Читать книгу Classic Bestsellers from Josephine Cox: Bumper Collection - Josephine Cox - Страница 45

‘IT’S NO USE you arguing with me,’ Thomas Isaac insisted. ‘I haven’t been out of this room in weeks, and now I’m feeling stronger, I intend being downstairs to see that little lass blow out her birthday candles.’ His homely old face withered into a crooked smile. ‘Two year old – I can’t believe it!’

Aggie sighed. ‘That’s how quickly life passes us by,’ she said philosophically. ‘She were born March 1903, now it’s suddenly 1905. Two year old today … twelve year old tomorrow. Afore you know it, our Cathleen’ll be a woman with a husband and childer of her own, Lord help us!’

The old fella lapsed into a mood of nostalgia. ‘I just hope the same Good Lord lets me live to see the day.’

Aggie rolled her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Aw, give over, Dad. You’ll not get round me that way. I know you too well to let you bamboozle me into feeling sorry for you.’ She gave him a knowing wink. ‘So you might as well stop trying.’

He looked shocked. ‘I don’t know what yer talking about, woman!’

‘Oh, yes you do,’ Aggie retaliated. ‘You’re badgering me to get you downstairs, even after the doctor has given strict instructions that after this last chest cold o’ yourn, you’re to stay in bed, well wrapped up and with a roaring fire in the grate.’ She was pleased to see that the fire had got a good hold, with the flames already leaping up the chimney. Even in March, when the sun began to struggle through, these farmhouse bedrooms were awfully cold.

‘You make me out to be a tyrant.’ The old man’s querulous voice brought her attention back to him.

‘That’s what you are,’ she teased. ‘And when you can’t find a good argument as to why I should let you get out of your sickbed and risk catching pneumonia, you then start on about the Good Lord, and how you pray He might let you live to see little Cathleen have childer of her own. Playing on my sympathies, so you are – making out you’re hard done by. Same as you allus do.’

He groaned. ‘Yer a fierce woman, Aggie Ramsden. A poor old fella like meself don’t know how to take yer from one minute to the next.’

‘There you go again!’ Aggie cried. ‘Calling yourself a poor old fella, when we all know you’re as crafty as a wagonload o’ monkeys!’ She gave a hearty chuckle. ‘But I can’t blame you for wanting to see the lass blow out her two candles. Moreover, she wouldn’t be happy unless you were there and neither would me or Emily.’ She tried another tack to keep him in his bed. ‘Mind you, we could allus fetch the child and her cake up here to you?’

‘Oh no, you don’t!’ he retorted. ‘I’m coming down. I’ve had enough o’ lying in this damned bed.’

Aggie took a deep, invigorating breath. ‘It doesn’t look like I’ve got much choice.’

‘At last!’ His face lit up like a beacon. ‘So you agree? I’m to be taken downstairs the first minute you get?’

‘We’ll see.’ She knew how to play her father-in-law at his own game. It was asking for trouble to let him win too easily.

‘What d’yer mean, “we’ll see”?’ Opening the palm of his hand, he twirled the porcelain balls on the head of his bed, until they danced and jangled like a band playing a tune. ‘One way or another, I’m going down them stairs, an’ that’s that!’

Knowing how stubborn he could be when the mood took him, Aggie relented. ‘All right, then. But the minute I see you looking peaky, I’ll have you back up these stairs and into that bed afore you know it!’

‘Oh, will yer now?’ Giving her a cheeky wink, he laughed. ‘By! It’s been a long time since a woman made me an offer like that, I can tell yer.’

Aggie, too, laughed out loud. ‘Behave yourself.’ She craftily turned the tables on him. ‘By! I wonder how I’ll get on, carrying you down them stairs?’ she groaned. ‘I mean, you’re not as fit and slim as you were. Come to think of it, you’re an awkward lump. It wouldn’t surprise me if I had to let go of you halfway down. Then what would we do, eh? You could break a leg or summat.’

‘Tormenting me now, is it?’ he said with a twinkle in his eye. ‘You’ll ’ave me down them stairs no trouble,’ he declared. ‘Wi’ you on the one side and Emily on the other, I’ll be safe as ’ouses.’

‘Well, I certainly hope so,’ she answered. ‘Look, there’s no need to be getting out of yer bed just yet.’ Glancing at the mantelpiece clock she told him, ‘It’s only just gone ten past six. The child is still fast and hard asleep, bless her little heart. What’s more, our Emily only put the cake in the oven an hour ago. We’re not setting the birthday table until twelve o’clock, so you’ve time enough to get another few hours’ sleep.’

But the old fella didn’t like that idea at all. ‘How can I sleep when I’m not tired?’

‘I don’t know,’ Aggie replied. ‘But you might as well try, ’cause you’re not coming down them stairs for a while yet. And that’s an end to it.’ She repeated her warning in a serious voice. ‘You’re not to tire yourself out, Dad. And if I say you need to get back to your bed, I don’t want no argument. All right?’

Ignoring her pointed question, he asked, ‘Will he be there?’

Aggie was momentarily thrown. ‘Who?’

‘You know who,’ he retorted. ‘That ugly brother o’ yourn.’

Aggie visibly bristled. ‘I’ve no idea where Clem is,’ she answered in a hard voice. ‘What’s more, I don’t care.’ She glanced at the window, her eyes glittering with hatred. ‘If somebody came to the door and told me he’d had an accident and there was no hope for him, I’d throw my hat up in the air.’

‘Good God!’ In all the time he’d known this lovely, caring woman, he had never witnessed such loathing in her eyes. ‘D’yer really hate him that much, lass?’

For a moment he thought she had not heard, because now, as she wandered to the window and stared out, her thoughts appeared to be miles away.

‘Aggie?’ His voice was probing but gentle.

She turned, a quizzical look on her face. ‘What is it, Dad?’

He smiled. ‘I asked … d’yer really hate him that much?’

Giving a wry little smile, she answered, ‘Yes, I hate him that much,’ then added, ‘more than you’ll ever know.’ Then, fearing she had given too much away, she strode back to the bedside. ‘I asked you a question,’ she reminded him. ‘And I still haven’t got an answer.’

He grimaced. ‘I can’t recall you asking me no question.’

‘Right then,’ she declared. ‘I’ll ask it again, and this time I’d like an answer.’ Leaning forward, she stared him in the eye, the smallest of smiles on her face. ‘I asked if you might be thinking of giving me trouble, should I decide you ought to be back in your bed?’

‘By! Yer a persistent devil.’ Taking in a long, deep breath, he blew it out through swollen cheeks. ‘Go on then. I promise.’

Back downstairs, Emily was nowhere to be seen. ‘Where is the lass?’ Realising she must be outside, Aggie set about her tasks. She checked the fire and opened one window slightly to let the fumes from the burning coals disperse. She then replaced the fire-screen and going to the oven, checked the cake which was rising nicely.

When that was done, she went outside to find Emily.

The girl was in the outhouse, her sleeves rolled back, and up to her elbows in the washing tub. ‘I can’t seem to get these stains out,’ she said, rubbing hard at a corner of the bedsheet. ‘I’ve soaked them with a blue bag and scrubbed them with soda, and rubbed them over the washboard until my knuckles are raw, but they just won’t shift.’

Dropping the sheet back into the copper boiler, she blew away a wisp of hair. Wiping an arm over her brow, she leaned against the wall, her face glowing pink and wet from the heat. ‘It’s the last time I let Gramps have beef broth in his bed,’ she said.

Aggie had warned her at the time. ‘I told you,’ she chided. ‘I said not to let him hold the soup-bowl himself.’

‘He threw a fit when I tried to spoon-feed him!’ Emily recalled the occasion well. ‘He said I had no right treating him like a babby and that he was more than capable of holding his own soup-bowl an’ spoon.’

Aggie chuckled and said, imitating Thomas Isaac’s voice: ‘If you can’t trust me to feed meself, then I’ll not eat at all. In fact, yer can take the damned soup away and fetch me some milky-pobs. That’s what yer give babbies, ain’t it?’

Emily laughed. ‘All right, don’t rub it in. He caught me good and proper, but from now on, I’ll be one step ahead of him, the old devil.’ She couldn’t help but feel for him though. ‘It’s his poor old fingers. Some days they’re no problem at all, and other times he can’t even grip the sheet to pull it up over himself.’

‘Aye, lass.’ Aggie felt the same compassion for her father-in-law. ‘That’s what comes of working out in all weathers for the best part of your life.’

Even Aggie couldn’t get the stain of beef broth out of the sheet. ‘Leave it to soak in saltwater,’ she told Emily. ‘You can have another go at it later on. We’d best get on. There’s a cake to be iced and sprinkled wi’ hundreds and thousands, a few cheese straws to make, sandwiches and little fancies to be got ready. Oh, and you’d best preserve your strength,’ she warned. ‘I promised Grandad we’d fetch him down for the occasion.’

With that in mind the two of them set off, back to the scullery and the excitement of the day.

Keeping his distance, Clem Jackson watched them go back into the farmhouse. ‘Bloody women!’ he cursed. ‘I’d just as soon do away with the lot of ’em!’

Recalling how he had attacked Emily in the barn, he had no shame or guilt, but when he realised he had got her with child, he had suffered a few sleepless nights, but only because he was afraid his sister Aggie would find out, and take revenge. Given the right circumstances, she was capable enough. When the blame fell on John Hanley, he was relieved – though up to now he had been wise enough to keep his distance from Emily.

From afar he had watched his daughter grow into a little person, and he was oddly fascinated – though he was not foolish enough to lay claim to her. He was a man who enjoyed his fun, but refused to take the consequences.

Slinging the shotgun across his shoulder, he whistled to his dog and thought, To hell with them all. The taste of John’s name on his tongue was bitter. That young bugger had a lot of gall. At one point, Clem had really feared he might be getting the better of him, and that would never have done, oh no! He recalled how even when he was torn open and bleeding, John had kept coming back at him. That one was dangerous, he mused grudgingly. A man to be reckoned with.

He congratulated himself on having seen the last of John Hanley. One thing was for sure: it would make his life that much easier, now Emily had picked up with the milkman – especially as the man seemed besotted enough to take on the bastard as his own.

All in all, Clem thought he had been clever enough to turn the whole situation to his own advantage. And if ever he felt the need for another tumble in the hay with Emily, he would have no compunction about helping himself.

She would know better than to blab: if she so much as hinted at what had gone on between them, he would make damned sure they would all suffer. She was intelligent enough to know that.

For now though, he had a ‘friend’ of his own in the barmaid at the Red Lion. Bold and brassy, Betty Warwick was more than capable of satisfying his carnal needs for the time being.

As he came up to the top field and his prize-bulls, he leaned on the fence, his proud gaze focused on the great beasts. ‘I knew you were winners right off,’ he told them. ‘Another season an’ you’ll be the best there is. What! I’ll be the envy of every breeder for miles around.’

Nodding with satisfaction he drew such a large breath his chest expanded to twice its size. With the confidence of a man who believes himself to be above the proudest beast, he bade the dog stay where he was, lest he spooked the bulls, then climbed the fence and swaggered past them.

He was not deterred by the sly, watchful look in their eyes. Nor by the reason he had got them at a low price. The cowman’s son at an adjacent farm was nearly trampled to death by them. As it was, he’d been kicked in the thigh and would always walk with a limp. He’d tripped over in his haste to escape, and being a skinny lad, had just managed to roll under the fence in time, their stink in his nostrils, before he’d fainted.

‘The lad was crossing the far side of the field when they came at him,’ the owner had confessed. ‘He was lucky they didn’t kill him.’ He was all for shooting them. But Clem Jackson persuaded him otherwise.

It was eleven-thirty the next morning when John climbed aboard the tram in Blackburn. Tanned by sea and sun, and with a jaunt to his step, he caught the attention of several women passengers. ‘Now there’s a good-looking young man.’ The woman who whispered this was nearer sixty than fifty, and when John smiled at her she didn’t know which way to look, so she turned to her friend. ‘Did you see that?’ she breathed. ‘He’s got a lovely smile, don’t you think?’

Her friend was older and wiser, and the teeniest bit envious. ‘Lovely smile or not, he’s probably on his way to break some young woman’s heart.’ She’d been around long enough to know about such things.

Some way along the tram, John seated himself, paid his fare and got chatting to the conductor. ‘You’ve made a conquest back there,’ the conductor said, rolling the ticket out of his machine and handing it over. ‘Them poor women are swooning all over the place.’

‘I can’t be seen flirting with other women,’ John said with a grin. ‘I don’t think my future wife would like that.’

Being as the tram was almost empty, and this route was a lonely one, the conductor sat in the seat opposite. ‘Oh aye?’ He was ready for a chat. ‘On your way to be wed, are you?’

John nodded. ‘Soonever we can arrange it,’ he said proudly. ‘I’ve been away, but now I’m back for good.’

‘What’s her name?’

‘Emily.’

‘Pretty name.’

‘Pretty lady.’

‘What made you leave her?’

Here, John grew cautious. ‘Oh, this and that.’

The conductor guessed. ‘Family problems, I expect,’ he remarked knowingly. ‘We all have ’em.’

John neither denied nor confirmed it. Instead he answered lightly, ‘Getting wed is an expensive business.’

‘So, you went away to make your fortune, is that it?’

‘Summat like that.’ He patted his coat pocket. ‘I’ve enough here to make us a good life. It took over two years of being without her, but it’ll all be worthwhile now. We can make a fresh start. We’ll get wed and have a family, and the time spent apart will soon fade.’ His heart soared with joy. ‘By! I can’t wait to see her.’

The conductor was realistic. ‘Ah, but will she still feel the same way?’

Taken aback, John asked, ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, you said yourself, you’ve been two year and more apart. Folks change in that length o’ time. How can you be sure she hasn’t found herself another fella while you’ve been gone?’

John’s heart sank. ‘Because she wouldn’t, that’s all. We love each other. We’ve always loved each other.’

‘Oh, aye! I’m sure.’ Then, regretting his thoughtless remark, the conductor now tried to soften it. ‘Tek no notice o’ me,’ he said. ‘I wish you both all the happiness in the world.’

Pointing out of the window, he said, ‘We’ve another couple of passengers coming on board.’ And as the tram slowed to accept them, he was glad to move away. You and your big mouth! he chided himself. Trust you to put a damper on that young fella’s homecoming.

Some folks had a talent of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. Unfortunately, he was one of ’em.

Some short time later, having got off the tram in Salmesbury, John slung his kitbag across his back and set off across the fields towards the spinney and Potts End Farm.

The nearer he got, the harder his heart pounded. He couldn’t believe that now, after their long separation, he was so close to her. It was the most wonderful feeling in the world. For too long now he had been stumbling through every minute of every day, longing to be with his darling Emily.

Memories flashed through his mind – of himself going away, of Emily’s pleas for him to stay and his persuading her it had to be done if they were to spend the rest of their lives together in contentment. Then that last embrace, and the awful feeling of loneliness at leaving her. Afterwards, when she was gone from his sight, the long, empty time between, when he had waited only for the day he would be back.

His heart lifted. That day was here now, and it was the most important day of his life. He thought briefly of Clem Jackson, and his lip curled. He’d learned a lot about self-defence in the Navy, and he was more than ready to take that fat bastard on and teach him a lesson he’d never forget.

As he got to the top of the hill, he could see the curl of smoke rising from the Ramsdens’ chimney. ‘I’m here, my darling,’ he murmured, his heart bouncing inside him. ‘I’m home.’

He could barely wait to throw his arms round her and hold her tight. Thinking about it, he quickened his steps. He was so close. So tantalisingly close.

It was when he got to the spinney that he heard the laughter. Curious, he slowed his step. Some instinct kept him back, partly hidden by the overhanging branches, yet able to see down to the farm.

And what he saw was like ice-cold spray, flung in his face by an angry sea.

Not knowing what to think or how to deal with it, he stayed there, out of sight; watching the scene unfold below him, and with every minute his dream slipping away.

At first his gaze fell on Emily, and his love for her was all-consuming. With the chill March daylight glinting in her golden-brown hair and that familiar, lovely face, she was everything he remembered. And yet she was different somehow, though for the moment he could not tell why.

Curious, he followed her proud gaze. He saw the child run towards her; he saw how she opened her arms and caught that tiny bundle to her heart, her eyes alight with love – and when in that moment she shared the laughter with the child, she seemed to John to be the most beautiful, fulfilled woman on God’s earth.

Slowly, when the truth began to dawn, the revelation was crippling.

For a moment, he could not think straight, though his every nerve-ending was telling him that this little girl was Emily’s child. But how could that be? The conductor’s words ran through his mind. ‘How can you be sure she hasn’t found another fella?’

Torn by what he was seeing, he could not move away.

From the corner of his eye he caught sight of the stranger as he walked towards Emily and the child. He saw him smile and open his arms to take her from Emily; she released the child without a moment’s hesitation. The man swung the child round, while Emily laughed out loud at the little one’s delight.

After a while, Emily approached the man and collected the child into her arms. As she did so, the child uplifted her face for a kiss from the man. Obligingly, he cupped her tiny face in his hands to gently kiss her on the forehead. But then before he drew away, he quickly turned his head to Emily and kissed her full on the mouth.

Unable to look any longer, John turned away, his heart breaking. ‘No, it can’t be!’ he muttered. ‘It can’t be!’ The images of Emily, the child and the man, burned in his mind.

Summoning all the courage he had, he forced himself to look again. The couple had gone inside to the kitchen and closed the door on the chilly day. John strained to see inside. The table was set with food, and in the centre, a cake with two bright candles told him it was the child’s birthday.

There were six people seated at the table: the child, Emily and her mother Aggie, the old grandad whom he knew and loved; and the two men, the younger one who had kissed both Emily and the child, and last of all an older man who looked vaguely familiar. There was no sign of Clem.

As he watched, still hidden in the spinney, the child leaned forward to blow out the candles, her small arms wrapped round Emily on one side, and the man on the other. Emily glanced at the man, and he smiled back. It was a warm, intimate smile, and it cut through John’s heart like a knife through butter.

Devastated, he turned away for the last time. ‘Oh, dear God.’ His voice broke with emotion. The reality of what he had seen was too much to take in. Without further ado, he cut a path to Lizzie’s cottage. His aunt would put him straight, he thought. She would tell him the truth.

When she saw him approaching over the hill, Lizzie could hardly believe her eyes. ‘John? Oh my goodness, is it really you?’ Peering from the bench where she had been resting after finishing her work in the yard, she recognised that familiar long stride and that mop of dark hair, and in a minute was on her feet and hurrying towards him.

When he took her in his arms she laughed and cried, and held him for what seemed an age. ‘Oh lad – I thought I’d never see you again.’ Wiping away the tears, she looked up at him, and her love was bright in her expressive green eyes.

‘Come in!’ she laughed. ‘Come away on in. You’re at home now, son.’ With her arm entwined in his and her heart full of joy, she went inside with him. In the midst of her own happiness, she did not notice how sad and subdued he seemed.

Inside the cosy parlour, Lizzie bustled about. ‘Eee, you’re a sight for sore eyes, my lad. Let me cut you some fresh-baked bread and a hunk o’ cheese – how does that sound? Oh, and a pint mug o’ tea.’

John shook his head. ‘Not just yet,’ he answered gently. ‘There’s things I need to ask you first.’ Even now after what he had seen down there in the valley, he still nurtured the smallest gleam of hope.

‘We’ll talk while you eat,’ Lizzie said firmly. ‘You must be famished.’

‘Sit down, Auntie,’ he begged her. ‘I need to talk.’

‘What about?’ Suddenly, Lizzie saw how he was, and thoughts of Emily crept into her mind.

‘Please.’ Taking her by the hand, John sat her down. ‘I need to know about Emily.’

A ripple of fear shivered through her. ‘What is it you need to know?’ she asked apprehensively.

For a moment he dropped his gaze, not wanting to ask, but needing to. ‘Just now, I went down towards the farm.’ He looked up, his eyes full of pain. ‘There was a child …’

Lizzie groaned. This was the moment she had been dreading.

John looked her in the eye. ‘Is it Emily’s child?’

‘Oh, lad!’ She had not wanted to be the one to tell him.

John persisted, ‘Is it her child, Lizzie?’

She nodded. ‘I’m sorry, son. Yes, the child is Emily’s.’

Anger flooded her heart. This was not the homecoming she had wanted for her beloved nephew. Emily had betrayed him, and she for one could not forgive that.

John had another question. ‘Who’s the father?’

Lizzie shook her head. ‘You’ll have to ask Emily that.’

‘No, Lizzie. I’m asking you.’

The woman took a moment to consider her answer. ‘His name’s Danny Williams. You may not remember him. He’s the milkman round here these days. Some time ago, his ma died, then his father fell ill and had to retire. Danny came home from soldiering agin the Boers to take the business on.’

John recalled the two men at the cottage; the young one and an older man, probably his father. Quickly describing the two men, he asked, ‘Would it be them?’

Lizzie nodded. ‘Aye, son. It would.’

‘Are they wed – him and Emily?’ The words choked in his throat as he waited anxiously for the answer. ‘Have I lost her altogether?’

Lizzie fought with her conscience. She knew he loved Emily enough to take on the child Emily had conceived by another man. She did not want that for him. It wouldn’t be fair, and besides, what kind of woman was Emily, if at the drop of a hat she could turn to some other man while John was away working for their future? Emily had done a bad thing. Who was to say she wouldn’t do it again, even after she and John were wed?

She thought of how when she herself took John on as a little lad of five, she had vowed to always do the best for him. Up to now, she had not really been tested. But this was her trial, and she would deal with it the way she thought fit. She saw herself as his mother, just as much as if she had given birth to him herself. She loved him, more than she had ever loved anyone in her whole life.

Her mind was made up. There was no way on earth she would stand by and see him used by a woman who had already shown herself to be wanton. There could be no worthwhile future ahead with a wife like that.

His voice penetrated her thoughts. ‘Auntie! I want the truth. Is Emily wed to him?’

She looked up, tears hovering but not falling. She had to do this for his sake. ‘Yes, son,’ she lied. ‘Emily is wed to the child’s father. That’s how it is.’

Now, as she saw the torment in his face, she silently prayed that the Good Lord would forgive her. Yet, driven by motherly love and a need to protect him, she truly believed she had done the right thing for John. If at some time in the future, she was called on to pay for her sins, then so be it.

In that cosy little parlour, the silence thickened until the soft ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece seemed to echo the sound of their own hearts.

Each was torn by what had been said; Lizzie because she had lied against her nature, and John, because he had heard the one thing that he had never expected to hear … that Emily had grown tired of waiting and had wed someone else. Moreover, they had a child. That had been his dream, to have her as his wife and to raise a family. Emily had been his life. And now she had given herself to someone else. No wonder she had not replied to his letters. Dear God! How quickly she had forgotten him.

But he would never forget her, nor would he stop loving her. She was his first and last love, and that would never change, however long he might live.

Quietly, Lizzie got out of her chair, and going into the tiny scullery, she put on the kettle and proceeded to make them a pot of tea. Whenever she was tired or troubled, she always made tea: it had always soothed and comforted before. Yet this was not like before. This was John and Emily, and the end of their future – and, God help her, she was partly responsible for that.

A few minutes later she returned to find him stood by the window, his dark blue eyes staring out across the landscape, his mind deep in thought. ‘Drink this, son.’ She pressed the mug of hot liquid into his hands, then when he took it, she asked hopefully, ‘Will you not have a bite to eat?’

He turned to look down on her. ‘This can’t have been easy for you,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’

She gave a bitter laugh. Sorry! If only he knew, she thought. If only he knew how she had deliberately lied. ‘I’m sorry too,’ she answered truthfully. ‘Sorry it had to turn out this way.’

He nodded, took a gulp of his tea, and when the liquid choked in his throat, he placed the mug on the windowsill.

‘Will you stay?’ Lizzie was behind him.

Continuing to stare out of the window, he replied, ‘Just for tonight. Then I’ll be gone … back to the sea.’ He had waited and prayed for the day to come when he would return to these parts, and Emily. But in just a few short minutes, everything he had ever wanted was snatched away. How could he stay now? It would be torture, to be so close to her, and yet so far away.

Lizzie understood. ‘I had an idea you’d be going back.’ Part of her wanted to plead with him to stay. Part of her knew he couldn’t. And all she could think of was how she had deceived him. ‘I’ll need to get your bed aired,’ she said. ‘Meantime, son, you should try and eat. There’s cheese and ham in the larder. Oh, and a deep apple pie I made first thing this morning.’ How odd it seemed, to be talking about such things as ham and apple pie, when their whole world had been turned upside down.

‘Maybe later,’ he told her. ‘Just now I think I’ll go for a walk alongside the brook.’ That same brook where he and Emily had walked so many times in the past. That same brook where they had confessed their love for each other.

‘Aye, lad. Mebbe your appetite will be sharper by the time you get back.’

Upstairs, Lizzie threw open the bedroom window, and hanging the blankets out over the sill, she let the breeze lift and play with them. She then took the sheets and gave them a sound shaking out the window, her quiet gaze following John as he went away towards the far fields and the brook beyond.

Struck with guilt at what she had done to the young lovers, she paused in her task, eyes welling up with emotion and heart full. She stood there until he was out of sight. Then she stood a moment longer, before returning to the bed. Taking hold of the two handles on the mattress, she hoisted it up and then heaved it over, after which her back ached and her arms felt as though they had been wrenched out of their sockets.

Waiting a minute to recover her breath, she went back to the window, where she collected the bedding and threw it over the iron bedframe at the foot of the bed.

That done, she set about making a fire in the tiny grate. The kindling and coal were always kept in a bucket by the pretty tiled hearth.

When the fire was flaring she sat beside it for what seemed an age. Then she made up the bed, tucking in the sheets and tweaking the counterpane until all was smooth and tidy. She laid the big bolster across the top, and placed a sprig of dried lavender on it, to make the linen smell sweet.

Closing the window, she scoured the countryside for a sight of John. But he was nowhere to be seen. Don’t go back there, she willed him silently. Stay away from her, son. She’ll only bring you heartache.

John avoided Potts End. Instead he kept on walking, across the fields and on towards the canal, where for a time he sat with his back to a tree, watching the barges chug up and down the waterway. His emotions were in turmoil, and yet there was a strange calm about him. Images dipped in and out of his mind. Images of the child, and the man, and the joy on Emily’s face.

She seemed so happy, he thought. And wasn’t that what he had always wanted – for his Emily to be happy?

A kind of rage came over him. Clenching his fist he slammed it into the tree-trunk. He didn’t feel the splinters driving through his flesh. Yet he felt a pain of another kind. The kind of deep-down pain that would stay with him for the rest of his life.

After a time, when the darkness thickened, he made his way back.

Walking along by the brook, he lingered there awhile, listening to the tumble of water over the boulders and thinking of Emily. He remembered how it had been. How young and excited they were, and how deeply in love. But it was different now. Emily was a married woman, with a child, and because of it, he had no part in her life any more.

It was a shocking and agonising thing, but he could not change that kind of situation. Nor would he want to, not after seeing her so happy. Even now her laughter echoed in his mind. Emily’s laughter, his pain. Danny Williams’s gain, his loss. Life was a cruel master, he thought.

It was almost pitch dark when he got back to the cottage. ‘You had me worried.’ Lizzie was waiting anxiously for him. ‘Are you all right, son?’

‘I’m fine,’ he lied, ‘but I shouldn’t have worried you like that. I’m sorry. I just lost track of time.’

When she saw his fist, bloodied and torn, she insisted on tending it, and while he sat she talked, about everything but Emily. ‘When me old bones let me, I intend digging over that hard area at the bottom of the garden,’ she declared. ‘Y’see, I’ve a mind to extend the vegetable patch.’

John didn’t comment. It was just small talk. What good was small talk, when his whole life had just fallen apart around him? But he smiled and nodded, and Lizzie seemed content enough at that.

After a while, when the hand was washed and treated and she had out-talked herself, Lizzie gave a sigh. ‘I’m off to my bed now,’ she said. ‘I reckon you should do the same, son.’

He looked so tired, she thought. ‘In the morning, I’ll wake you to the smell of crispy bacon curling in the pan, and some of my fresh-laid eggs – oh, and did you know I bought another two chickens? O’ course, I can’t eat all the eggs meself, but I earn an extra bob or two selling them at market.’ She chuckled. ‘I’ve a good life here, in Salmesbury,’ she said. ‘To tell you the truth, son, there’s nowhere else in the world I want to be.’

With his arm round her shoulders, John kissed her good night. ‘You’re a good woman, and I love you,’ he said fondly. ‘If there’s ever anything you need, I’ll always be there for you.’

‘I know that,’ she said. ‘And I hope I’ll always be there for you.’

That night, when Lizzie was fast asleep in her bed, John went outside and, taking the spade and fork from the lean-to shed, he rolled up his sleeves and set about digging over the small patch of ground at the foot of Lizzie’s garden. He soon got into the rhythm of digging, then breaking up and forking over the soil, chucking weeds onto the compost heap.

When that was done and the last spadeful of earth had been turned over, he stood back and surveyed it. Satisfied, he returned to the house and after washing off the dirt and tidying himself up, he dug in his kitbag for paper and pencil.

A few moments later, seated at the table, with the glow of lamplight illuminating the page, he began the first of his letters:

Dearest Lizzie,

You’ve been the best mother anyone could have. It hurts me to leave you like this, but I have a feeling you will understand. You have always understood me, better than anyone.

The news of Emily has shaken me to my roots, as you must know. I came back here to marry her, but sadly, it wasn’t to be.

I’m leaving you this money. It is part of the sum I had put aside for our wedding, and to resolve other matters which would make life easier for Emily and her family. But she has made her choice, and there is nothing I can do about that.

Use the money wisely. Don’t overwork yourself, and stay well. I know now you will never leave this place, and who could blame you? If all had been well with me and Emily, I too would never want to live anywhere else.

I’m enclosing a letter for Emily. It’s just to wish her well, that’s all. I ask that you might please take it to her. But you must not let her know that I was here, or that I have learned she has a husband and child. I ask you that for a reason.

All my love. I will keep in touch, so please don’t worry.

Your loving nephew,

John

Because of its content, his letter to Emily was shorter. Rather than make her feel guilty, he took the blame on himself.

When it was written, he went to the dresser-drawer, where he knew Lizzie kept envelopes and such. From here, he took one small envelope, folded Emily’s letter inside Lizzie’s, and enclosed them both in the envelope. He then propped it in front of the mantelpiece-clock, laid the wad of money beside it, and with one last, fond glance upwards, towards Lizzie’s bedroom, he took his kitbag and left.

All his instincts wanted to take him by way of Potts End Farm. He knew how Emily would already be out of her bed and working at some task or other. He had visions of going to her and begging her to leave the husband she had taken and come away with him. It was a shameful thing, he thought, and the idea was soon thrust away. ‘She isn’t yours any more,’ he told himself, his gaze wandering towards the spinney.

All the same, leaving her behind was the hardest thing he had ever done.

In the morning when Lizzie woke, she knew instinctively that he had gone. ‘John?’ she called down the stairs. There was no answer, so she called louder. ‘JOHN!’

Throwing a robe over her nightdress, she hurried downstairs. The minute she entered the room, she saw the letter. Oh, dear Lord. He’d gone! Her heart fell. But he’d be back, she knew he would. Though whether that would be a good thing or a bad one, she couldn’t tell.

The wad of money shocked her. By! What did he have to go and do that for? She quickly read the note and was enlightened. ‘I’ll not spend it wisely,’ she said aloud, ‘’cause I’ll not spend it at all. One o’ these fine days, son, you’ll be looking to wed some young woman or other, and when that day comes, the money will be here waiting for you.’

She thought of her situation and of how she had always managed to earn a living selling her produce and pies at the market. A proud woman, she had never taken a helping hand from anyone, and she wasn’t about to start now, even if that hand belonged to the person she loved most in the whole world.

Crossing to the kitchen range, she took a loose stone from the wall to reveal a clever hidey-hole. From here she drew out a small square baccy tin. Inside was a small hand-stitched drawstring bag containing a number of guineas.

She counted the coins for the umpteenth time. Five whole guineas! Not bad for an old woman, was it? Mind, it had taken hard work and thrift to build up such a cache over the years. The wad of notes was far more money than she could ever save in her lifetime, and she instinctively glanced about before placing the wad into the drawstring bag. She then returned the baccy tin to the hole in the wall, replaced the stone and pushed a saucepan up against it.

Later that afternoon, Lizzie put on her best shawl and hat, and made her way across the fields and down through the spinney to Potts End Farm. Just as she had expected, Emily was to be found in the wash-house. ‘I’ve heard from John,’ Lizzie said abruptly, standing in the door. ‘He sent this for you.’

Holding out the letter, she was made to feel guilty when Emily ran across the room, her face alight. ‘Oh, Lizzie!’ Wiping her hands on her apron, she took the letter in hands that had begun to shake. ‘What does he say? Is he coming home? Is he?’ The words tumbled out as she unfolded the letter.

But when the young woman read her lover’s message, her tears of joy turned to sobs of despair:

Dear Emily,

Forgive me for what I’m about to tell you. I won’t be coming home, or getting wed as we planned.

I never meant for it to happen, but I’ve found a new love.

I had to write to you straight away, for I don’t want you wasting your life in waiting for me.

I hope you’ll find someone who will love and cherish you as you deserve; because although it wasn’t meant for you and me to be together, you are a very special and lovely person, Emily.

Please forgive me,

John

Now, as Emily looked up, her face crumpled with shock and pain, Lizzie was stricken with a terrible remorse. ‘Aw, lass.’ Going over to the girl, she put a comforting arm round her heaving shoulders. ‘I’m so sorry.’ And she was. But she couldn’t confess why; not to Emily nor to anyone else.

Even now, she could not deny in her own heart how she truly believed the parting would be best for both of them in the long run.

She comforted Emily as best she could, but it was of little consolation to the girl, who felt as though her life had come to an end. ‘How can I live without ever seeing him again?’ she asked brokenly. ‘How can I be without him, when I love him with all my heart?’

Unable to provide the answers, Lizzie left some short time later. As she climbed the brow of the hill, she thought she could still hear the sound of Emily’s sobbing, carried on the breeze.

‘God help me!’ Lizzie murmured. But it was for the best that Emily should wed the father of her child. For the best, that John was not fettered by another man’s responsibility.

And not forgetting the child itself, wasn’t it for the best that Cathleen should be brought up in the family security of her own father and mother?

Suddenly, when the breeze became wild, cutting across the hills like a banshee, Lizzie tightened her shawl and quickened her steps.

‘I did right!’ she told the wind. ‘I’m sorry for the pain I caused, but it was the right thing to do.’ A woman of high principles, Lizzie believed that mistakes had to be paid for, and that was Emily’s punishment.

As for John, he had done nothing wrong as far as she could see, so it was only right that he should make a new life without encumbrances not of his making.

As far as Lizzie was concerned, that was how she saw it, and if there was any blame to be apportioned in this deceitful business, it lay fair and square with young Emily.

Behind her, Emily was wracked with loneliness. ‘Why didn’t you come back for me, John?’ she sobbed. ‘How could you fall out of love with me so easily?’

Seated in the train and travelling further away from her with every minute, John was asking the very same question of Emily.

However long he lived, and whichever way his life turned, he was certain of only one thing.

He would never love anyone as he loved his Emily.