Maggie fumes and swings to the right, almost colliding with William. That’s all she needs, another person to order the laddie out. But William takes one look at the boy and drops to his knees beside him.
‘Who’s this fine young laddie, then?’ William winks at the boy and playfully punches his tiny stomach.
‘William – the boy should not be here,’ Helen hisses.
Maggie cuts in and points a finger at Helen. ‘Honestly, you are one miserable cow. Come on, David and don’t forget your jug of ale.’
They stroll hand in hand towards the tannery, enjoying the wind in their hair. Maggie stops for a breather and kneels before the child. ‘Next time I see you I’ll get you some shoes and we’ll sort out those sore legs.’
‘Don’t need shoes, Maggie. And I don’t want to wear any and you can’t make me.’ David scratches his head and holds out his arms for Maggie to carry him. ‘Who was the giant in the scullery, Maggie?’
‘That’s William, the Master’s son. He’s going to be a fine tailor one day.’
‘You like the giant too, don’t you, Maggie?’ David laughs and blows a kiss.
‘Aye, I do. He’s a fine man. Now stop wriggling about like a worm.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
SINS OF THE FLESH
By the main hearth, Maggie sits in contemplation. For the first time in a while she thinks of her husband, and whether she loves him at all. But she cannot find love for him, not now, not since he abandoned her. Thus, in just a small space of time, her deliberation fills her heart with anger, causing her hand to shake and form a fist, and how she curses Patrick for deserting her and leaving her alone. And yet she misses him – sometimes, and the children, more often than not in the wee hours of dawn, when all is quiet except for the chirps of song-birds.
All morning, she reflects on her matrimony. Even in the beginning, her eyes would stray and linger on other men. It’s her nature to be seductive; didn’t her father warn her so? In truth Maggie’s inclination towards wanton behaviour has caused her to tread a reckless path. Hasn’t her life thus far been one continuous quest to allure any man who takes her fancy? She revels in such hedonistic and selfish games. Maggie’s used men and discarded men, without a sentiment of guilt. In truth, other than her husband, she’s not formed one single affecting attachment – until William that is.
What passion he stirs up in her, and how he blights her soul. She presses a hand to her heart and curses the day she met him. Is it possible to feel so wretched in love? As she peers across the room to steal one fleeting glance at him, her heart leaps, but she can no longer look at him, for fear of betraying her heart. And so, with her hands still clutched to her breast, Maggie takes a deep breath and resigns herself to the fact that she, and she alone has allowed herself to become trapped in an intricate web of obsession and love.
***
The Beltane day celebrations cause much animation. At the tavern, Adam and Isobel busy themselves planning a May celebration to run the same time as the fair. When the day arrives fires are lit across the entire village, and later on, a procession is led by a piper. As expected the tavern bustles with energy, and folk buzz here and there like busy little bees.
Halfway through the day, Maggie notices that Adam is short. He’s suffering from one of his headaches that make him see stars. But no matter how many times Isobel tries to cajole him to take to his bed, she’s always met with a shaking head.
Maggie overhears their conversation as she fetches more ale.
‘Go to bed? How can I do that? These barrels won’t shift themselves, wife. Are you going to move them?’
‘No,’ replies Isobel with a tight face. ‘I’m off to the scullery, then.’
Maggie smirks as Adam follows her, staying close to his wife’s heels. He’s really got it in for her.
‘I’ve not finished talking to you yet, wife. Don’t walk away from me – now listen here. Cook’s working far too slow. Tell her to hurry or she’ll be feeling my foot up her backside, do you hear me, Isobel? I’m tired of telling folk what to do and them just nodding at me like an idiot.’
‘What’s got into you, Adam Bell? You’ve been sore all morning. It’s me who should be in a temper because I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep now for over a week because of your snoring.’
‘Snoring? Hah! I don’t snore.’
‘Oh yes you do, and I wish you would stop.’
‘Aye, I’ll stop snoring…when you stop breathing!’ He turns his temper on his daughter then. ‘What are you gaping at, Margaret? Haven’t you chores to do? Have you fetched the water yet?’
Margaret’s shoulders droop and she looks at the floor. ‘No. I was just about to do it, Father. But it’s me back, I can’t…’
Adam cuts her off then, wagging a finger in his daughter’s face. ‘Stop slouching and look at me girl. I’ve had quite enough of your pathetic excuses. Now get your backside down to that river to fetch some water. Maggie will help you. And you can use that.’ He points to a wooden stoup on the floor.
Margaret Bell sticks out her bottom lip, pouting like a wee lassie. ‘Oh, Father, I loathe going to the river. Why can’t you send Helen? My back is sore, really it is.’
Adam’s voice booms. ‘I’m not going to tell you again. Get gone before you feel the back of my hand.’
Maggie rushes to Margaret’s side and places a soothing hand on her shoulder. But the lassie’s having none of it and snatches up the pail and stoup, banging it against a wall on her way out.
‘Wait for me,’ Maggie cries, shuffling behind with more pails. But Margaret is already out the door.
‘For goodness sake,’ Maggie complains. ‘Can’t you wait for me, Margaret?’
Just before she reaches the way out, Maggie stands aside to allow William to enter. Though, to her surprise he deliberately blocks her way and stares down at her with his come hither eyes. And so, she finds herself trapped in a narrow corridor, just William and her, between a wall and his lanky frame. Maggie’s heart races in anticipation. She waits – and all the while a delicious tingle builds up deep in her core. If he touches me once it will all be over, she thinks… she closes her eyes. When she opens them he is gone.
At the riverside, while she is collecting water, Maggie scratches her leg on a rock. Then later, when she’s feeding the animals, one of the dumb beasts bites her. So as the afternoon draws to an end, Maggie wonders what else can go wrong.
‘What’s up with your miserable face?’ Cook asks, breaking her usual silence. ‘It’s not the end of the world. You can help me make oatcakes in a moment, there’s never enough to go round. Oh, and stay clear of the Master, he’s in a foul mood.’
‘Don’t I know it,’ mumbles Maggie, hoping there might be time for a bite to eat before the night time customers arrive.
***
The tavern is hectic. Maggie can’t keep up with all the demands. She scurries from one end of the room to the other, her arms heavy from carrying tankards. Her eyes look left and right, searching the room for Adam, Isobel or Margaret – but there’s no one to help.
‘Where is everybody?’ Maggie utters under her breath. Her feet are smarting and her back aches. She leans her weight over the counter for a while to catch her breath. A customer screams down her ear for her to take his order, and so she places her fingers in her ears and walks away. But the man persists and follows her through the scullery, the beer cellar, even the chicken coop. But the only person she can find is sour-faced Helen.
‘Where are the others? Isn’t Moll and the other girl here tonight?’
‘I have not seen any of them…’ answers Helen. ‘Oh, there they are.’
‘Where?’ Maggie peers through the tobacco smoke.
‘Over there – with William,’ she points ahead.
Maggie turns to the irate man. ‘Helen’s not busy; she will serve you at once.’
The look Helen gives Maggie as she walks away, but Maggie does not care. She’s discontent and weary from holding
the fort. And so she proceeds to the back of the tavern, to one of the high-backed settles, a group of three occupy one, William, flanked by two idle maidservants.
‘Haven’t you ale to serve, Moll? And you, Prissy or Missy or whatsoever your name is. I’m running around ragged while you lot have a get together…’
Moll pulls a face at her. ‘What business of it is yours? Keep your nose out, wench.’
‘It’s my business when I’m the only one doing any work,’ Maggie complains, folding her arms over her breasts and turning to William.
‘She’s right,’ adds William, holding her gaze. ‘You two should make yourselves busy. It’s not fair that Maggie has to cope alone.’
‘Hah!’ Moll sniggers. ‘Didn’t I tell you, Missy? While we satisfy his body, his mind’s filled with her.’
William seizes Moll by the wrist, tightening his grip. ‘Hold your tongue, Moll. Or you’ll be out on your ear. Have I made myself clear?’ William releases his grip.
‘Aye, you made yourself clear all right. Come on, Missy. Let’s go. I’ve had enough of the earache.’ She knocks into Maggie as she passes by.
But Maggie doesn’t feel a thing. Moll’s words are buzzing in her ears, over and over. His mind’s filled with her. She closes her eyes, summoning up every smile, touch and furtive glance. Had she imagined it? Surely not.
‘To hell with it – I can’t go on like this anymore,’ Maggie curses. Suddenly, it becomes her resolution to find him and tell him how she feels. High and low, Maggie searches for William. But he is nowhere to be found. With a groan, she picks up a tankard of ale and knocks it back in one, banging it down on a nearby table before reaching for another and then another. Before long, the room begins to spin; ale dribbles the length of her chin as she walks a zigzag line. Outside she slumps against a moss-stained wall. The disgust goes to the very bottom of her, clawing at her black heart. And a weakness runs through her body, causing her to fall to her knees and stare up at a star-filled sky. I want to sleep, she thinks sadly, and dream not of him. A small bright moon shines brilliantly ahead, and she fancies it is laughing at her, hoping to break her soul.
A customer pushes into her as she re-enters the inn, knocking her sideways, straight into the arms of William. Maggie winces as his fingernails dig into her arms.
‘Where have you been? What on earth has got into you, Maggie? Have you been drinking the ale? We brew strong stuff here you know, not like the weak stuff you have with your meals.’
Maggie’s words come out in a drunken slur. ‘I know, I know. It’s just I can’t bear to see you cavort with the other lassies anymore, William. It’s breaking my heart. I don’t want to feel the way I do about you, but I can’t stop myself, William. I love you. I always have – since the very first time I saw you.’
His face turns pale, but there is a glint in his eyes. He glances around the room with wary eyes before pulling her to him, sniffing the liquor on her breath. ‘You love me? You’re talking nonsense, you silly fool. You have a husband, woman,’ he hisses through gritted teeth.
Maggie laughs. ‘What husband? I can’t see him, can you?’
He tightens his grip around her arm. ‘You need to sober up.’
William takes a deep breath and presses one hand into the small of her back, ushering her from the room before folk can guess what state she’s in. They’re alone at last, surrounded by dirty pots and empty pitchers in a small room off the scullery, out of sight from Cook. With steady hands he pours a quantity of water in a bowl and motions for her to come to him. ‘Splash some of that on your face, and drink a little.’ He sits behind her watching her bend over the basin.
Maggie feels his eyes upon her, imagining his hands taking hold of both of her hips from behind. But he does nothing and so she turns around and makes her move. Upon his lap she climbs, legs straddling him, pressing warm thighs against his skin. Beneath his clothes she can feel his arousal, and she kisses his lips over and over, and to her amazement he kisses her back and entwines his fingers through her hair, pulling her face closer to his. And then, as quickly as it starts – it ends.
‘Maggie, I can’t do this.’
‘Don’t you want me, William? What’s the matter? Am I not bonny enough?’ She swallows away tears. In her heart she expected rejection, but when it comes it’s a bitter blow.
He shakes his head and puts his face in his hands. ‘Oh, Maggie, give me strength. I have never desired a woman more and you are beautiful. But I can’t do this – you can hardly stand up, woman. You’re drunk. You will not even remember in the morning.’
She shivers and bites her lip. He’s loosened her stays when she’d jumped on him, causing her breasts to spill out of her dress.
‘Give me strength, will you cover yourself, Maggie.’ He takes off his woollen jacket and places it around her shoulders.
‘I’m not drunk,’ she slurs. ‘And since when have you been chaste? Can’t you take me somewhere, just you and me?’
‘No. I bid you a goodnight, Maggie. Let’s forget this ever happened.’
And just like that he’s gone.
***
Weeks turn into months and all the while he avoids her. Not knowing how to return the woollen jacket without raising suspicion, she keeps it like a prized possession, her very own piece of William. And then a strange thing happens. All her life, since she was wee girl, she’s looked at men – young men, mature men, they’ve all turned her head. Yet now she ceases to look at the opposite sex. From that day forward, Maggie sees only one man – William Bell. And she cannot see past him.
***
At the end of May, a function’s planned and with it the inevitable hard work that is necessary to prepare for such an event. The occasion is a much needed distraction for Maggie, and so she throws herself into her chores with much vigour. When the day comes, early in the morning, Isobel takes Maggie aside and explains the initiation rites for apprentice to journeyman; and from the look of her she doesn’t seem to look forward to the event.
‘I abhor initiations, Maggie, but they are good for business mind, so I can’t turn them down. You mark my word; they’ll make a right racket and be a right rowdy lot.’
‘Surely not as noisy as a wake?’ Maggie asks.
‘Aye, Maggie, I’m afraid so. Plenty of sweaty men wanting to eat and drink, smoke baccy or take snuff. Let’s be ready for them, shall we?’
Helen scowls, eyes darting left and right about the whole room. ‘Is Margaret shirking again?’
Isobel snaps at Helen. ‘Nae, what makes you think that? She’s outside. Go and fetch her, will you?’
Helen shakes her head. ‘I’m wanted in the scullery. Send Maggie.’
It’s warm outside and so Maggie removes her plaid. The summer breeze caresses her skin and whips her hair up. For a while she just stands there, taking in the swaying trees and rustling leaves before looking for Margaret. Near the coop, Maggie bumps into William. ‘Morning.’ Maggie feels her cheeks grow hot.
William tips his hat.
‘Have you seen your sister?’
‘I haven’t seen her. If she’s not in bed she’ll be with the chickens. Look inside the coop.’
Sure enough Margaret’s in the chicken coop, talking to the birds as if they were her own children.
‘Come on, Margaret. You’re wanted. Your mother needs your help.’
***
Timing is everything when it concerns a festivity. Since the crack of dawn, Cook has been busy preparing food, and the result of her laborious exertions produces a mouth-watering smell that wafts throughout the inn and beyond. Maggie sweeps and cleans, and whilst she does she sings an old Scottish ballad about three sisters in a forest – a song her mother used to sing to her as a child.
‘What are the oil and wood shavings for?’ she asks Margaret.
Margaret shrugs. ‘No idea.’
The apprentice men flock in around noon, and it does not take long for the banter, joking and ridicule to begin. In the course of the r
evelry, Maggie watches the master cooper place a coarse hand on his young apprentice, raise his tankard and make a toast.
‘Here’s to wealth, health and happiness. You now have the full protection of the Cooper’s Guild. Oh, and give me back that hammer I loaned you,’ he laughs, punching his young protégé in the arm.
The men raise their tankards and cheer and shout. Next they grab the young apprentice and strip him naked. Maggie averts her eyes, thinking there’s more meat on Margaret’s scrawny chickens.
‘Come here, beautiful,’ shouts the nude apprentice from the other side of the room. ‘It’s not every day you see such a fine body as this.’
Maggie ignores him and continues with her work, clearing the tables and fetching more ale. And all the while the young men become rowdier, shouting and grabbing the nude man, smearing him with oil and wood shavings, before placing him in a barrel. And as if that’s not enough, to further humiliate him they douse him with beer and roll him all around the room.
‘Did you get a good eyeful then?’
‘Good eyeful at what?’ Maggie feels the weight of William Bell’s stare.
‘The naked lad. You were making eyes at him.’
‘I was not making eyes at him. And I don’t know about lad. He looked all man to me,’ she utters, deliberately provoking him.
Quick as lightening, William seizes her, wrapping his hand tight around her wrist, pulling her to him. She has to tiptoe to look into his eyes. ‘Don’t push me, Maggie.’
Maggie rubs her tender skin as he storms away. The coopers’ shouting and laughing rings in her ears as she runs from the room. How dare he hurt her like that. She has a mind to speak to him and chastise him for his conduct. It takes an age to find him, but when she does, she’s surprised to find him in the cellar, pounding on the door. She places a tentative hand on him and meets his hot gaze. And for the longest while they stand facing each other, as though reading each other’s wicked thoughts.
The Hanging of Margaret Dickson Page 20
