‘You sure no one’s about?’ she asked, although her throat was so dry that her voice barely made a sound.
‘I’m all on my own,’ he replied, and pulled her closer still. ‘’Tis real nice to see you.’
Oh Lord; that smile. She wondered how many women before her had fallen for it, but hastened on, knowing just how little doubt would be required for her courage to desert her.
‘Listen, I got summat to tell you.’
‘Aye?’ When he let go of one of her hands to stroke her cheek, something inside her felt as though it was disintegrating.
‘Pa Strong is going over to Furzey Common Saturday afternoon to see some heifers.’
‘Aye, I heard talk yesterday.’
‘And George is going with him.’ With a slow smile, he leant towards her and brushed her lips lightly with his own. Feeling how her eyelids flickered shut, she took a breath and determined to go on. ‘So… it’ll only be me an’ Jacob at home.’ Lacking the nerve to invite him directly, she left the suggestion hanging, in the hope that he would understand what she was proposing.
‘So they’ll be gone most of the afternoon then,’ he speculated, still smiling. She nodded, frightened all over again by her own daring. ‘Maybe then, I should call an’ check that you’re all right, all alone up there.’ When he ran the back of his fingers down the side of her neck, something that felt like a chill rolled slowly down the length of her spine.
‘Yes. Maybe you should.’
‘I’ll watch for him to leave an’ then I’ll wait five minutes or so before I come up through the water-meadow.’ She nodded, and felt her heart start to beat even faster. ‘You’re terrified,’ he observed, and pulled her closer still. ‘Don’t be. There’s no need.’
‘I’ll try not to be, but I ain’t done anything like this afore.’
‘But you want to?’
‘This is how much I want to,’ she murmured, and putting her lips to his, kissed him softly.
‘An’ this is how much I want to,’ he said, returning the kiss and pressing his body against her.
‘Oh Lord, then maybe I’d best go.’
‘Listen though,’ he said. ‘We got to be careful. Afore Saturday, go an’ see my ma.’ She looked at him, puzzled. ‘Ask her to show you summat to stop the babies.’
‘She can do that?’
‘She knows ways to give you a chance, aye. Tell her you don’t want to fall again now you’re not nursing any more an’ she’ll show you what to do.’
‘Heavens.’ Apparently, he was serious.
‘You will go, won’t you?’
‘I’ll go first thing.’
‘Saturday afternoon, then,’ he said, smiling again.
‘Aye, Saturday afternoon,’ she agreed, and picking her way quickly between the alder stools, hurried from the coppice without looking back.
*
The following morning, Mary made her way to see Martha, keeping her fingers crossed that she would be at home. Shifting the weight of Jacob on her hip, she walked up Church Hill deep in thought; presumably Francis knew these things on account of growing up hearing his mother discuss them, or perhaps simply because he had so many sisters. Either way, it was still an astounding discovery.
Reaching Martha’s front door she knocked and waited.
‘Hello, Mary. And hello, Jacob. How are you both?’
‘We’re fine,’ she replied, suddenly even more nervous. It had been one thing to decide to come, but quite another to ask for what she wanted.
‘What can I do for you?’ Martha asked, beckoning them in.
‘Well, ’tis a mite awkward… for me, at least.’
‘Don’t werret, love. I’ve heard it all before,’ she heard Martha assuring her as she set Jacob on the floor and looked down at him for a moment before saying:
‘I was wondering whether there’s anything I can do to… stop myself falling with child again. Jacob’s almost a year old now but I ain’t ready for another just yet…’ Don’t overdo it, she reminded herself, and risked looking up at Martha. Too many lies and you’ll hang yourself on them.
‘Ewe’s wool and beeswax,’ Martha replied, unflinching. ‘That’s what you want. It’s about as reliable as anything else but a lot less dangerous than a good many things women see fit to use. Come out the back with me an’ I’ll show you what to do.’ She followed Martha through to her kitchen and then watched as she opened her bag and pulled out some things. ‘You got to make a kind of plug to go inside you,’ she explained, pulling and teasing at a clump of ewe’s wool. ‘Some women soak it in vinegar but I seen the unpleasantness that can do to a woman’s insides, so ’tis best to use beeswax.’ She watched, managing to feel both fascinated and foolish in equal measure. Did all women know this? ‘Now,’ she said, holding the result between her finger and thumb, ‘you push this up inside you, as far as you can. At least this far,’ she added, extending her forefinger. ‘Now, you count your eight-and-twenty days, don’t you?’
‘Um… mostly.’
‘Well, if you want to avoid falling you need to do a bit better than that. I can’t say why it is but you’re most likely to fall in the middle of that time. So start using this after you’ve counted ten days and then keep using it for a week or so afterwards. Don’t forget to take it out each time either, although not immediately afterwards or his seed might still get through.’ When Martha held it towards her, she took it and examined it closely.
‘Will I feel it inside me?’
‘Not if you push it up far enough. If you can feel it, it ain’t in right.’
‘And the man don’t feel it either?’ she asked.
‘I’ve heard of some who say they do but I don’t believe them. They only say it since they don’t like the idea of their wives using it. Some men think the only reason their wives don’t stray is on account of the risk of falling.’
‘Oh!’
‘You mind how I made it?’ Martha asked.
‘Aye.’
‘Just remember, though, nothing’s perfect.’
‘No.’
‘Well, good luck with it, then, love.’
And as she stepped out into the lane with Jacob once again on her hip, she had the very definite notion that she had just been given something of value beyond measure. And of all the unexpected things, it had turned out to be knowledge.
*
When Saturday morning came and George went to work as usual, Mary found herself trying to quell a very uneasy feeling. This was it. If she chose to go through with it, today was the day that she was going to betray her husband or, looking at it another way, give in to her need to feel desired. The first was unfortunate; the latter, increasingly unbearable. Unable to settle, she looked around the cottage and then through the doorway down to the meadow. There could be no escaping the fact that she was risking her marriage; a good one as marriages for girls like her went – wed into a good family, her husband with proper work, their own place to live and a healthy son – but all told, how great a risk was it, truly? As long as they were careful – and Francis had made it perfectly clear that they had to be – then the likelihood of George coming to learn anything of it was low. Truth to tell, the most likely way of him finding out, she had come to conclude, was if she herself gave in to a need to confess, but since that was one of the few things in life that was wholly within her control, she could be certain that it wouldn’t happen. And, in any event, if she let this opportunity pass her by, she knew very well that there might never be another. Or another man quite like Francis. No; no matter how sick she currently felt, she knew that she had to force herself to go through with it or risk regretting it for evermore. And, with that realisation, she applied herself vigorously to making dumplings in the hope of diverting her mind elsewhere before she caved to common sense.
*
A couple of hours later she was sitting on the grass above her vegetable plot, staring out across the water-meadow. Thomas had collected George and she had stood steadily waving them
off, although inside she had felt anything but steady. Then it had taken what seemed like an eternity to settle Jacob; and now, if she was honest, she was simply feeling rather drained, all of the morning’s anticipation having left her tense and rather unsure of herself.
Then, just as she was wondering whether he would in fact come, she saw his golden head bobbing above the top of the long grasses in the meadow, and as he walked up the slope towards her she gasped; wearing dark breeches with a white shirt open at the neck, his sleeves were rolled above his elbows and over the top was a chestnut-brown, checked waistcoat. Buttoned smartly, it made him look even more striking than usual, and as he drew near, he smiled warmly. Nervously, she stood up to greet him and he pulled her close, kissing her gently.
‘Did you go an’ see my ma?’
Unable to speak of such things, she snuggled her face into his neck.
‘’Tis taken care of. Mm, you smell nice.’
‘Do I?’ she could feel him asking against her hair.
She breathed deeply.
‘Like clean linen or summat.’
‘Then I confess. I borrowed summat ’specially to smell nice for you.’
Oh why hadn’t she thought to bathe?
‘Well, it’s lovely. I wish I’d had the chance to wash nicely but I only just got Jacob to go down.’ It seemed such an obvious thing to have overlooked.
‘Then let’s put that to rights.’
She pulled away and looked back at him.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Let me wash you.’ Not waiting for her response, he was already leading her up towards the cottage, but surprised by his suggestion, she hung back. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, smiling and tugging at her hand.
‘Ain’t nobody washed me since I was a little ’un.’ It felt a daft thing to be confessing, but on balance, less uncomfortable than the truth, which was that she felt mortified by the very notion.
‘Well, while I don’t make a habit of washing young women, I’m of a mind that I can make a good job of it, so why not let me try?’ In the knowledge that her face was burning, but unable to see any way to deflect him from the idea, she allowed herself to be led to the pump. ‘Sit there, then,’ he said, indicating the stool, ‘while I ready things.’ Part of her head was making a considerable deal of drawing her attention to the fact that it wasn’t too late to change her mind. Another part of it, though, was offering fine defence for seeing it through. And anyway, he had already fetched the kettle from its hook, emptied the hot water into a pail, and was now topping it up with water from the pump. And now he was unbuttoning his waistcoat and taking it off to hang inside the woodshed, before pulling his shirt over his head and hanging it from the same hook. Beneath the folds of her skirt, she wrapped her fingers tightly around the edge of the stool. At the sight of him stripped off, a feeling she had begun to recognise as desire shot the length of her body, while, at the same time, she recalled when she’d stood with Annie admiring him washing at the pump, but never for one single moment imagining that this would ever happen. She watched him checking the temperature of the water with his hand and, evidently satisfied, he came back to stand in front of her. ‘Stand up for me then.’ She was as close now to changing her mind about the whole thing as she was to going through with it, but somehow she made herself do as he said, holding his eyes as she felt him untying the ribbon at the neck of her blouse and loosening it sufficiently to lift quickly over her head. Then, without hesitation, he eased the waistband of her skirt down over her hips and lowered it to the ground. Resting her quivering hand on his shoulder she dutifully stepped out, feeling unable to believe that she was letting him do this. Standing now in her chemise, she reminded herself to breathe and watched him gathering the cotton cloth upwards from its hem. ‘Arms up,’ he whispered, and when, with a nervous giggle, she complied, he lifted the garment clear over her head. ‘Good. We’re ready, then,’ he said, placing her clothes aside and guiding her back down onto the stool. ‘Now, tell me if this is too hot or cold,’ he instructed, and bending to the pail cupped his hands in the water and emptied some over her shoulders, watching for her response. She wanted to tell him that it was fine, but found that all she could do was nod, at which he collected more water to pour over her, doing so again and again. Then he reached for the tablet of soap, and fixing his eyes back on hers, took it in his hand and worked it gently across her skin, smoothing out the suds with the lightest of touches. ‘All right?’
‘Lovely,’ she whispered, her eyes closing in astonishment. With the way he was caressing her skin, she found his claim that he had never done this before hard to believe, but if this was the result, then she didn’t much care how many women he’d washed, nor how often. She opened her eyes again, wanting to look at him. ‘Oh, no; you’re getting wet.’
He glanced down at his breeches, splashed with patches of suds.
‘Oh dear,’ he said, his expression one of mock dismay, ‘now what’s to be done?’ For a moment she just looked at him blankly, so that, unable to suppress a laugh, he added, ‘See, I’d unfasten them myself but,’ he turned his palms uppermost, ‘my hands are covered in soap.’ Realising then what he wanted her to do, she shook her head, but nevertheless reached to unfasten his buttons and watch as he moved aside from the water to step out of his breeches and place them in the dry. But as he turned back to her, naked, she blushed deeply and hastily raised her eyes firmly to his, grateful that he felt no need to comment on her embarrassment. ‘Now, where was I? Oh aye, around about here, I think,’ he said, reaching to soap down over her back.
She giggled.
‘This is nice.’
‘See, I told you you’d like it,’ he replied, ‘an’ I ain’t anywhere near the best bits yet.’
‘And what bits are they?’ she asked, laughing and slapping a mound of suds onto his chest.
‘Why, them ticklish toes, ma’am.’
Pressing more suds onto him, she laughed.
‘You’re daft!’
‘It has been said.’
Closing her eyes, she could feel that she was smiling; every handful of warm water trickling down over her body seeming to wash away all of her earlier tension and doubt. How that could be, though; how could such behaviour – such sinful behaviour – feel so perfectly natural? But with no desire to breathe new life into earlier misgivings, she held her face to the sun, relishing the warmth of its rays and the feel of him gently rubbing her dry.
‘Well, it seems a reasonable job,’ he said, breaking into her thoughts so that she opened her eyes to look back at him, ‘but maybe I should check, lest I missed anywhere.’
‘Oh I don’t think you missed anywhere; you seemed most thorough.’
‘I’d like to think so, aye but ain’t that for me to decide?’ he asked, and with what appeared to be very little effort, lifted her, giggling, from the stool to carry her down the garden, where he set her carefully in the grass. ‘First, then, I should check your back,’ he said, and when she turned to lie on her front she felt his lips lingering wherever seemed to take his fancy, each unseen kiss creating a delicious ripple of pleasure, each touch merging with those before and after in a sensation of mounting anticipation as he claimed every now and again to have found somewhere that he’d missed, an omission apparently only capable of remedy by what felt like a long and deliberate stroke of his tongue.
‘Seems to me you need more practice,’ she sighed into the grass, deciding that, in point of fact, practice seemed the very last thing he needed, particularly given the glorious sense of expectation he was building inside her.
‘Maybe,’ she heard him whisper in her ear, ‘but I think I can claim satisfaction with my work.’
She opened her eyes, and lifting her face from the grass, turned to see him smiling.
‘You sure?’
‘Aye.’
‘You don’t want to check no more? Only, in the name of thoroughness, I don’t mind.’
‘No, you may think I need more pr
actice but ’tis not a bad job for a beginner.’
‘No?’ No, now it seemed that he was going to propose something else and the very realisation seemed to quicken the beat of her heart.
‘Come here,’ he coaxed, holding out his hand.
She took it, allowing him to pull her closer until she could put her arms around his neck and inhale his smell: wholesome, arousing and so very different to George. In fact, it occurred to her then that he was about as different to George as it was possible to be. For a start, he was more muscular, less angular, more pleasing, somehow, and the hair on his body was so fine and pale that he appeared almost not to have any. And while George’s skin was coarse and generated within her no desire to touch it, this skin was smooth and sleek, enticing her fingers to explore.
She would have been content to sit there forever, running her fingers round and round on his chest and filling her head with his scent, but he was pulling her gently onto his lap, and for a brief moment they sat, just breathing, barely touching each other, mindful of what was about to happen and acutely aware that this exact and precious moment would never come again: there could only be one first time and this was it. Tantalisingly slowly, and with the merest of touches, he brought his lips to hers so that she responded by closing her eyes and then opening them again to look back at him, entirely unable to speak. Almost as slowly, he kissed her again but this time she kissed him back, softly, until he responded the same.
‘I promised you this would be special,’ he whispered, his words sending a warm wave all the way down her back, ‘so let me show you something,’ he said and pulling her closer, lifted her thighs over his so that they were facing each other. Then without taking his eyes from hers, he put his hands on her hips and lifted her body, manoeuvring her slowly and gently back down exactly where he wanted her. Instinctively her eyes flicked shut and as she heard him moan, she gave an incoherent murmur of her own.
A Country Marriage Page 34
