Convict Queen Page 2

  'William, you're early. Nothing wrong, is there?'

  William, tall and sunburnt, shook his head and crossed the room in a couple of strides. 'The lads can manage without me for an hour. I needed a sight of you and little Will.'

  He pulled her to him, pushed the cap she wore back on her head and stroked her hair, then bent to kiss her. Elizabeth clung to him, revelling in the strength of his arms. She could feel his muscles tighten, but it wouldn't do for them to disappear up to their bedroom so early in the evening.

  'Will's abed, asleep,' she said gently. 'He's been practising his walking all day. Don't wake him.'

  'I'll just take a look.'

  How could she have been so lucky as to attract such a man, Elizabeth wondered as she finished laying the table, putting a jug of ale and a jar of her own pickles beside the cheese, then going to stir the thick stew of vegetables from the garden and some of the bacon from the pig they'd killed earlier in the year. Ever since William had come to Corfton and leased Lower Home Farm the unmarried girls in the village had dreamed about him. Some of the married women had too, if she'd read the glances they gave him aright. He could have had any of them, but he'd chosen her, and only weeks after they'd first danced together at a Christmas party in Mr Pearce's big barn they'd been wed, and she was mistress of one of the largest farmhouses in Corvedale.

  Martha had been wildly jealous, even though she was barely thirteen at the time. For weeks she had refused to speak to Elizabeth. It was odd she'd been such friends with Molly Jones, but from what Molly had said earlier it seemed as if that friendship was finished.

  She shrugged. She wasn't responsible for Martha, but she liked Molly and it was unsettling to see her so unhappy. She stood by the open doorway, remembering, and turned as William came up behind her and kissed her ear.

  'Why so pensive, love?'

  'I was thinking of Molly Jones. She came past earlier. Ann's death has been hard on her. And I think she had words with Martha.'

  'I don't know why she wanted to go and work in Ludlow. She could find plenty of jobs at the farms hereabout, and she was a good worker, strong and reliable. Why does being a maid for a fancy family seem a better job?'

  'I think it was her mother's ambition, not Molly's.'

  'It's fine to have ambition for a boy, like our Will, but all a girl's going to do is get wed. Especially the pretty ones like you. Come here, I've missed you.'

  Elizabeth forgot Molly as William pulled her to him, and they only broke apart as there was a discreet knock on the open door behind them.

  'Mrs Pearce!' Elizabeth was flustered at being found kissing her husband, especially by one of the women she'd suspected of having an eye on him when he first came to Corfton. 'Can I help you?'

  Mary Pearce laughed. 'I'm sorry to interrupt you lovebirds, but Mr Pearce wondered if you could give him a hand tomorrow, William? He's wanting to mend roof on the big barn, and you're the handiest man with a saw around here.'

  *

  Molly set off on the seven-mile walk to Ludlow. It was later than she'd meant to start, the sun was already dipping behind the crest of Wenlock Edge, and she'd have to hurry. But the earlier walk home, the renewed anguish she'd felt on seeing her sister's grave, and the bruises on her legs which were worse than she'd let Dinah know, all made her tired, and she could only run for short distances.

  Aware that Johnny Cound and Billy might be lying in wait for her, wanting revenge, she carried the stick, swishing it at the tall grasses and the hedge parsley which was just coming into flower. Prudently she kept to the turnpike road rather than using the old paths across the fields. The boys were younger than she was by a year or so, but Johnny was already taller, burly like his father. Now her temper had cooled she accepted she'd stand no chance against the two of them, who had probably found other sticks by now, and she dared not risk being late.

  She turned off by the old marketplace to take the road through Stanton Lacy. They wouldn't be waiting for her so far from home. She looked longingly at the cool water below the bridge over the River Corve, and wished she had time to stop at one of the deep pools where she and Ann had, with much giggling, taught themselves to swim when they were much younger. The cool water would have eased the soreness in her thighs.

  Eventually she came into Ludlow, panting as she tried to run up the steep part of Corve Street. Finally she turned into Broad Street with a few minutes to spare. None of the church clocks had started to chime.

  In the large kitchen she found Cook in her usual chair before the fire, snoring gently. Betsy, the tweeny, was scrubbing the scullery floor, and George, the groom, lounged on the settle, picking his teeth with a sliver of kindling.

  'Mistress wants ter see you, Moll,' he said as she went past him towards the back stairs.

  'Why? I'm not late back.'

  'Summat about hems not being done right. Don't ask me, I know nothin' about such fancy stuff.'

  Molly grimaced, and wearily climbed the stairs to the tiny room in the attics which she shared with Jenny, the parlourmaid. There was room between the two palliasses for just one of them to stand. Jenny was sprawled on hers, snoring soundly.

  Quietly Molly pulled off her petticoats and bodice and hung them on the nail beside the door. Then she donned the dark green uniform Mrs Lewis insisted she wore, and the white starched apron, smoothed back her hair and perched the mob cap on top. There wasn't time to replait her braids. Mrs Lewis would know she was back, and if she delayed too long more of her wages would be stopped.

  *

  Mrs Lewis was sitting in the big drawing room overlooking the street. On a chair beside her were two frocks. Molly glanced at them apprehensively. She'd done the work as well as she was able, and had always been praised for her neat stitching.

  'Ah, Molly,' Mrs Lewis said, and Molly gulped. Much as she'd prefer to be back in Corfham with her family, they'd be disappointed in her if she lost this job.

  'I'll do them again, Ma'am,' she said hastily.

  'Oh, Molly, the work is done well enough, but when the girls tried the dresses on, we thought they were a trifle too long. They need to be taken up by half an inch. I'm afraid it will have to be done tonight, they are needed for tomorrow. Tell Cook you may have a working candle. I don't want the dresses to be done in the kitchen and picking up the smell of soot and fat.'

  'Thank you, Ma'am.'

  'One more thing, Master Richard is home from the university, and he will need hot water tonight as well as in the morning. That's all. Do that first. Take the dresses and you may go.'

  Molly picked up the dresses, suppressing a sigh. The girls were only ten and eight, but the skirts were wide and it would take her hours to do both. And for such a small amount, which would not even be noticed. They'd been pleased enough with them when they'd tried them on.

  She took them to the small room next to the linen cupboard, rather grandly called the sewing room, but little more than a cupboard. There she could sit by the window until the daylight faded, which would be late as the room faced west. She hated sewing by candlelight, it made her eyes ache.

  In the kitchen she filled a large brass jug with water from the big kettle hanging over the fire.

  'You didn't tell me Master Richard was here,' she said. 'What's he like?' He hadn't been home in the two months she'd been working for his parents, and she'd understood he didn't often come to Ludlow.

  'You'll soon find out, lass,' Cook said, and she and George grinned at one another.

  'I'm to have a candle. Those dratted frocks have to be taken up tonight.'

  'There's some stubs in that box. Come and get one when it gets dark.'

  Molly nodded, and carried the jug carefully up the steep back stairs. She was responsible for cleaning the bedrooms, as well as doing all the sewing and mending, while Jenny cleaned the downstairs rooms, answered the door, and waited at table. Master Richard's room was kept ready for him, and she was supposed to air the bed every week. No one had told her to do anything else, and she wo
ndered whether he had come home unexpectedly early from the university.

  His bedroom was at the back of the house, overlooking the gardens. Molly tapped on the door, and almost fell over when it opened abruptly.

  'Well?'

  'Your hot water, Master Richard.'

  'It's taken long enough. What the devil have you been doing? I've been waiting an hour at least.'

  'It's my day off, I've only just come back,' Molly said, knowing she ought not to answer back, but irritated by the unfairness of the accusation.

  She looked him up and down, noting the streaks of dried food on his waistcoat, and hoped she would not be given the task of cleaning it.

  'You're new, aren't you? What's your name?'

  Angered at his rudeness, Molly walked over to place the jug on the wash stand before she replied. 'Yes, I'm new. I'm Mary Jones, but I'm called Molly. Is there anything else?'

  She looked at him, seeing a strong resemblance to his father. Both men were fat rather than big, with puffy cheeks and deep-sunken eyes. Mr Lewis had a beak of a nose, but Richard's was an indeterminate blob. His lips were thin, but now they curled in disdain as he looked her up and down.

  'Not much for a year or two, I think, Mary Molly. You're too skinny. But you can look. Go and fetch the hip bath. You can help me. You'll like that.'

  Molly backed out of the room. She didn't like his supercilious tone, what he was implying, or the way he stared at her. There was a sneer on his face, and something else she couldn't interpret in his mean little eyes. But she'd better fetch the hip bath or she'd be in trouble.

  In the kitchen George laughed when she said Richard wanted the hip bath. 'Then 'e'll want more than one can of water to cover his fat hams.'

  'Don't be coarse. You can carry up a couple of cans for Molly,' Cook said, and George grinned goodnaturedly and rose to his feet.

  Outside Richard's door he set them down, sloshing water over the floorboards. 'Watch yerself, lass.'

  Molly went in, and had set the bath down before she noticed Richard, stark naked, standing by the bed. She went to fetch the other cans and plonked them beside the bath. As she turned to leave Richard stepped in front of her.

  'Oh, no, you don't. You'll help me. Pour in the water.'

  For some moments Molly contemplated refusing, but then she'd lose her job, and her mother would be so disappointed. She'd set such store on Molly being able to escape from the drudgery and poverty of their life, Molly was determined to do her best to fulfill her mother's dream.

  She took the jug from the washstand. The water had now cooled a little, and she poured it in the bath. Richard, swaggering, lowered his fat behind into it, letting his short fat legs flop over the end. Naked, he was even more repulsive than in his food-bespattered clothes, and his rolls of flesh almost filled the bath and overflowed the sides.

  'Come on, where's the soap? You can be my valet and wash me.'

  Molly snatched up the soap and almost flung it into the water. 'That's not part of me job – sir!' she snapped, and turned to go.

  He grabbed at her hand as she passed and pulled her towards him. 'Do as I say!'

  Molly stared at him. Squashed as he was in the bath it was difficult to be sure, but as he pulled her hand down towards him and pushed it onto him she felt his erection harden.

  'Wash me, Molly,' he said, and leaned back as far as he could.

  His grip on her hand relaxed, and Molly jumped back. 'You need some more water, sir!' she said quietly, and picked up one of the jugs. Before he could move she poured all of it onto him, and watched his sudden deflation with interest.

  'You bitch! That was cold!' he almost screamed.

  'Pity it weren't the 'ot one,' Molly replied, forgetting the more refined speech she tried to imitate in this house. 'D'you want that now? On your 'ead?'

  'Get out! You'll suffer for this!'

  'I think you will too, if yer pa hears 'ow you behave.'

  Molly wondered if he would complain, and if she'd lose her job. But perhaps he was sufficiently in awe of his father not to make a complaint. She hoped so, but if not she thought her mother would understand.

  She sighed as she began her sewing. She ached, from the walk and the thrashing, but at least it was still light enough for her to see without a candle. She must do as much as she could before she had to fetch that, but she knew the task would take her until midnight at least.

  *

  John Maebury grinned as William Gough walked into the tap room of the Sun.

  'I'm surprised ye can leave your pretty wife of an evening,' he said. 'From what William Pearce said when he was in earlier.'

  Gough laughed. So Mary Pearce had talked. Well, he wasn't ashamed of loving his Elizabeth. 'Jealous, John? You've no cause. Your own Mary's a bonny armful.'

  The other men sitting round the big table chuckled. Gough looked at them as he pulled out a stool and joined them. There was old Ben Hawkins, well over his three score years and ten, who sat on the bench outside when the weather was warm enough, or in the tap room when it wasn't, telling stories to anyone who'd listen about the villages in Corvedale and the people who'd lived there. Even when these concerned the doings of people who'd died hundreds of years ago, he made them sound as though he'd been there at the time. Then there was John Cound, tall and burly, as were all that family, and always looking pleased with life, or with himself. A good farmer, though. David Jones, on the other hand, looked pale and unhealthy. His daughter's death had hit him hard. Many families saw most of their babies die, but he still had three strong sons as well as Molly.

  'How's your wife?' he asked quietly as he took his tankard and sat next to Jones.

  'Enduring. What else can us do? At least I've work outwittin' foxes, which takes me mind off it, but Margaret's at 'ome all day, and it preys on her. She misses our Molly more than ever now.'

  'But she's a clever lass, and it's a way for her to get on,' Cound said. 'Don't begrudge it, David.'

  'I don't, if it really helps. She's clever, it's true, my Molly.'

  Cound laughed. 'Aye. Our John was always aggrieved she was quicker than him answering John Green's questions. I tell him, she's a year older, it's to be expected.'

  William smiled to himself. Young John Cound was thick. He'd never be as smart as Molly Jones, whatever their ages.

  'Did you get that fox that's been pestering Pinches?' he asked David Jones.

  'Yes, by the mill pool. It were a crafty beggar, but Morgan, that young apprentice from over Stokesay way, had seen him go down to near stream. I managed to corner him.'

  The talk then turned to farming, the year's crop of hemp, the prices of lambs and wool, and the chances of a good wheat harvest, and soon Gough took his leave. Elizabeth would be in bed by now, and he wanted to be there with her.

  *

  As Molly sewed, hampered by the cuts on her hand, and anxious not to open them and get blood on the dresses, she thought wistfully of home. Her father wasn't always able to be there when she had her monthly day off. John Maebury was a hard employer and paid little, so the work at the Sun did not bring in much. Even though they had enough garden to grow vegetables and keep hens, David Jones had to take any odd jobs he could find. Without the money her mother earned with her sewing they would not have been able to send the children to John Green's school in Diddlebury, and pay for apprenticeships for Samuel, the oldest brother, and later on for the two young ones.

  Once more she fretted about her inability to help. She would give her mother all she could of her wages, but she would receive none until quarter day, and then Mrs Lewis had said some would be kept back to pay for her uniform, and more if she broke anything.

  She had been earning almost as much working on the farms near home. William Gough had always been happy to find her jobs, so had Mr Pearce and the other big farmers in the district. She could do anything, and was as strong as a lad. She also helped her mother with the sewing. Occasionally she wondered about going to London with some of the women who went
every year to pick and carry fruit to the markets. They could earn eight or nine shillings a day, she'd been told, an unbelievable sum, more than most labourers earned in a week. But when she mentioned it Ma had begged her not to go so far from home. Margaret mistrusted everyone who didn't belong to Corvedale or the areas nearby.

  One day, though, if she were to do as her mother wanted, she would perhaps be a lady's maid. She might even go to London. She'd been to Shrewsbury twice, and occasionally to Much Wenlock, but had never imagined, before her mother put the idea into her head, that she would ever travel further.

  'You might even go to France!' Ann had said. 'I'd like that, but I'm no good at sewing, so I can't be a lady's maid.'

  She laughed, and Molly had envied her. She had stayed at home with their parents and younger brothers. But now she wasn't, and Molly felt guilty. If Ann had been able to have this job, would she have died?

  *

  CHAPTER 2

  When she took the water to Richard's room the next morning he was sprawled over the bed, snoring heavily. She dragged back the curtains, letting sunlight flood into the room, but he didn't stir. His covers had been thrown off, for the night had been hot, and his nightgown was rucked up, revealing short, podgy legs. Molly averted her gaze and shuddered. They were pale and hairy, unlike the sunburned legs of the men at home, who worked in the fields half-naked in the summer, and were as brown as the beech leaves in autumn.

  She then fetched the hip bath, grateful to see he was still asleep, and couldn't demand her help. If the water was cold when he woke, it served him right.

  She was kept busy all day and didn't see him again. When she and Jenny were in bed Jenny was eager to know what he was like.

  'But haven't you seen him before? You've been here since Christmas.'

  'But he's not been here. An' he went out all day, he didn't eat wi' the others,' she said, pouting. 'I wanted to see 'im.'

  'You'll be sorry when you do,' Molly said, laughing at her. 'He's no handsome prince, though he behaves as though he thinks he's one! Now go to sleep, I'm too tired to gossip.'