Keepsake (9 page)

Etta chuckled. ‘My word, do you think we’ll have such a clan?’

He wondered how to respond. ‘Would you want to?’

She toyed thoughtfully with one of his brass buttons. ‘Well, maybe not quite so many – and not for years. For now I’ve no desire to share you with anyone.’

He gave vigorous accord. ‘I’d never say anything of the sort to my parents, but too large a family drags you down. All your money goes on feeding and clothing them and there’s none left over to spend on things for yourself.’

‘And what would you like for yourself?’ Etta quizzed with a smile of interest.

Marty grinned, but bit his tongue upon cognising that he had painted himself into a corner: how could he confide his dream of a big house and servants with good-quality furniture and a suit of clothes that didn’t have to be kept for best? It wouldn’t matter that it was pure fantasy; Etta would think that her father had been right about him only being after her for her money, and that just wasn’t true at all. Knowing how touchy she was about her looks, he couldn’t even admit that part of his dream had been realised in a beautiful bride-to-be.

But then to his relief he did not have to speak. Alerted by the rumble of a cart, Etta jumped up to hail its driver. ‘Are you by any chance going near York?’

The grizzled waggoner tipped his hat. ‘All t’way there, lady.’

‘See!’ Etta turned to Marty, her dark eyes refilled with their usual sparkle. ‘Luck is smiling on us already.’

Belying his rough appearance, their saviour showed respect for the young lady’s dress and rubbed the seat clean with his hat. The sight of Marty’s bruised face caused a moment of doubt, but, a shrewd judge of character, the waggoner quickly weighed the situation and a quiet smile accompanied his invitation for the happy couple to board. It appealed to his anarchic nature that he might be helping them elope, their murmured conversation during the journey confirming his suspicions.

Martin wondered aloud if they would be in York before
the register office closed, thus including the waggoner in their conspiracy.

‘I don’t want to dash your hopes, but old Snowy doesn’t walk much faster than a man these days. However,’ he gave a reassuring smile and tickled the horse’s geriatric rear with his whip, ‘we’ll give him a try – gerrup now, Snowy!’

‘Aye, gerrup, Snowy!’ Marty and Etta shared a loving laugh at their simultaneous command, even though it made no difference at all to the horse’s stride.

Against all odds, they did reach their destination just in time to visit the register office, the waggoner bestowing them a wink of good luck as they thanked him and rushed away to make an appointment to marry.

But at the last minute, Etta had a bout of nervous superstition and urged her suitor to enter alone lest all go awry. ‘When they see how young I am – oh, I feel so self-conscious, I can’t bring myself to go in!’

‘You’ll have to present yourself some time, they can’t marry folk by telegraph – I’m joking!’ He gave her arm an encouraging squeeze. ‘How can it go wrong? We’ve already been granted the licence.’

‘It’s all very well for you, you’re almost twenty-one.’

Blushing, Marty was forced to admit then, ‘I exaggerated about the couple of months, I won’t come of age till next year – but I swear to God I haven’t lied to you about anything else!’ He crossed his heart.

Forgiving him this trespass, she was finally persuaded that their visit was mere formality, and, with time ticking away, agreed to come in with him for support. Still, she braced herself for an interrogation.

The superintendent registrar was not at all pleased to receive their request so late in the day, and throughout the brief interview there was to be great suspense.

But then, ‘We’ve done it!’ Marty broke into relieved
laughter as, wedding arranged, they rushed away before anyone could call them back.

‘Almost!’ Etta squeezed his arm excitedly. ‘Oh goodness, wasn’t it such luck he could fit us in so soon? I wish tomorrow afternoon would hurry! What are we to do until then?’

‘I don’t know about you but I’m famished!’ exclaimed Marty, who had not eaten since breakfast.

‘Let’s visit a restaurant!’ At his look of dismay a crafty glint came to Etta’s eye. ‘I’m not so penniless as I made out to Father. After the last debacle I thought to be better prepared and I’ve managed to accumulate eight sovereigns.’ She laughed at his gasp. ‘Don’t ask where from! I had Blanche sew them into my petticoat.’ Then, taking his arm, she hurried him into the entrance of a dark, ancient passageway that stank of urine. ‘Shelter me whilst I retrieve some of it!’

His stomach cramped by intense hunger, Marty was not about to rebuff her extravagant gesture and shielded her with his body whilst keeping a lookout for peeping Toms. He cast furtive glances as she hoisted her skirts and attempted to rip the coins from the petticoat’s hem, but they were too firmly stitched. She cursed and applied her teeth to the linen, making him laugh at her antics until frustration drove her to urge him, ‘Well, you have a go!’

Wondering what an onlooker might think of him lifting a young lady’s petticoats, he nibbled and picked at the hem, which, between the pair of them, was finally rent and the coins retrieved, Marty having to chase some of them down the pavement as they all spilled free at once.

Then, still delirious with laughter and excitement at the thought of their coming nuptials, off they went to find a place in which to gorge.

An hour later, bloated with sausage and mash, strawberries and cream, Marty bestowed an adoring smile upon his bride-to-be across the white table linen, hoping he didn’t
have gravy round his mouth and admitting he had never been in a place as nice as this. Moreover, there was another bonus. ‘I’ve still got plenty of time to nip home before it gets dark – I mean to Ma and Da’s.’

Etta’s jaw dropped. ‘You can’t possibly think to leave me alone! I know you regard it as living in sin, but –’

‘Do I look that holy?’ He reached for her hand, laughing. ‘We’ll only be jumping the gun for a single night, that hardly constitutes living in sin. No, I meant just to reassure them. I’ll take you to our new home first, get you settled – got to go there to collect my barrow anyway – then I’ll call on Ma and Da and tell them I didn’t have such a lucrative day as I thought so I’ll have to go out again. You know, lay it on thick as to how I feel guilty at not bringing any money home after all the trouble I’ve caused them.’

‘You’re used to this, aren’t you?’ accused Etta with a smile.

He bit his lip. ‘No, I hardly ever tell them lies. I hate doing it now really but they’ve been so blasted obstrocu-lous over this marriage that it serves them right. If they supported their son he wouldn’t have to lie, would he? Though what I’ll do if Ma wants to feed me…’ He chuckled and, holding his distended stomach, pretended to retch.

Etta grimaced emphathetically as they paid for the meal and left the restaurant. ‘But they’ll still expect you to come home some time during the evening,’ she reminded him.

‘Not if I say I’m going to kip on a bench at the station so’s to be bright and early tomorrow.’ Marty looked smug.

‘Another lie for Judgement Day,’ teased Etta.

‘Well, only in part. I will be up bright and early, it’s not every day a fella gets married.’ He linked her arm as they ambled through the city, along narrow streets that boasted elegant Georgian architecture, its symmetry marred by the squat and decrepit medieval buildings that lurked between, their gable-ends plastered with garish advertisements, plus
an array of striped awnings, even now at seven o’clock having to shade the goods in the shop windows against an unrelenting sun. ‘Mindst, we won’t be tying the knot until the afternoon, we might decide we deserve a lie in.’ A twinkle in his eye, he nudged her suggestively with his hip.

‘Well, I might,’ said Etta, ‘though I can’t see you being very comfortable on the floor.’

At this he looked blank.

‘We only have the licence, not the certificate,’ she reminded him archly. ‘It’s rather presumptuous of you.’

Marty’s visage flooded with disappointment. ‘Aye, well, I suppose it is…’

Etta remained aloof for a moment, then could no longer maintain the charade and broke into peals of laughter at his chagrin, clutching his arm as if hanging on to life itself. ‘Do you seriously think I’m ever going to let you out of my sight again? Of course you shall share the bed, tonight and always – oh, won’t it be wonderful never to be parted!’

He returned her laughing gesture, voicing agreement, but still in the dark as to whether she intended only to let him sleep beside her or to lift the embargo on their physical union before marriage. But at present nothing else mattered other than her vow to be his – as his warning glance told every other man who turned to stare at her, though secretly he enjoyed the kudos of having such a jewel on his arm.

They came out of town via the gnarled stone bridge at Castle Mills, over the scum-laden, oil-dappled broth that was the River Foss, where barges idled in the evening sun, and through the postern gate in the medieval limestone walls. Marty had deliberately brought her this way to avoid any drunken antics along Walmgate, renowned as the roughest thoroughfare in York. Some might have declared it a futile gesture when the room he had rented was over a pub, but he himself was pleased to find the saloon bar comparatively quiet, this being mid-week, albeit reeking of the usual beery fumes and tobacco smoke.

Still, he imagined it must be a shock for Etta.

‘It won’t be for long!’ he assured her again, seeing her face drop at the realisation that this seedy venue was home. ‘Had there been anything else –’

‘I’m sure it will be fine!’ Hiding her disappointment, Etta faked glee. ‘It’s all rather exciting, come show me the way!’

He led her up a dilapidated staircase and across a landing with nicotine-stained walls, apologising for the room’s bare boards and sparse furnishings, drawing the curtains to give them some privacy and repeating that this was purely a temporary lodging.

Etta remained optimistic. ‘I didn’t come here to admire the furniture.’ And, smiling, she opened her arms, into which he gladly stepped.

There followed a passionate succession of kisses. It was such a wrench to leave her, but with a regretful expression he unglued his lips. ‘I really should go and pacify the mammy and daddy now.’

‘Do they live far?’ She stroked him.

‘Only a hundred yards or so.’ His eyes crinkled in laughter. ‘That’s why I was so edgy in coming here, lest I was spotted. What will you do while I’m gone?’

Etta planted herself demurely on the edge of the bed, hands in lap. ‘I shall just sit here and contemplate my extreme good fortune in finding you.’

‘Aw!’ Overwhelmed with affection, Marty threw his arms round her again, then, knowing how dusty and sticky he himself felt from their journey, said, ‘I should fetch you some water so’s you can make yourself more comfy.’ There was a bowl and jug on a table. Grabbing the jug, he returned some moments later with a supply of cold water. ‘Sorry we’ve no tap of our own. Everything’s a bit primitive.’

She said this was of no matter. ‘Do I call someone to take it away when I’m done?’

‘No! Mustn’t let anyone see you’re not wearing a ring, I told them we’re already man and wife. I’ll shift it later.
Oh, and I’d better light this, don’t want to leave you in the dark.’ After fumbling over the paraffin lamp, he looked about him, checking for any other addition to her comfort. ‘Er…there’s a whatsit under the bed if you need it.’ Then he blew her a last kiss, saying he would try not to be away too long. ‘Think of this, after tomorrow none of it will matter.’

He hurried through the dying light to his parents’ house, both happy and ashamed that they believed him when he said what a hard day he’d had and did not question when he told them of his plan to return to the railway station. There was no avoiding the meal his mother had kept for him, but luckily it was a platter of cold meat, which he was able to wrap and take with him saying he must get back without delay. It would provide him and Etta with breakfast.

On the way back he relieved his bladder for the night so as not to have to do it in front of his wife-to-be. Expecting that she might have fallen asleep after her gruelling day, he was touched to discover she had forced herself to stay awake for him, although she was in bed, the covers up to her chest and her long, dark tresses spread across the pillow.

She asked how things had gone with his parents, to be told that all was fine, then saw his eyes go to the dress and corset draped over the iron bedstead. ‘I had dreadful trouble unlacing without Blanche.’

‘Never mind, from now on you’ll have me to help you.’ He removed his jacket, gave it a shake, draped it over the back of a chair and went to wash his hands and face in the bowl using the sliver of soap that Etta had conjured from somewhere. Then, oddly self-conscious under her drowsy gaze, he snuffed out the lamp before unbuttoning his trousers, carefully laying these aside too and climbing in beside her.

Discovering that Etta, too, had left on her underwear, he refrained from cuddling her for the moment, not just
because it was stiflingly hot but because he was unsure what she expected of him. ‘I’ll bet you’re exhausted, aren’t you?’ he blurted.

The dark outline of her head nodded sleepily. ‘But incredibly happy.’ She reached for his hand.

A little relieved, he lay back gripping her fingers, closing his eyes and murmuring how much he was looking forward to tomorrow.

The next thing he knew it was tomorrow, light streaming through the thin curtains, his body drenched in sweat and his garments plastered to him. Coming round, he stretched uncomfortably, then, feeling the stack of hot coals beside him, rolled his head to view his sleeping partner through a misty veil and smiled when he saw she was not asleep at all but was grinning back at him, her eyes more alert than his.

His first words were unromantic. ‘God, isn’t it clammy?’

Propped on one elbow, Etta agreed. ‘That’s what woke me – that and the birds. I’ve been watching you for ages.’ She trailed tender fingers down his sweating face, then dabbed her lips to it.

Smothered by her long hair, he chuckled and fought a gentle way out. Few sounds came from outside. ‘It must only be about five.’ He kicked off the covers, the erotic musk of her body wafting up to arouse him into kissing her, she meeting him willingly. But the room was like an oven, forcing him to break away abruptly with a grunt of discomfort.

‘Sorry, darlin’, I’ll just have to open the window.’ He clambered over the bed and reached through the curtains to open the sash, though this was to provide little relief and he groaned as he slumped back beside her and tried to flap some air inside his shirt.

‘I don’t mind if you take your clothes off.’ Etta dipped her mouth into the socket of his eye then licked the salt from her lips.

His lazy grin exuded sensuality and he ran his hands through his hair to relieve his perspiring scalp. ‘I can’t vouch for what would happen then.’

‘I think it already has happened to some extent.’ She rolled a coquettish eye at his groin.

He gasped – ‘You’re shameless!’ – but immediately leapt atop her, eager to find out the extent of her invitation, and was ecstatic upon finding that she did not push his hands away this time, no matter how intimately they pried.

The heat of the day was forgotten as an inner heat took over, overwhelming Etta to such a pitch that in her thrashing she almost rolled off the bed. Between frantic laughing kisses she urged him to stop only so that she might take off her underwear. All self-consciousness gone, both rapidly divested themselves of this last barrier, then hurled their fevered bodies back together, rocking and chuckling and moaning, and, amidst passion, pain and apology, forged their blissful union.

Sweat trickled off Marty’s body as, finally, he rolled away from her and lay there panting and victorious, whilst Etta shifted onto her side and continued to kiss him, quiet, loving little kisses on his shoulder, nestling and nuzzling, both of them thoughtful, marvelling at what had occurred. Inevitably, though, much as each loved the other they were forced to move to the outer edges of the mattress, spreading their naked limbs to try and catch what little draught came through the window, yet maintaining contact with each other by the tips of their fingers. The air was pungent with their odour.

‘I’ve no hat.’

Marty chuckled at the inappropriate comment. ‘And do you always wear a hat for this kinda thing?’

‘For our wedding! I must have one.’ On the point of
going to luncheon when he had come to rescue her, she had not been wearing outdoor clothing. It had only just begun to register now what dire straits she would be in when the climate changed. And, ‘Oh, look, my dress is on the floor!’ She beheld the crumpled garment with dismay.

He threw off his languor and leapt out of bed, giving the dress a shake and hanging it on a peg. ‘The creases’ll drop out by afternoon. I shall have to sponge me suit an’ all, it’s carrying half o’ your father’s garden.’

‘You’re so capable.’ She ran admiring eyes over his naked muscles.

‘There’s no limit to my talents, but holding my water isn’t one of them – could I ask ye to turn your back for a minute?’ His bladder swollen to the size of a football, he was finally compelled to employ the chamber pot. ‘Stop your giggling! I can’t go if I know anyone’s listening to me.’

Successfully relieving himself, he enjoyed a lengthy scratch of his torso, raked his hands through his hair that was all stuck up from bed, then went to pour a drink from the jug, sharing the glass with her. Thirst quenched, he lay back beside her nude form, desire already beginning to rekindle.

But before responding to it he felt obliged to murmur amends. ‘Sorry.’

She rolled her head to search his eyes. ‘Goodness, what on earth for?’

Face thoughtful, his fingers gently strummed her belly. ‘Hurting you. I did, didn’t I?’

Etta wrinkled her nose and shook her head to reassure him. ‘Well, perhaps just a little – but it was glorious too.’ She threw herself onto her side to issue fervent kisses.

Encouraged, he grinned and snuggled up to her, to begin the whole sequence all over again. There was still no interruption from the outside world other than the grind of the iron-rimmed wheels of the milk cart.

Perspiring and happy, desire pitted against fragile flesh
and overwhelming all, Etta and Marty were working their way towards another bittersweet union when there came movement from across the landing as the landlord and his wife prepared for the day ahead. Marty put a finger to his lips, but this only made Etta titter even more and he had to stifle her with his palm, whispering, ‘You’ll get us chucked out!’ Making sure she was over her laughter, he withdrew his hand from her mouth and rolled out of bed – but she nipped his bottom causing him to wheel round with a hiss of accusation, albeit amused. ‘Behave! Or there’ll be no breakfast for you.’

He had intended to save the cold beef for as long as he could, but, ravenous now, he went to fetch the paper bag from his pocket, he and Etta devouring its contents as if at a feast, ignoring the fact that the slices were slightly grey and curling up at the edges.

Afterwards, Etta urged him to perform the same courtesy as she had shown him whilst she used the chamber pot. Whilst doing so she heard muffled amusement. ‘What are you laughing at now?’

‘Sorry – I just didn’t know posh folk passed wind!’

She came at him in a giggling rush to unite yet again.

The hour to their wedding crept nearer. Feeling distinctly grubby, the bride-to-be coaxed the groom into procuring a bath from the landlord. When he replied that this would be deemed a most unusual request, she wheedled, ‘Oh, please, I can’t go to my most important day in such a state, can I?’

‘Well, I suppose I wouldn’t mind sharing the water,’ he admitted. Concerned that the victualler might have overheard their bawdy antics, Marty nevertheless wanted to do all in his power to please her, and so, after donning his shirt and trousers, he went down to make his request which, as he had feared, was met by a laughing gasp of astonishment.

‘What does he think we are?’ the landlord demanded of
his wife, then to the petitioner, ‘Get yourself down to the slipper baths!’

‘Normally I would.’ Marty could not give the true reason for wanting to look spruce. ‘It’s just that I’ve an important appointment and I don’t have that much time.’ Fishing into his pocket he took out the change from the sovereign that had paid for last night’s meal. ‘I’ll gladly pay you.’

‘Go on then,’ said the landlord grudgingly with an outstretched hand, and said he’d send the tweeny up. ‘But don’t make a habit of this.’

‘Thank you, we won’t bother you again,’ promised Marty. But as he turned to go the landlord’s addition made him blush.

‘And don’t make a habit of all that giggling racket at the crack o’ dawn, neither!’

Ducking in embarrassment, but stifling laughter too, Marty rushed back upstairs to inform Etta that, hereon, they must bridle their unrestrained lovemaking. Far from this affecting them, though, it only inspired another bout of gleeful kissing whilst they waited for the bath to arrive, and only when the maid and the landlord’s wife brought it in did they hastily separate, Etta whipping her left hand behind her back to hide the lack of a ring.

That plain and simple water could provide such ecstasy – Etta had never realised it before today. She sank into the lukewarm tub, luxuriating for so long that a sweating Marty had to beg for his turn. Whilst he watched from the bath, she took her time in dressing, eschewing the corset as too cumbersome.

‘And unnecessary,’ Marty added, observing her perfect form.

Unselfconscious in her nakedness, she bent to examine her legs and frowned at the red blotches that had sprung up overnight. ‘There must be a midge in here, I’m bitten to death.’

Marty chose not to correct her, merely nodded and
scratched at his own flea bites, then finally emerged from the water and began to dry himself.

Stepping into the crumpled underwear she had worn in bed, Etta said she would have to purchase more. There were also other indispensable items she was missing, such as a hairbrush. ‘It’s fortunate I was wearing this yesterday.’ She held up the gold locket and chain that lay on the table. ‘I should be able to acquire several items in exchange for it.’

‘Oh, I couldn’t have you sell that!’ Anxious not to detract from his bride’s aristocratic appearance, Marty tied the towel around himself and went to fasten the chain around her neck.

Etta acquiesced with a smile and continued her toilet whilst he went to dress. Still unable to take his eyes off her, he studied the way she was sitting now in her rumpled bodice and drawers, hair about shoulders, a golden locket around her neck, one leg spread, the other raised on the edge of the bed whilst she picked at a jagged toenail, more like a scene from a bordello – not that he had ever been in one – and he thought how marvellous she was to remain genteel whilst being so sexually alluring and down to earth at the same time.

She turned to her hair, for now using his comb, but seeing how badly this coped with her severely tangled locks and pitying her, Marty said he would go to the shop to get those items necessary to her wellbeing.

‘Apart from the drawers,’ he said cheekily as he breathed on the brass buttons of his uniform and gave them a rub with his cuff. ‘I wouldn’t know what size and I’m not asking for those even for you.’ He donned the coat. ‘There, am I good enough for a wedding?’

‘Good enough to eat!’ Etta provided the money but showed reluctance to let him go, dragging him back to kiss him more than once, both of them groaning at the separation.

In his absence, Etta was to rack her brain as to how she could acquire a hat without actually paying for it. Only able to afford the common or garden variety, she rebelled against sullying her head with one of those. By the time Marty returned she had her plan. Under her direction, whilst she held the curls in place, he helped to insert her pins so that with such splendidly combined effort her hairstyle was not so unrecognisable from the one normally completed by her maid. Finally, checking both their appearances, she took Marty’s arm, voicing her intention to purchase the hat on their way to the register office and announcing gaily, ‘Let us be wed!’

A clock in town informed them that they had emerged far too prematurely, but with Etta intent on dragging him to every milliner in York this was just as well. Trying to be diplomatic, Etta said that he would be much too bored watching her try on hats and should wait outside if he preferred, in truth knowing that his bruised and lowly appearance would hinder her deception. Glad that she did not want him to accompany her inside, Marty sought out a patch of shade provided by a church spire. This was to be re-enacted at various other shops, waiting and wilting, his heart sinking every time she emerged empty-handed, worrying that a member of his family might spot him, until Etta eventually tried on a hat she approved.

‘Hallelujah!’ he declared, half laughing, half exasperated.

‘You could say you like it.’ She was rather hurt and cross, having taken so much trouble.

‘It’s grand,’ he was quick to say of the veiled and flowered creation. It worried him that she saw fit to squander what little they had on such frippery, but he would not have hurt her for the world. ‘Looks expensive.’

‘Only the best for my wedding day.’ She tilted the brim coquettishly to display silk roses and violets. ‘Doesn’t it go well with this dress? Thank goodness I was wearing one of my better ones when you rescued me.’ She laughed at his
obvious dismay. ‘Don’t panic, I didn’t pay a sou. Aren’t I clever?’

His jaw dropped – surely she had not stolen it?

Etta spoke conspiratorially, her glittering eyes lauding her own acumen. ‘I explained my predicament to the milliner, told her how a wretched bird had defiled my own hat whilst I was on my way to a most important engagement – my maid found it simply impossible to remove that dreadful stain! I equipped them with my identity and told them to send the bill to Swanford Hall –’

‘Etta!’

‘– and to send a number of other hats on approval as they were all so delightful that I could not decide which to choose!’ She laughed softly. ‘Oh, I know it was mean of me but the woman was such a snob – besides, you never know, Mother might like them and coax Father into footing the bill. Serve him right, the miserable swine.’ Her face laughed but her eyes betrayed the pain he had caused her.

‘I always knew you’d be a handful,’ Marty chastised her, but warmly.

It then occurred to him that he had yet to acquire a much more necessary item than the hat and, hence, they went to visit the nearest jeweller.

By the time they had lunched, the occasion for which they yearned was almost arrived. Soliciting two strangers along the way to bear witness, Marty led his beloved to the register office.

In the slippery heat of the afternoon, reclining close beside him in their rumpled bed, after their finest, most passionate, most spiritual coupling to date, Etta leaned on her elbow, gazed into her beloved husband’s green eyes and said, tenderly profuse, ‘I’ve never in my entire life felt such happiness.’

Marty wholeheartedly agreed. He was a happy sort of person anyway, but for him too this elation was something
special. Cupping the back of her hot skull he caught her lower lip between his, drawing it in and caressing it with his tongue.

Breaking free to recoup her breath, Etta threw herself back, stretching and purring. ‘Oh, how wonderful to be free of that tyrant! To do as I please, to know he can never dominate me again.’ Then she hurled herself back at Marty.