Outcast

by Josephine Cox

  The moment came when, in his feverish excitement, the burly fellow relaxed his hold on her in order to take down his trousers. Though he still had her pinned fast with his chest and shoulders, Emma saw her chance and she took it. Summoning every remaining ounce of strength within her, she quickly twisted away, at the same time sinking her teeth into his shoulder. When with a growl he grabbed at her, a swift and furious struggle followed, during which his nails scored deep and bloody grooves down her neck and as she fled with her heart in her mouth, he whipped the cloak from her back before pursuing her relentlessly along the shadowy lamp-lit streets and across towards Eanam Wharf. Whatever Emma’s misgivings about contacting Marlow, she had no choice now but to seek his help, for her assailant appeared to have been sobered by a more driving appetite, and his determined strides as he came after her were both longer and faster than her own.

  ‘Dear God, help me!’ she prayed, as, racked by pain and feeling her strength ebbing, her steps began to falter. As she rounded the corner into Eanam Wharf and saw the lights from two lone barges along the water, Emma’s heart almost collapsed with relief. ‘Marlow! Marlow!’ she shouted repeatedly, fearful that he might not hear her cry. By now, her heart was pounding and feeling like a lead weight inside her. Her legs felt like rubber beneath her and the cold had bitten so deeply in through her dress, that every inch of her body was numb.

  When there was no rush of help from either of the barges, Emma grew frantic, stumbling towards them, calling out Marlow’s name and tears streaming down her face, blinding her.

  Emma could hear her pursuer coming ever closer, until, in a minute he was on her and the two of them struggling dangerously close to the water’s edge.

  ‘Yer bloody wildcat!’ the burly fellow shouted as he caught hold of her. ‘But that’s ’ow I likes my women!’ he chuckled. When Emma bit him hard on the hand, his triumphant cry turned to cries of pain and anger. ‘Sod yer eyes!’ he yelled, slapping her about the face and shoulders. ‘Ye’ll not get the best o’ me!’

  In that moment when she began to lose consciousness, feeling that on this night she would surely die, Emma heard a dog frantically barking. She saw a running figure launch itself through the air towards her attacker and when the burly fellow saw it too, Emma felt herself being thrown aside as the two became locked in combat. When she lost her footing and the icy-cold water sucked her into its dark, quiet embrace, the last words on Emma’s lips were a desperate prayer.

  ‘Oh, Emma! Emma, sweetheart . . . thank God!’ Marlow’s voice reached Emma through a haze, where, for a long, strangely peaceful time, she had felt as though she was floating – neither asleep nor awake, and not wanting to be either. Only when he slid his arms about her body and pressed her close to him, did she realize that the nightmare was over. She was alive! She was safe in the arms of the man she loved. For just a fleeting moment, nothing else mattered, and the rush of overwhelming happiness to her heart was more than Emma could bear.

  ‘Marlow,’ she murmured, the tears rolling down her face but her great love for him alive and burning bright in her eyes. But, suddenly, as everything became clear again in Emma’s mind, the pain returned to her eyes. ‘I must get home!’ she told him, stiffening in his arms and drawing away.

  When he spoke, Marlow’s voice had also changed. It was not the soft endearing tone it had been; it was now quiet and sad, yet still filled with love and aching to utter those words which were so deeply etched on his heart. Instead, however, he chided her gently, ‘What in God’s name were you doing wandering about the Wharf this time of night?’

  Softly, and not without some shame, Emma explained how Gregory had not come home and how she’d gone in search of him. She then described the sequence of events which followed.

  ‘I heard that Crowther was having to close down,’ replied Marlow in a serious voice, ‘I can’t say anybody’s all that surprised, what with the way things are.’ Here, he sat up stiff and straight as he went on angrily, ‘All the same, that’s no excuse for Denton to take it out on you! I ought to lift the bloody head from his shoulders!’ He punched one clenched fist into the open palm of his other hand, ‘You could have been killed because of him!’

  ‘No, Marlow,’ Emma could see he was so agitated that he was ready then and there to search out her husband. ‘It’s as much my fault as his. Just let me get home.’ She began to draw herself up in the bunk, but the effort was great and seemed to charge her every limb with agony.

  ‘Easy does it,’ Marlow said, ‘you’ve had too much of a rough and tumble to start gadding about afore you’re properly rested.’ Gently, he cupped his hands on her shoulders in order to ease her back against the pillow. It was when his rough, warm hands touched her bare flesh that Emma realized with horror that she was naked. Marlow was quick to see the alarm in her eyes as she tugged the over-blanket up, until all that could be seen above it were her two startled grey eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry, Emma,’ he said, his gaze growing darker the longer it fed on her beauty, ‘you fell into the canal . . . though I don’t suppose you remember.’ Emma did. ‘When I fished you out, you put the fear of God in me. Oh, Emma!’ He paused, as though remembering it was too terrible. ‘I thought you were drowned, Emma. God help me! There was nobody else to strip away your wet things. Sal’s on one of her jaunts and won’t likely be back till daylight.’

  Still clutching the over-blanket beneath her chin, Emma self-consciously lowered her eyes from the dark intensity of his gaze, because, despite her desire to get away from here as quickly as possible, the warmth and unashamed passion in those troubled eyes together with the mere nearness of Marlow and the way every part of her being trembled at the wonderful intimacy of this moment, created a fearful struggle inside Emma, so that she secretly prayed that this precious moment could go on forever. There was so much she wanted to say to him, so many heartfelt words she would have liked to confide to him. But something even stronger, an ingrained sense of right and wrong prevented her. Instead, she asked, ‘And the man who chased me?’

  At this, Marlow leaned backwards to rest his weight on the palms of his hands and, laughing aloud, he told her, ‘The bigger they are, the more cowardly. Me and my old friend here,’ he dropped a hand to stroke the dog’s head, ‘we saw the bugger off. One crunching blow from me, and a bite up the rear end from “fangs” here . . . well, he went up that Wharf like something demented!’

  Picturing the whole scene, Emma burst into laughter. ‘I’m glad!’ she said. Then, more seriously, ‘Oh, but Marlow, there can never be a way for me to thank you enough!’

  ‘I just thank God I was there,’ replied Marlow, rising from the edge of the bunk. ‘Your clothes should be dry by now. I’ll get them. But it’s two o’clock of a morning, and I must insist on seeing you safely to your door.’ His expression became more serious, as he added in a quieter voice, ‘There are things I need to say to your husband as well.’ When Emma pleaded with him to leave Gregory to her, he merely looked deeply into her uplifted eyes, saying, ‘We shall see!’

  When he returned with her clothes over his arm, the sight of Emma lying with her slender shoulders now exposed and her long chestnut tresses falling gently over them, caused such a storm in Marlow that he was moved to hitherto unknown depths of emotion. ‘Oh, Emma! My darling Emma!’ he murmured. Without taking his eyes off her, he draped the clothes over a chair and coming to kneel beside the bunk, he told her with tenderness, ‘You said just now that there could never be a way for you to thank me. There is, Emma. One way.’

  ‘Don’t, Marlow.’ Emma was afraid of the feelings he was creating in her, disturbing, glorious feelings which took her breath away. Involuntarily, she reached out her hand from beneath the bedclothes and, when he grasped it tight within both of his fists, she made no move to withdraw it. In fact, she thought there had never been anyone in her life as dear to her as Marlow. Not even her papa, for that was a very different kind of love.

  ‘I’m making arrangements to leave England,’ he
said quietly. ‘I’ve talked it over long and deep with Sal. She won’t come with me, so I’ll send for her just as soon as ever I can. But you, Emma! Oh, you must come with me! Please, Emma . . . say you will?’ The fear that she would refuse dulled the light in his eyes and the tension within him betrayed itself in the fierceness of his grip on Emma’s small fist.

  For a long, agonizing moment, the silence between them was unbearable. Emma desperately wanted to go with him. Indeed, she craved for nothing else and the thought of him leaving these shores and that she might never see him again, filled her lonely heart with dread. How she longed to cry out, ‘Oh, yes, Marlow! Take me with you!’ But she thought of her husband and the distress he was already suffering; she reached deep inside herself, down through the years, over every moral lesson she had learned from good people – from her papa, from Manny – and in her heart she could find only one answer. When she gave it, it broke her spirit to see how Marlow’s head bowed low, and in a crushed voice he said, ‘How will I live without you, Emma?’

  ‘In the same way I must live without you,’ she murmured, raising her hand to his dark, tousled head.

  ‘No!’ he exclaimed, clasping his hands about her shoulders, ‘I won’t let you refuse me!’ With a small, stifled cry, he had her in his arms, kissing her hair, the deep scratches along her neck, all the while murmuring his love and creating chaos in Emma’s overburdened heart.

  ‘Don’t, Marlow . . . don’t!’ she cried, grabbing the blanket around her and struggling from the bunk. ‘It’s no good, you know that!’ She was now crying as she fumbled helplessly with her clothes.

  ‘I love you, Emma,’ he said, coming to stand before her and, with his fingers, raising her face to look up at him. What he saw in her eyes tore him in two. ‘Come with me, sweetheart,’ he said again, his magnificent dark eyes willing her to say yes. ‘Please . . . come with me.’

  Emma became still, her gentle sobbing filling the air and seeming to bring it alive all about them, like the softest heartbeat. She spoke not a word, not even when his hands began to gently stroke her hair. Instead, she lifted her arms and entwined them around his neck, letting the blanket slither to the floor, showing him what was really in her heart and how very much he meant to her.

  As he bent towards her, his mouth eager to taste hers and his hands following the curves of her nakedness, Emma was helpless to resist the urges of her heart. As he gathered her up into his arms and laid her tenderly on the bed, such a wave of warm and wonderful emotions raged through Emma that she was left trembling from head to toe. When, in a moment, Marlow was stripped naked, she thought she had never seen anything so beautiful as his strong, magnificent body; the upper part was broad and warmed by the sun and his entire physique was sculpted to manly perfection by the laborious means of his livelihood. Yet, though he was muscular and of splendid appearance, Emma sensed a great tenderness and beauty of heart about Marlow Tanner. She also sensed his enveloping love and need for her, as strong and compelling as hers was for him.

  ‘I love you in such a way that there are no words to tell it,’ Marlow told her now in the softest murmur, as he knelt by the bed and gazed into her eyes.

  Emma was so choked with emotion that she was unable to say anything, although her answer was there in her heart. Instead, she reached out her fingers to touch his shoulder and when he came to lay beside her, the whole of her being shuddered with pleasure at the warm shock of his nakedness. He began kissing her in such a way that made her cry out. His soft, moist lips took the taut nipple of her breast into his mouth, sending shockwaves into every corner of her body. Now he was seeking out those sensual areas of pleasure which Gregory had never found, and Emma was transported into rapturous and burning emotion, the like of which she had never known.

  Marlow had lived and loved many times, as all healthy young bargees did. But with Emma it was different. She was that someone special; the one he had searched for; the only woman he would ever truly love. Yet, even now as he held her in his arms as intimately as any man might hold a woman, he knew that it was to be short-lived. How could he have this woman? How could he keep her for ever? His heart cried out and as he took Emma’s soft yielding body into his, his desire was such that he craved not just her body, but her heart and soul as well. Dear God in Heaven, must he let her go? How could he bring himself to part from her, for she meant more to him than his own life.

  In Marlow’s arms, Emma found Paradise. Time and time again, she gave herself to him and together they blossomed with the beauty and pleasure which neither had found in any other’s arms. Like two enchanted dancers, they clung to each other and moved and weaved in and around each other’s bodies, finding ultimate pleasure and exquisite pain in the ecstasy which bound them together and which neither wanted to ever end.

  But the beauty and wonder which held them fast was not merely physical. It was beyond that, for their very souls were merged. And when, at last, she lay quiet and exhausted in her lover’s strong, protecting arms, Emma thought she had never felt so much at peace in the whole of her life. When Marlow found her softly crying, he laughed kindly, saying, ‘Have I made you so unhappy, my darling?’

  Emma wiped her eyes and smiled up at him. ‘I love you so very much,’ she said softly. It was a painful thing to say, for soon she would have to go – back to her life and her husband. Never again would she know such precious moments as she had experienced on this night. This had been their farewell, for she could not expect him to stay and neither could she go with him. Soon, Marlow would be far away and she may never see him again. This was her night – hers and Marlow’s – and they must be forever thankful that it had given them a memory to last a lifetime. May God forgive them both.

  Yet for all those guilty feelings which now plagued Emma, one persistent question tore at her heart: how could something as beautiful as she and Marlow shared be so terribly wrong?

  Chapter Nine

  Emma was pregnant! Night and day she had tormented herself with the knowledge that the child growing inside her had not been conceived in wedlock with her husband, but in a night of shame with Marlow Tanner. Yet, despite being beside herself with fear, Emma would not have missed a single exhilarating moment in Marlow’s strong and loving arms. She had loved him ever since their very first meeting and throughout the endless time in between, he had never been far from her mind or her heart. During that last wonderful meeting, they had shared such tenderness, such harmony of body and spirit, such deep need for each other and such glorious love, that Emma knew she would never in the whole of her life experience its like again.

  Now, on this cold February morning, Emma crept out from beside Gregory’s sleeping form. Going across the room on tiptoe, she collected her slippers, took up the long fringed shawl from across the back of the chair and, wrapping it about her small, shivering shoulders, she grasped her long chestnut hair in one hand, drew it from beneath the shawl, and flicked it back so that it fell freely and magnificently down her back. As she silently left the room, which was already being penetrated by the growing daylight, Emma took care not to make any noise, for she had no wish to disturb either her husband or her mother-in-law – at least not yet. She felt the need for a moment or two on her own before the house was properly awake.

  Downstairs, Emma put on her slippers and quickly opened the curtains, but the light was not yet sufficient to brighten the parlour, so she took a match from the tray on the sideboard, struck it alight and put the flickering flame to the candlewick. Lifting the brass candle-holder and moving towards the fireplace, she placed it up on the mantelpiece. Then, she set about emptying the dead ashes from the grate and making a small fire. When she saw it crackling cheerfully, she filled the kettle and wedged it into the coals. Already, the day ahead seemed that much brighter, for Emma thought there was nothing more peaceful than sitting in a quiet room, watching the spitting, dancing flames of a coalfire and sipping a cup of tea held snugly between one’s hands. Times like this were becoming increasingly rare. O
n the odd occasion when she was fortunate enough to steal such precious moments for herself, Emma would use them to the full, contemplating what the future might hold.

  Having prepared her cup with a small helping of tea, Emma placed it in the hearth and, while the kettle boiled, she wandered to the sideboard where she peered into the mirror, looking at herself intently, once again astonished at how she had changed in the year since coming to live in this house as Gregory’s wife. The small elfin structure of her face had not changed, for her cheekbones were still high and prominent, her forehead still wide and her mouth set full and rich above a firm rounded chin. Her thick chestnut hair fell, as always, from a centre parting into a rich wavy pattern which spilled over her shoulders and way down her back; but now, it was very much longer. None of these features had changed too much – although they were perhaps more pronounced and more mature. But her eyes! Those magnificent grey eyes – which, in moments of stress or pensive mood, were streaked with black, making them darker and more mysterious – had changed above all her other features. In their peaceful beauty, they appeared even more brilliant as her emotions were cleverly hidden beneath. In anger, the emotions would surface, striking astonishment in the beholder, the greyness would darken to ebony and their beauty seem fathomless. Through her eyes, Emma saw and felt everything. They were the filter of her soul, the mirror of all she suffered and, at the height of their splendour, they had the power to hold a person mesmerized. Yet, they had also become secretly scared and at times, the light in them would grow dim as Emma’s deepest emotions and most-treasured memories surfaced.