The Gentle Wind's Caress (18 page)

Clarice’s eyes widened but she remained mute.

‘Now, he will have grounds to do this because you refuse to be a proper wife to him. Do you understand?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you wish to be a wife in every sense to him?’

‘No.’

Elizabeth sighed. ‘Come, come, Clarice. Look around you, look at how well you live. You have every comfort. Do you want to lose that? If you simply cut down your weight and become more involved in Ethan’s life, give him a child or two, then you can continue to live here with your sweets.’

Clarice straightened slowly, spilling boiled sweets onto the bed. ‘I…I cannot talk to Ethan.’

‘You must! Do you want to be living somewhere else with no comforts? As a divorced woman your life will be over, you’ll have nothing and no one.’ Elizabeth took a deep breath to calm down. ‘We must work together to see this doesn’t happen. Yes?’

‘Very well.’

‘Good.’ Elizabeth relaxed. ‘All I want is his happiness and bringing divorce into this house will not grant him that.’

***

Isabelle squeezed the cloth over the bucket and shook the water from it before scrubbing the floor once more. Her sore knees reminded her that she had declined Ethan’s offer to hire a maid to help with the chores. She smiled as his face swam into focus, her swirling movements dwindling until she knelt back on her heels, the cleaning forgotten. Her body responded to memories of his touch, his kisses, his loving that sent her reaching for the stars and beyond. What a summer it had been. Lazy days together, snatched afternoons, and secret meetings in the wood had controlled her every thought for months.

The weather had remained fine for weeks, showering them with a golden haze of brilliance as they lay beneath tree canopies, loving one another. They wove a magical aura around each other. Ethan brought out such fire in her, that at times she was frightened by its intensity. How had she lived without him in her life until now? In his presence, she laughed, talked, learnt and loved so much. Surrounded by his worship, she felt immortal, beyond life. He was her first thought in the morning and the last one at night. She ached for his touch and listened for his voice. All was good in her world while ever he loved her.

‘Belle, we’re off now.’

Isabelle jumped at Hughie’s voice. He stood in the doorway, knowing that to tread on her clean floor would earn him a clout around the ear. She rose from her position, throwing the cloth back into the bucket. ‘Are Father and Bertie going with you?’

‘Yes. Will you be all right alone?’

‘Of course.’ She picked her way over the floor, trying to find the dry patches. From the table she took a list and a small pouch of money given to her from Ethan. ‘Now remember, I need everything on this list. The clothes I ordered are from Mrs Bottomley in Bridge Gate. I’ve already paid her, so just collect the package.’

‘What clothes are they?’

‘Two new dresses for me and a flannel shirt each for you, Bertie and Father.’ Isabelle double-checked the list. ‘Your new boots need to be picked up from Mr Jackson in Market Street. You need to pay him the last instalment of two shillings.’

Hughie looked over her shoulder at the list. ‘Did you write wool on your list? I need to knit some socks for winter.’

‘Yes I have. Father wants to knit a vest for Bertie.’

Hughie leant against the doorjamb. ‘It’s good to have a little bit of money, isn’t it?’

Isabelle glared at him. ‘Now listen, Mr Harrington is simply loaning it to me until-’

‘I know, you told me.’ He raised his hands to ward off her verbal attack. ‘I didn’t mean anything by it.’

‘Then don’t mention it.’

Hughie frowned. ‘Why?’

‘Because it’s… unseemly.’ She gave him the list and shooed him out the door. ‘Don’t forget to buy more twine for the jars. I want to start pickling and preserving this week.’ She stood on the backdoor step and waved to Bertie, who sat up in the cart beside their father. ‘Keep safe and return before dark.’

She watched as her father steered the old horse around the yard and they trundled down the side of the house and out of sight. Returning to the kitchen, she grimaced at the bucket and shrugged. ‘Well, it’s clean enough for one day.’ She emptied the bucket out onto the herbs growing by the door. Looking up at the sky, she bit her lip. Grey clouds loomed and the cool breeze warned that summer had nearly run its course.

From the scullery door, she grabbed her shawl and whipped it around her shoulders. She’d spent the morning inside cleaning and needed the fresh air. There was to be no meeting in the woods today, as Ethan informed her of his trip to Halifax for business.

Geese and chickens, scattered around the yard, took no notice of her as she walked towards the sheds. The breeze brought her the squeals of the new piglets delivered last week. Hughie was as proud of them as if he’d fathered them himself. Whereas, Bertie enjoyed Mayflower’s presence better, which was surprising considering his smallness against her large size. When he milked, which he did with ease, he wore a dreamy expression and he always managed to get more milk from Mayflower than anyone else.

Isabelle lifted the gate latch and wandered through into the field. Two poddy calves, bought from the sale of the old heifers, joined Mayflower. Hopefully, the calves would be good milkers in the future.

The future.

She tried to shy away from the thought, like she did most times whenever her mind strayed beyond the present. What would the future bring her? Her husband? Ethan’s divorce? Her divorce? How long would it be before they were both free? Throughout the last few months, she had ignored the possibilities of what was to happen and lived day-to-day. She could see no possible way as to how they would be together, but it didn’t stop her from dreaming about it, hoping for it. Who knew when Farrell would re-appear? Even then, could she divorce him? She had no notion in regards to ending a marriage.

She sighed deeply and found that she had walked to the edge of the field without realising. She climbed over the stile. On the other side, the wood looked cold and unwelcoming today without the sun and Ethan to warm her. Depressing thoughts of living the rest of her life as she did now haunted her. She was an abandoned wife and a mistress. Never did she think her fate would be this.

Despite that Ethan wouldn’t be there to greet her, she slipped into the wood. It was so familiar to her now that it seemed an extension of her own land.

‘What a lovely day for a walk.’

Isabelle nearly jumped out of her skin at the bodiless voice. She spun wildly, searching the dappled shade for whoever spoke. ‘Who’s there?’

‘Your past.’

Twirling, seeking, Isabelle’s heart thudded. Her hand touched a tree trunk, its rough surface a solid base to ground her. She took a steadying breath and leant back against the tree. Angry at being made to look a fool, she squashed her fear and found her courage. ‘Aren’t you brave enough to show your face then?’

From behind a large tree, some twenty feet away, Neville Peacock slid out.

She gasped. A shiver of dread ran down her spine.

‘Isabelle Gibson.’ A sly grin further distorted Neville’s ugliness.

‘Why are you here?’

He smirked and walked slowly in an arc through the trees, one second visible, the next hidden as though playing a hide-and-seek game. ‘Have you missed me?’

Her terror fed the fury blazing in her chest. ‘Missed your games? Missed your vile advances?’ She laughed, but quickly stopped when his face twisted in rage.

‘You enjoy your squire’s advances though, don’t you? I hear your laughter. I watch you play with him. Even when you are both talking seriously, I still see what you feel for him.’

Isabelle closed her eyes for a moment and died a quiet death.

Neville leant against a tree and crossed his feet, portraying a man at ease. He plucked a leaf and carefully tore it into strips. ‘What a life you lead, dear Belle. A wife to no one and a mistress to a man you can’t have. You used to be so virginal, so pure. I remember how your lip used to curl in revulsion whenever you looked my way. It still does. Yet now, you are so free with your favours, you don’t even hide the deed.’

Her breathing stopped. ‘What do you want?’

‘A little of what he has sampled.’

‘Never!’

‘You have no say in it.’ The last shred of leaf dropped to the forest floor. Neville crossed his arms and pierced her with his evil stare. ‘So, your long lost father has returned then? Bringing with him a bastard?’

Her eyes widened. ‘How do you know about them?’

‘I know everything about you, Belle. I know how many pies you sold at your last market. They are good too, actually. I know you’re hated by some of the stall women. I know you’ve been abandoned by your husband, stupid swine that he is. You would have been better off marrying me.’ He paused, waiting for her response, but when none was forthcoming, he continued listing off his fingers what he knew. ‘Your father and his bastard have returned. Your washing day is Monday. You beat the rugs on Tuesdays. On Wednesdays you work in the garden, and the changes you’ve made are very good by the way.’ He grinned. ‘You spend every Sunday after church in the wood with Harrington and the odd times you can slip out and meet him.’

‘Stop!’ She covered her ears with her hands. Her stomach churned. He knew so much, too much. A fine sweat broke out on her forehead, despite the coolness of the wood. ‘How long have you been watching me?’

He twitched one shoulder. ‘Long enough.’

Isabelle shuddered, remembering the incident in the market when she thought she was being watched. ‘What do you plan to do now?’

‘I haven’t decided just yet.’ From his pocket he pulled out a small sharp knife and scored into the bark. ‘It eats away inside of me, seeing you and him together. Watching his hands touch you, having him fill you. Do you carry his child yet?’

She whimpered deep in her throat. ‘No. We…we try to be careful. I-’
Lord, what am I saying?

‘I wouldn’t be. I’d like to see you swell with my child.’

She took a step back, breathing fast.

He paused in his gouging. ‘Look.’ He indicated his artwork on the trunk.

She leant as far as she could to see without actually moving closer to him. Her eyes widened. IG + NP was crudely etched.

‘See Belle? While ever this tree stands, we are recorded as being here, alive, together.’

‘It proves nothing-’

A flush crept up his neck. ‘Go home.’

‘P…pardon?’

He tucked his knife away into his trouser pocket and dusted his hands together. ‘I said go home.’

‘You’re allowing me to go?’ A high note of hysteria came into her voice.

His smile was slow coming, but full of wickedness. ‘For now, yes. I have enjoyed our time together. I am in no hurry at the moment, to take our… friendship to the next stage.’

Isabelle’s feet seemed rooted into the soil, unable to move.

‘Unless you wish to invite me for some tea and a slice of your delicious pie?’

She backed from him, watching him. Her foot caught on a tree root and she stumbled in her haste to put distance between them.

‘Good bye, Belle, until we meet again.’

Stifling a cry, she turned and ran. Lifting her skirts high, she scrambled up the wooded slope. Her spine tingled, believing he pursued her, his hands outreaching, his face turning into the slobbering vicious face of a rabid wolf.

Breaking out of the wood, she crossed the lane and nearly fell over the stile. Once on the open fields she increased her speed. Blood pounded in her ears making her deaf to his footsteps. Fear urged her on, but the instinct to look behind her was too strong. Tearfully, she glanced over her shoulder. Nothing. The wood receded. All that moved was the grass she disturbed with her racing. Slowing, gasping for air, she staggered towards the gate leading into the house field. Her fingers were clumsy as she unlatched the gate and swung it open. When she turned to fasten it, she jumped. In the distance he stood atop of the stile, watching.

Isabelle sucked much needed air into her lungs. Finding the strength and courage she didn’t know she owned, she gradually turned away and made herself walk, not run, towards the yard and the farm buildings.

Humiliation, combined with terror, opened the door to her rage. White-hot fury fed on her fear. Again he had scared her witless. The weeks leading up to her wedding came back to her in vivid memory. If he had left her alone, she wouldn’t have seen the need to rush into marriage with Farrell. She could have taken her time to advertise and may be selected from a few other men…

Once inside the yard, she checked that others hadn’t returned. The quietness told her she was still alone. She hurried into the house and locked the kitchen door before shooting the bolt home on the scullery door. Exhausted, she laid her head against the door’s cool timber. In silence she allowed the tears to fall.

Chapter Eleven

Isabelle stirred the bubbling blackberry jam. The delicious aroma of sweetened fruit filled the kitchen. In the oven, three pear and apple pies cooked, while on the sideboard, five more pies cooled. Already packed in the larder were four dozen jam tarts and two currant loaves. Tomorrow, for the first time in months, she was to sit at her stall again. Ethan’s handouts had kept her from trading at the market, but he was in York now on business and her money was running short.