Lizzie leapt to her feet. ‘You’ve frightened them away, Mam. Tolly was going to show me how to catch one with his net.’
‘I’ll frighten you, me girl, when I get me hands on you.’
Tolly glanced fearfully from one to the other. ‘I . . . I’m s-sorry,’ he stammered, but Lizzie only grinned saucily at her.
‘You’ll have to catch me first.’
‘Why, you cheeky little . . .’ It was at that moment that Mary Ann became aware of a rider on horseback in the meadow behind the children, coming slowly towards the riverbank. A tall, handsome man, dressed in a black riding habit.
Mary Ann felt the breath squeezed from her body as she gazed for the first time in almost ten years on Randolph Marsh.
Thirty-Eight
‘I only wanted to catch you a fish, Daddy.’ Mary Ann listened with only half an ear to her wayward daughter’s excuses. ‘I won’t do it again. At least, not without asking you first.’ The child was incredible, Mary Ann thought, though her mind was still reeling. She argues like an adult, justifying her naughtiness. ‘Please don’t take my boat away, Daddy.’
Every nerve in her body still jangling, Mary Ann wandered away down the deck towards the bows leaving Dan to admonish the child for once.
So often Mary Ann had thought about what she would do, what she might feel, when she saw Randolph again. Would she hate him, want to fly at him and pummel him or scratch his eyes out as she had the last time they had been together? Now she was in turmoil because it had happened and she had felt none of those things. She had been totally unprepared for the thrill that ran through her. It was still there, the power that he exuded over her. The mere sight of him had made her whole being quiver.
She leant on the rail and gazed back down the river, hungry for another glimpse of him, but though she scanned the fields on either side she could see no galloping horse.
Had he recognized her? Had he known her?
He had made no move of acknowledgement. He had merely reined in his horse and sat there, high up in the saddle, watching them.
Maybe the children had been poaching. Mary Ann didn’t know if anyone owned the rights to fishing in the river. Perhaps Randolph did, for since his father’s death quite recently, he had inherited the Marsh estates and all that went with them. The fields of golden corn, the meadows, streams and woodlands that stretched along the Trent valley, even the villages and many of the homes of the people who lived there were owned by the Marsh Estate. So, maybe he even owned part of the river, certainly the right to fish there.
Dan had once hinted as much when they’d all heard of Bertram Marsh’s death one Sunday lunchtime in Waterman’s Yard. ‘That family’s got too much power, if you ask me. They nearly own the folk around here. ’Tisn’t right. Not in this day and age. It’s nineteen thirty-three, for heaven’s sake, and we’re still living in a system that’s almost feudal.’
‘Fancy yasen as Lord of the Manor, do you, our Dan?’ Bessie had asked.
‘I’d make a darn sight better job of it than he’s going to,’ he’d responded, waving his fork at his mother.
‘It’s a shame young Mr Arthur was killed,’ Bert had put in quietly. ‘He’d have made a much better squire than his brother.’
‘Be better still if women had the same chance as the menfolk. Miss Edwina would be perfect.’
Duggie, as ever, had teased, ‘I don’t know. We gave ’em the vote and now they want to rule the world.’
The family had laughed and the conversation had turned away from the Marsh family. Mary Ann had said nothing, but she had listened and now, as she stood on the deck of the Maid Mary Ann shading her eyes against the glare of the sun sparkling on the water, she thought, And now he’s master of it all.
She saw him again one day when she was alone at the wash-house a mile along the river south of Eastlands’ Ferry. She heard the pounding of a horse’s hooves and her heart missed a beat as she dropped Dan’s shirt back into the tub of rinsing water and hurried outside. He was galloping across the field and, as she watched, he took a hedge in a flying leap, horse and rider suspended in midair for a heart-stopping moment until he landed with a thud on the opposite side. Mary Ann stood watching him until he was a speck in the distance.
The day he spoke to her, once more at the wash-house, Lizzie was with her.
‘Good day, Mrs Ruddick.’ Sitting high above her on his restless stallion, he looked down upon her, smiling that slow, sardonic smile that still had the power to twist her heart and make her pulse race.
‘Mr Marsh,’ she murmured and tried to turn away, pushing Lizzie before her towards their two cog boats moored against the small landing stage.
He leant forward, resting his arm on the front of his saddle. ‘So formal, Mary Ann,’ he said softly and she glanced over her shoulder, looking up once more into those blue eyes, and she knew herself lost.
She tried, oh how she tried, to turn away, to step into the boat and scull back down the river to Dan and to safety. And maybe, just maybe, she would have managed it if Lizzie had not refused to respond to her mother’s little push urging her towards the river. Instead, she stared up at the stranger and then smiled prettily.
‘Hello,’ Lizzie said. ‘Who are you?’
‘Lizzie . . .’ Mary Ann began, but Randolph’s laugh rang out. ‘Don’t scold her, Mary Ann. I like a child with spirit. My own son could well take a lesson from her. In fact, I must bring him to meet her. Maybe . . .’ his voice was suddenly deep and low, ‘maybe they will become good friends.’
Mary Ann’s head shot up as she said tartly, ‘Surely you wouldn’t allow your son to consort with the likes of us?’ Then she added pointedly, ‘Mr Marsh.’
‘I wasn’t suggesting they should be married, Mary Ann.’ Again, his voice was soft as he added, ‘Though times are changing. I doubt my son will be obliged to marry where his father chooses.’
His blue eyes were holding her gaze now and in that brief moment, there passed between them explanation, sorrow; even, Mary Ann believed, a plea for forgiveness, though not a word was spoken.
‘I must go,’ she said hoarsely.
‘I’ll see you again though?’
Now there was no mistaking the entreaty in his tone. But all Mary Ann would allow herself to say, was, ‘Good day, Mr Marsh.’
As they sculled, side by side, downriver, Mary Ann was aware of him keeping the pace with them as he rode along the riverbank, matching their speed. But before they came to a bend in the river and within sight of Dan’s ship, Randolph turned and galloped away towards the woodland on the other side of the meadow bordering the river.
‘Who was he, Mam?’ Lizzie called.
Mary Ann tried to quieten the thudding of her heart, so strong that it seemed to echo the sound of his horse’s hooves. She thought quickly and said, ‘Miss Edwina’s brother,’ and as they neared the ship, she said, ‘Don’t tell your father or Uncle Duggie that we met him, Lizzie.’
The child’s eyes were innocent. ‘Why not?’
Mary Ann swallowed and then, knowing that the child would do nothing to hurt her beloved father, she answered deviously, ‘Your daddy doesn’t like him and it would only upset him to think we had even been talking to him.’
Lizzie’s cheeks dimpled. ‘All right, then. I promise.’
Their meetings became frequent and, soon, were planned.
Whilst Lizzie was at school, there was no danger of discovery, for Mary Ann waited until the ship reached the part of the river where the wash-house was situated.
‘I’ll catch you up,’ she would say gaily to Dan as she clambered down into the cog boat, loaded with their weekly wash.
‘I don’t know why you don’t come ahead and then let me pick you up when I get here like most watermen’s wives do?’ Dan remarked more than once, but the comment was said idly with no thought in his trusting mind that Mary Ann might have her own devious reasons.
Mary Ann never answered him, just waved goodbye and sculled towards the bank,
her heart thumping in anticipation, knowing that in the shadows of the trees at the edge of Raven’s Wood, only a field’s width away, Randolph was waiting.
Thirty-Nine
‘I never wanted to hurt you, you must know that, Mary Ann.’
They were sitting together with their backs against a tree trunk, hidden deep in Raven’s Wood, the scent of bluebells all around them, the sound of rustling leaves and busy, twittering birds above them.
‘I wish you hadn’t left The Hall,’ he said. ‘Why did you run away?’
‘How could I stay?’ she asked simply.
‘I would have cared for you. Looked after you. I said I would.’
‘And what would your bride have said,’ she asked bitterly, ‘if you had installed your mistress just down the corridor?’
Randolph sighed and swished his whip at a passing bumblebee. ‘You’re right, of course. You couldn’t have stayed there, but if only you’d given me a little time. Time to work something out.’
‘Such as?’
‘I would have found you a little cottage somewhere.’
The idea appalled and yet thrilled her at the same time. ‘I’d have been a kept woman, you mean? Your mistress?’
‘At least we could have been together.’
‘You could have married me,’ she retaliated.
He was shaking his head sadly, ‘No, I couldn’t Mary Ann. Not then. If I was free now, maybe. But then . . . No.’
‘Because of your father?’
‘Partly.’
‘What then?’
Again, he sighed. ‘My family name and the Marsh Estate mean everything to me. There was a clause in Great-Great-Grandfather Marsh’s will that should any heir marry against the wishes of the family, then he would be cut off with a shilling.’
‘They really put that? In the will?’
Randolph nodded. ‘Oh, yes. And they meant it.’
‘And it still counts today?
‘Yes.’
‘And Lawrence? He’ll have to marry someone of whom you approve or he will be “cut off with a shilling”?’
‘Yes.’
Remembering the word that Dan had used, Mary Ann said, ‘It sounds positively feudal to me.’
‘It is,’ Randolph agreed blandly. ‘But then in our world, it works. Of course I might . . .’ he smiled down at her, but his tone had a tinge of sarcasm, ‘ . . . try to be a little more understanding where my son’s concerned.’
Mary Ann looked deep into the blue eyes that were so close to hers. She had seen those eyes afire with passion and she had seen them cold with rejection. Now they were calculating.
Perceptively, she said, ‘And you might not.’
‘It would depend, of course,’ Randolph said glancing away. ‘He is my only son and heir. My only child. And now, it is highly unlikely there will be any more.’
Her eyes widened and her gaze met his again as he added in a whisper, ‘If you know what I mean.’
She did. Oh, she did, and her heart began to sing.
She tore her gaze away from his, fearful of what he would be able to read in her eyes. ‘Why did you never tell me yourself that you were engaged to Celia?’
‘Who was it who told you?’ Even after all these years his voice was harsh with anger against whoever had enlightened her.
Mary Ann, glad that she had kept Edwina’s name out of the conversation thus far, said quite truthfully, ‘It was common knowledge amongst the servants.’
Randolph sighed. ‘Ah yes. Servants gossip. I sometimes think they know more about our lives than we do ourselves.’
Mary Ann giggled. ‘I hope they don’t know about us now.’
They sat together, their fingers entwined, until she said slowly, ‘So, you’re telling me that your marriage to Celia was a marriage of convenience? The union of two landowning families.’
‘It’s the done thing, my dear, in my world.’
‘Do you love her? Your wife?’ She thought about Celia, the bored, discontented woman, whom she had met just that once in Edwina’s apartment at the school. She certainly had not looked happy then, Mary Ann remembered. So were things any better now? ‘Are you happy together?’
Randolph gave a wry laugh. ‘Hardly. Haven’t I just told you as much?’ Again she dared to glance at him and, suddenly, the old passion, the remembered fire was still there in his eyes. ‘We did our duty and produced a son and heir.’ He grimaced. ‘I suppose we should have provided a “spare” as well, but after Lawrence’s birth, Celia flatly refused to go through the whole disgusting process, as she called it, again.’
Mary Ann rested her head against his shoulder. ‘You’ll have to take good care of him, then.’
‘Mm,’ Randolph murmured. ‘Let’s just hope there’s not another war.’ His tone was bitter as he added, ‘They have a nasty habit of devastating future generations.’
He put his arm around her and pulled her close. ‘And what about you, my sweet Mary Ann, are you happy with Dan Ruddick?’
Carefully, Mary Ann said, ‘He’s a good man. He’s kind and loving, but . . .’
He touched her chin with a gentle finger. ‘But?’ he prompted.
‘But he’s not you,’ she said simply and raised her face for his kiss.
The school holidays presented problems for their trysts.
‘You stay with your daddy,’ Mary Ann said one wash day when she knew Randolph would be waiting, but Lizzie would not be coerced. ‘I want to come, Mam. I like turning the mangle.’
‘Let her go with you,’ Dan said, unwittingly making matters worse. ‘She doesn’t want to be stuck on board ship all the holidays.’
‘Besides,’ Duggie called across the deck from where he was hauling on a sheet to bring in the sail, ‘you might see young Tolly.’ And he winked at his niece.
It was not Tolly whom Lizzie met that day, but Lawrence Marsh.
‘There’s a motor car coming,’ Lizzie said, as she helped Mary Ann to fold the wet sheets. Dropping the end she was holding on to the dirty floor, she dashed to the door.
‘Oh Lizzie, now look what you’ve done.’ Exasperated already by the mere presence of the girl, Mary Ann snapped, but Lizzie was not listening.
‘It’s that man. The one we saw on horseback. He’s got a boy with him.’ The sound of the motor came nearer until it drew up outside the whitewashed building. The noise of the engine petered out as it was switched off and Mary Ann heard Randolph’s voice.
‘Good day to you, Miss Ruddick.’
Mary Ann held her breath. She hardly dared to move to the doorway. She was sure that if anyone saw them together, they would guess the truth. Then she let out her breath in a long sigh. She was being foolish. What could a couple of children know about the craving she had for this man? The mere sight of him made her knees tremble and her stomach churn. And when he touched her, the world seemed to explode in a firework of dazzling lights.
She swallowed the excitement that rose in her throat and moved to the door.
‘Mr Marsh,’ she managed to say, outwardly calm. ‘Good morning.’
Her glance went to the boy, who was climbing out of the passenger seat.
‘Mrs Ruddick, may I present my son, Lawrence. And this, I presume, is your daughter.’ He was holding out his hand to Lizzie as he added, ‘And what is your name, my dear?’
He was playing the part just as she was, Mary Ann thought. He knew very well what Lizzie’s name was, just as she knew who Lawrence was. Mary Ann hid her secret smile as she watched Lizzie dip her knee and hold out her hand. The girl dimpled at the tall man and her eyes twinkled, but she swiftly lost interest in the adult and turned her attention to the boy.
‘Hello. How old are you?’
Lawrence blinked at her directness, but after a moment’s hesitation, he answered, ‘Nine – at least nearly.’
Lizzie’s smile widened. ‘Me, too.’
The two adults watched in amusement as the youngsters eyed each other. ‘You’re tall for your age, aren’
t you?’ Lizzie appraised. ‘You’re taller than me.’
The boy was thin, but his child’s face promised to be handsome in adulthood with a straight nose and firm jaw.
‘So what do you say to a ride in my motor car, little lady?’ Randolph said. Turning towards Mary Ann so that the children should not see, he winked at her and added, deliberately offhand, ‘And, of course, your mother may come too if she wishes.’
Five minutes later the car was speeding along country lanes, frightening squawking chickens and filling the quiet air with noise and smoke. The children bounced on the back seat, laughing, whilst Mary Ann clung on, terrified when Randolph hurled the car around corners throwing his passengers from side to side.
He brought the car to a halt at the edge of the wood and turned to the children.
‘Run and play in the woods.’ It was a command rather than an invitation.
Mary Ann felt Lizzie’s eyes question her. ‘Mam?’
‘It’s all right,’ she reassured her. ‘But only half an hour, mind.’ Then she added primly like any good and dutiful wife should, ‘We must get back then or your father will wonder where we’ve got to.’
The children clambered out of the car and ran shrieking and yelling into the wood and disappeared amongst the trees.
Still sitting in the car, Randolph reached for her. ‘Oh Mary Ann, Mary Ann.’
An hour later, Mary Ann went to the edge of the woods and called, ‘Lizzie, Lizzie. Where are you?’
She heard their laughter and then their footsteps crunching through the undergrowth towards her. ‘Come along. We’re late,’ she said briskly, pretending to be cross. ‘We’ll never catch the ship up at this rate.’
‘Sorry, Mam. But Lawrence and me were building a den.’
As they walked to the car, Mary Ann held Lizzie back a pace or two behind Lawrence. ‘Lizzie, we won’t tell your father about this. About riding in a motor car. He might be worried. And you don’t want to worry your daddy, do you?’
The River Folk Page 25
