used to say.’
‘Now you’re laughing at me. It’s fine for you, men have had it their way for so long, but men and women were born with a brain, some greater than others, and it should be used. In the Bible it says we must use our talents and we all have them.’
He pulled her towards him, ‘I’m not laughing at you, my darling. But you must admit that most of those wenches standing in the market with you had very little brain.’
‘It isn’t their fault, they’ve had no chance.’
‘Maybe, maybe. But you are different. You are special, Betsy. You have something many do not have and it isn’t just intellect.’
She moved slightly and turned to face him. ‘Beauty can be a curse,’ she said.
‘Yes, you are beautiful, but that wasn’t what I meant. I sometimes wonder …’ he broke off in mid-sentence.
‘What do you wonder, Daniel?’ Her tone was gentle.
‘How it is you love me, ugly little Danny boy.’
‘Is that what she used to call you?’
He nodded and for a few seconds she saw clearly the vulnerable little unloved boy whose mother found him ugly.
‘Oh Daniel, my darling,’ she said.
Daniel bought the locket when he went into Canterbury. It was gold and heart-shaped with a scroll of delicate leaves on one side but plain on the other. It had been a good harvest and for some while now he had wanted to buy Betsy something really special. These days he often thought how blessed he was to have such a wife. He knew she was often sad about the baby she had lost. If he was honest with himself he accepted that it hadn’t affected him in anything like the same way.
When she was first pregnant he had been glad that they were going to have a family, and for a while after her miscarriage he felt a spasm of disappointment when he thought about it. But he was much more concerned that Betsy herself was all right. Her unhappiness in the immediate aftermath was something he could only dimly imagine and it seemed that however hard he tried to console her she turned further from him.
He had been a little bothered too when Tom Shooter seemed to be always hanging around the kitchen, lingering after his meals … after all the lad was a shining Greek god compared to himself. He had noticed how Tom watched her at the harvest supper. And I was jealous, he thought now, jealous of his youth, his fair beauty, his tall, fine physique. He saw them talking together at one stage, Betsy’s face was flushed, her eyes sparkling blue fire and the pang of envy that shot through his body was something he had never before experienced. What ifshe went off with the lad. After all, she’d had no choice when taking him, but if the opportunity presented itself, would she go with the younger man?
Surely not, she loved him, Daniel Forrester, she had often told him so. Yet, seeing them standing together, he knew a devastation of emptiness that made him feel sick. Oh Betsy, if I could I would lock you up where you saw no one who could tempt you.
He knew that was impossible. She was his, not through choice, but because he had bought her, and the wonder of it all was that she gave herself and her love to him generously. In any case he loved her independence. He had never known a woman like her before. His mother was strong, but manipulating. The women he had bedded, and there had been a few when he was a young lad, were pitiful compared to Betsy.
Her strength of will, her intelligence, her sense of the rightness of things, all these he loved, but more than anything she set his pulses and heart racing when she looked at him with love in her own eyes. Love for him. His thoughts returned to the harvest supper and that glimpse of his wife’s animated face as she stood with Tom Shooter. People had moved in front of him while he was watching and when they moved away and he looked to where he had seen them talking both Betsy and Tom had disappeared from his view.
Daniel gave her the gold locket a few evenings afterwards and as he
‘Now you’re laughing at me. It’s fine for you, men have had it their way for so long, but men and women were born with a brain, some greater than others, and it should be used. In the Bible it says we must use our talents and we all have them.’
He pulled her towards him, ‘I’m not laughing at you, my darling. But you must admit that most of those wenches standing in the market with you had very little brain.’
‘It isn’t their fault, they’ve had no chance.’
‘Maybe, maybe. But you are different. You are special, Betsy. You have something many do not have and it isn’t just intellect.’
She moved slightly and turned to face him. ‘Beauty can be a curse,’ she said.
‘Yes, you are beautiful, but that wasn’t what I meant. I sometimes wonder …’ he broke off in mid-sentence.
‘What do you wonder, Daniel?’ Her tone was gentle.
‘How it is you love me, ugly little Danny boy.’
‘Is that what she used to call you?’
He nodded and for a few seconds she saw clearly the vulnerable little unloved boy whose mother found him ugly.
‘Oh Daniel, my darling,’ she said.
Daniel bought the locket when he went into Canterbury. It was gold and heart-shaped with a scroll of delicate leaves on one side but plain on the other. It had been a good harvest and for some while now he had wanted to buy Betsy something really special. These days he often thought how blessed he was to have such a wife. He knew she was often sad about the baby she had lost. If he was honest with himself he accepted that it hadn’t affected him in anything like the same way.
When she was first pregnant he had been glad that they were going to have a family, and for a while after her miscarriage he felt a spasm of disappointment when he thought about it. But he was much more concerned that Betsy herself was all right. Her unhappiness in the immediate aftermath was something he could only dimly imagine and it seemed that however hard he tried to console her she turned further from him.
He had been a little bothered too when Tom Shooter seemed to be always hanging around the kitchen, lingering after his meals … after all the lad was a shining Greek god compared to himself. He had noticed how Tom watched her at the harvest supper. And I was jealous, he thought now, jealous of his youth, his fair beauty, his tall, fine physique. He saw them talking together at one stage, Betsy’s face was flushed, her eyes sparkling blue fire and the pang of envy that shot through his body was something he had never before experienced. What ifshe went off with the lad. After all, she’d had no choice when taking him, but if the opportunity presented itself, would she go with the younger man?
Surely not, she loved him, Daniel Forrester, she had often told him so. Yet, seeing them standing together, he knew a devastation of emptiness that made him feel sick. Oh Betsy, if I could I would lock you up where you saw no one who could tempt you.
He knew that was impossible. She was his, not through choice, but because he had bought her, and the wonder of it all was that she gave herself and her love to him generously. In any case he loved her independence. He had never known a woman like her before. His mother was strong, but manipulating. The women he had bedded, and there had been a few when he was a young lad, were pitiful compared to Betsy.
Her strength of will, her intelligence, her sense of the rightness of things, all these he loved, but more than anything she set his pulses and heart racing when she looked at him with love in her own eyes. Love for him. His thoughts returned to the harvest supper and that glimpse of his wife’s animated face as she stood with Tom Shooter. People had moved in front of him while he was watching and when they moved away and he looked to where he had seen them talking both Betsy and Tom had disappeared from his view.
Daniel gave her the gold locket a few evenings afterwards and as he
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