Read A Country Marriage Online
Authors: Sandra Jane Goddard
A Country Marriage
© Sandra Jane Goddard 2016
Sandra Jane Goddard has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
First published 2016 by Endeavour Press Ltd.
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, places and events in it are a product of the author’s imagination, any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to places and events, being entirely coincidental. It contains recipes and remedies, all of which are included purely for entertainment value and not for use by the reader.
With my thanks to Shane for his unwavering belief.
September 1829
Hampshire, England
‘So, George, you’re going through with it, then.’
Having imagined himself to be alone, he shot to his feet and spun in the direction of her voice, his eyes scanning the grey half-light for her whereabouts. There she was; just inside the doorway.
‘Lord, Annie, you shouldn’t go creeping up on folk like that.’
‘Huh.’
‘I mean it. You could startle a man half to death.’
In the thick and dusty air, her form was shadowy and indistinct, but something about her stance suggested that she had been there a while, a realisation that made him bristle. Why
was
she there, though? Clearly, she hadn’t left the warmth of the kitchen to come and stand out here in the gloom for nothing. Not that it really mattered, since whatever her purpose, he had no intention of getting involved. No, he would simply find what he had come for and leave. After all,
somewhere
in this stack of tools there had to be a scythe that wasn’t rusted beyond all use.
‘You truly mean to wed this Mary Springer, then.’
So that was her grievance. He might have guessed as much.
‘No secret to it. They’ve been calling the banns these past three weeks, as well you know.’
‘But do you
love
her?’
For goodness sake, what did it matter to
her
? Setting aside a rusty hoe, he got slowly to his feet and turned to face her, his eyes drawn to where she was scraping the toe of her shoe back and forth over the same patch of dirt floor. The cloud of dust she was scuffing up was obscuring the bottom of her skirt and the ceaseless scratching sound was setting his teeth on edge but he knew better than to tell her to stop. Instead, he remained where he was, feeling his irritation, curling his fingers tightly into his palms.
‘For what business it is of yours, Annie, I believe I
will
love her once I know her proper, aye.’
‘If you say so.’
On hearing her dismissive tone, he pressed his lips in frustration. Clearly she wasn’t about to let the matter drop.
‘I do.’
‘Well, be that as it may, I want you to do summat for me.’
If these last four or five years had taught him anything, then it was that once she’d set her mind to something, she rarely gave up until she had it and that being the case, he realised that he may as well hear her out and be done with. He shook his head. As a course of action it might be sensible, but it still felt like giving in to her.
‘And what would that be, then?’
To his relief, she did at least stop scratching her foot.
‘I want you to give me another baby.’
‘What?’ That was all he needed: one of her daft games.
‘James needs a brother. Or even a sister—’
‘For heaven’s sake, Annie—’
‘—truth be told, I’d be grateful for either.’
When he looked across at her, he could see that she had turned her eyes back to the floor, something of her initial purpose seemingly spent.
‘No doubt. But what’s that to do with
me
?’ Surely it wasn’t unreasonable to expect an explanation for such madness? But rather than replying, he saw that she was starting to cross the barn towards him, something that brought his hands shooting up in front of his chest. ‘No, stay away from me, Annie: you’re crazed.’
‘I ain’t crazed. Is it crazed to want another babe afore my insides shrivel up? No, it ain’t. It’s just nature. But seeing as how
Tom
won’t never get me pregnant…’
‘What do you mean, Tom won’t get you pregnant?’ His whole face, he knew, was screwed up now in exasperation.
‘Look George, don’t it strike you as odd that I been married to your brother nigh on five years but I only got the one child? Your ma thinks so. She’s always saying how strange it is I don’t fall again.’ In the moment while she paused, his eyes followed her hands to her flat belly. ‘But if she knew the truth of the matter, then she’d soon come to realise how the only
odd
thing in all of this is your brother.’
He shook his head. What, exactly, was it that she would she have him believe?
‘Annie, truthfully, I haven’t the least idea—’
‘No, well, you wouldn’t have, would you, since I don’t speak of it. But I’ll tell you this plain enough; the problem ain’t with me; I reckon I’d fall again real easy given the chance. No, the
problem
, is your brother and his liking for… well, let’s just say that what he
does
to me ain’t ever going to give me a child. And it don’t seem right that on account of his…
filthy
ways, me and James should suffer.’
‘Look, Annie, truly, I don’t understand. And in any event, I still don’t see how
any
of this concerns
me
.’
With his initial irritation replaced now by confusion, he waited, watching as she cast her eyes back to the floor, the sigh she exhaled a long and weary one.
‘George, you ain’t stupid; I mean, you
seen
James lately?’ The thought that went through his mind was that he saw the boy every day, for heaven’s sake, but his response, when he gave it, turned out to be somewhere between a nod of agreement and a shake to the contrary. ‘Notice anything?’ she persisted, despite his ambiguity. He shrugged his shoulders, entirely lost now for her point. ‘Only, see, he’s the spit of his father, George, the spit.’
When she started to edge closer, instinct told him to back away. His boots, however, seemed stuck to the floor such that when she reached out her hand, he flinched even before she had touched him.
‘I heard folk say… he looks like the Strongs, aye,’ he replied, willing himself not to look at her lips. The problem with that, was that he couldn’t help himself; they looked so moist and so—
‘Folk do say that, aye, I hear it too,’ he became aware of her agreeing, ‘but they never say which of the Strongs he looks like, do they George? Nobody ever says to me how much he looks like his
father
, only how much like the
Strongs
he is.’
In his preoccupation with her lips, he had let her inch so close that he could sense the warmth from her body; could imagine the taste of her earthiness at the back of his throat; was in very real danger of losing control to the rise and fall of her chest. What, precisely, though, did she think he was going to do? And surely it wasn’t simple coincidence that they had been here before, on this very spot in fact; her body pressed up against him much as now and her eyes showing that same, dangerous determination? As the recollection snaked through his head, an ant-like army of prickles crawled across his skin.
‘So…’ But while he still didn’t understand what she was talking about, of greater concern all of a sudden was the sight of her tracing her forefinger back and forth over the short row of buttons at the neckline of her blouse. And he recognised that hint of a smile forming on her lips, too: it meant that she knew the effect it was having on him, which was why she was now starting to slip them, one after another, through their tiny holes. One, two…
‘Need me to say it for you?’ she was whispering against his neck, her lips a mere fraction from his skin; the feel of their moistness flicking his eyes shut.
Don’t
give
in
, he told himself.
Open
your
eyes
. But when he did, it was to see that now she was edging her blouse down over her shoulders. ‘James is your son, George. He’s
your
son and I don’t know how you haven’t seen it afore.’
In the very same instant that a flash of heat seared across his skin, something inside him knotted tight.
‘You’re lying!’
Shooting a hand out to steady himself, he tried to think. Yes: she was lying. She had to be. Surely, her choice of timing alone for this
monstrous
announcement was proof of that. After all, why else, given all these years spent living alongside him, would she choose now – nigh on the eve of his wedding – to tell him that her four-year-old son was his child? Yes, this was nothing more than a petty act of retaliation for the fact that Saturday coming, he was marrying Mary, innocent, trusting, hopeful Mary. But what if she
wasn’t
lying? What if this
wasn’t
just spite? While on the one hand he couldn’t believe that he was even entertaining the idea, on the other, it did occur to him that there might actually be foundation to her claim. Aware that his shirt was sticking damply to the small of his back and that his blood was throbbing in his temple, he tried to weigh the likelihood that she was telling the truth. But all he could recall when he tried to think back were the nods and winks when it was announced – when
Tom
announced – that she was with child. Good grief; he had even joined in the banter about honeymoon babies.
‘Just this one time more, George,’ he heard her murmuring now, the silkiness of her lips on the side of his neck as unbearable as on every single one of the remorse-filled occasions when he had conjured them in his mind. ‘Then I won’t ask you for nothing more. Not once you’re wed. I just need this one thing from you… and then I’ll leave you to be the perfect husband… to dear little Mary.’
In stark contrast to the heat of her forehead resting on his shoulder, the hand she was sliding into the waistband of his breeches was icy.
‘For the love of God, Annie, no!’ The force with which he pushed at her shoulders was far more than he had intended and left him watching, surprised, as she stumbled backwards, grasping for the front of her blouse and then clutching it to her body. The distance that opened up between them, though, brought a modicum of relief to his rigid limbs. ‘
How
… how for one
moment
did you think I’d agree to it?’
‘
Because
,’ she wasted no time in spitting back at him, ‘you didn’t mind them times before. Oh yes, you were eager enough for it when it suited
your
needs; couldn’t get enough of me
then
, could you? And you know what I think? I think you’d do it again this very minute if it wasn’t for this
Mary
.’
When he lunged towards her, it was clumsily, his limbs once again stiffened with rage such that, with her mouth hardened into a defiant line and her eyes unblinking, she didn’t even flinch.
‘Know this, Annie Strong: those… those
times
… were a mistake, an almighty mistake. But at least back then neither of us was wed.’
‘Huh. But for the want of a few hours. Or does it suit you to forget
that
now, too?’
How dare she? How dare she jeopardise everything after all of this time? But despite his inner rage, the torrent of words spoiling to spew from his mouth could find no voice; his lips twisted out of shape by his anger such that for a moment, all he was able to do was jab a finger at her face.
‘I will
not
…’ he finally managed, ‘be party to such lies. And
you
, you’ll say
nothing
of this to no one, ever. You’re never to venture such lies again. Do I make myself plain?’
‘’Tedn’t lies and you know it,’ she was nevertheless countering, her venom easily a match for his own. ‘You only got to look at James to see the truth of it. And other folk will see it plain enough too if I’m minded to point it out to them. And then what do you think will happen, eh?’
‘Now just you listen to me, Annie Strong: I’ve not forgotten how you wheedled your way into this household to start with; how you flattered and charmed to be allowed to come and live here so many weeks ahead of your wedding that it raised more than a few eyebrows hereabouts. And oh yes, I recall your… your
tale
about having no family left. But what you might want to consider, is how certain, less-charitable folk than
me
could still be made to wonder at your indecent haste… or… or be set to wondering upon what or who it was you were so desperate to run away from…’
‘You wouldn’t…’
Ha! Unexpectedly, he seemed to have struck a nerve. But then he had always suspected there to be something in her past that she didn’t want discovered. Now was his chance, then, to lay this madness to rest.
‘Aye, changes the lie of the land somewhat, don’t it? And in your boots right now, I’d be thinking real good and careful before doing anything hasty because if you say anything to anyone, anything at all, then I’ll tell them you’re a liar and a troublemaker. And make no mistake: with a mind to, I can have you thrown off this farm in less than the wink of an eye.’ As his hands formed into fists at his sides, he determined that this time, he wouldn't let her outstare him; nor was he going to hang around for her to recover her composure, either. No, momentarily at least, the advantage seemed to be his and he was going to seize it.