by Kate Ryder
I stared at him in horror. I’d heard my parents discussing the gravely ill wife of a distant neighbour and knew it was only a matter of time before she succumbed.
‘Please, Father, I beg of you. Don’t betroth me to a man almost thirty years my senior.’ Digging my nails into my hands, I forced myself to be strong. ‘I love Nat.’
‘Love!’ My father snorted. Batting me away again, as if my protestations were a mere trifle, he added, ‘Love has nothing to do with marriage, Mary. In time, I’m sure you will grow fond of Sir Thomas. His name and wealth will provide you with the security you need. That is the important consideration here.’
‘I refuse to marry him.’ I met my father’s eyes. ‘I won’t.’
‘I will not have a daughter of mine rise up against her father.’ He strode across the room and, grabbing me roughly by the arm, ushered me upstairs to my room. ‘You will remain here until you have considered your situation and come to your senses.’
He left the room. As he closed the door behind him, I heard the key turn in the lock.
My mother visited me that evening and tried to smooth over the rift, pointing out the positives of a marriage to Sir Thomas Ramsey. But I wasn’t my father’s daughter for nothing; I shared his strength of character.
‘I refuse to accept the fate Father has in store for me.’
‘Oh, Mary!’ my mother exclaimed. ‘Stubborn as always.’ She rose to her feet. ‘I will have supper sent up to you, but if you wish to escape your imprisonment I suggest you consider carefully what your father proposes. You do know he has your best interests at heart.’
My sister, Charlotte, three years my junior, brought my supper. She revelled in the romantic notion of Nat and me and eagerly accepted her role as ‘go-between’. Willingly, she passed a message to him.
I was locked in my room for four long days and nights, but by the time I was finally released, Nat and I had hatched a plan. Under the strict, watchful eye of my father, I pretended to acquiesce to his plans. However, a week later, once Nat had made the arrangements, I bundled together a few personal items and some clothing and, early one morning, before the household was awake, I slipped quietly out of the Hall.
It was the hour before dawn. Keeping to the shadows, I made my way stealthily down the long drive towards the stone entrance pillars and massive iron gates. I knew Nat was waiting for me just beyond, out of sight. He was there with the bay mare and he immediately lifted me easily onto Bess’s back. I sat in front of him, clutching my bundle, as we rode to Waldyke. Changing our clothes in haste, before Father had wind of anything, we walked out of the cottage hand in hand, eager to embrace our future.
*
Coming to, briefly, I glanced at the bedside clock – it was just past three in the morning. Far too early to be awake. I turned over and closed my eyes.
‘Mary,’ I whispered, ‘please show me.’
I drifted back to sleep and soon revisited the dream.
It was a beautiful, late spring day and I felt strangely energised. My skin was warmed by a sun riding high in a clear blue sky dotted with cotton wool clouds, and the gentlest of breezes caressed me. I stood in an apple orchard strewn with wildflowers and a dozen chickens scratched amongst the long grass at the base of the trees. As my gaze travelled beyond my immediate surroundings, I noticed a collection of vaguely familiar single-storey outhouses attached to a thatched building, its reeds glowing golden in the sunshine.
Recognising the rise of hills beyond, I realised I was standing in the land to the rear of Nat’s forge. As I became aware of a number of figures around me, their features indistinct, I trembled with excitement. Glancing down, I saw long, auburn locks and a string of pearls tumbling over the bodice of my emerald-green and gold brocade dress; the one I only wore for special occasions. Raising my hand to my head, I felt a small clasp of wildflowers in my hair. I gazed around again at the voluminous drifts of pink and white blossom confetti adorning the apple trees; the most beautiful of wedding floral arrangements.
I turned to the person standing beside me. There was nothing indistinct about him. Dressed in his finest outfit, Nat gazed at me in wonder. Suddenly, a cocktail of emotions threatened to overwhelm me – excitement, joy and sadness, swiftly followed by powerful, all-consuming love for this man. He held out his hand to me. As if following a film script, I watched as I rested my hand lightly in his.
A gentleman I didn’t recognise stepped forward. He was dressed smartly and possessed an air of authority. Producing a length of beautiful gold ribbon, he proceeded to loosely bind our hands together.
‘Blessed be this union with the gifts of the east: communication of the heart, mind and body; fresh beginnings with the rising of each sun; and the knowledge of the growth found in the sharing of silences.’
He wrapped a second ribbon around our hands, this time silver.
‘Blessed be this union with the gifts of the south: warmth of hearth and home; the heat of the heart’s passion; and the light created by both to illuminate the darkest of times.’
A third length of ribbon, pale blue in colour, was bound loosely around our hands.
‘Blessed be this union with the gifts of the west: the deep commitments of the lake; the swift excitement of the river; the refreshing cleansing of the rain; and the all-encompassing passion of the sea.’
Finally, a beautiful pale green ribbon was added to the others around our hands.
‘Blessed be this union with the gifts of the north: firm foundation on which to build; fertility of the fields to enrich your lives; and a stable home to which you may always return.’
As the ribbons were looped together as one, I gazed up into Nat’s tender blue-grey eyes.
‘As this knot is tied, so are your lives now bound,’ proclaimed the man of authority.
Then, untying the fastening, he removed the ribbons and laid them neatly side by side on an ornate iron altar. I recognised it at once and glanced at Nat in surprise. I’d seen him working on it in the forge, carefully coaxing it into shape, but he hadn’t told me what he was smithing. His eyes twinkled.
‘And now it is time for the giving of rings,’ the gentleman continued.
I watched, mesmerised, as Nat produced the beautiful ruby ring from his pocket and slipped it onto my wedding finger. It was a perfect fit; but I knew it would be. I, in turn, removed a simple gold band from a secret pocket at my waist and, lovingly, slipped it on his wedding finger.
Nat’s eyes were soft and warm, as he said, ‘I take thee, my heart, at the rising of the moon and the setting of the stars. To love and to honour through all that may come. Through all our lives together, in all our lives, may we be reborn that we may meet and know and love again, and remember.’
Tears sprang to my eyes and I smiled up at him. His look was one of wonderment; as if he couldn’t truly believe we were wed.
All at once the other figures took shape, and I recognised Nat’s family and friends. Sadness tinged my joy. Not a single member of my family was present. As people stepped forward to congratulate us, Nat put his arm around my waist and protectively drew me to him.
‘Look, Mary,’ he said, pointing skywards. ‘Guardian angels to watch over us.’
Shielding my eyes from the sun, I gazed up at the clear blue sky. High above, two dark specks circled and I smiled. As long as the buzzards were present in our life, we would be OK.
We continued our wedding celebrations at the tavern across from the forge. It was important there were many witnesses to our joining. We had to prove our marriage was legally binding, for we knew my father would come looking for me once my absence at the Hall was discovered.
Lying with Nat for the very first time, I was gripped by a sudden shyness but as the night progressed I soon became bold. As his hands explored my body I marvelled at the way I responded and when his mouth found mine, the urgency and passion in his caresses took my breath away. I delighted at his every touch and my skin tingled as his fingers travelled the contours of my b
ody. Moving in harmony, we melted under each other’s deep kisses.
‘I am bewitched, Mary,’ he said, nuzzling my neck, and I thrilled at the emotion I heard in his voice.
Momentarily he pulled back and I sensed him looking at me. Emerging from behind a cloud, the moon cast its light through the window and alighted on my husband’s face. Suddenly Nat groaned and pulled me to him. I gasped as my body opened to him and, together, we rode wave after wave of pure sensation; an insatiable riptide of feeling. Much later, holding each other close, I lay with my head on Nat’s chest, listening to the reassuring beat of his heart. Gently, he stroked my hair and I breathed in his masculine scent.
‘I love you, Nat,’ I whispered softly, running my hands lightly over his muscular body.
His grip tightened. ‘And you, my love, are my life.’
I lifted my head to look at my husband, but it wasn’t Nat gazing at me with love in his eyes. It was Nick.
18
I was encouraged by the number of magazines that agreed to accept my freelance articles and relieved that writing money would soon start to trickle in. It suited me to work for Brian and Vera on Friday and Saturday nights, but we agreed that if they needed extra staff for special events I would work additional shifts. It was satisfying to know I was successfully building multiple sources of income.
At the end of February I received an email from Mo.
Hi Mads, Sorry for the delay in getting back to you but I’ve only just got home from whirlwind photo shoot across Europe. Interesting photo No. 11. I’ve sent it through full size for definition. Tell me what you think? Mo xx
I opened the photos, laughing at those of my impersonation of the French Lieutenant’s Woman on the Cobb, and marvelling at the way Mo had captured The Olde Smithy. Her photographer’s ‘eye’ was unique and I totally understood why she was in high demand in her chosen career. And then I reached the eleventh photograph and the hairs stood up on the back of my neck.
Taken from the door to the hallway, it was of the sitting room, with the inglenook fireplace the focal point. She had captured part of the stained-glass divide between the rooms and the bread oven was plain to see. However, in front of the oven stood a fog-like apparition which, on resizing the photo, took shape. As the image became more defined, I focused on the face peering from the screen and found myself gulping back sobs as I experienced a bundle of confused emotions: despair, grief, joy, elation… and love.
It was Nat, whose spirit I firmly believed shared this cottage and who offered me such unconditional love. As the tears flowed unchecked down my cheeks, my fingers stroked the face on the screen. The eyes that looked back at me were full of wonder and tenderness, as those in my dream. With a jolt, which momentarily stemmed my tears, I recognised that very look from only the week before when Nick had held me in his arms.
Nick… I’d tried to put him out of my mind, but I couldn’t. The strong emotions he stirred refused to go away and he filled my waking hours. It was so much more than simple, physical attraction and lust. I was drawn to him in a way I couldn’t explain and from the moment I’d met him, I felt as if I knew him; body and soul. And his scent… it was so familiar. But how was that possible? He’d said he found me very beautiful and each time I recalled his words, and the tenderness in his voice, my insides turned to liquid desire. In that drink-induced, oh too brief, uninhibited moment, we had responded to each other without pretence. The emotions were real.
But with strength of will I didn’t possess, he’d taken control and placed his feelings to one side. I’d got the message. He didn’t have to spell it out. In no way was he prepared to abandon his long-term girlfriend. A part of me hated Sarah for the power she had over him, but I also understood and respected Nick even more for his commitment to her. I just had to accept the fact and learn to live with it. But what madness! Of course I could live with it. After all, I’d never been promised anything.
Haven’t you?
The voice in my head halted my tumultuous thoughts and I frowned. Of course I hadn’t. No one had ever promised me anything.
Grabbing a tissue from the bathroom, I blew my nose and told myself to get a grip, but, unlike Nick, I couldn’t coolly put my emotions to one side. Neither could I get the look of wonder and tenderness in Nat’s eyes out of my head. As I returned to the screen, I noticed his eyes followed me wherever I moved in the room. I found my mobile and texted Mo.
Photo 11 – is this the man you saw on the stairs?
After a few minutes she texted:
Yes!
I texted back:
He’s the man at the grave.
I didn’t have long to wait for her reply:
Kurt busy but says he will decipher epitaph soon. Have you a story yet?
I responded:
Still working on it.
She replied:
Good luck. Keep me informed. How’s the gorgeous man?
I gritted my teeth as I texted back:
Don’t ask… Mads xx
She signed off in capitals:
KEEP THE FAITH! xx
I saved her photos in The Olde Smithy file, but kept Nat’s face on the screen.
‘Tell me what you want from me,’ I whispered into the empty room.
Stillness.
‘What do you need me to do?’ I asked a little louder.
Deep silence.
I sighed and stared at the dear, familiar face on the screen. I don’t know how long I sat there but it was only the phone ringing that shook me out of my trance-like state. It was Caro, Dan’s sister.
‘Hi, Maddie. How are you?’
‘Well thanks,’ I lied. ‘How about you?’
‘Good, I think,’ she said. ‘John’s just been told his company is relocating and he’s responsible for overseeing the move.’
‘Oh, where to?’
‘Newcastle. All the departments are moving up in instalments but we’re to relocate at the end of April. Seems a long way from London, but I’ve already checked and there are flights from both Exeter and Southampton so you can visit any time.’
I agreed that sounded a great idea.
‘I hear Dan saw you recently,’ she suddenly said.
‘Yes. I was really surprised. Hadn’t heard from him for weeks and then he turned up out of the blue. Mind you, I haven’t heard a peep out of him since.’
‘No you won’t have,’ she said. ‘The silly old fool’s taken up with Lucy again.’
I groaned. Had he lost all sense? And after everything he’d said! What was it about that woman?
‘I can’t say too much to him,’ Caro continued. ‘He’s very touchy about her but as he is my only family now I don’t want to lose him. I make sure John and I see them, when they’re in a socialising mood, which I must say isn’t very often. They’re content holed up in that flat of his. I have to remind him there’s a bigger world out there.’
I glanced out of the kitchen window and watched Storm chasing swirling leaves across the courtyard. ‘He’s lucky to have you as a sister.’
‘Oh, he’s a good soul,’ she said, instantly springing to his defence. ‘I just think he’s lost his way a little. He’s totally smitten. But I am worried about him, especially now that I won’t be in London. He doesn’t look at all well.’
‘It’s his life, Caro. Only he can make changes if it doesn’t suit him.’ I didn’t really know what to say. I’d witnessed the hold Lucy had over him.
‘I know,’ she said sadly, ‘but she’s such a predator and he’s so malleable. I can’t help but feel protective.’
‘He’ll be OK,’ I said confidently, though privately I wondered if he would be all right. Changing the subject, I asked, ‘Will you have time to visit me before you leave for the north?’
‘Sorry, Maddie, I don’t think so. I have a huge PR launch to organise before I go and I must get the house ready for letting. We’ve decided to keep it but it needs to pay its way. You could always come up to London and stay with us before we leav
e.’
‘Good idea,’ I agreed. ‘Suggest some dates.’
We checked our diaries, agreed on the first weekend in April and I marked it on the calendar. We chatted a while longer before saying goodbye.
Opening the back door, I called to Storm, but he didn’t want to come in. It was a sunny, gusty day and, with the wind in his tail, he shot off on some private mission. I followed up the path, fighting my way through the foliage and made a mental note to buy a lawnmower on my next visit to Bridport. I paused halfway up the garden and looked back at the cottage.
This was the exact spot where Mary and Nat were married – how different it looked to the scene in my dream. I gazed at the rise of hills; their outline hadn’t altered. However, there were fewer trees today. And although the outhouses were in the same position, they had been modified. The cottage, of course, was no longer thatched and the modern extension had changed its appearance, and whereas the orchard in my dream was full of apple trees, there were now only three.
I continued on up the garden. As I approached the pond, I noticed Storm dash through the fence into next door. As it happened, Mrs Tomkins was in her garden and so I called a greeting. She came over and told me that Rex, her aged ginger tom, was ill over the winter and the vet had put him to sleep the previous week.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I said gently. ‘What a horrible decision to have to make. I expect he gave you several years of companionship.’
‘Oh yes, dear. He was nineteen years old. My Fred gave him to me as a twelve-week-old kitten.’
I told her I’d just seen Storm shoot through the fence into her garden.
‘He’s often here,’ she said. ‘He and Rex were good friends. They would curl up together in Rex’s basket.’
‘He kept that one a secret,’ I said.
‘If you ever go away, dear, just let me know. I’ll be more than happy to look after him for you.’
