The Straw Halter (10 page)

‘No,’ she said, then, grabbing at his hand, ‘No, Daniel, please, please don’t do that.’

‘Why not? He’s a good worker and—’

‘I can’t explain but please don’t do it.’ He was gazing at her now and quickly she added, ‘It’s – it’s just something I feel. He’s not good for the farm – I just know it, Daniel. Please.’

Her husband’s face looked grim. ‘I’m partly doing it for you. I thought you’d be happy. You won’t be toiling in the fields if we take on another hand.’

His expression softened and he put an arm round her
shoulders
, ‘Betsy, I love you and I want the best for you. Someday you’ll have the children we both want and it will be better for
you not to have to work so hard on the farm. Probably won’t need to work in the fields at all. Tom has proved his worth – the fact that he returned this year – after all, he could have picked up casual jobs almost anywhere, but he chose to come back here. Anyway, unless you can find a proper reason not to I shall take him on.’ He let his hand slip from her shoulder and she took it in hers, and pressed it close to her heart.

‘Please, I beg of you Daniel, don’t do this.…’ She saw Tom come into the kitchen, saw the satisfied smirk on his face and stifled the scream that threatened to erupt. Daniel turned towards the door and motioned Tom to sit at the already laid-up table. Jim arrived at that moment and they all sat down to eat.

Betsy thought she wouldn’t be able to swallow a mouthful, but when she noticed Tom glance in her direction she took a large wedge of cheese and put it on her plate. She would not let him see how rattled she was, but her determination to stand out against this proposal at all costs soared. If necessary she would have to confide to Daniel what had happened, and although she knew the hired hand would deny it, Daniel would believe her. Of course he would. The tiny seed of anxiety that he would question why she hadn’t told him before was firmly squashed as she stared boldly across the table at Thomas Shooter.

Daniel stayed behind when the two other men left for the fields. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘what is all this nonsense about, Betsy?’

‘I don’t like Tom Shooter.’

‘You won’t have to work with him. You will only see him for a short time for his meals. He’s a strong lad and—’

‘No,’ she said, ‘no, Daniel. There’s something nasty about him.’

‘You’ll have to come up with more than that.’

‘He – he tried to kiss me at the harvest supper last year.’

Daniel said, ‘The devil he did. I won’t take him on. Why didn’t you tell me before?’

‘He was leaving the next day and I didn’t want to worry you.’ When her husband left the kitchen to return to work Betsy sat down quickly. Her heart seemed to be racing around inside her. She put her arms on the table and rested her head on them for a few moments. This always calmed her when she felt really churned up.

Her relief at how easy it had been after all made her feel light-headed. She realized that she was worried about how Daniel would react. His sudden surges of temper never lasted long, but when they happened they were like an explosion and this time she knew she had no right to fly back at him as she usually did.

She stood up and moved across the kitchen. There was much to do for the supper tonight when all the farms in the area joined together for their thanksgiving for the harvest. There was no time to dwell on her joy that by this time tomorrow Tom Shooter would be on his way, never to return to Redwood Farm.

Occasionally Betsy saw the farmer’s wives and some of the children at market but she did not know them well. A lot of the wives were older than she was but she did not look for their friendship as she would have done had she been able to go to market during her time with George Hatton. Now she had a busy and fulfilling life, apart from her childlessness. And that was of more concern to her than to Daniel, for she longed to have a family with him. However many children there were she knew he would support her in giving them all, boys or girls, as good an education as they could.

The local farmers all came to Redwood for the celebrations. ‘We have one of the largest barns round here,’ Daniel had told
her before her first harvest supper, ‘but everyone brings their share and more.’

Betsy had been baking for days, as had the other farmers’ wives in the area, and the dairymaid Hannah had been helping. By that evening the trestle-tables set out in the big barn were groaning with food.

Coming down the lane, many carrying yet more food, were several neighbours and their workers, led by the parson and the fiddler. She had heard that the parson allowed his church to be used as a store for the smugglers who operated around the Kent and Sussex coasts. Most of it was taken on from the church crypt to London and other parts of the country, but some found its way to the rich houses outside the village. The parson was a round-faced, cheery man who preached his sermons each Sunday in a booming voice which dared anyone to go to sleep. ‘He is a good man,’ Daniel said when they had talked of it one evening while they were sitting comfortably together in the soft glow of the candlelight. ‘He would harm no man or beast and he is trusted by all.’ Betsy smiled as she remembered again Mrs Wallasey’s words to her:
There is always a way, Betsy, always a way.

It was a jolly procession that wended its way over the fields to Redwood and if it had not been for the prospect that Tom Shooter would be present Betsy would have looked forward to the evening. As it was she wished only for it to be over and for Tom to leave the area for good. Daniel had told her before they went that the farm worker would be off tomorrow morning.

‘He can have his share of the fruits of his labour tonight at the supper. I would not send a man away hungry,’ he said, ‘but he will not be working here again ever.’

He had not yet told the lad but at the harvest supper that
evening Daniel said quietly, ‘Tom, I won’t be taking on anyone else just now. I thought about it when I talked to you, but—’

‘Not taking …’ Thomas Shooter’s eyes narrowed and he moved closer to the farmer. ‘You talked it over with
her
, didn’t you?’ His voice lost the friendly note it usually had when talking to his employer. ‘I’m surprised a man would even
mention
it to his woman. But then of course she isn’t
only
yours, is she?’

‘What do you mean?’ They were standing outside the barn, a little away from the merriment going on inside.

Tom shrugged, ‘She likes a bit of rough and tumble. You can’t watch her all the time. I suppose she thinks you’d find out what we were up to if I was here for more than a few weeks.’

He didn’t see the blow coming as Daniel’s fist hit him, and when he staggered away to his bed a short while afterwards, nursing his bruises, he vowed he would get even with her. ‘Vile bitch,’ he muttered, holding his jaw. ‘You’ll really pay for it this time, you’ll see.’

The following morning he collected his wages and left the farm.

At first Daniel didn’t believe Tom Shooter’s accusations about Betsy but as he worked in the fields and among the animals he knew the opportunities had been there. He remembered when Tom was ill last year and he had sent him to rest. Had he not gone to the stable but to Betsy. Or had she gone to the loft to be with him?

An image of the lad, tall, lithe and athletic, refused to go away. He never doubted that it would have been Tom who made the first move, but if she had been tempted and succumbed, even just once, then that would explain her fright that it could happen again if Tom stayed. In despair Daniel let
the thoughts chase each other round in his head until he knew he must talk to her about it again. He did so that evening. They were sitting opposite each other in the two armchairs and she was fondling Dumbo who, as usual was lying at her feet.

‘When Tom Shooter tried to kiss you, Betsy,’ he said
hesitantly
, ‘why didn’t you scream and make a fuss and – and tell me.’

She stopped stroking the cat and sat upright and very still in the chair.

‘You were too far away to hear a scream and I thought I could handle him.’

‘How many times did this happen?’ He too was still now, but it was a stillness on the verge of eruption. His question surprised her and, seeing the pained expression in his eyes she diluted the truth. ‘Only once, Daniel.’

‘And you – you didn’t …’ He stopped and she looked across the short distance between the armchairs and stared into his face.

‘How could you even think … Of
course
I didn’t. Don’t you believe me?’ Her voice shook with anger and emotion.

He went across to her and took her hands in his. ‘You didn’t want him here from the start this season but I thought it would make it easier for you and I played into his hands. If only I’d known.’ His grip tightened and she leant forward and kissed him.

There was wonder in his eyes too, now. ‘Forgive me Betsy. I’m not blaming you. I love you so much and I’m jealous.’ That night she lay awake long after Daniel was asleep and snoring. It was over; Tom Shooter had gone for good this time. He wouldn’t ever seek work here again after the pounding Daniel had given him.

She took no pleasure in men fighting over her and she tried to put the ordeal of the last few weeks out of her mind but sleep wouldn’t come. In the morning she was bleary-eyed and irritable.

Daniel stamped off to work, saying, ‘Whatever’s got into you, I want it out by the time I return. You may be beautiful but you’re bad-tempered too.’ He looked up at the straw halter as he went by, or it seemed to her he did. When he had gone she burst into tears. Even Dumbo wasn’t around to comfort her, and eventually she stood up and began clearing the breakfast-table.

Half-way through the morning, just when she had put some pies in the kitchen range, there was a tap at the back door. She opened it to find a gypsy woman standing there.

‘You buy some lucky heather?’ She thrust a tiny posy of white heather at Betsy. ‘My, you’re a very unhappy lady,’ the gypsy said, ‘you have big trouble.’

Betsy bought the heather, six bunches of it, and the gypsy said, ‘I see great happiness for you but trouble first.’

‘What kind of trouble?’

Wise old eyes gazed at her solemnly. ‘With a man. Be careful.’ More than that she would not – or maybe could not – say.

Perhaps she was ‘seeing’ what had already happened, Betsy thought when she returned to her cooking. But now that Tom Shooter had gone surely things would come right with Daniel. Unless there was another man in the future who would seek to come between them. All she could think of was Daniel’s brother, Joseph. But even Daniel made sure he was never left alone with her.

She knew she would hate to be ugly and she loved being beautiful but her looks had led to trouble all through her life. At home with her family, at work with the other maids and with the master, and now with the husband she adored.

She felt certain that she had inherited them from her father’s family and wished so much that she could find out who he was. There was no doubt in her mind that she had been told lies about her beginnings and that the older generation knew the story. Her siblings probably copied the attitude of their elders, as Daniel had suggested.

She certainly didn’t look like Sir Richard Choicely, but maybe her father was a cousin or nephew, or brother even. She paused as her hand reached for the flour again. Did Richard Choicely have any brothers? There were two sons but no mention of brothers or sisters in the facts they had unearthed about the family. Did Sir Benjamin Choicely have other sons than Richard – younger ones, one of whom might be her father? Sir Benjamin may have had brothers whose sons surname would be the same.

When Daniel returned he seemed in a brighter mood and commented on the delicious smell of home cooking. Jim too smiled at her and said how good it smelt.

‘I’ve made more than one pie,’ she told him, ‘so you can take one home with you.’

‘Thanks, missus.’ He sat quietly at the table as usual and she sighed with relief that at least there was one here whom she had no need to fear. Jim was a good worker and knew his place.

‘T
his’ll do.’ Thomas Shooter jumped from the wagon, shouted a brief thanks over his shoulder and set off to walk the rest of the way to Redwood Farm. As he walked he whistled and a strange, grim-looking expression, half smile, half sneer, hovered round his mouth. Only a few more hours and he would have his revenge on them. Especially on her. He felt the excitement rising in his groin. It was revenge with a bonus because he meant to have her too.

When Daniel found out what was going on, or what appeared to be going on, he could guess the reaction and he would make sure
she
stayed in the loft. Then he would have her, and afterwards he would spit on her before he left for ever. There were two important things in his life, women and work. He had no trouble finding either. He loved working on the farms, and although he could not have put it into words he felt at one with the land as he toiled in the fields. Women were his other passion, but not
any
women. They had to be of his choosing. He had power in both situations and it felt good.

He swung jauntily along but stopped whistling as he neared the lane where the farm was. His plan would only work if he was not seen or heard.

He had travelled the same road only two days ago, when he had sought out one of the boys from the village three miles from the hamlet where the farm was. From his time in the area he knew this particular lad was a bit simple but would do anything for money. As far as Tom knew the boy never spent it, unless he went to the fair once a year, but he hoarded every copper as a miser hoards his gold.

He told him exactly what he wanted him to do and the boy repeated it several times to make sure he had got it right.

‘But not a word to anyone,’ Tom warned, ‘because if you do I will know and I will slit you from here to here.’ He drew an imaginary line from the top of the lad’s head through to his feet. ‘It will be the most painful death for you if you breathe a word to anyone. You do
not
know me, you have never seen me before, you are a simpleton who doesn’t understand what he is saying or doing.
Understand
?’

The boy nodded quickly and many times. He understood only too well.

‘Before I kill you I will cut out your tongue, so be sure you do exactly as I say. If you do then nothing bad will ever happen to you.’

‘Y-yes.’ The village lad’s voice was little above a whisper as he shied away from Tom.

He was there, crouched down by the hedge, when Tom arrived. ‘Anyone see you?’ Tom hissed at him.

‘N-no one.’

‘You sure?’ Tom gripped the yoke of his smock and once more the boy nodded. Tom dived his hand into his pocket and produced a coin.

‘What are you going to tell him. Come on, spit it out?’

‘Master, there’s someone trying to get in the hayloft.’

‘That’s right.
Make
him come. Keep saying it if he doesn’t come the first time. Then what do you do?’

‘Go across to the kitchen and tell missus master is in hayloft and hurt.’

‘Good. Then run off and wait for me in the village.’ He took another coin from his pocket and held it in front of the boy, ‘I’ll give you this other one then. Go on, run now.’

The boy looked at him for a moment, then set off for the field where Daniel was. His lolloping half-run and half-walk was surprisingly fast and a grin of excitement spread across his features as he went. All the while he was saying out loud the words he had been practising, ‘Master, there’s someone trying to get in the hayloft.’ ‘Missus, master is in hayloft and hurt.’

Thomas Shooter glanced towards the kitchen door before sneaking into the hayloft. He thought she would be in the kitchen or dairy and he also knew she would rush to the hayloft as soon as the boy told her that Daniel was there and injured. He had to take a chance the boy would be fast enough, but he thought he would. It was his natural instinct to run from people rather than linger and by the time Daniel had the message and reached the hayloft Betsy would be there. She only had to come across the yard after all.

He knew the mattress would be there in its usual place. Swiftly he took sheets from his bag and spread them untidily on the lumpy mattress they kept there for the casual labourer. He felt the hot blood rushing through his body as he rumpled them into disorder. Timing was everything, although if she arrived before Daniel he could hold her there. She would scream and fight him though so he needed to have her trapped in the hayloft without her realizing he was there. They thought he was such a simple soul but he would show them.

He went into the dark recess at the back, divested himself of all his clothes, then wrapped his smock around him without putting it on. With growing excitement he waited. The timing was perfect. He heard Betsy rush in, calling her husband’s name and within a couple of seconds Daniel was there. Thomas Shooter threw off the garment covering his nakedness and came from behind the shelf to confront them.

Betsy screamed and turned into her husband’s arms, while Tom advanced towards her. ‘You said he would be away all day,’ he shouted, his voice aggrieved and accusing. Thrusting Betsy from him Daniel struck the first blow, but although he took the younger man by surprise with that one, Tom had the advantage of height and strength.

It was over in minutes, and while Daniel lay winded on the floor, Tom hauled Betsy from her husband’s side and dragged her through to where he had been hiding before either of them arrived.

‘I’ll give you something to remember me by,’ he said exultantly. ‘Here.’ Before he could wrestle her to the ground her foot found its target and Thomas Shooter was writhing in agony on the floor. Daniel was staggering to his feet as she returned to his side. His face was bloodied and one eye almost closed. Roughly he pushed her aside and zigzagged towards Tom. ‘Get out,’ he said.

In vain Betsy protested her innocence. Daniel stormed around the farm grim-lipped and silent. She couldn’t bear the hurt that showed in his eyes, in his walk, in his whole stance. Yet she knew she couldn’t assuage it unless he believed in her and this was the one thing he would not do.

‘Daniel, it was a trick, can’t you see that?’ she begged,
‘I did not know he was there—’

‘Don’t make excuses, Betsy. You were tempted and – and I can even understand it, but stop lying to me.’

‘I’m not, I’m not. For pity’s sake, Daniel you must believe me. I tell you, I promise you, that I did not know he was there. This boy came and told me you were in the hayloft and injured and I rushed over. I don’t know what happened next. You came in and – and suddenly Tom was there with no clothes on.…’ She sank into a chair and sobbed, not even hearing her husband walk out of the room.

She woke in the night to find herself crying uncontrollably and Daniel as far over on the opposite side of the bed as he could possibly get without falling off the edge. In an effort to subdue the sobs she rammed her fist into her mouth and buried her head beneath the pillow. A few moments later she felt Daniel’s arm come round her, then the pillow moved and
wordlessly
he embraced her.

‘Daniel, Daniel, my love I’m so sorry,’ she said as soon as she could speak coherently.

He moved away slightly and she took hold of his hand and put it against her breast.

‘Stop it,’ he shouted, his voice hoarse with emotion. ‘Is that what you did to him? How many times? Very convenient, wasn’t it? Me down in the furthest field, unsuspecting. How many times has he been over here? How many times has he looked in to see if the coast was clear during these last months? No wonder you didn’t want him here all the time, I might have realized what was going on, mightn’t I? This way you could have it all, your lover and your security. Well it’s over now. When the fair comes in a few days’ time you’ll be there, standing in line again. Yes, you will.’ His grip on her tightened. ‘All your fine talk of men and women being equal. They aren’t
equal, they never will be equal because women lure men on until they trust them, then they do the dirty on them. I was the biggest fool not to realize …’ Suddenly he went from the bed and grabbing his pillow said, ‘I’ll sleep on the sofa tonight and you had better pack your things ready for the fair the day after tomorrow.’

Betsy sat up in bed after he’d gone, shaking all over, the tears in her eyes spent for the moment, the ones in her heart
trembling
to be let loose. Surely he didn’t mean that? Surely it was said in the turmoil of what was happening? She drew her knees up as though in physical pain and as her head came forward on to them so the tears began to flow again. This time she did not try to stop them. She couldn’t remember falling back on to her pillow and sleeping but at some point during the night she must have done so because she woke and for a second wondered why she felt so bloated and awful. The memory of yesterday hit her and she hastily washed, dressed and went downstairs.

There was no sign of Daniel but the crockery on the table indicated that he had eaten and drunk. Suddenly she knew what she must do. Find that boy, the one who had rushed in and told her Daniel was in the hayloft and injured. Who was he? Where had he come from? She didn’t recall ever seeing him before.

There was no possibility that Daniel would tell her if he knew him; her tears threatened again and angrily she brushed them away. She must
think
, must keep her mind clear because
something
was terribly wrong. Why had Daniel come to the hayloft then? What had brought him racing up the steps? Had the boy told him she was lying injured in there, too? It all led to one thought – that the despicable Thomas Shooter was behind it and had brought the boy with him to put his plan into action.

In her mind she heard his words from that last harvest supper.
You’ll pay for this,
and she was sure now that that had been no idle threat. Yet how could she convince her beloved Daniel that things were not as they had appeared. That she had had no idea Tom Shooter was anywhere near the place when she rushed over there. Oh, it was clever, no doubt about that. But worst of all, it had succeeded. Daniel had believed him.

Wearily she poured herself a drink, then began to clear up and prepare a meal. This afternoon she would walk into the village and try to find the boy, although in her heart she felt sure he didn’t live there. He was someone Tom brought with him just for that purpose. Yet he had to have come from somewhere, and he didn’t live nearby or she would know him. The village of Graceden was the next obvious place because she really couldn’t imagine Thomas Shooter having a young boy tagging along with him on his travels. So maybe, just maybe he was from this area. If he was she would find him and get to the truth of the matter.

Later, over in the dairy with Hannah, she did all the
necessary
work, and not once during that long morning did she catch a glimpse of her husband.

Daniel and Jim came in together at midday and although Daniel spoke to her when he could not easily avoid doing so, the atmosphere was as heavy as the bruises on his eye and cheekbone. She longed to bathe them, kiss them, cradle his dear head against her, but she dared not do any of these things now. As usual Jim didn’t linger, and today neither did Daniel. As he went through the door close on the cowman’s heels he did just glance her way, though, and the look in his eyes and on his face showed her that he was suffering as she was.

That afternoon she walked the three miles to the village,
trying all the while to recall what the boy had looked like. She really hadn’t taken much notice of him but she thought he was about ten years old. He had gabbled the message about Daniel being injured and she had not even thought about who he was, where he had come from, or how he had known. She had simply rushed over to the stable, as Tom Shooter had known she would, of course.

If only she could talk to Daniel and get him to see this too, that they had been tricked, both of them. But then Daniel had not known about the scene in the kitchen when Tom Shooter came out from the larder where he had lain in wait for her. She couldn’t tell him now. It would only make things worse – as if the situation could be any worse.

She had to find that boy and bring him back to tell Daniel he had been telling lies, that Thomas Shooter had hired him to do just that. Everything hinged on finding him and she had no idea where to begin. It was a small community and surely someone would know him if he lived there, but if, as she now strongly suspected, Tom had brought him from another place there would be nothing she could do.

As she approached the first house in the village she fingered the gold locket that Daniel had bought her and which she always wore around her neck. ‘Please, please, let me find the boy,’ she murmured to God.

Richard Choicely saw Betsy as he rode through the village where he was visiting an old retainer. She was walking. He reigned in his horse and spoke to her. ‘Good afternoon, Mistress Forrester, it is a pleasure to see you again.’

Flustered, Betsy dropped a curtsy and he said curtly, ‘There is no need for that.’ He dismounted and stood by her side, holding
the horse’s reins loosely. ‘I see we are both on errands in the same village. I trust you and your husband are well?’

‘Thank you, yes we are.’ Then, because she did not know what to say next she added, ‘I am looking for a young boy, about ten years of age.’

Startled, Richard said, ‘Then may I escort you to his house, Mistress Forrester?’

‘I – er, I am not sure which is his house, Sir Richard.’

Richard glanced around, ‘What is his name?’

‘I do not know that either.’

‘But you are sure he lives here?’

Her beautiful face was solemn, sadness showed in her eyes, he saw now, as she said, ‘I do not know where he lives, but I believe it could be in this place.’

Richard was puzzled. There was something strange going on here. Why would the farmer’s wife be on her own seeking a young lad whose name she did not know. Or even if he resided here. She must be several miles from the farm, yet she appeared to have walked in for no other purpose than to find someone she was not even sure lived here.