She leans her head into him, close to the opening of his shirt. ‘No,’ she says, and she is aware of the puzzlement in her voice. It has come as a surprise to her that she has been unable to picture or divine the child she is carrying: girl or boy, she cannot tell. She is receiving no definite signs. She dropped a knife from the table the other day and it fell pointing towards the fire. A girl, then, she thought. But later the same day she found herself spooning the pap of an apple, sharp, pleasingly crisp, into her mouth and she thought: A boy. It is altogether confusing. Her hair is dry and crackles when she brushes it, which means a girl, but her skin is soft, her nails strong, which means a boy. A male peewit flew into her path the other day but then a female pheasant came squawking out of the bushes.
‘I cannot tell,’ she says. ‘And I don’t know why. It—’
‘You must not worry,’ he says, putting a hand on either side of her face and lifting it up so that they are looking into each other’s eyes. ‘All shall be well.’
She nods, dropping her gaze.
‘Have you not always said you will have two children?’
‘I have,’ she says.
‘Well, then. Here,’ he rests a palm against her, ‘is the second. Ready and waiting. All shall be well,’ he says again. ‘I know it.’
He kisses her, full on the mouth, then draws back to regard her. She pulls her face into a smile, catching herself hoping that some of the town may be watching. There, she thinks, as she cups her hand against his cheek, and there, as she touches her fingers to his hair. He kisses her again, for longer this time. Then he sighs, cradling the back of her head, his face buried in her neck.
‘I shan’t go,’ he mutters, but she feels the pull and stretch of the words, how he says them, but at the same time they peel away from his real feelings.
‘You shall,’ she says.
‘I shan’t.’
‘You must.’
He sighs again, his breath rustling in the starch of her coif. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t be leaving you now, while you are . . . I think perhaps—’
‘It must be,’ she says, and touches her fingers to the canvas of his pack from which, she knows, he has removed some of the glove samples his father has given him, and replaced them with books and papers. She gives him a wry half-smile. Perhaps he catches her knowledge of this act, perhaps not.
‘I have your mother and your sister,’ she continues, pressing her hand to his luggage, ‘and your whole family. Not to mention my own. You need to go. You will find us a new home in London and we will join you there, as soon as we can.’
‘I don’t know,’ he murmurs. ‘I hate to leave you. And what if I fail?’
‘Fail?’
‘What if I can’t find work there? What if I can’t expand the business? What if—’
‘You won’t fail,’ she says. ‘I know it.’
He frowns and looks at her more carefully. ‘You know it? What do you know? Tell me. Have you a sense of something? Have you—’
‘Never mind what I know. You must go.’ She pushes at his chest, putting air and space between them, feeling his arms slide off her, disentangling them. His face is crumpled, tense, uncertain. She smiles at him, drawing in breath.
‘I won’t say goodbye,’ she says, keeping her voice steady.
‘Neither will I.’
‘I won’t watch you walk away.’
‘I’ll walk backwards,’ he says, backing away, ‘so I can keep you in my sights.’
‘All the way to London?’
‘If I have to.’
She laughs. ‘You’ll fall into a ditch. You’ll crash into a cart.’
‘So be it.’
He darts forward, catches her to him and kisses her once. ‘That’s for you,’ he says, then kisses her again. ‘That’s for Susanna.’ And again, ‘And that’s for the baby.’
‘I shall be sure to deliver it,’ she says, trying to keep the smile on her face, ‘when the time comes. Now go.’
‘I’m going,’ he says, walking away from her, still facing her. ‘It doesn’t feel like leaving, if I walk like this.’
She flaps her hands. ‘Go,’ she tells him.
‘I’m going. But I shall be back before you know it to fetch you all.’
She turns away before he reaches the bend in the road. It will take him four days to reach London, less if he is picked up along the way by a willing farmer with a cart. She will encourage him to go but she will not watch him leave.