Читать книгу Ella’s Journey: The perfect wartime romance to fall in love with this summer - Lynne Francis - Страница 18

‘Ella, didn’t you mention that you were from a village somewhere near Halifax?’

Busy with her own thoughts, Ella was startled to realise that she was being addressed. She had carried the tea tray into the parlour and, as always, was admiring the delicacy of the cups as she poured. The porcelain was so fine, you could almost see your fingers through it. Boughs of painted cherry blossom wreathed each cup, with stripes as blue as a summer sky edging the saucers. Ella paused as she prepared to set the tea cups in front of the visitors.

‘Why, yes miss, thereabouts.’

‘I have forgotten the name of it. Where was it again?’ Grace persisted.

‘It was a town, miss, not a village. Nortonstall.’ Ella answered cautiously, economical with the truth, not sure that she had divulged these details to Grace previously. She had a sudden premonition of danger. Mr Stevens had told her that Grace had a visitor and that they would both require tea in the parlour, but she had had no inkling as to who the visitor might be. She stole a glance at Grace’s friend as she set her cup in front of her. A little older than both Ella and Grace, she was neatly dressed in a restrained, rather than fashionable, manner. She was unmarried, Ella gathered, as she wore no ring on her wedding finger, but Ella could glean nothing else from her appearance.

‘Esther, didn’t your family live somewhere around there?’ Grace turned to her friend, whom Ella was surprised to see looking a little uncomfortable, too, at the line the questioning was taking.

‘Very close, in fact. Northwaite.’ Esther’s tone discouraged further questions but Grace pressed on, as Ella offered milk and sugar, trying to prevent her hands from shaking.

‘What a coincidence! Perhaps your paths have crossed in the past? Esther’s family, the Weatheralls, owned one of the mills in the area. Where was it that you were working, Ella?’

‘At the Ottershaws’ in Nortonstall, miss. I think it is very unlikely we would have met.’ Ella had no intention of revealing her brief period of employment at Hobbs’ Mill in Northwaite, which belonged to the Weatheralls, let alone the fact that she was originally from Northwaite rather than Nortonstall. Her heart was thumping so loudly in her chest she was sure that the two young ladies would hear it, as she edged towards the door. She kept her head down, but even so she was aware of Grace looking at her curiously and it was all she could do not to turn and run. She prayed that Grace wouldn’t mention her full name to Esther – if she even knew it – for then Esther would be in no doubt that Ella was the sister of Alice Bancroft, dead nearly seven years and blamed for the fire that had destroyed the Weatherall’s mill and caused the death of their eldest son Richard, Esther’s brother.

‘Thank you, Ella. Actually, would you mind seeing whether Mrs Dawson has any of her sponge cake left? It’s Esther’s favourite, isn’t it?’ said Grace, waving away her friend’s protests that the seed cake already served to them was perfect.

Ella was trembling as she pushed through the door into the kitchen. If her background was discovered, her job would be lost and with it the income that her mother and the family so relied upon. Her mind raced, trying to work out the connection between the Weatherall and Ward families. Mr Ward had mentioned some business in the area when she had first encountered him in Nortonstall, with his broken-down motorcar. Was it business on behalf of Mr Weatherall that had brought him to Nortonstall?

‘Whatever is the matter with you?’ Mrs Dawson asked, as Ella passed on the request for sponge cake. ‘You look as though you’ve seen a ghost. You’re as white as a sheet. Sponge cake, indeed: and what’s wrong with that nice seed cake, baked just this morning, I might ask? Here, take this up for them. It’s yesterday’s and not as fresh as what they already have, and I was putting it by for Master John.’

The cook, put in a bad humour by Grace’s request, didn’t question Ella further but it was with dread that she knocked again at the parlour door. To her great relief, when she entered Mrs Ward was in the room and the conversation had turned from the earlier topic, but Ella was aware of Grace watching her keenly as she set down the sponge cake, offered Mrs Dawson’s apologies for it, and asked Mrs Ward whether she, too, would take tea. She was saved from the possibility of further interaction with Grace and Esther by Mrs Ward’s refusal, and she was able to take refuge in sorting the returned laundry into piles for the rest of the afternoon, leaving Doris with the job of clearing away the tea things.

Later in the afternoon, Ella was putting neatly folded linen into the chest of drawers in Grace’s room, marvelling yet again at the large number of items it was deemed necessary for a young lady of wealth to have. Absorbed in her task, she didn’t hear Grace’s footsteps until she was almost upon her. The youngest daughter of the house was the only one to bear a resemblance to her mother: tall, with glossy brown hair that always behaved perfectly. She carried herself with a confident air borne out of having been, at least until John was born, the cosseted baby of the family.

Ella whirled round, startled, instantly feeling guilty as though she had been caught out in an act more suspicious than putting away the laundry. Grace was regarding her with an expression that Ella found hard to read; with hindsight, she would have said that it was akin to a cat stalking its prey.

‘I had an interesting conversation with Esther this afternoon.’ Grace paused and Ella turned back to her task with a sinking heart.

‘Yes, I couldn’t remember why they had left their mill to come and live in York. I knew it had something to do with the tragic death of Esther’s brother Richard. Esther reminded me that he had died in a fire that destroyed the mill. A fire started by one of their ex-employees.’ Grace paused for dramatic effect. ‘She was called Alice Bancroft. Isn’t that your name, Ella? Ella Bancroft? Are there many Bancrofts in the area that you come from? Was she a relative of yours?’

Ella felt as though iced water was being poured slowly through her veins. She started to shiver, before slowly pushing the full linen drawer closed and turning back to face Grace.

‘She was my sister…’ Ella spoke barely above a whisper.

There was a long pause. Ella raised her gaze to meet Grace’s. The room was very quiet; she was conscious of the crackle of the fire in the bedroom grate, the slow tick of the bedroom clock, the faint ‘clip-clop’ of a horse’s hooves passing along the road outside. Grace’s dark-brown eyes held Ella’s gaze; was there the faintest hint of triumph in her expression?

‘I see…’ Grace said slowly. She turned away from Ella and went to look out of the window. ‘You realise what this will mean if I tell Father?’

Ella nodded, mutely. She had seized on the word ‘if’ rather than ‘when’, and a small flicker of hope was born. Did Grace mean that she would be prepared to protect her secret?

Grace pressed on, either unaware of Ella’s acquiescence, or unconcerned by it.

‘It is clear to everyone how fond John is of you. Mother is always commenting on it. I would be sad to see you go and I know John would be, too. But Father would be furious to know that we were harbouring the sister of a common criminal under our roof. Not just a –’ Grace searched for the right words, ‘– a run-of-the-mill crime, either. But murder, and the murder of the son of a family friend.’

She swung round suddenly to look at Ella. ‘What did you hope to gain by your employment here?’

‘It wasn’t like that, miss.’ Ella, stung by her words, could contain herself no longer. ‘And I would never have sought employment here if I had known of any connection with Northwaite.’

Ella subsided, defeated by the enormity of what was happening. She would have to return to Nortonstall and tell her mother that she had now failed twice in her employment and had left without references from either of them. Grace, however, hadn’t finished. She turned back to look out of the window.

‘Perhaps we can be of use to each other? If I keep your secret from Father, perhaps you might be of service to me in due course? I think I will ask whether I may have you as my lady’s maid. You will need to remember, of course, that I bear a risk in not revealing your history.’ A thought seemed to strike Grace and she turned sharply from the window. ‘Heavens, could it be possible that you might murder us all in our beds?’

Ella opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She sensed Grace’s critical regard upon her.

‘No, I think we are quite safe. You do not seem to have a violent nature.’ Grace paused. ‘Let no more be said. It is as if Esther had never spoken. She has no inkling of the situation, and let it be so with everyone else. Only you and I know the truth. It will be our secret.’

As Grace spoke she gave Ella an encouraging pat on the shoulder. Ella shrank away from her touch, then hoped that Grace hadn’t noticed her reaction. She couldn’t afford to antagonise her. As Grace turned and left the room, Ella’s thoughts raced. Whatever assumptions Grace may have made, she didn’t know the truth. She only knew who had been blamed for the fire, which wasn’t the same thing at all. It was quite possible that the only people who were in possession of the truth were dead. In the midst of her distress Ella felt a flash of sympathy for Esther. She, too, was still living with the sadness of the death of a sibling. She, too, had been horribly reminded of it today, by Grace.