‘Please can I come back with you? I don’t want to be in here on my own.’
He looked across at the coffin and then at Betsy. She was only two years older than him and he tried to imagine how it must feel to have to share a house with just your dead mother and a cold chill ran down his back.
‘Course you can, but you’ll have to stay on the chair downstairs. I don’t want my mother accusing me of things that are not true.’
She frowned at him, too wrapped up in her own world to realise what he was trying to say, then she nodded. Too scared to look in the direction of the coffin, she left the house and shut the door behind her, locking it and locking her mother inside.
Mrs Whitman was already awake when they went inside and she took one look at Betsy’s white face and went across and held her.
‘Child, you can stay here until they take your mother away and bury her. I never thought it through. I’m so used to the dead, they don’t bother me one little bit, but this is the first time you have had to deal with it and I should have been a bit more considerate.’
The relief which washed through Betsy was enormous and she would be eternally grateful to this woman who had shown her more kindness in the last few days than her mother had her entire life.
The day finally came for the funeral and as they all lined up along the front street watching the coffin get loaded onto the handcart Betsy had to stop herself from smiling. She was finally going to be free of that awful woman and she could go back into her own home and sleep in her own bed. The villagers who had lined up along the square all walked behind the cart as it was pushed through the narrow streets to the church. Betsy noted that Joss was standing outside the pub with his cap in his hands and his head bowed. She turned her head to look back at him and as he stared at her she gave him what she hoped was a sad smile. Now in his eyes they both shared the same pain in their hearts: he had lost his wife and she her mother. Even though Betsy was glad to be free of her burden she would never let Joss know that because he genuinely grieved for his wife. She hoped he would still be there after the funeral because she very much wanted to talk to him.
The church service was short and the burial even shorter. As the priest said his parting words she stepped forward to throw down a bunch of daisies she had picked this morning from the fields at the back of the house and whispered, ‘I’m sorry, Mother, but you have to rest in peace and leave me alone now. I have my own life to live.’ Betsy stayed until the last and watched as her neighbours and the other villagers filed out of the church gate, down the steep steps until she was on her own. She felt a warm hand on her shoulder and turned to see Joss standing behind her.
‘Come on, Miss Betsy, there is nothing more you can do now.’
She smiled at him and nodded. ‘I do believe you are right, Joss. Will you take me to the pub so I can have a drink to toast her and drown my sorrows at the same time?’
She reached out and clasped his hand. At first he wasn’t sure what to do but then he gripped it gently and together they left the grave and walked back towards the pub. It was busy inside, the locals loving nothing more than a funeral as a good excuse to not do any work and drink ale all day. She sat on a chair in the corner and waited while Joss went to the bar to get her a drink. He came back with one each and then he sat down next to her. The next couple of hours went past in a blur and Betsy got drunker and drunker until she could not stand straight.
When Mrs Whitman brought her back she nodded at Joss. ‘I think you should take her home, Joss, make sure she’s tucked up in bed and lock the door behind you.’
He nodded. He knew that Mrs Whitman trusted him but he did not know if he trusted himself; she was all he could think about until an image of his wife would appear in front of his eyes and remind him he was a married man. He stood up and helped Betsy to her feet.
‘Come on, Betsy. I think it’s time you and me went home now.’
Betsy began to laugh. ‘Why, Joss, are you finally propositioning me? I thought the day would never come.’
His cheeks began to burn but he grinned at the same time. ‘Not as such. I just want to make sure you get home safely. Seth told me about the other night and how you thought there was an intruder in your house.’
He took hold of her arm and walked her towards the front of the busy pub and out of the door into the cobbled street. It was dusk now and he really should get back to his children; he’d been gone all afternoon. He walked Betsy across the village square and towards her house. They went inside and he began to light some candles and close the windows, which had been left open to air the house through and get rid of the smell of death. She stumbled as she walked across the room to where there was a curtain drawn across; tugging it open, she nodded at the empty bed then turned back to him.
‘Are you going to tuck me in, Joss, make sure I’m safe?’
He nodded, not sure if he should be taking a young woman upstairs to her bedroom, but he didn’t want her falling. As she stumbled her way to the top and into her bedroom he followed her. She began to undress and once more he felt his cheeks begin to burn and he turned around to face the wall until she had put her got into bed. He felt her warm hands wrap around his waist and, as he turned to face her, she hugged him.
‘Thank you, Joss. Today you have been my protector and I like it. I like it very much. If I can ever repay the favour I will.’
‘You are very welcome, Betsy. Grief is a terrible thing.’
Before he could finish what he was saying she stood on her tiptoes and put her soft lips against his much rougher ones. He paused, knowing this was wrong, but then he pushed the thought to one side and kissed her back. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she didn’t stop and he didn’t want her to. Scooping her up, he carried her over to the bed and laid her down, climbing on next to her. His hands ran up and down her legs and he marvelled at how soft her skin was and how good she smelt. She began tugging at his trousers and he wanted nothing more than to bury himself inside her but he stopped, guilt at the thought of his dead wife and his two boys who were waiting for him back at the farm making everything which had seemed so wonderful only seconds ago feel so wrong.
He pulled himself off her and stood up. ‘I’m sorry, Betsy, I really am. I shouldn’t have acted like that with you, especially when you are so upset.’
‘Joss, now is not the time to take the moral high ground. I want you and I know you want me…well, you did a minute ago.’
She reached out and let her fingers trail over the front of his trousers.
‘Yes, I do want you, I did want you, but I have to get home to my boys. They will be wondering where I’ve got to. They need me.’
Betsy felt a cold shard of jealousy stab straight through her heart. He thought the little bastards were more important than her and what she would have let him do to her would have made most men’s dreams come true. Her eyes narrowed but she said nothing, just nodded.
He fastened his trousers and tucked his shirt back in. ‘I will come and see you tomorrow; you get some sleep.’
And with that he turned and left her alone in her bed. She waited until she heard him close the front door and then she screamed and hit her fists against the pillow in frustration, hatred forming in the pit of her stomach against nine-year-old twin boys she had never even met. They would not get in the way of what she wanted—and what she wanted was their father and his big house. The alcohol began to make her brain foggy and her eyes began to close. She drifted off to sleep, dreaming of a big cottage to live in, with just her and Joss and no horrid children running around in the garden spoiling her life.
Annie handed a plate of scrambled egg on toast to Will and a mug of coffee, then she sat opposite him with her coffee.
He looked up at her. ‘Are you okay? It’s just you