Promises to Keep
Book Two
Mud and Gold
Shayne Parkinson
Copyright © S. L. Parkinson 2006
Smashwords Edition
License Notes
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
1
February 1885
Amy sat at John’s side as the buggy rattled its way homewards. It was as though nothing had changed during their few minutes in the courthouse. The only thing that felt different was the ring on her finger. She twisted the thin band absently and from time to time glanced at her new husband. Charlie rode beside the buggy, close to Amy’s seat. Jack attempted to converse with him, but got only an occasional monosyllable in reply.
Thomas soon began to irritate Susannah by demanding to sit with Amy. ‘He’ll crease your dress, dear,’ Susannah protested.
‘It doesn’t matter. Come on, Tommy.’ Thomas clambered over the seat and onto Amy’s lap. She held him close, welcoming the distraction of his prattle.
It was almost milking time, and Charlie left them at his gate. ‘When do I come over to fetch her?’ he asked.
‘Come at dinner time, Mr Stewart,’ Susannah said. ‘We’ll have a nice little family meal together.’
Harry was nowhere to be seen when the Leiths pulled up to the house, but John assured his father that Harry would meet them at the cow shed. Amy replaced her silk dress with a pink gingham frock, and helped Susannah with dinner preparations until her stepmother glanced at the clock and shooed Amy off to her room.
‘You’d better get your things packed—not your pretty dress, though, you can put that on again for dinner. You’ll want to wear it when you go to your new home.’
Amy took a large drawstring bag she sometimes kept mending in and loaded her clothes into it, wrapping her shoes in paper so as not to soil anything else. It did not take long to pack her few dresses and all her underwear. She left the two maternity dresses lying on the bed and looked around the room at her other possessions.
There was her work box; it had been her mother’s, and Amy knew Susannah would not want it. And of course her precious photograph. Amy wrapped it carefully in a chemise and put it into the centre of the bundle. Her eyes went to her neglected books. They only took up one small shelf, but they would be heavy to carry. But the books had been friends to her, before her reality had become too harsh to escape from. It didn’t seem right to abandon them. I can carry them. I’m strong again now. I wonder if he’ll let me put them up somewhere.
She slipped her brush and hand mirror into the growing bundle, along with the little box that held her grandmother’s tortoise-shell comb and cameo brooch. Amy hesitated for a moment over the crocheted mats on her dressing table, then packed them away with her clothes. She had made them herself, under her grandmother’s instruction, so surely they belonged to her.
The same reasoning applied to her bedspread, though it seemed a large thing to take without permission. But she did not want to leave the beautiful thing behind when she left her home to go to this man who was still a stranger.
She was still fretting over the bedspread when Susannah came in.
‘I’ve fed the children and put them to bed early, so they won’t get in the way while we’re trying to eat. Have you nearly finished packing?’
‘Almost. Susannah, do you mind if I take my bedspread? Granny and I made it together, and I’d like to have it with me. Is that all right?’
‘I’ll have to get your father to buy another one for this room if you do… oh, I suppose it doesn’t matter. That one’s not very practical, anyway, being white. Yes, go on, take it.’
Susannah sat down on a chair and watched as Amy folded the bedspread. ‘You know, if you were as you should be, I’d have to give you a little talk now. Your father even suggested it this morning. That’s just like him, of course. He’s never been very good at facing facts when it doesn’t suit him to.’
‘A talk? What about?’
‘About what to expect, of course. Your duties as a wife. Just like my mother had a little talk with me. She could have told me rather more, too,’ Susannah said with a trace of bitterness. ‘Ah well, you’ve saved me that job, anyway. I doubt if there’s much I could tell you.’ She glanced at the maternity dresses, which Amy had put on the dressing table before folding her bedspread. ‘Why haven’t you packed those?’
‘They’re yours, not mine. I thought you’d want them back.’
‘Of course I don’t. Why would I want those horrible things? I’m not going to have any more children.’
‘I don’t want any more babies, either,’ Amy said quietly, fingering the soft cotton of her bedspread.
‘Don’t say that,’ Susannah said sharply. She studied Amy’s downcast face. ‘Amy, I will give you some advice after all. Don’t say anything like that to your husband. He’s likely to have quite different ideas.’
‘You told Pa you didn’t want any more babies.’
‘That’s completely different. I’d done my duty, giving him two sons. Even if I hadn’t, he already had grown children, he didn’t really care whether he had more or not. Anyway,’ Susannah seemed to be choosing her words with care, ‘your father’s different. Here’s a little bit more advice, Amy. Men expect to get their own way. Your father’s become quite bossy the last few months, but he could be worse—I can still manage him. But I think your husband’s going to be… well, a little more difficult. You must do your very best to please him.’
‘How can I do that?’ Amy asked.
‘Do whatever he wants, and do it well. At least you won’t have stepchildren to put up with. Now, pack those dresses away and make yourself pretty again for dinner. I’m going to put my good dress on now.’ Susannah went out, closing the door behind her.
Amy changed back into her blue dress, and joined Susannah in the kitchen. It was not long before Jack and John came in from milking. ‘Where’s Harry?’ Susannah asked.
‘Sloped off,’ said Jack. ‘He’s got himself invited to the Forsters’ place for dinner.’
‘I do think he might have let me know before I started cooking,’ Susannah complained. ‘Though h
e’d probably sit there looking grumpy all through the meal, anyway. You two had better hurry up and get changed before Charlie arrives.’
‘I’m going over to Uncle Arthur’s for dinner,’ John said. ‘You don’t mind, do you Amy?’
‘No, John. You do whatever you want.’ She managed a smile for him as he went out.
‘Well, really,’ Susannah said. ‘Those two haven’t a good manner between them.’ She was still grumbling when Charlie arrived, putting a stop to her flow.
Susannah was attempting to treat the occasion as a genuine celebration, using her best cloth and china and even decorating the table with flowers. It appeared to be wasted on Charlie, who sat grim-faced throughout the meal. Amy was glad she had baked the bread herself that morning; she thought Charlie would look even grimmer if he had to contend with one of Susannah’s leathery loaves.
‘And what do you think of your beautiful bride, Charlie?’ Jack said. ‘Quite a picture, isn’t she?’
‘She looks well enough,’ Charlie said, looking up for a moment from his plate, then returning his attention to the roast chicken set before him.
The worst moment came after dessert, when Jack decided toasts were in order.
‘First a salute to our gracious sovereign lady, Victoria,’ he announced. He and Susannah got to their feet. Amy had just begun to rise in her turn, when Charlie caught hold of her wrist and pulled her forcibly back down into her chair.
‘I don’t drink the health of that German woman who calls herself Queen of Great Britain,’ he told the room at large. ‘And neither does my wife.’
There was a shocked silence. Everyone in the valley knew that Charlie had some strange ideas about the royal family, but none of them had ever realised it went as far as outright disloyalty to the Queen.
Jack cleared his throat. ‘Yes, well, let’s not talk politics in front of the ladies.’ He drank a sip of his wine, and Susannah followed suit.
Having shown their loyalty, Jack tried again. ‘A toast to the happy couple.’ This time he took a hearty swig from his glass. Susannah took a dainty sip from hers, and the awkward moment passed.
Amy tried to react as she knew her father wanted her to, but it was not easy to conjure a smile when she looked at the stern man opposite her. A life sentence, Mr Leveston had said. It sounded a very long time.
As dusk set in Charlie had a last piece of cake, then pushed back his chair and got to his feet. ‘We’ll be off now,’ he announced.
‘Don’t worry about your milking tomorrow morning—I’ll send the boys over,’ Jack said. ‘You have a lie-in.’
‘There’ll be no need for that,’ said Charlie. ‘I don’t care to have other people messing about with my stock. Thank you,’ he added as an afterthought. ‘Come, Amy.’ It was the first time she had ever heard him use her name.
Amy hurried off to her bedroom, which was no longer her bedroom, and gathered up the bundle she had made of her possessions. She put her beautiful hat on and gave the room one last glance. It looked bare and impersonal now. Amy closed the door on the sight.
At the farmhouse gate Amy got a bear hug from Jack and a peck on the cheek from Susannah. She set off beside Charlie down the track in the deepening dusk.
*
Jack watched his daughter struggling to match her husband’s long stride. ‘He could offer to carry that bundle for her.’
‘Charlie’s not used to polite manners. Don’t worry, he’ll improve now he’s got a wife,’ said Susannah.
Amy looked a small child beside Charlie. ‘She’s too young,’ Jack murmured.
‘That’s why it’s good she’s married a man old enough to be her father. He’ll look after her. You wouldn’t want to see her going off with a boy of eighteen, would you?’
‘I suppose not.’ Jack refrained from saying he would rather see Amy with the fellow of twenty who had caused all this. Best to forget all that now. Amy had found a husband, and she’d make the best of it. It was easy to believe that Charlie would be charmed by her.
He watched till Amy was almost out of sight, then Susannah surprised him by taking his arm. ‘Come inside now, and stop worrying,’ she said. ‘You’ll catch a chill if you stand out here much longer.’
*
Amy walked beside Charlie in silence. Watching her footing in the gloom took all her concentration. And she had no idea what she should say to him.
She looked up at her old home, and immediately regretted having done so. She saw a dim, yellow light in the parlour window; it looked homely and familiar, and she could picture her father sitting in his comfortable armchair, smiling at her. She had never yet seen a smile on the face of this stranger who walked beside her with such an awkwardly long stride. Even Susannah seemed familiar and safe. Amy suddenly realised that she had not kissed the little boys good night. She wondered if Thomas would ask for her when he woke up in the morning. I won’t be there if he looks in my room. I’ll be in Charlie’s room.
They turned off the valley road and onto a track leading up to the house. Charlie barely slowed his pace as they climbed the hill. Amy’s bundle was uncomfortably heavy by the time they reached the cottage.
She could just make out the shape of the building, a shadow against the dim sky. Charlie went up to the small porch. Amy heard the rattling of a handle, followed by a creak as he pushed open the door. She stood at the foot of the steps and waited to be asked into his house.
Our house. My house—a house of my own. This is what I’m supposed to want.
‘Come on,’ Charlie said from the doorway, turning away as he spoke.
Amy climbed the steps and entered the house. It seemed pitch dark after the lingering dusk outside, but she guessed she was passing through the kitchen. She followed Charlie through a door on the opposite wall, a few steps across another room, and through an open doorway. Charlie lit a candle. By its flickering light Amy saw she was in a bedroom. His bedroom.
The room was tiny, dominated by the bed. There was a wardrobe; a chest with five drawers, a cut-down kerosene tin on it serving instead of ewer and basin; and a chair beside the bed. Amy stood just inside the doorway, clutching her bundle and waiting to be told what to do next.
Charlie placed the candle on the chest of drawers, its light casting a looming shadow behind him. He turned to face Amy.
‘I want you to understand a few things from the start,’ he said. ‘Then there won’t be trouble later. I expect to be obeyed in my own house. I won’t have arguments or talking back. Your shame will never be mentioned—I’ve given you an honourable name, and I’ll not bring up your past against you if you behave like a decent woman. You are never to speak of your bastard. Understand?’
Amy felt her face burning. She could only manage a nod.
‘I’ll have your word on that. Swear to me you’ll never raise the subject.’
‘I… I promise I won’t.’ Ann. I’m not allowed to talk about you. He can’t stop me thinking about you, though.
‘See that you remember. I don’t want to have to speak of this again. You’ll be wanting to get ready for bed now.’
Oh, God, he’s going to stand there and watch me get undressed. I can’t do it. Not with him staring at me. But Charlie took something from a drawer and went back out to the other room, closing the door behind him.
Amy took off her precious hat and placed it on the chest, well away from the candle, then slipped the pins from her hair to let it tumble down over her shoulders. She undressed as quickly as possible, tugging at the laces of her stays with clumsy fingers, and pulled on her nightdress. What to do with her clothes? Leave them draped over the back of the chair? That seemed slovenly. She shoved them into her bundle and placed it on the chair; tonight was not the time to explore the drawers and wardrobe.
She heard the door open, and scrambled into bed. It smelt musty, as though the bedding had not been aired in a long time. Charlie came through the doorway wearing a long nightshirt and thick woollen socks. He bent over the candle to blow it out,
and Amy heard the blood pounding in her ears. She lay very still, listening to his heavy tread on the bare wooden floor, then felt the bed sink as he climbed in. What would he expect of her? Jimmy’s soft words and careful urging seemed a long time ago.
Charlie took hold of her shoulder with one hand, while the other pulled up her nightdress. The fabric twisted awkwardly as he tugged at it, and Amy felt it cutting into her thigh. She gasped at the shock of his weight as he heaved himself onto her and forced her legs apart.
Pain stabbed through Amy, burning and rasping with every thrust. She might have cried out from it if she had not been struggling for breath under the crushing load of the body bearing down on hers. The bed swayed and creaked, and Amy held herself rigid, clutching at the sheet beneath her fingers.
It didn’t last long. Charlie heaved himself off her and rolled away. When his snoring told Amy he was asleep, she slid closer to the edge of the bed and curled herself into a ball. Her shoulders hurt from the grip of Charlie’s hands. One thigh was stinging where her nightdress had dug into it. And up through her centre a line of pain throbbed.
The room seemed full of the smell of unwashed sheets and of the man beside her. The house creaked from time to time, as it gave up the last of the day’s heat. Amy lay trembling, and trying to make no noise as she wept.
This was more horrible than she could have imagined; worse than anything in her life except losing her baby. It was worse than losing Jimmy, worse than hurting her father. She had tied herself to this man. There was no escape.
In the early hours, Charlie roused and came at her again, hauling her onto her back as she scrabbled to lift her nightdress out of his way. It lasted much longer this time. Amy lay awake through what was left of the night, too terrified to move.
Charlie stirred as dawn broke. For a moment Amy thought he was going to take her again, with the added ordeal of having it happen in daylight, but he pushed back the covers and sat up. He stared down at Amy with something like astonishment. She knew her face must betray the hours of weeping, and she tried to turn away. But he grasped her chin in his hand and forced her to look at him.
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