‘We’ve hogs here, at good price, Mr Fairchild,’ she said, not shouting, but notdelicatelyeither, taking a step forward.
Thorn wouldn’t say the market quietened completely, but he would’ve said there was a definite hush, as heads turned, including that of this Mr Fairchild, who raised a brow, and Hypatia smiled.
‘Lady Gadmin, of Gadmin Hall Farm,’ she said, extending a hand, which the man took an age to shake, though he finally did, approaching slowly. ‘If I heard correctly, you’re looking for some well-priced hogs to expand your herd. A butcher such as yourselfwill appreciate the quality of these very unusual animals. We’ve porkers too, should you wish to trial the meat with your customers first.’
Fairchild watched her for a moment, before turning his attention to the pigs.
Jumping into the small enclosure, blessing his good fortune again at having such a clever, forthright wife, able to do what he’d not been, Thorn coaxed forth one of the porkers Hypatia mentioned for the man to examine.
‘How much?’
‘Six and a half per pound for the porkers, half crown for the hogs.’
‘I’ll give ye a joey for the porker.’
‘I can perhaps go down to sixpence, but not a joey.’
‘A joey and a ha’penny.’
‘You’d offer another a shilling per pound, Mr Fairchild, so a sixpence is more than a fair price. These are good pigs, of a kind not oft found these ways, and the meat will speak for itself.’
‘I heard about Gadmin Hall, and the mad earl who went to Gloucestershire to fetch his precious pigs, and spent all he had of money and mind on building a herd. Last I heard, they were rottin’ away, and bein sold for feed.’
Fairchild glanced at Thorn, as though he might be the mad earl in question, and though Thorn was beginning to feel like he might fit that denomination given enough time, he wasn’t the aforementioned.
‘As you can see, reality and gossip often diverge greatly,’ he said, holding the man’s gaze. ‘The past is the past, and those who contributed to any veracity such tales might hold had best examine their own actions before vilifying others,’ he continued, wagering Fairchild had either heard the truth, or that scum Warren flung muck at the Gadmin name as he departed the area. ‘The animals all have a recent clean bill of health, and as my wifesays, the meat will speak for itself. As will you, with your expert eyes.’
‘Or this gentleman’s,’ Hypatia chimed in, roping in another unsuspecting passerby, who’d demonstrated too much curiosity at the goings-on. ‘What do you seek, sir?’
‘I’m in need of some sows,’ he said, realising he’d been caught, and not a little charmed by Hypatia; a sentiment Thorn understood all too well.
Another like I who dared glance too long at this woman and was ensnared.
‘Six and a half it is then,’ Fairchild sighed. ‘I’ll have three porkers for now, if you have them, but mind you, one complaint from any of my customers, and ye’ll not do business here again.’
‘Excellent, Mr Fairchild,’ Hypatia grinned, gesturing for Thorn to come complete the sale.
Which he did, half an eye and ear on his wife, who continued to work marvels, attracting more and more, if nothing else, curious souls; tempting a few more here and there to part with coin, and take some of their animals away.
Danny and Ian arrived not long after, helping where they could, and in one of the quieter moments, Thorn permitted himself to lean against the enclosure, and merely watch his wife work, pride filling him to the brim.
At least, until one of the neighbouring farmers came to stand beside Thorn, watching Hypatia as he leaned on his walking stick that more resembled half an oak’s trunk.
‘Had one like ’er once,’ the older, grizzled man said, and Thorn might’ve thought it in pleasant reminiscence had he not punctuated his statement with a hack and spit. Thorn frowned, turning slightly to the man, who shrugged. ‘That woman wouldn’t peck, she’d drive, and nearly drove me off a cliff, till one day I said: “Woman, I’m yer ’usband, not yer servant.” And she said she didn’t need me, and I’d see just how well I got onwithout ’er, and ’ere we are, seven years later, and I’ve never been so ’appy. But ’twas my own doin’, lettin’ her think she could run the place. Ye mind yerself, son.’
And with a tap to the side of his nose, and what Thorn supposed was meant to be a wise man’s knowing gaze, he hobbled off. Thorn shook the comment off, and turned back to his wife, and thought something along the lines ofsome men just cannot abide a strong, capable woman.
Except, the man’s words were like poisonous, thorny vines, wrapping themselves and clutching to already dark ground. He thought about how the man had said he’d never been so happy; yet he looked unkempt, sallow, and frayed. He looked like he had needed his wife; was lost, bereft, without her.
And perhaps that was what held fast to Thorn most of all, as they finished their time at market—having sold a good half of their stock, which was disappointing but far from disastrous—and too exhausted and frankly penniless to do anything else, they began the three-hour trip back home, in quiet silence; a silence he knew Hypatia noted, but took as mere tiredness, though she bounced with energy and satisfaction on the cart beside him. Through every mile travelled, that man’s transformation in the face of love’s loss, held fast to him. For Thorn had realised early on, he needed Hypatia. She was the strong, capable one, and there was certainly nothing wrong with that, but as he grew to need her more every single day, in ways he daren’t even think on, she seemed to need him less and less.
Oh, she enjoyed his company—in every way possible, or so she’d demonstrated since their first true evening together—and welcomed his thoughts, and opinion. But she still left him every night, having gotten the pleasure she sought, and she made more and more decisions without his consultation—not that they were bad, or his consultation was required—and he wasalways the one to initiate any sort of sweet touch, and in every way, she thrived, and would, with, or without him in her life.
It was part of her charm, part of what he liked about her, part of what astonished him every day. And yet, from the first, that divide between them—her thriving and adapting so easily toeverythingwhilst he struggled and felt an imposter—had been felt. Though it had been hidden, diminished by gratitude, respect, and yes, to a degree, his besottedness, it had remained. And now, more than ever, he felt his own lack in comparison to her. As he had, admittedly and not, with his father, who’d built a business, not been given it, with Helen, who’d wanted more than he ever had, with strangers even; and though it was unfair, and he knew it well, he began to feel angry. He began to feel resentful with Hypatia for that, for not sharing his need, or indeed, his feelings. For being strong, and secure in herself, and needing no one really. Nothing but books, to fix roofs, and sell pigs, and charm idiots like him.
It would only get worse too. Here, it was noticeable, the chasm of competency, but how would it be in London? How would it be when came time to fulfil all those societal and political duties he’d already been overwhelmed with—and that was having only dipped his toe into the murky ocean? Would he be forever asking Hypatia to tell him what to do in the House? Letting her lead the charge at parties and other such nonsense? How long would she remain by his side? Endure being the better of them both, before she grew tired, restless, resentful? How long before her freedom sparked her to have dreams, and she realised she dreamt of more than merelyhim, and what little he could offer? Where would he be then?
He wondered, and that resentment grew, for knowing, for having always known, she would be better at any and all of this than he ever could; more of a countess, worthy of his inheritance than he. By the time they arrived home, all thatputrid resentment had truly festered, and so he told her that he and Danny would see to what beasts remained, and not to wait for him, for dinner or bed.
