The Memory of Snow (9 page)

1650

‘Did you miss me, Meggie?’ asked Charles Hay. He was lurking
in the alleyway beside her house, waiting for her to come back home. She had
been to the Well, praying to Coventina. She had slipped out in the early hours
before dawn, terrified that someone might see her and taunt her. They were
calling her a murderess and only yesterday she had found a hen, its neck
twisted and broken, lying outside of her cottage.

‘Mr Hay!’ Meggie said, stopping short. He came out of the
shadows, grasping his ever-present whip. Meggie heard his horse whinnying
softly behind the house. Charles stood between Meggie and the doorway to her
home and smiled down at her. Meggie clutched her shawl to her body instinctively.
Hay saw the movement and his lips parted in amusement.

‘Dear Meggie. What’s wrong with you? Are you not pleased to
see me again?’ He pouted and tilted his head on one side. In anyone else, the
gesture may have been appealing. In Charles Hay, it seemed more mocking. He
raised his hand and touched her hair gently. His nose wrinkled and he drew his
hand away. ‘Ah Meggie. If things were different, eh? If you came and lived at
the Manor with me. Then you could have all the finery and delights a young
woman could want. You would have hot water to wash with, enough food to fill
your little belly. We’d get some meat on those bones nigh enough.’ He sighed
and looked at her worn dress and bare feet. ‘Yes. Some dainty little kid
slippers for those tiny feet and a frock made of silks and velvet. You’d be
perfect. Nobody would know where you’d come from or how you’d been dragged up
on these moors.’ He stared into the middle distance thoughtfully and his horse
gave a snort. Charles laughed and jerked his head towards the animal. ‘Hear
that, my Meg? Jessie agrees with me. You would have your own little pony to
ride, just like her. She would take you off, clip-clopping to that Well you
often visit…what? What’s wrong? Don’t you realise that I know where it is? I’ve
followed you a few times, wondering where you were going. It’s a special place
to you, isn’t it?’

Meggie hung her head, flushing scarlet. For a moment, she had
been mesmerised by his voice, imagining all the things she might be if she
didn’t live the way she had to; if she didn’t just simply exist in this
village. She was nineteen years old. She had nobody on this earth who cared for
her. A tear rolled down her cheek as she recalled Alice’s face. Now even she
was gone. Meggie took a deep breath.

‘Mr Hay, you are a cruel man,’ she said softly. ‘Please. Let
me pass and enough of this conversation. I can never be anything more than what
I am. I am indebted to you for the generous payments you make me, but that
money is all I have. Please do not taunt me with a life I cannot live.’ She
made to push past him, but he barred her way.

‘Meggie, come on. It can be, you know. You only have to say
the word,’ he whispered, leaning down and bringing his lips close to her ear.
She jerked her head away from him and tried once more to get past him, into the
safety of her cottage. It was daybreak now, and people would soon be out of
their homes. If they saw her talking to Charles, or even just saw her outside,
there was no telling what might happen. She began to panic as she heard a door
further along the street creaking open and looked up at the young man
pleadingly.

‘I have to get in the house, I have to get in,’ she said and
summoning all her strength, roughly pushed him out of the way. Charles stumbled
and stared at her.

‘Why Meggie, I didn’t know you possessed such strength. By
all means, go inside. I shall follow you in.’

‘No!’ she cried. ‘Please. Go home.’ She fumbled with the
handle and eventually fell into the cottage, just as she heard a woman’s voice
calling to her friend down the road.

‘It’s a fine morning today!’ the woman shouted. She saw
Charles Hay look around him and slip into the cottage after Meggie. The woman
stood staring at the scene, and immediately jogged down the road to her friend.

‘There must be another one in trouble,’ she said. ‘He’s at
her house again.’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ said the second woman, shaking her
head. ‘I think he’s going for a bit of fun with her instead. Lord knows she’ll
be willing to take anybody now and she’ll be grateful for the attention. That’s
why she’s been hiding away. I bet she’s the one in trouble.’

‘Yes. You’ll be right. That’s what it is. Typical,’ replied
the first woman, glaring at the ramshackle building. ‘Well, she’ll not keep a
secret like that for long. There’ll be one more brat coming squawling into the
village, staring at us with Mr Hay’s eyes, I’ll warrant.’

The second woman nodded.

‘Aye, there will be that,’ she said.

Inside the cottage, Meggie laid her basket down on the stone
floor. Silent as night, Charles closed the door behind him and stared at the
girl before him.

‘So. We’re alone again,’ he said. Meggie spun round.

‘You followed me!’ she accused him.

‘Of course I did! I said I would, Meg. I do not lie, you
should know that by now.’ Charles looked around the small room and his eyes
lighted on a wooden stool by the hearth. ‘Is that your only seat?’ he asked.
Meggie nodded, ashamed that he should be standing in her home. What would it
look like through his eyes? Poky, no doubt. And dark and small. But it was
warm, thanks to the fire she kept burning in the grate. It was as clean as she
could keep it. She didn’t have many possessions, so she took care of what she
did have. Bunches of herbs hung from the beams in the ceiling and small
earthenware jars containing ointments and tinctures stood on a scrubbed table
by the window. A pestle and mortar lay beside them, together with a small,
sharp knife she used for splitting the stems of the plants and chopping up
leaves as she needed them; she had found it on the moors and it seemed perfect
for her work. A wooden bowl full of lavender was Meggie’s only ornament, the
purple, knobbly flowers spilling out onto the windowsill.

‘Mr Hay, I’m sure you are a very busy man, so unless there is
anything you need me to do for you today, I’ll bid you farewell,’ said Meggie.
She turned her back on him and began to lay some wood on the fire.

‘Don’t turn your back on me, Meggie,’ said Charles. His voice
was low. Meggie heard him take a step towards her and wait. She finished piling
the wood onto the fire and waited until it began to crackle. She straightened
up. Turning to face the young man, she waited in silence for his next comment,
her heart banging against her chest. He smiled at her.

‘That’s good, Meg. Now we can see each other properly. Be a
sweetheart and open your curtains will you? Well, I think they are meant to be
curtains. Or ‘it’ is meant to be a type of curtain. It looks like an old sack,
really. But that can’t be right. Anyway. As I say, be a sweetheart and pull it
open. I want to see outside. It’s such a beautiful morning.’ He sat down on the
stool, seeming to fill the tiny room with his presence. Meggie’s heart began to
race. All her instincts were screaming at her to run out of the house, and damn
what the village would say to her. It was wrong him being in here. He didn’t
need her to do anything for him. Wordlessly, she went over to the window and
twitched it open.

Meggie’s house was right on the street. Anybody walking past
could look into her cottage. And they did. Which is why she had nailed the
curtain up above the window. Too many people had taken to stopping outside and
staring into her house these last few weeks. Gaggles of villagers would
congregate there and she could see their lips moving and their heads nodding towards
her house, bobbing around to see if they could see her and see what she was
doing. Perhaps she was concocting another murderous potion, who knew? Lizzie
had often been amongst the women, nodding along with them. She had been there
the day Meggie scrambled up on the table and battered the nails into the window
frame to pin the sack in place. Meggie had caught her eye. Lizzie dropped her
head and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Lizzie’s youngest, a
baby boy was grizzling as he hung over her shoulder, his cheeks flushed red. He
had one tiny fist rammed into his mouth and he was chewing on it desperately.
Meggie longed to offer Lizzie something to soothe the baby’s gums until his
pearly teeth cut through them. Meggie had done it for Lizzie’s other two
children. In fact, she had done it for most of the children in the village. How
quickly people forgot. Instead, she had pulled the sacking straight and
clambered down off the table, leaving Lizzie and her crones outside with
nothing to stare at except brown hessian. Meggie had sat on the floor, hugging
her knees. She laid her head on them and cried; although nobody heard her and
nobody cared enough to soothe her pain.

‘That’s better,’ said Charles. His voice brought her back to
the present. She turned around, her hand behind her back, leaning on the table.

‘You realise that everyone can look into the room now? You
know that you will be seen, don’t you?’ she said. Charles nodded.

‘I do. That does not concern me. I don’t have to live in the
village,’ he said. Meggie shuddered. He was right, of course. Whatever he had
in mind did not bother him in the slightest. ‘Now, Meggie, come here,’ he
continued. ‘I would like to speak to you.’

‘What do you want with me, Mr Hay?’ she asked.

‘Now, now. Come closer. Don’t stand over there, my sweet Meg.
You know of course that I’ve been in Newcastle these last few days, don’t you?
It seems as if I have missed quite a lot in the village. It all stems back to
Alice. It was Alice, wasn’t it?’ For a moment his expression was blank, as if
he was trying to remember the girl who had died. ‘Yes, that’s right. Alice.’ He
sighed. ‘Poor girl. Never mind. What is done cannot be undone and we must leave
her to rest in peace. So. That leaves you. It appears to me that you seem to be
shouldering the blame for this. On such dear, fragile, little shoulders.’ He
reached out and touched Meggie on the shoulder, the cloth of her gown rough
against his fingers. He took a corner of the fabric between his thumb and
forefinger and rubbed it together. ‘Silks and velvet, my dear Meggie. Silks and
velvet. I could do that for you. But there would have to be certain
compromises. Do you understand me?’

Meggie stood before him in silence. Was this the same offer
he had made to other girls in the village? Made them promises he had no
intention of keeping, just to satisfy him for a moment in his spoiled, rich
life? Meggie had never hated anyone before. She had disliked Charles’ actions
in the past, but she had tolerated him. It is what the gentry do, her Grandmother
had told her. Do their bidding and take their payments. This is our gift. Use
it well and use it to your advantage. And always use it wisely.

Charles ran his fingers over the seams of her gown and down
her arms.

‘Please, Mr Hay. Don’t do this,’ said Meggie.

‘Don’t do what?’ he asked innocently. ‘This? Do you not like
it?’ he said. He took hold of her arms and stood up, staring down at Meggie.
His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her arms and he drew her closer to him.
He took hold of her around her waist and lowered his head. He brushed his lips
against her forehead. Then he travelled down to her neck.

‘Mr Hay...’ said Meggie, trying to pull away from him. ‘No.
No. I don’t want to do this, it’s wrong.’

‘Alice didn’t think it was wrong,’ said Charles. ‘Alice liked
it. She liked it very much. She- argh!’ He screamed as the sharp blade of the
knife stabbed into the flesh between his shoulder blades. ‘What the hell did
you do?’ he screamed, trying to feel around behind his shoulders. The blade was
too small to do much damage, but it had drawn blood and this was now running
down Charles’ back in a warm, sticky rivulet. He brought his hands around to
the front and stared at them as the red stuff dripped onto his clothing. ‘You
are mad!’ he said, horrified. ‘Completely mad.’

‘You shouldn’t speak of Alice like that,’ hissed Meggie.
‘Never speak of her like that.’ She held the knife in front of her; she had
snatched it from the table beside the window as she leaned against it. ‘You
raped Alice. She told me. Don’t you dare speak of her as if she enjoyed it!’

Charles lunged towards Meggie and she ducked out of his way.
She brandished the knife again.

‘Take one step closer,’ she growled. ‘One more step. And I
shall do it again. Only this it will be in your neck. Or your eye. Or your
heart.’

Charles hesitated for a minute, then turned and lurched out
of the cottage. He spilled out on the street, blinking in the bright sunlight
which had now settled over the village. The back of his shirt was stained red
and his back was throbbing painfully. Each pump of his heart seemed to spurt a
little more of his blood out. He needed to get home. He needed the doctor. But
how could he explain this to his father? The ubiquitous gaggle of women had
already gathered in the street, gratified that Meggie had pulled the curtain
down and they could see inside her cottage once more. Unfortunately, nobody had
seen exactly what had happened with Charles. They had only seen him bursting
out of the cottage with blood running down his back and a terrified expression
on his face.

‘Mr Hay, Sir!’ cried Mary, a woman in her late forties who
refused to believe that she simply was not as attractive as the younger females
in the village. ‘What happened? What did she do to you?’

Charles glared at the woman; he recognised her vaguely from
his sojourns in the village and tired easily of her sniffing around him. He
would never bed her; never. And now she was poking her pock-marked nose in
where it did not belong. Normally, he would not even speak to a woman such as
her. But today, he would make an exception.

‘She is mad!’ he stated. ‘Completely and utterly mad. I went
to sympathise over the loss of her friend, and she turned on me. Just turned on
me. She stabbed me. She enticed me in and then stabbed me!’