Selena and Nick spent the evening in a country inn at Holcombe Fitzpaine where the chef, a friend of Nick’s, had prepared a delicious meze of vegetables, cheeses, dips, fruit, nuts, seafood and pita bread. They began the evening seriously, talking about the Sloe Cottage ghost and their findings, Selena admitting that she’d felt very afraid after Grace’s name had appeared on the glass. But later, they relaxed, chattering excitedly over coffee, discussing the breaking traditions of art and literature in the 1920s. Nick was passionate about Gertrude Stein’s ‘Lost Generation’, authors such as F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway and Virginia Woolf. Selena found herself interrupting him, bursting with enthusiasm about how much she loved Surrealism and Art Deco, how Hopper and Dali had been favourites for so long. It crossed her mind how often she’d listened to David as he’d dominated conversations, before pushing the thought away, staring into Nick’s eyes and devouring his words, matching them with her own. Each time she met his gaze, Selena found it hard to tug away.
On the way home, they were both quiet, listening to a sultry voice on the radio singing a love song. Selena closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth inside the car, the low humming sound of the engine. It was past ten: she wondered whether to invite Nick in for another coffee. It would be a nice way to end a perfect evening and she didn’t want to let him go, not yet.
He pulled up in the drive of Sloe Cottage and they both looked towards the house: Selena had left lights on in every room. She was about to ask him in, but something stopped her; there was an expression on his face she hadn’t seen before, a question. Instead, she said, ‘Thanks for a lovely evening.’
‘I had a great time,’ Nick replied.
‘And I’m really looking forward to hearing what your friend at the university says about the things we found in the loft.’
‘I hope it will shed some light on our ghost.’ He met her eyes, suddenly serious. ‘Selena…’ She waited for the moment, although she had no idea what it contained. Her heart started to bump with anxiety. ‘I have to ask you…’
‘Anything,’ she told him, her tone deliberately bright.
‘You came to Somerset to paint – but I think you also came here to get over the relationship with the man who came to visit you the other day.’
‘Yes, you’re right,’ Selena said slowly. ‘David’s in the past now.’
‘And the miscarriage must have been so difficult…’ Nick’s voice was soft with kindness.
‘Yes, it was tough.’ She nodded, registering the fresh sadness that always clung to her when she thought of the baby. ‘It’s been therapeutic, coming here and concentrating solely on my painting, being in a different place, meeting new people.’ Selena looked at him hopefully.
Nick exhaled. ‘So, I’m assuming it will be a while until you’re ready for another relationship?’ He took her hand. ‘I think we get on really well, you and I…’
‘We do…’
‘But I don’t want to dive in and spoil things when you’re still healing. What I’m saying is, several months ago you were with someone who meant a great deal to you, and it would be presumptuous of me to ask you to start something new so soon.’
Selena was stunned, unsure how to reply, so she nodded.
‘We can take things slowly.’ He was still holding her hand. ‘I’d like to see you next week? Maybe we can do the same as we did today, catch up on the history of the Cotters of Sloe Cottage and then go for dinner.’
‘I’d like that.’ Selena reached for the door handle: she was unsure how to explain her feelings of disappointment; she felt the need to dash for safety. ‘That would be lovely. Next Saturday, then?’
He kissed her, a gentle brush of their lips. ‘And I’ll text you.’
‘Great. I’ll see you then.’ She smiled as widely as she could, then rushed into the dark night air, pulling her keys from her bag as she watched him reverse. She waved a hand energetically and hurried inside.
Selena locked the door and paused in the hall. She’d imagined herself and Nick together by the fireside, seated on the sofa, in each other’s arms. Now she wondered if she had just pushed him away. She’d admitted the end of her relationship with David had been devastating: she had lost the baby, which had knocked her sideways. But now she was developing strong feelings for Nick, he’d suggested taking things slowly and she’d just agreed. Yet in less than three weeks, her tenancy on the cottage would end and she would be going back to Manchester. She was confused and annoyed with herself: it would have been easy to say no, she was over David, he didn’t matter now, and she was ready for a relationship with a much sweeter, kinder man who had already started to mean a lot.
Selena threw several logs on the wood burner to keep the room warm overnight and walked upstairs, past the landing and the second bedroom, barely noticing the door was ajar again. In her own bedroom, she pulled on pyjamas, cleaned her teeth and face and flung herself into bed, turning off the lights and plunging the room into shadows. She rolled over, her mind crowded with thoughts, wishing she’d asked Nick to come into the house so that they could talk things over together. She should have taken the opportunity to explain her feelings and allow him to share his own. Now she was full of regrets, and the idea that Nick might think she wasn’t ready for a relationship or that she wasn’t keen on him troubled her.
The door to her bedroom creaked; Selena heard it open slowly and she held her breath. There was silence for a while, then someone was inside the room. She inhaled the sweet traces of lavender on the air, then it became a stronger scent. Selena’s eyes were closed, screwed tight now, but she knew instinctively that there was someone standing by the side of the bed, watching her. She wondered whether to open her eyes: whether she would she see the outline of the slender woman in a long dress, or if there would be no one there. Her heart thumped, blood pounding in her ears, and it was suddenly hard to breathe. She shivered beneath the duvet, tucking her legs up, her body in a foetal curl, pushing the cover over her head, but she was still quaking. She would not look; she would stay where she was until morning and hope that sleep would come and, when she opened her eyes, the sun would be streaming through the window and she would be calm again.
May Day 1683 was a Saturday, a gloriously warm day; the village green was crowded with brightly clothed dancers, the light music of a pipe and tabor lifting on the wind. Grace stood with Gabriel in her arms, watching. Jennet Bryant had found a new dancing partner, a sinewy young man who bounded around energetically with her in his arms; the smile on her face showed that she was enjoying herself. Grace recalled the previous May Day when she had danced with Nathaniel; so many changes had happened in one year. She hugged Gabriel close, jiggling him to the music, then she glanced towards her grandmother’s cottage. She would watch the festivities a little longer, then she would visit Bett. She longed for her grandmother’s warm hearth and kind, encouraging words.
Nancy and George Shears stood together, watching the couples dance; baby Agnes was in her mother’s arms, writhing and yelling as Nancy wrestled to calm her. George glanced towards The Royal Oak, then he said something to his wife and wandered away. Nancy met Grace’s gaze but did not return her smile, deliberately looking back to the young women in pretty dresses, garlands in their hair, circling around the maypole.
Grace looked around for Alice, expecting to see her in the crowd wearing her best dress, cheerful on Nathaniel’s arm, but neither of them had arrived yet. Kitty Stokes and her husband, Edmund, were also in the throng; Kitty was just noticeably pregnant now, holding her child in her arms. Grace recalled the boy would be one year old today. Grace wondered whether to go over and ask her how she was keeping, and to say that she was looking forward to helping her grandmother deliver the second child.
Grace felt a light pressure on her shoulder and she turned to see Ned Shears, his face shining with enthusiasm. He was leaning to one side, a stick supporting his weight. He reached out a hand and touched Gabriel’s cheek.
‘Your son thrives, Grace. He is well-favoured.’
‘Thank you,’ Grace replied.
‘And you are looking pretty today…’ Ned seemed a little flustered. ‘The embroidered dress becomes you well.’
‘You are kind.’ Grace smiled. ‘I have just seen your brother, George, going towards The Royal Oak. Will you not sup there with him today?’
‘Oh, George would sell his soul for a pot of ale,’ Ned joked. ‘I am not of the same metal. I would rather be bringing in the May.’
Grace saw him move his gaze to the dancers and she muttered, ‘Jennet is here.’
‘I have released her from any promise of marriage,’ Ned said simply. ‘She is free to dance with who she will.’
‘I am sorry to hear it.’
‘I am not sorry.’ Ned indicated his leg. ‘She was not so keen to wed me since the accident and I have realised that she is not the one for me.’ His gaze came to rest on Grace. ‘My feelings are for another.’
‘Then you should talk to the maid and tell her…’ Grace paused; she saw the expression on Ned’s face and she understood.
‘I wish to marry you, Grace. I am not troubled by the gossip from the villagers; I would care for you and the child as if he was my own. And I will work – my leg becomes stronger now and I am unafraid of labour, especially if I have a wife and children to feed.’
Grace was unsure what to say. ‘I am not a good choice for you…’
‘But why?’ Ned’s face was flushed with excitement. ‘You are young, lovely; you have the hands of a healer, and you are sweet and kind and mild in disposition.’ He put a hand on her arm. ‘You and I could have many more children; I could live with you in the cottage and your father could rest. I would work for all of us in the fields all day behind a plough just to come home in the evening to your sweet smile.’
‘Thank you, Ned.’ Grace felt her throat swell with emotion. ‘You are too kind and I do not deserve such gentleness. But I am afraid I must say no.’
Ned’s eyes widened. ‘Do not say anything, Grace, not yet. Think about my words. Believe me, I will make a good husband who will care for you each day.’
‘I do not doubt it…’
‘Is there another you wait for? Are you hoping the baby’s father will return?’
Grace shook her head. ‘He is not in my thoughts…’
Ned leaned towards her, his lips touching her cheek. ‘Then think about my offer, sweet Grace. I will not rush you for an answer, but do not say nay, not yet. You know I would be good to you and to little Gabriel.’
Grace lowered her eyelids. ‘I will think on it. But I believe my answer will not change.’
‘I pray that it will,’ Ned said, then he turned and was lost in the crowd.
Grace pressed her lips against Gabriel’s soft cheek and bounced him in her arms to the rhythm of the dance. She thought about Ned’s words; she did not doubt that he would be kind and that he would cherish her. It would be convenient to have a husband, one who cared so much for her and the child; it would stop the chattering of tongues in Ashcomb. But Ned deserved a woman who would love him in return, whose love would equally match his, and she could not promise that. She had trusted Nathaniel, she had loved him and he had hurt her. Now the love in her heart was only for her child. Besides, Grace thought sadly, Ned was the sort of man who warranted more than she could give him.
Grace heard someone call her name and Alice rushed towards her, a flurry of ribbons and frills. They hugged and Alice said, ‘I hoped to find you here. It is good to share the company of a true friend.’
‘Where is Nathaniel?’ Grace was puzzled.
‘Oh, he has gone to bring a horse back to the farm, a stallion he has bought in Taunton. It is all he talks of, how he will ride it across the Blackdowns and enjoy the expanse of countryside.’ Alice lifted Gabriel from Grace’s arms. ‘May I hold him, just for a moment? You must be weary and he is such a delight to rock in my arms.’
Grace nodded, happy to see the joy on Alice’s face. She looked for a sign that Alice might be expecting a baby herself, but nothing in the sweet dimpled face showed any change.
Alice hugged Gabriel, kissing the top of his head. She guessed Grace’s thoughts. ‘I am not yet expecting…’ She put her face close to Grace’s and whispered, ‘But I took the caul after the birthing, the bag that held the waters from Nancy’s labours. Your grandmother told you to have it but I kept it. She said it would make a woman who is infertile get with child if cooked and eaten. It was not pleasant, but I put my feelings of sickness to one side. I hope yet that it may work.’
‘I was distracted with baby Agnes. I did not notice…’ Grace frowned: she had not thought Alice to be capable of cunning. ‘I promised my grandmother that I would take it away. Such practice goes against the church.’
‘I did not tell you – I wanted to keep it,’ Alice insisted, her face hardening. ‘I will do anything to get myself a son, you know it. And please say no more of it – I know you are a good friend to me, Grace.’
Grace sighed. ‘If it is God’s will, it will come to pass. But I pray that it will work.’
‘I am sure that it will,’ Alice clenched her small fists, determined. ‘This next year will see me a happy mother made. I am certain of it.’
‘Alice!’
Grace and Alice turned towards a sharp voice that came from the crowd.
‘Alice, come and stand with me here.’
‘It is Nancy.’ Alice waved a hand to her sister. ‘Come and join us.’
Nancy shook her head, gripping baby Agnes tightly. ‘I will not. I will not stand near Grace Cotter. She has already harmed my baby.’
‘That is not true, Nancy,’ Grace said.
‘Grace did nothing wrong, she helped to deliver Agnes – I was there,’ Alice agreed.
‘She put the finger on my baby’s mouth and now it twists like a hare’s.’ Nancy’s face was furious. ‘I dare not speak to her for fear she will curse me.’
‘Nancy, I wish only good for you.’
‘You have blighted my child’s life,’ Nancy spat between clenched teeth. ‘I will never forgive you.’
‘What you say is true.’ A young pregnant woman with a child in her arms moved next to Nancy, jabbing a finger in accusation towards Grace. It was Kitty Stokes. ‘You will not be there at my next lying-in, Grace.’
‘I do not understand…’ Grace frowned. ‘Your baby thrives…’
Kitty spoke to Alice. ‘I saw Grace Cotter put the finger on my child’s mouth – she was trying to do the same to little Edmund, to give him the lip of a hare…’
‘I did not.’ Grace raised her voice. ‘The baby could not breathe and I cleared his mouth as instructed by my grandmother. I sought only to help him to live.’
Kitty turned to Nancy. ‘I saw her do it. I put out my arms and called for the child to be brought to me. Otherwise, he too would have the mark on his face.’
Grace was aghast. ‘Please do not say such things…’ She reached for Gabriel, lifting him from Alice’s grasp.
Alice pressed her shoulder and whispered sweetly, ‘Do not heed them, Grace. They are foolish women. I will go and talk to Nancy and tell her to hush her mouth. She will listen to me.’
‘Thank you…’ Grace’s face flooded with relief. ‘It is not good, especially where others may hear their words.’
Alice’s expression was bright as she flounced towards Nancy. ‘Sister, let me hold baby Agnes for you. You must be weary. And, Kitty, how well you look.’
Grace watched as Alice stood between the women, Nancy’s baby in her arms; they were soon laughing together, their expressions bright. Grace marvelled at how eagerly Alice chattered to the other women. She did not glance back and smile complicitly, as Grace hoped she might. Grace gazed around at the crowd who were watching the dancing; two women had heard the comments Kitty had made and were shaking their heads, frowning. One of them pointed. ‘That’s Grace Cotter, here in Ashcomb for all to see with her bastard baby. She knows no shame.’
Grace held Gabriel even closer. For a reason she could not understand, she was suddenly afraid for his safety; she wondered if the women might try to pluck him from her grasp. She pushed through the crowd and ran towards her grandmother’s cottage, her heart beating in her throat, desperate for shelter, wanting only to hear the words of wisdom and comfort that her grandmother would offer.