by Valerie Wood
‘I’ll tek a short walk first,’ the girl replied, looking out of the window. ‘I could do with some air.’
Maria smiled, telling her to be back before dark, and changed Sarah to her other breast. She felt a little tired and closed her eyes. She wondered what had been the talk this morning when she had heard Will’s name mentioned. It couldn’t have been much, as she’d heard John laughing later, though the mistress looked drawn. Sleep stole softly over her, and Sarah too, satiated with milk, let slip the nipple from her tongue and slept, her small satisfied mouth nestled against her mother’s warm breast.
The sky was gathering dark across the horizon and grey clouds chased swiftly before the wind as John strode briskly along the cliff top. Below him the restless ocean crashed and beat against the shore, reminding him that soon he would be leaving the safety of dry land and riding the backs of the great white waves towards the wastes of the polar regions.
He cut back across the cliff, keeping leeward of the dense hawthorn hedge, and made towards a thick shelter belt, where elm, hazel and ash grew in profusion, with the tangled stems of blackthorn, bramble and ivy at their feet. A pile of logs from autumn felling lay neatly stacked, a flush of pale and fleshy fungi clinging to them.
He whistled softly between his teeth and narrowed his eyes as he caught sight of a sudden movement and a glimpse of something white. Someone was in the wood and it wasn’t Will or Reedbarrow or one of the labourers, for they would have shown themselves. Poachers perhaps, after a rabbit or hare, though it would have been more usual to wait until after dark.
‘Hey. You in there. Come on out. Show yourself.’
A figure emerged from behind the woodpile, a girl wearing a grey shawl over a woollen dress and starched white apron.
‘Susan? What are you doing out here, all alone?’
‘I came out for a walk, Mr John. It’s my time off.’ She pulled her shawl around her. ‘But it was too cold on ’cliff, so I came in here for shelter.’
He smiled down at her. More likely a tryst with a local farmer’s boy, he thought, yet he hoped not for he had a strange sense of envy at the notion.
‘Shall I escort you back? It’s getting dark and it’s most unwise for you to be wandering about alone so near to the cliffs.’
She thanked him and walked in silence beside him, her small feet taking two steps to his one.
John cleared his throat. He was very conscious of her presence so close to him. ‘Are you settling in at Garston Hall?’
‘Aye, I thank thee, sir.’ Her voice, though broad with the dialect of the district, was soft and caressing as if she was stroking him with her words. ‘I’m very grateful to thee for getting me ’position.’ She looked up at him, her violet eyes dark in the evening shadows.
He felt a shiver run down his spine and it wasn’t the effect of the cold east wind, for he was warm within, the blood flowing fast in his veins, though his hands trembled. How gentle she was, how sweet and delightful. So different from the exotic creature she had seemed when she had taunted him at her father’s inn. He strode out faster, his mind agitated.
She picked up her skirts and in her haste to keep up with him, she stumbled in the rough grass and fell heavily to the ground.
‘I do beg your pardon, I was rushing you. Please, let me help you.’ He bent over her as she made no attempt to rise.
‘I’ve twisted my foot, Mr John. I don’t think I can stand.’
He helped her up and felt the softness of her dimpled elbows and the sweet warmth of her breath against his face as he lifted her.
‘If tha could help me across to ’old barn yonder, sir, happen I could sit down for a minute.’
He hesitated. Was it possible to compromise a servant girl by being alone with her in an empty barn? He dismissed the thought: she would never have suggested it had it been so. The rules were quite different with females of her class, he felt sure, and yet, he wavered again. He knew instinctively that someone like Maria would never jeopardize her character by being alone with a strange man. He recalled the night of Sarah’s birth and how anxious she was to be rid of him.
But there was nothing for it, the girl couldn’t walk and it would be quite improper for him to carry her. The thought brought him out in a cold sweat. Not that she would be heavy, for she was small and not too plump, just nicely rounded, and with her arms around his neck, it would be no effort at all.
‘Come, then,’ he said, his voice hoarse. ‘Lean on me and I’ll assist you.’
The barn was but half a meadow away, and he wished it twice as far. With his arm around her waist for support, he could smell the soft warm scent of her flesh and feel the rounded contours beneath his fingers. The sensation aroused an aching, burning need.
The loose straw rustled beneath their feet as they entered and there was a sudden scurrying of mice into the dark corners. He unfastened his greatcoat, his fingers fumbling with the metal buttons. It was large and loose, of warm cloth and he spread it out on the floor.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured softly as she sat down and took off her shoe.
He knelt beside her to examine her injury. There was no sign of swelling or bruising, but her bare foot was cold, and gently he warmed it within his hands, stroking her toes with his fingers to avoid hurting her.
‘I don’t think you have sprained it. Just a painful wrench. It will no doubt be better by the morning if you rest it.’
Her eyes watched him as he spoke, dark, deep unfathomable pools within the contours of her face. She shivered. ‘I’m so cold, Mr John. I can’t go on until I’m warmer.’
‘We must get back, they’ll be worrying about you,’ he croaked, his eyes held fast by hers. He unfastened her other shoe and spontaneously began to warm her other foot.
She shook her head. ‘I’ll not be missed just yet,’ she said softly. She gave him her hands, small and chubby. ‘I’m cold all over, Mr John.’
He started to rub them into life, slowly at first and then faster. He moved his trembling hands to her arms, her shoulders, still briskly rubbing, until she cried out. ‘No. No, not like that.’
He drew away with a gasp, what was he thinking of? His breath was coming fast, his mouth was dry and he licked his lips nervously.
‘Not like that, Mr John.’ Her eyes gazed into his and he was drowning. ‘Slowly, slowly – to get ’blood warm.’
She reached out her hand and gently stroked his face, tracing patterns down his forehead and nose and outlining his lips. He opened his mouth to take a breath and she slipped her fingers between, touching the smooth wetness inside his lips and probing the tip of his tongue with a sensuous touch until he groaned out loud.
He drew in a sharp breath as with her other hand, she slowly unfastened the row of buttons down the front of her dress, revealing the swelling curve of her breasts, and placed his hand upon them, arching her body towards him.
The pounding in his head and the fire in his loins threatened to engulf him as bewitchingly she incited him. He was unaware that she had loosened his shirt and breeches until he felt the scratching of her small sharp nails upon his buttocks and with a strangled cry he pulled away from her and started to tear off his shirt. She half sat up on his coat, her curving breasts pointed and nipples aroused. She gazed at him for a second as he struggled with his buttons and then started to fasten up her dress.
‘We’d best be getting back,’ she murmured, her eyes cast down. ‘They’ll be missing me.’
‘What?’ He looked at her unbelievingly. ‘But you said—’
She looked up at him and smiled, then lowered her lashes demurely. ‘We don’t want to do summat we’d be sorry for, Mr John.’
‘Oh, but please.’ He was desperate, there was an ache inside him that must be assuaged. ‘Please – just stay a little longer, you must.’ He was begging now.
She shook her head as if shy, but there was a gleam in her eyes that told him that perhaps she could be persuaded. He stroked her cheek and neck and fondled her tousled
hair. ‘You are so lovely.’ The fire within him raged as he rained passionate kisses upon her. She resisted for a moment, then reaching up she drew him down towards her and the warmth of her body.
‘If tha’s sure, Mr John, that it’s all right. That tha won’t regret it after.’
‘No, no, how could I?’
She lifted her skirts, inviting him to explore the delights of her velvety skin, the curves and valleys of her yielding body and the soft glade in which to lose himself.
He started to pant, his breath catching in his throat. He opened his mouth to shout but no sound came. Skilfully, she led him down the road to joy and willingly he followed in an exquisite, consuming frenzy. A tumultuous exultation overcame him as the climax came, and from far away he could hear her laughing softly.
Dazed, he lay on the crumpled coat and watched as she dressed, her face calm and unperturbed. The experience had been beyond all expectations, more magnificent than he had ever imagined. And yet now he began to feel uneasy. He was taking such a chance, what if they should be discovered? He thought guiltily of his uncle’s reaction should he find out. He would consider that he had taken advantage of his position to romp with a servant girl, even though she had been a more than willing participant.
She caught him looking at her and gazed back at him. No decorous, blushing damsel, she leant forward and put her tongue between his lips, slipping it in and out like a small pink snake. ‘There,’ she said. ‘Now, that’ll have to last thee.’
He moved away and began to dress, his desire appeased. He felt a shameful need to get away before it was too late. ‘I’m sorry, Susan,’ he began.
She looked at him sharply, her fingers poised in the act of untangling her dishevelled curls. ‘Sorry? What for?’
‘I – I hope I didn’t hurt you.’ His cheeks coloured and he was glad of the shadows. ‘You know!’
She put her head down now and lowered her lashes. ‘Not much. Just a little bit.’
‘Are you – I mean, were you – a virgin?’
She turned her head away, and covered her face with her hands. ‘How could tha say such a thing, Mr John? Tha knows very well that I was.’ She took a deep breath like a sob and laid her hand on his arm imploringly and gazed into his face. ‘I just hope my fayther never finds out!’
Leaving the barn, they walked in silence. He was full of remorse and cursing himself for a fool, and though she leant heavily on his arm she didn’t attempt to speak to him. He watched her as she went round to the back of the house, through the yard to the kitchen door, and smiled ironically as he turned away and took the winding drive round to the front. Her wrenched foot seemingly had mended: there had been no sign of a limp, in fact she had almost skipped before turning to wave goodbye.
He handed his dusty greatcoat to Janey Reedbarrow who opened the door to him. ‘Would you see that it is cleaned before I leave tomorrow, Janey? I must have brushed up against something.’
The girl bobbed and took it from him. ‘’Master was asking where tha was, sir. Supper will be ready in half an hour.’
He hurried upstairs to wash and change. He could hear his aunt’s bell ringing furiously and he wondered what excuse Susan would make for being late. He eased off his boots and lay down on his bed, and a sudden smile creased his face. How marvellous – and yet how terribly wicked. His mortification began to dissipate now that he was safely back and undiscovered. All regret was vanishing as he felt renewed vigour and satisfaction flowing through his body. So this is what it is like, he observed to himself, savouring again the remembered delight. This is manhood.
‘Where hast tha been?’ Mrs Scryven’s face was lit up with fury. ‘Mistress has been ringing and ringing for thee. Tha’ll catch it good and proper, and tha’ll deserve it.’
Susan gazed unmoved into Mrs Scryven’s face and then turned away to hang up her shawl. ‘If tha must know, I went for a walk and I fell and twisted my foot, and it’s taken me a long time to walk back.’ She limped across to a chair and sat down and stretched out the offending limb.
Mrs Scryven viewed her suspiciously. ‘Who was tha with? Tha’s been wi’ some village lad, I’ll be bound. Just look at ’state of thee and thy clothes.’ She pointed at her crumpled dress and disarranged hair.
Susan’s upper lip curled. ‘I’ve been with no village lad, nor will I.’ She laughed. ‘I’ve got more sense than that. There’s bigger and better fish for catching than them round here.’
The round face of Mrs Scryven flushed with anger at the brazenness of the girl, but she was stopped in her brusque reply as the kitchen door opened and Janey came in carrying Mr John’s coat, followed closely by Maria, who on seeing Susan gasped.
‘Tidy thyself up and get upstairs this minute or I’ll not answer for ’consequences.’ She pushed her off the chair and out of the kitchen.
On reaching her mistress’s door, Susan knocked hesitatingly and with a tear glistening in each eye told how she had caught her foot in a deep crack at the edge of the cliff and had lain in pain for a long time, hoping that someone would come, and finally as it got darker she had had to drag herself back, knowing that the mistress would need her. She gave a little sob as she finished her explanation and her lip trembled.
Isobel sighed impatiently. ‘Well, don’t let it happen again. If you must go walking make sure that it is somewhere safe and not so far from the house. I will not have my staff wandering all over the countryside when they should be indoors attending to their duties. But I will say no more this time. Be quick now and help me dress, Mr Masterson does not like to be kept waiting for his supper.’ No sympathy was extended for the foot but neither was any expected, and Susan smiled her grateful thanks through the oval mirror as she carefully arranged her mistress’s satin gown, and pinned on her ringlets.
‘Don’t go on about ’poor lass,’ Maria gently chastised Mrs Scryven. ‘She’s not as bad as tha says.’
They were alone together in the kitchen early the next morning and Mrs Scryven’s temper was not improved by the contrariness of the kitchen fire, which was emitting choking black smoke and no flame, making it difficult for her to cook or boil water for the Mastersons’ washing.
Mrs Scryven shrugged and muttered, and then turned sharply to Maria. ‘And I’m telling thee to lock up thy man. She’s from a bad lot.’
‘She might well be, but tha can’t blame her for that,’ Maria answered crossly as she laid the trays to take upstairs. ‘It isn’t right, especially when she’s no mother to guide her.’
Mrs Scryven put her face near to Maria’s and breathed softly, ‘And does tha know why not? They make out that her ma’s dead, but she’s not. She’s doing a good trade in some big town. Didn’t like ’quiet life out here so she left. Took one daughter with her and left three others with him.’
‘Poor man,’ Maria murmured sympathetically.
‘Poor man nowt,’ was the hissed reply. ‘What else should he expect? Where dost tha think he met her? Wasn’t in church, I can tell thee. And don’t feel too sorry for him, for them other two lasses keep him in little luxuries that tha can’t afford from a village inn.’
‘Even so,’ Maria was lost for words. ‘It doesn’t make Susan—’
Mrs Scryven smiled slyly and nodded, she’d won her battle. ‘Then tell me why half of ’village lads are always hanging round here? And not just lads. Martin Reedbarrow, who should know better, is always here with some excuse or other.’ She put up her hand as she saw the look of protest on Maria’s face. ‘I know he’s a free man now his wife’s laid to rest, God bless her, but it doesn’t make it right, not when he’s got childre’ as old as her.’
They discussed it no further, for Susan and Janey came into the kitchen and Lizzie followed, with a baby in each arm and Alice hanging on to her skirt, her thumb in her mouth.
‘I’ll take Mr John’s tray,’ Susan said. ‘Janey, tha can take ’master’s.’ She picked up a tray laid with tea and thin slices of bread.
‘It’s all right Susa
n, I’ll take it,’ said Maria. ‘Help Mrs Scryven with ’fire and hot water, and Janey, when tha’s taken master’s up, set ’sideboard for breakfast. Mr John ’ll want a good meal afore he sets off back to Hull.’ She smiled at Mrs Scryven. She didn’t really believe all she had said, but it wouldn’t do to take any chances.
When she knocked on John’s door and entered to his reply, she found to her surprise that he was up and dressed. He had thrown the curtains wide to let in the daylight, and was seated on a chair pulling on his boots.
‘Good morning, Maria, what a lovely morning.’
She glanced towards the window. It was cloudy and overcast and not very warm. ‘Chance of rain, I think, sir. Were you thinking of leaving early?’
He shook his head and smiled at her, seemingly in very good spirits. ‘No, Mr Masterson wants to go fishing first for an hour or two. We arranged it with Will yesterday. So tell Mrs Scryven to get her kettle ready, we shall have a shoal of fish for her to cook for dinner.’
‘I’ll do that, Mr John, and I’d best pack thee some vittals to take if tha’s going to miss breakfast.’ She laughed shyly, her cheeks flushing prettily and he laughed with her. She still sometimes forgot and spoke in the flat Hull dialect. She was not often careless when speaking with Mrs Masterson, for she knew how inflexible she was, and she hated to see those cold blue eyes fixed disdainfully on some forgetful wrongdoer, but not needing to be heedful with Mr John, she sometimes slipped back into her own unaffected manner.
As she returned downstairs she called to Janey who was about to enter the dining room with a tray of dishes with cold fowl, game and rolled herring, ‘Take those dishes back to ’kitchen. They’ll not be needed.’ She also told Mrs Scryven, who had already started to cook kidneys and bacon, that breakfast wouldn’t be needed yet after all.
‘Can anybody else eat this afore I throw it out?’ Mrs Scryven paused in the act of scraping the contents of the pan into a bucket. She would have to start again with fresh food when the gentlemen returned, she couldn’t give them food that had been re-heated.
