A Country Marriage (38 page)

‘Will you be gone long?’ she asked, more in the name of showing interest than anything else.

‘As long as it takes.’

Left on her own once again, she cleared their supper things, and feeling it too early to retire to bed – and knowing anyway that her mind was too agitated for sleep – she stepped out into the soft evening air and wandered down to the apple tree. Exhaling a long groan, she sat down underneath it and then flopped backwards onto the grass to stare upwards through the boughs and see the first-quarter moon suspended in a thin trail of ragged cloud. It was clear that George was deeply distracted by something, and it was also clear that he wasn’t going to tell her what it was. These last few weeks, he had rarely spent an evening at home, and for him to hold a proper conversation with her was rarer still – but as he seemingly only divided his time between The Stag and the farmhouse, his movements gave her no clue to the cause of his preoccupation.

Above her, the gentlest breath of air moved through the leaves, while on the grass below, she lay wishing that she could either fathom the reason for his preoccupation or simply learn to live with it. But knowing the latter to be beyond her, she was struck by an idea; if George wouldn’t tell her what was troubling him, then she would use her own means to find out. All she had to do was go to the farm and delve about. Maybe by going there and getting into conversation with the family, she would glean something to explain his mood. And while she hadn’t the least notion of what she was expecting to find when she got there, she did have a very good idea of where to start.

*

Strolling down to the farmhouse, Mary noticed that the morning sunshine seemed to be lending every colour a new intensity. Against the vibrant turquoise of the sky, the carpet of young wheat in the distant fields appeared bright emerald, while closer by in the meadow, the purple-blue vetches and splashes of white day’s-eyes were being picked out with an exaggerated sharpness. And, alongside her in the hedgerow, the warming rays were intensifying the sweet fragrance from the shell-pink dog rose and amplifying the incessant ‘
tsee
-
tsee
hu
-
hu
-
hu
’ of the tomtits flitting about in their search for caterpillars. If only every day was like this, she reflected turning into the yard.

‘How are you then?’ she asked, stepping into the softer light of the kitchen to find Ellen podding the first of the peas.

‘I’m very well, bless you for asking. In point of fact, I’d go so far as to say that at the moment,
everyone
down here seems well.’

‘So it’s quiet then?’ she asked, picking up a tiny pale pea and popping it into her mouth. Ellen, she noticed, glanced about before answering.

‘Surprisingly so. For once, no one is at anyone else’s throat
and
all of the work is getting done. Long may it continue.’

‘Good. I’m pleased to hear it,’ she replied. It was a long time since she had seen Ellen smiling so readily.

‘Course, it’s a help all round that Annie’s happier. Sometimes, you know, it’s like she’s a different person; so much more even-tempered, laughing and smiling with baby Luke all the time. And he’s such a bonny little soul, too. Course, beyond a doubt her biggest help has been having George at her side so much.’

Feeling as though she had been struck across the chest by something heavy, she reached for the edge of the table. Annie had George
at
her
side
? What on earth did that mean? But since it occurred to her that this was precisely the sort of thing she had come down here to find out, she resisted the urge to ask outright and, instead, simply willed Ellen to continue.

‘Course.’

‘It’s so kind of you to spare him to come down here so often. She says it’s such a comfort having someone to sit with and talk to about… well, you know, about everything that happened – but then I’m sure you don’t need
me
to tell
you
about how considerate your own husband is! He has
such
patience with her. Goodness only knows what they find to talk about every evening but she always comes back from their walks together looking so refreshed and so calm.’

‘Well I’m glad he can help.’ So George was coming down here to comfort his sister-in-law;
that’s
what this was all about? What a relief! She could stop worrying, then that she had done something wrong; something to annoy him. The odd thing, though, was that he should behave so guardedly about it. After all, if he was doing such a fine thing, then why keep it a secret? Still, the relief at having got to the bottom of the whole thing was beyond words. With just that single revelation from Ellen, an entire shoulder-load of worry had been shed. How silly to have worried so; to have imagined even for a moment that George would have got himself into some sort of trouble with those
Radicals
.

Using the excuse of leaving Ellen to get on with her work, she stepped out into the yard, and with Jacob beginning to grow fractious in her arms, decided to head for Top Pasture, where she could set him down to exhaust himself crawling about in the grass. And once she was satisfied that he would come to no harm, she joined him, sitting among the tussocks. Somewhere high above, invisible against the heavens, she could hear a skylark hovering in song-flight, while down among the golden-yellow corn marigolds and the blowsy scarlet poppies, the air around her was abuzz with insects and fragrant with the scent of newly cut grass. Enveloped in tranquillity, she flopped backwards and closed her eyes. How foolish it seemed to have become so frustrated – so panicked – when all George had been trying to do was help his widowed sister-in-law in her time of need. And how soothing did it feel to finally emerge from behind her great shadow of fear and doubt to luxuriate in the sunshine? Yes. She had needlessly spent who-knew-how-many of these last weeks worrying herself ragged for nothing.

‘Well, well, if it isn’t Mary Strong.’

Snapping her eyes wide open, she shot upright, dazzled and disoriented by the brightness but recognising his voice long before his silhouette. Francis Troke. How on earth had he managed to creep up on her? And just how disarrayed were her garments?

‘You.’

And why was he laying down his scythe in the grass? Oh: because apparently he was going to sit down beside her. Now what should she do, then? For the sake of propriety he was far too close, but moving further away would only alert him to her discomfort. Not that he was likely to be in any doubt; he could probably hear the thudding of her heart, anyway.

‘Beautiful, ain’t it?’ Without even looking, she could somehow tell that he was grinning. ‘And what a sight to behold as I toil away; a heavenly hay maiden.’ Hoping for her colour to subside was pointless, as was trying to slow her breathing. So the only thing left for her to do was ignore him. Snatching at the stem of a cornflower, she held it in front of her, studying the cobalt creation as though it was the first one she had ever seen. ‘Don’t see you down here much lately,’ she could hear him continuing, ‘and that’s a real shame.’

‘That’s because I’m busy.’ As she said it, it occurred to her that Nature seemed to be conspiring to make her feel faint: the warmth, the buzzing, the perfumes.

‘I’m hoping you’ll be down here Saturday coming, though; for my sister’s wedding.’

She sighed. She had forgotten about the stupid wedding. And now she had even more reasons for not wanting to be there.

‘I’ve no say in the matter,’ she replied, hoping to make her part in it sound just as it was – involuntary.

Away to her right, a blackbird flew down from the hawthorn hedge, but on apparently spotting them nearby, plumped its feathers and with a sharp
pook
-
pook
-
pook
of alarm, flew on across the field. Still twirling the cornflower, she watched it go.

‘Then since you’ll be there, I hope you’ll keep me in mind for a dance.’

‘And why would I do that?’ So much for trying to ignore him, then.

‘Because you’d enjoy it. And so would I.’

Buzzing about her arm was a stout and glossy bluebottle, and grateful for a reason to disguise her discomfort with the way this was turning out – especially given the accuracy of his last observation – she took several swipes at it, her exasperation only heightened further by the fact that she missed.

‘I wouldn’t.’

‘No? Good thing I already know different then.’

What she wanted more than anything was to find the words – and the conviction – to let him know that he was mistaken. The problem was that she was no good at lying; never really had been. She dropped the flower – already drooping in the heat – and pressed her hands into the grass by her sides.

‘I have to go.’ Still unable to look up, she shook her head. She hadn’t even been able to say that with any purpose. And if she looked up now, she knew that he would be looking at her.

‘Remember the harvest home?’ he was asking. Of course she remembered it; for so many reasons, as it happened, although none of them would she ever be drawn into sharing with
him
. ‘Remember how we chanced to meet?’ And now she didn’t even have the benefit of being able to look down because his finger was under her chin, tilting it upwards. Engulfed by panic, she closed her eyes, unable, though, to block out the fact that his hand smelled like sweet meadow-grass. ‘Remember how it felt?’ he was persisting, his voice intimate and conspiratorial. ‘Me, I’ve oftentimes relived those moments; thought about all that passion in your nature, Mary Strong.’

Put
a
stop
to
this
now
.
Don’t
let
him
lure
you
in
like
this
.

‘I’m
wed
, lest you hadn’t noticed.’ It was the sharpest tone she could muster and made her aware that he at least had the grace to drop his finger from her chin.

‘Oh I noticed, believe me. But just for a moment, think about how nice it would be to pick up where we left off—’

‘
What
? Didn’t you
hear
what I just said?’

‘Oh, I heard, all right. You’re wed. But see, your husband don’t kiss you like I kissed you, does he? Nor does he touch you like I did. No, nobody ain’t
ever
touched you like that.’

Get
up
.
Walk
away
.
Don’t
listen
to
any
more
of
this
.

‘You’re wrong.’

‘No I’m not, Mary. Don’t lie. It ain’t nice for a young woman to lie.’ Trying desperately to close her mind to the images he was conjuring, she nevertheless found herself compelled to give in, to meet his eyes. Since he seemed perfectly able to see straight into her thoughts, what did it matter anyway? ‘See, I’ve the notion that you
wanted
to give yourself to me that night because you were curious about what it would be like, and so to my simple way of looking upon it, you really ought to let me to show you. Just the one time of course, just so as you can find out, that’s all. Nothing more.’

‘Don’t be absurd.’ Finally, she got to her feet. A game was a game but this had long since gone from simple banter – something from which she could easily walk away – to something from which she might not. Realising just how frighteningly true that was she glanced towards the gate. Thank heavens no one had come upon them. Whatever had she been thinking to linger there alone with him for so long? Whatever was it about this man that made her court danger so? Catching sight of the sheen of golden pollen on her skirt, she gave it a vigorous shake, and then, walking across to Jacob, scooped him up from the grass. ‘That night – those
few
moments – were a mistake,’ she said, cross now with herself more than with him, ‘and I want nothing more to do with you.’

‘If you say so, Mary. But when you change your mind, as you surely will, come and find me.’

*

For Mary, the evenings of the next week passed in much the same vein as previously; George came home tired from work, ate his supper, made only the barest of conversation with her and then went out again. As she sat regarding him one evening, it crossed her mind to tell him that she knew what he was doing, indeed,
why
he was doing it; after all, if people at the farm knew, then why did she have to pretend that she didn’t? But as she opened her mouth to say as much, having first rehearsed in her head what she might say, she changed her mind; if he wanted her to know, then surely by now he would have told her. And letting him know that she had found out by other means might make it look as though she had been prying, which given his apparent desire for secrecy, might not be wise. So instead, she affixed a patient smile and hoped that in the fullness of time, as Annie’s life gradually began to settle down, her need for George would fade, and along with it so would his burden.