by Ruth Sutton
The chairman of the hunt called for order. It was a little after ten and the search for the hunt queen was about to come to its conclusion. The girls arranged themselves in a line across one end of the room. Andrew and two other men, both older than he, sat at the table and appraised the stock in front of them. Agnes whispered to Jessie, ‘Any minute now they’re going to look at their teeth.’
Andrew had kept his promise not to pay her attention and Jessie was relieved. She felt free to watch him closely as he and his fellow judges went about their task. She watched his face, saw the pale eyes run up and down each girl in turn. She noticed the girls colour slightly under his gaze. She wondered what he was thinking. Once, just once, she saw him smile, not a fresh pleasant smile but something different. It was a smirk, a knowing connection with the body of the girl he was looking at. It was as if he’d laid his hands on her, possessed her, although his stance behind the little table never altered. Jessie felt a flutter in her chest, a draught like a door opening.
When it was all over, and the winning queen had been crowned, applauded and congratulated Jessie and Agnes remained on their uncomfortable chairs by the wall while the band organised themselves and people streamed past them to the bar. Through the crowd Jessie caught sight of Andrew, saying something to the girl who’d won. She looked away as Agnes spoke.
‘Reminds me too much of the auction market at Broughton,’ said Agnes, ‘the way those girls are looked at. Harmless enough I know but I still don’t like it. Last century maybe, but not now.’
Jessie said nothing in reply, as the band had started again and the music made it harder to talk. People began to dance. Suddenly, someone stood blocking their view of the dancers, It was Andrew. ‘Would you care to dance, Miss Whelan?’ he said with mock politeness. Jessie felt herself flush. She rubbed her hands surreptitiously on the skirt of her dress.
‘I …’ she began. Agnes pushed her to her feet. ‘Go on, Jessie,’ she said, laughing. ‘Dance with the young man. I’ll keep your seat for you.’
The band was playing something slow. Andrew guided Jessie across the room to the other side where there was more space, and away from Agnes, who was talking to Caroline Leadbetter now, no doubt about her son’s chivalrous attention to one of his parents’ friends. How surprised they would have been to hear the words that passed between the two of them. Looking over her head, Andrew said very quietly, ‘Jessie you’re the best-looking woman in this room and I want you, right now.’
Jessie lost track of her feet and it took them a moment to find the rhythm again. She looked around, wondering who might be noticing them, and squeezed his hand slightly to urge caution.
‘I mean it,’ he continued, relentlessly. ‘Looking at all those slips of girls makes me want you all the more. Can’t we get out of here?’
‘I’m with Agnes,’ she said, speaking into his chest to mask the words. ‘She wants to leave early.’
‘Not yet, surely?’
‘Don’t know. Soon. She hates to see people getting drunk.’
‘Typical. She’s a tight woman. Needs a man.’
‘Don’t. Not here.’
‘Can’t you go to the ladies or something? There’s a toilet in the yard. I could go out the other door. I just want a kiss. I won’t jump on you.’
‘Hush, for heaven’s sake.’
‘Please Jess, just this once. I’m bursting for you.’
She faltered. His desire for her shocked and tantalised her. Not since Clive had she felt the physical urgency that he brought to her. It was her other self, the one she remembered during those last few weeks she and Clive had together. That was so long ago. Surely it was gone for good, but here she was, hearing those same words, feeling herself fall for them again.
The band had stopped. People were applauding as they moved off the dance floor towards the chairs or the bar. Jessie looked up and whispered.
‘The far end of the yard, where it’s darker. Wait for me.’
Her legs felt like water. Andrew left her and disappeared into the bar as if nothing had happened. Agnes was still talking to Caroline. Jessie pointed towards the back of the hotel, Agnes nodded and waved. Jessie kept walking.
The ‘other woman’ was fully in charge now. Jessie the school- teacher would have called a halt to this before it ever started, but Jessie the lover kept walking, through the press of people in the bar and by the door, out into the cold air. It was damp, drizzling slightly. Jessie drew her stole up around her neck and looked around for the ladies toilet that was behind the hotel. She could always claim that the indoor toilet was occupied. It was dark as she turned the corner, away from the light in the yard. Andrew stepped out of the shadow and she ran into him. He caught her in both arms and steered her further away from the light. Jessie the lover kissed him on the mouth, and he held her very close. She felt hot. Her heart thumped.
‘Christ, woman, I want you. Where can we go?’
‘We can’t. Not here. I’ll be leaving soon. Make some excuse. Come to me later. I’ll leave the door for you.’
‘Don’t go yet.’ He was pushing a hand up her skirt, but she pushed back against him and stepped away. She heard a giggle, quite close, and leaned forward against him again.
‘Don’t move,’ she said. ‘There’s someone there.’
A lower voice this time, murmuring. Then a girl’s voice, rising to a muted squeak. More laughter. Jessie froze. She put her fingers over Andrew’s mouth.
‘I have to go,’ she whispered directly into his ear. ‘Later. Come later.’
He said nothing. She could feel irritation, anger even, from his body so close to hers.
He pushed her away, took her hand and pulled her after him round the edge of the wall, towards the yard and the light. She tried to pull free but he held her hand firm in his own.
As they reached the back door of the hotel he let go and pushed her ahead of him towards the entrance, his hand on her shoulder. Just as he did so, someone appeared in the doorway, silhouetted against the light inside. It was Agnes.
‘There you are,’ Agnes began to say, hesitating when she saw Andrew. Jessie burned. She could feel the heat in her face and knew that shame and confusion must be written across it. Agnes looked at her. Andrew brushed past them into the hotel without a word. The two women faced each other awkwardly.
‘I was looking for you,’ said Agnes. ‘I thought you wanted to leave, so I guessed you were heading for the cloakroom, or the car.’
‘The cloakroom was busy so I went outside,’ said Jessie. ‘Mr Leadbetter, Andrew, was out there too, having a smoke.’
‘Ah,’ said her friend. ‘Do you have your things?’
‘I’ll get my coat. I’ll meet you at the car.’
Jessie picked up her coat and glanced at herself in the mirror. She was flushed, but that could be the heat. There was no reason why Agnes would guess what was going on. What if she did? Would she say anything? Jessie had no idea what to do or to say. She heard men laughing in the bar, pulled her coat around her and went out to the car. Agnes was sitting waiting, looking straight ahead. Jessie got in and sat quietly, willing herself to be calm.
‘Ready, dear?’ said her friend, without turning round. ‘Let’s go home.’
Chapter 18
Andrew didn’t come to her that night. Jessie waited until sleep dragged her down. Grey dawn woke her. She shut her eyes tight against the light and against the recollection of that moment at the ball. Agnes knew, surely. Dancing with Andrew could have been innocent enough. But being together outside: that was too much. Agnes was an intelligent woman. She had London friends for whom affairs and adultery were part of life. Jessie could confide in her, as a woman, and ask for her understanding, or she could do nothing, just brazen it out. The whole thing was absurd. He was too young, too male, too needy. She was out of her depth, and sinking.
She made tea, took it back to bed and managed to sleep a little longer. It was after nine when she finally surfaced, her mind made up. She would
carry on as if nothing had happened, which would either reassure her friend that nothing was amiss or force her suspicions to the surface. Jessie couldn’t bear the dance of uncertainty. She wanted her affairs forgotten or made explicit, and preferably the former. In the spirit of normalcy, she got and dressed for church. Church on Sunday morning was her routine, and she would keep to it. Agnes would be there. Jessie would look her in the eye and talk about inconsequential things. They could talk about Hannah and Fred and their new lodger, whose name Jessie could not remember. That would be safe.
Jessie arrived a little late at the church, sat in her normal pew, and waved to Agnes as she always did if time did not allow for conversation. The vicar was his normal self, choosing for his sermon something about service to the community. Afterwards, as Jessie walked across the churchyard, Agnes caught up with her. Jessie remembered that it was her turn to offer hospitality after the service. ‘Coffee?’ she said to Agnes. There was no reply, and Agnes’s face gave nothing away.
‘Tell me more about the Porters.’ Jessie used her brightest tone as they picked their way carefully through the farmyard beyond the churchyard gate. ‘I’ve seen her, the wife before, I’m sure, but I don’t remember where.’
‘Aren’t they an interesting pair?’ Agnes replied, her voice and expression still precisely as normal. ‘Apparently in Boot they call them ‘the one-eyed woman and the one-legged man’.’
‘Well at least that’s accurate.’ Jessie began to hope that nothing was amiss.
‘Exactly so,’ said Agnes. ‘It’s really immaterial what they look like. They are such a comfortable couple somehow. Clearly enamoured of each other, and with the time to be creative. I do so admire that, and envy them, too. Maybe I should follow suit, start being creative myself rather than just admiring it in others.’
‘What would do, if you had more time?’
‘More photography, for a start,’ said Agnes. ‘But then I think I would learn to paint. Caroline has a watercolour at the vicarage that she found in Whitehaven somewhere. It’s just exquisite. A view from down by the viaduct, of the river with the mountains in the distance. Just a few birds in the foreground, quite lovely.’
Jessie thought for a moment, picturing the spot. ‘That’s where they found poor Alice’s body … The Kitchins weren’t there last night, did you notice? I expected to see him, but not her. She’s a sad soul. I think he beats her, you know.’
‘So many men feel they have the right to treat their wives any way they choose.’
‘And their children, too,’ added Jessie. ‘Makes me weep to see some of those poor bairns at school.’
‘Stop it, Jessie,’ she said to herself. ‘Don’t talk about men, or last night. Keep quiet.’
They walked for a while in silence, but Jessie found it hard to bear, and tried a safer topic.
‘Are you going away over New Year?’
‘Not sure at present. I’m juggling two invitations actually, one to Newcastle, to Gwen and family, and the other to London, which is unusual and could be a lot of fun. I think I may do both, Newcastle first and then London.’
‘How are they all?’
‘They’re doing well, thank you. Wonderful boys, my nephews. They’ll be away and gone soon enough. I feel I want to see as much of them as I can while they’re both still at home.’
Jessie felt better. Everything was as it should be. Agnes seemed to have no questions about last night, no suspicions or assumptions. Conversation about the Newcastle family took the two women to Jessie’s gate, and round to the back door, which was unlocked. ‘Go on in,’ said Jessie to her friend. Agnes went ahead, and Jessie waited a second to take a deep breath and steady herself before she followed her into the kitchen.
‘Go through,’ she said. ‘See if you can rescue the fire.’
Jessie poured water into the kettle and set it on the range to boil for their coffee. She didn’t hear Agnes come into the kitchen behind her.
‘The fire’s picking up now. Can I help?’
‘No, that’s fine thanks,’ said Jessie, but Agnes remained standing in the doorway.
‘He’s a fine looking man,’ said Agnes suddenly. Jessie did not turn to face her.
‘Who is?’ she said.
‘Andrew Leadbetter,’ said Agnes. ‘I noticed when you were dancing together last night.’
‘Oh, that,’ said Jessie, a little too breezily. ‘I think he was just being polite.’
‘I’m not so sure,’ said Agnes.
Jessie was determined not to react. She busied herself with finding the coffee in the cupboard, and a tray for their cups.
Agnes went on. ‘Did you notice him while they were judging those girls, the hunt queens?’
‘Not really, no.’ That was an outright lie but Jessie was determined not to give anything away, anything at all.
‘There was something about the way he was looking at them. Predatory.’
‘Oh, surely not,’ said Jessie, worried now by Agnes’s persistence. ‘No different from the other men, I’m sure. The whole idea is so bizarre, lining up girls like stock animals for inspection.’
There was a slight pause.
‘Jessie,’ said Agnes. ‘Is there something going on with you and Andrew? Tell me. Tell me I’m wrong. Please.’
Jessie could not see the expression on Agnes’s face, but she heard the tone and turned towards her. She was not prepared. The cups rattled in her hand.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘No I don’t. Explain. What do mean by “something going on”?’
‘How clear do you want me to be? You are friends, I can see that, anyone can. You’ve been seeing him about plans for the school …’
‘Only because Lionel insisted.’
‘You’ve been talking together. Maybe he said something to you. There’s something between you. I can see it.’
Jessie put the cups down on the tray. Behind her the kettle began to whistle on the range. Agnes was looking at her. There was accusation in her face, and pain too. Jessie tried to give herself more time.
‘Go back in the sitting room and I’ll bring the coffee through. We can talk properly in there.’
Agnes turned and left the room. Jessie leaned on the back of a chair and breathed slowly to clear her head. She would either have to lie, and keep on lying, or tell the truth and hope that Agnes would at least keep it to herself. That was the only choice. She made the coffee and carried it through. Agnes sat upright on the sofa by the fire, her hands folded in her lap. Jessie poured the coffee and handed it to her.
‘If I tell you about it I want you to promise that it remains between us. I’m not proud of what’s happened and I know how it might look. Will you promise?’
Agnes gave a slight nod of her head but said nothing. There was no retreat now. Jessie continued.
‘Andrew and I are … very fond of each other,’ she said, fumbling for the right words.
‘How fond?’ said Agnes. Jessie realised she would not settle for euphemisms.
‘He says he loves me. I’ve told him he’s too young, that it could never work, but he still insists.’
‘And what about you?’
‘As you say yourself, he’s very attractive man. I’m flattered, I can’t help that.’
‘But you haven’t –’
‘Haven’t what?’
‘You haven’t … been to bed with him?’
Jessie realised that this was more than a question. It was a supplication. The choice was still there. She could lie.
‘Yes I have,’ she said.
Agnes choked, spilling her coffee onto her lap. ‘Oh no, no,’ she cried, dabbing at the brown splashes with a small handkerchief. Jessie got up from her chair to help.
‘Don’t!’ said Agnes, flinching away from her. ‘Don’t touch me.’
She put the handkerchief to her mouth now, covering it up, but Jessie saw tears in her eyes. Agnes struggled for breath.
&nb
sp; ‘How could you? How could you?’ she was almost shouting now. ‘With him. With a man like that. He’s an animal.’
Agnes turned away, gasping for breath.
Jessie got up from her chair once more but Agnes put a hand towards her, keeping her away, still without looking round. The only sound in the sunlit room was Agnes’s sobs, gradually abating. She found another handkerchief and blew her nose.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Agnes’s voice broke the silence. ‘I thought we were friends.’
‘We are friends,’ said Jessie quickly, anxious to return to quiet talk, away from this fierce anger. ‘It’s just happened. I’m not proud of it. I was going to tell you, when I felt clearer about it. I need to decide. I was hoping for your help.’
‘You’ve done pretty well so far without any help from me,’ said Agnes, with a bitterness that surprised Jessie again. ‘Not much left for me to help with, by the sound of it.’
Jessie looked hard at her friend. Agnes met her eyes. She looked hurt, angry, upset beyond all expectation. Jessie didn’t know how to respond. She wondered if something more serious was the matter with Agnes.
‘It’s not so terrible,’ she heard herself saying. ‘We’re both single people. These things happen. Yes, he’s younger than me, but he knows his own mind, and so do I.’
‘You chose this?’ Agnes raised her voice again. ‘You chose to have … relations with this man?’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘Oh God. I can’t imagine. It’s disgusting.’ And Agnes started to cry again, holding the sodden handkerchief to her mouth and staring out of the window.
