Part 3-'Cherry Tree Charms …'
The true Englishman knows the English weather is notoriously unpredictable, so when the sky of the unusually warm month of March turned just as swiftly into a dark mass of pouring rain, Lizzy, a true Englishwoman, knew just when and where to take shelter. Her walk back to the Hartfield Estate took her past a neglected field of wild grass, flowers and a cherry tree of the most unusual history.
The tree was notorious in Longbourn village, not merely because it stood alone in the centre of a field, the only such landmark for miles around, but because though the blossom was the prettiest, the fruit the tree produced was also the bitterest. Just as well, had it been any different no doubt the villagers would have stripped the branches within a matter of hours. As it was the tree was left entirely alone. Why the fruit was so inedible was a tale within itself, oft told by the village women. Apparently many years ago, a lovelorn farmer had planted the seed cursing it with tears of bitterness as his sweetheart had rejected him and married another, a man of greater wealth. It seemed the soil had taken the farmers words to the very depths, and produced from the seed a pretty thing but with a poisonous taste, no doubt the way he had described the girl who had so cruelly spurned him.
But that was hundreds of years ago, and Lizzy had no doubt the tale of a bitter romance had taken on many embellishments since then. She loved the tree, its gnarled bark and the heavenly scent of its pretty pink petals. The patter of rain through its heavy set branches soothed, and Lizzy gladly removed her bonnet and shook out her curls to hear the sound better. Many a time had she rested by this tree, lying down at the roots and studying the sky, making shapes out of the clouds and watching the day idly float by. Perhaps not the dignified habits of a Lady Hartfield but the tall, neglected grass provided ample disguise from prying eyes, and Lady Hartfield for a few hours a day was allowed to be Elizabeth Bennet again.
Today however she was not alone; her sanctuary beneath the bitter cherry tree had been borrowed. Even as she leaned heavily against its trunk and wiped the moisture from her neck and brow, a face peered around and eyed her with some curiosity.
Lizzy jumped back startled, and met the gentleman's gaze boldly, he appeared to be equally indignant at finding her there. She grew angry, if anyone had the right to be annoyed it was her, she knew all the village inhabitants by face or name, this man was certainly a stranger to Longbourn, and he was encroaching on her space. Lizzy did not speak but surveyed him with a growing amusement; he was a gentleman there was no doubt of that.
But certainly not a gentleman who stood on ceremony, he was cravat less and his shirt was open, and drenched from head to foot. He quickly discerned her to be put out, and not wishing to anger the first soul he had come across since his arrival that morning, attempted to placate her. He was tall and handsome with a smile that was disarming. He carried his coat draped over his arm, and proceeded to replace his hat on his head at a coquettish angle.
It would have been disarming to any other lady than Lizzy; she merely looked away and blushed for him. He did not take the hint, and stared at her with an intensity Lizzy found unnerving. She turned to face him. 'Do you always stare so impertinently at a lady sir?' She demanded sternly.
'No…not always.' He was growing angry as well, his attempts at reconciliation were getting him no where. He spoke in all seriousness, 'I do not stare impertinently at women, that is I am certainly not in the habit of doing so, only I have never met a lady who upbraided a stranger so completely merely for having made the mistake of taking shelter under a tree from the rain.' he straightened his hat, and smiled no more.
Lizzy raised an eyebrow, 'Upbraid you sir? And pray tell how I do that?'
He stepped closer, 'With a flash of those brilliant eyes…' he spoke low and Lizzy instinctively looked away.
'Do you mean to flatter me sir, or mock me?' She was trembling, the unnerving effect this man was having on her could not be mistaken.
'Oh, by all means to flatter you.' Just then as he breathed those words, the sun appeared from a break in the clouds. The rain stopped and as the warm rays hit them both, the cherry tree and those two who stood closely together underneath were bathed in a bright glow. The sudden silence appeared endless, until Lizzy released the breath she had been holding. She stepped back and save one last look with her upbraiding eyes at the gentleman who stood there still, turned her feet in the direction of Hartfield.
She was still thinking of him when she did eventually make it back to the estate. But then the sight of her marital home soon overcame thoughts of pleasant encounters with those of a more urgent and disagreeable nature. She headed for the West wing of the house, where it was the least likely she would have to see her husband.
It was then as she passed the stables that she heard the noises coming from one of the barns, a low mewling, the sound of pain and scrabbling, as if some creature was hell bent on making a desperate escape. There was no one around, that was strange in itself, though the groomsman may have been exercising the horses a few of the stable boys ought to have been present.
Lizzy first thought about ignoring it, but she could not shake the feeling that something was not right, all was not well. She decided with the best intentions and the deepest reluctance to investigate. Her heart beat faster as she made her way towards the sounds which grew louder now and gathered in urgency.
What she found shook her to the core and made her head ache. So much for avoiding her husband, there he was in that barn clearly forcing himself on her maid, Sarah. She now understood why no one was conveniently present; no doubt he had sent them all away, for this very purpose. The poor girl was rightly terrified, her dress was torn at the shoulder and she was vainly trying to hold the flimsy material up in order to save herself from further exposure.
But it was the trickle of blood emanating from her temple and trailing down her face that burned at Lizzy's heart. She spied the riding crop in Philip's hand, and despite her growing fear and desire to escape, Lizzy stepped boldly into the building and approached Sarah.
She smiled sadly at her and tried vainly to offer meagre comfort, 'Sarah, go inside…' she pressed her arms reassuringly, 'go to your room and lock the door behind you'
Sarah, despite what she had suffered loved her mistress dearly and vainly wished to save her as well. But Lizzy was adamant, 'Go Sarah, now and quickly'
Sarah obeyed. Lizzy bit her lip and turned to face her husband, he clearly relished the opportunity to attempt once more to extinguish that fire in her eyes.
Lizzy bore that beating that was meant for her maid. Though it could not have lasted more than an hour every stroke and every second seemed an eternity. His strikes with that riding crop were hard across her back, stroke after stroke tore her dress and bit into her flesh, she could feel the sting as the skin opened up. The perverse sensation of the warm blood trickling down her bare back made her shudder. But not a sound escaped her; she would not give him that satisfaction of hearing her cry.
When he was through beating her, he turned her around to look into her eyes. The fire was still there, those accusing eyes looking back at him, unbowed and unafraid. He was not surprised; this was not the first time he had laid a hand on her.
He raped her; on that dirty floor he forced her down and forced himself on her. Even that she bore with a stoicism that would have been commendable had it not infuriated him all the more.
Sarah sobbed as she applied the lavender water to Lizzy's wounds, she dabbed the towel lightly on the gashes and winced in pain every time Lizzy did. The cuts had gone deep and not only on Lizzy's back.
'Stop crying Sarah…' Lizzy demanded, the poor girl attempted to stifle her sobs, but it was all in vain. Lizzy lay face down on her bed, naked from the waist up. She had stumbled into the house and was helped up to her room by Sarah, who had disobeyed her order to go to her room and lock herself in.
'Did you go out to see David?' Lizzy knew Sarah had a sweetheart in the household staff, she guessed it to be one of the stable boys, and David was the only one nearest to Sarah's age.
'Yes…Oh miss, please forgive me…' Sarah descended into sobs once more.
'David didn't try to help you?' Lizzy pressed her for an answer.
'No…he doesn't know, Lord Hartfield sent him on an errand earlier, he has not returned yet…'
Lizzy smiled grimly at the furtive resourcefulness of her cunning husband, he had gotten the sweetheart out of the way on purpose.
Sarah suddenly gripped Lizzy's arm tightly, 'But I dread David finding out, I pray he never does, for Miss, he has such a temper, I dread what he will do…'
'You needn't worry Sarah.' No, this was not something Lizzy was ready to let the world hear about.
Her bedroom door opened and both ladies shook at the sight of Philip. He regarded Sarah with a menace, 'Get out! And leave the water!' He took the bowl from her as she scurried out of the room.
Lizzy sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed; she reached out for a towel and held it over her bare front. Her nakedness in front of this man was something to be ashamed of, she already felt weak and to be so exposed was a further indignity she was not willing to suffer. She sat with her back facing him; he climbed on the bed and sat behind her. Placing the bowl at his side, he gently pushed her hair over one shoulder, and took over the task Sarah had been at. Rinsing the cloth in the water he gently dabbed at her wounds, he had a touch as soft as Sarah's had been. As the cloth brushed against a particularly sore spot she winced.
He stopped, and gently leaning towards her kissed the wound. Lizzy cringed at his touch, but this perverse habit of gentleness, of reverent meekness after an action so violent and brutal was not something new. She had witnessed these miserable displays of affection before; he would hurt her and then appear sorry for it. It seemed he was torn between making her suffer and then taking it upon himself to be the relief for the suffering he had caused. It was something, another thing Lizzy had learnt to live with, had come to expect almost.
He continued with his remedying once more, and in between wringing out the cloth whispered to her.
'We can't have my Lizzy at all uncomfortable, not when the Hartfield ball is tonight. You'll have to wear that new gown I bought you, it's particularly tight around the back.' He kissed her back once more, before getting up to leave.
She didn't move, not an inch.
Sarah and Lizzy had a particular bond; they had both arrived newly to Hartfield at the same time. Lizzy as the mistress and Sarah as her maid, they were close both in age and everything else. Lizzy admired Sarah's simplicity, her truth and gentleness and Sarah found a woman to be both wondered at and pitied in Lizzy. With Jane not always at hand, Lizzy found Sarah a willing substitute, someone to listen and be listened to.
The dress Philip had bought her was tight, and it had been a struggle to fight back the tears as the tightness of the dress crushed her ribs and chaffed against her sore back. Now, as Sarah was attaching the finishing touches of flowers to her hair, despite how well and how fine she looked in the expensive gown, Lizzy longed to be in those simple muslin dresses she had been used to wear.
The ball had been planned long in advance, and though Lizzy had no desire to be surrounded with rooms full of Philip's acquaintances at least Jane and Mama and the rest of the family would be there. That, at least was something to look forward to. She nodded and smiled at Sarah, whose eyes were still rimmed red and moist with tears. Lizzy's crying had long been done.