The Straw Halter (7 page)

T
hree months after her discovery of where Sir Richard Choicely lived Betsy found a chance to satisfy some of her curiosity about him. She wanted to see if there was any truth in her aunt’s words about the likeness but she knew Daniel was against any more delving.

‘What good will it do you?’ he said, ‘Even if it is so, and I don’t believe it is, he is certain to deny it. You will make a laughing-stock of yourself, and Betsy, I couldn’t bear that. You, who are so proud, and rightly so, surely you don’t want to go begging a man to acknowledge you as his daughter if he has never done so before.’

She knew he was right and under normal circumstances she would feel the same but this was different. This involved her birthright. This could answer her queries as to why she had always felt and been so different from her brothers and sisters.

‘I shall not beg him to acknowledge me, Daniel, I shall only ask to be told the truth. I am not asking him for anything except one fact.’

It was when a horse bolted in the lane that the miracle happened. It seemed like a miracle to Betsy. The rider was injured and Daniel helped him into the house, the horseman
leaning heavily on the smaller man. Together Daniel and Betsy tended his wounded leg, then Daniel went to get the trap to take him home. The horse had been caught by their neighbour, Martin, and while he and Daniel were harnessing the trap and capturing the runaway horse the injured man was sitting in Betsy’s kitchen telling her how grateful he was to them.

‘Where do you live? Is it far?’ she asked

‘A few miles this side of Canterbury, at Sir Richard Choicely’s place.’

She could not believe it at first, but before she had formed one of the many questions she wanted to ask him the men were back and helping the rider outside. There was no further
opportunity
, for it was obviously a painful process for the injured man and she could see him sweating with the effort. Quickly she made her decision and hurried to fetch her cloak and bonnet. She pulled on her boots, bolted the back door and ran into the yard, where the men had at last got the injured rider into the trap and reasonably comfortable. Martin was going to ride the man’s horse. Whatever had startled the animal into bolting seemed to have had no ill-effects, for he was calm and easily handled now.

‘Betsy, what are you doing?’

‘I shall come with you, Daniel. I can help because it might be a bumpy ride for someone with an injured leg. I have brought a rug and bolted the door.’

She could tell Daniel was not pleased, but, obviously anxious to get the injured man home quickly, he said nothing, simply clambered into the driving-seat and set off. It was a long drive and would have been such an opportunity for her to find out a little of Sir Richard Choicely’s way of life, but the injured man had his eyes closed most of the time and Betsy was aware of her
husband’s disapproval of her having come with them. Their patient did tell them he was on his way back home, having been to visit a sick relative for two days, so the horse was well rested for the journey.

Betsy kept silent when Daniel, following his passenger’s directions, eventually turned into the drive of Chasebury, Richard Choicely’s estate. As Daniel and Martin helped the injured rider down and half-carried him into the house Betsy sat quietly in the trap. She was longing to go inside too, but knew it would be foolish to antagonize her husband by doing so. On the occasions when they clashed she felt miserable and upset. This surprised her but it was a fact and in her
straightforward
fashion she acknowledged this.

Her thoughts at this moment were exciting. Only a few hours ago she had not known where Sir Richard lived, and now, although etiquette and her husband’s temper meant she was denied the chance she craved, here she was outside his
grand-looking
home. Truly fate was often strange, and sometimes kind as well. Her body trembled with emotions which she fought to control, bringing a flush to her cheeks and even more sparkle to her eyes, the eyes that Aunt Agnes said were ‘his eyes’.

Daniel and Martin were not long in the house and when they emerged it was with another man, who walked over to the trap with them.

‘This is my wife, Mistress Betsy Forrester,’ Daniel said, and Richard Choicely, for it was indeed he, took her hand.

‘You have all been very kind,’ he said, ‘my steward is being attended to now and he too is grateful for your help.’ He moved back as Daniel and Martin climbed aboard, and then they were off. Betsy bit her lip and seethed with frustration because, although she had now seen Richard Choicely she had not had a
chance to – to what, she wondered. She could hardly say to him, ‘Are you my father?’

Nevertheless the ice was broken and she had actually met the man. If she could devise a way to be somewhere where he was going to be during the next few weeks or months, then anything was possible. On the journey home she tried to keep the
impression
of his face in her mind but it proved singularly difficult. The only clear thought she had was that she did not resemble him in any recognizable manner.

After they had left Martin at his farm they went on in silence. Once the horse was stabled and the trap housed for the night Daniel came into the parlour where she was making a fuss of Dumbo. She jumped up to greet her husband, excitement shining through her eyes.

‘Are you satisfied now you’ve seen him,’ he said shortly.

‘Yes, Daniel. It would have been nice to talk to him for a while, or even go inside and meet the rest of the family.’

She said it mischievously knowing he would retaliate, but she wasn’t prepared for the next revelation.

‘I refused.’

At first she thought she had not heard him correctly, but one look at his face told her that her husband was telling the truth.

‘You refused? You mean you had the chance, I had the chance, to go inside and talk and you … you …’

Words failed her and she clenched her fists at him. ‘What right do you have to refuse, to turn down what might have been the chance of a lifetime for me?’

He glanced towards the straw halter but she was so worked up that the significance of the movement passed her by.

‘Just listen to yourself,’ he said, ‘listen to how you’re carrying on. That alone proves I was right not to let you get inside the
house and ask him questions. Wild questions which might not have a grain of truth about them.’

‘They have, they have,’ she cried passionately. ‘Oh why did you turn down such an opportunity? It meant nothing to you but it means so much to me. You’re a selfish, mean man Daniel … and I hate you.’

He came towards her then, and he was laughing as he pulled her close to him. ‘You are magnificent when you are as angry as this,’ he said, his voice hoarse with passion, and tugging
impatiently
at her skirts he almost flung her on to the settee in his excitement.

Angrily she pushed him away, but he overpowered her and began covering her face and neck with kisses. She resisted for only a few seconds more before she capitulated, wanting him as much as he needed her.

Richard Choicely went thoughtfully indoors after the trap had gone. That woman, the farmer’s wife, was so beautiful. There was a fire sparking in her eyes and a warm glow radiating from her cheeks and lips. She reminded him of someone, yet he knew he had never seen her before. Unless it was in a painting but he could not recall which one. There had been a vibrancy about the woman, that dark glossy hair, those eyes that seemed to be dancing with bright mischief, and that superb figure.

Her dress beneath the open cloak had been simple and
homespun
. She wore it with the air of a lady, and the tantalizing glimpse of a creamy cleavage as her shawl trembled slightly when she moved to greet him sent a sliver of excitement throughout his being.

He shook his head in disbelief. Whatever was he thinking of, she was a farmer’s wife who had come along on this errand of
mercy to enliven her dull existence. Yet in his mind’s eye he could picture her at a grand ball, in a dress of finest silk or taffeta, her lithe body moving in rhythm with his.

‘Stop,’ he said aloud, ‘you’re mad. Such thoughts.’ Deliberately he pictured Lily, the young lady to whom he was betrothed. Her skin was as pale and smooth as the finest
porcelain
, her voice and manner charming, yet – yet she did not intoxicate him as that glorious beauty whom he had just encountered had done with one rather demure glance. He was sure his heart had doubled its normal beat when their hands had briefly touched.

Since his wife’s death, three years before, Richard had not been celibate, but now the time had come to take himself a new wife. He needed someone to be hostess at the dinners, someone by his side officially.

Lily was twenty years younger than he was and she came from good stock. The Aston-Jenkins were landowners of substance and well thought of. Although not a great beauty, Lily had style and panache. He did not love her as he had loved his wife but she and her family had accepted him and he did not doubt that they would have a happy life together.

Much later that night, in his lonely bed, he awoke from a dream about the farmer’s wife, the beautiful Betsy Forrester he had met for the first time earlier in the day. As he turned towards her she melted into the softness of the sheets and the space beside him was empty. He groaned aloud.

The daily round back at the farm occupied a lot of Betsy’s time, yet still she thought about that glimpse of the man whom she believed to be her father. It was all very well for Daniel to say it probably wasn’t so, but there was at least as much chance that
it was, although she had to admit she had not detected a
likeness
.

‘I wasn’t looking for one,’ she told Dumbo as she busied herself in the bedroom one day. The old cat, as usual had followed her upstairs and was sitting on the wicker basket in the corner of the room. ‘Maybe it is an inherited thing, the way I lose the baby each time I’m pregnant. I need to know if there is a connection yet Daniel simply won’t see it that way.’

She pulled the cover back over the bed and sighed. Her life had changed so much since her marriage and it was all to the good. Daniel respected her mind and they had such wonderful discussions about almost everything under the sun, she
sometimes
thought. He allowed her an opinion. If he didn’t agree with it he said so and he never shouted at her when she took a different point of view from his own. The only bone of contention was made of straw.

The halter hung steadfastly on the hook and recently Betsy had tried to imagine it as a straw necklace. Maybe this bitter bile that rose in her throat if she allowed her thoughts to linger on it would stop if she could change the picture of it in her mind.

It wasn’t easy but she refused to dwell on the prospect that her husband left it there in case he should want to return her and let someone else one day lead her from the market-place. She knew Daniel harboured no such thoughts, she loved and trusted him, they were partners in their husband-and-wife
relationship
, not master and servant as in so many marriages. Yet the halter was the one thing he would not discuss. Nor would he move it.

‘It stays,’ he thundered at her one day. ‘I need it.’ He looked so menacing and as he turned quickly away and strode across the room he did look and sound ugly, his normally gentle voice
hoarse with a passionate anger. She could not understand why it meant so much to him. He, who gave generously over
everything
else would not give her this one thing that he knew she longed for. That row had lasted longer than most of their little skirmishes. For three nights she turned her back and moved far over to the edge of the bed, and when he rolled towards her she roughly pushed him back. Yet he didn’t even try to take her, simply returned to his side of the double bed.

The days were almost normal because Daniel was out in the fields and Jim the farm-hand was there at midday. They were cool with each other but they spoke and the situation did not develop into a silence or more arguments. Yet she knew the matter was settled. Over the straw halter he had proved to be the master.

The night when Sadie the cow died was when they once again curled into each other’s arms. She had been poorly for several days and Jim reported that she was ’bout the same,’ shaking his young head and looking sadder than usual before he left, well after his normal time.

Daniel returned to look at her after his meal on Saturday evening. He was gone longer than Betsy expected and she went to see what was happening. They had isolated Sadie, putting her into a shed with lots of straw and water and Daniel was there on his hands and knees beside the creature and talking to her.

He looked up as Betsy came over. ‘Nothing more we can do for her,’ he said quietly. Squatting beside him she touched the cow’s flanks.

‘Poor old thing,’ she said, ‘Will any of the others be infected?’

‘No. She has milk–fever. Jim and I have tried everything. Meg is suckling her calf and she’s doing fine.’

Betsy stayed for an hour, then returned to the house and poured two drinks which she took back with her.

‘Thanks.’ He drank some then turned to her, ‘I love you, Betsy,’ he said.

‘And I love you too, Daniel.’ She leaned forward and there beside the dying cow, their lips met in a brief kiss. An hour later Sadie suddenly gave a huge sigh and breathed her last. Daniel and Jim buried Sadie very early on Sunday morning and Betsy went into the field and watched the tiny calf lying down with Meg.

Next market-day Betsy went with Daniel, and although she watched for Sir Richard Choicely or his retainer, she did not see them.

Richard Choicely was sitting in the window-seat of the Roebuck Inn when Betsy and Daniel stopped outside. They were talking and laughing together and again, as he had done that night when they had brought his steward back after the accident, he thought what a beauty the woman was.