The Journal of a Vicar's Wife (8 page)

My husband’s face grew redder.

‘Then there is Mrs Bailey, who told me not long after our marriage that her husband likes to have her sometimes morning
and
night. Oh! I must not forget Mrs Flinders …’

‘Enough!’ my husband barked and stopped abruptly. His face was dark with shame, but – bless the Good Lord himself, he had an erection pulling at the fabric of his breeches.

My talk of intimacies had aroused him.

I moved straight to the point. ‘I see you are not so unaffected now you know that many men desire their wives, and
frequently.
’

My husband’s hand flew to his crotch and covered the evidence. His face roared with colour. ‘Do you wish me to lust after you? Sin for you?’ he croaked. ‘Do you wish me to paw over you day and night?’

Good grief! It sounded like a wonderful notion.

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘of course I do!’

I could see my husband warring within himself. Conflicting thoughts crossed his face as plainly as night and day. ‘Do you wish it … now?’ he asked, his voice so soft I could scarce believe the words.

‘Yes,’ I replied. Instantly my sex grew heavy, moisture collected, always anticipating.

‘Then you are a wicked woman.’ His words were shot as if from duelling pistol.

‘Mr Reeves, I …’ His look was so utterly dismissive that my eyes stung.

‘You are dismissed,’ he barked.

What did he mean, dismissed?

Where was I to go?

‘What do you mean?’ I had to clarify.

‘Take your luncheon in your room.’ His voice was like gravel. He turned, his hands still covering his crotch.

‘Mr Reeves, I don’t understand.’

‘You choose not to understand, Mrs Reeves. Please, remove yourself from my sight.’

I fled then – as it was all I could do – to my room, where I collapsed on my cold bed, my anger spent and watered down to tears.

Some may question why I wept. I wept for the husband I would never have. I wept for a babe that would never be his. I wept for the long and lonely life that stretched before me like a windswept moor.

Thursday. 10
^th
June 1813

It has been a terrible few weeks. There has been no further discussion with my husband to speak of. I have tried to speak with him on numerous occasions, but he refuses to listen. He believes I have a preoccupation with intimacy and matters of a conjugal nature, which he claims to find repulsive. I have decided then, that if it is distance he requires, distance I shall give him. From now I shall only refer to my husband as ‘the Vicar’.

I confess, I spend most evenings abed. I see no reason to join that odious, pompous, pious prat downstairs for a marital meal. Indeed, no. I take all my meals in my rooms, and shall continue to do so until I am expressly invited by the man to join him.

By and large, this disassociation with my husband has opened the passage for deepening relationships with Mrs Richards, Mrs Cartwright and naturally, Mr Goddard.

Do not mistake my intention with Mr Goddard. I do not love him, though I find him very pleasing to the eye. Neither does he love me, or indeed share overmuch affection. We work on an entirely convenient friendship, where physical needs are met occasionally, and nothing more. Though, it must be said, due to my melancholy, my physical intercourses with him have been less than frequent of late.

Still, today there was a pleasant diversion. The household has been thrown into a flurry with the arrival of my husband’s cousin, Mr Jonathan Reeves. I have been looking forward to seeing him. I cannot say why I was so eager to see him, for I know our romance has long since passed, and he is not the sort to sully the trust and affection of his cousin. Still, a warm, smiling face is very welcome in this house, for here they are few and far between.

When Jonathan arrived, a little after luncheon, he was dusty from the road. His dark brown hair, so similar to that of the Vicar, was flattened by his hat, and sweat curled it at his temples. I smiled instantly, recalling all the affections of our youth. He has grown into a fine man, indeed. Broad and strong, with the easy smile I once adored.

‘Mrs Reeves,’ he grinned at me, and bowed.

‘Mr Jonathan Reeves,’ I inclined my head and bobbed. ‘What a pleasure to see you once more.’

‘I note the country life suits you; you look well,’ he said.

I felt a flush. I do not look well, indeed no, though it was very kind of him to say so.

I heard the heavy footsteps of the Vicar approach behind me.

‘Thank you,’ I said stiffly, and swept back into the corridor to allow the gentlemen to greet appropriately.

‘Jonathan,’ the Vicar greeted his cousin. ‘Come in. I fear I have just finished luncheon, but Mrs Cartwright will prepare a repast for you if you would care to refresh yourself.’

I kept my head demurely inclined, as he continued. ‘My wife has spent an inordinate time organising the guest room for you.’ The Vicar’s voice held no warmth.

‘Well, I thank you for opening your home to me, Mrs Reeves, Reverend.’ Pleasure was warm in Jonathan’s voice.

‘Frederick,’ the Vicar replied, ‘we are cousins, there is no requirement for formality in my home.’

‘Indeed, Vicar,’ I commented rather rudely.

My husband turned and locked me with a gaze I could not quite determine.

Jonathan coughed, ‘Quite.’

There was an interminable, awkward pause. ‘Vicar, do you care to escort your cousin to his room? Or shall I?’ I asked pointedly.

His eyes darkened. He dislikes it intensely when I call him Vicar, I know, for he requested that I cease it. Frankly, I take delight in calling him it, and am determined not to cease.

‘Certainly, you may, Mrs Reeves,’ he replied, inclining his head. ‘I shall ask Minny to heat some water so that he may prepare himself for luncheon.’

‘Very good. Mr Reeves, if you would be so kind to follow me,’ I ushered him up the stairs.

Jonathan followed me silently. I could feel my skin prickle as if he were observing the back of my neck as he did so.

‘Do you fare well in London, Mr Reeves?’ I asked, as I opened the door to his rooms.

‘Well indeed.’ he agreed and stepped forth. His rooms were decorated in blue and mauve, the bed freshly dressed and the sills dusted. Afternoon sunshine shone through lace of the curtains, casting pretty shadows upon the coverlet. ‘As you know, I am a junior solicitor and have only come to Stanton so as to assist His Lordship in matters of tenancy. My father usually deals with his Lordship’s matters, but alas, is not so well, you understand.’

‘I had not heard. I am sorry.’ I replied, and hesitated at the door.

Jonathan smiled, and it was soft and kind. A lump seemed to be swelling obtusely within my throat. For just a moment, he looked so like the Vicar, but not the Vicar as I know him; the Vicar as I once had imagined he may be. Gentle, kind, and loving. How I wish he would love me, as I once cared for this man.

‘This isn’t terribly awkward for you, is it Maria?’ Jonathan spoke suddenly, ‘Having me here in your home?’ he asked, his voice very soft and low now.

I was startled to hear my name. It seemed such a time since I had last heard it spoken in this house. ‘No, Mr Reeves, is it for you?’ I asked.

Jonathan paused, his head inclined as he observed me. ‘Peculiarly, no. It has been many years since we were so connected.’ The smile seemed to fade from his lips.

‘Yes.’ I agreed. ‘I am a happily married woman now,’ I said, but found myself unable to withhold the disappointment in my tone.

The expression in Jonathan’s face belied his doubt. ‘Why do you refer to my cousin as
Vicar
, rather than
husband
?’ he asked, his expression softening.

‘How observant of you to notice,’ I managed.

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. ‘I am a solicitor; observation is one of my keenest skills.’

I looked away a moment. Another sharp pain of longing surged through my breast. I missed simple warmth and kindness.

‘Still, you have not answered. Why do you call him
Vicar
?’

I could not admit such things to Jonathan, a former beau, so instead I forced a playful smile. ‘It amuses me,’ I replied.

‘It amuses you?’

‘Indeed,’ I replied, having had quite enough of the conversation. ‘I shall leave you now, Mr Reeves. Mrs Cartwright will prepare you a late luncheon, and Minny will bring you hot water to refresh yourself with. You must be tired from the journey.’

‘No, I’m quite enthused actually.’ He paused. ‘Before you go, Maria, please… I must know, have you met the new governess at Stanton House?’ he asked.

The question took me by surprise. ‘The new governess?’ I tried to recall the insipid, pale and bookish thing I’d seen at church on Sunday. ‘Why, yes. Though I’ve not had a formal introduction.’

‘Oh.’ Jonathan’s face fell. ‘She fares well then?’

‘I must assume so, for I’ve heard nothing to contrary. Why, Jonathan, all these questions?’

Jonathan’s gaze escaped mine. ‘She lived not far from my terrace in London; our families are friends. Her father asked if I would keep an eye on her. Lord Stanton is renowned in London for his … er … manners, and her poor father fears for her virtue terribly. As do I, if I confess.’

If it were possible, my heart sank a little lower. Jonathan was in love. I knew it then, as I’d known it when he’d once loved me. Yet now, he loved a plain, poor governess under the dubious care of our patron Lord William Stanton, no less.

My anger stirred anew. How many sins must I endure? Lust, and now jealousy? Surely I shall burn in the pits of Hell one day.

I shook my head. ‘I’m sure I know nothing about the goings on at Stanton, but, should I hear something. I’ll report to you directly.’

‘Thank you,’ he smiled again.

I turned to go, and as I did, I heard my husband’s footfall on the landing.

‘Mrs Reeves?’ he asked on my approach.

‘Yes, Vicar?’

He narrowed his eyes again, and perversely I wanted to laugh.

‘I have marked several passages for you to read this evening.’

My desire to laugh fell swiftly into the desire to weep. ‘Indeed?’ was all I could respond.

‘Quite. I am aware you’ve not been continuing your studies in matters of faith recently, and I hope to rectify it.’

‘Of course,’ I inclined my head, and made to move. I could sense Jonathan behind us, watching, curious. ‘Whatever readings you dictate Vicar, I shall endeavour to read, and indeed, welcome into my mind and heart.’

I could have laughed bitterly at the vacuous drivel my husband likes to hear from me. Though I could see he was irked at the title Vicar, my duplicitous and false words must have been amenable, for he released a tight smile.

‘Very good,’ he said, and withdrew.

I did not need to turn to see Jonathan’s expression, for I could sense it in the air.

Tonight, as I write this account, I see the Bible with its passages succinctly marked with crisp white slips of paper.

I shall not read them.

Thursday, 17
^th
June 1813

Something utterly dreadful has happened! As I write this evening, my hand still trembles. I fear sleep will elude me, for thoughts and memories of what occurred today are like a storm in my head.

It is unsurprising that things have remained stale between the Vicar and I these past days. Of course, he questions me daily about my readings, and I say that I am doing them – which is utterly fallacious. Still, this is not what upsets me. Gracious, no. What has happened today is perhaps the worst thing that could possibly happen to a woman.

Mr Jonathan Reeves discovered me with Mr Goddard.

I can scarce write the words, for writing them seems to make it even more terrifying.

Mr Goddard had come, as he usually does, with his delivery of milk and cheese. As is our habit, I welcomed him into the sitting room. The Vicar had gone about his rounds, and I had thought Jonathan at Stanton assisting his Lordship. I naturally thought the house empty but for Mrs Cartwright and Minny, my accomplices in sin.

It was just as I lowered myself onto Mr Goddard’s blessedly hard member and began to take my ease on him that I heard something; the door creaking open. Fool that I am, I believed it Minny or Mrs Cartwright, both of whom know what I do with Goddard. Thus, I, like some simpleton girl, ignored the sound, thinking that if it were the servants they would leave me well alone to finish.

Henry Goddard felt very well inside me. I rocked hard, grazing my sensitive flesh against him. Oh, to feel the stretch of male flesh impale me, stretch, and pump within me! I fear in these moments I am as insensible an opium-eater. My eyes were closed and I gripped the chair upon which Mr Goddard sat, bracing myself for his primal thrusts. More’s the pity, for though Mr Goddard’s eyes were open, he had not heard what I had heard, and his gaze was locked elsewhere.

It was then I heard an unmistakable, embarrassed cough.

I thought for just a moment,
why on earth would Mrs Cartwright interrupt me?
Then it dawned,
unless my husband is returned.

My eyes flew open, and far from seeing Mrs Cartwright’s red flushed face, my gaze was met by none other than Jonathan Reeves. His expression was furious and disgusted.

I fear I screamed directly into Mr Goddard’s ear. The man lurched forth, sending me all asprawl on the floor!

I tried desperately to regain my dignity, an impossible task no doubt. I scrabbled about on the floor like some guttersnipe as Mr Goddard pulled up his britches and looked frantically about for escape.

‘Jonathan!’ I gasped when I had reached my feet and braced myself on the chair. He paid me no heed, for his eyes had locked upon the unfortunate Mr Goddard, lips in a feral snarl.

‘I’m sorry!’ Mr Goddard muttered and – Devil take the man – without assisting me in any way, he barged past Mr Reeves and fled the sitting room, leaving his boots by the door.

I stared, my horror increasing as my lover fled, leaving me to face the wrath of my husband’s cousin alone.

‘What in the Devil’s name are you doing!’ Jonathan exploded. I had never seen a man so cross, but something of the absurdity of the situation tickled me.