5

5 Joseph gave Grace no time, he wouldn't stop trying for another, there had to be an heir, he said, it was his duty to pass the farm on to the next generation it had been in his family for nearly one hundred and twenty years at this point it was only then that she realized how deeply he was attached to the property, perhaps even more than to her, he saw himself as the caretaker of it, his life would be a failure if he didn't have a child to hand it over to he had to honour his ancestors Joseph stormed around the house, knocked things over, bellowed at the dogs, swore at the farmhands, drank too much ale in the evenings when they were in sexual communion, he entered her like a machine, not with the caresses of before his only ambition was to ruthlessly pollinate her

she endured his merciless thrusting, looked up at the lampshade hanging from the ceiling, how thrilled they'd been when electricity was installed in the house it was her duty to provide strong heirs for him, for the land, for his legacy, she understood that, and so far she'd failed would he cast her out for dereliction of duty? to once more become a maid-of-all-work? replaced by another wife who could deliver on her obligations? she endured him as the mattress bounced on the wooden frame of the bed that creaked on the wooden floor underneath the rug they sat apart from each other in the Long Room in the evenings, the sound of the grandfather clock ticked Joseph might read a farming journal or the National Geographic he ordered monthly (how her husband loved an excuse to look at exposed native bosoms!) she read Woman's Weekly or novels by Dickens, Austen, the Brontës, or any other she found in the study to preoccupy her to take her away from this, from him, from herself from a body that gave birth to death when he went upstairs to bed, she lingered downstairs, as soon as she walked into the bedroom he'd wake up and it would start all over again Grace gave birth to another one Joseph named her Harriet when she refused to, after his grandmother, he said, who'd lived to a great age, never had a day's illness and died in her sleep this one will survive, Gracie, I can feel it, she's a fighter, it doesn't matter that she's a girl she didn't care about the demon who'd almost killed her over three days of labour, who then angrily shouldered her way out of her battered body into the midwife's hands who brandished her fists, screwed up her gummy face and bawled the house down with powerful lungs when she was slapped Grace required morphine and stitching, too weak at first, and later, too unwilling to cradle the latest in a long line of doomed children she refused to breastfeed it

Joseph refused to talk to her Lily had been such a delicate, placid child, whereas Harriet's furious, taunting presence filled the house without respite it was a demon screaming throughout the night, determined to wreck her mother's life from her cot in the room next to their bedroom where the wet nurse was camped later, Flossie moved in, a nanny from Berwick Grace spent months barely able to speak or haul herself out of bed, barely able to wash or brush her teeth, her hair tangled, skin paled without daylight upon it, she slopped about in nightwear, looked away when the demon was brought to her, felt physically sick whenever she thought of it she dreamed of slicing her arteries to get rid of the pain, the same way she'd seen Joseph do to farm animals she studied the kitchen knives to decide which one would do the job most effectively, quickly she held each one up to the light in the middle of one night, was caught by Joseph who grabbed the knife don't you dare, Grace Rydendale, don't you dare she thought of walking out of the house, down the fields at the back and entering the lake until the water closed over her head Joseph threatened her with the asylum, they'll chain you naked to a wall where you'll sit in your own toilet for the rest of your life she didn't care, she was already in hell, she took to sleeping in another bedroom, that part of our lives is over, she told him don't worry, he replied bitterly, I was only doing my duty, and you are now failing in yours Grace remembered how he used to look at her with a love so powerful she could only return it, now he refused, just as she refused to touch the thing she'd given birth to when Joseph thrust it under her nose, she pushed past him don't you dare walk away from your daughter, you're a wicked woman, Grace Rydendale the demon was sent to taunt her with the hope of motherhood, of fulfilling her role on this earth, to have something that was fully hers, only to take it

away again Grace remembered the suffering of when she was a little girl left alone in the world she missed her ma who'd know what to do, who'd hold her and rock her and say, you can do this, Gracie, you can get through this, we'll get through this together one year came and went Harriet grew strong and sturdy two years came and went Harriet began to crawl/walk/ climb thirty months came and went Harriet was talking non-stop Grace woke up one morning for the first time since the child was born and didn't feel full of dread, the clouds outside were a lovely light grey against a radiant blue sky she'd not looked at sky for a very long time, or anything else, she'd only felt the heaviness inside her weighing her down she hadn't seen Joseph either, not properly, the man who made her his Queen of the Nile, he'd be outside milking the cows she arose and bathed, tried to comb out the tangles in her hair, had to unpick it with her fingers first she dressed herself in proper clothes instead of keeping on her nightclothes Grace walked into the kitchen Harriet was sat there eating a boiled egg with bread soldiers for breakfast, prepared by Flossie who'd taken her to choose her own egg from the chickens earlier, their morning ritual Grace usually waited until they'd left the room to have her own breakfast, spent the entire time avoiding the child, was expert at it, alert to wherever the child was in the house or outside it, and made sure their paths crossed as little as possible ignored Flossie's disapproving glares when she did Harriet and Flossie were silenced by her presence, Harriet looked up at her as if she was a new person she imagined she was – with her hair combed and piled on top of her head instead of the wild tangled mess her daughter was used to, and she wore a white dress with yellow flowers on it instead of her washed-out dressing gown

Grace looked at Harriet as if for the first time, she was so plump and healthy with smooth glowing cheeks her hair was in a single plait down her back, her eyes were almost golden, perhaps a little green, they were sparkling, curious, smiling at her as if to say, hello my Ma, do you like me now? Flossie, grey hair, rounded, stooped, wore a floor-length old-fashioned skirt from another century, she was a mother and grand-mother of many, made encouraging noises as she listened to Harriet's nonsensical chatter which picked up again once the child became accustomed to Grace she dipped the soldiers into the runny, yellow yolk and tried to eat without letting it spill down her chin when she did, Flossie wiped it off with a cloth they looked so comfortable together so cosy, so close too close Grace made herself a cup of tea, sat back down, this time closer to Harriet, carry on, she said when Harriet paused to stare at her again I'd like to bake Harriet a birthday cake, Flossie, and you're to call her Hattie now, not Harriet, I've decided that Hattie suits her better Flossie forced a nod, not quite hostile Grace beckoned Hattie over, come and sit on your ma's lap, love, Hattie looked to Flossie for help, which hurt go and sit with your mother, Flossie urged Hattie, mumbling, it's about time, loud enough for Grace to hear Grace later took Hattie out to sit on the bench in the yard in the sunshine, she nestled her on her lap, read her stories from The Fairy Tale Book by the time she'd finished, Hattie was curled into her, asleep Grace looked up and saw Flossie had fetched Joseph who was stood there across the yard by the gate that led to the front fields sleeves rolled up, trousers tucked into mud-encrusted boots, leaning on a spade watching as if he was in the Egyptian desert again looking at a mirage.