The village only seemed more crowded now, her view impeded by so many people. Even though she was not especially short, she could not see over the sea of heads.
She could, however, hear the auctioneer, Mr. Hines, calling out, extolling the assets of a mare up for sale. Ready for breeding! Sturdy as they come! She can bear the weight of even you, John, and we know how you love your kippers!
The crowd guffawed at the jest made at the expense of the village’s corpulent smithy.
She cringed and refused to consider that he might apply some of that same terminology to her. She was not ignorant to how this was done. She knew how it worked. The auctioneer would talk about her like she was property. Because, in this instance, she was. A difficult notion to bear, but true nonetheless.
She inhaled a sobering breath. The end result would make it all worthwhile.
Roasting meat reached her nose and her stomach grumbled, reminding her that she had scarcely touched her breakfast of toast and cheese this morning. Not surprising. It had been well enough for her to finish her tea. Her nerves were stretched taut, and had been ever since Mr. Beard agreed with her that it was time to dissolve their marriage.
More accurately, they had all three agreed.
Mr. Beard had actually looked relieved when Yardley and Alyse approached him and suggested the time had arrived to end the arrangement her father had negotiated on her behalf.
She scanned the faces they passed on the way to the center of the square, searching for Yardley. She didn’t spot him. No sight of his straw-colored hair anywhere. He hadn’t changed much over the years. Same hair. Same soft, boyish features. Even the same fondness for lollies. He always had one in his mouth.
It was some comfort to know that time hadn’t changed much about him. Yardley, her dearest childhood friend, who had promised to return and marry her . . . was the same lad.
She reminded herself that he would already be in the square. Naturally he would be waiting close to the dais. His stomach was probably filled with the same amount of butterflies that churned through hers.
As they worked their way through the square, she felt the weight of countless stares on her. She met many of those stares head-on. Familiar and strangers alike. Fixing a smile on her face, she lifted her chin. There was no shame in this day’s deed. She’d been forced into this situation by circumstance and she was seeing her way out of it.
She recognized the Widow McPherson standing amid her friends. The pack of them watched avidly as Alyse and Mr. Beard neared the dais.
It was no secret. The villagers knew about this day’s business and they were here for the show. Eager as pigs at the trough. Especially Mrs. McPherson. Ever since her husband passed away, she had made her interest in Mr. Beard clear, dropping off pies and glaring at Alyse wherever she happened to be standing. Feeding the chickens in the yard. Pinning laundry up to dry. Mrs. McPherson’s eyes unerringly landed on Alyse and conveyed her dislike clearly.
Alyse craned her neck, skimming the familiar faces of her neighbors all positioned close to the dais for the best vantage, searching for a glimpse of Yardley. Still no sight of him and her churning stomach took a dive. Where was he?
They waited at one side of the dais as Hines closed out the sale of the mare.
While the owner and the buyer moved forward to sign the bill of sale, Hines spotted them and descended the dais. “Ah! Mr. Beard! You’ve arrived just in time. I was starting to wonder if you’d changed your mind.”
At this, Mr. Beard slid a glance to where the Widow McPherson stood. Clearly not. The woman stared back, unblinking, and yet communication passed between them as audible as words.
Mr. Beard had no choice. If he wanted a life with the widow, it had to be done this day. There was no going back. Nor did Alyse want to. She’d slept her last night in that gable room. With an increasing sense of panic, Alyse scanned for Yardley’s familiar flaxen-haired head, searching for him.
If he was here, why wasn’t he making himself visible? He had to know she would be uneasy until she saw him.
“Mr. Beard.” She leaned close to whisper. “I don’t see Yardley.”
Mr. Beard frowned and glanced around the crowd, his heavily lined face presenting more lines than usual.
“Yardley McRoy?” Hines inquired, overhearing her.
“Aye.” Beard nodded, scratching his gray hair.
“Oh, I saw ’im ride out of town early this morn before the crowds arrived.” That said, the auctioneer turned away to address the seller and buyer of the mare. As though he had delivered news of no import. As though her entire world had not been shaken and stripped to its core bits.
Her stomach bottomed out, dropping to the soles of her feet. Yardley rode out of town?
That made no sense. She shook her head.
“What did ye say?” Mr. Beard reached for Hines’s sleeve, tugging his attention back to them.
Hines glanced at them. “Aye, on the south road. Riding hard. Like the devil was after ’im. I had tae get clear tae the side of the lane.”
Her face flushed hot then cold as the implication of those words sank deeply.
South. Toward London.
Without her.
He was supposed to take her with him. He had promised they would begin a life together there. They would both find employment and she would see something of the world other than this tiny corner of it. Her life would truly, finally, begin.
He had agreed.
But he had left.
The truth of that descended like an awful poison, spreading its venom through her blood. He’d abandoned her. Left her to be auctioned off, sold to any man struck by the whim to buy her.
Panic swelled inside her. She fought back the tide, taking a deep breath and commanding herself to stay calm. Naturally, this changed everything, but she needn’t panic.
She turned to Mr. Beard, seizing his arm. “Mr. Beard. We cannot continue—”
“Alyse.” His hand covered hers. His expression was pained. She waited, staring at this man who had been her father’s friend. Her husband in name only.
He’d taken her in after her father died, married her so that she might have a roof over her head. In exchange, she had looked after his children. Kept his house. Cooked his meals. Did his laundry. It had been a tolerable arrangement. Fair. A solution to both their problems at the time. Not meant to last forever.
She had clung to that knowledge amid the drudgery and loneliness. There would be an end. It wasn’t forever.
They’d always understood that the union was temporary. That the day would come when they mutually agreed to end their marriage. The only requisites established were that his children be old enough to fend for themselves and that she find someone else to marry. Someone like Yardley.
A divorce was out of the question. As was an annulment. They did not have the means to achieve such a thing. People from Collie-Ben did not divorce or get annulments. The only way to end a marriage was through death . . . or like this.
Someone would have to buy her from Mr. Beard.
Mr. Beard stared down at her, resolve bright in his rheumy gaze.
The tide of panic swelled over her again. That someone was supposed to be Yardley.
“He’s not here,” she said. “We can’t go through with it today.”
She couldn’t be sold to some stranger. Her fate could not be tossed to the winds like that. He could not expect it of her. It went against their agreement.
Mr. Beard glanced over his shoulder to where Mrs. McPherson watched them with narrowed eyes.
He looked back to Alyse and gave a helpless shrug. “I’m sorry Yardley isn’t ’ere, but I cannot wait, Alyse.”
She shook her head. “No, please. You promised my father—”
“I promised yer father I’d give ye a roof over yer head,” he said gruffly, nodding as though convinced he had done that. “I promised tae feed and clothe and shelter ye. I did that fer seven years.”