She heard a rustle in the undergrowth and, glancing up, spotted a deer. It was quietly feeding in the dusk, unaware of her presence, and Mercy kept very still, anxious not to startle it. As she sat watching the creature in awe, she suddenly caught sight of a feast of blackberries cloaking a thorn hedge, and gave a little squeal, quite unable to stop herself. Startled by her cry, the deer leapt away into the undergrowth.
Undeterred, she gave George a shake. ‘Look, look, brambles. Supper!’
They ate till their mouths were black with the berries and their stomachs could take no more. By the time they’d collected branches for a makeshift shelter it was already growing dark and George had grown oddly silent. Mercy brought bracken to use as a mattress, laying it under the lean-to just as the rain started, relishing the prospect of curling up beside him as they had done on previous nights.
George set a trap using his bootlaces and some forked twigs, since that was all he had, in the vain hope of catching a rabbit for breakfast. Then he lay down beside her. Mercy snuggled close, fitting herself against the warmth of his body like a pair of spoons in a drawer.
She was almost disappointed that yet again he didn’t try anything on. Proper gent, was George. Or else his desires ran in an entirely different direction, which troubled her more than she was prepared to admit. Mercy was beginning to suspect that she was falling in love with George, which wouldn’t do at all, if that were the case.
The bracken was scratchy and not half so soft and comfortable as it had appeared when she’d first laid it down. Nor was the lean-to shelter as waterproof as they’d hoped and the rain soon seeped between the branches, soaking them through. After a largely sleepless night, they woke at dawn to a biting cold, gnawing hunger and a still empty trap. Even George no longer saw their escape as a romantic adventure and agreed there was only one answer. Today must be make or break. They either found themselves a job, or tomorrow they must return to Kendal.
* * *
To Ella’s great joy she received a letter from Livia encouraging her to come any time she cared, assuring her that Father had agreed she could stay for as long as she liked. Amos, however, was not in favour of her staying even for one night. They’d spoken scarcely more than a few essential words since Ella’s visit to the attic, and she knew that he was deliberately avoiding her. Yet he did agree, at last, to a short visit, for one afternoon, no more. Perhaps this was by way of reward for all her hard work these last months, or by way of an apology for his failure to be a true husband to her. Whatever the reason, Ella was simply grateful for this opportunity to spend some time with her sisters, and at once fetched paper and pen to write back to Livia to tell her that she would be there Thursday week.
Chapter Twenty-One
Livia had kept putting off the search of her father’s office, delaying the moment as she sought to summon up the necessary courage. He would be sure to find out that she’d been rooting through his things. Father possessed an uncanny knack of knowing everything that was going on around him. He might even catch her in the act. But if it was true that Mercy had presented him with a letter from her mother, then it must be found. One way or the other, Livia needed to know if Josiah had found some way to silence the poor girl.
She’d just about gathered the nerve to take the chance, when word reached her that a riot had broken out on Fellside. Livia was at once concerned for Jessie and Jack.
She snatched up her bicycle and pedalled hell for leather along Highgate.
The streets of Fellside were in turmoil. The simmering discontent of recent months had boiled up into a communal rage, and tempers were running high. A crowd had gathered in Fountain Brow and bricks and bottles were being thrown, windows smashed, and men were fighting with their bare knuckles or whatever came to hand. And amidst the mêlée a few frantic policemen were running around blowing their whistles and having very little calming effect whatsoever. If anything, the disturbance was worsening. And then Livia spotted Jack.
He’d climbed onto a low roof over an outhouse where he stood with his arms raised, calling for quiet from the crowd gathered around him. The stink from the privies almost made her gag, nevertheless Livia pressed forward to listen along with everyone else, finding herself a safe perch on the corner of a wall.
‘We’ve had enough of being treated like animals,’ he shouted, and the crowd roared their agreement. ‘We live with lice and rats in absolute squalor, breathing in the foul stink of dung pits and cess pools. The pigs are better housed than we are.’
‘We want fresh water in our taps for our kiddies,’ yelled one woman.
‘Aye, and enough privies for everyone.’
‘We want our rubbish collected regular like.’
‘We do indeed,’ Jack yelled, ‘and rents we can afford to pay. Right now we get nowt for the brass we hand over each week, and the sum we pay is increasing beyond our means, particularly considering the pitiful wages we earn. We’re being ripped off by the landlords and the hosiers. Some of us are paying as much as three shillings to live in a hovel not fit for swine, yet they claim the rents don’t cover the cost of repairs. But why would they care? So long as they can sell on the property for a nice fat profit, the landlords come up smelling of roses. I, for one, have had enough of being used as fodder to make rich men richer.’
Another roar from the crowd, filled with outrage at this indisputable but unpalatable fact.
It was then that the rain started, the kind of relentless, driving rain that seemed peculiarly native to Lakeland. The skies suddenly opened and it came down in torrents, hammering like nails upon their heads, drenching the assembled crowd in seconds. Some of the women grabbed their children and ran for cover, while most of the men and some of the more determined women remained. Jessie among them.
The police seemed to take this exodus as a good sign and began trying to herd the rest of the stragglers back to their homes. Their efforts were far from welcome and most fiercely resisted. It was as if war had broken out and the embattled constables soon found themselves being pelted with stones and muck picked up out of the filthy gutters and dung heaps.
Far from dispersing the crowd, other folk came rushing to join in and the mob soon doubled in size. The howling, baying throng weren’t listening to Jack any longer, and surely bones as well as windows were now being broken, children getting caught up in the panic.
One child of about four or five fell headlong on the cobbles, and would have been trampled underfoot had not Jack quickly jumped down from the roof and plucked him from the crush. He handed him over to his relieved mother, then helped the pair of them to the corner of The Syke, so named for a syke, or stream, that had once run down it. Now this had become an open drain, clotted with the kind of filth it was best not to examine too closely, and surely proved the neglect endemic in the district. When finally free of the throng, the woman clutched the child to her breast and began to run.
But not before Livia saw her give Jack a quick kiss on his cheek. Was that simply by way of thanks, or something more? She felt a pang of sorrow in her heart, anxious that it might be the latter.
Jack didn’t hang around to watch the young mother safely home, but turned back to assist Jessie, who’d started to unfurl a huge banner, presumably one that proudly declared the purpose of their campaign. Livia jumped down from the wall and set off to fight her way through the crowd, intent on helping, but at the same moment she saw her father, Josiah Angel.
He came up Low Fellside and burst into Fountain Brow with a group of armed militia on his heels. Frantic now, she tried to reach her friends and urge them to escape. But then someone hit her over the head and everything went black.
They were spared a bloodbath by the quick thinking of Jack and other leaders of the Fellside community, as well as the common sense of the militia. The former had everyone running for cover within seconds, and the latter were slow to respond, largely ignoring the instructions of Councillor Josiah Angel, who seemed to want the running figures cut down in a hail
of bullets.
Once some sort of calm was restored, Jack picked up Livia in his arms and carried her to Jessie.
One man had suffered a broken arm, another crushed ribs, and several folk nursed cuts and bruises, but nothing really serious. The people of Fellside returned to their homes, strangely subdued and ruefully aware that they’d achieved nothing. No doubt their landlords would punish this small rebellion by raising the rents still further, rather than lowering them as they’d hoped.
Livia soon recovered from the blow to her head and returned home, incandescent with rage, wasting no time in tackling her father on the subject. The moment dinner was over that evening, and Josiah had returned to the drawing room following his usual cigar and glass of whisky, she began her attack, determined to take up the cudgels on her friends’ behalf.
‘Why will you not reduce the rents you charge to a more economic level, Father? One the residents can afford to pay.’
‘And leave myself worse off? Don’t be ridiculous, girl.’ Josiah was so irritated by the question that he poured himself a cup of coffee, not even thinking to demand that one of his daughters do this for him, as they usually did.
Maggie handed him the sugar, casting her sister a reproving glance. ‘Perhaps this isn’t the right moment for such a delicate discussion, Livvy. It’s all rather too raw and recent.’
‘It is precisely the right moment.’ Livia waited until he was settled in his wing chair before continuing with her argument. ‘Why won’t you at least carry out some repairs?’
‘Because I’m not made of brass, although some folk might think otherwise.’
‘You are by comparison with the poor souls who have to live in those damp, infested hovels. Have you even stepped inside one, Father? Do you know how those poor people are condemned to live day after day? They need clean water, more lavatories, and the kind of rubbish-free streets and decent sewerage system that is benefiting the rest of the town. Surely that’s not too much to ask?’
Josiah set down his untouched coffee on a nearby table with a snap. ‘I trust you aren’t going to turn into a radical, girl. The last thing I need is a suffragist for a daughter.’
Livia bridled. ‘This has nothing to do with me being a radical, nor was that riot anything to do with women’s rights. It was about the rights of honest people, the need to provide decent accommodation for respectable human beings.’
This comment seemed to amuse him as he put back his great head and roared with laughter, eyebrows twitching, the jutting chin wobbling alarmingly. ‘Honest people? Respectable human beings? What, the likes of Jack Flint? You must be mad. He represents the lowest of the low.’
‘At least Jack cares about his family, which is more than can be said for you, Father.’ It was the bravest, most reckless remark she had made to him in a long while, and Livia sensed rather than heard her sister’s quick indrawn breath.
Josiah stared at his daughter for a long moment, then pushing himself up from his chair with the agility of a man of much younger years, he came over to where she was seated by the fire. Livia’s book lay forgotten in her lap, and picking it up he glanced at the title: The History of the Roman Empire. He tossed it aside with a scornful growl, then grasped her firmly by the chin, almost spitting in her face as he responded.
‘Who am I then? Nero? You think I’m fiddling while Rome burns? Well, maybe I am. Maybe I enjoy the role of tyrant. I deserve it after all I’ve done for this town. But if you ever go near that man, the notorious Jack Flint, who has been a thorn in my side for more years than I care to count, you’ll be the one thrown to the lions. You have my word on that.’
‘Father, please don’t!’ This from Maggie, who had leapt to her feet, as always distressed when her father’s temper grew heated. He turned on her, his face dark with anger. ‘I’ll have no more of this obstinacy, from either of you. I’m damned if I’ll be lectured by my own daughters. Get upstairs to bed, the pair of you, or you’ll be spending the night in less conducive surroundings.’
Both girls scuttled away without another word. Maggie was trembling with nerves, knowing he would come to her later, if only to re-establish his control, and he would be in an especially foul mood.
Livia stormed to her room seething with silent fury. Sadly, the poor of Fellside had achieved nothing by their rebellion, and herself even less by trying to help them, despite her courage in standing up to her father.
But if nothing else, the confrontation had helped Livia to make up her mind on one thing. She would visit Father’s office at the very first opportunity and find that dratted letter. She would discover what had happened to that poor girl, no matter what the cost. He seemed to imagine he possessed the power to manipulate the lives of others simply to suit himself, well he was wrong. No matter what the risk involved, she was determined to take it.
She chose the very next afternoon, a time when she knew her father would be out enjoying lunch with his friends and colleagues. The store always closed for one hour from twelve-thirty until one-thirty. Once she was certain that all was quiet within and all the assistants were upstairs in the dining hall, she crept back along the myriad corridors till she reached her father’s office.
The door was closed fast, as she’d expected. It might well be locked and a part of her half hoped that it would be, so that she need go no further with this dangerous quest. But as she turned the shiny mahogany knob with trembling fingers, the door creaked open. Within seconds she was on the inside, pressing it closed behind her, her heart beating loud and fast in her breast. What on earth was she doing? Had she completely lost her reason? If Miss Caraway should take it into her head to come and check on her, she’d be the one in the soup.
Livia glanced wildly about the room. The office was remarkably untidy with papers strewn everywhere, but then her father had no servants here, as there were at home, to wait upon him. It didn’t look as if he even allowed Miss Caraway to touch anything, which wasn’t so surprising. He wouldn’t want that busybody poking her nose into his private concerns. He had absolutely forbidden his own daughter access to the store’s accounts, refused even to discuss his buying policy with her, so he was hardly likely to risk a mere employee getting sight of anything personal or important.
So where should she begin to look? Where would he keep such a private document as a letter from a former lover which contained the kind of information that could ruin him, if made public?
Tiptoeing swiftly across the room, Livia opened a mahogany filing cabinet and looked inside, her heart sinking as she saw the bewildering collection of files. They didn’t even seem to be in any sort of alphabetical order. She quickly leafed through several, doing her best to return them to the same position she’d found them. Nothing. But then what had she expected? A file marked PRIVATE LETTERS just waiting to be opened? She closed the drawer with a sharp click that seemed to echo loudly in the empty room.
Glancing back at the closed door she half expected it to open, and for Miss Caraway to appear, eyes glaring. Thankfully, it remained blessedly closed.
Once her heart had quietened to a more normal beat, Livia started to search hastily along the bookshelves. She riffled through the drawers of her father’s desk, at least those that were not locked. Since she could see no sign of a key anywhere, there wasn’t much she could do about the others.
The task was hopeless. Even if the letter had ever existed, it was gone now, probably thrown away long since. Livia found herself searching through the waste basket, just in case, but of course that was foolish as it was emptied daily, and it must be months since Mercy’s visit. The whole thing was a complete waste of time.
She froze as she imagined she heard a footfall on the corridor outside. Was that Father coming back early, perhaps the worse for sherry and port? If she hung around here a moment longer than necessary she could well live to regret it. If she lived at all. He would surely want her head on the block if he caught her snooping.
Livia swept her gaze one last time over the items
on his desk: pen and ink stand, blotter, newly installed telephone, and then, quite by chance, she glanced at the most obvious place of all. The letter rack. A quick riffle through and there it was. A single sheet of crumpled paper that had obviously been quickly folded and stuffed hurriedly behind a wodge of old receipts. Livia’s eyes widened as she quickly scanned the contents, which confirmed all that Jack had told her. Then, just as she was tucking it safely away in her pocket, she heard the door handle turn.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Amos drove Ella into town on the farm cart, and as he dropped her off at the gate to Angel House, he promised to collect her at four o’clock sharp.
‘Aren’t you coming in to pay your respects?’
‘When I return, happen. I’ve some jobs to do in town. I can’t sit about blathering with womenfolk.’
Ella regarded her husband from beneath her lashes. ‘Don’t think to spy on me, Amos. I have no intention of seeking out Danny Gilpin, or doing anything I shouldn’t. You have nothing to fear on that score.’ And she climbed down from the cart without waiting for his reply, knowing that she’d caught him out and that was exactly what he’d intended. But before she got halfway along the drive, the front door burst open and Maggie and Livia came racing to meet her, and all such concerns flew out of her head.
The three sisters fell upon each other on a burst of laughter and joy, all talking at once and none of them listening to the other. It took several cups of the tea that Kitty brought them before they calmed down sufficiently to begin to take in all their news.
Livia told them the story of the riot. ‘It was really quite dreadful. It’s a wonder more people weren’t injured or someone killed, and the weather didn’t help of course.’ For some reason she chose not to mention Jack Flint, keeping the memory of the part he played that day to herself. Not out of shame, because she was proud of his heroic acts that day, more a fear that she might too easily reveal her growing attachment to him. ‘Father, of course, brought the militia and would have had the rioters all shot if he’d had his way.’
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