by Anna Jacobs
‘Of course I’ll help you,’ Clarence tried to hide his irritation. His cousin was proving to be amazingly stupid. But she was a pretty woman, much nicer to look at than his wife. And blood was thicker than water. But if he could get hold of her money and manage it for her, he would. Why should some Australian lawyer benefit from the interest it could earn?
He’d also see if something could be done about the stepdaughter taking nearly all the money if Edna remarried. Apart from the fact that he’d like to keep the money in the family, he didn’t like the thought of a young woman controlling large sums of money. Women didn’t know how to manage their finances. And Douglas Melling had clearly been well off, because the ladies had sailed to England first class.
How well off? He’d have to find out.
He caught his wife’s eye and stood up. He wasn’t pleased at Gertrude’s intervention but he knew better than to cross her in any household or social matter. If he did, his life inevitably became very uncomfortable.
They lived comfortably separate lives, because she was a cold fish in bed. He’d not have put up with her interfering in his business matters, but it kept her happily busy to manage the house and keep in touch with ladies from other useful families. And her family had some very useful connections, which was why he’d married her in the first place.
He had somehow never managed to control her social life, though, because she also regularly visited one or two ladies from families he’d rather not deal with. When he’d protested about this, she’d insisted it wouldn’t do to get on bad terms with people from those particular county families. He could understand that but unfortunately, women didn’t always think of the implications of careless sharing of information when they were gossiping with their friends, especially when those same women had been at school together.
He scowled as he considered how his cousin had misled him about Josephine’s character and morals. He’d made a bad mistake there. Thank goodness that young woman hadn’t accused him of anything this morning. Well, she couldn’t have done, because she hadn’t seen who was at her bedroom door.
She’d guessed it was him, though, damn her! What else could have made her change bedrooms? He’d told the maid which one to put her in, and the girl had said this morning that she’d done as instructed. She hadn’t known Miss Melling had changed to another bedroom until he mentioned it.
Surely all that meant his original suspicion that Josephine was not an innocent young woman was correct?
The incident had left him feeling edgy and unsatisfied, needing a woman. If his wife suspected that he had this driving need for the services of other women in bed, she had never shown it. Gertrude had never been much fun in bed, not even when she was younger and quite pretty. Strange how plain she’d become as she grew older, and she dressed frumpishly, too, stupid bitch.
The two of them hadn’t shared a bedroom for years, not since the birth of their second child – a son, thank goodness. After that Gertrude had begun having severe headaches, which the doctor had said might have been caused by bearing children.
That had turned out better than he’d expected. Having his own bedroom had rather suited Clarence. He was a man who liked a little liveliness in bed, of the sort to be found only among the lower classes, he had come to realise.
He also had his own room downstairs with French windows on to the side garden. That made it easy to come and go late at night without anyone else in the house knowing about it.
Now, that was enough thinking about personal matters. He had work to do and the first meeting of the new town council was this afternoon. That was another serious worry. Its new members had to be made to toe the line and not betray their class. There was usually a way to bring them to heel. Everyone had a weakness or two. Thank goodness the mayor’s group hadn’t won an outright majority. He’d have to make sure the two independent councillors didn’t vote the wrong way.
9
J o woke with a start, then realised where she was and that someone was knocking on her bedroom door. ‘Yes?’
‘You’d better get up now, lass. It’s nearly two o’clock.’
She glanced at her bedside travel clock and gasped. She never normally slept in the daytime, let alone for several hours. ‘Yes, right. Thanks for waking me up, Mrs T. I’ll only be a few minutes.’
‘Good. I’ll have something ready for you to eat.’
‘I can wait till teatime.’
‘Not in my house, you can’t. I feed my lodgers properly.’
There was the sound of footsteps going heavily down the stairs and fading into the nether regions. Jo rushed to the bathroom, studied herself in the mirror and sighed over how crumpled her skirt was. Well, there wasn’t time to iron it now.
When she went down to the kitchen, Mrs T turned to give her a sunny, welcoming smile. ‘There. You look a bit better now.’
Jo had to swallow hard at those kind words. Such a contrast to Edna’s behaviour towards her.
‘Sit down, love. I made you a cheese sandwich and there’s a piece of my fruit cake to finish off with.’
‘Thank you. You’re so kind.’
‘Am I? Well, it’s a poor lookout if we can’t help a stranger from a faraway land – or someone who lives next door.’ She turned back to take a quick peep into the oven, which, judging by the wonderful smell emanating from it, contained another cake.
When Jo had finished she carried the dirty plate and cup into the scullery and called, ‘Shall I wipe these dishes for you?’
‘That’d be a help, if you don’t mind. It’s the girl’s afternoon off and I’m a bit behind.’
Twenty minutes later the front door knocker went.
‘That’ll be Kath.’ Mrs T wiped her hands on a towel and disappeared up the stairs to the front door.
There was the sound of voices but the women were speaking too quietly for Jo to make out what they were saying. She couldn’t help wondering if they were talking about her, but she wasn’t the sort to eavesdrop, so stayed in the kitchen.
When they came downstairs she eagerly studied the woman who’d come to meet her and was disappointed to find no resemblance whatsoever to her father or his parents.
‘Kath, this is Jo. Sit down and I’ll make us all a fresh cup of tea, then we’ll have a chat about her family, see if you could be related to one another.’
The visitor sat opposite Jo, studying her. ‘You’ve come all the way from Australia, eh? Is it as sunny as they say?’
‘The weather’s different in each state. At this time of year, it’s winter where I come from in the west near Perth, so it’ll be cold and rainy, but with intermittent sunny spells. It’s hot in summer and hardly ever rains then for months.’
‘Fancy that.’ She bent to fumble in her shopping bag. ‘I was talking to my mother about you. Wonderful memory she has still, for all she’s nearly ninety.’ She pulled out a large and very handsome leather-bound book and put it on the table, patting it as if it was an old friend. ‘This is our family tree. It’s been used for nearly two hundred years. We write down everyone we know about, so we’ll be able to add your name to a branch now if we can find a connection.’
She opened the book carefully at a page where a piece of red ribbon stuck out. ‘We think we’ve found some possibilities. What was your grandfather’s full name? There are two John Mellings of roughly the right age who left Lancashire, and we’ve never been sure what happened to either of them.’
‘He was John Tayner Melling.’
‘Aha! That’s one of them, so no need to even look at the other, because he’s John Henry Melling.’ She pushed out the chair next to hers and patted it. ‘You’ll see better if you come round and sit by me.’
Jo did as she asked and stared at the beautifully written names. So many connections were tapped and mentioned as Kath took her through the pages. How she envied the English side of her family having that record!
‘John Tayner Melling was a second cousin once removed, and he would be distant
ly related to both your father and mother. Most of that branch of the family went to live in the south in the middle of the nineteenth century.’ Kath paused for a moment, looking suddenly disapproving. ‘There are only a few Tayners in the valley still, and they’ll be your closest relatives, but they’re the black sheep of our family connections, I’m afraid. We don’t speak to them, not even to say good morning.’
‘Why? What have they done?’
‘Freddie Tayner was a drunkard. He beat his wife and spent most of what money he did earn on boozing and betting. He was brought up before the magistrates a few times, and jailed for a few weeks here and there, too. He’s dead now, didn’t make old bones, but his daughter still lives in Backshaw Moss, and she’s … um, not respectable. Which just goes to show that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?’
‘I don’t know much about this Backshaw Moss, except I gather it’s a slum.’
‘That the point! It’s the worst place in the whole valley. That branch of the family don’t care about whether you’re a relative or not: all they’d want from us would be money to gamble away or waste.’
‘Oh dear.’
Kath waited a moment or two, then said gently, ‘Now, where were we? Oh yes, your grandfather. Was your father his only child in Australia?’
‘Yes. His full name was Douglas Matthew Melling, and my mother was Catherine Jayne born a Charter.’
Kath was scribbling on a scrap of paper. ‘Well, I’m sorry you and I aren’t more closely related but that won’t stop us accepting you as a distant member of the family. You must come out to visit the farm one day. I’ll get back to you in a week or two, when we’re not so busy.’
‘What about the remaining Tayners? How do I find them?’
‘You won’t want to have anything to do with them two, I promise you. In fact, you should stay away from Backshaw Moss if you value your purse and safety.’ She changed the subject firmly and Mrs T shook her head warningly, so Jo didn’t pursue the point.
The three of them chatted for a little longer then Kath said she had another appointment and left.
Jo felt very let down.
When Mrs T came back from showing her guest out, Jo asked, ‘Why didn’t you want me to ask for more information about the Tayners?’
‘There’s bad blood between them and Kath’s family. It’d only upset her.’
‘Do you know their names and addresses?’
Mrs T hesitated.
‘I’ve come so far. I’d like at least to meet them.’
‘Well, Freddie’s daughter is called Moira—her mother was Irish—and Moira’s got a daughter called Tess, I think. Yes, definitely Tess. She’d be a fair bit younger than you, about fourteen now, I should think.’
‘That makes her twelve years younger than me. Where exactly do they live and what’s so bad about them?’
Mrs T shrugged. ‘Who knows exactly where they live? The houses in Backshaw Moss are mostly let out by the room, and people move about a lot.’
When Jo looked at her sceptically, Mrs T flushed and said, ‘I really don’t know for certain, but what Kath didn’t tell you is that Moira is – well, she’s a – you know – fallen woman.’ She flushed scarlet as she added, ‘I don’t know anything about the daughter. They start that sort of thing young, though.’
‘Oh.’ That was the last thing Jo had expected.
Mrs T hesitated, then said, ‘You could speak to Allan’s mother, just to confirm it. Mrs Fernby will know more about them, if anyone will. She helps run a home for women like that who want to make a new start.’
‘I see.’ Jo didn’t think she’d get anything more out of Mrs T, so let the matter drop. She might want to find out more about these Tayners, or she might not. She’d have to think about it.
She let out a gurgle of sudden laughter when she realised how outraged her stepmother and Rathley would be at the news of this connection but was glad that Mrs T didn’t hear her laugh, as she didn’t want to seem to be making light of such a shocking state of affairs.
Mr Slater turned up at the car yard for his driving lesson at a couple of minutes before two o’clock, as arranged, beaming like a child expecting a treat. Nick began the introductory talk and questions that he’d carefully worked out to make sure a pupil understood the rules of the road.
But this pupil didn’t seem to be concentrating. Well, the man wasn’t going to get behind the wheel of Nick’s new car until he’d listened properly and demonstrated a sound knowledge of the rules. What sort of chaos would there be if everyone went their own way on public roads? The world had changed, many vehicles moved faster, but some people thought they could still amble about without looking where they were going and especially without watching out for cars. You read about road accidents in the newspapers all the time.
In the end he said bluntly, ‘I’m afraid you’re not listening to me, Mr Slater.’
His pupil made a little huffing noise. ‘Well, I’ve come here to learn to drive a car, not listen to you talk at me.’
‘The Highway Code is more important than you seem to realise. I won’t let you into my car until I’m sure you have a sound understanding of the basics,’ Nick said firmly. ‘I can understand that you’re eager to start the actual driving, but it’s more complicated than you seem to realise. Until you understand the rules, you won’t know what to do yourself or what to expect other drivers to do.’
When the man scowled and said nothing, he added slowly and emphatically, ‘People can get killed in car accidents, Mr Slater. How would you feel if someone killed your wife by driving carelessly or doing something the other drivers weren’t expecting? Or if you killed some other person’s child because you hadn’t done what was expected at a road junction?’
There was dead silence as Nick waited for this to sink in.
‘By gum, you don’t mince your words, do you? I’m the one as is paying for driving lessons, though, and I know what I want from you. I can take care of the rest in my own time.’
‘And I bear the responsibility of teaching you to drive safely ! For your own and everyone else’s sake.’ Once again, Nick waited, seeing the exact moment when the older man’s shoulders sagged and he gave in.
Fifteen minutes later, they went outside. Nick got into the driving seat and, explaining exactly what he was doing and why, took them to a place he’d noted on the outskirts of town, a fairly wide stretch of road near a scrubby piece of open land. ‘Right. You can have your first try at driving the car here.’
The enormity of what he was about to do seemed to strike Mr Slater all of a sudden and he hesitated by the open car door before getting into the driving seat and clasping the steering wheel so tightly his fingers seemed bloodless.
Patiently, Nick outlined again what to do then waved his hand. ‘You’ve watched me drive. Now you start the engine and let’s see how you go.’
After a few attempts, Mr Slater managed not to stall the car engine as he tried to put the car into gear. As the minutes passed, he managed to drive along the quiet road very slowly indeed, mostly in second gear.
When Nick said to stop, he noticed that his pupil was sweating.
Mr Slater pulled out a big handkerchief and mopped his forehead. ‘It’s harder than it looks, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. Much harder. But you did quite well.’
‘I did?’ He looked astonished.
‘Yes. Definitely.’
‘Oh. Well. That’s all right, then.’ He relaxed visibly, then said, ‘I was wrong to want to rush it.’
‘Yes. But you’re not alone in that. I’ll drive us back today and talk about what I’m doing again, so listen carefully now you know how it feels and watch what other drivers are doing. Tomorrow I’ll take you somewhere else for a longer practice drive if you’ll promise to read your Highway Code again tonight. I’ll be asking you some questions tomorrow to check.’
‘Right.’
‘But I’ll still drive in the centre of town tomorrow. The day aft
er that, if you’re doing all right with the driving, you can take us back to the car yard. Then the day after we’ll drive round the town centre mainly for you to get used to meeting a lot more vehicles, buses and lorries as well as cars.’
Mr Slater nodded.
When they got back to the car yard, he was about to walk away, so Nick called, ‘You haven’t paid me.’
‘Eh, sorry! I were that nervous I forgot.’
His pupil might or might not have forgotten, but this incident made Nick decide to ask for payment before any lessons were given in future.
He went inside and made himself a strong pot of tea to share with Todd. He needed it. Mr Slater hadn’t been the only nervous person in the car.
10
L ater that afternoon, the members of the town council began to assemble for their first meeting since the election. Charlie Willcox peeped in and saw that the council chamber was still almost empty so waited outside in the lobby for someone he knew to arrive.
Leaning against the wall, he watched others come in, people he knew only by sight, members in the middle of their six-year term as councillors. They moved into the main chamber confidently, but he still waited near the doorway.
He half wished he hadn’t taken this on. He reckoned most people only used their council positions to further their own interests. He didn’t intend to do that, but was suddenly feeling unsure of what he’d be able to contribute.
The mayor, Reginald Kirby, was already in place at the far end of the big chamber, sitting at the head of a shorter table set crosswise between two longer tables. His had been a surprise appointment last time, because he wasn’t allied to the entrenched group, but he hadn’t been able to do much to help the town without a majority of the council behind him. He was attended by a clerk ready to take notes for the minutes.