Chapter Fifteen
E tty lay on the blanket, relishing the warmth of the sun on her skin. She drew in a lungful of fresh sea air while the waves whispered as they danced across the shore.
What could be better than a picnic by the sea? Particularly on a day such as today, where the heat would have rendered the air oppressive were it not for the breeze.
“More lemonade, Mrs. Ward?”
“Mmm?”
She opened her eyes and rolled onto her side, wincing at the soreness in her right leg. Frances sat cross-legged on the blanket, a glass in her hand, while Gabriel sat beside her, his fat pink fist clutching a slice of fruitcake.
“I made it special—Ma’s recipe.” Frances drew a stoneware bottle from the basket, and Gabriel let out a cry of joy and reached for it.
“Me! Me!”
“No, sweetheart, you must let your mama have some first,” Frances said.
The boy let out a wail. “I want some!”
“You don’t like it, sweetheart,” Frances said. “Don’t you remember the last time I gave you some?”
Etty smiled at the memory. Her son had unceremoniously spat a mouthful of lemonade into Mrs. Gadd’s face. Then he’d collapsed into a fit of giggles and Mrs. Gadd had followed suit.
“Bot—bot,” the boy said, stretching toward the bottle. He lost his balance and fell face forward onto the blanket. Etty braced herself for the tears, but he merely giggled, and Frances tickled his neck.
“Funny boy!” she said affectionately. “How about I give you the bottle when we’ve finished the lemonade? You could fill it with water from the sea—though mind you don’t drink it. Seawater’s bad for you.”
“Yes,” Etty said, ruffling the boy’s hair. “The sea is for bathing in, not drinking.”
“Would you like to paddle in the sea, Gabriel?” Frances asked. “Chase the waves and see if they catch you?” She pointed toward the sea. “Look—the waves are dancing in and out, asking you to play with them.”
“Sea! Sea!” Gabriel scrambled to his feet and teetered across the sand.
“I think that’s a yes,” Etty said, smiling.
“He’s a lovely boy,” Frances said. “I adore him. And he takes such pleasure in everything.”
“That he does.” Etty sighed.
Unlike his mother at his age.
Etty’s pleasure in life, even as a child, always seemed to be marred by the expectation of perfection. Mother had always said it wasn’t done for a young woman of her rank to merely enjoy what she had. She must always strive for more. But a wish to better oneself was only to be admired if it came without a sense of disdain for everything.
Gabriel, with his innocent enthusiasm for everything placed before him and his joy in everything he saw, was everything Etty wasn’t—and everything she wished to be.
To think—had she not had Gabriel, she’d never have known the simple joy of feeling the sand beneath her feet. No matter the path her life had taken, she had much to be grateful for. Most of all, her son.
Gabriel rushed toward the water, tripped, and toppled over. He let out a wail, and Frances leaped to her feet.
“Oh, sweet boy—have you taken a tumble in the sand?” She laughed. “Just look at that big footprint you’ve made. Or should that be a Gabriel-print?”
The boy giggled and reached for her hand.
“Would you like to take a paddle?” Frances asked. She turned to Etty. “Perhaps your mama might join us.”
“Mama—Mama!” Gabriel reached toward Etty. She stood and took his free hand. Then, between them, she and Frances walked him to the edge of the water.
“One, two, three…” Frances said, then Etty joined her in a final flourish of “Up we go!” and they swung the little boy into the air while he giggled with mirth.
“Shall we go again?” Etty asked.
“Yes, Mama, yes!”
Between them, Etty and Frances swung him up again, and this time he landed in the water, catching the edge of a wave. The boy jumped up and down, sending splashes of water sideways, which soaked Etty’s dress.
“Oh, ma’am—your gown!” Frances cried. “I’m ever so sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Frances,” Etty replied. “I can’t remember enjoying myself as much. In fact…” She gazed out over the sea, the shades of blue and green, the coolness beckoning to her as respite from the heat. “Is it wicked of me to want to bathe in the sea?”
“Why would it be wicked, Mrs. Ward?” Frances asked. “And it would be good for your leg. That was a right nasty graze you got when you fell off that ladder yesterday. Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, but I did tell you to wait until our Jimmy could come over and prune that rose.”
“I don’t need a man to take care of me, Frances,” Etty said. “And I certainly don’t need a man to prune the roses around the door.”
“I’m not saying you couldn’t climb the ladder, ma’am—only that I didn’t want you hurting yourself.”
“It’s nothing, Frances,” Etty said.
“But it hurts, doesn’t it, ma’am?” Frances said. “I can see it in your eyes. And there’s nothing better than seawater to help with cuts and grazes. That’s what my ma says, anyways. Vicar says it also, and he’s never wrong.”
An expression of devotion filled the girl’s eyes. Heavens—was there nobody in the village who wasn’t smitten with Andrew?
Etty gazed at the water, striving to conquer the longing. “I don’t know…”
“Well, I do,” Frances said.
Etty smiled inwardly at the girl’s newfound boldness. Frances had blossomed into a confident young girl after a month in her employ. Perhaps, released from the shadow of her origins, she was now able to express herself more freely and no longer suffer guilt for merely existing.
“Folk rarely come to this part of the beach if that’s what you’re worryin’ about, ma’am,” Frances said.
“I’ve nothing to dry myself with,” Etty said.
“There’s the blanket.”
Yes, there was—and Etty’s undergarments were thin enough to dry quickly on such a hot day. Which only left…
Etty reached behind her gown and unknotted her sash. Moments later, she stood in her undergarments, her dress hooked over Frances’s arm.
“Mama swim!” Gabriel cried.
“Yes, darling boy,” Etty said. “Your mama’s going for a swim.”
“ Me swim!”
“Perhaps another time, sweetheart.”
“Swim! Swim!” the boy cried, his voice rising.
“Not here, Gabriel,” Frances said. “The currents are strong and might pull you under. But I can teach you to swim in the lake by my pa’s farm. How about that?”
“Lake! Lake!”
“Not today, my love,” Etty said. “You say the currents are strong here, Frances?”
The girl nodded. “Only at certain times. Along this part of the beach there’s a current that can pull you out to sea. You can see it sometimes—a patch of water calmer than the rest of the sea, stretching outward, like a column.”
“Is it dangerous?”
“Only if you can’t swim and don’t know what to do.”
“And what do you do?”
“You have to swim across it,” Frances said, “to one side, rather than back toward the beach, until you can no longer feel the current. Then it’s safe to swim back.”
“Has it happened to you, Frances?”
The girl shook her head. “Jimmy got caught in it once, but the vicar was there and told him what to do. He’s ever so kind, isn’t he, the vicar?”
“Yes,” Etty said, “he is.”
The memory of Andrew’s kiss still lingered on her lips. Only last night she’d woken from a dream where he’d claimed her, bringing her to pleasure—but it was a pleasure she couldn’t quite understand. In the dream she’d cried his name, but for what? Some unfathomable, imaginary sensation.
What was pleasure?
She shuddered at the memory of Dunton’s words.
Pleasure is for the man to savor and for the woman to give.
A hand caught hers.
“Ma’am?”
Etty blinked and glanced toward Frances, who stared at her with compassion in her eyes.
“You’ll feel better after your swim, I’m sure, ma’am,” she said. “It’ll help your body to heal—and perhaps”—she blushed and hesitated—“if I may be so bold, it’ll help your heart to heal also.”
Such insight for a young girl—a village child whom Etty would never have deigned to notice before. Meek, mild, an outcast from society.
A misfit, like me.
But, perhaps, the world misunderstood misfits at its peril.
Etty strode into the water.
“Mama!” Gabriel jumped up and down, laughing, while Frances held his hand.
“What’s it like?”
“Wonderful!” Etty laughed at the tickling sensation on her skin as the waves crashed against her feet, moving toward the shore, then retreating, forming a plume of water against her calves. She winced at the sting of the salt water on her grazed skin.
“Too cold to swim?” Frances asked.
“If I were a man, I’d consider that question a challenge,” Etty said. “And we’re as good as men, are we not, Frances?”
“We’re better!”
“That we are.”
Before her courage failed, Etty rushed forward to meet an oncoming wave, then plunged into the water.
Her chest constricted at the cold, and she drew in a sharp breath, but she struck out with her arms and swam beyond the wave where the water was calmer, shifting up and down in a gentle swell. At length, the shock of the cold subsided, and she let out a cry of joy.
“Look, Gabriel! Look at your mama!”
Etty turned, treading water, to see Frances on the shoreline, a laughing Gabriel in her arms. She raised her hand in a wave, then turned over to float on her back and look up at the sky. Such an extraordinary shade, rich and pure. Perhaps it reflected the color of the sea. It was so unlike the skies of London, which had always carried a note of gray, as if the town drained the world of its natural beauty.
She drew in a deep breath, the air rushing in her ears, then closed her eyes. Her son’s far-off laughter was punctuated by the cries of the seabirds circling above the cliffs and the rushing of the water. The sounds of nature.
Then another cry rose—a distant voice roaring, as if in pain.
Frances stood by the shore, Gabriel clutching at her skirts, the wide expanse of sand and the cliff rising beyond.
Then Etty saw it—a figure stumbling down the path, arms waving.
What was he doing?
A voice cried out, then the figure lost balance and tumbled to the foot of the path.
Then Etty heard Frances calling something, but the rush of the water in her ears obliterated the words. She kicked out and swam toward the shore.
“Frances!” she cried. “I’m coming!”
The figure in black struggled to its feet and continued running toward the shore, and Etty’s heart stuttered as she recognized the vicar.
He wasn’t running toward Frances. He was running toward her.
“Out!” he cried. “Get out!”
“What’s wrong?” she called.
She continued to swim toward the shore, but he gave no sign of stopping. As the water grew shallower, she reached out with her feet and, gaining purchase, stood, the water reaching her waist.
“For the love of the Almighty—get out of the sea, you foolish woman!”
His voice hoarse and laced with fury, he shouted once more, then ran straight into the sea, the waves crashing about his legs, soaking his breeches.
“Andrew, don’t be a fool!” she cried as he bore down on her.
“I’m not the fool!” he yelled. “Dear God, what were you thinking ?” He lunged forward and grasped her arms. “How could you be so reckless?” he cried. “Do you want to drown?”
She winced as he tightened his grip. “Of course I don’t want to drown!” she retorted. “I can swim, you know.”
“But you don’t know about the currents here.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Why didn’t you stop her, Frannie? I never took you for a simpleton. You know about the currents, foolish girl!”
“That’s enough!” Etty cried. “You may insult me all you like, but leave Frances alone. I chose to swim. Frances told me about the currents—and what to do.”
He thrust his face close, an inferno of fury and fear in his eyes. “It’s too great a risk to take, Etty,” he said. “You have a child—would you abandon him? Do you care so little for him that you’d leave him motherless?”
“How dare you!” she cried. “I love my son more than anything. Do you think I’m so reckless as to ignore my son’s needs—the needs of others?”
“But you are reckless,” he said. “You have no comprehension of what you have done in coming here. Sandcombe is not somewhere you can toy with when you’ve grown bored of your former life. It’s a living entity—a community of real people with real lives. I was content in my life before you arrived. Of all the places in the world, why did you have to come here ?”
His voice cracked, and the initial anger gave way to pain. He drew in a shuddering breath.
“Andrew—” she began.
“No!” he cried. “Do not . I…” He shuddered then lowered his gaze to her neckline and drew in a sharp breath, his nostrils flaring. “Dear God—why must I be tempted so? What have I done to deserve such torment?”
Then he let out a groan and pulled her close.
Etty glanced down and let out a cry. Her undergarments clung to her body, revealing every curve, every outline. The water had rendered the material transparent, to reveal the pink swell of her breasts, and two peaks pressing against the material.
“Oh, Etty…” he rasped, lifting his hand to her breast. A fizz of need rushed through her as he brushed his knuckles against her nipple, which beaded against his hand. “Sweet Lord…” He flicked his tongue out, running it along his lower lip.
Like a starving man ready to feast.
“Andrew,” Etty said, “your breeches—you’ll ruin them.”
She lowered her gaze, and her breath caught at the bulge in his breeches, his manhood straining for release.
“No…” he groaned, his voice laced with pain. “I cannot endure it—such torture…”
He closed his eyes, his body shaking. When he opened them again, they glistened with moisture, and Etty’s heart ached at the agony in their depths.
He tilted his head to the sky. “What punishment is this?” he cried. “What have I done to deserve such torment? I have served you well, have I not? You cannot ask more of me!”
A tear splashed onto his cheek, and she reached toward him, but he slapped her hand away.
“No! Do not touch me!” He retreated, the waves crashing about his feet, and she followed, but he raised his hand. “Don’t come any closer!”
“Andrew, I—”
“Do not !”
She froze at the fury in his voice. Then he glanced toward Frances, who stood by the water line, Gabriel clutching her hand. He let out another cry, then turned and fled.
“Vicar!” Frances said, but he ignored her, sprinting toward the cliff path before ascending. Halfway up, he stumbled, and his cry echoed across the air, but he struggled to his feet and toiled on until he disappeared over the top of the cliff.
“Oh ma’am!” Frances wailed. “I’m sorry. It’s all my fault—it’s always my fault! What must he think of us?”
Etty approached the quivering girl and drew her into her embrace. “It’s not your fault, Frances, sweetheart,” she said. “You are not to blame. Not for this or anything else. And it matters not what he—or any other man—thinks of us.”
“Ma will be ever so angry when she finds out.”
“She won’t find out, Frances. Besides, there’s nothing to tell. I went for a swim and the vicar suffered some sort of fit of hysterics.”
“But Ma said I can be a bad child sometimes. She said—”
“Then she’s wrong ,” Etty said, gritting her teeth, “and if your mother, or anyone else in the village, says anything bad about you again, they’ll have me to answer to.”
She clung to the young girl and her son. Three outsiders in a village filled with secrets—dark secrets and injustices that it preferred to bury.
And she would always be an outsider, unwelcome and unwanted. Why else would he have uttered those words that pierced her heart?
I was content in my life before you arrived. Of all the places in the world, why did you have to come here ?