Selena walked into the house, closing the door behind her with a clunk. She could see very little as she fumbled for the round light switch. For a moment, she couldn’t remember where it was and she stood still, her fingers groping against the rough stone wall. The corridor was gloomy and, as Selena breathed, the darkness seemed to breathe with her, as if another person was there, close by. Her fingers scrabbled against the wall; she felt almost sure that someone was standing in the shadows, watching her silently. She flicked the switch and as the hall was flooded with brightness, she was relieved that she was alone.
Her heart was still thumping as she walked into the living room. The flames glimmered in the wood-burning stove, but the corners of the room were cold, as if the warmth was not allowed to reach there. Selena switched on the table lamp and tended to the fire, throwing on a log, poking the embers. She flopped onto the sofa and as she leaned back, she felt the same sense of someone standing close to her, watching.
For a moment, Selena stayed where she was, afraid to turn, almost sure that if she swivelled round there would be someone there, waiting. She was conscious of her shallow breathing. She thought of calling out, and all of a sudden, she twisted and glanced round; the corners were crowded with leaping shadows cast by the fire, but she was alone. She gazed through the window and shuddered; it was dark outside now. The blackthorn tree pressed its branches against the glass like a palm. Selena pulled the curtains together with a swish and felt jittery. She decided to go to the kitchen; she had left the lights on there and it would be warmer, more welcoming, and she’d calm down.
Selena walked through the lobby, where the air brushed her skin like cold breath, into the kitchen, but there was no glow from the Aga. She put her hand on the ceramic surface and it was cool to the touch. Selena knelt down and checked the switch that controlled the oil feed; it had been turned off. She opened the little door to the burner and there was no flame. She frowned; she was sure she had not switched off the controls, but the Aga was stone cold, and she had no idea how to turn on the burner that started up the central heating as well as the cooker. She decided she’d phone Lesley tomorrow and ask for help, but for now she’d go to bed.
Selena switched on the light that illuminated the stairs before she turned off the kitchen lights: she didn’t want to be left in a blackout again. She walked upstairs quickly, leaving the cold kitchen behind her. As she moved away, the darkness seemed to inhale and wait.
Grace held her breath as she walked back towards Slaugh Cottage along the darkening lane. She was sure someone was walking behind her; she could hear the thud of heavy footfall not far away. She quickened her pace. Her mind was still full of Kitty Stokes, images of the lengthy labouring while her grandmother coaxed her to be calm and take small gasps, her warm hands rubbing oil on her belly while Kitty roared, her face filled with anguish. Grace was surprised at the long number of hours she had watched the toil, feeling fearful that the baby would never come, that Kitty could not continue to howl and whimper in such a way, that soon her energy would fail. Grace had been in awe of her grandmother, who was composed and experienced, guiding the frightened young woman through the changing stages of birthing without showing signs of being perturbed or tired herself, although, afterwards, Bett had told Grace that she had been concerned that Kitty would not be able to manage to push out the large baby she was carrying.
And Grace was amazed by Kitty Stokes who, her husband banished to The Royal Oak, had been alone and appeared to be close to death’s door; she had been pale and weak, the whites of her eyes wide with fear, then she had grunted and forced the baby out into the world. Grace had cut the navel string as instructed and swaddled the little boy in linen, wrapping him again in wool. The child had not cried quickly, his face had been puckered and red, unable to breathe, and Kitty had dragged herself upright, anxious, as Bett told Grace to put her finger into the baby’s mouth and remove anything that was lodged there. She had loosened some mucus, placed the baby across her shoulder, patted his back gently and he had howled at the top of his lungs. Kitty had stretched out her arms then, her eyes soft and grateful, and Grace had placed the warm bundle at the mother’s breast, surprised by her own tender feelings towards the child.
Hours had passed; Grace recalled the May dance she had attended earlier in the day, noticing spots of blood spattered on her freshly embroidered cream dress. She would try removing the stains with a little milk when she arrived home and, if that failed, she would soak the dress in urine overnight and wash it again in tallow and ashes.
The noise was still soft behind her, the repeated dull sound of footfall on soil. The moon was high; she was almost back at the cottage; her father would have taken himself to his bed hours ago, but if she needed to gather her skirts and run, she would be able to reach her home in a few minutes. Then she heard a voice call her name, one soft word, ‘Grace,’ and Nathaniel Harper was beside her, falling in step. She did not look up as he offered her an arm. ‘May I walk with you to your door, Mistress Grace?’
Again, she wondered if his courteous tone was mocking her, but she threaded a hand through the crook of the elbow he offered and walked silently. His arm was muscled, firm and warm.
‘I hear Kitty Stokes has a son. Edmund Stokes was in The Royal Oak while she was birthing. I believe you tended her, with your grandmother. Is that why you left me alone at the May dance?’
She did not look up at him. ‘I was needed there to help.’
‘I needed you by my side at the dance. You were the prettiest maid there.’
Grace was about to protest that she had seen him with Alice Bryant in his arms, but instead, she said, ‘Perhaps next year I will be able to dance.’
‘Before next year I must take a wife,’ Nathaniel replied quickly. ‘My father is anxious that I sire sons. A farming family must have men, and since my brothers died young, I am the only one, so I must do his bidding.’ He glanced at Grace to observe her reaction. ‘A young farmer needs a wife who will bear him sons, a wife who is modest, strong and wise and knows how to keep house.’
Grace nodded; she had no idea how to reply. Her arm was resting on Nathaniel’s and she was conscious that he was walking too closely to her; he continued to watch her, judging her expression.
Then he said ‘What do you think about that, Grace?’
‘I think it is well,’ she replied, unsure what to say. His words and the searching look he gave her made her breathless.
They had arrived at the wooden gate and Grace turned to walk into the garden alone, but Nathaniel held onto her arm, guiding her firmly towards the house. They stopped by the well, the blackthorn tree in shadow by the window shutter.
Grace faced him, meeting his eyes. ‘I must go inside.’ She was conscious that her heart was beating too quickly, that in truth she wanted to linger, to stay in his company.
‘Your father will be asleep. It is late.’
‘Yes.’
‘My father owns Slaugh Cottage – he allows your father to live here because he is a hard worker.’
‘Yes, I know. We are grateful.’
Nathaniel took her hand in his and held it up. ‘Dance with me, Grace. On the village green you left me waiting for you and you did not return. We will dance now.’
He tugged her into his embrace, spinning her around so that she fell back into his arms again. Someone passed by the gate and Grace heard a shout go up, two men laughing together and a gruff voice called out, ‘Master Nathaniel.’
Grace was alarmed. ‘Who was that?’
‘I think it was George Shears. He and his brother work for my father. I expect they have been making merry and will sleep in the barn.’ Nathaniel held her at arm’s-length, taking in her embroidered dress, her pale hair beneath the cap. ‘You are indeed very lovely.’
Grace couldn’t look away from him as he gazed at her, his eyes reflecting light. Then he wound his arms around her waist and pressed his mouth against hers, his lips insistent.
Grace pushed him away and stood back, breathing hard.
Nathaniel’s eyes stayed locked on hers and he moved towards her again. ‘Spare another little kiss for me.’
‘I cannot.’ Grace trembled with fear and desire; she was confused by the sudden power he had over her. She wanted to kiss him again; she felt strangely weak and strong at the same time and she had no word for it.
‘Just a kiss.’ His hands grasped her hips and he tugged her against him, his mouth on hers.
Grace wriggled away.
‘You must not ask me…’
He laughed once. ‘Would you prefer me to ask Alice Bryant?’
‘No.’ Grace could not help the words that slipped from her lips.
‘You are the one I would choose, Grace. I know Alice Bryant would let me kiss her. I know she has eyes for me… and all the men on the farm think her a comely pippin…’
Grace’s hands flew to her mouth, horrified. ‘We should not talk of these things – it is wrong for them to talk of Alice.’
‘Then let us not talk at all. I am a young man, you a chaste maid, and I have need of a wife.’ He pulled her against him. ‘Any man would wish to sample goods before he makes purchase…’
Nathaniel kissed her like he was taking a long draught of ale; his breath tasted of strong ale too, and Grace was surprised how readily her eyes closed, how easily she became intoxicated, lost in the embrace as he pressed her in his arms. He tugged her cap from her head, whispered her name into her hair, ‘My own Grace,’ then pulled her kerchief from around her shoulders. Grace felt the cool breeze on her skin and was about to protest, but he had stopped her mouth again with another long kiss.
Then Nathaniel tumbled to his knees, wrestling her onto the damp ground next to the well, and he crawled across her, his warm hands finding the hemline of her dress, caressing the flesh of her calves. Grace wriggled and protested, but his voice was soothing, his hands resolute, and she felt weak and unable to prevent what she knew would happen next.
He fumbled with his clothes, with hers, and she squeezed her eyes shut and allowed him to take control. He whispered her name, and at that moment, Grace believed that she truly belonged to him and that he would love her forever. She told herself that Nathaniel was the person she wanted to stay with for eternity; she had asked the chattering well to bring him to her, and now she was his and this moment would stretch to fill a lifetime. It was as if she and Nathaniel were the only people in the world, and the garden around them had dissolved away: only she and he remained. He groaned and she clung to his shirt, dazed; she loved him now, and she believed that now would never end. They stayed locked together for a moment longer, then Nathaniel pulled away. Grace did not move; her clothes were dishevelled.
Nathaniel stood up tall, beyond her reach, adjusting his breeches. He gazed down at her for a long time. She was sure he would speak, that he would swear to love her for all his days, that he would protect her with his life. Instead, he said, ‘Well, it is late and I must go home to my bed now. I enjoyed our dance together. I will bid you goodnight.’
Then he turned away swiftly and was gone.
Grace sat up, puzzled, tugging her skirts, covering her shoulders with the kerchief, a hand to her hair, and she heard the muffled sound of his voice in the distance singing a little May song as he headed towards Hill Top Farm. Grace shivered, unsure about what had happened so quickly that she’d had no time to think, yet she was sure that what had just taken place between her and Nathaniel was not as she would have wished it.
She stood up with some difficulty and the world started to spin; she was suddenly dizzy. She reached a hand to press her leg beneath her dress and her fingers touched something sticky, like blood. Grace picked up the bucket by the well and began to wash herself. Overhead, an owl beat its wings and Grace remained fixed for a moment, listening for the familiar screech of recognition. The owl fluttered, settled in the branches of a tree at the end of the garden and was silent.
Grace held her breath; she was alone, not sure what to do. She was no longer as she was before: in the same moment that Nathaniel had possessed her, the moment that she had willingly given him her heart, she had lost the single precious thing that was her own and her life had changed forever.