by Emma Hornby
The last time they had met was at her and Adam’s wedding; even then, Ambrose had only stuck around for the ceremony, insisting he’d have to give the small tea party Amos had laid on a miss if he was to be back in Manchester in time for closing at the coal yard. They had seen nothing of him since, not even for her mother’s funeral, for which he’d sent word offering his condolence, along with apologies that he couldn’t be there due to work commitments. Other than the odd brief visits as a child, she’d barely set eyes on him throughout her life, and it showed. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat as yet another thick silence filled the air between them, wishing she’d roused her father after all.
‘’Ere youse are, then.’ Smiling, Bridget put slices of roast beef before them, and Laura could have kissed her for the distraction it afforded. ‘Help yourselves to potatoes and vegetables,’ she added, motioning to the silver dishes she’d placed in the centre of the table.
‘Thank you,’ said Laura when her uncle merely acknowledged the maid with a stiff nod. ‘This looks delicious.’
‘Ay, thank ye, miss.’ Her eyes creased in pleasure then flicked once more to her employer. ‘Mr Amos’s grub’s all dished up and waiting, sir, as you asked.’
‘Thank you,’ Laura said again after some moments – and with increasing embarrassment – forced to answer for him when, yet again, he completely ignored the Irishwoman.
Finally, Ambrose met her stare. ‘That will be all, Figg.’ He dismissed her with a flap of his hand and began to eat.
‘Aye, sir. Very good, sir.’
When the door shut quietly behind the maid, Laura, avoiding her uncle’s eye, lifted her fork. To say she had no experience of servants and masters, the rights and wrongs of how these business relationships were conducted, was true. But surely there was no need for such blatant rudeness? Arrogance, even, she’d have called it. First Nathan, now Bridget – both exchanges had been uncomfortable to witness.
Was her uncle always like this with people? Or did he save this priggish side for those he deemed beneath him – his staff, both here and at the yard? Whatever the answer, she didn’t like it. Nor, she was certain, would Amos. She could never in a month of Sundays imagine her father treating anyone as poorly as his brother just had.
And yet, how kind Ambrose had been to them since they arrived … His personality seemed at odds with itself and, now, her feelings were conflicted. Perhaps he was simply having a trying day? Everyone was entitled to one now and then. Aye yes, that’s what it’ll be, she told herself, and her uneasiness abated. Flashing him a small smile, she turned her attention to her meal.
They were almost finished when Amos entered. ‘Kenneth?’ he enquired immediately upon seeing his brother.
Ambrose brushed aside his concerns. ‘The horse is settled and well, don’t fret none. Come, lad. Sit and eat.’
Bridget, hovering nearby, needed no telling; she’d collected Amos’s meal and placed it on the table before his buttocks had met the chair. ‘’Ere ye are, Mr Amos, sir.’
‘Ta, wench.’ He smiled and began to eat. ‘Summat wrong?’ he added to his brother through a mouthful of carrots, catching him staring at him.
Chin resting on his steepled hands, Ambrose shook his head. Then: ‘Well, as a matter of fact …’
‘Aye?’
Ambrose threw his eyes in Bridget’s direction. ‘The maid, there. Beneath this roof, she’s addressed as Figg.’
‘I did explain to the sir and miss earlier, Mr Ambrose—’
He held up a hand, cutting off Bridget’s babbled speech, though his gaze remained fixed on the other man. ‘It ain’t the done thing to get overfamiliar with servants. They forget their place, else. You see?’
Holding his stare, Amos chewed and swallowed. Then he nodded once. ‘As you wish, brother. Your home, your rules, after all.’
‘That’s right. But ay, let’s forget about all that,’ Ambrose added brightly, clapping Amos on the shoulder. ‘My baby brother’s here – that calls forra celebration, I reckon. What say me and thee head to the Soho Tavern forra jar of porter or two, eh?’
‘You go, Father,’ Laura intervened when she saw he was about to refuse. Anything to be free of her uncle’s company. She’d been right all along – he was a down-and-out snob and she had no desire whatsoever to converse with him a moment longer this night. Besides, once the ale had mellowed him, maybe Amos would be able to talk some sense into him. He disapproved as much as she, it was plain.
Minutes later, the brothers had set off into the cool, clear night. After helping the maid – despite her protestations – to clear the table, Laura retraced her steps to her room. Inside was stiflingly warm; Ambrose had instructed Bridget earlier to feed well the bedroom fires. The whole house, in fact, felt like it was baking under a blazing sun. That its owner had access to an ever-ready supply of fuel was acutely apparent – wiping an arm across her clammy forehead, she went to open the window.
She undressed and slipped between the sheets. Hugging her pillow, she watched the fire’s yellow flames playing over the coals through half-open eyes. The sight soon evoked visions of Mrs Hanover’s engulfed shop and she heaved a painful sigh. Just how many more innocent folk would be dragged into this awful situation before those maniacs were through?
How did it come to this, Adam? was her last thought before the heat, coupled with the emotionally draining day, took their toll and a fitful sleep claimed her.
Of the men’s return later that night she heard not a thing. What did reach through the adjoining wall just before dawn break and into her subconsciousness were the dull squeaks of her uncle’s bedsprings, intermingled with Bridget’s muffled cries. Laura’s dislike – now mixed with disgust – of him settled deeper within her.
He’d had the front to pour out disapproval to her father concerning overfamiliarity with servants? The hypocrisy of it. Of that, he was clearly an experienced master.
Had they really done the right thing in coming here, to Manchester? she found herself wondering again, covering her head with her pillow to block out the carnal sounds. More to the point, had they been right to seek out Ambrose Todd?
CHAPTER 4
‘YOUR HAT, FATHER.’
Amos turned back inside the house and a weak smile lifted his mouth as he took it from Laura. ‘What am I doing? I could have sworn I had it on.’
‘Ain’t you feeling yourself this morning?’ she asked, frowning. ‘If it’s rest tha needs, happen Uncle Ambrose wouldn’t mind you beginning your new position the morrow instead—’
‘Nay.’ Pulling on the cap, Amos shrugged aside her concerns. ‘I’m well and good, well and good. A drop too much of porter last night, mebbe.’ Puffing out his chest, he nodded. ‘It’s excited I am to get started, aye.’
‘Well, if you’re sure …’
‘Aye. Right, then, I’ll see thee later, lass.’
Arms folded, her frown still lingering, Laura watched her father set off for his first day’s toil at the coal yard. Ambrose had already left over an hour before; she just prayed he wouldn’t work his new employee too hard. A thick head due to ale, she knew, wasn’t what ailed her father, despite what he’d said – he never partook in excess to feel the effects the following day. He was exhausted, plain and simple, that was the truth of it, though what could be done if he wouldn’t admit to it, stubborn as he was?
Swallowing down her worry, she made her way to the kitchen. Again, the idea of her obtaining employment, thus relieving some of the burden of support from Amos’s shoulders, piqued, and she went to seek out Bridget for advice. She found her busy at the fire and was glad she had her back to her, for it afforded Laura a few moments to regain her composure; the sight of the maid had reawakened memories of the noises from her uncle’s room last night, bringing with them a deep blush. However, when all was said and done, goings-on beneath this roof were none of her business; she had no desire to involve herself. How folk chose to conduct themselves really was no concern of hers, was it? She cleared h
er throat and, when the woman turned, fixed in place a smile.
‘Morning, colleen.’
‘Morning, Brid— Figg,’ Laura amended reluctantly when the maid made to protest. ‘Sorry, I keep forgetting.’
‘Sure, you’ll get used to it. ’Ere, you sit yourself down and I’ll pour ye some tea.’ She abandoned her work and crossed to the table, adding, ‘So how are you and your father settling in? Well, I hope?’
‘Oh yes. My uncle has shown great kindness in letting us stay.’
‘Aye, well. That’s Mr Ambrose for thee. Generous as the day is long, is he,’ Bridget announced with warm feeling, and Laura felt a tug of pity for the Irishwoman. Was she so oblivious to the way he treated her? Or perhaps infatuation was blinding her to his poor behaviour? Was that it? Was Bridget Figg in love? Somehow, Laura doubted that Ambrose’s need for his bedfellow came from the heart.
After pushing a filled cup across, Bridget made to return to her duties, but Laura stopped her: ‘Where might I find employment, Figg?’ she asked. ‘I can’t sit around here all day doing nowt and, besides, I don’t want Father working hisself into the ground providing for us both.’
The maid sat down and rubbed her chin. ‘Well, the cotton factories are your best bet, colleen. Sure, good spinners and reelers and the like are always in demand.’
Though Laura’s stomach dropped a little to hear this – the mills seemed such noisy and dangerous places – she nodded nonetheless. If grafting in such a place was what it would take to keep her beloved father’s health, she’d do it in a heartbeat.
‘I have two nieces who work at Sedgwick Mill just off nearby Jersey Street,’ Bridget continued. ‘It’s one of the better works, so they say. Decent conditions, like, compared to some.’
Laura brightened a little at this. ‘Aye? And d’you reckon they’ll take me on?’
‘Ye can but ask.’
‘I’ll go right now.’ Smiling, Laura drained her cup and rose. ‘Ta, Bridget.’
‘Figg. Sheesh, colleen, you’ll be the death of me, to be sure!’ she lamented theatrically, throwing her hands in the air.
Laura couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Sorry, I just …’
‘Aye, keep forgetting, you’ve said.’ Grinning, Bridget flicked her chin towards the door. ‘Go on, now. You go whilst I get on with my own work, and good luck to thee. Oh, but Manchester’s a mighty big city; you’ll not get lost?’ she added, biting her lip.
Laura assured her she’d be fine. ‘I can allus stop and ask someone the way, should I lose my bearings. Bye for now, B— Figg!’
The maid’s exasperated ‘Saints preserve us!’ followed a chuckling Laura down the hall and out of the door.
She turned immediately left and retraced the way she and Amos had taken to get here the previous day. She recalled they had passed several mills and factories looming over the district like angry red giants – hopefully, one of them had been Sedgwick. Keeping her eyes peeled for mill gates and the premises’ names inscribed thereon, she continued at a brisk pace.
Minutes later, Laura was utterly lost.
Tumbledown lanes snaked like veins in a hand every which way, and she’d followed them blindly, believing they would bring her out at Jersey Street’s thoroughfare. She’d been wrong; the warrens of tightly packed houses all looked the same to the untrained eye. She halted at the end of a street and sighed. Though one or two people passed her by, their grim expressions made her hesitant to ask directions. As in her hometown of Bolton, here the slum dwellers could be a vicious lot. Abject poverty and the desperation that came with it drove a body to dark measures – many had no qualms in robbing and beating any stranger fool enough to wander into their territory alone. Glancing about, she chewed her lip.
‘I ain’t seen thee around here afore. I’d remember a bonny thing like you, aye.’
Whipping around, Laura met a rough-looking man in his middle years. His badly scarred face, proof of pugilistic activity, was hard to read in the poor light that struggled to penetrate through to the cobbled streets. His tone, however, told her all she needed to know. This one was not to be trusted. She took a hesitant step back.
‘What’s your name, love?’
‘I … was just leaving …’ she began, but he sidestepped her and blocked her path.
‘Scarpering so soon, when alls I want is to get to know thee? That’s not reet friendly, is it?’ Face darkening, he seized her elbow.
‘Let me go.’ But her strength was no match against his brawn. ‘I have no brass.’
‘Mebbe. Mind, there’s more that can get a fella going than money.’
Though her heart threatened to smash from her chest, she forced her voice to remain even, sensing instinctively she mustn’t show she was afraid. ‘I mean it – leave go of me.’
‘Bitch.’
Laura opened her mouth to scream but, lightning fast, the man’s arm went around her and he crushed her to him. His mouth found hers in a sickening, thick-tongued kiss whilst his hand tugged roughly at the bodice of her dress.
‘Get off me!’ she managed to scream when his mouth dropped to a now-exposed breast, before his lips clamped over hers once more, smothering her breath. Struggling wildly, she pummelled at his chest, but with little impact, and her panic reached fever pitch. ‘Help! Someone, please!’
‘Ain’t nobody coming to save thee, my lass,’ he told her between pants, slamming her back against a brick wall and tugging up her skirts. ‘So save your breath and stop struggling.’
‘Nay!’ With a shriek, she brought up her knee several times in blind desperation. One attempt managed to find its mark and she cried out in sheer relief as her attacker crumpled to the ground with a groan. Clutching his genitals, he glared up at her, teeth bared, but whatever threat he’d been about to make was missed on Laura – not wasting a second, she skidded around on her heel and pelted away.
How much later she couldn’t say – lungs ablaze, coughing and gasping for breath, she was finally forced to rest. As her energy returned it brought with it simmering rage that had her shaking. How dare he! Who did some men think they were, believing it was fine to treat women exactly as they liked? She was sick to the back teeth of the male species; she was, really. Bar her father, every last one could go and rot, for all she cared!
Looking around through a blur of tears, a flash of black smudged with green lettering caught her attention in the distance. She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands and stared harder. It was. Oh, thank God … Gaze fixed on the familiar sign, she set off at a run once more.
Before entering her uncle’s yard she took a few minutes to compose herself. Her clothing was dishevelled, long tendrils of blonde hair had escaped their pins and were hanging around her face, and her eyes felt puffy. When her breathing had steadied and she’d tidied herself up the best she could she fixed in place a smile and passed through the gates. Hopefully, Amos hadn’t yet left on his rounds; all she wanted was to see him for just a moment, feel his safe and calming presence, and all would be well again. Please, Father …
‘Lass?’
Laura’s heart dropped as the voice called out her name from the direction of the office. Before turning, she scanned the yard quickly for a glimpse of her father and Kenneth, but there was no sign of either. Swallowing down her disappointment, she made her way across to Ambrose.
‘What brings thee here? Is summat up back home?’
‘Nay. I wanted to see Father.’
‘Oh?’ When she didn’t respond, he held the office door wide. ‘Come in, take a sup.’
Despite everything, his offer warmed her somewhat. ‘I’d not be disturbing thee, Uncle?’
‘Nay, nay.’
She nodded. ‘Aye. All right, then.’
Inside, she checked the pot and poured them each a cup of tea. After a few sips of the hot brew she felt a little better. She smiled across the desk at the older man.
‘All right?’
‘Aye, ta. I’ll just finish this and will be on my wa
y, leave you to your work.’
Shaking his head, Ambrose leaned back in his chair. ‘No need, lass. I’ve allus time to spare for kin. So. What’s got you in such a state?’ He motioned to her tear-streaked face. ‘Summat’s upset thee. Am I right?’
Laura opened her mouth to offer a denial, then her chin drooped to her chest and she sighed. ‘Aye, you are. There was a man. He …’ She looked up at her uncle’s angry murmur and released another long breath. ‘I’m all right, really. I … hit him where it hurts and he let me go.’
‘Where was this? I’ll have the whelp hunted down and horse-whipped!’
‘I don’t know,’ she told him truthfully. ‘I was out looking for work, you see, and became lost. These streets all look the same to me. It was my own fault, really; I shouldn’t have wandered so far. Please, I just want to forget it.’
He released air slowly. His eyes travelled the length of her, settling on her chest; glancing down, she saw her bodice was missing a button from her assailant’s heavy handling. Blushing scarlet, she drew her shawl closer around herself. ‘Really, Uncle,’ she insisted in a whisper, ‘I’m fine.’
After a long moment during which his gaze remained rooted to her generous bust, Ambrose nodded. ‘I think it best we don’t mention this to my brother. He’ll not stop till he finds the divil and would likely kill him when he does. We’ll keep this to ourselfs, aye?’
Laura readily agreed. Amos’s love for her often blinded his judgement; Ambrose was right in what he said. Her father’s rage would be sure to see him do something he’d later regret, and the beast who had assaulted her wasn’t worth a murder charge. ‘Ta, Uncle Ambrose,’ she said with feeling.
He nodded once more then folded his arms. ‘Now, about the matter of thee finding work.’
‘Aye. Figg mentioned that her nieces are employed at Sedgwick Mill. That’s where I was heading when I got lost.’