As Meat Loves Salt

I said there was a draught on my neck and moved to the same side of the table as himself, where I could fix my eyes on Aunt.

  ‘You’re right,’ he said and moved his chair closer to mine. ‘It is warmer here.’

  ‘The fish is – is very good done like this,’ I said desperately, seeing his left hand slide below the board while his right innocently mopped up sauce on a bit of bread.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Aunt. ‘We lack a knife.’ She got up and left the room.

  ‘Did she see?’ I breathed.

  ‘No, no. Calm yourself.’ He was laughing.

  ‘Calm myself! That’s your wish, is it?’

  ‘O come on, it’s all part of the sport!’

  ‘I don’t like your sport.’

  ‘What, never played before?’ He smiled and twisted in the chair to kiss me. My lips opened to him although I would gladly have given him a slap. Then we heard the downstairs door and he drew back, leaving me thwarted.

  Aunt returned with a large knife, and shortly afterwards Becs brought up a dish of venison. I avoided looking at her, and she went back downstairs.

  ‘You don’t eat as heartily as you did,’ Aunt remarked, seeing me take a small portion.

  ‘Jacob bought a mouldy plumcake,’ explained Ferris. ‘I wonder he’s not poisoned.’

  ‘But why did you eat it?’ exclaimed Aunt.

  ‘I – er – only a little,’ I replied, unable to talk about cake while Ferris sat decorously beside me, awaiting his chance. Thirsting to pay him out, I fidgeted in my chair. There were hours before bedtime. I hoped at least that he, too, was suffering since the kiss.

  ‘You’re eating more, Christopher,’ Aunt remarked approvingly.

  ‘Am I, Aunt?’ He set down his knife with a clink.

  ‘And right glad I am to see it! You’ll need to put on flesh before you go off digging.’

  ‘I’m well enough. You’d be surprised what weight I can carry.’

  I closed my eyes, then opened them again to beat back the images. Aunt was watching me, and did not look away when she saw herself observed. Confused, I dropped my own gaze.

  ‘Well, Jacob, you have had much to think about, today,’ she began.

  I said that I certainly had.

  ‘You said we’d talk when Becs was gone,’ protested Ferris. ‘She will be back directly.’

  ‘She was told to serve the meat, then keep her room.’ Aunt drew up her chair. I was not ready, and neither I think was he, but begin we must.

  At first I hid behind pretended ignorance. ‘Does she know—? Is she waiting for an offer?’

  ‘She and I have talked, yes.’ Aunt pressed her lips firmly together and waited for me to speak out. I glanced to my right, at Ferris. He was watching his aunt, his lips unconsciously compressed like her own.

  ‘The matter requires thought,’ I began. ‘Christopher and I talked of this last night. We went over it. Over all of it.’

  I hoped, coward-fashion, that she would interrupt and let me off saying the rest, but she remained silent, her face stern.

  ‘She is a good girl,’ I smiled lamely, ‘skilled in her work, comely, honest…’ (What to say? What?) ‘and the offer you make is generous, yes indeed, far above my deserts…’

  ‘So it seems,’ she cracked out at last.

  ‘But I wish first and foremost to go to the colony.’

  Her mouth pursed up and the skin round it grew furrowed; her eyes contracted to slits which reminded me of Ferris when he was angry, and her thin old lids pressed down in an attempt to hold back the water seeping from under them. Ferris sighed. He reached across the table and tried to take her hand, but she pulled away, sniffing loudly as she did so.

  ‘He doesn’t love her, Aunt,’ he soothed. ‘Becs can find a good man who does, a manservant with more money – a tradesman—’

  ‘He would come to love her once they were wed. The man doesn’t know his luck – there’s health and good temper, beauty too – what more does he want? A penniless soldier!’

  ‘Now, Aunt, how can you—’

  ‘She’s fairly sick for him.’ Aunt glared at me.

  ‘His first wife may be living,’ pleaded Ferris.

  Watching her face crumple, it came to me how selfish she was. I had known, of course, that this had little to do with Becs and her happiness, though Aunt was glad to serve her by the way; it had been clear to me for some time that I was to be the decoy to keep Ferris at home. What I had not reckoned with was her persistence. We might as well be dogs she had determined to wall up in a yard.

  Ferris caught hold of her fingers. ‘Aunty, Aunty,’ he crooned. ‘I’ll send word to you, I’ll come back and see you.’

  ‘If you loved me, Christopher, you’d help bring off this marriage,’ she snuffled.

  He dropped her hand. ‘Nay, that’s too much. Must I be of your mind in everything?’

  She wept afresh. Ferris mouthed at me. I was at a loss to understand him, and shook my head, until he said aloud, ‘Jacob. Why don’t you take the plates downstairs?’ I needed no second bidding but began piling them up while he went round the table to stand next to her. As I bundled together the dirty knives he leant his neck against her hair, pulling her in towards his breast, and the two of them rocked softly as they had done on my first night in London.

  ‘You are my mother,’ I heard him whisper just before I passed out of the door.

  Awkwardly, fearful of stumbling on the dark steps, I felt my way with my feet until I reached the open door of the kitchen, where to my relief Becs had left a candle burning. I laid my burden on the table next to the scullery and wondered when I should go up again. Ferris could best bring her round by himself – at least, I hoped so. Now that I was no longer her hero, I was in a fair way to be cast as villain, luring the heir away to the colony, no matter that he was the one luring me.

  I picked up the candle and held it high to see round the room. There was pewter put on one side to be polished up; I could have helped Becs with that. We would have made a good pair of servants. Her outdoor cloak hung from a nail. Curiosity led me to bury my face in the folds: they breathed wet wool and smoke, no trace of her flesh. This, then, was as close as I would come to the girl who hoped to be my wife. It was hard on her. Nothing could be done about her liking for me, but I hoped, by a respectful demeanour, to spare her pride a little. I put my face into the cloak again and felt a strange tenderness spurt up in me. Izzy once scolded me for that my backwardness had made a fool of Caro. Women’s happiness is all bound up in us, can any man tell me why that is? Ferris upstairs kissing his aunt’s hair, a young man comforting an old woman, there we see it: women never learn sense. Reason is weak or lacking in them: Grandmother Eve makes them impulsive, batted back and forth by their passions.

  I recalled Ferris’s teasing of me and wondered had he done the like with his wife. Or others? Up till now I had never asked him if he went in to her a virgin, never given it thought. Men, had he been with men while he lived here? Again I saw Nathan’s ardent face turned to him, then the boy’s sleeping head pillowed on Ferris’s breast. I should have killed the little fool when I had the chance.

  Well, he was gone, most likely dead. I would go up in a minute. A thought came to me, and I passed the lamp rapidly along the shelves of stores until it shone on a small jar. This I opened and tasted a little of the contents on my finger. Honey. I passed on to another, and this time was luckier: goose grease. I put the jar into my sleeve, and taking the light began slowly climbing back up the stairs.

  That first night, I had torn at his clothes; after, I learnt to stroke and kiss as I eased them off, heir to tendernesses he had been taught elsewhere. I breathed his scent, slid my hands over his supple back and round to the front, caught and held him tightly. He stared into my eyes, and pushed at me as if trying his strength against mine. I laughed, loving his fierceness, and tightened my grip.

  Afterwards he lay licking my neck and stroking me with his hand. I reached for the jar, which I had placed next the
bed, opened it and gave it him. Ferris looked at me in surprise, then scooped up the stuff on one finger and spread it over his palm.

  ‘Here.’ His hand closed round my prick; I jumped at the slippery feel of it. Ferris smiled and continued his stroking.

  ‘Do you want me underneath? Mmm?’ He kissed me, pressing hard and stirring me up with his tongue, then knelt by the bedside.

  He is practised, came a whisper in my head.

  My throat dried. I gazed on him, seeing beauty in his slender boy’s hips and the long curve of his thighs; seeing also dogs and bitches. Nathan. Other men, their faces a blur above greedily jerking bodies.

  The smell of grease unnerved me.

  ‘Jacob?’ He ran his hand down my arm where I still lay on the bed, pulled me towards him.

  Closing with him, I trembled; he whispered me what to do and I tried to hold back until he was ready. But then, as I kissed the nape of his neck, he twisted to offer his mouth, whorish. I was at once on fire to possess him, no holds barred. I went into him relentlessly, grappled him to me and let him feel all my strength. When he flinched, sparks shot up into my belly.

  ‘What’s my name?’ I demanded.

  Ferris groaned, and I filled with hot delight hearing what it cost him to take me. I slid out a little, and then as soon as he shifted under my weight, drove in at full length. ‘Say my name.’

  He panted, ‘Jacob.’

  I gave a hard sharp thrust which almost finished it for me. ‘Again. Say it over and over.’

  ‘Jacob. Jacob! Jacob!’

  It was done. I was burnt into him.

  TWENTY

  As Meat Loves Salt

  It was easier facing Becs the following morning than I had feared. She neither snivelled after me nor turned sour and combative. Instead, she was grown distant. I was no longer favoured with smiles or languishing looks.

  ‘Will you have some bread?’ she asked me, setting down a bowl of caudle.

  ‘Thank you, Becs, I will.’ I met her eyes and kept my voice pleasant and level, for I was resolved to treat her with respect and never to seem as if I presumed upon a liking.

  Aunt was more difficult. Ferris had done his best the night before to persuade her of his unaltered love, but though she had softened to him she evidently still regarded me as a Judas. When I came down to eat she barely returned my salutation, and left the room almost immediately. But it was easy to forgive slights just then, for I had never felt so strong and so well, and I understood how the sight of my satisfaction, considered as a triumph over her wishes, might be a standing provocation to her.

  Ferris came down after me, having gone first to his own bed to rumple it and warm the sheets. He jerked his head towards the door and raised his eyebrows, as if to say, Where is she? I pointed downwards to indicate the kitchen below. He stood against the opposite wall and watched me drink my beer as if he were trying to find something.

  ‘Sit down,’ I suggested.

  ‘Use your wits.’

  I flushed.

  ‘And my back near broken.’ He lowered himself carefully onto a chair.

  Before I could think what to say the door opened and Aunt came back; she smiled at Ferris, nodded frigidly to me, as she brought in some small loaves and honey. I waited until she had left the room and her steps were heard going right down to the kitchen before I whispered, ‘Forgive me.’

  ‘And next time?’

  ‘I will hold myself in more.’

  He raised his eyebrows as if to say I had better. I caught hold of his hand, pleaded the spur of desire, vowed to curb my strength, until the fingers I was clutching finally relaxed in mine, then curled round them. Footsteps were heard on the staircase. He let go of me, split a loaf and spread the end of it with honey, then cut me the honeyed slice. We continued to eat, unspeaking, staring at one another.

  All that day we finished up odds and ends of pamphlets. Ferris left me to print off the last batch, while he went to talk round Becs and his aunt, for the next day was to be the first meeting of the new colonists. He wanted to make sure there would be enough for them to eat, and I think suspected Aunt of some skulduggery intended to drive away this lot as effectually as I had driven away the first.

  ‘You look weary,’ I said as he came back into the printroom.

  ‘Aunt has been there before you,’ he replied. ‘She has just asked me do I sleep well.’

  Rain tapped at the printroom window as we sorted pages and folded them together; stacking the new pamphlets in piles, we stopped to listen to hail stoning the panes.

  ‘Just as well Aunt hasn’t thrown us out,’ observed Ferris.

  It was easy working with him, doing as I was told. Everything seemed simple: just we two and the press. Despite his complaints of a stiff back, the movements he made were graceful, unlike my own, and I delighted in watching him.

  ‘I am happy,’ I said aloud.

  ‘What?’ He cupped a hand to one ear; ink had got onto the side of his nose.

  ‘I love you.’

  He came up to me and we kissed. The soft, searching voluptuousness that is kissing began at once to work on me. Some men, they say, are not much moved thereby; it may be they got used to it young, while I had to wait. Ferris had some difficulty in freeing himself to say, ‘Tomorrow—’

  ‘Tomorrow?’ I was fearful; perhaps he was putting me out of his bed till then.

  ‘No fighting at the meeting.’

  ‘Never.’ I meant it; I saw no cause why I should ever fight anyone again.

  I was mad. Love is a madness, but there, it is hardly an original observation. I seemed to recall having heard even at Beaurepair, most likely from Godfrey, that all the great scholars of ages past thought love and folly the same thing. Whoever said it, I remembered Zeb’s retort, at which I had laughed along with the rest: that to a cold onlooker, a man lying with a woman might present a foolish sight, arse waggling and face screwed up, but the folly was all the spectator’s own, for the actors were as near Heaven as anyone gets on earth. Now, whether standing close to Ferris or keeping away from him, I was translated. By day it pleased me to be prentice, letting him play Master, but my soul, like a bat, waited wrapped in itself for the night. No bat so blind as a man bound up in the urgings of the flesh.

  I was staggered, at first, to find my idealist so wanton; but this was simply my own ignorance. He had already told me that, once he went to Joanna as a husband, he had loved her passionately, with that worship of the body which we promise in the marriage service. I had never had the smallest reason to think him a Christ. We have all of us a secret being, mining deep and invisible within, opening out at our mouths when we kiss, and I had touched him there. If Nathan had done likewise Ferris gave never a sign of it. This did not stop me, sometimes, fermenting my madness by picturing them together.

  At other times I tormented myself in the knowledge that I could not always tell lovers from simple acquaintance; I had not even known that Patience lay with Zeb. For all I knew, then, Ferris and I were shouting our delights from the housetops. What would we do, once under the eye of the colony? Attempts at secrecy must soon wear thin. How much better to stay in London with its substantial walls and solid beds, to enjoy one another and let the world go hang.

  We passed a third night together, and he bade me whisper; I did so, but later burnt with pride when he himself cried out loud, unable to hold back. The momentary intoxication past, I found myself listening. There were no muffled steps in the corridor, not even the sound of a bolt, yet I was sure they must have heard.

  Our future companions came the next day to talk dreams, drink ale and eat meat pasties. Aunt was keeping away, leaving Becs to serve everything, and so all the duties of hospitality fell on us two. I was eager to redeem my past wickedness, and would have welcomed any idiot as a brother had Ferris told me to.

  Eunice Walker, she of the heart and arrows, arrived first, in a gown all of pink stuff. A servant brought her to the door, but was not suffered by her to enter: I wonder
ed if her visit was being kept a secret from someone at home. The lady was in her forties, plump and coquettish, and ogled both Ferris and me straight off in one practised glance. I saw she was so accustomed thus to flirt at men, it was become her ordinary way of looking. The bowing and curtsying over, she began:

  ‘How many men and women will you have under your command, Mister Ferris?’

  ‘Not my command,’ he hastened to correct her. ‘The thing is to be fraternal, no trace of servitude or the army about it.’

  ‘A very good notion!’ She walked up to the bookcase and examined the titles quite openly, as if offering to buy them. From behind I noticed that she wore false hair: the few strands that had slipped out from her cap were much greyer than those framing her face. ‘So,’ she went on, ‘how many persons?’

  I began to smile to myself. ‘There might be perhaps five women, Madam. Be assured you will not lack for the company of your own sex.’

  She eyed me behind her smirk. I recalled seeing her or someone very like her, stranded in pink, the day we walked home in the rain.

  ‘We have about equal numbers of men and women,’ said Ferris more kindly. ‘Persons of all conditions: spinsters and bachelors, married and widowed.’

  She nodded in acknowledgement.

  ‘What draws you to this meeting?’ he asked her. ‘Have you skill, er—?’

  ‘O, I excel in salting, pickling and all kinds of preserves,’ she answered.

  ‘But Madam, the work at first must be rough: there will be the ground to break, and all still to plant and sow,’ Ferris urged.

  She smiled, showing black teeth. I was now sure that this was the woman I had seen sheltering in the doorway.

  ‘I’ll tell Becs to start bringing up the drinks,’ I said. On the way down I allowed myself a quiet laugh.

  The girl was lounging in the kitchen, reading a letter. She looked up eagerly as I entered, then her face blanked over and she drew herself up tall.

  ‘There’s a fine sight upstairs,’ I said to her. ‘A pink galleon. Pray bring up the ale and you’ll see it.’