The sickness went on for two months, but once that early-morning stint was over she insisted on doing everything the same as before. Daniel wouldn’t allow her to do anything that involved lifting or moving even the lightest of loads, and she was glad that he was out on the farm for most of the day, for she feared her temper would flare if he became too protective.
She sang as she worked about the house and in the dairy and began to think about names for the baby. Not after either of their parents, but perhaps Daniel for a boy and Elizabeth for a girl. She shivered with the warmth of feeling this baby was engendering in her and the pleasure she anticipated in discussing it all with Daniel.
Three months into her pregnancy she miscarried. Daniel insisted on fetching the village midwife to her in spite of her protests that ‘It’s too late, she can do nothing now that I cannot do for myself.’
It took Betsy a long time to recover. She alternated between tears and temper. ‘I’ve never been a cry-baby,’ she said to Daniel after one particularly bad spell, ‘so why am I now?’ Yet whenever he offered comfort she turned on him until he too lost his temper.
One night he said, ‘The most important thing is that you are all right. I thought I was going to lose you, Betsy, and I don’t think I could bear that.’
‘But I lost the baby. It was your baby too but you don’t seem to care about it now.’
‘Of course I do, but you are more important to me than all the babies in the world. Betsy, it’s so long since you loved me.…’ But she turned away.
Betsy was amazed at how devastated she felt over losing her unborn child. Sometimes her misery was so great she didn’t know what to do with herself. If Daniel was gentle with her she turned on him for acting stupidly and if he was tough she turned on him too, accusing him of not caring about anything but his own comfort. She knew she was being totally unfair and this added to the guilt she felt, because although she had proved she could conceive, she hadn’t been able to carry to full term. She slept badly and longed for the comfort of the old days at Wren Court and her special lady. She could have talked to her about this and maybe it would have helped.
Before Mrs Wallasey died they had discussed so many situations and problems. ‘There is usually an answer to most of our troubles,’ she remembered Mrs Wallasey saying once, ‘although sometimes it isn’t the one we seek. Mostly you just have to get through as best you can, Betsy. Women are stronger in that respect than men I think.’
Betsy clung to the memory. She was strong, she was strong enough to overcome this setback but she needed time. Time to get the hurt out of her system, and although she loved her husband dearly now, part of her shied from him and she retreated more and more into herself, refusing to go to market on the pretext of things to do in the house and dairy.
When Daniel suggested they should pay a visit to her mother Betsy shook her head.
‘Why, my darling, why?’
‘Because she doesn’t care about me, never has. I’ve managed all these years without her and I don’t need her now.’
‘But she’s family, Betsy, your own family. When we do have a family of our own I would want them to visit us.’
She turned away sharply. ‘We haven’t a family, we lost our baby, or don’t you remember?’
Without moving nearer he said softly, ‘I will never forget, but one day we will have children together Betsy.’
She remained silent, trying to stem the trembling that had begun inside her. Then she turned and ran from the room. That night he climbed silently into bed beside her, not touching, not even giving her the perfunctory kiss which he had been doing in spite of her coldness.
She lay awake for hours, long after he had turned over on his side and gone to sleep. She felt guilty because she knew she was behaving badly, yet seemed powerless to stop. She didn’t realize that she was crying until a great sob shook her body and she turned her head into the pillow to stifle the sound. Suddenly she felt Daniel’s arms cradling her and heard his voice murmuring endearments.
‘I’m no use, Daniel. I can’t even have our child.’
‘Of course you can, my dearest. God has His reasons and that one wasn’t meant to be. I still need you desperately.’
‘Oh Daniel. I never thought I could feel like this. I’m as weak and vulnerable as any woman.’ As she buried her face against his chest she didn’t see the laughter in his eyes.
‘You – weak! Never. You are going to show the world that women are as good as men – and I shall help you do so, never fear.’
Jim, the farm-hand, lived alone in a tiny cottage down the lane from the farm. This had once belonged to his widowed aunt with whom he lived until she died. He went home at the end of each day, but when Thomas Shooter came to the farm seeking work during haymaking Daniel let him sleep in the loft above the stable. He was tall, fair-skinned and blue-eyed but there was an arrogance in his manner that Betsy found irritating beyond words. Not that he was anything but polite to her for the brief time he was in the kitchen. For Daniel’s sake, because he needed the extra help badly for a few weeks, she kept silent but she was not unaware of the way he ogled her while pretending not to. It revived memories of why she had been married off to George Hatton when she was fifteen. This new farm-hand was no better than her old master had been and she felt relief that he was temporary and that once haymaking and harvest was finished he would be on his way.
She came from the dairy one morning and found him standing against the wall outside. He seemed to be leaning on the wall for support.
‘Tom, what’s the matter. Are you all right?’
For a moment he didn’t answer, then he looked at her, and for a second she saw the gleam in his eyes and backed away.
‘I’m bad,’ he said, ‘feeling rotten. Master sent me back to rest.’ Instinctively she reached towards him, then she said quietly, ‘Too much sun. Best get to bed for an hour. You’ll be fine by morning.’
‘Reckon so.’ His eyes held hers for a moment. ‘I’ll be on duty tomorrow,’ he said, and his voice faltered slightly. She turned from him and went across the yard, then she heard a strangled sort of cry and looking back saw him slumped by the wall of the dairy.
All wariness gone she hurried back and helped him up. With her arm supporting him, he walked into the kitchen. She pulled a chair out from beneath the table and eased him into it. He rested his head on the table. She went to the larder for the earthenware pitcher of water she kept on the stone floor after drawing it from the well earlier. She dipped a beaker into it and hurried over to him.
‘Here, sip this.’
‘You’re very kind, missus.’ When she didn’t reply he said quietly, ‘I’d best get over to my bed afore I faint again.’ Her natural instinct was to help him, support him, yet there was something not quite right here. His voice sounds weak she thought, but his eyes … what was it she saw there, not frailness certainly, more like excitement.
‘Yes,’ she said, adding, ‘I’ll send some food over for you later.’ He went slowly, as though every step was an effort, and she watched through the window until he was out of sight round the corner by the stable. There was no one around to send with food so she took him some bread and cheese after she had set their own meal on the table. She climbed the steps to the loft, laid the plate on the top one and tapped the door. Then she hurried away because she had recognized the look he had given earlier and it took her right back to the market-place and the men’s lustful eyes as they assessed her. She was back in the kitchen before Daniel and Jim came in for their meal. Later that afternoon she mentioned the incident to Daniel.
‘Yes, he came over queer. I sent him back to the stable to rest. He didn’t come here, did he?’
‘I saw him and took some bread and cheese over just before we had ours.’
‘Was he all right?’
‘Don’t know. I thought he’d be resting so I left it on the step outside.’
‘No use to us unless he can work,’ Daniel said. ‘I’ll check on
him before I go over to the field in a moment.’
He kissed her tenderly before returning to work. Was it her imagination, she thought, as she worked in the dairy during the afternoon. Or had she seen that look in this particular farmhand’s eye, the look which said you are a beautiful woman and I want you. Had he feigned illness to get her alone in the kitchen?
Tom appeared on the farm the following morning ready for work. He came into the kitchen midday with Jim and tackled his bread and cheese with gusto. Jim rose silently as usual at the end of the meal and returned to his beloved cows. Tom lingered until Daniel said, ‘Get moving then, there’s work to be done out there.’ He left for the fields himself soon after and Betsy began clearing the crocks from the table.
A few days later when Betsy was working around the house she heard a noise downstairs in the kitchen. Daniel always called out. ‘It’s only me, Betsy,’ if he returned to the farmhouse during the day, but this time there was no such greeting. She came downstairs to find Tom standing by the scrubbed wooden table, his hand casually resting on the back of a chair. Her thoughts flew to Daniel: had there been an accident?
‘Tom, what’s up?’ Her voice was sharp with anxiety and when he didn’t answer but simply looked at her a tremor passed over her body. ‘Mr Forrester – is he all right, what’s happened, Tom, tell me.’
She was half-way out of the door when she heard him behind her. ‘He’s all right,’ he said, ‘’Tis me. I come over queer again. Need some water.’
‘Go and sit down while I fetch it.’ She was trembling as she moved towards the larder and he stood perfectly still watching her.
‘Go and sit by the table,’ she said again, warning bells ringing throughout her being. She intended to wait until he had moved before filling the mug she took from the shelf, but he suddenly clutched his chest and staggered in her direction. Grabbing hold of her he murmured, ‘I’m so dizzy …’
As she dragged him towards the chair she was conscious of his closeness, she could feel his breath coming in short little gasps and wished Daniel was around to help. Suppose he died on her. She had never had anything to do with death and illness and this was the second time in a week that this lad had been stricken. They reached the chair and she practically pushed him on to it. He clung to her, moaning softly, and as she tried to move his grip tightened and he pulled her closer until their faces were almost touching. One of his hands slid down her thigh and began pressing her to him. Jerking herself away sharply she delivered a stinging slap to Tom’s face.
‘Get yourself back to the stable this minute,’ she said. He went without another word. She was still flushed with anger nearly an hour later when she was preparing the evening repast. If they were not so short-handed she would tell Daniel about it and she knew Tom would be through the door faster than a shaft of lightning. But they had to gather the corn before the weather broke and they needed the extra pair of hands. Another couple of weeks and all would be harvested. Surely she could avoid being alone with Thomas Shooter for that short time. In any case she could defend herself against the lustings of men like Tom.
She knew now why the girls in the kitchen at her first place had been so mean with her, but at the time she had not fully understood. They were jealous because the master never looked at them. Why did she have this devastating effect on the male sex?
She had thought her husband hard-featured and less than handsome when she first saw him, yet now she noticed his strong bone-structure and not his swarthiness. She knew his tenderness as well as his temper and, strangest of all, she loved him. She enjoyed their lovemaking and her greatest wish was to have his child or children. A spasm of sadness passed through her as she wondered yet again if this would one day happen.
Twice now she had miscarried. Daniel hadn’t known about the second one because it was such early days and he was at market when she had this tremendous pain and struggled to the closet outside. She went to bed for a while afterwards to regain some strength but in spite of slapping her cheeks in an effort to put some colour back to them Daniel had said when she placed his meal in front of him that evening, ‘Are you well, Betsy? You look tired, my love.’
Smiling, she assured him she was fine and began to ask about the market and whom he had met and talked to there.
It had been frightening for her and she felt awful for days afterwards, but she was glad Daniel had not known. When things settled down maybe she would try to find out why this was happening to her. Perhaps she should speak to her mother, as Daniel wanted, but for a reason different from his. Maybe she could tell her if it was something that ran in the family, whether anything had happened to her when she was a baby to prevent her carrying her own babies to full term.
A slight noise outside shot her mind back to her present problem, but it was only Dumbo tapping at the window to come in. She let the cat inside, fed him, then went to the bedroom to wipe a cool cloth over her burning cheeks before Daniel came home for his tea.
She had no further trouble with Thomas Shooter during the next few days. If anything he seemed to ignore her presence, except for a brief ‘Thanks’ when she put his food on the table at midday. The harvest was nearly finished now and soon he would be on his way. She felt sure his dizziness had been put on and she shuddered as she realized the implications it could have. However she was glad she had said nothing to Daniel about the young farm-hand’s advances. He was young, strong and apparently a good worker. Nevertheless she would be glad to see the back of him.
The harvest supper was fun to prepare, enabling Betsy to meet some of the other farmers’ wives, and she was looking forward to the evening, not least because Tom Shooter would be on his way the following day.
Betsy noticed Tom watching her from across the long trestle-tables set up in the barn at Redwood for the traditional supper, and she refused to catch his eye. She stayed close to Daniel for most of the time, but inevitably they became separated as people moved around afterwards. It was then that Tom crept up behind her.
‘Missus,’ he said quietly, ‘can I talk to you for a moment, it’s very important.’ She swung round to face him.
‘Go on then.’
‘There’s far too much din in here, I can’t shout this out. ‘Twill take two moments only. If we just step outside—’
‘No. If you have anything to say do so here.’
‘All right. But you won’t like it. This will be better said in private.’
‘Have your say and be done with it,’ she said, ‘then we can get on and enjoy ourselves.’
‘That’s what it’s about, enjoying yourself. It can’t be much with him, your husband,’ he spat the word out with contempt, ‘he’ll take anything female and you are too beautiful for that. What did he do, buy you in the market-place?’ Her hand seemed to move of its own volition as she slapped his face, leaving a red stinging patch on his cheek. Then she walked away. She was trembling so much, with anger and humiliation – she knew not which was the dominating feeling – that she quickly escaped to the door and stood there for a few moments, fighting for control. She dared not risk going outside for he would surely follow her and in his present mood he was strong enough to overpower her easily.
The throng moved around her, laughing, happy, full of food and drink and the knowledge that it had been a good season and the harvest was in. Amazingly, no one seemed to have noticed the little encounter and Tom had quickly taken himself off.
After a time she returned to the centre of the room and helped in the clearing away. Then she joined in the dancing and merriment, but part of her felt dead. This should have been a joyous celebration, but for her, now, it was an ordeal to be got through.
She took the last of the crockery across the yard back to the farm kitchen while Daniel saw off the rest of the revellers as they made their way back to their own places. When she heard a noise behind her, she whipped round and saw Tom emerging from the pantry. In two strides he was there, beside her, both hands gripping her shoulders and marching
her into the spacious shelved pantry, he kicked the door closed.
‘No one treats Thomas Shooter like that,’ he muttered as his hands went up her skirt, ‘I’ll have you, my lady, one way or another.’ She beat her fists against his chest and his hands slid from her garment as he fought her off and tried to restrain her. But she was frantic and as he eventually managed to grip her hands and hold her at arm’s length it gave her the chance to distance herself sufficiently to lift her leg and aim for his groin. With a cry of pain he abruptly let go and Betsy wrenched open the door and fled, leaving him doubled over and groaning in agony.
She longed for Daniel to come and take her to the safety of their home. Yet as she ran back to the barn the thought came to her that Daniel would kill him if he ever found out what he had tried to do. She knew Tom was staying one more night in the loft over the stables, but thank heaven he would be leaving now that the harvest was over. Best surely to say nothing to her husband.
After breakfast the following morning Tom said to Daniel, ‘I’ll come by next year at harvest time,’ then, looking directly at her, ‘Goodbye, missus. Thanks for everything.’ His hand touched her thigh as he slipped past.
When she went over to the dairy fifteen minutes later he was hovering near the wall. In the far distance she saw her husband walking towards them. Tom obviously saw him too, for he moved away.
‘You’ll pay for this,’ he muttered as he drew near to her, and without stopping walked off down the lane.
Chapter 3
For a few days after Thomas Shooter left Redwood farm Betsy was jumpy. There had been something almost sinister about the lad. Fair-skinned, clean-looking, oozing with freshness and vitality and yet … His words about making her pay for her rejection of him kept coming into her mind, but what could he do? He had left the farm now, left the area and was on his way to new adventures and new women.
She shuddered and thought once again how wonderfully things had worked for her. The best thing that could have happened was when George Hatton sold her to Daniel. She was still filled with shame that such a thing should happen to her or any woman, but she knew that in her case it had led to such happiness.
The Straw Halter Page 4
