Trodden snow lay on the ground, a few flakes slicing across the light on a bitter wind, but the song was sweet and stirring: ‘It came upon the midnight clear…’
‘They must have walked a long way,’ Lily said. ‘We must invite them in. We’ll offer them some spiced wine.’
‘How many are there?’
‘Half a dozen or so, as far as…’ She stopped as she saw that one of the men was wearing a broad-brimmed black hat. ‘Perhaps they won’t want wine. They’re Methodists – that trouble-making preacher is with them.’
Miss Peartree blinked worriedly through her spectacles. ‘You’re not going to invite him in, I hope?’
Remembering the trouble Merrywest had brought, both to Jess and to Matty, Lily let the curtain drop. ‘Perhaps not. But I ought to give them something. They’ve been good enough to come all this way to bring us Christmas cheer.’
Going into the hall, she ope
ned the door, huddling into her shawl against the icy wind. As she appeared, the carol stopped. The accordion-player struck up a new chord and the voices rang out, singing stridently, ‘Sinner, turn: why will ye die? God, your Maker, asks you why…’
As the hymn of exhortation went on behind him Merrywest stepped out, crying aloud in that terrible, carrying voice, words that struck at Lily like blows: ‘Woman! Confess your sins! Harlot! Admit your wrong! Down on your knees before your Lord, woman of scarlet, steeped in lust and shame! Begotten in sin, cursed with the mark of Satan! Miserable sinner! Vilest offender. Turn now to Him who is your only salvation. Or will you burn in everlasting hellfire? – yes, and your misbegotten child with you!’
‘Amen!’ a voice cried, the woman lifting her face so that lantern light swung under her bonnet and identified her as Eliza Potts.
Sick bile rose in Lily’s throat. She threw a hand to her mouth to stem it, and slammed the door. But she could still hear that awful voice: ‘For the sins of the fathers shall be visited upon the children, to the tenth generation! Cursed be she who hears and will not listen! Cursed…’
‘Lily!’ Miss Peartree was there, taking her arm. ‘Come away. Come away! Don’t listen to him. You’re not wicked. You’re just… just young, and misguided, and foolish, and…’ She was in tears of such distress that she blurted, ‘I blame your papa for this! He never guided you rightly. If anyone was the sinner, then he was. That wicked, wicked man!’
Lily wasn’t really listening. She felt detached from it all, both from the singing and ranting that was continuing outside and from Oriana’s loving concern. None of it had any meaning. As she had known for a long time, there was no God. Or, if there was, he had long ago abandoned her.
She was not the only sinner the ranters had visited that night: Merrywest’s newest crusade was the talk of the district.