‘’Tis still a shame, though.’
‘No, Mary, the real shame, seein’ as you mention it, is that Tom had the good fortune to be born first, since he’s the laziest, most ungrateful slug-abed under that roof – and I include Tabitha in that – but even so, one day, without him ever having lifted even a finger by way of effort, it’ll all fall right into his lap. And oh, how it gives him pleasure to remind the rest of us of that fact; as though we could any of us forget it! That, you should know, is where the real shame of this lies.’
Goodness. Entirely without meaning to she seemed to have stirred a hornet’s nest. And for what: to voice a few, ill-formed thoughts? She bowed her head. She hadn’t heard such venom from him before and it was startling; frightening, even. Up until then, things between them seemed to have been settling down, too. Peering through the hair veiling her face from his view she examined his expression; his dark eyes were screwed narrow and his normally slack lips were curled into an ugly sneer.
‘I didn’t mean—’
‘No, he’ll most likely never know what it is to struggle. Still, I suppose at least now I won’t have to put up with him every day. I won’t have to watch that… that arrogant strut of his nor listen to the nonsense that spews his mouth.’
‘No,’ was all she dared to venture as she watched him set off up the bank to the lane, with dawn still as yet unbroken.
*
Later in the day, employed in the mindless task of sweeping the floor, Mary found herself reflecting on her first weeks as George’s wife; as a married woman. It was a peculiar feeling, still largely unreal and still deeply confusing – perhaps even more so since talking with Ellen – but in her own mind, she sensed that being married ought to be about more than simply knowing that you’d had a wedding. From what Ellen had said, she was fairly certain that she was supposed to feel different, although so far, the only difference she could identify was that she no longer knew how she was supposed to conduct herself. As far as she had been able to work out, in exchange for provision of her keep, being a wife seemed to involve two things; tending their home – with the seemingly never-ending list of things that entailed – and, well, in all frankness, being a woman for George. The first part, although back-breaking at times, was straightforward enough; the latter, still rather more of a puzzle.
She stopped sweeping and rested her weight against the broom. She still had no idea what he really expected from her in that regard nor did he seem about to enlighten her. His nightly requirement of her had already become predictable and, if she thought about it carefully, rather dull; and although he had been right when he said that it would stop hurting, it had become neither more pleasant nor more enjoyable. Perhaps she had been wrong to hope that it would and perhaps, it just needed more time – still – although it was becoming hard to see now, why anything was suddenly going to change.
Spotting a cobweb in the corner, she poked at it with the tip of the broom. All she knew for certain was that the more she dwelt on the matter, the harder it knotted her stomach, it becoming ever more clear to her that what she actually needed, was someone to ask about these things. Should she try Ellen again? Probably not; their situations seemed just too different. Her mother-in-law? Not the best idea either since she was George’s mother, which put her firmly at one of three corners in a tricky triangle of loyalty. So sensibly, then, she was left with only one choice – a choice that in itself wasn’t entirely without drawbacks – and that was to ask her mother.
Alone in her quandary, the rest of her first day without George seemed to stretch endlessly, until with dusk falling, she went out to round up her hens for the night. The clear sky of the day had darkened to a deep sapphire colour with the remnants of an amber sunset glowing low to the south-west and apart from the mellifluous autumn song of a robin somewhere in the apple tree, all was silent as she scooted about to usher the reluctant hens into their house. Returning indoors, she placed another log in the fire and then, hearing George’s heavy tread on the steps down the bank, she flushed, surprised by how much she was actually looking forward to seeing him. And when she pulled back the door, it was to find him leaning against the dirn, exhausted and filthy.
‘Sit down here,’ she urged as he stepped inside. Apparently too tired to object, he complied, and she tugged off his boots, soft with damp, and stood them in front of the fire where they started to steam.
‘Lord, I’m done in.’
She helped him out of his jacket, and holding it at arm’s length, shook it sharply, frowning at the cloud of pale dirt her action produced.
‘Bide there. Food, that’s what you need,’ she told him and went to ladle a helping of thick stew into a bowl. Almost before she had handed it to him, though, he started to spoon it into his mouth, wincing when it scalded his tongue. ‘What sort of work was it then?’ she asked, pulling a stool alongside him and smiling at his impatience.
‘I’ve done worse. Four of us were put to digging out the ditches along the bottom of the lawn, as the bailey calls it. Oh you should see it, Mary; this swathe of grass so even and so green… and none of us allowed to set foot on it. I never seen anything like it.’
‘Seems a waste.’
‘Aye, that’s the prefect word for it, although not the worst waste I seen.’
‘Oh?’
‘No,’ leaning towards her, he lowered his voice, ‘on the way back from dinner I somehow ended up on the wrong side of the yard.’ Raising the spoon to his mouth, he slurped another mouthful of stew. ‘An’ there was this long, high wall stretching ahead of me. A bit further along, I could make out a doorway, so I went on to take a look. See, I thought maybe I’d get my bearings but Lord, did I get a dressing down! Some stiff fellow wearing a starched apron shot out from nowhere and asked me what I thought I was doing round that side of the house and waved at me all a-frenzy to go back. I hadn’t the least idea who he was but by the time I got back to my work, the foreman already knew where I’d been and told me that if I wanted to last more than a single day, I shouldn’t go snooping about.’
‘But it wasn’t snooping about if you were lost.’
‘I don’t think he much cared.’
‘So who was he; the man in the apron? Someone important?’
‘Important? Him? Not a bit of it, although he most likely thinks he is. Someone told me he’s head gardener. By all accounts he’s not much liked and best kept away from since he’s well in with the bailey. And bailey does the hiring.’
‘Oh.’
‘Anyway, oh Mary, you should ha’ seen it.’
She frowned back at him.
‘What?’
‘Well, I count it was the kitchen garden but as big as Top Pasture, bigger even and brimming with vegetables; row upon row of them, all standing hale and hearty. And fruit, too; scores of bushes in long lines and more still, trained along the walls. And one of them glass house things. One lad told me how they grows peaches in them and some other fancy fruit called pineapples and how they cut rhubarb as tall as a man and sometimes as early as February.’
‘Lord. Sounds a real sight.’
‘Aye, it was a sight all right and all of it just for the squire, to boot. No chance of turmit broth for him. Aye, I reckon there was enough food in that one garden to feed the entire village right through this coming winter.’
‘My word.’ With the morning’s upset still fresh in her mind, she would be circumspect this time with her answers, especially since she could see that the fire was back in his eyes again.
‘See, there’s always been talk, especially among… certain folk… up at The Stag, about how landowners should pay better wages so folk can feed themselves proper but none of it meant much to me, other than maybe to see Pa’s side of it as a farmer and know the struggle it was for him to make ends meet. Well, I never thought to see it any other way. But what I didn’t understand until today, was how Summerleas ain’t the least like gentry’s farms; farms where the owners grow fat an’ rich off the backs of othe
r men with no concern that their families are starving. I never seen first-hand the likes of the estate before, and now that I have, it grieves me greatly to think how I’ve been sheltered all these years by the comfort of not needing to bring home a wage. Blind to it, that’s what I was. And those brothers of mine still are; don’t know they’re born.’
‘No.’
‘Maybe the time’s coming to open their eyes, though.’
‘Yes.’
‘Still,’ he continued, spooning the dregs of his stew into his mouth, ‘it’d serve me to remember that a beggar who chooses is a beggar still. And that at least by the strength of my own body, earning some of the squire’s coin will pay the rent and put clothes on our backs. And then maybe, come Lady Day there might be summat better somewhere else.’
‘Aye.’ Although a lot of what he had just said did indeed seem like a shame, to her mind, the greatest shame of all was that someone with his farming skills should be reduced to common labouring. Nevertheless, there were only so many things she could fret about and the reality was that at the moment, she had enough mysteries and problems of her own to worry too much on his behalf. But since at that very moment he seemed both tired and preoccupied, it occurred to her that it might be just the moment to ask him something; something that as an idea had been gaining importance as the day had worn on. ‘George, do you think that on Sunday, we might go over an’ visit with my Ma?’
*
‘Mary! Mary! Ma, ’tis Mary and George!’ It was Mary’s little sister, Beth, shrieking and jumping about as she spotted them arriving outside their father’s workshop that Sunday afternoon, the clamour of her welcome bringing her mother to the doorway.
‘Mary, child! Oh, how fine to see you. And George too; you look well. Come in, come in,’ Thirza Springer urged, ushering them through her husband’s workshop to the room at the back.
‘Well, there’s a welcome sight and no mistake,’ Henry Springer agreed, struggling against seized limbs to get up from his chair and hug his daughter. ‘Say, was she always this pretty, Thirza?’
‘Bah!’
‘Yes, truly, I beg you, don’t embarrass me, Pa!’
By now, though, her father had turned his attention to George and was shaking his hand and slapping his back.
‘What say you we leave the women be, eh, son? Come through here a minute an’ you can fill me in on goings-on in the world of farming.’
With the men gone, her mother busied herself fetching cups.
‘I’ll pour us some tea, love. So, how are you then?’
‘I’m fine, Ma.’ Seeing her mother again was actually making her smile.
‘Good, good. Well, I must say you look well.’ Placing two cups in front of them, she sat down beside her.
‘Must be all the air.’
‘Honeymoon glow, more like.’
‘Ma!’
‘Well, make the most of it, maidy, since it’ll scarce see the month out. Not for nothing is it called honeymoon.’ Despite the fact that she was staring into her teacup, she could feel her mother’s eyes upon her. ‘Anyway, how’s the cottage?’
Thank goodness for the change of subject. After all, while there were certain, personal things that she wanted to ask, she had been intending to come around to them rather more gently. The problem, now, though, was one of loyalty. Just how much should she say about Keeper’s Cottage: that it was dark and damp, and courtesy of a chimney that fell short of the top of the bank, often filled with smoke as well?
‘Fine. Real fine.’
‘Aye? And how are you getting along with your in-laws?’
That question at least was less fraught.
‘I don’t see much of them in all truth. Ma Strong is nice. I don’t think she’d stand for much nonsense and ’tis very much her that rules over the house but she seems friendly. An’ George’s Pa is nice too, though he’s a bit fierce with the boys about the farm and I shouldn’t like to cross him.’
‘Well I don’t count you will. What about those two girls? Only, that dark one looked flighty to me.’
She drew a breath. Clearly it would be wrong of her to say too much about her husband’s family but on the other hand, this was her ma and if she couldn’t confide in her, then to whom could she confide?
‘I like Ellen. She’s nice.’ Seeing her mother nod, she added, ‘But I’m certain Annie don’t like me.’
‘The dark one.’
‘Aye. Although for sure I don’t know why.’
‘Well, I only seen her the once but if you ask me, she’s trouble; far too forward for a woman. A woman should know her place. That husband of hers should check her ways. Aye, ’tis him I blame.’
She watched mother give a small, satisfied nod as though in emphasis of her point, after which for a moment, they both fell silent. Drifting through from her father’s workshop came the voices of the two men talking, the sound of which gave her the sudden hope that it was something as straightforward as woodworking tools they were discussing rather than anything more contentious, especially given that in these last few days, George seemed to have developed a real bee in his bonnet.
‘And how are things here?’ She asked it conversationally, noticing for the first time several frizzy silver hairs at her mother’s temples.
‘Oh, much the same. You know how it is. Nothing changes.’
‘Good.’
‘So, how are you coping with married life then? Everything all right there?’
She tensed. Here was the very subject she had wanted to discuss and yet now that she had the chance, she found that actually, she didn’t.
‘Fine.’ It was something about her mother’s tone; it had a sort of I told you so superiority about it.
‘So you’ve settled then. An’ you’ve no problems.’ That her mother’s remark was more of a statement than a question felt deeply irritating.
‘I said it was fine,’ she answered shortly, ‘and so it is. Although you might have been a bit more helpful about what to expect.’ Now what had she done? That wasn’t at all what she had planned to say but now that she had, there could be no taking it back.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
Indignation, yes, that’s it: act affronted, mother.
‘Well, what I would have liked, on my wedding night, is not to have been such a disappointment.’ Now she was making it worse. Oh why, oh why couldn’t she have just kept quiet? It had been all very well fancying this conversation in her head but quite another to actually hold it.
‘So how were you a disappointment then? You cook an’ clean as well as anyone your age an’ know your way around a vegetable garden just fine, so what could there possibly be to disappoint?’
She shook her head and stared down at the surface of the table; the scars from decades of family life beyond disguise even after liberal applications of beeswax and elbow grease spanning those same decades.
‘Please don’t deliberately misunderstand me, Ma,’ she said wearily, running her finger along a particularly deep groove. ‘You know what I mean; I had no idea what to expect that night an’ that is what disappointed him.’ In for a penny…
‘Well of course you didn’t; you were as pure as pure could be. And I think you’ll find that where husbands are concerned, that is a state of affairs of far greater import than whatever it is you mean by knowing what to do, young lady.’
She sighed. This really couldn’t have turned out much worse.
‘Well, Ma, as I have since realised, there’s a difference between being pure, as you put it and being ignorant. I was happy to be the first, not so much the second. That’s all I’m saying.’ Aware now of the tautness taking hold of her body, she forced herself to unclench her jaw.
‘And that’s my fault somehow?’
Not wanting to step beyond the point of no return, she took a breath and adopting what she hoped was a more placatory tone, said, ‘All I’m saying, Ma, is that it would have been nice to know what to do.’
‘Do?’ Regardi
ng her mother closely now, she sensed genuine puzzlement. ‘What would you have had me say then, eh? There is nothin’ to do except what you’re told, when you’re told. That’s it. It’s a man’s thing and women just learn to put up with it. The best you can ever hope for is a considerate husband an’ think yourself fortunate.’ Feeling her mother’s fingers pressing into her wrist, she noticed how she had lowered her voice to whisper fiercely, ‘Was that what you wanted me to tell you? That when you stood in that church and promised before God and your family that you would love, cherish and obey your husband till death do you part, that you were giving up all rights over your own body; that from then on, the only thing that you’d still have control over was your mind and then only if you kept your thoughts to yourself? Is that what you wanted to hear on your wedding day? Is it?’
She had never seen her mother look so – so what? Disappointed? Angry? Embittered? And did she truly believe all that she had just said? Was it what she actually thought? And of perhaps even greater concern, was it actually true? Was there nothing more to matrimonial relations than she had so far discovered? If it was true – and she still hoped desperately to somehow discover that it wasn’t – it would certainly explain why George never passed any comment about her part in any of it and why he always seemed to do the same thing to her in the same way. Although none of this shed the least light on what Ellen had said that day about tenderness and acts of love.
‘So…’
‘Look, love,’ her mother started to say more softly. ‘Some things in life ain’t fair and this is one of them; men take their pleasure, women bear the children an’ there’s no more to it than that. When it comes down to it, we’re none of us any different to animals and I don’t know how else to say it.’
No, it couldn’t possibly be true. She didn’t want it to be true. If all that fumbling and grunting was all there ever was…
‘But—’
‘There ain’t no buts, Mary, love. Men an’ women are made differently. All right, maybe, looking back, I could have said summat; could have told you that the best thing to do is to go along with what he wants. Strikes me that like dogs, men are creatures of habit and if their needs are met without a struggle then the quicker it’s over and done with for all concerned.’
A Country Marriage Page 8