DINNER was already cooking in the kitchen, but Margaret busied herself for several minutes in increasing the amount of food so as to cater for her visitors. Finally she sat down with them and launched into some questions.

“So what have you been up to, Mark? Did you go in search of Rachel, Amelia’s girl, and her young man, as you promised? And did you go all the way to Rigo?”

“Not quite,” answered Mark. “We, Stephanie and I, I mean, had another mission, which was to go in search of Stephanie’s family, whom she’d lost touch with. As you can see, we were successful: here is Martha to prove it. Stephanie’s father had passed away in the meantime, and she has no brothers or sisters, so it’s just Martha.”

“Sorry to hear about your husband, Martha. Yes, we’re three merry widows, it seems, you and me—and Amelia, who lost her man only last year. You know she sold her farm and came to stay with her sister, not too far from here. You must call on her, Mark.”

“We shall do that,” said Mark, “although I’m afraid we haven’t any positive news about Rachel and Michael. We did learn that they set off for Rigo—as we expected—but they may have had some trouble on the way.”

“Trouble? What kind of trouble? Was it the same trouble that caused them to take French leave like that, just after the funeral?”

“Yes it was,” said Mark, “but I can’t say any more than that. Michael has—enemies. Please don’t ask me more. But I can tell you, he and Rachel got married.”

“Splendid! I’ve met Michael, but I can’t say I know him very well. But what I saw of him, I liked a lot. I’m sure he’ll make Rachel an excellent husband.”

“Which leads us to our own news,” put in Stephanie. “Mark and I are also going to get married soon.”

For a moment, Margaret was dumbstruck. Finally she spoke. “Well, this is some news, indeed, and all very sudden. But Stephanie, although I’ve heard about you, we’ve only just met, and I know so little about you. For a start: how old are you?”

“Eighteen,” admitted Stephanie.

“Very young,” continued Margaret. “Not of age yet—but people are marrying younger all the time, aren’t they? I believe young Rachel is not yet eighteen, and she’s married, so you tell me. Let’s hope that marriage goes well. I suppose Martha has already consented—” Martha nodded “and you want me to give my consent, Mark?”

“Yes, Mother, that would be wonderful. Of course, I don’t need your consent, I’m of age, but it would be great if you would.”

Margaret fell silent for a while. “I’ll have to think about it. But meanwhile, we’re about to have dinner, so do join us. We can talk about things afterwords.”

As she was saying this, the rest of Mark’s family had joined them in the kitchen: his elder sisters Monica, with her husband Theo (the one who had met them in the yard), and Marjorie with her husband Dennis, plus three small boys. They were soon seated at the big table tucking into a generous meal of stewed venison and greens.

“We often have game on the menu, here,” explained Mark, noticing both Martha and Stephanie eyeing their plates suspiciously. “It’s a good source of meat for us, and we keep only a few livestock. These two gentlemen are both excellent hunters—”

“So are you, Mark,” put in Theo. “Don’t be so modest!”

“All right. But I must point out that Stephanie here is pretty skilled with the bow, too. She can certainly look after herself. In fact I’d like her to join me on a hunting trip, one of these days…”

“If you do indeed marry Mark, my girl,” said Margaret, looking at Stephanie, “and if you decide to live here, I’ve other plans for you—if you’ll forgive my saying so. There’s plenty of work to be done right here on the farm. And besides, I’m still waiting for a grand­daughter. These two tiny tots of mine here,” waving her hand lazily at Monica and Marjorie, who were both in their late twenties, “they’ve only produced boys, and I’d love there to be a little girl—but I’m not going to live on for ever. It would be nice if you bucked the trend…”

Stephanie had by now learnt to maintain her composure through this distressing reminder of her affliction, and she kept a calm expression for a moment, certain that Margaret wouldn’t notice anything. Then she broke into a grin and nodded vaguely. The three boys seated at the table all scowled: evidently none of them cared for a girl as a cousin.

The conversation turned to more local news around the farm. Dennis gave an account of how he had tracked down and shot the deer which was now serving as their dinner. He also mentioned the encounter they’d had with a bear which had come right into the yard. This prompted Mark to relate their close call with the cougar, and with the mystery beast that had led to the loss of their horse. Stephanie felt relieved that the conversation had been steered away from the matter of raising a family…

After dinner, with Mark’s sisters having announced bedtime for the children and departed along with Theo and Dennis, Margaret quizzed Stephanie long and hard about her background. She was somewhat disappointed to learn that Stephanie had had little or no education, but at least she wasn’t suspicious. In that part of Labrador, many children brought up in remote areas never got the chance of any schooling. And at least Stephanie could read and write, and had plenty of knowledge of the affairs of Labrador: she was clearly quite intelligent despite her lack of tutoring.

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So Margaret felt satisfied and left off the hard questioning, much to Stephanie’s relief. She had already put out a plausible story about how she had been brought up on a remote farmstead near Kamach, far to the north, and had learnt to hunt from her father (of course concealing the fact that she had learnt this in the Fringes). Margaret was a bit doubtful about having a girl with hunting prowess in the family, but let that rest.

Nevertheless both Mark and Stephanie were very relieved when the time came to retire. Margaret announced that Martha could sleep in the spare room which used to be shared by Marjorie and Monica, while Stephanie had Mark’s old bedroom: Mark, meanwhile, must make do on a sofa in the parlour. Catching the querying and slightly mischievous look in Mark’s eyes, Margaret continued: “Yes indeed: we’ll have none of your funny business in my house, Mark, thank you very much! At least, not until you’re properly and decently married in Church.”

“But—”

“No ‘but’s. This is my house and I set the rules. I’ve just given my consent to the marriage, haven’t I? So be on your best behaviour, before I change my mind.”

Mark realised that there was nothing for it but to wrap himself in a blanket and settle down as best he could on the rather cold and uncomfortable sofa. As the rest of the company turned in, the house fell quiet, but he found it hard to sleep. He could not have dozed off for more than twenty minutes when he was awakened by a light touch on his shoulder. It was Stephanie, shivering in her nightgown.

“Please come to me, Mark, dear,” she whispered. “I’m lonely, and it’s cold in the bed…”

Mark’s heart gave a leap as he slipped off the couch and expect­antly followed Stephanie into the bedroom, where she quickly slipped into bed, still in her nightgown and stockings. Mark began to undress—but he was in for a disappointment.

“No, Mark, not that. I’m sorry. I just have something I need to tell you. Come into bed as you are.”

Mark shrugged and lay down next to Stephanie, and they cuddled each other until they’d warmed up a bit. Mark waited a while for Stephanie to speak, but she was silent, so he whispered tentatively: “What is it, my love? Something’s bothering you: I could tell that the moment I joined up with you in Kentak. Any problem with Adrian or Jack? Or was it on the journey? Did something happen?”

“Yes—something did happen, on the journey—I don’t know how to tell you…”

“Was it someone on the coach? Or at the inn—the one at Ashapi? Did someone harm you?”

“Yes—at the inn. There was a young man—a really unpleasant young man—he made a pass at me as I was having dinner. And then…”

“And then what?”

“He tried to break into my room. No, not ‘tried’: he did break into my room.”

“My God! Were you assaulted?”

“He raped me.”

“He what! Who is he?” Mark had raised his voice above a whisper now, in his fury. “Damn it, I’ll get my hands on him, I’ll bloody kill him…!”

“Mark, darling, please try to understand. It wasn’t quite like that. You see, I let him do it…”

Mark froze. Then he pushed his way out of the bed and stood up, putting on the rest of his clothes while he stared at Stephanie, who was lying huddled beneath the blankets. The words came out of him, slowly, punctuated by sharp breaths:

“You—let—him—do—it! You just let him have his way with you, like the little whore you are! Not out of my sight a day, but you must have it off with whoever… You’re all the same. Why did I ever agree to marry a Fringe-bitch?” He sank into a chair and cupped his face in his hands.

“No, Mark, my darling, please try to understand!” moaned Steph­anie through her tears.

“What can there possibly be that I need to understand?”

“Just hear me out. It was the only thing. I was wearing those thick stockings I took with me—remember? As a precaution. If I’d struggled against him, he’d have ripped my stockings off, along with everything else. And then what? All lost! Don’t you see?”

Mark did see. He was utterly silenced, in his confusion. He could barely suppress his sobs, as he sat huddled in the chair. Stephanie’s eyes were also still wet with tears. They remained in this state for a long time.

At last Mark came over to the bed, leant over Stephanie and kissed her lightly on the forehead. She didn’t resist. Then he went back to whispering.

“Oh Steph, darling, I’m so awfully sorry! Those horrible things I said to you. I just didn’t understand—I didn’t realise. So much in love with you, I forget little things. Like your little difference—like the danger it poses for you. Will I ever be forgiven?”

“Of course you are! It was always going to be difficult to explain this to you—for both of us.”

“I’ll never be able to unsay those nasty words I said.” Mark paused for a while, letting the implication sink in. Then he composed himself and continued: “I blame myself, as much as anyone, for letting you travel alone. But I still want to go after the man who did it. If he hadn’t molested you, none of this would have happened. So who was he: do you know?”

“I never heard his name,” admitted Stephanie. “He was—sort of—the ostler: he took charge of the horses when the coach arrived. He stank of horse and stable-manure, and his own sweat. I like horses, but his stink wasn’t the smell of horses I know. It was different—nauseating.”

“Well, we’ll see what happens if we ever get to Ashapi. If I get hold of him, I won’t let the matter rest,” said Mark. “Now, can I come into bed?”

“You can come in for a while, to warm me up—but keep your pants on. Let’s keep to your Mother’s orders. Don’t worry—it’s just for now. And make sure you’re back on the sofa before she wakes up…”