‘But I wasn’t there, in Marcombe, I mean.’
‘I know you weren’t.’
‘So how can my name be on some list?’
‘I ain’t the least notion. ’Tis clearly a mistake.’
‘So what does he do now?’ Mary asked, more concerned with allaying her fears about what might happen next than with how matters had reached this point to start with.
‘Well, my first thought is that you should go from here and hide yourself,’ she saw George direct his answer to Francis.
‘Hide? But he hasn’t done anything,’ she shrieked.
‘Mary,’ George said calmly. ‘You’re not helping matters. Go downstairs.’
‘But she makes a fair point, George; I haven’t done anything, so why would I hide?’
With a long groan of pain that twisted his face, George tried to lever himself more upright and quickly she reached to move the bolster.
‘Look, with summat like this, the first thing the gentry want is the ringleaders caught. They think it’ll weaken the resolve of the rest of us to see our so-called leaders in gaol. So they go about the countryside asking questions of everyone they come across. And faced with reason to fear for their safety, there’s a good number of people who’ll say anything. So all I can think, Francis, is that for some reason, accidental or otherwise, some such person told either Chamberlin or the constables that you were there. More than that, I can’t speculate but you know as well as I do the power of the constables an’ the guards, so the minute they set eyes on you, they won’t stop to ask questions nor listen to your protestations of innocence; they’ll throw you in the Bridewell. And then all it comes down to is whether you fancy your word against someone like Chamberlin or that steward of his, Paine.’ Listening to George’s words, Mary fought to control the trembling of her hands. This couldn’t be happening; it just couldn’t. ‘And it grieves me to say this but even though I know you weren’t there, I don’t hold out much for your chances.’
Seeing how Francis shook his head, she began to realise the frightening hopelessness of the situation.
‘But couldn’t you speak for him, George?’ she pleaded. ‘Surely with someone to vouch for his story—’
‘Look at me, Mary. Just stop for a moment and look at me, will you? I got the lashes of a horsewhip across my neck and ribs smashed so badly that I can scarce stand. Even a halfwit could see that I was there myself, so what weight would my word carry, eh? None. None at all. An’ worse still, they’d probably slap me in chains as well.’
She let out a long, tremulous sigh and sinking onto the edge of the mattress, stared down at the floor, as before her eyes, the regimented rows of floorboards took on a blurred arrangement as haphazard as any of the swirling knots dotted across their surface.
‘All right but if not you, then someone else. Your pa. Surely a landowner and farmer like him could speak for his character and someone would listen?’
‘Mary, you know Pa’s view on all this. He may agree with the idea of fairness for labourers but he don’t approve of our methods. You’ve seen yourself how many times we’ve crossed on the matter, so not only could I not ask him, even for Francis here but in any event, Pa couldn’t vouch for where Francis was on Saturday because he doesn’t know.’
‘So what do we do, then?’ she asked, close to tears now and glancing at Francis.
‘I stand by my suggestion of leaving Verneybrook and hiding out.’
‘I can’t very well just leave,’ she heard Francis interject. ‘That alone makes me look guilty.’
‘Believe me, I wish I could think of summat else, summat less drastic but if it was me, I wouldn’t wait around here for someone to let your whereabouts be known. And to be blunt for a moment, if they can’t find you, they can’t arrest you,’ George told him, shifting his position to try to get comfortable again.
‘So how long would he have to go for?’ she asked, although even while she was asking the question, she was sure she wouldn’t want to hear the answer.
‘I don’t think we can tell that right now. I fancy it depends on how long it takes for the constables to round up enough men to bring before the assizes and satisfy their sense of justice. But in all truth, I can’t imagine that being this side of Lent.’
‘Lent?’ she responded in unison with Francis.
Then this was worse than she had feared: far worse.
‘Can’t see it being any sooner.’
She looked across to Francis to see that his face was blanched of all colour.
‘You think it’d be the assizes, then, not a justice?’ he was asking.
‘You mind that unrest at Micklehampton a year back? Well, that was tried at Winchester Assizes. And some of those found guilty were transported to Van Diemen’s Land.’
‘Then you’re right, I don’t fancy my chances much, not much at all,’ Francis agreed and sank onto the edge of the bed in Mary’s place. ‘Lord, no.’
‘Now you see why I suggest hiding and waiting it out.’
‘Aye.’
‘Can you think of anywhere you can go?’
What? How on earth was this all happening so quickly? She shot a look at her husband; his urgency seemed indecent but to her disbelief, Francis seemed equally rashly settled on the idea.
‘There is someways that comes to mind.’
‘Well, that’s summat at least, although I’d keep good an’ quiet about where it is.’
‘I could say I’ve had the chance of better work there. It wouldn’t be far from the truth; there’s a standing offer at… this place.’
‘Aye, seems a good, plain story to stick with and I’ll vouch for you hereabouts. What about money? Do you need money?’
She looked from George to Francis and back, unable to believe the speed at which Francis seemed to be slipping from her life.
‘No. Much obliged for the thought, though.’
‘Well, if at some point when all this has died down you decide to return, there’ll always be work at Summerleas for you. I’ll see to it.’
‘Well, that’s much appreciated, too.’
In utter disbelief, she stood, rooted to the floor, watching as, wincing with the effort, her husband reached to shake the hand that Francis was proffering.
‘I just wish there was summat more I could do. The whole thing makes me sick to my stomach. Sick.’
‘It ain’t your doing, George. I’m just grateful to be forewarned.’
‘Aye.’
‘I’ll see you out, then,’ she said, her voice barely making a sound and her heart pounding so rapidly that she had difficulty finding the rungs of the ladder with her feet.
Following her down, Francis motioned his head towards the front door and she crept across to stand beside him.
‘Make an excuse to get out later, just afore dusk if you can,’ he whispered and with a glance back towards the ladder, touched her fingers. ‘I’ll wait down in the meadow. Come. Whatever else you do, come.’ She nodded frantically. ‘And don’t go saying anything daft.’
Wiping the back of her hand at the tears on her cheek and nodding her understanding, she was left to watch in silence as he tore up the steps to the lane and was gone.
*
‘George,’ Mary called up the ladder as she held the flame to the lamp wick and then waited for it to take hold before replacing the smoke-bronzed chimney, ‘two of the hens haven’t come in yet.’ Blowing out the taper, she paused to listen. ‘So I need to go and find them afore it gets too much darker.’ She waited again, her pulse racing so fast that she felt giddy. ‘I’ll be back… by and by.’ Taking the pained grunt that came in response as acknowledgment, she slipped out of the back door and with her sing-song summons to the chickens – louder tonight than strictly necessary – she passed quickly by the henhouse and on across the damp grass, plunging without missing a stride into the water-meadow where the frost-burnt grasses were standing defiant against the first onslaught of winter. To the south-west, the pale disc that had struggl
ed all day to offer any rays of warmth had sunk defeated behind the spinney, abandoning everything to a palette of half-tones and rising mist. ‘Chickie, chickie, chickie,’ she called, and looked around until he appeared, the only sign of life in the monotone landscape. Wordlessly she sank against him.
‘Listen,’ he greeted her without preamble. ‘We ain’t got much time but I got a plan. George is right. Forgetting the fairness or otherwise of all this, I got to get away from here. If I end up in the Bridewell, then there’d most likely be no way out.’
‘Cruel, fate, ain’t it? George goes protestin’ but it’s you that ends up having to leave.’
‘Aye, maybe but just listen an’ don’t say anything yet. Afore all this happened, I’d already got to thinkin’ that I wanted to take you away from here.’
‘Take me away?’
‘Shh, Mary, this’ll be a lot quicker if you just listen a mo’.’ Enveloped as they were by the murk, she shivered and nodded, oddly reassured by the frantic pace of his heart through his jacket and grateful for the opportunity to be with him, no matter the strangeness of the circumstances. ‘So, as it seems I got to leave here, I want you to come with me. I couldn’t stand to leave you struggling along in Keeper’s Cottage with George not even caring whether or not you got vegetables he’s so occupied elsewhere—’
‘He’s not always like that,’ she replied, the haste with which she came to her husband’s defence surprising her. It wasn’t lost on her that the remark seemed to make him change tack.
‘Not always, maybe but the thing is, I love you and he don’t. I want to look after you. I want to go to work knowing that you’re going to be warm and safe and happy an’ lookin’ forward to me coming home in the evening. I want to eat the food you cook, I want to fall asleep with you at night and wake up to you every morning. I want to make love to you at dusk and again at dawn. I want to make sure you got shoes and a skirt, for heaven’s sake. I want to care for you, love you. Wouldn’t you like that?’
She hesitated, frightened by the rate at which things seemed to be getting out of control.
‘There’s nothin’ I’d like more, truly there ain’t, but I’m wed to George an’ I got his son so I can’t think that he’d just let me go.’
‘No, I know. He wouldn’t. So we wouldn’t tell him.’
‘Francis—’
‘I’ve a place for us to go. I got… friends, and they’ll help us.’
‘For certain? You know that for certain?’
‘I do. They live about three hours’ walk across the heath. ’Tis perfect; in the middle of nowhere. No one from Verneybrook would know it and I’ll wager few people from Wembridge either; it’s very… private. And they’ll help us. We can bide with them as long as we need. They’ll look after us until we can move on elsewhere.’
‘Elsewhere where? Once you leave the farm you won’t have work. Or money.’
‘When the time comes, we’ll go south to the coast, to Millbrook or Eling, Lymington even; they’ve timber mills, boatyards, brickworks, all sorts. No one will ask questions; we’ll be just another young family looking for work. An’ back in the summer, I started to put by some money. It ain’t a great deal but it’ll get us going. Think about it, Mary,’ he urged, his eyes suddenly seeming to shine. ‘It would be a life for us together, away from all this hardship and creepin’ about. Wouldn’t you want that?’ Shrouded by the grey of the failing light and against the warmth of his body, it sounded idyllic. ‘And, God willing, in time we’ll have children. Not that I wouldn’t treat Jacob just like he was my own. What do you say, Mary? Come with me.’
‘I scarcely know what to say,’ she answered, the thoughts in her head as fuzzy as the indistinct landscape around them. ‘I wish there was time to think about it sensibly.’
‘I wish there was time, too. I hadn’t thought for us to go in a rush like this but in truth now we’ve no choice.’
‘George would come looking for us,’ she pointed out. ‘Especially once it was plain that we’d gone together. He’d be in a right fury.’
‘Aye, no doubt he would, but he’d never find us, I promise you. See, this place we’d go, no one knows it and no one knows that I know it, not even my ma.’
‘These people,’ she asked, seeing that he was desperate to reassure her but also aware now of how little she actually knew about him, ‘how is it you know them?’
‘Well,’ he replied, ‘I’ve known them five years or so. I used to go there on and off for work, and I still go and see them now and again. I’m always welcome there and so would you be. They already know about you, anyway.’
‘They do?’
‘Yes.’
‘And they know how I’m wed?’
‘They do. An’ they won’t judge you for it since their own affairs are a bit… unusual.’
‘Oh Francis. This is all so sudden!’
‘For you that mid be, aye. But not for me. I’ve wanted to do this a long while now. I love you and I want to make you happy.’
‘And I want to be happy,’ she answered, looking back at him to see his face, straight and serious yet full of tenderness and concern. ‘All right, then. I’ll come.’
‘You will?’
‘Aye but ’tis risky for you, mind, you know that, don’t you?’ she said, somehow maintaining a plain expression until, at the sight of his puzzlement, she began to giggle. ‘Since inside of our first week together, you’ll most likely want rid of me.’
‘Not a chance. I promise you that now, Mary Strong. Not a chance.’
*
Propped uncomfortably against the bolster, George stared yet again towards the tiny window of the bedchamber. If he didn’t soon escape this suffocating little room, and this confinement to bed like a sickly infant, then he truly believed that he would turn mazed in the head. It was torment enough that he could scarcely move without suffering searing pain, but his wife’s frequent and liberal doses of Martha’s sleeping draughts seemed to be condemning him to perpetual stupor. And that was without the fact that the hours of silence and isolation seemed to be inclining him to morbid introspection. One moment his mind was reliving the bloody disintegration of the protest; the next, agonising over the crumbling of matters closer to home. A wiser man might have argued that both had come about as a result of recklessness – and to a certain extent he supposed that might well be true – but while he couldn’t really be held responsible for the outcome of the protests, he could be held accountable for the state of affairs between him and Mary.
What was it his mother had said to him that evening? In his woozy state, the harder he tried to recall her words, the less he seemed able to do so, although he was fairly certain that it had been along the lines of either following his heart and being prepared to deal with the consequences, or knuckling down and making the best of things. Well, look where following his heart had got him: two bastard sons and a world of anguish that showed no sign of ending any time soon. And for what: for the gratification of a physical need? Well, perhaps the time had come to reckon the cost. In fact, no: there was no need to even do that, because if he was prepared to be truthful with himself even for just a minute, then he already knew what he should do; had known for a while, now. Annie might still be able to lure him in, but she was – and always had been – a manipulative and unpredictable woman. Whereas Mary, well, despite what he had put her through, she had always been steady and true. And, in her own quiet way, had even become quite a pretty little thing just lately, too; had developed something of a bloom about her, especially on the odd occasion when she seemed to make something of an effort with her appearance.
Yes, perhaps the time had come for him to do right by her; for better, for worse and all of that. Start behaving like a decent husband; that’s what he needed to do now. In fact, once he was fit and well, he’d sort out her vegetable garden like she’d been asking him to; see to that drainage for her. And maybe he’d see what else she needed, too. Cloth to stitch some new garments for her and the bo
y might bring a smile to her face. And who knew: this turnabout of affairs might even mark a sort of a new beginning for them. After all, if things at home could be put on a better footing, then maybe he wouldn’t even have need of Annie any more.
Goodness: what a relief to have come to his senses! Better still, not only was it beginning to feel like the right thing to do, but the very act of having finally reached a decision seemed to be helping his whole body to feel less tense. And in this instance, he didn’t think it to be solely down to the effect of Martha’s tinctures, either.
Chapter 23
For Better, For Worse
There was still a while until dawn when Mary’s chaotic dream was brought to an abrupt end by a thunderous pounding noise. At first, she wasn’t entirely sure whether it was part of her dream but seconds later it sounded again and as George stirred awake beside her, she realised that someone was at the door. Without saying anything, he hauled himself upright and stumbling across to the ladder, made his way slowly and uncertainly down. Groggily, she strained her ears above the drumming of her heart, until eventually she heard the door closing and saw the dim light from a candle spreading very slowly up through the hatch.
‘What is it?’ she asked when George reappeared looking grey and dishevelled.
‘The bailey. He came to check that I’ll be back at work today. Says if I don’t show, questions will be asked and he’ll be sent down here to find out what’s going on. He made it plain he sympathises but that he won’t put his job on the line for me.’
‘Oh.’ With her heart beating a little less frantically, she watched as he sat cautiously on the bed and put his head in his hands. ‘But can you go back? You can scarce walk.’
She saw him shake his head and then wince as the healing wounds on his neck stretched with his movement.
‘I’ve no choice. ʼTis decent of him to come here and warn me, knowing what he does. He’s taking a chance with that alone.’
Without any real thought, she got out of bed and padded round to sit next to him.
A Country Marriage Page 46
