The Journal of a Vicar's Wife

by Viveka Portman

  How have I never known this of myself?

  Am I truly a loveless woman and is it, after all, my fault?

  I simply do not know.

  Wednesday, 4th August 1813

  I have of late, been feeling a sense of intense guilt over my adultery, particularly now that my husband has been making increasingly ardent and sensual attempts to please me.

  His concern is such that he has actually noticed my melancholia; something he has never noted before. Why, today he sent for Mr Cole, the physician.

  I argued fruitlessly with him, stating that I am quite well, but Mr Reeves would have none of it. Indeed, his worry seemed merely intensified by my protestations.

  During a lengthy examination, involving palpating of my belly, listening to my heart, and observation within my mouth, Mr Cole suggested that I am suffering from melancholic hysteria. How a man is able to determine such a malaise from the observation of the physical body rather than the mind is quite beyond me.

  Oh, but who am I to argue with the physician? He is right, is he not? I most certainly suffer a deep melancholia – a melancholia entirely of my own making. I could argue the notion of hysteria, yet I did not, for what good would it do? Mr Cole would not listen; men rarely truly listen to women at any rate. No doubt our protestations are merely evidence of hysteria.

  To this end Mr Cole insisted upon me taking laudanum. He even poured it into a spoon and cajoled me into swallowing it. Having never had need for the stuff previously, I was unhappy to discover it is a loathsome concoction! Its bitterness was lightened with sherry, but it remained utterly foul, and, far from releasing me from my melancholia, it made me ill. I explained to both gentlemen that I knew exactly what would shift my melancholy mood; a tipple of brandy – or two. I’ve often found it takes the sharp edge off my melancholia nicely.

  ‘Too nicely,’ I heard my husband riposte.

  Mr Cole then launched into a monologue about the vices of brandy. I did not listen, though I could see my husband plainly agreed with the man.

  It is not unknown to my husband that I enjoy a drop of brandy. I have no doubt that many a lady in my position may do the same. For how could a lady not? A dreary day is easily lightened by good drop, and a sorrowful mood can be eased by a well-timed glass of dazzling liquor. I see no harm it, none at all.

  When it was clear to the gentlemen that I was not listening they departed, and continued their hushed conversation below stairs.

  During this time, I was left to recover from their visit and my experience with laudanum alone. I looked briefly about the room, and saw, much to my irritation, that one of the men had removed my brandy decanter entirely from my dresser.

  A cruel act, to be certain!

  At length, I began to feel entirely unhappy once more, and I reclined upon the bed and slept for a time.

  I am not at all certain what awoke me, but the sun was sitting lower in the sky when I rose from my nap.

  I brushed down my gown, straightened my hair, and decided rather reluctantly to go downstairs and partake of food. Always when awakening, my guilt over my adulterous liaison with Mr Goddard and the continuation of my deception seems more wicked. This peculiar habit of melancholia has had a detrimental effect on my appetite. Still, I knew I must eat.

  It was as I made my way to the kitchen to request an early supper that I heard the bell at the front door chime. I ignored the sound, for it was Mrs Cartwright’s duty, not mine. Yet as the chiming bell continued, no one moved forth to answer it.

  ‘Mrs Cartwright?’ I called. ‘Minny?’ Neither came.

  After a moment of puzzling I recalled that my husband had given them leave to attend the christening of Mrs Cartwright’s new niece, and knew no one would be available to either answer the door or feed me.

  It is an unspoken rule, but a vicarage door should always open for any who knocks, and I knew I ought not ignore the chiming bell.

  I turned and marched forth, pasting a false and garish smile upon my face to greet whichever parishioner had come to call.

  Yet when I opened the door I was sickened to see no ordinary parishioner. In fact, standing at my front door was none other than Mr Goddard.

  ‘Mr Goddard,’ I greeted him stiffly.

  ‘Ye used to call me Henry,’ he smiled.

  I took a step back. ‘And now I call you Mr Goddard. Why are you here?’ I asked. My alarm at his presence made me blunt.

  ‘Your husband is out, I know. I saw him leave. I’ve come t’ offer you some of my produce, free of charge,’ Mr Goddard said, his voice dropping low and his eyebrows waggling like twin grubs.

  ‘Good gracious,’ I muttered under my breath, and my breast hammered with tightening alarm. ‘I thought I had made myself perfectly clear, Mr Goddard. I do not want your produce, nor your company. If you have any delivery, it is to be made by the back door.’

  His eyes brightened and I knew I’d said the wrong thing.

  ‘But Mrs Cartwright and Minny are at baby Annie’s christening …’ he argued, and now took a step closer.

  I knew then that no good would come from this conversation, no good at all, and my fears were confirmed when he took yet another step towards me.

  ‘Mr Goddard, you are not welcome,’ I said coldly, taking a reciprocal step back.

  ‘But I used to be welcome, Mrs Reeves, very welcome indeed.’

  How such a charming young man could turn into such a loathsome and frightening creature is beyond me. His sparkling eyes grew sinister and his lush lips vile.

  I cannot deny that I was rattled, and entirely uncertain what to do.

  ‘Please leave,’ I whispered. ‘I was very wrong to ever have … have …’ I couldn’t even say the words.

  ‘Have what, Mrs Reeves? Tupped me?’

  His words were crude and vulgar and my shame deepened. How could I have brought this man into our home and abused my husband’s trust as I had?

  ‘Is everything all right?’

  That voice; that righteous, powerful voice. I spun around to see my husband appear from the back doorway.

  If I’d been the sort of woman to faint, I should have done so right then.

  ‘What is going on here?’ he asked when no one answered. His voice grew cold. For a terrible moment I stood still, the hair on my neck curling in terror.

  Perhaps Mr Goddard was more stupid than I had previously noted, for it was only now he tore his lascivious gaze away from me. His eyes widened in alarm upon meeting the spectre of my husband.

  ‘I wasn’t doing nothin’, I swear Vicar, ‘twas your wife! She brought me in.’

  I could have died then and there! The lying wretch! I saw Mr Goddard as he truly was – a horrid, stupid boy – and I hated him. I turned again to face my husband.

  ‘Get out, Mr Goddard.’ My husband’s voice was furious; he looked bigger, somehow, broader and utterly terrifying. For a moment, I thought I saw murder in his eyes.

  My husband knew. He knew of my adultery. I’d never been so certain in my entire life.

  At those frightening words, Mr Goddard needed no further prompting. As he had when discovered by Jonathan, he fled, his boots hammering on the floor.

  Then I was alone to face the wrath of my husband.

  ‘Mr Reeves,’ I began, ‘Thank goodness you came … I tried to make him leave …’

  My husband watched me and my belly curled as I searched for understanding in his pitiless gaze and found none. I stepped towards him with my hands outstretched, imploring. But I didn’t know what to say. What could I say?

  ‘Let us move into the sitting room. I shall not have this discussion in the hallway.’ His voice was iron.

  My heart sank into a puddle of utter terror and sadness. There was no mistaking the disgust in his voice – and had he not said “this discussion”?

  Knowing any argument would be futile, I inclined my head and turned towards the sitting room, walking slowly. My every step felt as if it may indeed be my last, and suddenly I felt for those
convicted men I’d seen in London walking to the gallows, each step a painful reminder that they were one pace closer to the end.

  There was one undeniable certainty. With knowledge and evidence of my adultery Frederick could do with me what he wished. He could thrust me out of his home, shame and name me. He could beat me, most certainly. By all the laws of men, he had the right. Perhaps he would abandon me to the streets, where I would whittle my life away for pennies. There was no sane person who would taint his or her own name by offering me shelter – this I knew like I knew the rushing beat of my heart.

  I followed my husband, watching that broad back, wondering just how painful a strike from those muscular forearms may be. I tore my gaze from him, and saw my brandy decanter half-empty, sitting upon the dresser. Frederick’s eyes met it at the same moment. I may have been mistaken, but his anger seemed to fade, only to be replaced with a world-weary sadness.

  The same sorrow seemed to swell within my own heart.

  How had we come to this place? Had we ever had a chance at happiness? When we’d met six years ago, could we have avoided this misery by choosing other paths? Was this unhappiness pre-destined by the fates? Had we ruined any chance of finding contentment with one another?

  Undoubtedly.

  It was a bitter realisation.

  After a moment, Frederick sank down upon his lounge chair, the same chair I’d sated my passions with Goddard upon. I bit my lip.

  Slowly, his gaze falling from me, Frederick rested his elbows upon his knees and sank his head into his hands. After a moment, his shoulders began to heave.

  My husband wept.

  I stood there I don’t know how long, my throat tight. It was easy to forget this man had only recently gained any consideration in my heart. He’d been a hard husband to love, he’d been careless of my needs, and he’d offered me precious little kindness – until recently. In recent weeks he’d been the model of husbandly kindness.

  A tear slipped from my eye and I dashed it away.

  ‘Nothing happened…’ I whispered, my voice raw and broken.

  He turned his head towards me, his face stricken. Tears washed the flushed flesh of his cheeks.

  He shook his head. ‘Do you think me a fool, Maria?’ he growled.

  ‘No. No,’ I shook my head, ‘but nothing untoward happened.’

  ‘I heard him,’ he snarled, those eyes flashing with anger. ‘I have tried in these recent weeks, Maria. I have tried ardently to please you, but perhaps I am too late.’ He sighed with total resignation.

  Tears pricked in my eyes and words wouldn’t come. I wanted to scream ‘No! Don’t say that!’ But my throat was too tight, the lump within it too large and my shame to great.

  ‘Tell me now. Confirm it, woman. How long have your relations with Mr Goddard been as such?’ His voice shook as he asked. His eyes began to glitter, his anger lighting them with jealousy and all manner of other sins, but I knew he wouldn’t allow such feelings to bear fruit. He was a good man. I knew it then, as I’d never really known it before.

  I mouthed something. A denial, an apology … I cannot recall.

  Frederick continued and shook his head. ‘Jonathan has told me. You need not deny it. He told me that you were lonely, that our marriage was barren to you.’ He winced. ‘Is it true?’

  What could I say? To deny it would merely be another sin.

  ‘Yes.’

  Frederick gasped, and his face contorted in agony. ‘I know was not a good husband to you. I have neglected you in many ways. Jonathan …’ he inhaled, ‘He begged me to forgive you and give you another chance.’

  I met his gaze then and my heart seemed to break again. I’d betrayed not only my husband with this scandal, but Jonathan’s good nature too.

  Frederick gulped awkwardly. ‘I listened to him, and I forgave you because his words offered me a view into our marriage I hadn’t have the vision to see. I forgave you for your straying. I did not allow myself to even dwell upon it. Such munificence hasn’t come easily, Maria. I was terribly, furiously angry with you. Yet, still I came to realise that affection was what you wanted. When Jonathan said you’d promised never to stray again … I believed him. Fool me, I believed in you.’

  I inhaled sharply in shock.

  ‘I … haven’t! I haven’t strayed again!’

  Frederick’s eyes were torn. I knew he wanted to believe me. But he shook his head.

  ‘I can’t believe that. Not after hearing …’

  ‘No!’ I cried. ‘You’re wrong!’

  He snorted in uncharacteristic and unhappy mockery. ‘So says the woman who prefers brandy to my company. I do not understand it. Have my attempts to please you been such a terrible failure? For Maria, what more can a man do?’

  Good Lord, I felt so terribly, wickedly guilty, for he was so mistaken. In truth I have appreciated every effort he’s made in these past days.

  Every one.

  ‘No, I thank you for all your efforts. They have not been a failure. I have truthfully appreciated them greatly, but they have made me feel utterly, terribly guilty! A fault entirely my own,’ I sobbed.

  His face crumpled.

  What a fool I am!

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I confessed, ‘Yes, I have known Mr Goddard in an unforgivable manner, but you have my word, it was not so many times and never since I promised Jonathan to remain true! You may never know how sorry I am that I ever let that man into our home,’ I croaked.

  Anguish ripped across my husband’s face. ‘I am a foolish man!’ His fists clenched.

  ‘Can you not believe me this time? I have not betrayed you again, Frederick. I have been torn by my guilt.’

  He looked at me, and he seemed a stranger. ‘I don’t know,’ he whispered.

  He was truthful, at least.

  Fear gripped me. I knew Frederick had every right to dispose of me as he saw fit, as many a husband had done and would do in his circumstance. My belly knotted.

  This man held my life in his hands.

  Yet still, I couldn’t believe Frederick would do such a thing. Not my sanctimonious husband.

  ‘If this is what you truly believe, then nothing I say will sway you. Frederick, what will you do with me?’ I whispered, my voice trembling.

  He looked down his long aquiline nose, his lips curled.

  ‘What will I do?’ He laughed, but it was bitter. ‘You are my wife, for better or worse, and worse it seems to be.’

  I was uncertain whether to feel relief or pain at this caustic, unhappy statement.

  ‘Then, allow me make it up to you!’ I exclaimed. ‘Let me take you to bed. I’ll show you I love you, that I can be a good wife.’

  I don’t know why I said it, for those words had a terrible effect. He recoiled from me, his face dark with disgust. ‘You don’t love me, Maria. You never have. Taking me to your bed doesn’t make a good wife, it never has! I don’t even think you are capable of being a good wife.’

  I reeled back, stung by his words. ‘No, you’re wrong.’ My throat was so tight I could scarce speak. ‘I …’

  He shook his head, and swept to his feet. ‘Enough, Maria,’ he growled.

  I lost him then.

  His voice took on a clipped, sharp note. ‘I have matters with my parents in London to attend to. Now is as good a time as any to depart. I will return at … a later date, when I have thought matters through.’

  I reached for him, to try and stop his departure.

  ‘No, don’t go. Please, Frederick.’

  He turned and looked at me. His eyes were bright, and a muscle leapt in his jaw. ‘Do not try and stop me. To do so would be unfair. I ask but one thing of you in my absence …’

  I suspected he would tell me to stay away from Mr Goddard, but he did not. Instead, he said, ‘Read your Bible, Mrs Reeves. That is all I ask.’

  He left me to weep then, and departed in his carriage not long after.

  Friday, 6th August 1813

  If I ever thought I was a fool, I hav
e now been entirely convinced. My husband still has not returned from London, though he sent word he shall return tomorrow. Little good shall it do me, for due to my anxiety, my courses arrived early this morning.

  I cannot say how I feel about Frederick’s impending return. Worried, naturally, nervous, indeed. I live in fear.

  The villagers have been enquiring curiously of his absence, and there is little I can say. I suspect some know of my transgression, but cannot be certain, for they still treat me with such kindness that I feel quite the charlatan.

  After Frederick left the other day, I did as he bade, took heed and began to read the passages indicated to me in my Bible.

  I have never wept more tears than I did when I realised the content of those words.

  Oh, I have been such a terrible, terrible fool; so caught up in my own troubles I have neglected the see the forest for the trees.

  When I opened the Bible there was a hand-scrawled note on the cover page. It read:

  Dearest Maria,

  I am not a man who can express himself well when it comes to matters of the heart, but please understand I speak to you through the sermons in church and these passages of the Bible. They say what I cannot.

  Yours truly,

  Frederick.

  That terrible sense of hurt ripped through my body and I very nearly dropped my Bible. Yet I did not; I clung to it tightly, so as not to spill the suddenly precious slips of paper my husband had pressed there. How long had this note sat there? Neglected by me?

  I turned to the first slip of paper, my hands trembling as I did so. It was from the Book of Proverbs, 5:18–19:

  Rejoice in your wife all your life. Let her body satisfy you. Be captivated with her.

  When had he marked this passage? I wondered. For when had Frederick rejoiced in me? Only recently, leastways, and prior to those few days when he came to my rooms nightly I had not rejoiced in him overmuch. Why would he have mentioned such a passage to me? Still frowning, I turned to the next one:

  An excellent wife who can find? She is far more precious than jewels.

  I gasped as I read this, and my hand flew to my mouth. A sad understanding dawned on me. He had been trying to woo me and due to my guilt, I hadn’t even noticed.