Читать книгу Lovers and Liars - Josephine Cox - Страница 7

IT WAS THE most glorious summer’s day, but even as the sun warmed her face and the sound of birdsong thrilled her ears, Emily Ramsden’s young heart trembled with fear as she hurried stealthily from the house.

He was in there. He must not suspect what she was up to, or her life would not be worth living.

Running across the yard, she was oblivious to the sharp mounds of dried mud and rough hoggin that sliced open the soles of her bare feet. She was desperate to get as far from the farmhouse as possible, away from prying eyes and into the upper reaches of the old hayloft. From there, she would know if anyone approached. He hasn’t caught me yet, she thought defiantly. He won’t catch me today, neither!

Something was about to happen, but as yet she didn’t know what. All she had been told was, ‘Be at the usual place, at the usual time, and there might be cause to celebrate.’

Excitement raced through her. She could hardly wait. In fact, she was far too early, so she had time enough to waste.

Overnight there had been a torrent of rain, still evident in the many puddles and flooded potholes along the walkways of Potts End Farm. Though the sun was already beginning to dry them up, there were still places where the squelchy earth pushed up and squeezed between her toes, creating long, thin sausages like her mammy made. It was uncomfortable and messy, but it didn’t matter. She would run down to the brook later, and wash her feet in the fresh, cool water.

With that in mind, she happily gathered the hem of her long skirt and splashed her way through.

Yet in the midst of her excitement the fear was never far away. He was never far away.

Nearing the barn, she felt a deep sense of relief. Soon, she would be safe.

Safe! She groaned inwardly. Not so long ago she’d felt safe all the time. But ever since he had arrived, their lives had changed for the worse – until it seemed she and her mammy and dear old Grandad would never be safe again.

‘I won’t let him ruin everything!’ the girl muttered to herself. ‘Especially not today.’ Her heart almost burst with pride at the thought of her lover. ‘Today is our day … mine and John’s.’

Yet even as she drew pleasure from the sights and sounds around her, she had no way of knowing that this day would prove to be the worst day of her life.

Emily Ramsden was such a pretty little thing. Small and slim, with thick plaits of sun-kissed brown hair and warm, smiling eyes the colour of nutmeg, she had a loving nature and a gentle heart.

At only sixteen years of age, a girl trembling on the brink of womanhood, she worked as hard on the family farm as did any of the hired labour, and through her generosity and honest demeanour, she had earned the respect and affection of men and women alike.

Yet there was one man in particular who yearned for more than a friendly word or an innocent smile. This was a man without compassion or decency. Just lately, his avaricious eyes were following her every move, his cravings growing stronger every passing day.

Now, just as she reached the clearing in front of the barn, she heard the kitchen door being flung open. When his angry voice called out, her heart sank like a lead weight. How had he known? She had been as quiet as a mouse, and still he must have heard her leaving the house.

Quickly, before he could see her, she dodged behind the huge pile of newly-chopped logs, her heart beating so fast she was certain he must hear it. Whatever happened, he mustn’t find her! These days, ever since he had rescued Potts End Farm financially, her Uncle Clem ruled their lives with an almost insane passion, and though it was against her nature, Emily had learned to hate him with that same passion.

‘Emily!‘ his familiar voice boomed out. ‘You’d best not be skiving again, or you’ll feel the crack o’ my belt across yer bare arse!‘ In that same instant, Emily recognised the ominous whistle of his thin leather belt as it sliced through the air. She knew that sound as well as her own heartbeat, for all too often, she had felt the sting of his belt across the back of her legs.

Stealing into the barn, she softly closed the door and instantly felt more at ease in the twilight of that great dark place.

‘YER BUGGER, WHERE ARE YER?’ His voice shook with rage. ‘WHAT THE DEVIL ARE YOU UP TO, YER LITTLE BITCH?’

Emily pressed herself against the cobwebby wall and, for what seemed an age, she hardly dared breathe. To comfort herself, she clutched the locket John had given her on her sixteenth birthday, and which she wore hidden beneath her pinafore. Within lay a lock of his hair. It was so romantic! She loved to feel that a part of him was so close to a part of her.

When, a moment later, the barn door inched open, she thought she would die of fright. He was coming into the barn and there was no other way out!

She almost laughed aloud when her mammy’s voice called out, ‘Clem! Clem, get back to the house. There’s somebody here to see you.’

Outside, in the yard, Clem Jackson swung round to face the older woman, who was hurrying towards him. ‘What the devil d’yer want?’

Aggie Ramsden was a weathered version of Emily, but with blue eyes and a tiredness about her that told its own tale.

The likeness to her daughter was uncanny, for she had the same confident way of standing, the small, straight nose, full mouth, and that peculiar air of defiance in the face of hardship. Taller than Emily, she had a slight stoop at the shoulders, and though she was only in her thirty-fourth year, her long, dark brown hair was already streaked with grey. Tied tightly back, it made her look severe, when in fact she was a kindly soul at heart.

‘Didn’t you hear what I said?’ she repeated. ‘There’s somebody to see you.’

‘What?’ His mind was still on the girl. ‘Yon Emily’s gone missing again, the little besom!’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, why don’t you leave the lass alone?’ Weariness marbled her voice.

‘And why don’t you bugger off.’ There was the sound of that belt again, threatening, vicious – like himself. With the toe of his heavy work boot, he lashed out at the barn door, which slammed shut. ‘What d’yer mean by fetching me from my work, woman!’

‘Hmh! You should be glad I took the trouble,’ Aggie retaliated. ‘I’ve left my own work to come and find you. Besides, you wouldn’t have been pleased if I’d sent him away without telling you.’

For what seemed an age, he regarded her through daggers of resentment. He recalled how his sister had once been a real beauty, but that was a long time ago. ‘I thought I told you to bugger off.’

‘An’ I told you … there’s somebody as wants to see you.’ Her voice was flat and uncaring. Her spirit seemed broken, when before it was bright and alive.

‘Aye well, happen I don’t want to see them, ’ave yer thought o’ that?‘

‘I don’t get paid to think. I’m just passing on a message, and I’ve got better things to do than run errands on your account.’

‘You’d best watch yer tongue, woman! Anyway, what are all these “things” yer ’ave to do? You’re two o’ the bloody same, you and your skiving daughter … allus trying to dodge whatever work comes along.’

‘We both do our share and well you know it.’

‘Not so’s you’d bloody notice!’

He had a way of sneering that fired her anger like nothing else, but after six months of his tyrannical rule, she had learned to keep her anger under control, or suffer the consequences.

Yet now, when he belittled Emily’s role in the running of this small farm, she had to put him right. ‘My lass works hard and long on this place. She puts in as much time as anybody else and gets no thanks for it neither! As for me, I tend to the house and them as live in it, including yourself. On top of that, I do what I can when I’m needed outside. In fact, me and my lass are both capable of turning our hands to anything. And we do. Which is more than I can say for some.’

His features hardened. ‘An’ what the devil is that supposed to mean?’

‘It means whatever you want it to mean.’ Pride and anger swelled her voice. ‘Since we lost her daddy, me and my lass have worked as a team. And I don’t mind saying … we’re a damned good team at that!’

Laughing, he mimicked her words. ‘Yer didn’t “lose” her daddy. He just ran off, like the coward he was!’

Returning his probing stare she observed the red leathery face and small, milky-grey eyes. Clem Jackson was a bully of the worst kind, as big and evil as the bulls he had thought to breed here on the farm. Though he was her own brother, Aggie had never really liked him. In fact, he had never been like a brother to her, and never would be.

What was more, she wouldn’t want it. All she wanted was for him to be gone from this place and leave them in peace.

‘Michael Ramsden is no coward!’ she said hotly.

‘Well, o’ course you’d say that, but you’d be wrong, ’cause he’s a coward all right, he’s yeller through and through.’

Drawing herself to her full height, Aggie momentarily lost her fear of him. ‘Mark my words, Clem Jackson, Michael will be back, and when he is, you’ll be gone from here like a cat with a scalded tail. What! You’ll be sent down the road so fast you won’t have time to look back!’

Leaning forward she dared to taunt him. ‘I can tell you one thing an’ all,’ she said. ‘I for one won’t be sorry, and neither will the lass.’

‘You’d best watch yer tongue,’ he cautioned her, trembling with rage. ‘You know what happened the last time yer ’ad the gall to stand up to me!’

She remembered all right, and her courage wavered. ‘I just want you to know that my man is no coward.’

‘Rubbish! What kinda husband and father runs off an’ leaves his family to the wolves?’

‘I already told you – he had a breakdown of sorts. We’d had a real hard winter.’ She remembered it only too well. ‘It came on suddenly and with such a fierceness there was little could be done in time. The sheep froze on the hillside before we could get them to shelter. And if that weren’t enough to contend with, the summer before had been a drought. We suffered our worst-ever crop when we could least afford it.’

Clem burst out, ‘His old man had handed the farm to him on a plate – but that weren’t good enough, were it? Oh no. He were a farmer, for Gawd’s sake! He were allus carping on about what a hard life it were – so why didn’t he either learn to take it in his stride, or give it up altogether? I’ll tell yer why: it’s ’cause he were too much of a coward to leave, an’ too damned useless to stay.’

‘You know that’s not true.’ His sister’s anger faded beneath a measure of sadness. ‘Like his dad afore him, he gave his life to the land. It’s just that everything came at once … one bad thing after another. Like a nightmare, it was.’

She swallowed the emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. ‘His poor mother was tekken by the consumption, and you know what happened after that.’ At the time it had seemed as though the nightmare would never end. ‘It were the last straw,’ she recalled. ‘It were that which pushed him over the edge.’

Clem stared at her downturned face and sorry eyes, and said without pity, ‘Lost yer babby, too, didn’t yer, eh?’

Seeing as how he was angling for a fight, his sister remained silent, but still he goaded her. ‘Two week early and not enough strength to kick itself out, eh? Well, if it were that much of a weakling – just like its father – happen it were best it didn’t survive. I mean, what use is a puny little thing like that? It would be no good at all on a farm, would it, eh? And when all’s said an’ done, the old woman were nowt but a nuisance. Huh! If yer ask me, yer were well shut o’ the pair of ’em!’

When at his spiteful jibe she lifted her hand to strike him, he grabbed her fist, raised it high in the air and held it there, in an iron-tight grasp that had her wincing with pain.

‘You’re treading on dangerous ground, lady!’ His jowls trembled with rage. ‘I can see I’ll have to teach yer a lesson or two afore you know yer place in the scheme o’ things!’

Suddenly, as was his unpredictable way, he was smiling again, his feigned sigh ending in a soft, cruel laugh. ‘Oh, I know all about that lad as yer lost … “born two week early an’ hardly drew a single breath”. I know it all, word for bloody word! Christ! I’ve been told about it so many times by that daft old bugger inside, it’s beginning to turn my guts over. I swear, if he tells me once more, I might wrap my hand round his scraggy old throat and squeeze the life out of him.’

‘You’ll not lay a hand on him!’ Now she would not be silenced. ‘Thomas Isaac is a sick old man. Touch him and you’ll have me to deal with!’

Chuckling like a maniac, he entreated her, ‘Just listen to yersel’.’ He cackled. ‘By! You’ll ’ave me shivering in me shoes next.’ He touched her on the shoulder, not surprised when she shrank from him. ‘Oh, you’d rather be touched by that cowardly husband o’ yourn, is that it?’

Without replying, she turned away, but he came after her, laughing and taunting, driving her crazy. ‘Oh, I forgot! You don’t like me calling him a coward, do yer, eh? But that’s what he is, all right. A shameful bloody coward! He cleared off an’ left yer to face it all on yer own. An’ yet you still have feelings for him. Mind, if I were you, I’d be praying he never again sets foot in Salmesbury again, never mind on this land. Or if he did, I’d be waiting for him with a loaded shotgun an’ no mistake.’

She shook her head. ‘Well, thank God you’re not me. The truth is, I pray every night for Michael to come home, and when he does, I’ll be waiting for him with open arms.’

‘Then yer a bigger fool than I took yer for!’

She merely shrugged her shoulders. ‘Like I said, it was one thing after another. When his mammy was took ill, he was already battling with debt. Then what with the babby an’ all … It was just too much. We’d waited all those years for a brother or sister for our Emily.’ Tears filled her eyes. ‘Michael fell to pieces – as any man might have done in the same circumstances.’

‘Not me!’ he said boastfully. ‘I’m not the kinda man to turn tail and run.’

‘That’s because life has never tried you hard enough.’

This time he grabbed her by the hair, making her cry out. ‘What are you saying … bitch!’

She looked at him with a measure of pity that turned his insides over. ‘Hurt me if you like, Clem, but I won’t have it that my Michael is a coward.’

‘Hmh! Then like I say, yer a bigger bloody fool than I took yer for.’ Thrusting her aside, he sneered: ‘All the same, it’s as well I were on hand to help you out with a bob or two, or you’d have lost this place – and serve yer bloody well right!’

Having gone to him cap in hand was her greatest regret. ‘If I could turn back the clock, I would never have come to you,’ she informed him quietly.

‘Well, yer did. An’ it were me as paid off all the debts, an’ never you forget that.’ Spitting on the ground he reminded her, ‘With the old fella too useless to put one foot afore the other, an’ folks knocking at your door for their money or your blood, you were in a sorry mess. All yer need to remember is that your husband left me to pick up the pieces, and that’s what I did. An’ for that, yer should be grateful, you and that daughter o’yourn!’

At his words, Emily shivered behind the barn door.

Surveying the land about him, Clem grinned with satisfaction. ‘I’ve saved all o’ this, and now it’s as good as mine! Matter o’ fact, if I wanted, I could throw the three of youse out on the streets right now.’ He took a step forward, his eyes glaring, his face contorted in triumph. ‘I might even do that!’ he threatened. ‘Yes, happen I’d be better off getting rid of the bloody lot o’ you. There’s allus cheap labour about to help me run this place.’ He gave her a push. ‘Go on. Get outta my sight!’

As she turned to leave, she thought it time to remind him of something he appeared to have forgotten. ‘This farm isn’t yours, and it never will be.’

‘It might be … if I decide to call in what’s owed me.’

‘I already told you: somehow or another we’ll pay you back. It’s just a matter of time.’

‘Aye well, time and tide waits for no man, an’ I’ll not wait for ever to collect my money.’ Taking a long, laborious breath he finished, ‘Until I get back what I’ve paid out, with profit, this farm is as good as mine – an’ as far as I’m concerned, that meks me the master round ’ere.’

‘Enjoy it then, while you can,’ she retorted, ‘because I mean to pay you back at the first opportunity, and I will, or my name’s not Aggie Ramsden.’

‘Give it up, woman. Yer a dreamer.’ Though he didn’t much care for the look in her eyes nor the determination in her voice. However, he had the upper hand at the moment and there was nothing she could do. He knew it and she knew it, however defiant she might pretend to be.

‘You’ve not a brass farthing to yer name, none of yer! It’s my money as keeps this place up and running. If I took a mind to move on, you’d sink without trace.’ For good measure, he gave her a vicious dig in the ribs that made her gasp with surprise and pain. ‘Like it or not, yer all dancing to my tune. It might serve yer well to keep that in mind.’

She didn’t argue. But she looked at him … looked through him … wishing with all her heart that it might have been different.

He could almost read her thoughts. ‘You want me gone from ’ere so bad yer can taste it, can’t yer?’ he muttered curiously.

When she gave no answer, he took great pleasure in informing her: ‘Well, yer can want on, ’cause I’ll not be going nowhere!’ He smiled, a nasty little smile she had come to know only too well. ‘I mean, a man would be mad to leave such a nice, cosy set-up, wouldn’t he, eh?’

She looked at him for what seemed an age, during which his smile faded and a look of hardness fired his eyes. ‘Got summat else to say, ’ave yer … sister dear?’

To his consternation, she continued to observe him, wondering how this man who seemed like a stranger to her could ever have been her kith and kin. ‘I’d best go.’ She turned from him.

‘Oh, aye, that’s right!’ his taunting voice followed her. ‘You’d best hurry away to tend to them “things” you reckon are so pressing!’

His laughter grated on her, but she wasn’t about to rise to any more of his taunts. Too often she had experienced his rage at first-hand, and she knew only too well what monstrous things he was capable of.

Then there was the other, shocking thing. He hadn’t mentioned it yet, but he would. When it suited his purpose.

If only she could get rid of him once and for all, she wouldn’t even hesitate. But there was no way that she could see. At least, not without her being hanged for it.

His voice shattered her thoughts. ‘Who is it then?’

‘What!’ Startled, she looked up.

‘Wake up, woman! Yer said there were somebody to see me. Who is it?’

‘You’ll know when you get there, won’t you?’

With that she flounced off, leaving him cursing and grumbling as he stomped back to the farmhouse. ‘Bloody women!’ He spat on the ground in disgust. ‘The lot of ’em want shooting.’

Through the crack in the barn wall, Emily saw them leave; first her mammy, then him, that great bulk of a man, striding along as though he owned the place. ‘Good riddance to you!’ she muttered, though her face shone with love as she followed the homely figure of her dear mammy. Her heart ached. Given the chance, she would do anything to protect her.

When at last they were gone, the girl breathed a sigh of relief. So as to not trip over it, she gathered up the hem of her long skirt, and went at a run towards the ladder at the far end of the barn.

Unable to trust him, she frequently glanced back.

When Clem first arrived, after her daddy deserted them, she had tried hard to like him, for her mother’s sake. But she couldn’t. He was not the sort of man you could take to, and how he came to be her mother’s brother she would never know, for Aggie was a kind, gentle soul – though she did have a fierce temper when put out.

Clambering up the ladder, Emily pulled herself into the hayloft and made for the far corner. Here, she reached up on tiptoe, her arm stretching into the roof, where the two great wooden rafters joined together. The small brown notebook clutched tightly to her chest, soon she was seated cross-legged in the hay, her eyes closed and her heart beating fast with excitement.

In her mind’s eye she could see every word written there, all her secret thoughts: the sorrow she had suffered when her Granny Clare had sickened from consumption and died, nearly breaking her grandad’s heart; the wrenching sobs she and her family had wept at the tragic loss of her darling baby brother. Some tears trickled down her rosy cheeks as she remembered little Michael, so pale and still, wrapped in her own baby shawl that couldn’t warm him … Then her tears dried as bitter resentment took their place – hatred for the man who soon after had invaded their lives. She had written about her love for her mammy, and her grandad, and prayed for her daddy, wherever he was.

In fact, all her life as it was, had been entered in the pages of that little book.

More recently she had confided of her growing love for John; of her hopes for the future, and even a little prayer that Clem would go away and everything would be all right again, just like it used to be.

After a while, she laid the notebook on her lap and gingerly eased it open. She needed to reread the last entry – to make sure she had not been dreaming.

Suddenly, a small, shuffling sound startled her. What was that!

With fear licking at her insides, she laid the book face down and shrank into the background. Was there somebody else here? she thought worriedly. Did someone come in just now?

A ray of early-morning sunshine crept in from the one window high up in the barn, and shone down on the page. A gentle wind blew against the old barn-walls, which creaked and groaned as if alive. And she heard the faint splash of a coal-barge wending its way along the nearby canal.

She glanced about, satisfying herself that there was no one there. ‘You’re beginning to imagine things,’ she told herself, but then was it any wonder, if her nerves were on edge?

Pushing aside her two plaits, Emily roved her gaze over the previous day’s entry and began to read it aloud.