My mother once had to go and sit with an old school friend whose son was to be hanged. She never told me what they talked about, or even if they spoke at all but it is hard to conceive of them doing more than wait in the shrouded embrace of a sitting room until the seconds had finished their dismal climb towards midday.
Last night I closed my eyes to the memories of my last meeting with him; to dream of an eight-year-old argument where a brief romance had ended in rejection and man’s denial. This morning I opened them to the realisation that I hated the fact he could still have such a claim on me. And worse, that there was within me a nightmarish impulse to exact the very worst kind of revenge.
The fear lay in the fact that after my unnecessary histrionics of last night, he most certainly knew.
A short while later and still looking very bleary-eyed, I crept stealthily down the stairs. To my dismay, he was already up and sitting at the table, and I braced myself to receive the brunt of his natural scorn. But I ought to have known that he wasn’t the sort of man to press his advantage, and instead he was seemingly absorbed in fiddling about with what looked like the remains of my father’s gramophone. The crank mechanism had broken years ago; it had lain abandoned in the back room ever since and he had stumbled across it, I presumed, when he had been listening from there the previous morning.
“Fresh tea in the pot, if you want it,” he said without lifting his head.
I downed a cup in silence, unsure of what to say. I didn’t want to give his knowledge the form of words, that was certain, but I also didn’t like this feeling that I had anything to apologise for. I had after all worked hard over the years to create a sense of moral poise and it was most unfair that it had seemingly abandoned me at the first hurdle.
“We need to take a look at your dressings at some point,” I said finally, thinking that here at least I could demonstrate something of my regained calm.
He looked up then and smiled gently. “It’s fine, I’ve already done them. The wounds are healing brilliantly, all thanks to you.” He was being very kind.
“Oh,” I said in a very small voice, and hurried out of the room.
The ponies all greeted their breakfast with their customary enthusiasm and Myrtle could be relied upon for her usual pail of milk but as I handed her a treat, I realised with a fresh pang of worry that we had eaten the last of my usual stores. It meant that we were back to that old favourite of roots and beans and although it might generally be considered normal to enhance one’s diet with a bit of illegal bartering, to try to buy more now would be foolish in the extreme. With suspicion already lingering around me, to suddenly use double my week’s rations would be dangerously incriminating.
“Well, boys,” I murmured. Myrtle’s two half-grown sons were nibbling cheekily at my sleeve. “I think I can keep you off the menu for now, but I can’t promise anything.”
Matthew found me staring sorrowfully down at the chickens; he must have seen me standing there through the kitchen window.
“Are you all right?” he asked tentatively, possibly fearing a ferocious retort.
Glancing around in instant anxiety to check no unexpected passers-by were likely to see, I gave him a quick uncertain smile; “I’m trying to make the cockerel into dinner. I know he’s intensely annoying and deserves everything he gets but it’s very hard. If I think about it much longer I’m going to end up turning us all vegetarian.”
He gave a gentle laugh which did more to ease away my discomfort than any words could do. “Would it help if I offered to do it for you?”
I felt a rush of unexpected gratitude. “Would you? Oh yes please!”
“That’s settled then. I do want something in return though … No, please don’t look at me like that anymore. This isn’t another attempt to force an opinion from you – I don’t want to upset you again. It’s something I hope you’ll find relatively easy, now that you’ve foolishly committed yourself to my cause.” He smiled at my expression, “Really it is. You’ll be exercising your ponies today, yes? Excellent. I was wondering if you would mind allowing your course to drift past Warren Barn? I’d really like you to confirm that those men are still there and if they are, see if you recognise them at all. You don’t need to go up to them or anything, just look from afar. I’m sure they’re perfectly harmless in daylight and if we can start to build a picture of who they are and what they’re up to, we’ll do a heck of a lot better.”
“I … see,” I said carefully, thinking fast.
“Don’t worry though if you’d rather not,” he added hastily, mistaking my hesitation for reluctance.
“No, no, it’s fine,” I said quickly, “I was just thinking about the logistics, that’s all.”
“Really?” He seemed surprised. “You truly are an unusual woman, aren’t you? Most would have quite rightly told me to push off.”
I had the distinct impression he was consciously making an effort to be pleasant to me and it looked like he might reach out, but his hand changed direction at the last moment so that he leaned on the hen house instead. I came then to the sharp realisation that the events of the previous night had caused this politeness and I was suddenly aware that whatever reaction I deserved from my outburst, this careful handling was not the one I would have chosen.
I smiled grimly at myself as he turned to lead the way back into the house – for someone who had recently confessed to thinking the unforgivable, I was hardly in a position to resent it.
“By the way, I had a thought this morning,” I said to the back of his head as I followed him in through the door. “I have a friend in the telephone exchange. She might be able to tell us who your Irishman placed that call to or if she doesn’t know, she might be able to ask the girls in case someone else does. I know it’s a long shot, but it has to be worth a try.”