All that mincing and fawning to win over his former employer for a start, and then having to set aside personal inclinations to court and marry his whey-faced daughter. Since then there’d been his wife’s failure to provide him with a son, and recalcitrant daughters who’d been the bane of his life ever since.
As for that little madam in the workhouse, his heart had near failed him when she’d called out, addressing him as Father, for some ridiculous reason imagining he’d come to rescue her. Thank God everyone else had simply deemed her to be mad. He’d said as much to the workhouse master, pointing out that the girl was either a rogue and a charlatan, or had completely lost her senses. The man had not demurred when Josiah suggested the birch might curtail her vivid imagination, which had resolved the problem most satisfactorily. Mercy Simpson had been dealt with as she deserved, and there was an end to the matter.
Lavinia, however, was still to be dealt with, and so far as Josiah was concerned, Hodson could have her any way he chose, whether she was willing or not. He was adamant about only one thing: the store would remain firmly in his own hands.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Tea with Mrs Jepson had become a regular feature of Ella’s week, but she hadn’t seen her since Tilda had fallen ill. One afternoon, desperate to get out of the house after being confined for so long, Ella suggested they walk down the lane to see her. She took Tilda with her, judging she too would benefit from a breath of fresh air.
Ella was also suddenly keen to learn more about her predecessor. Up until now she’d considered Amos’s first marriage to be none of her business. He’d held up the wonderful Esther as some sort of saint and paragon of virtue, and was clearly still grieving for the woman. Otherwise, why else would he have turned his back on his second wife? Ella really hadn’t wanted to think about Amos’s first wife any more than was absolutely necessary. She’d been an ominous presence in their marriage, almost as intrusive as her own father. Now, following the remarks made by both Amos and Mrs Rackett during Tilda’s illness, she was filled with curiosity to know more about her.
Wilma Jepson was delighted to see them both. As a widow who lived alone, she was more than ready to pop the kettle on and partake of a cup of tea and enjoy a bit of crack. ‘There are few enough people to talk to round here, so I’ve missed a good gossip these last couple of weeks. Now, what can we find for this little lass?’
She found Tilda an iced fairy cake and, after rummaging through her dresser, an old colouring book and packet of crayons. Tilda was beginning to think that being sick was really quite a treat, something to be savoured and enjoyed.
‘How is the little lass then? She still looks a bit peaky.’
‘She’s making a good recovery at last. Comes downstairs for two hours every afternoon now, when we play lots of silly games.’
‘Games?’ Mrs Jepson said, her mouth falling open with shock.
‘We’ve been very silly, Aunty Wilma,’ piped up Tilda, brown eyes shining. ‘Giggling and laughing and all sorts.’
‘Giggling and laughing? My word, have you indeed? Well, I’m glad to hear it. There’s nowt like a bit of silliness to get over being poorly.’
When the little girl had settled herself on the rug with Mrs Jepson’s cat, enjoying her cake and happily colouring in the pictures, Ella ventured a question. ‘Did their mother ever play with them?’
‘Esther? Nay, that vinegar-faced woman wouldn’t have known how to smile and have fun if you’d paid her.’
‘I must say I’ve searched the entire house from top to bottom looking for some harmless game to entertain them. Snakes and Ladders perhaps, or Ludo, but have drawn a blank. Not even a pack of cards.’
Mrs Jepson laughed. ‘You’d not find owt as sinful as cards, not in a Methodist household. Eeh, but I reckon I might have a set of draughts somewhere, what our Maureen used to play with when she were little. She’s married now, with childer of her own.’
The older woman got up and began to search through the dresser again. It seemed to be stuffed with books and papers, baskets of half-finished knitting, bags of buttons, and any amount of detritus. ‘Here it is, and a Snakes and Ladders too by the look of it. You’re welcome to both.’
‘Won’t your grandchildren want them when they call?’
‘Nay, they consider themselves far too grown-up for childish games nowadays. Go on, tek ’em, them kids need summat to lighten their little lives.’
Over tea and gingerbread, Ella ventured to ask the question that had been nagging her for some time. ‘So what was she like, Esther?’
Mrs Jepson sipped at the tea in her best china cup, and considered. ‘The kindest thing you could say about that woman is that she couldn’t help the way she was because it was all bound up in that religion of hers, and of course she were allus ailing summat.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. My mother was an invalid for years, though we never quite knew what it was that ailed her. Her heart perhaps, or some weakness of the blood, I’m not sure. She died when I was quite young, so I do understand how it feels to lose a mother. I wish I could explain that to the children.’
Mrs Jepson was looking sympathetic, and patted Ella’s hand gently. ‘I’m sure you’ll find a way, you’re a good girl, a good wife to Amos, if he but realised it.’
Ella gently brought her back to her question. ‘Were they happy together, Esther and Amos?’
Mrs Jepson laughed. ‘Oh aye, I’m sure they were in their way. He worshipped the ground she walked on, did everything he possibly could for that woman. But, like I say, I’m not sure she ever understood the meaning of the word happiness. Moan, moan, moan, from dawn to dusk. Nothing were ever right. When I say she was allus ailing, what I really mean is that she imagined she was. There’s a name fer it, hypo-summat.’
‘Hypochondria?’
‘That’s it. If she heard tell of some illness or other, a flu epidemic, tummy upset, rheumatic fever, even pleurisy or neuralgia, she’d be sure to catch it, or think she had. For years she insisted she had ammonia.’
‘Do you mean she was anaemic?’
‘Aye, summat of the sort. I allus thought it were Esther’s way of avoiding work. She left most of the hard graft to Mrs Rackett. There were nought Esther liked more than sitting with her feet up, even if she didn’t do anything more exciting than eat currant sad cake and read her Bible. But she were very particular about how things should be done, wanting the house to be clean as a new pin with not a cushion out of place. Nay, not a cushion in sight, more like, as they might harbour germs.
‘She was a Puritan of the worst sort, was Esther, issuing daft rules for the childer: no nursery rhymes or stories, or toys of any sort, as if they were a sin sent by the devil. Right little spoilsport she were. It all started from the time Amos would come home roaring drunk. The pubs were open till midnight and he’d go from one to the other, then he did it once too often for her liking. Esther did not approve.’
‘Amos got roaring drunk?’ Ella could scarcely believe it.
‘All the farmers did. Nothing unusual in that, but Esther put a stop to it and insisted he sign the pledge. After that she became obsessed with religion, wanting complete silence for her prayers and meditations with no noisy childer racketing about. I suppose Amos joined in out of shame, and he were that grateful she’d not left him. Anyroad, he could see no wrong in her and believed all that gobbledygook she spouted at him. He adored the woman even though she played him for a fool.’
‘What do you mean by that? In what way did she play him for a fool?’
Something closed in Wilma Jessop’s face. ‘Nay, I’ve said too much already.’ But then apparently gave the lie to this statement by blithely continuing, ‘Anyroad, after she’d enjoyed bad health for years, she really did fall sick, which she didn’t enjoy at all.’
‘Why, what happened?’
‘The pair of them went into Kendal, as they generally did every week to attend the market, only on this occasion there was an epidemic of scarlet fev
er starting. Esther had never suffered from owt worse than a bad cold up until that point, despite her imaginings, but she caught summat that day. It was terrible to see the poor woman suffer. Poor Amos did everything he could to save her.
‘The doctor called, issuing instructions about how to restrict the spread of the infection by keeping the children out of the way, hanging a vinegar-soaked sheet up at the door, all of that stuff. He told Amos to keep his hands scrubbed scrupulously clean, then he left, insisting isolation on the farm was the best thing for her.’
‘So that’s why he insisted I put them up for Tilda?’
‘Oh, aye, Amos followed the doctor’s instructions to the letter, and from that moment nursed his wife all on his own, wouldn’t allow anyone else near. Mrs Rackett looked after the childer and practically ran the farm single-handed for a while. By the time Esther died the poor man had become so fixated with cleanliness and fighting the infection he couldn’t seem to stop. He’s still the same to this day, so far as I’m aware. Neurotic on the subject, he is.’
‘I’ve noticed that he can’t seem to stop washing his hands,’ Ella agreed.
‘It’s partly out of fear for the children, of course. He’s terrified they too might get sick and then he’d have no one. That’s the reason he holds himself back and won’t show them the least bit of love or affection. He daren’t risk it in case he loses them too.’
‘Oh, Mrs Jepson, that’s dreadful.’ Ella had listened to this sorry tale with deepening horror. ‘Does he blame himself then, for his wife’s death?’
‘Oh, aye. He sees Kendal market now as a den of iniquity and won’t go near it. That’s why I offered to take his produce in to sell, for the sake of them poor bairns if nowt else. He needs the income. He thinks the doctor failed her too, which is a bit unfair. Many others died of that dreadful disease at the time, and if it’s God’s will there’s nothing anyone can do, that’s what I say.’
Ella leant forward in her seat, her eyes brimming with tears as she saw the misery that had engulfed this small family for years. How the poor man must have suffered. ‘So what can I do to help? How can I make things better for the children, and for their father?’
Mrs Jepson gently patted her hand. ‘It might not seem so by the po-face he carries on him, but that man is besotted with you, lass. He does want to please you and make you happy, it’s just that he doesn’t know how. He’s far too serious for his own good, and a bit shy and lacking in confidence.’
‘Shy?’ Not for the world had Ella imagined any man could be termed shy, not with the kind of father she had. And she certainly hadn’t considered Amos would suffer from such an affliction.
‘Indeed he is, and taciturn, as many farmers are in these parts. He doesn’t see enough people to buff up his social graces. You’ll have to teach him how, dear. But look at that child, at her rosy cheeks, and how content she is playing wi’ them crayons. I’d say you don’t need any advice from me. You seem to be managing very well by yourself.’
* * *
Later in the week, the blacksmith called on one of his regular visits to shoe the horses and Ella asked him if he would make the children a hoop and stick each for them to play with. Losing Maggie, and almost losing Tilda, had taught her how precious life was. And talking to dear Mrs Jepson had given her the courage to decide that it was time to stop kowtowing to the edicts of a long-dead woman.
‘Children need to play,’ she stoutly remarked, lifting her chin as if daring anyone to defy her.
Amos was clearly startled by the unexpected request, and Ella saw that his first instinct was to open his mouth in protest. But then she saw something change in his eyes, and he closed it again. He said nothing as the blacksmith laughingly agreed he’d be delighted to make them each a hoop and stick. He’d get right on to the job first thing in the morning and see they had them by the time Emmett came home on Friday, by which time he hoped Tilda would be well enough to play with it.
When Friday came, Tilda and Emmett were so thrilled by the gift they could hardly speak for joy. They both glanced nervously at their father, wondering if perhaps he might issue some rule that they could play with it only at certain times, or if he might take it away from them altogether. But to their surprise and delight he said, ‘Aren’t you going to thank your stepmother for this lovely present? I should think she deserves a kiss at least.’
A kiss? Unheard of in this household!
Tilda instantly flung herself into Ella’s arms to hug her tight around her waist and Ella duly bent down to receive a smacking kiss. Emmett followed his sister’s lead more slowly, but offered her a shy kiss on the cheek, and then blushed to the roots of his tousled brown hair.
‘Now your turn, Pa,’ Tilda said, her young face bright with mischief.
‘I wonder if that would be wise,’ Amos replied.
Ella half turned away, embarrassed by Tilda’s forwardness, but then, to her complete astonishment, she saw that Amos was smiling. His whole face seemed to light up, revealing an entirely different man from the one she’d come to know. His blue eyes crinkled at the corners, his flat cheeks lifted and he looked almost reborn.
‘Perhaps you’re right, Tilda. I need to thank Ella for taking such very good care of you. I should show how much I appreciate all she has done for us these last weeks by bringing our precious girl back to life.’
And then, before she could protest, Amos caught Ella’s chin in his hand and kissed her soundly on the lips. There was a shyness to it, a fumbling embarrassment between them and a bumping of noses. It wasn’t anything like the kind of kiss Ella remembered from their previous two encounters. Oh, but it felt so good.
Ella was dimly aware of the two children laughing and cheering them on, and when he lifted his mouth from hers, he smiled at her again.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Not just for Tilda, but for…for everything. For being here…with us.’
Ella was so astounded she couldn’t think of a thing to say in response. Turning to the children, she said, ‘Come on then, you two, let’s see how good you are at bowling that thing.’
And with a shout of laughter the children snatched up their new toy and set off around the farmyard, slapping and striking the iron hoop in an effort to make it roll. They were soon all in fits of laughter, even Amos, as the hoop bowled anywhere but where the children wanted it to. Emmett struck his so hard it set off down the lane at a dangerous lick, heading straight for the river. Fortunately, he managed to catch it in time. Tilda’s actually rolled right over her at one point, knocking her to the ground, and both Ella and Amos rushed to pick her up, still grinning from ear to ear, colliding with each other in the process so that Amos had to catch her in his arms to steady her.
By seven o’clock, when Ella called them in for a supper of hot milk and buttered Chorley cakes, they were near-masters at the skill. Simple happiness had at last arrived at Todd Farm, and with it had come the realisation that something else had changed too. Ella had fallen in love with her husband.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Once those first fragile weeks were behind her, Livia knew she must contribute something to the household for her keep and asked Jessie to teach her how to knit, to spin and to weave.
‘Nay, tha doesn’t want to do that,’ Jessie had protested. ‘There’s no money in weaving these days, nor in the knitting. It’s all dying out.’
‘Surely it can’t ever die out, though I accept things might change.’
‘Mebbe, but there’s no money in it any more. We pay through the odds for the yarn and get paid nobbut a few coppers for labouring all day over a pair of stockings for the soldiers or sailors. And with no wars on, for which we are truly thankful, there’s not much call for them right now. Nay, you find yourself a better job, lass. You could walk into one of a dozen.’
But Livia found that she couldn’t. Employers either demanded references or were highly suspicious of why the eldest daughter of the town’s most prominent businessman and present mayor was in need
of such common employment. They assumed it was either a put-up job and she was being sent to spy on them, or Livia was simply seeking to amuse herself, which wasn’t quite proper with her sister dead. No one would take her on. So by way of payment for the meals and care her friends offered her, she set about learning these skills herself. She wanted to share in their labours as they knitted, or treadled their loom. It was a long hard road she trod, and Jack would often laugh as she became frustrated with her own clumsiness and silly mistakes, or if Jessie apologetically rejected the piece she’d laboured over for so long, making her unpick it and start all over again. The work had to be of top quality or it wouldn’t be accepted; bad work wouldn’t sell.
The knitting stick seemed to have a life of its own, so often disgorging all the stitches she’d so painstakingly put on. Then Jessie would tighten her toothless mouth and shake her head in mock despair before patiently helping her to put it right. Livia hated to be a trial. Time and yarn was money. This wasn’t some foolish game they were playing. This was all about survival.
‘Na then, it’s not like ordinary knitting where you use two needles, you has to let yer body move with it. It’s a bit tricky but you must persist if you want to learn the rhythm, lass.’
‘Oh, Jessie, I can but try. Maybe I should learn something else, the weaving, or the spinning. Is that any easier?’
‘Find me some raw wool that doesn’t cost a small fortune and I’ll show you how to card and spin it. We buy the yarn from the hosiery company, which is expensive. And the weaving doesn’t pay as well as it did.’
‘I see. Yes, of course.’
The factories of Lancashire and Yorkshire could do it better, and far cheaper, with their steam-operated power looms. The folk of Fellside had mostly been employed in weaving linseys, and Jessie could remember the days when it was common to see men carrying home the huge bundles of yarn to be woven into the fine woollen cloth. But all of that was gone now.
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