by Georgia Hill
Meals have become dreary. Cook complains it is already difficult to get supplies. She says there is much talk in the Butter Market of hoarding.
Thank goodness Delamere has always been used to providing for its own. We should be able to manage as long as we keep the chickens. They are to be my responsibility. In Elsie’s absence, I learned how to make bread. I enjoyed this immensely, despite Cook’s disapproval of my appearance in the kitchen. Hester is talking about acquiring a goat, although I am not sure I should enjoy milk from a goat.
I am feeling Very Useful and Busy!
Thursday, 22nd October, 1914
Awful, awful news. David Parker has been killed in action at the Battle of Marne. He was twenty-six. Albert drove me and Hester to Breckington today.
His parents are devastated, but holding up well. Flora is full of a fierce anger and energy. She will become a VAD, she says. Her poor parents! One son dead, another on active service and a daughter resolute in her decision to go away from them.
‘I need to do something,’ she whispered to me as I was leaving this sad household. ‘I cannot bear to sit and sit and wait and wait for another telegram. I cannot bear to see Mother and Pa’s face. You think I am selfish, but if I stay here I will go mad, Hetty.’
I need to decide what, if anything, to tell Edward.
Monday, 2nd November, 1914
I have decided. I am to help teach at the village school. The headmaster met Aunt Hester in Fordham on Friday. He is short of teachers as several have volunteered.
I am to report on Monday next and will assist a Mr Innisford. I am so looking forward to it. After the argument with the aunts about becoming a nurse I am glad I can do something to help the war effort. I shall have Flora’s bicycle, as she says she won’t need it in London. How I have misjudged dear Flora! She has become such a friend since Richard went up. We have promised to write. I shall enjoy her adventures vicariously. It is some comfort. My role as army wife in Egypt is denied, now Edward’s battalion is in France. Shall I ever see the pyramids? Perhaps the Worcesters will return after the war, with Edward and myself at the helm. On camels! What fun that would be.
Leonora disapproves of my bicycling mode of transport, but there is simply no other way to get there. We cannot spare Albert and Snowy, alas, is getting ever-more weary.
To work. I am going to work. I know it is wrong to be so excited, but at last I feel I have something to do!
Rachel shook her head in confusion. So much had happened! Hetty married, Edward having been in Egypt, presumably with his regiment. One of the Parker boys dead so soon into the war…
Her head swam with unanswered questions, but it was too late to do anything about them now. Glancing at the clock, she saw it was getting on for two in the morning. She tucked the rug more firmly around Gabe. There seemed little point in waking him up to make him go home. She went with instinct and kissed his cheek. It was smooth and warm. Vital. Rachel gazed at him for a moment. She’d hate to see him go off to war.
Trying to be as quiet as possible, so as not to disturb him, she put Hetty’s life back into its biscuit tin and tiptoed upstairs.
Chapter 22
After a fitful night’s sleep, Rachel woke to the telephone ringing. Staggering downstairs, shaking sleep out of her brain, she picked up the receiver.
‘Hello?’
‘Rachel, hello!’
It was Neil.
‘Oh hello.’ Rachel yawned, glancing around and, noting the folded rug on an empty sofa. Gabe must have gone very early.
I’m sorry, have I woken you? I was out for a morning run and I sometimes forget that not everyone likes early starts as much as I do!’
‘No, not at all,’ Rachel lied, trying to clear her fuzzy head. ‘What is the time exactly?’
‘Eight-thirty! And a lovely day! But as it’s Sunday, I’ll let you off a lie-in.’
‘Thank you,’ Rachel said, not bothering to disguise the sarcasm.
‘I was wondering –’
‘Yes?’ Rachel hopped from foot to foot. As usual she’d forgotten to put on her slippers and there was a draught cutting under the door.
‘Well, I was just wondering if you were doing anything next weekend? There’s a film on at the new arts centre in Hereford and one likes to support these things. Took ages to raise enough funds for the building. I hear the food’s good and they have jazz playing at lunchtimes. I don’t suppose it compares with sophisticated outings in London, but I thought…’ he tailed off, obviously embarrassed by her silence.
‘Oh, Neil, I’m sorry, I’m seeing my parents. They’re moving abroad soon and it’s the last chance I’ll have of seeing them for a bit.’
‘Oh, that’s too bad.’
There was another silence.
‘Look, Rachel, have I done something wrong? I thought we had a good evening together, but then I wondered if I’d done something wrong?’
Guilt flooded through her. Neil was a nice man and didn’t deserve to be treated as she had treated him last night. ‘I’m so sorry, Neil,’ she began, ‘living and working on my own, as I do, means I forget my manners sometimes. I think I’m getting a little eccentric!’ Tim’s words that she’d end up a lonely old spinster with only cats for company came back to haunt her.
‘Just as long as I haven’t done anything to upset you. I really wouldn’t like to do that.’
‘No, you haven’t.’ Ooh, it was too early in the morning for a conversation like this. Rachel shifted her brain up a gear.
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really.’ Rachel was getting impatient now. She began to hop again; this time because of a combined need for caffeine and the loo. She wanted to get Neil off the phone. Something about his neediness irritated her and guilt about how she was treating him nagged.
‘Look, Neil, would you like to come with me?’ She said, without thinking. ‘Don’t read anything into it,’ she added hastily. Mum and Dad have a big house and there’ll be shedloads of people there for the party. One more won’t be a problem.’ And you can keep Mum from foisting Tristan on me, she added silently.
‘I’d be delighted. Are you sure, though? Won’t you want to be on your own with your parents, if they’re moving away?’
‘Oh no. We’re not like that as a family.’
‘Well, if you’re sure. Shall I drive?’
Relief relaxed Rachel’s shoulders. Neil really was the ultimate gentleman. She hadn’t been looking forward to the long drive in her unreliable Fiat. Being driven by Neil, in his more luxurious car, would be bliss.
‘That would be marvellous, I’d be so grateful. It’s quite a way, though, they live near London, I’m afraid.’
‘No problem, I’d be happy to,’ Neil replied, stoutly. ‘Anything for you.’
Another warning bell went off in Rachel’s head. She was going to have to sort this out. And soon. It simply wasn’t fair on a nice man like Neil Fitch to let him think they could be anything other than friends. But maybe she should try harder with him? He really was…nice. That word again. She suppressed a sigh. Nice was so damning. And not sexy.
As there was yet another silence, Neil went on. ‘I’ll say goodbye until Saturday, then. I’ll give you a call later in the week, shall I? To finalise arrangements?’
Rachel smiled. He made it sound as if it were a major expedition. Then immediately felt guilty again. Going in her little rust-bucket of a car would have been a major effort and possibly abortive.
‘Yes, give me a call on Friday. Must go now, Neil.’
‘Will do! And if you’re ever in Fordham, don’t forget that Roger and I would love to see you in the office.’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Rachel said faintly, with the feeling that this was all moving far too quickly for her liking and knowing it was her own fault. ‘’Bye, Neil,’ she said and replaced the receiver, wondering exactly what she’d just done.
Rachel took her coffee outside, to enjoy the glorious morning. The swallows and house martins swooped
and chattered high above her and she could hear the church bells revving up for the Sunday service. Everything had greened up in spectacular fashion; the countryside was almost rude in its display of life. In the distance, in the Garths’ fields, the half-grown calves grazed, interspersed with white bundles of cotton wool, now no longer lambs. Rachel took a deep breath in. The air was clean and pure and made her feel alive. She was so lucky living here. It had been the right decision.
Returning her mug to the kitchen, she knew she ought to get on with some work. She was behind with the twelve flower illustrations. She was only up to the month of May and halfway through a painting of some bluebells shot through with some red campions. Painted against green, they looked stunning. But she couldn’t resist. Going into the sitting room and wrapping herself in the rug, which smelled of Gabe’s soap, she dived back into Hetty’s life.
Going with a hunch, she slid a craft knife further under the back cover of the book. Holding her breath, she peeled back the leather binding and found what she was looking for: another hidden piece of paper, flattened by an age of being hidden and transparently fragile. Rachel unfolded it and began to read once more. It was another journal entry.
June 1963, Clematis Cottage
I am determined to finally write the truth about my first marriage. And so, I need to continue, whatever pain the memories may bring. I need to tell of the petty squabbling with Richard and my headless rush into marriage with Edward.
Was it Edward’s promise of travel that decided me? His regiment was stationed at the British garrison in Egypt and I had had little opportunity to see anything of the world. Or had I given in and complied with what everyone seemed to expect? To please Hester, as I longed so to do. Or did I think myself unable to take Richard on? I had little hope he still liked me, after all. Not after our dreadful quarrel at the ball. Maybe I simply married Edward to spite his brother.
Friday, 5th December, 1913 was my wedding day. It was to be my wedding night.
I remember clearly waiting in the bedroom for my husband to come to me. Hester had helped me out of my dress, brushed my hair and then, after a quick hug, left me alone.
I sat facing the dressing-table mirror in Edward’s room. From somewhere money had been found to have it painted and prettified in my honour, but it remained Edward’s bedroom and stultifyingly masculine.
I stared at my face, at the lines of tension and at the expression in my eyes. I was nervous and, if I admitted the truth, afraid. My only knowledge of the marriage act was based on the pictures Richard took such glee in showing me all those years ago from which I had fled and which had made me feel sick. I was feeling a little sick now – too much champagne at the wedding breakfast, no doubt. It had been a sedate affair, just the aunts, the Parkers, the vicar and staff. And Richard. A tiny group celebrating with meagre fayre; the minimum the family could provide without losing face.
And now what was in store for me? What was it actually going to be like? Would I have a child? I had very little idea of what to expect.
The door behind me opened and Edward peered in cautiously. ‘All right, old girl?’
I turned and watched as he made his way rather unsteadily over to me. His face was flushed and I remembered he had been drinking throughout the day – most unlike him. It occurred to me that he might be nervous too.
‘Edward? What shall I do? Shall I get into bed?’
He nodded and waved to the bed. ‘Best thing, little Hetty. Pop yourself into bed and I’ll be back in a moment.’
As I obeyed him I wondered where he had gone and then remembered the little dressing room next door. I was relieved he was not undressing in front of me. The bed was cold and I shivered as I slid in and pulled the bedclothes up to my chin. Really, this all felt remarkably awkward. For a second, I wondered what Richard and the aunts were doing. Were they still carousing with the remaining guests or had they too retired? I felt detached from everything and it reminded me of the first time I had come to the house, bewildered and terribly lonely. I started as Edward came back into the room.
‘That’s the thing, in bed, good-oh.’ His voice was over-loud and it had a forced jollity to it. He was nervous. He took off his maroon dressing gown to reveal a nightshirt and folded it meticulously over the small chair by the bed. Then he pulled back the bedclothes and got in beside me. The bed sagged alarmingly under his weight. A very strong smell of alcohol wafted over, underpinned by the acrid stench of male sweat. Or maybe it was fear I could smell.
‘Shall we have the lamps off then, old thing?’
Glad to turn away from him, I nodded and turned out the bedside lamp. It was too cold to sit up, so I slid under the clothes again and lay frozen with tension, flat on my back.
Darkness enveloped the room as Edward reached for his lamp and then he too slid into bed properly. We both lay rigid, with Edward breathing heavily, listening to the house shifting and sighing as it settled for the night.
Then Edward rolled over to me and laid a heavy arm on my middle. I felt his moustache tickle my ear as her whispered, ‘It’ll be all right, Hetty. I’ll make it all right for you, little one.’
I felt somewhat reassured, but was still unprepared for what happened next.
Edward lurched to lie half on top of me, propping part of his weight up on one arm. But he was still heavy and it made me feel trapped.
‘May I?’ he asked, his breath heavy with the smell of whisky.
I nodded, not knowing to what I was acceding. He searched for the buttons on the front of my nightgown, bumping into my chin and apologising as he did so. His breathing became ever more laboured as he found the topmost button and undid it. Then he unbuttoned another and another until it was open and I was bared to my ribs. I felt cold again and shivered.
‘Oh Hetty, my little Hetty,’ Edward groaned and covered my mouth with his. I tried not to recoil with shock, but I really did not like the feel of his moustache against my lips. I liked it even less when his tongue forced my lips to part and entered my mouth. The wet, hot thing flapped about inside my mouth and saliva dribbled onto my chin. I jerked away.
‘Sorry, sorry,’ mumbled Edward. ‘In too much of a hurry, old girl. Been thinking about this all week, you know. Longer really. Looking forward to it.’
I would have looked forward to it too, had it not been for his constant calling me ‘old girl’. It made me feel like one of the Parkers’ prize heifers. A bubble of hysteria threatened, which I bit down. It ceased abruptly as I realised Edward was hunting over my nightgown. I’d never realised what big hands he had until one captured its prey. I stifled a yelp as my left breast was squeezed painfully. A great shudder went through Edward’s body and, thankfully, he loosened his grip and then began to rub. This was nicer, I thought, and I relaxed a fraction. Whenever his palm made contact with my nipple it actually felt quite good. A warmth began to spread within me and trailed downwards. I wriggled and Edward grunted a little.
Then to my dismay, just as I was beginning to enjoy his touch, his hand left my breast to grab a handful of my nightgown and ruck it up. It was difficult as I was lying on it and the material became stuck at my hip.
Edward rolled right on top of me and lay heavily on me. With one of his knees he nudged aside my thigh and shuffled in between my legs. I tensed again, but Edward took no notice, he was breathing very heavily by now and his hand was fumbling at the join of my legs. He touched me there and I shot upwards on the bed, so great was the shock. He let out a great groan and put his other hand atop my head to pull me down again.
I became aware of a hard, hot thing bumping against where his hand was and became confused as to quite what he planned. I could feel his fingers around something and then the hard, hot thing nudged more insistently at me. Edward muttered something and pushed and the thing actually came inside me a little way. I felt it drag at my skin inside. It was a most peculiar feeling.
Edward was shaking. I could feel the tension in his legs lying against mine. He seemed to be
making the most tremendous effort at something. I did not know what to do to help, so lay there, feeling invaded and helpless. Then he gave one more push and entered me completely.
It hurt.
No one had told me it would hurt. They had hinted at what was involved, had said it was my duty and that I would soon have a bouncing baby to care for. But they hadn’t mentioned the pain.
Again, I shot away from him, but this time Edward was prepared and held me in place. His thighs tugged at my skin and stretched it, pulling it painfully tight. I felt horribly dry and sore inside. The skin dragged inside me as he thrust once, twice and then for one impossibly violent push, once more. He gave a great shout and then collapsed on top of me.
I lay, too shocked to move or speak, simply wanting his weight off me, his thing back outside me, where it belonged. The rucked-up material of our nightclothes was pressing as a hard wedge into my hips and Edward’s coarse moustache prickled through the thin cotton covering my breasts. I was desperate to move, to get away, but I was trapped. Too dry-eyed with shock to cry.
After some time, Edward’s breathing steadied.
‘My little love,’ he said, with a gratitude I had never heard from him before. ‘Oh my little wife.’
I had no response to this, so remained silent. My throat ached with unshed tears. I had never wanted the peace of my own bed more. I sensed Edward had fallen asleep, suddenly, like a puppy worn out from play. I lay like that, pinned down, unable to move for a long time and then, at last, I too drifted off to sleep.
I came to with Edward still lying heavily over me. His moustache still prickled through the front of my unbuttoned nightgown and irritated my skin. I was bone-weary but could not get back to sleep.
Half-awakened impulses still fired through me, an itch irritated somewhere I did not know and did not have the knowledge to assuage. I lay for some time, stiff and sore and confused. I had known Edward would be gentle with me, as indeed I supposed he had been, but the mechanics of it all had appalled me. A great lump of unshed tears and exhaustion lodged in my chest. Was this it? Was this married life? Was this what I must endure for the rest of my life?
