Down Weaver's Lane (29 page)

Prudence Bradley was waiting for Isaac to return and opened the front door herself. ‘What have they done to you?’ she asked in an outraged whisper, gathering the shivering girl to her capacious bosom and glaring at Isaac. She led Emmy straight through the house. Her husband stared in shock at the battered waif with shorn head who had been a rosy bustling young woman the last time she’d been here.

‘You can deal with Mr Butterfield, Gerald!’ she snapped. ‘I have better things to do.’

In the kitchen Cook and Cass bit back exclamations and looked to their mistress for guidance.

‘I think Emmy will be the better for a nice hot bath,’ she told them, ‘and a bowl of your excellent soup, Cook. She has been ill treated, as you can see, but we shall enjoy the privilege of comforting her and nursing her better.’ She gave Emmy another hug. ‘Now, my dear, you really must stop weeping because you’re quite safe here and need never go back to that woman.’

But Emmy could not stop and in the end they abandoned the idea of a bath, fed her warm milk and brandy, and simply put her to bed with two hot bricks wrapped in flannel.

Prudence herself sat by the bed, talking comfortingly of how glad they were to have her here and how Cass needed some help. She wasn’t sure Emmy heard any of this, but she could see that her voice was having a soothing effect. When the girl fell asleep she went down to the kitchen and looked at her servants, tears welling in her eyes, for once uncertain what to say.

‘It’s disgusting!’ Cook declared, not troubling to be deferential. ‘I’d never have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. What did that poor lass do to deserve such treatment?’

‘She did nothing, I’m sure. The woman has been beating her for a while, it appears. There are bruises all over her poor body.’ Prudence swallowed hard, for she was still horrified by it.

Cass wiped a tear away. ‘Did you see her eyes? Haunted, they looked.’

Prudence sniffed and nodded. ‘I’m sure you’ll both help me to make her feel wanted and appreciated, but it’ll take a while for her hair to grow again so we’ll let her stay inside the house for the time being.’ She wondered if the scars on the girl’s spirit would ever be erased; wondered also how any woman could call herself a Christian and do something like this.

In the Parson’s study the two men sipped a glass of port together, for it was clear that Isaac was deeply upset by what had happened and that recriminations were the last thing he needed.

‘I’m to blame,’ he kept saying. ‘Emmy was placed in my care and I didn’t look after her properly.’

In the end Gerald said frankly, ‘Mr Butterfield, I have seen my share of inhumanity and can never understand how some people behave. The important thing is that you have discovered what was happening and brought Emmy to us. If anyone can help her recover it’s my dear wife. And
you
can make sure that your wife doesn’t hurt her again.’

‘There’s something else worrying me,’ Isaac admitted, studying the glass of port intently and forgetting to drink it. ‘What about our own girls? I - I fear Lal is cut from the same cloth, and indeed I’ve always known that she can be,’ he hesitated over ‘cruel’, then substituted, ‘spiteful. But perhaps there is still hope for Dinah, who is much gentler and who refused to take part in this shameful act.’ He stared into his glass then said slowly, ‘I’m going to send them both away to different schools, as your wife suggested. I’m not a rich man, but if I can find somewhere where they can teach Lal to respect her fellow human beings - or at least to behave in a seemly manner - and another place which will allow my Dinah to be herself, surely it’s the best thing I can do for them?’

‘I’m sure it is. But what about Mrs Butterfield? What shall you do about her? This was not a ...’ Parson hesitated then said it ‘... rational act.’

‘I don’t know. Lena was never easy to live with, but since she got to a certain age, her mood and temper have changed for the worse.’ Only to the Parson could he have admitted this. ‘I even fear for her reason at times.’

‘If Prudence and I can help in any way ...’

Isaac shook his head sadly. Lena was his cross to bear, and anyway would spurn the offer of help.

 

The wedding of Marcus Armistead and Jane Rishmore took place in the parish church of Northby at the end of March with all due pomp and ceremony. The pews seemed to Tibby to be overflowing with Rishmores: tall, well-built people with loud voices for the most part. The Armisteads were less well endowed with relatives and lacking in inches in comparison to this race of giants, but they made up for that by dressing splendidly.

Tibby smiled down at the finery dear Eleanor had provided for her: a full-skirted gown in navy blue cashmere trimmed with navy satin and cream lace. It had Donna Maria sleeves, full to the elbow, then tightly fitting to the wrist, and she was very pleased with how she looked. He bonnet was huge and, to her eyes, overtrimmed. She had surreptitiously removed some of the decorations the night before, and to her relief Eleanor did not seem to have noticed. She also possessed a new full-length cloak of thick, soft wool, made in the current winter fashion with a matching elbow-length cape, a very practical garment that had kept her snug and warm during the church ceremony.

But however fine the clothes, it was still painful for her to walk. Her hip had been very bad this winter and sometimes in the early mornings she almost wept with the pain of starting to move on it. When she went out in the little carriage she didn’t often get out for a walk, because it was such a trouble to get back in again, but she greatly enjoyed the change of scenery. She had visited Mr Garrett at the bank twice now to make various financial arrangements. Such a gentlemanly person!

The bride was wearing the most unflattering dress you could possibly imagine for a woman like her and Tibby blinked in shock when she saw it. Stark white did not suit Jane, who would have looked better in cream or soft blue, and the elaborate hairstyle with its piled curls embellished by a profusion of beads, braids and bows made her look so much taller than Marcus that she was like an adult standing next to a child when the two of them took their places at the altar.

Marcus looked grim throughout - and angry. Tibby prayed he would calm down before the night. It could be hard for a gently bred girl the first time and she did not think her nephew would be a considerate lover like her dear James had been. It was wrong, very wrong, to coerce young people into unsuitable marriages.

After the ceremony the guests drove back to Mill House in their various carriages and were then entertained to a sumptuous meal. The Armisteads left the gathering a little earlier than planned because the weather had turned and snow was threatening. There wasn’t going to be a honeymoon, at the groom’s suggestion, but Jane and Marcus would spend the first night alone in their new house, with the servants banished from the place till morning.

Which might have been done out of delicacy by another man, but struck Tibby as sinister where her nephew was concerned. But dear Jane had agreed to it with her usual calmness. Such a kind girl. Unlike Marcus, she wasn’t too proud to talk to his aunt and even seemed to enjoy an old lady’s company and conversation.

 

As the newly-weds were going out to their carriage a flurry of sleet swept down on them and they abandoned farewells to scramble inside the vehicle.

‘Drive on or we’ll be snowed up here!’ Marcus yelled to the coachman, and the vehicle lurched forward.

Jane studied her husband surreptitiously. He looked sour-faced and was making no attempt to converse with her. She was rather pleased with the result of her first essay into choosing her own clothes, for although she had instinctive good taste, she had gone against it and knew she could not possibly have looked worse than she had done today. She only hoped her strategy would help deter him from paying her too much attention.

After a while he turned to look at her. ‘That hair arrangement doesn’t suit you.’

‘It’s the latest fashion.’

‘Well, I don’t like you making yourself look taller. You’re too tall already. Make sure you keep your hairstyles low in future.’

‘I shall arrange my hair as I please,’ she said.

She saw his fists bunch up and thought for a moment he was going to hit her. Shock held her still for a few seconds, then she decided that if he did she would hit him back. She knew some men beat their wives, but no one was going to do that to her. ‘I shall dress to suit myself and my station,’ she told him.

He grasped her arm then, his fingers digging in cruelly, and tried to pull her to her knees opposite him, but she was too big and resisted his attempt, so he let go and glared at her. ‘You’ll do as you’re told! Did you not just promise to obey me?’

‘I meant my promise to obey as much as you meant yours to love and cherish me.’ She let her own anger show. ‘Let’s be truthful now, Marcus - we neither of us wished for this match.’ As his scowl deepened, she added, ‘And if you try to hurt me, be sure I’ll hurt you back. I’m big enough to give you a good fight for your money.’

He stared at her in shock then said in an outraged tone, ‘You’re a woman. It’s your
duty
to do as you’re told.’ Her mother was so meek always and Jane had said very little in company, so he had not expected this defiance.

‘I’m bringing you a large enough dowry to do as I please,’ she said dryly.

‘We shall see about that.’

‘We shall indeed.’

After a few moments’ silent fulmination he threw at her, ‘You should be grateful someone has agreed to marry you, so tall and ugly as you are.’

She gave a bitter snort of laughter. ‘They had to
force
me to marry you, Marcus. I’d far rather have stayed unwed. And so would you, if you tell the truth.’ She softened her tone, trying to sound more friendly. ‘Can’t we come to an agreement? This marriage was devised to get an heir for your family and to cement our two families’ business links. If we produce a couple of children for them, there is no reason why we should not each go our own way thereafter. And keep to our separate bedrooms.’

‘If you think I’ll stand for you cuckolding me -’

‘I’ve no intention whatsoever of doing that. I find the idea of relations between men and women distasteful, if you must know. But I shall not object to your having mistresses so long as you allow me to sleep alone and don’t touch me once I’m with child. I can make sure your home life is very comfortable or extremely uncomfortable, and I’m not the sort to give in to bullying.’

He studied her sourly, admitting to himself that what she said made sense. Did he want to wake up to her scornful talk and ugly face for the rest of his life? No. Did he even want to bed her? No again. Though he would do it to get an heir, since that was expected of a gentleman in his position, as well as being a sign of manhood. ‘I shall require you to submit to me in bed until you are with child,’ he warned, ‘and to show respect towards me in public.’

‘If you keep our agreement, I shall appear the most dutiful of wives - as long as you show respect towards me in front of others as well.’

‘And in bed?’

‘I shall allow you to do what is necessary.’

‘I’ll think about your suggestion. But first,’ he leered at her, ‘let’s see how dutifully you behave yourself tonight.’

She hoped her apprehension about this did not show. She was dreading the coming ordeal, absolutely dreading it. She hated even to touch his hand.

At the house he unlocked the door and ushered her inside with a mocking wave. ‘You’re far too big for me to carry over the threshold.’

The hall was chilly but there was a fire in the parlour and she went to warm herself gratefully.

‘I think we’ll go to bed right away,’ he said, coming up behind her and grabbing her breasts, which were at least big enough to tempt a man - as long as one didn’t look at the face above them.

She struck his hand aside. ‘That hurts.’

He smiled. ‘I know. And so will the bedding, it being your first time.’

‘I’m not prepared for you to hurt me when it’s not necessary,’ she said, mistrusting the look in his eyes.

‘What do you know about that?’ He stared at her, eyes narrowed. ‘Your father assured me you were untouched and innocent of what was to come.’

‘I am untouched, but I have taken care to inform myself of what happens. Only a stupid woman would climb blindly into a marriage bed and I am not stupid.’

‘Then get upstairs and show me how clever you are,’ he sneered. ‘It’s up to a wife to
please
her husband in bed, and do as he wishes.’

Why did he keep saying that? ‘Rather, it’s up to a husband to initiate his virgin wife into the ways of love,’ she countered, knowing no other decent word for it.

‘Love!’ He let out a shout of braying laughter. ‘What has that to do with anything? You don’t suppose a man could love
you,
do you?’

‘Or that I could become fond of you.’ She turned and made her way towards the stairs. ‘Give me a few minutes to get ready.’

He laughed and followed close on her heels. ‘I’ll get you ready myself. I’m very fond of taking a woman’s clothes off.’

Taking a deep breath and praying for the strength to endure what was coming, Jane led the way upstairs.

It was even worse than she’d expected. He was rough and inconsiderate, and he literally ripped her clothes from her body, becoming very excited in the process. In fact, he didn’t show the signs of masculine readiness that Aggie had told her to expect until after he’d hurt and frightened her. And then it was all over very quickly.

When she was sure he’d finished, she got out of bed.

‘Where are you going?’ he asked in a sleepy voice.

‘To my own bedroom.’

He bounced up into a sitting position. ‘I want you here to warm my bed tonight. I might want to do it all over again.’ He smiled to see her shudder.