by Emma Hornby
‘Kenneth’s waiting outside.’
‘I’ll go on down with this, shall I?’ she asked, lifting the bedsheet.
‘Aye. Wait for me on t’ cart.’
Despite what she’d said, she made no attempt to leave. The bundle clutched to her chest, she gazed at the man in front of her. When the tears came, she let them run down her face, and her eyes told him of her heartbreak and crippling guilt, and of her love. With a calloused palm, he wiped her cheeks dry. Then he lifted his chin in resolution and guided her around by the shoulders towards the door. Doing her best to match his strength, she gulped back her emotion and descended the stairs.
Within minutes, their worldly possessions were piled on the cart. Joining Laura on the narrow seat behind the horse’s rump, Amos lifted the reins. A final glance towards their dwelling, then he commanded Kenneth: ‘Move on, lad!’ and they were off.
‘I feel terrible that we’re leaving Mrs Hanover’s without saying goodbye,’ Laura said, refusing to look back as they trundled through Ashburner Street.
‘I left a message for her with Mrs Blake next door; she promised to pass it on.’
Eyes widening, she turned to him. ‘You didn’t make mention of Manchester, Father … Did you?’
‘Fret not, I were vague. Our true and honest thanks, along with regret we had to go, were the top and bottom of it; no more, no less.’
No one would track them down, Laura told herself, breathing a little easier. She might have mentioned her uncle in passing many moons ago to Adam, but doubted he’d relayed the information to his brothers. Glory be to God, they would soon be safe.
‘It’ll shortly be over, lass.’ This from Amos, as though he’d read her thoughts, swelled her heart further for this man she loved with everything that she was.
‘They believe me a murderess, but they’re wrong, Father,’ she whispered.
‘Aye.’
Was he completely certain of her innocence? she wondered, not for the first time, shooting him a sidelong look. Would it have made a difference either way? The black hatred he’d held for her brutish husband was no secret – did he much care about the circumstances surrounding Adam’s demise so long as he was gone from here and could no longer hurt her? She hadn’t the answers. Nor was she sure that it mattered. His loyalty and support told her all she needed to know and more.
They drew to a halt as they approached her mother’s resting place. Gazing out across the age-beaten gravestones, they spoke silently to her what was in their hearts and said their goodbyes. Once again, they set off.
By now, a little more light touched the sky. Wisps of milky blue traced thin fingers through the darkness, whilst the arc of white moon added its own dying shimmer.
Laura knew she shouldn’t, knew it would make the loss harder to bear, but the pull was too strong; biting her lip, she stole a final look at her home over her shoulder – and a scream caught in her throat.
Above the huddle of buildings they had just left behind, a cloud of thick black smoke and orange flames raged towards the heavens. The inferno that was Mrs Hanover’s shop was a sight straight from hell.
They would never stop until they found her. She’d been a fool to hope otherwise.
The Cannock brothers’ reign of revenge had only just begun.
CHAPTER 2
‘BROTHER. IT’S GOOD to see thee.’
‘Amos, lad? By! Are my eyes deceiving me?’
Figuring he’d find Ambrose here, Amos had directed the horse straight to his place of business in the heart of the bustling city.
Like her father, Ambrose Todd was a mountain of a man. White-haired, with thick mutton-chop whiskers of the same shade and the same pale grey eyes, he cut a striking figure. The only marked differences were her uncle’s demeanour – what Amos lacked in outgoingness, the lively Ambrose made up for, for the pair of them – and his sharp apparel. No mucky working man’s clothes for him but a proper suit in smart dark brown. A coal merchant with his own yard, Ambrose employed others to toil for him, hadn’t the need to sully his hands. Like Amos, he, too, had started out delivering the precious fuel that this country’s very survival depended upon. Be it through good fortune or sheer determination, that he’d progressed further up the ladder of success than his brother was plain to see.
Laura climbed down from the cart; tired, aching and emotionally wrung dry.
Snapping from the hypnotic sight of devastation, they had urged Kenneth onwards and fled Bolton without another backward glance. Over the hours and miles to get here, bitter tears and recriminations had been in constant supply – damn those Cannocks to all hell’s horrors! As she’d dreaded might happen, a local must have inadvertently informed them where she dwelled during their probing of her whereabouts. Poor, dear Mrs Hanover: all she’d worked for, gone in the blink of an eye. For what? Had their wreaking destruction been merely a message, a warning, of what they were capable of, what horrors awaited her, should they find her? Or, as she secretly feared, had they thought her present? Had they meant for her to perish in that fire?
If she and her father hadn’t left when they did … had they dallied just a matter of minutes longer … To dwell upon the consequences turned her stomach inside out with bilious terror. And just what would they concoct once they realised their plan of evil had failed, that she lived and breathed still? God help her.
Scattering the plague of worries from her mind and returning her attention to the here and now, she hung back as the men shook hands. That they were pleased to see one another was clear; despite everything, the corners of her mouth lifted at the gladsome greeting.
‘And who’s this, then?’ Ambrose teased, catching sight of his niece. ‘Eeh, tha gets bonnier each time I see thee.’ Leaning in, he pressed his lips to her cheek. ‘No husband with thee, lass?’
She and Amos exchanged a look. It was the latter who answered: ‘Well, you see, our Laura’s been a widow this month past.’
‘Ay, lass. It’s sorry I am to hear that. It don’t seem two minutes since the wedding.’
‘Thank you, Uncle Ambrose.’ Forcing a sniff, she bowed her head. She and her father had agreed on the journey here to keep the truth of things between themselves. The fewer who knew how matters stood, the better.
‘Adam, he … he died in an accident,’ Amos added. ‘At work.’
The older man clicked his tongue several times sympathetically. ‘And so young. Mind, it’s thankful you, lass, must try to be that no babbies resulted from your time together, eh? I imagine it’s a damned hard struggle providing for a family alone.’
‘Aye.’ However much she wanted children one day, she, too, had mused more than once on this being a blessing in disguise.
‘So.’ Ambrose looked from one to the other. ‘You’re well, the pair of youse?’
Amos nodded. ‘Aye, and thee?’
‘Oh, gradely, aye.’ Curiosity lurked behind his smile. Finally, he threw his arms in the air, bursting out, ‘Well, don’t leave me in suspense, then, lad! To what do I owe the pleasure this fine day?’
‘Well, I’m here to stay if you’re for having me. Having us, I mean,’ Amos amended with a nod to Laura and the horse.
Lifting his hat and scratching his head, Ambrose blew out air slowly. ‘By. It’s took thee long enough, eh?’
‘Aye, well. I’m here now.’
‘That you are.’
In the ensuing silence Laura glanced from one man to the other, and dread rolled through her. This wasn’t quite the reaction to the news she’d pinned her hopes upon. Had her uncle changed his mind about her father relocating here? Was it the fact Amos wasn’t alone that was the problem? Had her presence ruined the one option open to them?
‘There’s life in t’ owd lad yet,’ Amos stated, patting Kenneth’s long neck. ‘Same goes with me.’
Ambrose nodded, and Laura held her breath. Then her heart pounded with relief as, a slow smile spreading into a grin, her uncle laughed and clapped his brother on the back. ‘It’s happy
I am to hear it, an’ all. Eeh, come here.’ He pulled Amos into a firm embrace. ‘Welcome to Manchester. ’Ere, and thee, lass,’ he added with a wink, giving her hand a squeeze.
Laura and her father exchanged a small, discreet smile. Thank you, Lord.
‘You could do with a sup of summat warm inside you, I’ll bet.’ Ambrose turned and beckoned a man across. ‘Clough, unharness my brother’s horse, here, and see he gets a good feed and rub down.’
The whites of his eyes standing out starkly from a face lost beneath a thick layer of black dust, his employee nodded. ‘And the cart, sir?’
‘Erm … wheel it over to the corner of the yard for now. It don’t look like we’re due rain; its cargo shall be safe enough. Well, go on, then, get on with it.’
After flashing Laura a cheeky smile – for which he received a swift kick up the backside from his boss – he took Kenneth’s bridle and, grinning, led him off to a row of stable-like constructions.
‘Impertinent swine, that Nathan Clough,’ Ambrose said as he watched him go. ‘Doesn’t know his place, that one, nay. It’s a different kind of boot he’ll be getting if he carries on the way he is – right through the bloody gates.’
Though Laura accepted her uncle’s apologetic smile for what he deemed his worker’s caddish behaviour, she had to bite her lip to suppress a chuckle. Nathan had only smiled at her, after all; hardly a criminal offence. And yet a warmness settled inside her for this relative who clearly also had her best interests at heart. With him and her father to protect her, she wouldn’t go far wrong.
‘Now then.’ Jerking his head, Ambrose strode away, adding over his shoulder, ‘Come along to the office.’
They passed beneath a wide archway displaying a black sign in bold green lettering – A.T. Coal Merchants – and into a good-sized yard. This was a hive of activity. Men and boys, some occupied in shovelling coal from huge mounds that dotted the ground, others heaving the filled sacks on to their shoulders to take to waiting carts, attached to which patient horses stood at the ready, barely gave them a glance. Laura, on the other hand, soaked up everything in sight with interest. The strength of these muscle-bound men – even the youths, set to be as powerfully built with time – amazed her, and gave her a new-found respect for her father.
He’d been a coalman all her life and, though she knew he laboured hard, she hadn’t really wondered nor appreciated just how much until now. His job was his job – he never complained, even when the exhaustion screamed from him – he’d simply got on with it to put food in his family’s bellies and a roof over their heads. The question was, for how much longer could he endure the physical demands?
Already he was showing signs of slowing down – hadn’t she seen it with her two eyes? And what of Ambrose when the strain proved too much for her father? Brother or no, there was no onus on him – he surely wouldn’t be prepared to tolerate an encumbrance amongst his workforce? Nor would they remain here on his charity.
Her chest tightened with worry. No matter what, she wouldn’t see him work himself into an early grave – nay, never. There were no two ways about it: she, too, must find employment, help share the financial burden, and fast.
They continued towards a small brick building at the edge of the yard. Inside, Ambrose poured them tea from a grubby-looking pot – in fact, and unsurprisingly given the trade, everything seemed to hold a dark-dust sheen – and motioned to some chairs. He sat facing them across his messy desk and beamed. ‘By, a grand sight.’
Her father frowned. ‘What is?’
‘Eeh, our Amos, quick-witted as ever … Youse, sitting there, you daft bugger, yer!’
His normally sober face stretched in a grin as Ambrose threw back his head and laughed. ‘Oh aye, yeah. The same, lad, the same.’
‘Ay, I have missed thee, Amos, lad.’
‘And me thee.’
‘You’ll stop on with me, aye, till youse get yourself a place to dwell?’
Amos nodded. ‘If that’s all right?’
‘Say now. I’d be offended if you didn’t.’
‘Eeh, ta, Uncle Ambrose.’ On impulse, Laura reached across and pressed his hand, which was resting on a mound of papers on the desktop. She felt tears not too far away and had to blink several times to quell them. They really had struck solid gold in coming to this kind-hearted giant. What on earth would they have done without him?
Eyes deepening, he returned the pressure on her hand then rose suddenly, saying, ‘Right, then. The horse will stay here; the lads’ll take sound care of him. Youse take youselfs along to the house and get settled – tha remembers the address, Amos?’ Then at his brother’s confirmation: ‘Good, good. I’ll arrange for your belongings from t’ cart to follow. Go on, I’ll see you both later.’
Outside again in the mild September air, Laura couldn’t hide her quiet pleasure. She sighed to Amos, who returned it, and they headed back across the yard with a lighter step.
Reaching the iron gates, she spied the employee Nathan from earlier, busy humping loaded sacks on to a cart. He looked up and his teeth flashed white in a smile, and she returned it. Then her eye caught a movement by the office and it slipped from her face to see her uncle, lips tight in anger, watching them from the doorway.
Lowering her head with a slight frown, she hurried to catch up with her father.
CHAPTER 3
THERE HAD NEVER been a Mrs Ambrose Todd.
Why, Laura couldn’t say, nor had she really given it thought. Her father didn’t appear to have questioned it either. Ambrose was, to all intents and purposes, married to his work, and it seemed he was happy to keep it that way.
Though money couldn’t buy love, it did pay for a live-in maid to undertake most of what a wife’s duties entailed, and his needs were catered to by a local Irishwoman named Bridget Figg.
Of average height and build, with an average shade of mousy hair and average looks, she was the epitome of ordinary. However, she was keen-eyed with a ready smile, and Laura took to her instantly.
‘Well, now, I need no introduction as to who you are, sir!’ she exclaimed to Amos with a gap-toothed grin, welcoming them inside the modest but well-kept home off Great Ancoats Street, a few minutes’ walk from the coal yard. ‘It’s like looking at Mr Ambrose hisself, so it is.’
After Amos had given their names and explained why they were here, he and Laura were ushered into the kitchen and, within moments, a large black teapot and platter of bread and ham had appeared on the long, light-wood table. Nimble as a girl, the maid flitted off again, returning with butter and a small jar of pickle chutney. She motioned to the chairs. ‘Sit yourselves down whilst I pour.’
Amos removed his hat and Laura her shawl, passing them to the woman waiting with outstretched hands to hang them up.
‘Would you look at that, now. A rare beauty, to be sure.’
Realising the compliment was meant for her, and having never been one to receive them easily, Laura flushed, mumbling, ‘Nay, nay.’
‘Aye, aye.’ Bridget nodded emphatically. ‘Such hair! Sure, I’d give my left arm and half of the right for locks like that.’
As her father smiled on with quiet pride, Laura’s hand strayed to the light blonde mass, bound in a loose knot at her nape. Adam had loved her hair. She didn’t want to think about that – him. ‘Ta, thanks, Bridget.’
A look of horror chased the smile from the maid’s face. ‘’Ere, no, colleen. You mustn’t address me so. ’Tis plain old Figg to you and your father here.’
‘Oh. Well, I don’t much mind about protocol and the like—’
‘Aye, but your uncle does, so we must stick to the rules,’ Bridget insisted, straightening her frilled white cap. ‘Now, then. I’ll get back to my duties, leave you to your tea and grub. Shout when you’re done and I’ll show youse to your rooms.’
Alone, Laura and her father shared a look.
‘I never had Uncle Ambrose down as a snob.’
Amos pursed his mouth in agreement.
&nb
sp; ‘’Ere but I shouldn’t speak so,’ she added contritely, biting her lip. ‘He’s been kindness itself insisting we stay on here.’
‘Aye.’
‘Sorry, Father.’
He nodded, and the two of them partook of the refreshments in silence.
A little after six o’clock men from the yard arrived with their belongings and, shortly afterwards, Ambrose returned home. True to her word, Bridget had directed them to where they were to sleep – a scrupulously clean and spacious room each, situated either end of the short landing, which she’d aired out as they ate and supplied with fresh bedding – and father and daughter were resting when the front door rattled, heralding the homeowner’s return.
Hearing the maid’s welcome from the hallway below, Laura rose from her bed and, after tidying her hair in the small mirror, made for Amos’s bedroom. He lay on his back, arms folded across his barrelled chest, his cap over his face, snoring softly. She reached out to touch his shoulder then changed her mind. Better to leave him be. He’d had a taxing day, in mind as well as body; the sleep would do him good. Instead, she closed the door quietly behind her and headed downstairs alone.
Her uncle was seated at the kitchen table when she entered. Upon seeing her, a big smile spread across his face, and she reciprocated with not a little relief that his earlier displeasure regarding her and Nathan was seemingly forgotten.
‘Well! You’ve settled in, I hope, lass?’
‘Aye yes, ta. Father’s resting. I didn’t want to waken him.’
Ambrose nodded. ‘No matter. He can have his grub later; Figg shall leave it to warm by the fire.’ He patted the seat closest to his. ‘Come. Sit and eat.’
Laura did as he bid. Whilst Bridget scurried about getting the evening meal together, uncle and niece made small talk. Yet as the minutes wore on the silences between their bouts of chatter grew longer and an awkwardness set in, for Laura at least. Her flesh-and-blood family this man might be but, truth be told, he was little more than a stranger.