“He was the most handsome young man in Trescott by a mile. Not that that means very much. But he was just a cottager. He had no prospect of being anything more.”
“Did you want to marry him?”
“I suppose. But I didn’t think much of practical considerations. As I said, I was sixteen.”
“He seduced you,” Alfred glowers.
“No. If anything, I seduced him. Some would say I threw myself at him.”
Alfred goes still and I fight a tide of rising shame.
“Like you seduced me?”
It had not occurred to me that he would compare the two situations.
“No,” I say. “Not like that at all.”
“Then how did it happen?”
I sigh and close my eyes again.
“At harvest time, I used to go around with Betsy and give food and water to the laborers—and Frank worked in our fields. He began accompanying me back to the Abbey at the end of the day. The fields are much closer to the Ludlows’ cottage and I wanted to save Betsy the trip. So did Frank. He loves Betsy too.”
“Then how?—?”
“I will explain. He didn’t seduce me. He didn’t need to. He could see how I mooned after him. I wasn’t pretty. If I became pretty later?—”
“You’re beautiful,” Alfred breaks in.
“Well, if I am now, I wasn’t then. I was too plump and had a face covered in spots. I hadn’t grown up yet. But I was utterly infatuated with Frank. The first time he kissed me—I thought that I was dreaming.”
“Hedidseduce you.”
“No. As I said, he didn’t need to. At first, it was only kissing. He didn’t want to press any further. He tried to explain that I would be ruined if he bedded me. I would have asked him to run away with me, but he had his mother and little brother—they relied upon him.”
“But he bedded you anyway.”
“I insisted. Ibeggedhim. We would meet in thewoods and I would beg him to bed me. It took weeks and weeks to convince him. He was always conflicted. I didn’t understand why. Not fully. I started bringing him presents. To me they were trifles, but to Frank they were impossible riches. I insisted that he keep them all of course.”
“What sorts of presents?”
“Oh, a gold pin, a silver compass—things that were mine, that I had been given or bought, and that were nothing to me. I never thought of their value. I thought if I gave them to him, he would see how I cared for him. I had some childish notion, I suppose, that if he bedded me, we would have to marry.”
I give the little bitter laugh that has recently, around Alfred, grown scarce.
“When he took these things, he worried he would be hung for theft. But I assured him that no one would come looking for these items. That they belonged only to me.”
I look at Alfred. He seems perplexed by the direction of the tale. And I can’t blame him for his confusion.
“But he did, eventually,” he pressed. “Bed you.”
“Yes,” I say. “In the end, he bedded me quite a few times. We kept meeting in the woods for months even when it had grown too cold.”
“Did he hurt you?”
I shake my head.
“No, I was delighted. I didn’t even worry about getting with child, which was foolish. He took pains to avoid it, though, which I was thankful for later.”
