A Country Marriage Read online

  A COUNTRY MARRIAGE

  A Summerleas Novel

  Sandra Jane Goddard

  © 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.

  Author’s Note

  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.

  Table of Contents

  Preface

  Chapter 1

  With My Body I Honour Thee

  Chapter 2

  The Treacherous Honey’d Moon

  Chapter 3

  The Uncomfortable Truth

  Chapter 4

  Strained Relations

  Chapter 5

  Tidings of Comfort and Joy

  Chapter 6

  Thy Brother’s Wife

  Chapter 7

  To Love, Honour and Obey

  Chapter 8

  Lead Us Not Into Temptation

  Chapter 9

  All Is Safely Gathered In

  Chapter 10

  Harvest Home

  Chapter 11

  Aftermath

  Chapter 12

  Inquest

  Chapter 13

  Wintertide

  Chapter 14

  Repercussions

  Chapter 15

  A Young Man’s Fancy

  Chapter 16

  Sins of the Flesh

  Chapter 17

  A Divisive Legacy

  Chapter 18

  Like a Moth to a Flame

  Chapter 19

  Fair Women

  Chapter 20

  Repent at Leisure

  Chapter 21

  Home Truths

  Chapter 22

  The Riot Act

  Chapter 23

  For Better, For Worse

  Glossary of Dialect used in This Book

  With my thanks to Shane for his unwavering belief.

  Preface

  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 to
uched 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.

  Remembering then what he had originally come for, he swivelled about, and seeing a scythe propped in the corner, snatched it up, turned about and strode across the barn.

  ‘No, George, wait. I never meant you no malice. Forgive me. I love you. Always have. Just this one time. Please. I beg of you.’

  Surprised that she hadn’t come after him, he reached for the door latch. Maybe his threats had frightened her more than he first thought. Maybe. But even so, there could be no harm in reminding her and so as he pressed decisively on the thumb plate, he turned just sufficiently in her direction to say over his shoulder, ‘Heed my warning, woman. This business between us is done.’

  But as he closed the door behind him and stepped out into the fresh night air, the weight of misgiving in his gut made him realise that he would be very fortunate indeed if it was any such thing.

  Chapter 1

  With My Body I Honour Thee

  Mary Springer clutched the mantel; any moment now and another hairpin would dig into her scalp.

  ‘I wish I hadn’t agreed to this,’ she mused out loud.

  ‘Sorry, love but this last bit’s a mite tricky. Just a couple more pins, though and we’re done. After all, you don’t want it all to come a-tumbling down h
alfway through your vows, do you?’

  Prevented from shaking her head, she sighed instead.

  ‘That’s not what I meant,’ she replied, her eyes fixed on the soot-blackened bricks of the hearth, her shoulders braced in anticipation.

  ‘There; all done now. Agreed to what, then?’

  Wasn’t it obvious? Admittedly it was rather last minute to voice her concerns, but when all was said and done, the house had been filled with talk of nothing else for more than a week now. Nevertheless…

  ‘To wed George, of course.’

  ‘Oh, Mary, love,’ her mother began, ‘we all of us had the jitters; every one of us. It’s only natural to feel a bit anxious. Try not to dwell on it so. Now, turn around and let me look at you.’ She shook her head. Was that the best her mother could offer; that every bride felt anxious? What was anxiety, anyway? Was it greater or lesser than fear? Or was it simply what your fears turned into once you became a married woman? And as for trying not to dwell on it, well, Ma might as well have suggested that she try to fly. ‘Turn about then, love.’ Nonetheless, she did as she was bid. ‘Well, without word of a lie,’ her mother was continuing, ‘I ain’t never seen you look so lovely. George Strong is a lucky man.’

  Standing as though still under her mother’s scrutiny, she let out a long sigh. It didn’t feel wise to move too much anyway in case, despite her mother’s best efforts with the pins, her hair did somehow fall out of place. Not that it felt like her own hair. Or even her own head. Dressed in such fancy fashion, it felt as though it should be on the shoulders of someone far more elegant and better suited to it.

  ‘I can’t see why you should think him so lucky. I’ve not the least notion what he sees in me. Many a time I’ve tried but I simply can’t fathom such a thing. After all, a man like him could have chosen a girl from almost anywhere.’

  ‘No doubt he could have. But as I’m sure I needn’t point out, he chose you. So don’t go putting yourself down.’ Clearly, then, Ma didn’t understand at all. ‘Now, since you’re all set, I’ll just dress young David and then we’ll all of us be ready to go.’