Hearts of Oak Page 2
“I daresay Lizzie Templeman will make the pies,” her mother said, “bein’ it’s her trade, an’ we can manage the custards atween us. But then there’s bedding to get. You’ll need a mattress and blankets and a couple of pillows at the very least. Goose feathers, I think. They’re the best. I daresay your Aunt Min will make ’ee a bedspread. It’ll be a bit of a rush for her, but she does ’em lovely. And then you’ll need a new gown for I can’t have you married in rags. That would never do. We’ll go to town this afternoon and chose the material.”
Preparing for a wedding was really quite exciting, even if there hadn’t been any kisses. They chose a length of sky-blue cotton and set to work that evening cutting it out and basted the pieces together. When Jem arrived to ask her to come out for a walk, he grinned to see how busy they were.
“I en’t sure I can this evening,” Marianne told him, biting the thread. “There’s rather a lot—”
But her mother was taking the cloth away from her. “You go, child,” she said. “’Tis a fine evening an’ the walk’ll do ’ee good.”
So they walked. But even then, there were no kisses because he was so busy telling her about their new furniture. “I got a fine set a shelves made for our pots and pans,” he said, as they headed off into the fields. “I shall put ’em up tomorrow an’ you can come an’ see ’em.”
“Yes,” she said. “I would like to.” He was so excited about all this furniture she could hardly say anything else. And it was good furniture. There was no denying that.
So the banns were called, and the pies and custards were made, and her dress was stitched and ready, and the flowers were ordered, and, the night before her wedding, she and Jem went to Mrs Catty’s to put the final touches to the room that was going to be their home.
It really was a very fine room now that everything was done. The little wooden table he’d promised stood beside the window with two chairs set beside it, the shelves he’d put up were full of pots and kettles and dishes, for all the world as if they were part of a dresser, and the chest of drawers was set against the wall and full of their clothes, all neatly folded away. There were coals in the scuttle and a salt pot and two candlesticks on the mantelpiece and the trivets on the hearth were polished shiny ready for use. And dominating the room, the high bed stood waiting, all neatly made up with its two goose-feather pillows and its thick straw mattress and the cotton counterpane her aunt had made for her, spread cleanly over it all. My home, she thought, enjoying the sight of it and tomorrow I shall start to live here. I can’t wait.
She looked so happy standing there that Jem was almost tempted to kiss her. But he thought better of it. He’d controlled himself admirably all these weeks for fear of doing the wrong thing and ’twas only a matter of hours now and then they’d be man and wife and nothing they could do could possibly be thought wrong. There’ll be time enough for kisses tomorrow, he thought. I can’t wait.
Chapter 2
It was a mad, glad day, the sun so bright it dazzled their eyes as they stepped from the stone-dim calm of St Thomas’s church, the sky as blue as forget-me-nots and full of rollicking clouds, a crazy west wind blustering the town into a frenzy. It trembled the great sails of the anchored fleet as they hung slack to dry, whipped the skirts and coat tails of the wedding guests so that it was all they could do to walk upright, and blew Mary’s straw bonnet right off her head, hat-pins and all, bowling it along the church path as if it were a bundle of chaff.
Marianne walked at the head of the procession, holding Jem’s warm arm with one hand and her now rather battered bouquet with the other, feeling dizzy with triumph and happiness. The wind pinned the long straight skirt of her new gown tight against her striding legs, defining every curve of belly and thigh, and even though she knew it was probably immodest to be revealed so clearly, she gloried in it, because she could see that Jem was admiring her.
No more plain Jane for me now, she thought, as she struggled on against the wind. 1 left all that at the church door. Pa can’t call me Pudden no more. I’m Mrs Marianne Templeman now and Jem loves me, I’m certain sure, even if he en’t said so yet. And tonight, he would kiss her at last, when the dancing was done, and the guests were gone. Oh, she couldn’t wait!
But there was a wedding breakfast to be got through first and it had taken a deal of time and a lot of hard work to prepare and Ma and Mrs Templeman said it was the best spread they’d seen for years so she knew she was going to enjoy it. She was too excited to do proper justice to it but she sat at the centre of the long trestle table in the mariners’ hall and blushed to be called “Mrs Templeman” by her father and “my good wife” by her dear Jem and drank so much ale it made her head swim and did her best to eat what she could of the pressed pies and cold meats, and the melting jellies and custards that were set before her.
Jem made an excellent meal. “My dear heart alive,” he said, when his second plate was clean, “That was a feast an’ no mistake. If you feeds me half as good as this, gel, we shall live royal.”
“Be a bit of a job,” she said, half amused and half alarmed. Did he really expect her to cook pies and such? “Bein’ we only got the one room. You can’t cook pies without you got an oven.”
“An’ that reminds me,” he said. “I’m off outside to water the roses, my lover. All this ale do make water somethin’ chronic. Follow me out in a minute or two. I got somethin’ to show ’ee.”
“What?” she said. “What you got to show me, Jem?”
“Follow me an’ you’ll see,” he said, winking at her, and he pushed his chair back, stood up and ambled towards the door, explaining to his friends as he went. “Got a few roses to water.”
“Don’t drown ’em,” they called. And he was gone.
Marianne felt self-conscious sitting by herself at the table with everybody looking at her. Being the centre of attention had been lovely when he’d been sitting beside her because they’d all been looking at him, naturally. It was different now she was on her own. How long’s a minute or two? she thought. Maybe I should count ’em. But that was silly. They must be up by now.
“’Scuse me,” she said to her father, who was sitting on her left-hand side. “I got to go an’ water roses an all.”
“You drunk too much ale, gel,” her father laughed. “You an’ your Jem are a pair. The privy’s out the back.”
And very smelly it was with all the use it was getting. She was glad to get out in the air again, even if it did smell of fish, and even if it was still blowing her sideways. She stood in the yard, smoothing out the creases in her skirt and looking for clean spaces to tread in on her way back to the hall, when she was suddenly grabbed from behind and her husband was holding her so close, she could barely breathe.
“Good gel,” he said. “Come on. We got a bed waitin’ for us.”
Her throat was so full she could hardly breathe at all. “D’you mean now?” she asked.
“Now as ever is,” he said.
“What about the weddin’ breakfast?”
“That’s finished.”
“And the guests. Shouldn’t we go back to…?”
He turned her in his arms and kissed her full on the mouth while it was still open, pushing his tongue in as if he were taking possession of it, exploring and thrusting. It was such a surprise and so pleasurable she could feel her flesh leaping in answer to him. “You comin’ back wi’ me or en’t you?” he said.
So she followed him through the alleys to their room, where everything was neat and new and waiting for them. My home, she thought, where I’m goin’ to live an’ Jem’s goin’ to love me an’ we’re goin’ to be so happy together an’ he’s goin’ to kiss me. She knew he was going to kiss her now. Oh my dear Jem, she thought, turning towards him.
But then all thought was stopped because he had her by the shoulders and was pushing her backwards onto the bed, talking to her in a hot, thick voice, that she hadn’t heard before. “Oh my lover, I waited so long…”
She was expecting pleasure, now that she’d been given a taste of it, and lifted her mouth eagerly for kisses, but he was pushing up her skirt and fumbling at his breeches and he’d got his face jammed against her shoulder and didn’t seem interested in kissing. Maybe he’d kiss her in a minute. But he didn’t. He was pulling her legs apart, roughly and with both hands, grunting “Come on, my lover, come on,” and then he was suddenly pushing something inside her, something hard and hot.
“Ow,” she said. “That hurts.”
But he didn’t stop. He went on pushing it in and out, hard as iron, lying right on top of her and grunting, “Come on. Come on.”
She tried to wriggle out from under him, but he weighed too much, and he was pinning her to the mattress. She tried to push him off, but he paid no attention. He just went on and on, and the stabbing was getting more and more painful, sharp and stinging as if he was cutting her.
“Please, Jem,” she gasped. “Do stop. You’re hurtin’ me.” But the words were disjointed as if he was pushing them out of her chest and she wasn’t sure he could hear her with all the grunting he was doing. She grabbed hold of his shirt and tugged it. “Please!”
He gave an odd sort of groan and stopped moving. For a second, they both lay still, then he put a hand on either side of her, propped himself up and looked down at her. “What’s the matter with
’ee?” he said, and he sounded cross.
“You was hurtin’ me,” she told him.
“No I wasn’t,” he said, and now there was no doubt that he was angry. “That don’t hurt. That’s love, gel. What you was made for.” How dare she say such a thing! He wouldn’t hurt anybody. It wasn’t in his nature. She was making it up.
His annoyance made her stubborn. “I don’t know about all that,” she said. “I only know you was hurtin’ me.”
“You’re just a big booby,” he said, trying to speak more kindly. “That’s how it is. I never hurt nobody in my life. Make your mind up to it and don’t go a-sayin’ things.”
She struggled out from under him and stood by the bed, pulling her skirt down. It was bunched up around her waist and most uncomfortable. Then she noticed that there was a trickle of blood running down her leg. “You’ve made me bleed,” she said. “Now say you haven’t hurt me.”
He was so cross he could hardly contain himself. Fancy saying that when he’d just been loving her, and he’d made the effort to speak fair to her. Didn’t she have any modesty? Standing here with the blood running down her legs saying such things. He fastened his breeches, buttoned his red shirt, ran his fingers through his hair, returned to normal in the usual way. She was still standing there in the middle of the room staring at him. “Now what?” he asked, irritably.
“I shall have to take my dress off, or I’ll stain it,” she said.
Oh what a nonsense, to be fussing over a dress. “Do as you please,” he said. “’Tis all one to me. I needs a tot a’ rum. I’m off out.” His disappointment was so dreadful he simply couldn’t stay with her a moment longer or he’d be shouting.
She was struggling out of the dress, pulling it over her head, blinded by the folds of cloth. “You won’t go without me,” she pleaded, her voice muffled. “Jem…”
But he’d already gone.
Tears pricked into her eyes. How could he be so unkind? she thought, as the tears rolled down her cheeks. When we’re just married an’ all. Were all men like that? Maybe they were. How would she know? But there wasn’t time for speculation. She had to clean herself up and make herself tidy. What she needed was a clout and the only thing she could think of that might answer was the old chemise she’d put in the chest of drawers that morning. She’d planned to wear it as a nightshirt, but it would have to do. At least her scissors were in the drawer too, along with her pins and needles, so she wouldn’t have to tear it with her teeth. She cut two long strips from the hem, one thick enough to make the clout and a thin one for the cord. Then she folded and knotted until it was ready, set it on the bed, and poured a little cold water from the ewer into the wash basin. It took a while before she was satisfied that she was clean and protected and by then her tears had dried and her thoughts were steady. I’ll have to think of some excuse for being away so long, she decided. I can’t just walk back into the hall and say nothin’. They’ll wonder. Unless Jem’s back before me and he’s made excuses.
But when she walked back into the hall there was no sign of Jem and her guests instantly set up a catcall. “Where you been then, you bad gel? As if we didden know?”
“Oh en’t you the sly one.”
“An’ what you done with that husband a’ yourn? Wore out I shouldn’t wonder, poor feller.”
She could feel the blushes burning her face and knew they were enjoying her embarrassment. Why do they have to be so coarse? she thought, looking away from them. “He’s gone to get more ale,” she said, offering the first excuse that came into her head. “He’ll be along presently.”
“An’ how long was he, my lover,” one of his friends asked slyly. “A good ol’ length, I’ll wager. Was he long enough for ’ee? Or did ’ee want more.”
“Leave the wench be,” Mary Morris said, coming to the defence of her child. “Unless you wants somethin’ a’ yourn cut short.” Which was greeted with a roar of delight.
“Well said, Mother Morris,” they called. “You got his measure an’ no mistake.”
Mary sat down beside her blushing daughter. “Where has he gone, Marianne?” she asked.
“To get a tot a’ rum, so he said.”
“He’s a man for his liquor,” her mother said, “which is no bad thing in the ordinary run of events. It shows manly. But he’d best get back sharpish now, liquor or no, for here’s the piper come an’ no groom to lead the dance.”
“If he don’t come back I shall lead it with Pa,” Marianne told her. “I aren’t a-waitin’. ’Ten’t kindly to keep us waiting.” But she couldn’t help wondering where he was.
He was sitting in the snug at The Dolphin with a third tot of rum in his hand talking to two new friends. He’d come slouching in, feeling aggrieved and frustrated and altogether out of sorts, and they’d greeted him from the chimney corner, calling him “My ol’ lubber” as if they’d known one another for years and asking what he fancied. He knew they were seaman, the cut of their jib told him that, and so did their weathered faces and imposing beards, and in the normal course of events, he wouldn’t have taken any notice of them, seamen being what they are. But this wasn’t the normal course of events. He needed company and a bit of sympathy and they were there to offer it. So he told them he could use a tot of rum, “Thank ’ee kindly” and they ordered it for him straightaway and pulled up a chair for him to join them.
“Women, is it?” the older of the two asked, as the rum was laid before him. His eyes were as dark as his beard and he looked decidedly mischievous. “Tom Kettle’s the name and this here’s Peggy.”
“On account a’ me leg,” the younger man said and swung a thick peg-leg up onto the table so that Jem could take a look at it. “Work of art is that,” he said, patting it. “Ship’s carpenter done it for me arter the Nile.”
Jem examined the object with professional interest. “Turned on a lathe,” he said. “Very handsome. He done a good job with it.”
“Now dang my eyes,” Peggy said. “There speaks one what knows. You wouldn’t be a carpenter yourself now, by any chance?”
Jem admitted his trade, with some pride. “I would, sir. Not that it’s done me much good. Served me ’prenticeship, so I have, seven years man and boy, carpenter and cabinet maker. I been a carpenter’s mate for six months. I bought me tools. I thought to be a master carpenter with work in the neighbourhood, an’ a wife an’ family an’ all. Found me a wife, nice quiet body — I went out my way to find a quiet one — nice quiet body what ud cook an’ clean an’ so forth, an’ then what happens?”
His companions were agog for more.
“Married her this afternoon, as ever is, what you’d think she’d be pleased about. But no. She give me such a tonguing, you’d never believe. An’ here’s me thinking what a nice quiet body she was. I had to get up an’ leave her. Couldn’t take no more of it.”
“Well now, my ol’ lubber,” Tom Kettle said, “It just might be your luck’s a-turnin’.”
“Not much chance a’ that, sir,” Jem said glumly. “Like I told ’ee, I married the wench. Mores the pity.”
“A parlous error,” Tom Kettle said. “Never wed ’em, that’s my advice. Bed ’em but never wed ’em. Howsomever, the deed’s done you say.”
Jem was maudlin with drink and feeling sorry for himself. “More’s the pity,” he repeated. “I made my bed, as they say, an’ now I shall have to lie on it.”
“Not,” Tom Kettle said, tapping the side of his bulbous nose with his forefinger, “necessarily. Have another tot an I’ll tell ’ee what I have in mind.”
The rum was ordered and delivered, and all three men drank, Jem morosely, the sailors happily.
“Now then, my lubber,” Tom Kettle said, “what I have to put to ’ee is this. How would ’ee like a job what ’ud take ’ee far away from this harridan a’ yourn an’ pay you good money to boot?”
“I’d like it very well,” Jem said. “Onny it don’t exist. Like I told ’ee, I’ve made my bed an’ now—”
“An’ now, my lubber, you must join the navy an’ be a ship’s carpenter, what is an honourable post for any man, an’ well paid, an’ leave your troubles behind you. Tha’s what you must do. Stands to reason.”