We Shall Not Sleep_ A Novel - Anne Perry [81]
Moments ticked by. They seemed frozen. Then Lizzie pushed Judith away and put her hands up over her face, the heels of her palms pushing into her eyes. “That isn’t the worst of it.” Her voice broke. She was shaking so badly, her teeth chattered together. “I’m pregnant.”
It was obscene. “You can’t know!” Judith told her. “It’s too soon! Maybe…”
“I am! It was over a month ago.”
“Over…then it was before Matthew came here! You knew it couldn’t have been him, either! Would you have let them hang him?”
“No…no, of course I wouldn’t. If you hadn’t been able to prove it wasn’t him, I’d have told.” Lizzie looked up, her eyes swimming with tears. “Do you have to tell Joseph? He…he’ll never have me—not now.”
Judith felt bruised inside by pity. It was like a great swelling pain that drowned out everything else. She understood perfectly. Had it been she who had been invaded, soiled, terrified in such an unforgettable way so that her very core was no longer secret and safe, no longer even her own, she would not have wanted the man she loved ever to know it. She would have nursed it herself, angry, confused, and terribly, desperately alone.
Then she was furious. Rage scalded up inside her that any woman should be so brutalized and made to feel ashamed, as if it were her fault, so that she dared not even report the crime. It was not only the things the men said—far from it. It was what the women said every bit as much. Fear for themselves made their blame ruthless.
If it had happened to her, she could have said she ran the ambulance off the road, or fell with a stretcher—anything to explain the cuts or bruises so no one ever knew what had happened inside her. In time they would have healed, and she might have forgotten—at least on the surface.
But what if she were pregnant? There would be no forgetting that! Unmarried, with child. Lizzie had not even any family. What was the use of winning the war here if a woman dared not report being raped, and was left to bear the rapist’s child alone?
Jacobson was not a bad man, not crude or violent, and yet when he had questioned Judith he had accused her of lying. He had assumed her a victim who would not admit it, and she had been outraged by it, even though it was not true. What would he assume of Lizzie? Would he even begin to understand why she had hidden this?
She bent down and took Lizzie’s hands, only lightly, just to touch, not imprison. “Don’t tell anyone yet,” she said gently. “We may find a better way. Don’t do anything. I won’t leave you alone in this, now or later.”
Even as she said the words she had no idea what she was going to do. No one else would know now, but in another two or three months it would be obvious. What would she say to Joseph then? She remembered his grief over Eleanor’s death, and that of their child. He had seemed to be numb with it, as if his heart were paralyzed. After all the other losses, how could he endure this? It had appeared that he and Lizzie were on the brink of happiness at last, and it had been snatched from them and broken into too many pieces even to find them, let alone mend it.
The grief was like watching someone you love fight for breath, struggle, and lose. She did not know what to do but kneel down and hold Lizzie close to her and let the moments pass by.
She did not even think how long it was before Lizzie finally pulled away and stood up. She said nothing. Her lips trembled, and her eyes filled with tears. Then she shook herself impatiently. There was no time for weeping now.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice cracking. She turned and climbed up the steps past the sacking and into the cold air outside.
Judith knew that she had to tell Matthew alone. Joseph