Читать книгу Truly, Madly, Deeply - Romantic Association Novelist's - Страница 40

The Yorkshire Dales, Spring, 1905

Bright sun streamed into the warm kitchen and Meg felt her excitement bubbling. She hoped Jacob would be at the Mission today and she looked forward to spending time on her appearance before she went out. She could hardly wait to see him again.

‘My, that was a grand dinner, Meg.’ Her father scraped back his chair and stretched out his legs.

‘Thank you, Father.’ Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding with fresh greens from the garden was his favourite Sunday dinner and she hoped it had put him in a good mood. He wouldn’t be happy when she told him she was going out. She stood up and said, ‘I’ll get on with the washing-up now. Would you like a cup of tea?’

‘We’ll have it later, love. My roly-poly pudding hasn’t gone down yet.’

That meant tea in the middle of the afternoon and Meg wanted to be at the Mission Hall by half past three.

Meg loved her father. He was a good parent to all of his six children, even though they were scattered across the county. As youngsters, they never went short of shoes or night school fees for the boys, and he still worked hard at the quarry all week. But she was the youngest and the others had grown up and gone.

Meg had helped her mother cook Sunday dinner for years and had run the household since Mother had been taken from them two years ago. It had been just before Meg’s eighteenth birthday; her elder sister had married and only two of her brothers had been living at home then. Now the boys were young men and had good jobs and lodgings in Bradford and Sheffield. So there was only Meg left to look after Father.

He was wedded to his routine. Meg thought she had done the right thing by keeping it going when Mother died. But recently she had noticed that he was becoming more set in his ways and dependent on her. She didn’t want to grow old as a spinster looking after her aging father. She was already twenty and her friends were beginning to marry.

Meg cleared the table and washed up in the scullery while father enjoyed a pipe of tobacco in his easy chair by the kitchen fire. The casement clock in the hall chimed. She dried her hands and said, ‘Well, that’s all done for today. I said I’d meet Sally to help out at the Mission Hall this afternoon.’

‘Don’t you want to give me a hand in the garden?’ Father sounded hurt. ‘Your mother used like sowing seeds on a sunny day.’

I’m not Mother, Meg answered silently. She felt disloyal. Her mother and father had been close and had brought up their six children to support each other. She had loved Mother as much as he had. A tear threatened and she pulled herself together. Why don’t I tell him about Jacob? she thought. Because there’s nothing to say yet, and there never will be if I can’t get out and meet him on a Sunday.

‘Isn’t Sally stepping out with a young man?’ Father queried.

‘She is. Robert’s a clerk in an office now.’

Father nodded with approval. ‘She’s done well for herself.’

Meg cheered up at this comment. At least Father would approve of Jacob. He’d been at the grammar school with Robert and he worked in a lawyer’s office in Leeds. But he came out to the Dales every Sunday on the railway train even when it rained.

‘They won’t want you tagging along, will they?’ Father added.

‘Robert will be cycling with the Clarion Club until teatime.’ So will Jacob, she thought, and dreamed for a moment about seeing his tanned smiling face and bright blue eyes when he returned.

‘There’ll be a Clarion Club in every town soon,’ Father commented.

‘Well, so many folk have bicycles nowadays. Sally and I have been asked to help with teas at the Mission Hall. They’re busy on a Sunday with all the cyclists as well as the ramblers.’

‘Haven’t you enough to do here, after a week at the mill?’

More than enough, Meg thought. She never grumbled, as a rule. She had gone to work in the mill as soon as she left school. The hours were long but the money was good and sometimes she and Sally got best quality cloth cheaper than from the market because the loom had produced a flaw in the bolt and it couldn’t be sold to a warehouse. She made most of her own clothes and looked forward to wearing her new blouse this afternoon.

‘We are raising money for the chapel roof,’ she explained.

He couldn’t argue with that, she thought, but he sounded disgruntled. ‘I see. What time will you be back?’

Meg’s heart sank. She decided to stand her ground. Father would have to get his own tea today. ‘I don’t know. We might go for a walk by the river afterwards.’ With Robert and Jacob, she added silently.

Father made a grunting noise in his throat and Meg hoped he wasn’t going to be difficult. She stifled her mounting impatience and went on, ‘I’ve made your favourite lemon curd tarts. I’ll leave them on the kitchen table under a tea cloth. There’s a full kettle on the range and I’ve put the tea in the pot ready for you.’

‘You’ve made up your mind then.’

‘Don’t be like that, Father. I don’t go out in the week. By the time I’ve walked home from the mill, cooked a meal and tidied round, it’s too late to do anything.’ Not that there was anywhere to go in their small market town