“‘As shall please my executors, I give to my eldest son, Thomas Turner…’” The notary read on for a while but I was too upset to comprehend the formal and complex language of the Will until Thomas shouted: “A ring? You give him money to buy a ring, so he can marry your wife?!”

“‘… engraved, “May Fate Unite the Lovers,”’” the notary droned on.

“You want the world to know you are a cuckold?!” yelled Thomas.

George tried to speak but could not be heard.

“Leave, Thomas,” I said, quietly, hiding from George the fury inside me. The notary, acting as if Thomas were not in the room, held out the Will for us to sign but Thomas pushed Arthur away.

“Who are you to sign my father’s Will?”

I grabbed my son’s arm but he shoved me against the wall and pressed his forearm against my neck. It was not the first time Thomas had attacked me, but it hurt my heart more than my body. It pained me that he could not love his family, nor anyone, it seemed. In an instant Richard Weston twisted Thomas’s free arm behind his back and marched him from the room, Thomas screaming in pain and abusing Weston, Arthur and myself with foul curses that we heard until he reached the end of the long garden and was thrown into the fields beyond with the gate locked behind him. Even then, he pounded upon it for far longer than most people would have done before giving up.

Arthur signed the Will and kissed George. “God bless and keep you,” he said.

“I will make you a caudle,” I said to Arthur, but he shook his head and kept vigil beside George until the priest arrived, disguised as a porter.

The youngest children trooped into the room and stood around the bed, quiet with fright. I lifted them, so that they could put their small arms around George’s barely moving chest and kiss his stubbly face. He did his best to kiss them back and rub their heads, but trembled with the effort.

“‘May the Lord Jesus Christ protect you and lead you to eternal life…’” the priest recited. When he had given George the final sacraments he left, Arthur following to ensure he went unmolested. The young children were led out by old Maggie, weeping. Barbara gave her father a final kiss. John held George’s hand, looking white-faced and lost. He kissed his father and then left us alone. I lay down carefully beside my husband and whispered in his ear. George moved his head slightly so that my lips brushed his cheek.