The Keepsake

by Sheelagh Kelly

  Reassured, Etta cuddled up to him, ignoring the fact that it was far too hot, feeling the heat of his body searing though her bodice, to her heart. Away from the angry voices the atmosphere of the village was one of calm, barely a sound other than that of the hover flies suspended in the sultry air around their heads. Her demeanour gradually relaxed and her mind began to drift.

  ‘I wonder what John will say when he learns of this,’ she murmured. ‘I know he was beastly to you, but only at father’s instigation and because he sought to protect me; he and I used to be close until recent happenings.’

  Marty thought he understood. ‘I suppose you would be if there was just the two o’ yese.’

  ‘I believe there was some sort of crisis when I was born. At any rate, Mother couldn’t have any more. But of course that doesn’t mean we are Father’s only children.’ At Marty’s frown, she added, ‘He has a mistress – in fact more than one.’

  ‘How do you know?’ asked her amazed partner.

  Her head still upon his shoulder, Etta wrinkled her nose. ‘Oh, gossip, you know.’

  ‘It might be just that,’ offered Marty.

  ‘No, I followed him one day, witnessed his indiscretion for myself. I feel so sorry for poor Mother, who shows him such devotion – yet I deplore her weakness for allowing it to happen. I tried to tell her, but it was obvious she already knew and was turning a blind eye. I’d never countenance anything of that nature in my marriage.’ It was not merely a declaration but a warning.

  Marty was quick to squeeze her and voice his own fidelity. She hugged him back, and to pass the time whilst they waited for the carrier asked about his brothers and sisters, whom he had named before but she had forgotten. He listed them: Louisa, Bridget, Mary and Anne, all of whom were older than himself and married, Elizabeth and Maggie still at school, Tom and Jimmy-Joe the youngest – and that was not to mention the dead ones in between.

  Etta chuckled. ‘My word, do you think we’ll have such a clan?’

  He wondered how to respond. ‘Would you want to?’

  She toyed thoughtfully with one of his brass buttons. ‘Well, maybe not quite so many – and not for years. For now I’ve no desire to share you with anyone.’

  He gave vigorous accord. ‘I’d never say anything of the sort to my parents, but too large a family drags you down. All your money goes on feeding and clothing them and there’s none left over to spend on things for yourself.’

  ‘And what would you like for yourself?’ Etta quizzed with a smile of interest.

  Marty grinned, but bit his tongue upon cognising that he had painted himself into a corner: how could he confide his dream of a big house and servants with good-quality furniture and a suit of clothes that didn’t have to be kept for best? It wouldn’t matter that it was pure fantasy; Etta would think that her father had been right about him only being after her for her money, and that just wasn’t true at all. Knowing how touchy she was about her looks, he couldn’t even admit that part of his dream had been realised in a beautiful bride-to-be.

  But then to his relief he did not have to speak. Alerted by the rumble of a cart, Etta jumped up to hail its driver. ‘Are you by any chance going near York?’

  The grizzled waggoner tipped his hat. ‘All t’way there, lady.’

  ‘See!’ Etta turned to Marty, her dark eyes refilled with their usual sparkle. ‘Luck is smiling on us already.’

  Belying his rough appearance, their saviour showed respect for the young lady’s dress and rubbed the seat clean with his hat. The sight of Marty’s bruised face caused a moment of doubt, but, a shrewd judge of character, the waggoner quickly weighed the situation and a quiet smile accompanied his invitation for the happy couple to board. It appealed to his anarchic nature that he might be helping them elope, their murmured conversation during the journey confirming his suspicions.

  Martin wondered aloud if they would be in York before the register office closed, thus including the waggoner in their conspiracy.

  ‘I don’t want to dash your hopes, but old Snowy doesn’t walk much faster than a man these days. However,’ he gave a reassuring smile and tickled the horse’s geriatric rear with his whip, ‘we’ll give him a try – gerrup now, Snowy!’

  ‘Aye, gerrup, Snowy!’ Marty and Etta shared a loving laugh at their simultaneous command, even though it made no difference at all to the horse’s stride.

  Against all odds, they did reach their destination just in time to visit the register office, the waggoner bestowing them a wink of good luck as they thanked him and rushed away to make an appointment to marry.

  But at the last minute, Etta had a bout of nervous superstition and urged her suitor to enter alone lest all go awry. ‘When they see how young I am – oh, I feel so self-conscious, I can’t bring myself to go in!’

  ‘You’ll have to present yourself some time, they can’t marry folk by telegraph – I’m joking!’ He gave her arm an encouraging squeeze. ‘How can it go wrong? We’ve already been granted the licence.’

  ‘It’s all very well for you, you’re almost twenty-one.’

  Blushing, Marty was forced to admit then, ‘I exaggerated about the couple of months, I won’t come of age till next year – but I swear to God I haven’t lied to you about anything else!’ He crossed his heart.

  Forgiving him this trespass, she was finally persuaded that their visit was mere formality, and, with time ticking away, agreed to come in with him for support. Still, she braced herself for an interrogation.

  The superintendent registrar was not at all pleased to receive their request so late in the day, and throughout the brief interview there was to be great suspense.

  But then, ‘We’ve done it!’ Marty broke into relieved laughter as, wedding arranged, they rushed away before anyone could call them back.

  ‘Almost!’ Etta squeezed his arm excitedly. ‘Oh goodness, wasn’t it such luck he could fit us in so soon? I wish tomorrow afternoon would hurry! What are we to do until then?’

  ‘I don’t know about you but I’m famished!’ exclaimed Marty, who had not eaten since breakfast.

  ‘Let’s visit a restaurant!’ At his look of dismay a crafty glint came to Etta’s eye. ‘I’m not so penniless as I made out to Father. After the last debacle I thought to be better prepared and I’ve managed to accumulate eight sovereigns.’ She laughed at his gasp. ‘Don’t ask where from! I had Blanche sew them into my petticoat.’ Then, taking his arm, she hurried him into the entrance of a dark, ancient passageway that stank of urine. ‘Shelter me whilst I retrieve some of it!’

  His stomach cramped by intense hunger, Marty was not about to rebuff her extravagant gesture and shielded her with his body whilst keeping a lookout for peeping Toms. He cast furtive glances as she hoisted her skirts and attempted to rip the coins from the petticoat’s hem, but they were too firmly stitched. She cursed and applied her teeth to the linen, making him laugh at her antics until frustration drove her to urge him, ‘Well, you have a go!’

  Wondering what an onlooker might think of him lifting a young lady’s petticoats, he nibbled and picked at the hem, which, between the pair of them, was finally rent and the coins retrieved, Marty having to chase some of them down the pavement as they all spilled free at once.

  Then, still delirious with laughter and excitement at the thought of their coming nuptials, off they went to find a place in which to gorge.

  An hour later, bloated with sausage and mash, strawberries and cream, Marty bestowed an adoring smile upon his bride-to-be across the white table linen, hoping he didn’t have gravy round his mouth and admitting he had never been in a place as nice as this. Moreover, there was another bonus. ‘I’ve still got plenty of time to nip home before it gets dark – I mean to Ma and Da’s.’

  Etta’s jaw dropped. ‘You can’t possibly think to leave me alone! I know you regard it as living in sin, but –’

  ‘Do I look that holy?’ He reached for her hand, laughing. ‘We’ll only be jumping the gun for a single night,
that hardly constitutes living in sin. No, I meant just to reassure them. I’ll take you to our new home first, get you settled – got to go there to collect my barrow anyway – then I’ll call on Ma and Da and tell them I didn’t have such a lucrative day as I thought so I’ll have to go out again. You know, lay it on thick as to how I feel guilty at not bringing any money home after all the trouble I’ve caused them.’

  ‘You’re used to this, aren’t you?’ accused Etta with a smile.

  He bit his lip. ‘No, I hardly ever tell them lies. I hate doing it now really but they’ve been so blasted obstrocu-lous over this marriage that it serves them right. If they supported their son he wouldn’t have to lie, would he? Though what I’ll do if Ma wants to feed me…’ He chuckled and, holding his distended stomach, pretended to retch.

  Etta grimaced emphathetically as they paid for the meal and left the restaurant. ‘But they’ll still expect you to come home some time during the evening,’ she reminded him.

  ‘Not if I say I’m going to kip on a bench at the station so’s to be bright and early tomorrow.’ Marty looked smug.

  ‘Another lie for Judgement Day,’ teased Etta.

  ‘Well, only in part. I will be up bright and early, it’s not every day a fella gets married.’ He linked her arm as they ambled through the city, along narrow streets that boasted elegant Georgian architecture, its symmetry marred by the squat and decrepit medieval buildings that lurked between, their gable-ends plastered with garish advertisements, plus an array of striped awnings, even now at seven o’clock having to shade the goods in the shop windows against an unrelenting sun. ‘Mindst, we won’t be tying the knot until the afternoon, we might decide we deserve a lie in.’ A twinkle in his eye, he nudged her suggestively with his hip.

  ‘Well, I might,’ said Etta, ‘though I can’t see you being very comfortable on the floor.’

  At this he looked blank.

  ‘We only have the licence, not the certificate,’ she reminded him archly. ‘It’s rather presumptuous of you.’

  Marty’s visage flooded with disappointment. ‘Aye, well, I suppose it is…’

  Etta remained aloof for a moment, then could no longer maintain the charade and broke into peals of laughter at his chagrin, clutching his arm as if hanging on to life itself. ‘Do you seriously think I’m ever going to let you out of my sight again? Of course you shall share the bed, tonight and always – oh, won’t it be wonderful never to be parted!’

  He returned her laughing gesture, voicing agreement, but still in the dark as to whether she intended only to let him sleep beside her or to lift the embargo on their physical union before marriage. But at present nothing else mattered other than her vow to be his – as his warning glance told every other man who turned to stare at her, though secretly he enjoyed the kudos of having such a jewel on his arm.

  They came out of town via the gnarled stone bridge at Castle Mills, over the scum-laden, oil-dappled broth that was the River Foss, where barges idled in the evening sun, and through the postern gate in the medieval limestone walls. Marty had deliberately brought her this way to avoid any drunken antics along Walmgate, renowned as the roughest thoroughfare in York. Some might have declared it a futile gesture when the room he had rented was over a pub, but he himself was pleased to find the saloon bar comparatively quiet, this being mid-week, albeit reeking of the usual beery fumes and tobacco smoke.

  Still, he imagined it must be a shock for Etta.

  ‘It won’t be for long!’ he assured her again, seeing her face drop at the realisation that this seedy venue was home. ‘Had there been anything else –’

  ‘I’m sure it will be fine!’ Hiding her disappointment, Etta faked glee. ‘It’s all rather exciting, come show me the way!’

  He led her up a dilapidated staircase and across a landing with nicotine-stained walls, apologising for the room’s bare boards and sparse furnishings, drawing the curtains to give them some privacy and repeating that this was purely a temporary lodging.

  Etta remained optimistic. ‘I didn’t come here to admire the furniture.’ And, smiling, she opened her arms, into which he gladly stepped.

  There followed a passionate succession of kisses. It was such a wrench to leave her, but with a regretful expression he unglued his lips. ‘I really should go and pacify the mammy and daddy now.’

  ‘Do they live far?’ She stroked him.

  ‘Only a hundred yards or so.’ His eyes crinkled in laughter. ‘That’s why I was so edgy in coming here, lest I was spotted. What will you do while I’m gone?’

  Etta planted herself demurely on the edge of the bed, hands in lap. ‘I shall just sit here and contemplate my extreme good fortune in finding you.’

  ‘Aw!’ Overwhelmed with affection, Marty threw his arms round her again, then, knowing how dusty and sticky he himself felt from their journey, said, ‘I should fetch you some water so’s you can make yourself more comfy.’ There was a bowl and jug on a table. Grabbing the jug, he returned some moments later with a supply of cold water. ‘Sorry we’ve no tap of our own. Everything’s a bit primitive.’

  She said this was of no matter. ‘Do I call someone to take it away when I’m done?’

  ‘No! Mustn’t let anyone see you’re not wearing a ring, I told them we’re already man and wife. I’ll shift it later. Oh, and I’d better light this, don’t want to leave you in the dark.’ After fumbling over the paraffin lamp, he looked about him, checking for any other addition to her comfort. ‘Er…there’s a whatsit under the bed if you need it.’ Then he blew her a last kiss, saying he would try not to be away too long. ‘Think of this, after tomorrow none of it will matter.’

  He hurried through the dying light to his parents’ house, both happy and ashamed that they believed him when he said what a hard day he’d had and did not question when he told them of his plan to return to the railway station. There was no avoiding the meal his mother had kept for him, but luckily it was a platter of cold meat, which he was able to wrap and take with him saying he must get back without delay. It would provide him and Etta with breakfast.

  On the way back he relieved his bladder for the night so as not to have to do it in front of his wife-to-be. Expecting that she might have fallen asleep after her gruelling day, he was touched to discover she had forced herself to stay awake for him, although she was in bed, the covers up to her chest and her long, dark tresses spread across the pillow.

  She asked how things had gone with his parents, to be told that all was fine, then saw his eyes go to the dress and corset draped over the iron bedstead. ‘I had dreadful trouble unlacing without Blanche.’

  ‘Never mind, from now on you’ll have me to help you.’ He removed his jacket, gave it a shake, draped it over the back of a chair and went to wash his hands and face in the bowl using the sliver of soap that Etta had conjured from somewhere. Then, oddly self-conscious under her drowsy gaze, he snuffed out the lamp before unbuttoning his trousers, carefully laying these aside too and climbing in beside her.

  Discovering that Etta, too, had left on her underwear, he refrained from cuddling her for the moment, not just because it was stiflingly hot but because he was unsure what she expected of him. ‘I’ll bet you’re exhausted, aren’t you?’ he blurted.

  The dark outline of her head nodded sleepily. ‘But incredibly happy.’ She reached for his hand.

  A little relieved, he lay back gripping her fingers, closing his eyes and murmuring how much he was looking forward to tomorrow.

  4

  The next thing he knew it was tomorrow, light streaming through the thin curtains, his body drenched in sweat and his garments plastered to him. Coming round, he stretched uncomfortably, then, feeling the stack of hot coals beside him, rolled his head to view his sleeping partner through a misty veil and smiled when he saw she was not asleep at all but was grinning back at him, her eyes more alert than his.

  His first words were unromantic. ‘God, isn’t it clammy?’

  Propped on one elbow,
Etta agreed. ‘That’s what woke me – that and the birds. I’ve been watching you for ages.’ She trailed tender fingers down his sweating face, then dabbed her lips to it.

  Smothered by her long hair, he chuckled and fought a gentle way out. Few sounds came from outside. ‘It must only be about five.’ He kicked off the covers, the erotic musk of her body wafting up to arouse him into kissing her, she meeting him willingly. But the room was like an oven, forcing him to break away abruptly with a grunt of discomfort.

  ‘Sorry, darlin’, I’ll just have to open the window.’ He clambered over the bed and reached through the curtains to open the sash, though this was to provide little relief and he groaned as he slumped back beside her and tried to flap some air inside his shirt.

  ‘I don’t mind if you take your clothes off.’ Etta dipped her mouth into the socket of his eye then licked the salt from her lips.

  His lazy grin exuded sensuality and he ran his hands through his hair to relieve his perspiring scalp. ‘I can’t vouch for what would happen then.’

  ‘I think it already has happened to some extent.’ She rolled a coquettish eye at his groin.

  He gasped – ‘You’re shameless!’ – but immediately leapt atop her, eager to find out the extent of her invitation, and was ecstatic upon finding that she did not push his hands away this time, no matter how intimately they pried.

  The heat of the day was forgotten as an inner heat took over, overwhelming Etta to such a pitch that in her thrashing she almost rolled off the bed. Between frantic laughing kisses she urged him to stop only so that she might take off her underwear. All self-consciousness gone, both rapidly divested themselves of this last barrier, then hurled their fevered bodies back together, rocking and chuckling and moaning, and, amidst passion, pain and apology, forged their blissful union.