The Miller's Daughter

by Margaret Dickinson

  Outwardly calm, she said, ‘Good morning, Jamie. How are you?’ How she managed to keep her voice steady, she could not imagine, when her heart was fluttering inside her chest and her knees were trembling just at the sight of him.

  Before her stood the scowling, bitter man that Jamie Metcalfe had become, and yet at the mere sound of his voice, Emma could not forget the laughing young fellow he had once been. Still, deep in her heart, she held the memory of the Jamie she had loved. Even she dare not question what her feelings for him were now. Without being able to prevent it, bright colour suffused her pale face. She tried to smile, and, deliberately avoiding his question, said, ‘You look much better than when you first came home. More – more like your old self,’ she could not help adding, though the catch in her voice threatened to give her away.

  But Jamie was not about to allow her to avoid his probing. ‘Your fancy new husband taken over then, has he, and pushed poor old Luke on to the scrap heap?’

  ‘No,’ she retorted hotly. ‘Leonard is not involved with the mill at all.’

  At this, Jamie’s dark eyebrows lifted. ‘Really?’ he said and there was no hiding the surprise, nor the disbelief, in his voice. ‘Can’t give up the bright lights of the city so easily, eh, to bury himself in the country?’

  ‘Oh, you,’ she began. ‘Whatever he did, it wouldn’t suit you, would it?’

  With one stride he came close to her, his dark eyes looking down into her upturned face. Irrationally, she was reminded once again that he had always been, and still was, the only man she knew who was physically taller than she was; the only man whose very presence made her feel small and feminine. His frame had filled out again and the pallor of the trenches, though perhaps not the memory, was gone. His shoulders were broad and muscular, his waist slim and his legs long and straight and sturdy.

  ‘I hate the very sight of him,’ Jamie said through clenched teeth.

  ‘Why?’ Emma gasped. ‘What harm has he ever done to you?’

  His face was even closer to her, so close she could feel his breath warm on her cheek. ‘He married my girl.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘But – but you . . .’

  ‘Em – Emma!’ She heard her name called and Jamie give a sigh of annoyance before he stepped back from her, but he made no attempt to move right away as his brother joined them.

  William was smiling. ‘Em, how lovely to see you. How are you?’

  Fighting to gain her composure, Emma stammered, ‘I’m fine – fine. How – how are you?’

  Now it was William who leant towards her, his concerned glance raking her face.

  ‘You don’t look fine. You look very tired.’

  ‘She’s overworked,’ Jamie put in before she could answer William. ‘Her husband does little or nothing around the place and Luke’s no longer working at the mill.’

  ‘Luke? Why, what’s the matter. Is he ill?’

  Emma shook her head. ‘No. He and my father quarrelled. They’ll make it up eventually, but you know how stubborn they can be.’ She glanced at Jamie, thinking fleetingly that it was not just her father and Luke Robson who could be stupidly bullheaded.

  ‘And in the meantime,’ William took the words from her mouth. ‘You’re trying to cope with all the work.’

  She nodded.

  ‘Right. I’ll be over in the morning to give you a hand in the bakehouse.’

  ‘Oh no, you won’t,’ his older brother thundered. ‘You’ve enough work of your own. You let the business go to wrack and ruin once, I’ll not see it happen again.’

  Calmly, William said, ‘I can spare an hour or two first thing in the morning.’

  ‘No, you can’t. Mester Leighton wants his wagon back by tomorrow afternoon.’

  ‘Well, I’m not seeing Emma killing herself for want of a helping hand.’

  She put out her hand and touched William’s arm. ‘It’s all right. I don’t want to be the cause of trouble between the two of you, please.’

  William turned to her, his eyes on a level with her brilliant violet gaze. ‘You won’t,’ he said softly. ‘And I’ll be over in the morning.’

  Jamie turned on his heel and marched away towards the brick archway leading to the smithy, fury in every stride.

  It was the first time, Emma thought as she walked home, that she could remember William standing up to his elder brother.

  When Leonard returned home from his three-day trip to the city, he came loaded with presents. Tobacco for his father-in-law, a silk blouse and a soft, midnight blue velvet skirt for Emma. ‘And chocolates too,’ he teased, his eyes bright with good humour. ‘But don’t eat them all at once and get fat, will you, darling.’ His hands reached out and his fingers spanned her waist. ‘Hey, what’s this?’ he joked. ‘I think you are putting on a little around here.’

  ‘Well, it’s surprising if I am,’ Emma replied shortly. ‘With all the trouble. I’m too tired to eat properly and I feel sick all the time.’

  ‘Trouble, what trouble?’

  She told him briefly what had occurred during his absence. ‘Can you help us out a little, Leonard? Your mother’s been – ’ she swallowed on the slight untruth, ‘a wonderful help.’ At least, Emma thought to herself, Bridget had done her willing best. ‘But Father really can’t manage the mill on his own.’

  A frown swept away Leonard’s good mood. ‘Work in the mill? Me? You’ve got to be joking, Emma.’ He spread out his hands in front of her. Large, well-shaped hands though they were, she could see at once they had never done a day’s manual work in their lives. The palms were smooth and white, the nails perfectly shaped, looking almost as if they had been professionally manicured.

  Emma sighed and touched the soft velvet of the skirt he had brought her. ‘Thank you for the presents, Leonard. They are lovely, but goodness knows when I’ll get the chance to wear them now.’

  ‘You can wear them next Friday. I’m taking you and Mother into Lincoln for the day. You two can go shopping and then we can all meet for lunch at . . .’

  Emma shook her head. ‘Oh, Leonard, it’s kind of you, but I can’t. I can’t leave here. There’s no one to mind the shop now, let alone—’

  His generous, expansive mood was gone in an instant. ‘Oh, very well, then. Have it your own way. But I shall take my mother. You’re not going to turn her into a drudge too.’ He turned and strode towards the back door, flung it open, sending it crashing back and then marched across the yard towards the gate.

  Emma bit her lip. He was running back to his mother, to be cosseted and pampered and spoilt like the small boy that he still was, she thought resentfully.

  She took a deep breath. ‘Well,’ she said aloud to the empty kitchen. ‘Looks like there’s no help coming from that direction, m’girl, or from Bridget today.’ With a sigh, she turned and went through to the shop, leaving her fancy new clothes lying in their boxes on the kitchen table.

  The days passed and Emma still felt sick all the time, especially when she first rose in the half-light of the early hours to drag herself downstairs into the bakehouse. It persisted every morning, until white-faced, she went to see Sarah.

  ‘Can’t you persuade Luke to let you come back at least?’ she said without preamble as she allowed herself to be ushered into the kitchen of the small cottage and pressed into a chair at the table. ‘Bridget’s a willing soul, but she’s no idea. She spends most of the time chatting and laughing with the customers, and although William’s been a brick coming to help first thing in the morning, it just isn’t the same.’

  ‘And what’s ya dad had to say about that?’

  ‘A Metcalfe coming to the mill, you mean?’

  Sarah nodded.

  Emma pulled a wry face. ‘He hasn’t said anything, but if looks could kill.’

  The older woman shook her head. ‘Aye, I know. But sit down a minute, lass. You look done in. Eh, I feel so guilty, but my Luke’s adamant. We’re not to set foot inside the mill or the bakehouse – either of us – till ya dad apologizes.�
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  ‘Then we’ll all be waiting a long time.’ She gave a groan and dropped her head on to her arms as they lay folded on the table. ‘Oh Sarah,’ she mumbled. ‘If only I didn’t feel so sick all the time.’

  ‘Eh? What’s that you say?’ Sarah was patting her arm. ‘Look at me, Emma.’

  Slowly Emma raised her white face and looked up into the older woman’s face. She knew there were dark smudges of weariness beneath her eyes and her skin, normally glowing with health and vitality, had given way to a white, unhealthy pallor. She felt so bone-weary she could cry and indeed, under Sarah’s kindly scrutiny, tears sprang to Emma’s eyes. To her surprise, however, Sarah was smiling.

  ‘You’re expecting, Emma lass. That’s what’s the matter with you.’

  Emma’s eyes were large and brilliant against the paleness of her skin. Stupidly she stuttered, ‘You mean – a baby?’

  Sarah nodded. ‘Yes, lass. A baby. You’re going to have a baby. Why, it’s not so surprising, is it?’

  ‘Well, no, I suppose not. But . . .’ She stopped and was silent whilst she took in all that this meant.

  A child. She was going to have a child. And that child could be a boy. A grandson for Harry Forrest.

  Suddenly, without needing to be told, she knew what the deal – or at least part of it – had been between her father and Leonard Smith. ‘Marry my daughter and give me a grandson.’ But what had Leonard got out of the deal in return, she wondered, apart from the promise of the mill? A mill he did not seem to have any interest in at all. So, Emma pondered, there must have been something else. She could not begin to guess what that had been, but obviously it had appealed to Leonard, it had been sufficient to bribe the young man to marry her and produce a grandson for Harry; a future heir for the mill who would have Forrest blood in his veins. Unbidden, the thought thrust its way into her mind; that at the same time, her father’s plan had prevented the mill from ever passing into the hands of the Metcalfe family. In one ‘deal’ Harry Forrest had brought about the two things he wanted most. But what, Emma still wondered, had he promised Leonard Smith in return? What was Leonard getting out of it now?

  ‘Aren’t you pleased, lass? You seem very quiet.’ Sarah’s question interrupted her thoughts.

  Emma forced a smile on to her lips. ‘Yes, yes, of course I am. I was just thinking, that’s all.’

  ‘Now don’t you go thinking about what happened to ya mam,’ Sarah patted her hand, misinterpreting Emma’s preoccupied thoughts completely. ‘You’re built differently to ya mam. Childbearing hips you’ve got, me lass, an’ no mistake. Ya mam was thin and delicate, not really made for it at all. No, you’ll be fine. And besides – ’ Sarah’s grin broadened, ‘I’ll be there when ya time comes, don’t you worry.’

  ‘Really?’ Emma looked up at her. ‘Will you come?’

  ‘Couldn’t keep me away. Ne’er mind these stupid men and their quarrels.’ She thought a moment and then said, ‘’Sides, this puts a different light on all that anyway. We can’t let you go on trying to cope with all that work yasen. You leave it with me, Emma.’ Again she patted Emma’s arm. ‘I’ll speak to Luke.’

  Emma hid her smile. Despite the fact that Sarah always led everyone to believe she obeyed and deferred to her husband in all things, the truth was that in reality she twisted the older man around her little finger. It had been a surprise to Emma that Sarah had not persuaded Luke to return to work before now.

  ‘Oh, Sarah,’ Emma said thankfully. ‘What would I do without you?’

  Sarah smiled and moved towards the back door and reached down her coat. ‘I won’t be a minute. There’s just something I have to do.’ Before Emma could speak again, Sarah had lifted the latch on the back door and hurried out. Through the window, Emma saw her scurrying towards the orchard.

  Tears of laughter ran down Emma’s face. ‘Oh, Sarah, Sarah,’ she murmured.

  Even before her own husband or her father knew of Emma’s forthcoming ‘happy event’, the bees would be informed.

  Eighteen

  Her husband was the first person to hear the news from Emma. He smiled, put his arms about her shoulders and kissed her forehead. ‘Why, you clever girl. Your father will be delighted.’

  She watched him carefully. ‘What about you, Leonard? Are you pleased?’

  ‘Of course I am.’ Deliberately, it seemed to her, he puffed out his chest. ‘Any man likes to sire a child, especially if it’s a boy.’ Then he threw back his head and laughed. ‘Though I’m not so sure my mother will like being a grandmother.’

  Emma felt her mouth twitching at the thought of the glamorous, flirtatious Bridget Smith becoming a grandmother. She was hardly everyone’s picture of a typical grandmother.

  ‘But she’ll spoil it rotten,’ he was saying. ‘Mind you, I expect she’d like a girl to dress up in pretty clothes, but your father . . .’

  He left the words unspoken, but Emma murmured, ‘Yes, my father . . .’

  They both knew full well what Harry Forrest would want the child to be.

  ‘A son! A grandson!’

  Emma watched her father’s face. The deep, perpetual frown on his forehead lightened and his mouth stretched into a wide, genuine grin. ‘My dear girl . . .’ He held out his arms and came towards her, enveloping her awkwardly in his embrace.

  She could not remember when she had last seen her father quite so happy. Even his satisfaction at her marriage did not come close to his delight now. Emma stood rigidly, so unused to such a display of affection from him, that she did not know how to respond.

  ‘I’m glad you’re pleased,’ she said faintly.

  ‘Pleased? I’ll say I’m pleased. At last, an heir for Forrest’s Mill.’

  ‘Father, I’m only two or three months gone. And it – it may not be a boy.’

  ‘Of course it’ll be a boy.’ He rubbed his hands together, refusing to be thwarted in his hopes, not this time. ‘At last,’ he said again, more to himself than to his daughter. ‘Old Charlie’s dreams will come true. I shan’t have failed him after all.’

  Oh, Father, Emma moaned silently. Don’t get your hopes up so much. It could all end in bitter disappointment. But she kept these thoughts to herself, not wanting to spoil the moment either for her father or for herself. It was something she wanted to savour.

  ‘Have you told Leonard yet?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I told him just before he went away.’ She paused, remembering how it had been Harry Forrest’s anticipated delight that had been Leonard’s first thought, rather than his own pleasure at becoming a father.

  She looked up quickly. ‘Father, do you know just what his business is?’

  Harry Forrest avoided her questioning gaze. ‘Oh – er – I dunno. A bit o’ this and a bit o’ that. Ya know.’

  ‘No,’ Emma said quietly. ‘That’s exactly it. I don’t know.’

  ‘Women shouldn’t trouble their pretty heads about such things.’ He waved his hand dismissively in the air. ‘You’ve got enough to do, lass, and now you’ll soon have a babby.’ He beamed again. ‘You leave Leonard to his own affairs. He’s a good husband, ain’t he?’

  Slowly, she said, ‘Well, yes, I suppose so . . .’

  ‘There you are, then. You be a good wife – and mother.’ Now there was a note of pride in his voice. ‘That’s all I – we – ask of you.’

  She looked at him sharply, but her father had turned away saying over his shoulder, ‘You’ll have to stop doing so much of the heavy work now, Emma.’

  She opened her mouth to retort ‘And how do you expect me to do that when you’ve sacked Luke?’ but instead, she said with deliberate casualness, ‘Why don’t you ask Leonard to help out in the mill?’

  Her father swung round, the frown back on his face. ‘Now you leave things be, Emma. You hear me? You’re still my daughter and this is still my house. You’ll do as I say. Leonard’s all right. He wants no part in the running of the mill. I’ve told you that ’afore. Don’t keep going on about it, girl. It was all agr
eed ’afore you was wed—’ Harry stopped abruptly, as if his sharpness had almost led him to let slip more than he intended.

  ‘Was it indeed?’ Emma’s eyes narrowed. ‘And what exactly was agreed?’

  He stabbed his forefinger towards her. ‘It’s nowt to do with you. It’s between him and me. I’ve told you, you attend to your womanly duties. The home and your child. I want a grandson, Emma, and you’d better not do anything to cheat me of one.’ He turned and left the house, banging the door behind him.

  There! It was said. His joy was not really for her. All he wanted, all he had ever wanted, was a boy-child to fulfil old Charlie’s dreams.

  ‘Luke, won’t you come back to work? Please? We really can’t manage without you or Sarah. You know full well we can’t.’

  They were standing in the middle of the yard, all five of them: Emma, her father and Leonard, Luke and Sarah. There had been a moment’s awkwardness as, in an uncomfortable coincidence, they had all come into the yard at the same moment. It was early one Monday morning. Leonard was about to leave for Lincoln and Emma was walking with him to the gate. Harry, too, had paused to bid his son-in-law goodbye before he crossed the yard to begin work in the mill. At that moment, Luke and Sarah appeared from the orchard and began to cross the yard towards the gate before they realized the presence of the other three. Seizing the moment, Emma had greeted them as they made to pass by without a word.

  Luke stopped and Sarah, her arm through his, was obliged to do so too. The older man’s glance flickered towards Harry Forrest. Slowly Luke answered her, but in a tone that made it obvious to them all that he was in no way apologizing. ‘I will come back, aye, but only because of you, Emma.’ Luke shook his fist towards Harry and Leonard. ‘This poor lass’ll pull ’er guts out for the pair of you selfish beggars. Aye, an’ you’d both let ’er and all.’ His eyes turned towards Leonard. ‘I’ve no time for you, lad, as ya probably know ’cos I reckon there’s more gone on between you and this new father-in-law of yours than any of us knows about.’