The Wrong Side of Happiness

by Tania Crosse

  He frowned at her quizzically. ‘Isn’t that what I was after saying?’ he said, nonplussed. ‘Of course, strictly speaking, I’m not supposed to marry out of me own faith without dispensation from the Holy Pope himself, but sure I’m not that fussed meself. If I have to say a hundred Hail Marys a day for the rest of me life as penance, it’ll be worth it to have the girl of me dreams as me wife. So, will you be accepting me proposal, or shall I be throwing meself in the sea there and praying that I drown?’

  Tresca was still staring at him, studying his face which seemed to twitch with a mixture of anticipation and dread. He was clearly trying to make light of what he knew would be a huge step for the both of them. Trying to make it easier for her, she supposed, if she wanted to turn him down. She loved him even more because of it.

  A warm gladness seeped into the very core of her, and all the fears of the last months melted into nothingness. Without another thought, she stepped up to Connor. To his delight and relief, she cupped his face in her hands and, raising herself on tiptoe, placed her mouth over his. She kissed him passionately, not caring who might be watching. She entwined her fingers into his hair, drawing him closer, and he responded, his hands pressing into the small of her back.

  When they finally drew apart, she gazed up at him, breathless and alight with joy, and he was grinning down, his eyes bright and piercing. ‘Am I to be taking that as a yes?’ he asked, blinking in amazement.

  Laughter tripped off her tongue. ‘I sincerely hope so!’ she chuckled in reply.

  At once, his arms locked about her and he lifted her clean off her feet, spinning her round in circles until she felt giddy. When he finally stood her down again, she had to cling to him until she could get her balance.

  ‘Hasn’t she just agreed to be me wife!’ he crowed at the top of his voice to anyone who might be listening.

  Then, taking her hand, he charged with her across the grass towards the main promenade. Through their own laughter, Tresca heard one or two bemused strangers call out their congratulations.

  The rest of the afternoon passed in a joyous haze. Tresca thought the smile would never leave her face as she watched the pride and elation dancing in Connor’s eyes. They ambled arm in arm the length and breadth of the Hoe, finally sitting on a bench and watching the sun sink over the horizon as it painted streaks of coral across the dimming sky and turned the flat surface of the sea to flame.

  ‘Won’t I be remembering this day for the rest of me life,’ Connor sighed as they eventually made their way towards the station. ‘The day me little acushla agreed to marry me.’

  Tresca’s heart was overflowing. That morning, a huge grey cloud had been pressing down on her. But now the sun had broken through, and she thought it would shine for ever. She clung on to Connor’s arm, drunk with joy, for she was sure nothing could ever spoil her life again.

  ‘We’ll buy a small cottage with some land,’ Connor told her dreamily a little later as she leant against his shoulder, gazing out of the compartment window as the train skirted the edge of Dartmoor on the return journey to Tavistock. Dusk was floating down and Tresca listened sleepily to Connor’s low and happy voice. ‘You can keep a couple of cows and your daddy can grow vegetables and live out his life in peace. And I’ll find whatever manual work I can, and won’t we be as happy as the stars in the sky.’

  And Tresca agreed that they most certainly would!

  Twenty-One

  ‘What the devil do ’er be doing yere?’

  Tresca felt herself shudder. Under any other circumstances, she would have been pleased to see the animated response on her father’s face. On her previous visit he had appeared weaker and more fragile, so she was delighted to see him stronger again. She only wished the reason for his sparking vitality wasn’t that, after some gentle persuasion, Mr Solloway had allowed Connor to accompany her.

  ‘Father, please don’t be like that,’ she begged. ‘Connor wanted to come and see how you are.’

  ‘Well, I don’t want to see ’en!’ Emmanuel insisted.

  ‘Wasn’t I truly sorry to hear you’d been taken unwell,’ Connor broke in, unperturbed. ‘And if I’d known you were coming to the workhouse, I’d have done something to prevent it. But since you’re the one who still holds it against me, I must be honest that I couldn’t have given you back your job. Company rules, so it is. You can be as drunk as you like in your own time, but every man must be sober at his work, so it was nobody’s fault but your own.’

  Tresca cringed. This was exactly what she had dreaded, her father continuing to be unreasonable and Connor defending his decision. Oh, God, could Connor possibly ask for her hand if they started off on the wrong foot?

  ‘Father, let’s put all that behind us,’ she pleaded, but then she realized that Emmanuel was muttering something grudgingly under his breath. Could it possibly be . . . ?

  ‘I s’pposes it were,’ Emmanuel conceded, glancing at his unwelcome visitor. ‘And I agree it weren’t your fault I’ve got this disease inside me. So maybies we can be civil to each other. I’s too damned tired to argue.’

  Tresca at once felt a flame of dread burning in her chest. ‘You’re not feeling worse again, are you?’

  ‘Aw, cheel, it comes an’ goes,’ he sighed wearily. ‘That good Doctor Greenwood leaves laudanum for me to take if I’m aching. Spreading all over, it is. But the medicine makes me want to sleep and I get all befuddled in my head.’

  ‘Oh, Father.’ Tresca dropped on her knees beside him, all thoughts of her betrothal swept from her mind. ‘Is it really that bad?’

  ‘Not with the laudanum, but it’s in my bones all right. But I wants to know what my princess ’as bin up to this last month.’

  He smiled, patting her hand fondly. She looked up at Connor, so tall and erect beside her. His presence seemed to instil strength and determination into her once more.

  ‘Well, you know how lovely the weather’s been,’ she began, drawing up her courage. ‘Connor and I have been out together every Sunday, and, well,’ she hesitated, ‘you know how I’ve told you how we’ve grown so fond of each other. We think the same about so many things, and we love being together so much. So, well, we’ve come to be more than just friends.’

  She paused, sweat oozing from her skin as Emmanuel turned his head upwards, his eyes narrowed. Oh, please, surely . . .

  ‘An’ now I s’pposes you’m come to ask for my princess’s ’and in marriage, ’ave you? An’ you needs my consent, else you’ll ’ave to wait till she’s twenty-one.’ His tone was sharp and accusing, and Tresca saw Connor purse his lips as Emmanuel’s gaze locked on to his. But then her father gave a grunt. ‘Well, she’m a sensible maid, an’ if she thinks you’m the one fer ’er, then I’s sure she’m right. You’ve known each other some time, so you’m not rushin’ into it. An’ if it’ll make you ’appy, that’s all I wants.’

  Tresca felt giddy with relief. She threw her arms around Emmanuel’s neck. ‘Oh, thank you, Father! You don’t know how happy you’ve made me!’

  ‘But if you lets her down in any way, I’ll personally wring your neck,’ Emmanuel growled over her shoulder.

  ‘I’ll not be letting her down, sir, I can promise you. Doesn’t my every day start and finish with thoughts of her. And I can provide well for her, too. See, this is my bank book.’ Connor withdrew it from his breast pocket and opened it for Emmanuel’s perusal. ‘That’s a tidy sum, and sure it’s my intention to add to it. But the life of a navvy’s wife, even a ganger’s, is no life for a lady. As soon as I’ve saved enough, I want all three of us to go back to County Tipperary. We’ll have a little place of our own and I’ll take care of the both of you.’

  ‘Oh, you will, will you?’ Tresca recoiled slightly at Emmanuel’s wryness. ‘Well, I appreciates the thought, but I doesn’t think I’ll be seein’ the outside o’ these walls agin.’

  Tresca stifled a gasp. ‘Father, don’t say that. We’ll look after you, and you’ll get well again.’

  ‘Well,
we can try,’ Emmanuel smiled at last. ‘But now you must tell me what you’m been up to since I saw you last.’

  An hour or so later, Mr Solloway came to tell them it was time for them to leave. The two men had gradually come to speak easily to each other, and when Connor offered Emmanuel his hand, he shook it warmly. Tresca’s heart gladdened. That was one hurdle over, but she wasn’t at all happy about what her father had implied about his health.

  ‘Can’t Miss Ladycott see her friend Lucy now?’ Connor asked the workhouse master, drawing himself up to his own considerable height.

  ‘No, she can’t,’ Mr Solloway said gruffly. ‘It’s enough that I let you in to see her father. Don’t expect to come again. Lucy’s well, that’s all I can say.’

  Connor raised an eyebrow. ‘Sorry, I did try,’ he bent to whisper in Tresca’s ear as they were shown out of the main gate.

  Tresca smiled wistfully at him. ‘Yes, and thank you. At least we have my father’s permission now.’

  ‘Yes, and I’m mighty pleased. We can start making plans now, so we can.’

  They began walking down Bannawell Street, hand in hand. There were still a couple of hours of the afternoon left, time for a long walk together. And then Tresca noticed another couple coming towards them, the elderly woman leaning on the younger man’s arm.

  ‘Good afternoon to you, Mrs Trembath, Mr Trembath.’ Connor raised his hat politely. ‘Sure it’s been another fine day. And even better, for hasn’t Mr Ladycott just given me permission to wed his daughter,’ he added, pride radiating from his jubilant face.

  Charity Trembath lifted her head haughtily. What did she care? The little trollop deserved the rough and ready Irishman. Beside her, Morgan nodded his head and nailed a smile on his face. But inside, his heart was bleeding.

  ‘I can’t believe what a good summer we’ve had, so I can’t,’ Connor declared a few weeks later.

  ‘I know. And this were a wonderful idea of yourn to hire a couple of horses so we could go further out on the moor than usual.’

  ‘Isn’t it just for the once,’ Connor reminded her, urging on the somewhat lazy giant of a beast he was riding. ‘Cost a small fortune, and aren’t we supposed to be saving up? But it’s a sorry thing if I work so hard and can’t treat me little acushla once in a while. Not ridden since I was a lad back home, so I haven’t, and I’ll be as stiff as a poker come morning. It’ll have been worth it, though, just to have seen their faces when you insisted they changed the side-saddle for a man’s one!’

  ‘Well, I’m only used to riding carthorses bareback back and forth from a field, and always astride, so I’m sure I couldn’t have managed a side-saddle.’

  ‘And sure I don’t mind if it makes your skirt ride up a little so I can see a few inches of those perfect ankles. Not that I’m after looking at them at all, of course.’

  ‘Well, I’m certain my ankles are no different from anyone else’s.’

  ‘They are so!’ Connor protested. ‘And as your intended, I don’t want any other man to see them, so shall we turn off this main highway somewhere soon and have us some privacy?’

  ‘Of course. See the inn at the bottom of the hill and the bridge? Then the small farm just afterwards? There’s a bridle path starts there that leads along the Walkham Valley. Then there’s another farm further along the track. We rarely worked so far out on the moor, but my father helped with the lambing there once. Back along when I were a tacker.’

  She led the way across the sweeping bridge and up the steep hill on the far side before turning off to the right by the first farmhouse. The track here was totally open, exposing them to the fierce August sunshine. The horses maintained a slow, steady walk and Tresca breathed in deeply the smell of hot grass and baked earth, and the animals’ warm, hairy flesh. She was utterly content living with Jane Ellacott in Bannawell Street, especially with Connor lodging almost opposite. But she did miss the countryside, and her soul drifted off into a blithe reverie whenever Connor described the life he had planned for them back in his homeland.

  They plodded onwards, the dull clip-clop of the horses’ hooves mesmerizing on the hard-packed ground. A boulder-strewn upward slope obliterated the view of the moor to their left, but on the right, the land dropped away steeply to the river whose rushing waters they could hear but not see. The view over the valley was, however, quite breathtaking and they ambled on in silence, drinking in the peace and tranquillity. Some sheep scattered nervously on their approach, while a herd of ponies further along went on calmly tearing at the grass and munching contentedly.

  Tresca vaguely remembered the farm where Emmanuel had once worked. A dog ran out and gave a token growl before slinking off disinterestedly as the strangers allowed their mounts to pick their way down the uneven path to a little bridge over a stream. Water gushed noisily over algae-covered boulders that formed a pretty waterfall, and they paused for a minute or two to admire the charming spot before entering the dappled shade of an ancient wood.

  ‘The path gets really stony from now on,’ Tresca warned Connor, ‘so let the horses find their own way.’

  The rocky bridleway took them through the edge of the wood, and they were at once enveloped in a strange stillness of deep green shadows and creaking branches. Over hundreds of years, weirdly shaped trees had grown up through a tumble of boulders piled along a ridge possibly half a mile long. Beneath the canopy of leaves, emerald moss cascaded, undisturbed by time, over the damp rocks, and the trees themselves were patterned with lichen. The mystery of the place wreathed itself around the riders, and even the horses seemed to have slowed their pace more than was necessary over the difficult terrain.

  They passed a spot where a huge rock bordered the way. Soon afterwards an even greater outcrop of granite jutted into the path, which made a small deviation round it. Several flat stones, thirty or so foot long, were piled on top of each other, looking as if they might at any moment slide down the hillside, even though they had lain there for thousands of years. They were crowned by a colossal triangular rock, just as long but about fifteen foot high, and the whole thing was enshrouded in the shadow of trees that had somehow taken root in the tiny crevices between the gigantic boulders.

  ‘Isn’t it like passing beneath the bow of a great ship,’ Connor dared to breathe.

  ‘Yes, I suppose it is,’ Tresca agreed, her own voice little more than a whisper.

  ‘Shall we stop here for our picnic? We can tether the horses in the shade and give them a rest.’

  They took off the saddles and exchanged the bridles for the halters they had been given so that the animals could chew more comfortably the feed that had also been supplied. A small bucket had been tied to the saddle of Connor’s horse, which he now filled with water from two leather bottles. Wherever possible, they had let the animals drink from streams along the way, but the creatures were still thirsty on such a scorchingly hot day.

  ‘I reckon it’s our turn now,’ Connor announced, patting his mount’s hairy neck.

  They found a spot among the rocks where they could keep an eye on the horses and yet have some privacy in the unlikely event that anyone else would pass that way. They ate in easy silence, absorbing the mystic atmosphere of the wood. Tresca leant her head against Connor’s shoulder, her eyes shut. She heard him grunt with relaxed pleasure, felt him stroke her cheek. Then he shifted position to kiss her mouth softly and then gently laid her back on the carpet of bouncing moss. His lips brushed hers again, light as gossamer, and a tingling excitement shot down to her loins. She glanced up at him for a moment, drowning in the intensity of his eyes, and then sank back into a private world that was filled with nothing but Connor’s presence.

  He kissed her again, her nose, her chin, her throat. And when he began to unbutton her blouse, she didn’t stop him. His fingers slipped beneath her camisole, caressing the soft mound of her breast. She gave a tiny gasp, but it was instantly forgotten. She knew that this was what she wanted. What she craved. And she trusted Connor with every f
ibre of her being.

  His hand moved so delicately, sending an entrancing thrill down to her belly. He was still kissing her, his breath fanning her cheek, and when his other hand reached to the hem of her skirt and began feeling its way up the inside of her thigh, every inch of her body was alight to his touch. An overwhelming force swept through her, a bewitching enchantment plunging down to that secret place that was only hers, but yearned to be Connor’s as well.

  Only for a split second did the vile memory of the attack on her in the barn flit across her mind. The men had been strangers, out for what they could get, ready to force her. But she loved Connor. He had won her heart against all odds, respecting her, proving himself, restraining himself. Until now . . .

  When he touched the soft, sweet core of her, shock waves rippled outwards and she snatched in her breath. But he was so deft, drawing her on, enticing her, so that she gloried in every sensation that fizzled through her body. Connor was muttering some words she didn’t understand against her cheek, but among them she recognized acushla, and all her fears vanished. Connor was doing something to his own attire, and when he gently slid into her, she felt no pain at all. But a feeling she had never known was in her exploded like a burst of stars, and she clung to Connor as, to her astonishment, he groaned and juddered before becoming totally stilled.

  ‘Did I do summat to hurt you?’ she asked, dizzy and confused.

  ‘Oh, me little darling,’ he murmured, and she felt him begin to shake with laughter. ‘Aren’t I the one who should be asking you that?’ He propped himself up on one elbow, gazing down at her as he fingered her tousled hair. ‘And are you all right?’ he asked, concern taking the place of the merriment on his face. ‘Sure I shouldn’t have done that, but don’t I love you so much. And I’ve not had a woman in years. In fact, not so many times in me life at all. Just once or twice with a girl I once loved who then went off with someone else.’

  ‘You never told me that afore.’