December the twenty-eighth, 1682 was a Monday, a bitterly windy day that cut through thin clothes to the bone, and Will Cotter was back at work in the fields. Grace had risen early, prepared warmed milk and bread for him, then she swept the downstairs room and ventured into the garden to dig potatoes and parsnips, her cloak protecting her from the wind’s blast. Back inside, comforted by the warmth of Slaugh Cottage, she busied herself with preparing the stew, using a scrag end of mutton she had kept back and adding vegetables, heaving the blackened pot over the fire and placing heavy logs in the grate to catch and burn.
She felt suddenly weary, so she sat in her father’s seat by the hearth, shifting position until she and the baby were comfortable, and she closed her eyes for a moment. Grace cupped her hands around the curve of her belly and began to sing softly.
‘Cares you know not, therefore sleep,
While mother here a watch will keep,
Sleep, pretty darling, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby.’
Grace felt the little one wriggle and turn around, an elbow poking out, and she rubbed the place with the flat palm of her hand, smiling. She promised the baby silently that he would never go hungry. She wanted the best for the child’s future, wishing him more prosperity and affluence than she had known in her life. Grace knew only how to write the letters of her name; she could not read or write any other letters, but she hoped that he would be able to learn and would never want for food or shelter. And she hoped more than anything that her child would love and be loved back.
Grace thought again, as she did almost constantly each day now, about the birth in February. Her grandmother had promised that she would be there to assist her, but Grace had seen birthing before – she recalled Kitty Stokes’ labours – and she was afraid. She remembered her grandmother saying that Kitty’s labour would be hard: her exact words had been, ‘She is very small and her husband is a tall man.’ Grace took a breath; she was slender and Nathaniel was broad and muscular. She feared that she too, would find the birth difficult. But she would be strong: she was determined to bring a healthy baby into the world, to hear the first lusty cry of life break from powerful lungs before she held her child in her arms for the first time. She wondered if he would have her pale red hair, or if it would be dark, like Nathaniel’s, like her own mother’s.
She thought about a name for her child: in her heart, she had always wanted a daughter to be called Mercy or Martha. And she liked the sound of the name Charity Cotter. She was unsure which to choose: she would talk to her grandmother and ask her for her thoughts. But she believed in her heart that she’d have a son and she’d name him Gabriel after the angel who announced the birth of Jesus to Our Lady. She was sure of her choice; the name Gabriel Cotter was strong and upright, just as her child would be.
Grace’s eyelids were heavy; in the warm firelight, she began to doze, her body slumped in her father’s chair. Sleep crawled over her as she basked in the fire’s orange glow, and for a moment she let go of all her cares.
Then there was a sharp knock at the door, a second followed quickly. Grace roused herself, rubbing her eyes, easing her body from the comfortable chair until she stood upright.
When she opened the door, she was surprised to see Alice Harper standing there, anxious. Grace recalled how she used to be before she married, all rosy cheeks and dimples, Alice dancing, bedecked in ribbons at May Day. Alice was thinner now, and her brow permanently creased with worry.
‘Can I come in?’ Alice asked, glancing over her shoulder. ‘Harriet does not know I am here, or indeed Nathaniel. They think I am feeding chickens.’
Grace nodded, leading the way into the dark room, lit only by the glow of the fire and a single candle. She moved to the pitcher by the hearth. ‘Can I pour you a warm drink? You must be cold.’
‘Thank you. I am.’ Alice put down a basket. ‘I wanted to speak to you, Grace, and I have brought some things for you.’
‘For me?’ Grace handed her the cup. ‘Will you sit yourself down at the hearth?’
Alice shuffled to sit in Will Cotter’s chair, placing the basket on the ground at her side; she put out her palms to warm them. ‘It is cosy here. You keep your home very comfortable.’
Grace moved to the stool opposite and eased herself down slowly. ‘It is good of you to come to see me.’
‘I have brought a basket with some milk, eggs, cheese and a rabbit.’
Grace was puzzled. ‘How did you come by them?’
‘I stole them from Harriet’s kitchen. She has plenty, especially now, left over from the Yuletide festivities. And I must say sorry to you, because you were put out because of me, because you helped me.’
‘Not at all,’ Grace said firmly. ‘I was put out by Mistress Harriet’s bad temper and because I am with child.’ She lifted the linen cloth and inspected the contents of the basket. Her eyes gleamed. ‘I am very grateful to you, Alice.’
‘And I to you.’ Alice sipped from the cup. ‘I envy you.’
‘You envy me? But why?’ Grace was surprised. ‘I have no husband, no means to work. Why would anyone envy me?’
‘What I want most in the world is a child.’ Alice’s face was sad. ‘But I have a cruel mother-in-law who constantly upbraids me and a bad-tempered husband who seldom shares a soft word. My life is not my own – I must do everyone else’s bidding. And Nathaniel does not love me, not really – he thinks me still a milkmaid. He says as much when he is out of temper. I was charmed by his smile and now I am racked with regret.’
Grace nodded slowly: she understood.
‘He spoke very prettily to me before we were wed; he told me he chose me above all others and that he loved me. But I see now that was just a springe to catch a woodcock. Once we were wed, he turned his back on me and I was a maidservant again, fit only to clean his boots.’ Alice was forlorn. ‘And to warm his bed.’
Grace sighed. ‘You must have hoped for so much more.’
‘Do you think, Grace, that it is possible for there to be true love in this world between a woman and a man?’
‘I do. My own father loved my mother, and my Grandmother Bett speaks so fondly of my grandfather. I believe that a husband and wife can follow each other through life, speaking only kind words, and with love as deep as the seas.’
‘Then I am undone in a loveless marriage.’ Alice’s eyes were full of tears. ‘It is my folly and now I have no children and I am alone.’
‘I too, am alone,’ Grace said sadly. ‘No man will want me now I will have another man’s child.’
‘No one knows who fathered your child, but many people in the village have spoken of it. Some think it to be Ned Shears’ child, but I think not.’
‘You think right.’
‘So who is he? Is he a man from this parish who is already yoked to another? Is that why you will not tell his name?’
‘I do not want to say, because…’ Grace swallowed. Lying to Alice was difficult, but she knew she must. ‘Because it is a man whom no one knows. He is not of this parish. He was passing through Ashcomb during the May Day dance. I was swayed by his charms but one time, and I must pay for it for the length of my life.’
‘Perhaps having no husband is better than a bad marriage, no matter how people speak of you.’ Alice sighed. ‘I too will pay fulsome for the rest of my days for foolishly yoking myself to Nathaniel and his family.’
‘I think it must be hard to be a wife,’ Grace agreed. ‘To bear children and run a household is endurable if you have love in your life, but without it, all that remains is drudgery each day.’
‘My sister, Nancy, has made a dreadful marriage; her life too is all toil, but she delights in telling me that she is with child and her baby will come in March, then she will have one more each year until she is thirty-five, but I fear I will still be barren then.’ She grasped Grace’s hands. ‘Do you think that is so, that I will never have a child? Mistress Harriet tells me she believes it is so.’
‘I think not.’ Grace’s voice was soft. ‘Sometimes these things can happen if we believe strongly enough that they will. You are an upright woman, Alice, and kind, and good fortune will come to you if you allow it.’
‘Do you really believe that?’ Alice asked. ‘I hope for a child with all my heart.’
Grace moved her fingers to her neck and tugged an acorn tied with a piece of ribbon that she wore beneath her dress. ‘Alice, this is for you. Wear it always.’
‘Nay, I cannot…’
‘You have brought me food. I wear this because it will bring luck and now I can return the favour. I wish you what your heart desires, truly I do.’
Alice took the ribbon with the little acorn tied in it and pushed it over her head, hiding it beneath her kerchief. ‘May it bring me blessings. You are a true friend. And I promise you, each week I will come here with some things in my basket for you – cheese, milk, a chicken.’
‘Thank you, Alice. I am grateful.’
‘And I too.’ Alice stood, reaching for the basket. ‘Now let us put these things in your larder, then I must go. I will be missed, and Mistress Harriet is always ready to beat me with a birch stick. To tell truth, Grace, I dislike her. She is a curd-faced old crone.’
‘You must forget her and think of helping yourself.’ Grace eased herself up straight. ‘You must find some oak bark as you return home, from the tree beyond the gate. Make sure your husband is the one who will put it on the fire first, then you must do the same. It will bring fertility to you both.’
‘Thank you.’ Alice wrapped her arms around Grace. ‘It has taken me too long to realise what a good friend you are.’ She pulled back, examining Grace carefully. ‘And I think it will not be long before your child comes.’
‘February, my Grandmother Bett says. And you must not worry,’ Grace’s eyes were kind. ‘A baby will come to you when ready to do so. Perhaps next year.’
Grace accompanied Alice to the door and watched her walk away, leaning against the sharp wind through the gate, bending down by the oak tree to pick up a piece of fallen bark. At the top of the hill over the farmlands, a soft mist was gathering and the skies were overcast. Twilight would come early.
Grace closed the door with a firm thud and returned to the hearth to warm her hands. The stew in the pot that hung over the fire had started to bubble and she would be able to doze in the armchair for another hour or so before she visited the well to draw water. She thought of the gifts Alice had brought: the rabbit would last her and Will almost a whole week in the stew pot, and the eggs would be useful, helping to fill her father’s belly before he left in the mornings.
Grace closed her eyes, filled with relief: she was so lucky to have Alice as a friend. She had no idea what she would do without her kindness and gifts of food, and she was determined to do all she could to help Alice in return.