‘You have no friends, here!’
‘Be fair,’ he sneered, his eyes set on her enlarged belly. ‘Are you on your own right now?’
Alice didn’t answer.
‘If you’d like a bit of company, your condition don’t bother me.’
But before Alice had time to answer, Bert pounced, grabbing him by the shoulder and spinning him around. Then he landed his fist square on Crowther’s chin sending him reeling into the rose bushes. When he tried to get up, James joined in, swinging at him and landing a punch on his stomach. Crowther rolled over on the ground nursing his gut and groaning.
‘Go inside, Alice!’ James shouted, when blood started dripping from Crowther’s lip.
Alice closed the door and listened. She heard more punches being thrown and then Crowther’s whimpering cry.
‘Come back again, if you want more of the same!’ James challenged, as he watched the man stumble down the lane, bent almost double, his arms wrapped around his belly.
Standing beside the garden gate, James and Bert rubbed their knuckles and then shook hands.
‘I think that’ll be the last we shall see of him,’ James said.
‘Certainly hope so,’ said Bert. ‘Fancy a wee drop to celebrate?’
‘Don’t mind if I do.’
Alice opened the door. It was the first time she had invited James into her own home. It was a nice feeling.
Though it was broad daylight outside, little light filtered through cracks into the Fothergill’s farm shed. From the doorway, James could see Grace struggling to secure the wooden yoke around the cow’s neck. He called out to her but his voice was drowned by loud bellowing. When the cow began to thrash about, he felt anxious.
‘Be careful,’ he shouted.
Grace glanced up at him, rubbed her hand along the animal’s rump then stepped from the stall to greet him.
‘Can I be of any help?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she said, pushing her sleeves high above her elbows and carefully looping a piece of cord around her thumb. Gently she pushed her hand into the cow which didn’t move but when she rolled her arm around, the bellowing grew louder. Closing her eyes, Grace bit her bottom lip and concentrated.
‘Got it!’ she announced, slowly withdrawing her arm and handing the ends of the cord to James. ‘Now, when I tell you, pull slowly but firmly.’
Each time the cow strained, James pulled as instructed, while Grace provided encouragement to them both. Eventually, the calf’s head emerged and, after running her fingers through its mouth, she eased it into the world, sliding it gently down on the bed of hay. As if suddenly petrified, the cow was still and silent, but within minutes of Grace releasing its head from the yoke, it snorted, sniffed at its calf and started licking it.
James glanced at Grace as she wiped her bloodied hands on a piece of rag. She was obviously pleased.
‘Would I ever make a farmer?’ he asked.
She laughed but did not commit herself to an answer. ‘Want a cup of tea? I made some scones this morning.’
‘I’d like that but I have to drive to Ilkley.’
‘Is anything wrong?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘It was a piece I read in the paper that said a woman had been found wandering near the Cow and Calf Rocks. Mum was concerned it might be Miss Pugh, so I offered to go to Ilkley to make sure everything was all right. Would you like to come for the drive?’
‘Of course,’ she said, ‘if we can just wait a few minutes.’
James agreed and standing side by side, they watched the calf for half an hour. It wobbled and fell over several times but eventually it struggled to its feet determined to take its first drink.
‘I was talking to Mum the other day,’ James said, trying to sound unconcerned. ‘She said you were fed up with the farm and wanted to move to the city.’
Grace laughed. ‘What would I do in the city? I love the farm and the animals. I’ve got no plans to leave.’
Looking across at her, James was unable to prevent a big smile curling on his lips. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Shall we go?’
Chapter 19
Bertie Bottomley
Six weeks after Rachel Bottomley was born, Alice invited a small group of friends and family to celebrate her daughter’s christening. Lucy hosted the party in her cottage.
Unfortunately, Bert got very drunk. His voice was loud and his behaviour, at times, distasteful. Alice was relieved when Grace and James left to take John Fothergill home. The farmer excused himself saying he was anxious to get back to the farm to attend to the milking, but Alice knew he was just being polite.
Pansy never said a great deal to anyone, appearing content to sit beside the fireplace in one room or the other. Lucy tried to entice her outside to take a walk across the meadow or wander in the garden but she insisted she was quite happy indoors. Pansy never admitted that the sound of the tree branches tapping on the window made her feel nervous.
When it was time to leave on Sunday afternoon, she climbed into James’s car and it was obvious she was pleased to be returning to Ilkley and her home with Miss Pugh.
Alice had enjoyed seeing her mother and cried a little when she left. She had wanted the visit to be special, had wanted to be able to talk to her mother, intimately, as one woman to another. She had been little more than a girl when she had left home to take up nursing, but now she was married with her own baby and she thought things would be different. She was disappointed she didn’t have the opportunity to find out.
From the window, Alice saw James bending over to crank the car’s engine. As the motor burst into life, a puff of smoke rose from the exhaust and drifted through the tangled branches of the briar rose. Alice watched as he slid along the front seat, beside Grace, and leaned his head towards her and his lips touched her cheek. Their eyes smiled, and as the car rolled away, Grace’s arm glided across James’s shoulders.
Shaking her head, Alice wandered back into Lucy’s living-room. Why was I so stupid? she thought to herself.
Lucy was knitting while Rachel slept in the pram. From its seat on the straight-backed chair, the doll’s glass eyes appeared to be looking directly at Alice.
‘Constance,’ Alice said ‘I had almost forgotten you.’ Picking up the doll, she sat it on her knee and turned towards Lucy. ‘Has she been sitting there all the time I’ve been away?’
Lucy nodded. ‘She’s part of the furniture. But she’s yours to take whenever you want her.’
‘May I keep her? For the baby,’ Alice asked.
‘Of course. I’m sure when Rachel’s older she will love her as much as you did.’ Resting her knitting on her lap, Lucy looked across at the doll perched on Alice’s knee. ‘I think it’s about time I replaced that old nurse’s uniform. It’s old-fashioned, too long, and grubby. The haberdasher in Horsforth has some nice remnants. I’ll buy some lace and make her a new dress. Modern – 1920s style.’
‘Aunt Lucy, you were like a mother to me when I was growing up, and here I am back again, twenty-five years old.’
Lucy retrieved the ball of wool which had rolled onto the floor. ‘We don’t get any younger, lass.’
‘Tell me,’ Alice asked. ‘How did you manage with a baby? You were on your own, weren’t you? Was it hard in your day?’
‘Probably harder than today. Women who had a baby out of wedlock were thought of as being loose and treated with contempt. But I managed. I had good neighbours. And James seems no worse for it.’ Lucy took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. ‘Why do you ask? You and Bert having problems?’
Alice sighed. ‘Maybe it’s just me or my imagination but Bert seems uninterested in me these days. He’s working longer hours than before but he never brings home any more money. He says he deserves to keep the extra. That’s fine, but he complains all the time that he hasn’t enough and has to borrow.’
‘And do you give him a few extra bob?’
‘Sometimes. He knows exactly what I have in my savings. He even made me draw out money t
o buy his new motor bike. He said it was necessary to have one with a bigger engine, because we live here now and it’s further for him to travel. He said it was my fault I got pregnant and had to stop work.’ She straightened the red cross on the doll’s uniform and seated it back on the chair. ‘I had a good wage compared with Bert’s but now I can’t work again till the baby grows up.’
‘Does Bert know how much money you’ve got left?’
Alice nodded. ‘I’ve seen him looking in my bank book. He said he wanted to buy a sidecar for the bike so he could take me and the baby out, but I spent the money on the pram and cot and told him I couldn’t give him any more.’ She looked at herself in the mirror. ‘Since Rachel was born, I feel flat. It seems there’s nothing left between us anymore. He never touches me. Never even kisses me.’ She smiled sadly at the picture of herself on the mantelpiece. ‘When I see James with Grace, I feel jealous. She’s young, and pretty in a way, and they’re always laughing and going out, driving or dancing or to a picture show. I wish I could do all those things.’ She shook her head. ‘How stupid I was! All I ever wanted was to be a nurse. I loved the job and I was good at it. But I made no time in my life for James. And when he wanted me, I never listened. And look where I am now.’
‘Give Bert a chance, Alice. A man gets his nose pushed out of joint when a baby arrives. He’ll come round. Just give him time.’
‘But how long? There’s talk about prices going up and men being put out of work. Bert’s only a porter and to be quite honest he’s not very popular at the hospital. I’ve even heard people say he’s lucky to have a job because he’s lazy. What happens to us if he loses his job? What will we do then?’
‘You’ll manage. Your mam and I managed in the Great War. And don’t you worry about the rent if he’s out of work.’
‘But what about you, Aunt Lucy? How do you cope?’
‘I’m fine. Edward left me a bit of money.’ Lucy rolled the wool around the ball and pushed the needles through it. ‘Come on,’ she said cheerily. ‘Let’s go in the other room. I’d love to hear you play.’
Alice sat down at the piano and lifted the lid. Resting her hands on her knees she thought for a moment. Then, stretching her fingers, she touched the keys lightly and played Beethoven’s, Für Elise.
‘Bert Bottomley! You’re drunk again!’
‘Too right I’m drunk. And I’ve spent all my pay on booze. Every penny, there’s none left! And no more where that came from either! No more money and no more work! It’s all gone!’
‘What are you talking about?’ said Alice.
‘I mean, Mrs Bottomley,’ he drawled, ‘I am out of work and from this week, unless you have a secret stash of money, we’ve got nothing.’
‘Then you’ll have to find another job.’
He laughed as he steadied himself against the sideboard. ‘Me, find another job? Easier said than done. You should go down to Leeds and see the queues of men lined up for every job that’s going.’
Alice resisted the temptation to ask what he had been doing going to the city. ‘Why not try the farms? Maybe you can get some work locally.’
‘What! After the hospital. I’m not stomping around in no stinking cow shit.’
‘Bertie!’
‘Oh, shut up, woman. I’m sick of listening to you. If you want some money, you go out to work.’
‘I can’t go back yet. I have to feed the baby. Maybe in three or four months, but not now.’
Albert Bottomley had always lacked patience. He sloped around for only two weeks, constantly complaining to Alice about his lot in life. During that time, however, he somehow found enough money to visit the village pub, staggering home drunk every night. Alice wasn’t sure if he had money put aside, or if he was getting it from someone else. She didn’t think he had resorted to stealing.
When he left there was no final argument or fight. Bert was demanding but never violent. One morning, after eating his breakfast, he said he was off. He put on his leather helmet and gloves, jumped on his motor bike, kicked it into life, and rode away. And Alice never saw him again.
Later, someone told her he had gone to America, but Alice found that hard to believe. How could he have paid the passage? She thought she saw him once when she was on a tram in the city, but it went by too fast. For a while she felt sad. Sorry for herself. At times, lost and a little guilty. But after a while, once Rachel began to smile and coo, life took on a different aspect.
When Lucy agreed to mind the baby three days a week, Alice returned to work. Not at the hospital, but as a nurse in a private nursing home in Headingley. She didn’t mind looking after the old gentlemen, but the young men, whose bodies had been broken in the Great War, were her favourites.
‘The conservative value of your assets, taking into account the properties, and the sapphires, is around thirty thousand pounds.’ The solicitor paused to allow Lucy to digest what he was saying. ‘That is a considerable fortune, Mrs Oldfield.’
‘Have you given any thought to what you would like to do with the foreign investments?’ Mr Proctor asked.
Lucy shook her head. ‘I cannot imagine what these houses are like. You say they were once quite fashionable. But they are so far away.’
‘May I make a suggestion?’
‘Please do.’
‘You have no commitments that I am aware of?’
‘That is correct.’
‘And you have never travelled?’
Lucy looked at him quizzically. ‘Correct.’
‘If I may suggest, in my estimation a voyage to India on one of the modern liners, travelling first-class of course, would be a wonderful experience for you.’ Mr Armitage peered over the rim of his glasses. ‘If you embarked on such a journey, we would arrange for a representative to meet you in Bombay, someone to conduct you around your various holdings. After seeing them, you will be in a better position regarding your decision as to what to do with them.’ He cleared his throat before continuing. ‘If you will excuse me for being forthright, Mrs Oldfield, but it would be best to embark on this sort of venture before you are too old.’
‘But I wouldn’t dare to travel alone.’
‘Then take your son. Or advertise for a companion. You must remember, you are now in the very fortunate situation where money is no object.’
Lucy raised her eyebrows.
‘Please give it some thought. From our point of view, if you decide to sell the properties, it would be easier for the business to be conducted in India while you are there. That will facilitate a saving in both time and money. Of course, Mr Proctor and I will attend to all your travel arrangements.’ He paused. ‘May I suggest winter would be a good time? I gather India gets rather hot in the summer!’
Chapter 20
Captain Wainwright
The first snow of winter had arrived very early causing the temperature to drop to freezing. Blizzards blowing over the Pennines blocked the roads and brought the towns to a halt. On the country lanes, drifting snow was banked to the height of a horse’s withers. Lakes became skating rinks, hillsides – slopes for children’s sledges. Water pipes froze solid, shops sold out of candles and folk with no stores in the pantry went hungry. For the poor souls without firewood, the only chance to keep warm was to take to their beds. For the farmers, the job of keeping animals fed and watered was near impossible.
Despite his mother’s pleas not to venture out, James was concerned about Grace and her father and decided he must go to the farm. Once he stepped outside, the soft snow swallowed his boots. It was worse than he had thought. Every step he took was an effort. When he eventually rounded the last turn in the lane and saw a wisp of smoke puff from one of the farm’s tall chimney-pots, he felt some relief. He was looking forward to spending the afternoon with Grace, then returning home in time for tea.
When he arrived at the farm, James was surprised to find the fire almost dead and the house empty. Outside, a path had been dug in the snow. It led from the house door and headed towards th
e cow shed but it stopped half-way. Picking up the shovel, James dug the remainder of the distance. Expecting to find Grace and her father busy inside, he called out.
Two cows turned their heads and looked lazily at him from the stalls. James shouted again. No reply. Swishing their tails, the animals blew steam from their nostrils and returned, unconcerned, to their feed of hay.
Checking outside James found a trail leading away from the barn. The two sets of footprints indicated that Grace and her father had headed towards the far meadow, but there were no tracks to show they had returned.
The far field, which completely crowned the hill, was the largest of Mr Fothergill’s paddocks. Every summer it was ablaze with waving wheat and when the sun dropped behind it, it gleamed as if draped in a cloth of gold. Now buried beneath its winter mantle, the field, fences and clustered trees, formed the picture of a perfect Christmas card; vestal white, pure, untouched.
But the wind was biting cold and fine slivers of ice stung James’s face like red-hot needles. Screwing his eyes against the sleet, he turned up his collar. ‘Grace!’ he yelled, following the deep footprints that led towards a wooden stile. Seeing the snow knocked from the slats, he knew the pair had crossed.
‘Mr Fothergill!’ he yelled. ‘Are you out there?’
‘Over here!’ The voice was faint. It was Grace.
James lumbered awkwardly through the drifts in the direction of the call but could see nothing but snow. ‘Where are you?’ he shouted.
In the corner of the field, sheltered only by the bare branches of a line of tall poplars, was a group of black and white cows. Completely saddled in snow, they were huddled against the fence line. Not far from the cattle, an arm poked up from the snow and waved. Grace had burrowed a small alcove and was sitting in the snow with her father’s head resting on her lap.
‘Thank goodness you’re here,’ she said, as he dropped down beside her. ‘I only found him a short while ago. He was worried about the cattle because they’d been here two days with nothing to eat. He said he tried to move them but they got confused and when he fell one trampled his leg. I think it’s broken.’ She looked up at James. ‘I can’t move him but we’ve got to get him out of here otherwise he’s going to freeze.’
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