‘Go on.’ Tom’s voice was so low she could barely hear him.

‘We had to take shelter in a barn… I… we…’ The sweat was running down her back. She wanted to run from here, like the coward she was, but she remained, as she knew she must. ‘We huddled together to keep warm, then, some time in the night… we made love…’ Her voice faltered. Tears rolled down her face and fell over her hands. ‘Oh, Tom! I’m carrying his child. I would give anything for it not to have happened. It’s your child I want, not his. Never his!’

There! It was said.

The silence in that little room was so thick she could hardly breathe. She dared not look up. She stared at the pattern in the rug and thought how she had not beaten it hard enough on the line because there was a small ball of fluff in one corner.

When it came, it was with such force that she was knocked to the floor, her nose spurting blood where his fist had split the skin. ‘You filthy little whore!’ Standing over her, he reached down and put his two hands on her shoulders. Lifting her as if she was no more than a rag doll, he made her look at him, his face so close to hers she could see the small pink blood vessels in his eyes.

‘Please, Tom,’ she pleaded, ‘let me make amends. I can. Please believe me…’

Her voice trailed away as he took hold of her by the throat, his words rasping in her ear. ‘You let another man touch you… like that!’ As he spoke he shivered. ‘Trash! Nothing but trash!’ With a wide sweep of his arm, he sent her flying against the sideboard. ‘I can’t even bear to look at you. Get out of my sight!’ Grabbing her up, he swung her towards the door. ‘You’ll take nothing but what’s on your back.’ Crazed with jealousy and disgust, he gave her a sharp, cruel jab in her back. ‘I ought to choke the life out of you. Then I should string you up on a lamppost and let the dogs tear you to shreds!’

In all his life he had never felt such fury, and such shame. Oh, the shame! His wife had been with another man. A man who had given her a child, when he never could. Something had snapped inside him and he wanted to kill.

Torn and bleeding, Bridget tried to keep some semblance of dignity. ‘I don’t blame you for hurting me… I deserve it. I’ll do as you say, Tom. I’ll go now, and I won’t ever come back.’

He looked at her face and was deeply touched. Her big brown eyes gazed at him, tears trembling on her lashes and her nose bloodied and bruised where he had hit her, and with a great rush of sorrow he felt less of a man than he had ever felt. Some inner voice told him that she need not have been honest; she could have lied, and he might never have known. But honesty was her way. That was part of the reason he had fallen in love with her; that and her warm, childish smile.