Mud and Gold Read Free

came
at her again, hauling her onto her back as she scrabbled to lift
her nightdress out of his way. It lasted much longer this time. Amy
lay awake through what was left of the night, too terrified to
move.
    Charlie stirred as dawn broke. For a moment
Amy thought he was going to take her again, with the added ordeal
of having it happen in daylight, but he pushed back the covers and
sat up. He stared down at Amy with something like astonishment. She
knew her face must betray the hours of weeping, and she tried to
turn away. But he grasped her chin in his hand and forced her to
look at him.
    ‘What the hell’s wrong with you? Trying to
play the bashful virgin? It can’t have come as much of a surprise.’
Through the fear raking her, Amy was dimly aware that his promise
not to mention her ‘past’ had not survived the night.
    He got out of bed, turned his back on her
and got dressed. This morning he would make no attempt to spare any
modesty she might have. ‘Straighten yourself up and get out to the
kitchen,’ he growled. ‘I expect my breakfast on the table when I
come in from milking.’ He stomped out of the room. A moment later
she heard the back door slam.
    That bed held no temptation for her to
linger. Amy eased herself out from under the covers and stood up
carefully, her legs trembling as she put weight on them. A smoky
old mirror hung on the wall above the chest of drawers. She peered
into it and grimaced at the face that stared back at her:
red-blotched, swollen, and surrounded by a tangle of hair.
    ‘There’s no sense in grizzling over what you
can’t change,’ her grandmother had always said. Granny had had a
saying for every occasion. Charlie might have defeated even her
determined optimism, but she was right about things that couldn’t
be changed. ‘Things always look brighter in the morning’ had been
another of her sayings; Amy looked at her own puffy, tear-streaked
face in the mirror and found herself unable to agree.
    She splashed her face with the small amount
of water that was all the kerosene tin contained, drying herself on
her nightdress as there was no towel. She untied her bundle and
retrieved her hairbrush, along with some underwear and a badly
creased work gown and apron. Her hair took much painful tugging to
get into a semblance of order, but Amy felt stronger when she was
dressed and tidy. She gave her face one last inspection in the
mirror, checking for any traces of tears. Weeping annoyed Charlie,
so there had best be no more of it.
    Laundering the linen and giving the blankets
a much-needed airing would have to wait till washing day, but at
least the bed looked tidy when Amy had made it. That done, she made
herself look in the chest, and was relieved to find the lowest
three drawers were empty. No need to disturb Charlie’s things. Her
clothes only took up two of the drawers, and she jammed her books
and bedspread into the third one. There was enough space in the
wardrobe next to Charlie’s clothes for her dresses, and the shelf
above was just high enough for her hat.
    Exploring the cottage took only moments. The
bedroom door led into a tiny parlour, sparsely furnished with a
sofa and a pair of old armchairs. The kitchen opened off the
parlour, and another door led from it into the cottage’s other
bedroom. Those four rooms made up the house.
    The kitchen faced west, and was cool and dim
in the early morning light. It had a big, black range, which struck
Amy as rather new-looking, set into one wall, with a small stack of
wood beside it and an iron kettle on the hob; two or three
saucepans and a frying pan hung on hooks above the range. A heavy
wooden table and four chairs stood against the opposite wall. There
was a small dresser with a few plates on it in front of the third
wall, and against the last one stood a rough wooden bench with
another cut-down kerosene tin and a chipped enamel bowl on it.
Beside this bench were some food bins and a few shelves. The room
was tidy enough