The Windfell Family Secrets

by Diane Allen

  ‘Well, it is the most beautiful wedding dress I think I’ve ever seen. You are both to be congratulated. You, Miss Harriet, upon your wedding; and you, Miss Isabelle, on having such marvellous skills. I do believe it has a look of a William Morris design about it. Were you influenced by his work?’ James looked at Isabelle and noted her dark good looks.

  ‘You know about William Morris? I was beginning to think I was the only one. Yes, you are quite right, he has influenced the design of the dress. And, thankfully, Harriet loves it. I was quite worried that she wouldn’t, because I’m afraid I did get carried away with my thoughts and forgot that not everyone is a fan of such things.’ Isabelle was delighted that somebody had recognized her influence, and all shyness disappeared.

  ‘It’s Morris’s feel for nature that I have high regard for; the patterns and designs are taken straight from his garden and surroundings, but they are made to look so beautiful. I wish I could get the same feel in my photography.’ James looked at Isabelle, whose eyes sparkled with excitement at the thought that she had come across a like-minded individual.

  ‘Morris is quite a man, and he’s not afraid of saying what he thinks. He thinks art should be for everyone, not just the privileged few.’ She tried not to show her fascination with the striking photographer.

  ‘You’ve met him?’ James asked, surprised.

  ‘Yes, it’s how I became aware of his work. He was most entertaining, and I enjoyed every minute spent with him at my godfather’s house. Morris gave me the confidence to join Harriet here, in my mother’s new venture.

  ‘You are so lucky. He has so many connections within the art world.’ James sighed.

  Harriet watched as the couple compared their love of the art world, and felt happy for Isabelle that she had found a like-minded person in Settle. The conversation only came to an end when the shop bell rang.

  ‘Oh, I’ve had such a morning. Mrs Pratt would not shut up, and there was a queue at the bank.’ Charlotte entered the shop with her hands full of various packages, barely noticing the young man now standing at the end of the counter, engrossed in conversation with her daughter. ‘I hope you girls can put the kettle on. I’m parched—’ She stopped in her tracks as she looked across at Isabelle and her new-found friend, who were lost in conversation. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had a customer. I do apologize.’

  ‘Mama, let me introduce you to Mr Fox. He owns the photography studio along New Street.’ Isabelle quickly walked over to her mother and turned to James. ‘He approves of my Mr Morris and is a fan, too.’

  ‘A pleasure to meet you, Mrs Atkinson. I’ve heard quite a bit about you, but until this moment had not linked you with this lovely dress shop. I have just been getting acquainted with your daughter. She’s got a good knowledge of the art world and a head for design, by the look of the exquisite dresses that she designs. You must be very proud of her.’ James reached out his hand and shook Charlotte’s firmly, as she dropped her parcels around her feet.

  ‘A pleasure to meet you too, Mr Fox. Yes, I’m proud of my Isabelle and, of course, of Harriet – one complements the other. One has the design skills and the other the practical skills to bring it all together; both equally as important as one another, would you not say?’ Charlotte watched as James and Isabelle sneaked a quick glance at one another. ‘You are a photographer, did I hear Isabelle say? Perhaps we should employ you for some photographs of our impending wedding. Would you be interested?’

  ‘Indeed I would, Mrs Atkinson. It would give me – if I am not being too open – a break into the social circles that I require, if you were to recommend my work.’ James spoke forthrightly, for he didn’t believe in beating around the bush.

  ‘Right, so we will initially book you for Danny and Harriet’s wedding, on Easter Saturday. But at this moment in time, are you joining us for a cup of tea? I can hear Harriet is laying out the crockery in the back room.’ Charlotte looked the young man up and down and watched as Isabelle never took her eyes off him.

  ‘I’m afraid I’ll have to decline the tea. I have a sitting at two, and it’s already one o’clock. However, I will put Harriet’s wedding in my diary and will contact you the week before, to see what you would like.’ James looked at the two women who were gazing at him and smiled. ‘Or perhaps you would like to come to the studio and visit me.’

  ‘Oh yes.’ Isabelle exclaimed.

  ‘Isabelle, as you are the arty one amongst us, you must go and visit Mr Fox in his studio. And perhaps, in return, you would like to come and have dinner at Windfell? Would that be to your satisfaction, Mr Fox?’ Charlotte smiled across at the young photographer who couldn’t take his eyes off her daughter.

  ‘That would be most satisfactory, Mrs Atkinson. I can’t thank you enough. Isabelle, any time next week will be fine. I’m not exactly run off my feet as yet, and next week I’m having a skylight added to my studio to give me better light, so I’m there all week. Miss Harriet, if you would like to accompany her, you are most welcome.’ James bade farewell to the three women who had made him so welcome.

  ‘Well, what a pleasant young man, with good prospects, too. I do believe photography is going to be all the rage. You seem to have taken his eye, Isabelle.’ Charlotte smiled as Harriet placed the tea tray in front of them.

  ‘Mother! He’s just a customer.’ Isabelle blushed.

  ‘A customer that you’ve talked to for the last half-hour, and you were so similar in ideas, you’d think you were peas in a pod.’ Harriet laughed.

  ‘Just drink your tea. I was only being polite.’ Isabelle grinned. She thought of the blond-haired man who had known exactly what she was talking about, and who was actually interested in listening to her. Her visit to the studio could not come too soon, just to get another glance at him.

  The following week Isabelle found herself in a tizzy as she made herself ready for her meeting with the handsome photographer.

  ‘Enjoy your visit to Mr Fox’s. I will just have to keep our customers satisfied all by myself,’ Harriet joked, as Isabelle looked at herself yet again in the full-length mirror of the shop and pinched her cheeks to add some colour.

  ‘I’ve never known a photographer before, and you must admit he was dashing.’ Isabelle giggled.

  ‘Well, he’s a lot better than the last man you set your cap at.’ Harriet smiled and gave her a hug. ‘Go on, go and have a look around his studio. You are as interested in that as you are in him.’

  ‘I am, I have to admit. I find it fascinating that you can capture an exact image of yourself and put it on paper.’ Isabelle quickly opened the shop door and walked out down Duke Street, turning on the corner of New Street and nearly making the same mistake again, by almost bumping into a customer as he made his exit from Mrs Garnett’s tea-rooms. She arrived outside the new studio flustered and excited, not quite knowing what to expect inside. She calmed herself down and walked in through the glass-fronted door.

  ‘Will be with you in a moment,’ James’s voice called from behind the draped curtain that led through to the actual studio.

  Isabelle stood in the reception room and looked around the photographs that adorned the wall. There were pictures of local scenes on one wall, and on another photographs of well-to-do families, all standing and sitting in beautiful surroundings, their stance perfect, with their eyes focused on the camera. Isabelle was fascinated. The only distraction came from the builders that she could hear, hammering and sawing as they replaced some of the building’s roof with glass for James’s new studio. The green chenille curtain moved and James came out from behind it, his face beaming as he realized it was Isabelle waiting for him.

  ‘Isabelle, how lovely to see you! I’m so glad to see you again. I do apologize for the noise and racket. I thought the builders would have finished with the roof by now, but it seems to be taking longer than I expected.’ He took her hand. ‘Please come with me and we will go through into my temporary studio for a while. And then I thought, if you wish, we could
go to Mrs Garnett’s on the corner for tea?’

  ‘That would be wonderful, James. But please, if you are busy, I do understand.’ Isabelle followed him into his makeshift studio and gazed around her at the room that was filled with all the equipment needed in a photographer’s life.

  ‘Please, take a seat. The chaise longue is quite comfortable, or would you like to look around?’ James realized that while he was busy having his roof repaired, and developing the photographs in his darkroom, his temporary studio had got into a bit of a mess. ‘I do apologize. I’m usually tidier than this – it’s the upset from having the roof adjusted. Plus, I went to take a photograph of the Proctors’ little girl, at Bridge End, who died last week. Her parents wanted a photograph to remind them of her, after she was buried. I was just developing the plates as you entered the shop.’

  ‘Don’t worry. It is always an upset when you are having building work done. Did I hear correctly when you said you took a photograph of a dead child this morning?’ Isabelle was shocked.

  ‘Yes, it is the latest thing people are requesting. It is a way of remembering the ones they have lost. I must say, I do feel a little uncomfortable with it, but you can’t upset the grieving family. The Proctors sat their little Beth up between her three sisters on their sofa and then I took their photographs. She looked so lovely, as if she were a sleeping angel. They bury her tomorrow.’ James looked wistfully out of the window and then at Isabelle.

  ‘I find that rather unsavoury, although I can understand the parents wanting something to remember her by. But why not a lock of her hair in a locket, like most people do?’ Isabelle looked around her at the contraption that she knew to be a camera and at the tripods stacked in a corner, and her eye was caught by the backdrop to the room: a beautifully painted scene of a wooded garden. ‘You have a garden in your back room?’ Isabelle laughed.

  ‘Yes, I have many scenes that you can choose from. A friend of mine paints them for me to use as backdrops to my photograph. They make them look more real. Have a look through this camera lens and you will see they look quite genuine, with someone standing or sitting in front of them. Do you know how a camera works?’ James looked at Isabelle as she tried to focus through the small lens of the concertinaed wooden box of the camera.

  ‘No, I’ve no idea.’ She shook her head and watched as James bent down next to her and showed her how it worked.

  ‘Well, let me explain. This is called a “bellows camera”, which is obvious because, as you can see, the concertina piece made of leather, in the centre of the two wooden boxes at either end, is flexible – like bellows – and allows me to position the lens to change focus on the picture. The lens focuses the picture onto the glass plate at the back of the camera.’

  James looked at Isabelle, who was enthralled by his explanation.

  ‘The wooden box at the back of the camera is called the plate-holder. I put a glass plate that I have coated with light-sensitive chemicals into this slot, then attach this black hood to the back of the camera, so that no light – except the light from the lens – is let into the camera while I take the photograph. It’s then a matter of the sitter staying still while the plate develops the image, hence that gadget over there, which sometimes helps my sitter to stay still. I know it looks like a thing of torture,’ he grinned as he picked up the metal frame that held a person’s waist and head steady, as they posed for their photograph to be taken, ‘but I couldn’t work without it. Then, once the photograph is on the glass plate, I take it into my darkroom to develop into the photographs that you see on the surrounding walls. I’d take you in there, but it has to be kept dark, and the smell of chemicals can make you cough. And, as I say, I am in the process of developing the death-shots of Beth Proctor.’ James smiled at an inquisitive Isabelle, who was looking through the lens and then at the groove into which the plate slotted.

  ‘It’s fascinating. So, will Harriet and Danny have to come to your studio for their photographs?’ Isabelle stepped back and looked at James.

  ‘No, I’ll use my field camera, if they wish to have them taken outside. It’s lighter and takes landscape photographs easier than this studio camera. Although I thought they would be better taken at the manor – not that I’m wishing bad weather on their special day, but it can be unpredictable at Easter.’

  ‘May I help you? I’d like to see how it works,’ Isabelle asked.

  ‘You’ll be busy being a bridesmaid. I tell you what: let’s go and have tea, get away from the deafening din of the builders and then, if you’ve time, I’ll take your photograph to keep, if you wish. A present from me – your first venture into photography.’ He smiled as Isabelle blushed with excitement.

  ‘But I’m not dressed for the occasion,’ she whispered.

  ‘You look perfect to me, and I’m sure there will be many more occasions. This is just the beginning of a very special friendship.’ James squeezed her hand. ‘Come, let’s go. Mrs Garnett at the tea-rooms in Duke Street makes a very lovely Bakewell tart, and my stomach is complaining that it has not been fed enough today.’

  Isabelle looked around the studio. She would like to spend many an hour understanding how everything worked, and perhaps paint some backdrops for the sitters. And just be in the same room as James, with whom she felt a strange affinity. She would feel special, and proud, to be walking down New Street with him next to her. Not skulking in the shadows, as she did when meeting John Sidgwick.

  ‘Miss Atkinson, would you do me the pleasure of taking my arm?’ James asked as he opened the studio doorway.

  ‘I will indeed, Mr Fox.’ Isabelle beamed. ‘And the pleasure is all mine.’

  21

  ‘You know, this will always be home. I know Crummock was a good farm, and I know I should be so grateful that I live in a place like the manor. But Butterfield Gap will always be home.’ Archie leaned over the yard gate and looked towards Austwick and Crummock.

  ‘You didn’t have to sell it. You could just have rented it to Arthur and Mary.’ Charlotte ran her hand down Archie’s back and leaned over the gate next to him.

  ‘Nay, he wanted a place to call his own and I can understand that. And who am I to begrudge him a farm of his own. Although he’ll struggle to make a living on this ’un. It’s a good job he’s not got any family; it doesn’t yield enough to fill many bellies.’ Archie sighed.

  ‘I’ll miss it and all. I’ll never forget getting up in a morning and looking out of my bedroom window, straight across here. Little did I know that I’d end up wedded to the lad who lived here. And then your mother made me so welcome when you said we were to be married, even though the scandal was rife, after Joseph left me. I always remember my father saying that you couldn’t keep me in shoes, and back then he was right. But look at us now: we both want for nothing.’ Charlotte smiled, remembering old times.

  ‘That’s more of your doing than mine. I came to you with nothing. Nothing, that is, except big ideas and a lot of bluster. You looked so broken-hearted that first Christmas you came to stay at Crummock, and I watched you as you wandered from room to room, just glad to be back in the old place. I knew then how much you loved your old home, and that I had to make sure you kept it.’ Archie put his arm around Charlotte’s waist. ‘Do you think our Danny will feel the same way about Crummock, when he’s our age, and that Isabelle will love Windfell as much as we do?’

  ‘I’d hope so. If they are sensible, after our lifetime both should always be their homes. We’ve set up them and future generations well, and really they should never want for much. I just wish I could have kept the mill, not that either of them was interested in the cotton industry, but it would have brought them some income in.’ Charlotte pulled her shawl around her, as the February wind showed its strength on the bare moorland side.

  ‘Never mind, lass. At least you’ve a healthy bank balance, now the Christies and the insurance have paid up, and your life’s your own for once. And this wedding will keep you out of mischief for a while. I didn’t r
ealize that Easter is early this year and that we only have just over six weeks before it is here. No wonder Arthur and Mary were pushing me to clear out my old home. I meant to do it last month, but never got on with it.’ Archie rubbed his head and looked at Danny, as he threw a rope over the furniture and belongings that he had just finished loading onto the flat cart, to take back to Windfell.

  ‘Not a lot to show for a lifetime, is there?’ Charlotte looked at the cart and then at Archie.

  ‘No, and some of that was my grandparents’ before us, and is not worth a lot. We can make room for the old grandfather clock, can’t we? It was always prized by my father as it was made by Weatherheads of Kirkby Lonsdale. He was very proud of it.’

  ‘Of course we can, my love – and anything else that you wish to keep. Danny won’t say no to the rest; he’s plenty of rooms to fill up at Crummock. Those two end bedrooms have never had any furniture in, except a bed, for as long as I remember. And you never know, he might have more children than we can count, as I’m sure Harriet will want a family.’ Charlotte looked at Archie; he didn’t show his feelings very often, but today he looked really sad at the thought of selling and leaving his old home. ‘It is a pity we have no children that are both ours, but that is what nature has decided our fate to be. Isabelle thinks of you as her true father, and I hope Danny loves me as his mother, although I know I will never replace Rosie – and have never tried to. But a child to us both would have been a blessing, and he or she could have had Butterfield Gap to farm, and then you wouldn’t have dreamed of selling it.’

  ‘Nay, that wouldn’t have been right fair. Poor devil would have had next to nowt, compared to the other two. I’m content with having just Isabelle and Danny. Besides, we’ve another good one in our future daughter-in-law, Harriet. The farm will be in good hands with Arthur and Mary, so don’t worry about me. I’ll be alright. It’s just a sad day, and the place holds so many memories, and always will.’ Archie held his hand out, for Charlotte to join him and Danny on the seat of the cart.