He picked out two sticky raisin buns and a large honey cake which Margaret was able to accommodate in her basket, alongside her night shift, prayer missal and the other necessaries she had brought for a night to be spent in our company.
‘I reckon Master Overbecks is relieved to see the back of us,’ Margaret remarked, as we turned once again into High Street and began walking in the direction of the High Cross. ‘He may be madly in love with that child, but her antics are bound to embarrass him.’
I gave Margaret my arm as we battled our way through the gossiping crowds gathered at the crossroads, where more Bristol reputations were made and destroyed than in any other part of the city.
As we started down Broad Street, I said, ‘Master Overbecks puts Jane’s odd behaviour down to something that happened in her childhood. He suspects she may have been raped.’
There was a moment’s silence before Margaret answered, ‘She was. Both sisters were. I’m surprised that John Overbecks doesn’t know it for certain.’ She shrugged her thin shoulders. ‘I suppose Marion, for reasons of her own, has never told him the full story.’
‘You mean she’s told you?’ I was so astonished that I stood stock still and was only brought to my senses by various people treading on my heels, bumping into me and cursing me for impeding their progress.
Margaret nodded and we started walking again. There was no time now to get the whole story from her, as we were nearly at Saint John’s Arch and the Frome Bridge beyond. But I was determined to do so when we had finished our dinner; when she was mellowed and in a good mood; when the children had been sent outside to play.
Replete with two bowlfuls of rabbit stew, freed at last from the incessant attentions of Nicholas and her granddaughter, Adam soothed and sucking at Adela’s breast as though he had never known what it was to have a square meal before, Margaret sat back in our one (very rickety) armchair, belched loudly and patted her stomach.
‘That was good,’ she approved. ‘But then, the Woodward women have always known how to feed their men.’
‘And the men are properly grateful for it,’ I cut in, before any further family reminiscences could thwart my purpose. ‘Mother-in-law, tell us both about the Baldock sisters. And why you think Marion chose to confide in you and not in John Overbecks.’
Margaret stroked her chin. ‘In answer to your last question, how should I know? Perhaps, because of my own tragic history, she thought that I would be sympathetic to the misfortunes of others. Or perhaps, that particular morning, she was lonely and unhappy and wanted to share her experience with another woman. It wasn’t long after she and Jane had arrived in Bristol. I was alone, I remember. Lillis must have gone out somewhere. Marion was employed as a huckster in those days by John Overbecks, who had taken her and her sister to live with him. I always thought, you know, that maybe Marion would marry John. She’d have made him an excellent wife. But, alas, it wasn’t to be. Instead, he fell for the younger, useless one.’
‘What was her story?’ I urged, impatient with this digression.
Margaret fell silent, drumming her fingers on the table-top. After a moment or two, she said, ‘I’ve never told anyone else what Marion divulged to me that morning. Not even when people have been discussing the Baldock girls. Not even when I’ve heard Goody Watkins and her cronies making the wildest guesses as to what might or might not have happened to make them flee their home. Nor have I confirmed their gossip, either, when they’ve come pretty close to guessing the truth. So, why should I tell you now?’
I glanced questioningly at Adela, but she merely hunched her shoulders very slightly, so as not to disturb Adam, who, sensing an interruption to his food supply, sucked even harder.
It had never been any use trying to pull the wool over Margaret’s eyes about anything, so I decided to make a clean breast of the matter. She heard me out in silence, then laughed shortly.
‘He doesn’t change, does he?’ she demanded of Adela.
‘No, thank God. He wouldn’t be Roger if he did,’ my wife replied loyally, and I mouthed her a silent kiss.
‘Oh well, I suppose not.’ Margaret conceded grudgingly, ‘His nosiness certainly did me a good turn, as I daresay it’s done for plenty of others.’
She leaned back again in her chair and gave another belch. I envied her; that was usually my prerogative. Today, however, crouched almost double on a stool, I was feeling all the discomfort of pent-up wind.
‘Go on, mother-in-law,’ I encouraged her.
She pursed her lips. ‘There isn’t much to tell. The story’s not an uncommon one, I should imagine, in such an isolated community as Marion and her sister came from. The two girls were orphaned not long after Jane’s tenth birthday. Marion was twenty by that time and old enough to look after the younger girl without help. But there was pressure on her from the village elders to get married. Begetting children, and as many as possible, was the duty of all the women: it was the only way of ensuring the community’s survival. The man picked out for her was the chief elder’s son, a young man she loathed for his callous, drunken ways. And with good reason, as it transpired.
‘When she refused to have him, he called at the sisters’ cottage one night, after dark, forced his way in with a couple of tipsy friends, and while he and one of the other men took it in turns to have their way with Marion, the third set on Jane. When her own ordeal was over, and Marion realized what had happened to her little sister, she lost her reason. Went temporarily insane, is what she said. She killed Jane’s attacker. She claims she can’t remember doing it, but as soon as she came to her senses and saw what she’d done, she simply grabbed Jane’s hand and they ran. Just as they were, in the clothes they stood up in. Fortunately, the other two men, the chief elder’s son and his friend, were still too drunk to stop them. After that, the girls just kept on running, travelling by night, hiding by day, stealing or begging food when and wherever they could, until Marion reckoned they were far enough from the village to start asking carriers for rides in their carts. Eventually, they reached Bristol, and the rest of the story you both know.’
Adela put Adam across one shoulder and patted his back. He burped loudly and milkily, before his face crumpled in woe. Warned by me, my wife hurriedly put him to the other breast.
‘I don’t understand,’ she said, when Adam was comfortably settled once more. ‘Why didn’t the villagers send someone to the nearest town to report the murder and raise a posse to go after the girls? I mean, in the vengeful state of mind they must have been in, it would have seemed the obvious thing to do.’
I shook my head. ‘These very isolated communities are a law unto themselves,’ I explained. ‘They make their own rules and carry out their own punishments. They have as little to do as possible with the outside world, and the outside world has as little as possible to do with them.’ I had had some experience of these sort of people, both in the forests around Gloucester and among the self-governing fishing villages of Devon. ‘My guess would be that they sent their own people after Marion Baldock, but she was too quick and too clever for them. They never traced her this far, and have long since decided to let the matter rest. After five years, they are hardly likely to be still looking for her. . Mother-in-law, you didn’t say how Marion killed this man who raped her sister. Did she tell you?’
‘Ye-es.’ There was a pause long enough for me to begin to suspect what was coming. After all, Marion could hardly have strangled a fully grown man, with two others in the room to help him. Margaret continued reluctantly, ‘She stabbed him. Through the heart. With a meat knife.’