‘Seems to me you’ve forgot a few facts!’ An irate Jinny Jinks was again on her feet. ‘Seems Leah Marshall be the one forgettin’ we be fightin’ a war, that things be ’ard enough for folk havin’ their men killed wi’out her addin’ to their worries.’
‘Leah be acquainted with that. Sorry Jinny, her lost both sons to the war.’
‘So her did!’ Jinny’s angry glance shot to the old man, his gnarled hands resting on a walking stick. ‘And I don’t be disputin’ the pain o’ that, but it be pain shared by many, Ezekial, some of who be grievin’ for folk killed not on foreign soil but right here in Wednesbury, the night them Zeppelins dropped their bombs. You all remembers . . .’ Jinny’s look swept her audience. ‘You remembers January the thirty-first.’
‘Remembers clear.’
‘Were a terrible night.’
‘King Street, nobbut a stone’s throw from this very spot, were all but demolished.’
‘Ar, and the Crown Tube Works flattened, put men out of work did that.’
Fluttering like the wings of so many startled birds the mutterings grew.
‘Tekin’ work be bad but the tekin’ of the lives of innocent children . . .’
When a sob ended another woman’s lament Jinny Jinks grabbed the opportunity to continue.
‘We all of we remembers that don’t we Leah!’ Her look flashed to the open doorway. ‘None of we be like to forget Jemima Smith along of King Street, of her leavin’ the house on hearin’ a loud explosion; thought it were an accident inside the factory but when bombs started to drop behind of her, bombs comin’ from a Zeppelin her seen shinin’ clear an’ silver in the sky, her run back home, Jemima run back to find the ’ouse naught but rubble. The bodies of Nellie, just thirteen years old, and Thomas, eleven, along of their father Joseph were brought out of the ruins that night but her youngest, Ina, barely past her seventh birthday, weren’t found ’til next morning, found where her little body had been thrown by the blast of that bomb on to the very roof of the James Russell Works. But that don’t be all of the folk who died that night, them bombs took ten more from this town as well as folk from Dudley, Tipton and Walsall.’
‘Won’t nobody’ll go forgettin’ that night,’ Ezekial put in solemnly. ‘But it were nineteen sixteen them raids was carried out, some two years gone, and ain’t bin no other since so where be the point in rakin’ over cold ashes?’
‘Point!’ Jinny pounced on the word. ‘The point be them Zeppelins d’ain’t go droppin’ their bombs on no empty ’eath but right where them Germans knowed to be coal mines and factories, and how did they know? Cos they was told, told by a spy right here among we, a spy who’ll do the same lessen we does summat about it; he’ll ’ave them Zeppelins back to tek the lives of more poor folk.’
Ezekial rapped his stick impatiently. ‘That be naught but scaremongerin’. We knows who it be Jinny be talkin’ of an’ I says her be wrong, that lad weren’t in Wednesbury at the time them there airyplanes come.’
‘ ’Ow does you know!’ The bit firmly between her teeth Jinny rounded on her opponent. ‘Cos he d’ain’t live here at the time don’t mean he couldn’t know of them mines, the iron and steel works; there do be buses and trains, he could’ve easy got hisself in an’ out of the town.’
‘A spy!’ Derision vibrated in the snapped words as Leah turned a long deprecating stare towards the pulpit. ‘I don’t needs ask who it be helped Jinny reach them findin’s same as I ’ave no need of askin’ who it be set minds to thinkin’ the young lad under my roof be a spy.’
She looked back to the quietly whispering assembly, glancing at each face in turn, as she continued. ‘Leah Marshall won’t be wantin’ of no help with her findin’s for they be already med and they be this. The lad and the wench along of him be remainin’ at Leah Marshall’s place so long as they be minded; so . . .’ She glared intensely at the woman whose implied accusation had caused such a stir ‘. . . that bein’ the way of it Jinny Jinks then you and any other folk holdin’ any argument with that best bring it not to Ann Spencer nor yet to Edward Langley but to me. You all knows where I live.’ Gathering the corners of her shawl Leah held them, her glance shifting from the suddenly silent onlookers to the lone figure in the pulpit.
‘You all knows Leah Marshall’s place,’ she repeated, her look unwavering, ‘but should it be Jinny, Lottie Hopcroft or any other feels the need of help putting thought into word then I be certain Thomas Thorpe’ll be ready to give advice, ready as he ever is to fill folks’ minds and mouths with whatever be useful to Thomas Thorpe.’
The last words provoked a series of sharp gasps around the room. Leah lifted the shawl, draping it to cover her bonnet, then turned and walked away.
‘There be summat I needs tell the pair of you.’
Leah had looked up over her cup of tea.
‘I waited of you comin’, Edward, for I wouldn’t ’ave you thinkin’ Ann had talked of that which her begged you say nothin’ of. But it ’appened neither of you needed break no promise for I ’eard for myself. Don’t be Leah Marshall’s way to go listenin’ to other folks’ conversation but what drifted across that yard when I were comin’ through the scullery, what you said about women no longer wantin’ to buy from my dairy, then I considered it to be my business to listen cos I knowed rightly not you nor Ann would’ve said a word of it to me.’
Leah had known yet had made not the slightest mention of the fact. Ann felt again a feeling almost of guilt at hiding something from the other woman. Even Edward’s glance, his quick smile as if to say, ‘I could have told you so; you can never hide anything from Leah,’ had not entirely compensated.
As she fastened the buttons of the calico nightgown conscience burned warm again in Ann. On the first evening in this house Leah had brought her to this room, had taken the nightgown from the dresser. For a moment she had held it close to her breast, seeming to tremble, then she had turned but though the trembling had been mastered the pain in those gentle green eyes had not.
‘I couldn’t ’ave the sendin’ of these to the pawnshop.’
Leah had smiled as she spoke but tears had sparkled and again it had seemed the ache inside would be too strong to let her speak. Then she had held out the nightdress.
‘If it be you ’ave no quarrel with the wearin’ then the things you’ll find in this room be your’n an’ welcome.’
She had left then, her quick footsteps on the wooden stairs seeming to Ann to be the drum of heartbreak she had glimpsed behind the threatened tears.
Her fingers pausing on the last of the row of tiny buttons Ann looked at her reflection in a small mirror. How much pain had it caused Leah to part with the belongings of a cherished daughter?
Now, Ann Spencer was adding to that hurt. Her own eyes seemed to accuse her from the mirror. It is right I should leave, Ann cried silently, staying here can only bring more unhappiness to Leah.
And what of Ann Spencer? The reflected eyes asked their own silent question. What of her unhappiness?
She would not think of that, she would not think any more of what had passed earlier in the evening.
Ann climbed into the neat iron-framed bed but even as she turned off the pretty blue-globed lamp memories began to live in her mind.
‘There you ’ave it!’ Leah’s voice seemed to rise in the stillness. ‘I told it plain, Alec and y’self bides in this house for as long as you be minded.’
‘We both know your kindness and we thank you for it . . .’ Ann heard her own reply. ‘But Alec and I are agreed we cannot be the cause of any loss to your business.’
Behind closed eyes Ann saw Leah shake her head.
‘Loss!’ Loud in the silence of the sleeping house the words returned. ‘I won’t be sufferin’ no loss of business. Them women be easy led, they don’t always ’ave the thinkin’ of what be the outcome of what they say afore they says it, but they’ll ’ave sense enough to realise that feedin’ of their families be preferable to listenin’ to rumours. Mark my words, th
at cart won’t be bringin’ back a smidgeon of cheese nor a scrape of butter; there won’t be a soul among the lot of ’em will be refusin’ to buy.’
Nobody would refuse! Ann opened her eyes on to the moonlit shadows of the room. Leah could not be certain her customers would not refuse her dairy food; she could not be positive the ultimatum given to the people gathered in the chapel would have the desired effect, also she could not manage both the work of the dairy and the delivery round on her own. Hadn’t she said as much?
Should Ann stay the dairy would lose trade, should she leave then the dairy might be closed; either way Leah’s living was threatened. Could she risk either happening to the woman who had been so kind?
Ann stared resolutely at the shadows dancing about the walls. Leah’s livelihood would not be threatened by her leaving. There were girls right here on the woman’s doorstep, the daughters of neighbours she could train in the dairy, girls already familiar with the streets and alleyways of the town. They would have those same deliveries made that much more quickly; and Edward Langley would also be here ready to help.
Lifting an arm across her face Ann tried to blot out the pictures from her mind but still they came. Darkness was no barrier to the light of memory; she watched the girl she knew to be herself carry the bowl to the yard, saw her empty the contents into the open channel feeding into a drain then stand, bowl in hand, her gaze going across the field where Leah’s ‘girls’ grazed contentedly. But here in the silent solitude of her bedroom Ann knew it was not the cows that glance had sought but the tall figure of Edward Langley moving in the distance.
He had come bringing the evening milk yield from his own herd as usual, then stayed on to assist in the dairy, a practice not usual before Alec’s accident. But now with Alec being well enough to move on would that practice stop?
The attempt to shut out the past failed to halt either picture or word, so Ann lowered the arm flung across her brow.
What mental imp of mischief had urged she ask that question when in her heart she well knew the answer? But she had asked it.
Her glance had followed the figure, watched it disappear beyond the gentle swell of land that was the beginning of Hill Rise Farm while the result of her question replayed vividly.
Edward Langley had turned from hoisting a freshly scrubbed milk churn on to his cart and for an instant it had seemed there was a pleading in those clear brown eyes. Then turning again he had resumed the task of loading the cart.
Her head pressing into the pillow Ann felt the sting of what had followed bite at her afresh.
She had thought the silence following her question to mean he would not reply but with the last churn in place and the tailgate of the cart safely bolted he had turned to face her a second time, his eyes now holding a very different look. Any plea she might have seen was gone, replaced by a detachment hostile in its coldness.
‘Miss Spencer . . .’
His icily indifferent words again brought the chill they had produced when they had been said. ‘Leah Marshall managed well enough before you came to live here and she will manage well enough after you are gone, a move I think would be best for all concerned were it done sooner rather than later.’
There had been no handshake, no word of regret at a friend’s leaving the district. He had not even smiled. A sadness such as she had not expected to feel had risen, bringing the choke of swift tears. Edward Langley had been so aloof, so impersonal in his attitude. But then what could you expect! Leah Marshall was as a mother to Edward Langley and he stood as one of the family she had lost; they were virtually mother and son so any feeling of regret must be for Leah, for her being let down by a woman she had befriended, taken into her own home when others of Wednesbury had turned their backs. That was how he viewed the matter; she, Ann Spencer, had let down the woman who meant so much to him and for Edward Langley that was unforgivable.
But there was no other way! The cry in her heart had winged silently after him. He had taken himself completely from her; whatever friendship might have built between them was over.
‘I think would be best for all concerned were it done sooner rather than later.’
Edward Langley had made it perfectly clear. He would feel no loss at her going. But she? Ann closed her eyes against the surge of hot tears. She already felt loss, an emptiness that yawned like a deep dark well at the pit of her stomach.
Chapter 18
He wanted her gone, out of this town, wanted the complete assurance none of this would be taken from him, something only her leaving Wednesbury would give.
Thomas Thorpe glanced about the small study, drinking in its simple orderly neatness, the well-polished shelves which would hold his books, the comfortable chair drawn to the equally cared-for table which would serve as his desk.
His! Chagrin burned in Thorpe’s veins. This house, the chapel, and all that went with it belonged not to any stranger but to him. Thomas Thorpe should live here, Thomas Thorpe preach in that chapel, he and only he deserved to be minister. And he would be. Taking a long calming breath he glanced again about the room. With Ann Spencer gone there would be nothing to challenge his security.
He had intended she be spurned by those women, driven away as a result of their notions, ideas sown by him. Now the harvest was being reaped. But he would have preferred the process to take a while longer thus allowing time for him to reap his own reward, to enjoy in reality that which plagued his thoughts almost constantly: his rape of Ann Spencer.
But Leah Marshall’s little tirade had taken that delight from him; her saying she would supply nothing to women demanding her lodgers be sent packing might have seemed like a threat which would make Jinny Jinks and the rest withdraw their own ultimatum but on reflection she would have realised the real threat was against herself. Without custom there was no business and without either business or family to support her it would be Leah Marshall would suffer most, and for all her championing of the homeless the loss of her own was something the woman just could not risk: and so Ann Spencer and the brat she had with her were probably even now well away from Wednesbury. A pity – he reached for the oil lamp lighting the small room designed to be the minister’s study – but then where one delight was denied another was often given in its place. He would not now revel in feeling that girl’s fear, seeing the hope die in her eyes as she realised resistance was in vain. Oh yes, he smiled to himself, Ann Spencer would recognise her master, she would do exactly as she was told. He would have her undress, slowly, one garment after another until she stood naked, then after his gaze had travelled over every trembling limb, after he had drunk in every inch of that desirable body he would have her remove his clothing, while his fingers would trace unhurriedly over those tantalising breasts, play for delicious moments with firm cherry nipples then, almost lazily, one hand would slide from between those firm little mounds down, oh so pleasurably down, to that enticing vee.
The picture imagination painted was clear and vivid. Thomas Thorpe’s breath rasped in the silence but his ears heard only the quiet pleading sobs of the woman caught in his arms, the woman being pressed towards the bed . . . the alluring form spread-eagled . . . the tear-filled eyes begging then . . . Thomas Thorpe’s veins sang a wild triumph . . . his own naked body lowering, his legs forcing those trembling ones even further apart. He dragged again at the air, a raucous grating sound, as his inner eyes watched himself drive deep between slender thighs.
Passion jerked his hand against the glass lampshade and snatched the vision abruptly away.
That was all he would have of Ann Spencer, that self-induced illusion of what had so very nearly been his!
His fist slammed down on the table, making the lamp rock precariously, but in his anger of frustration he ignored it.
It was all Leah Marshall’s doing. She would be made to pay!
Revenge would be the salve easing the sting of disappointment. He would see her apologise, see her humbled, the pride of the woman destroyed.
Where
would he require that recompense be made? He stared at the gentle glow of the lamp, a smile playing on his lips.
Where but the very place the warning of reprisal had been given? Leah Marshall would make retribution in the chapel.
But not from the doorstep!
She would be made walk the length of the chapel, stand at the very front of the room. There below the pulpit, the pulpit in which Thomas Thorpe stood, she would confess remorse to the entire congregation for her hasty behaviour.
An eye for an eye. Having that woman humiliated would go some way towards making amends but sweet as that would be it provided a poor substitute for that desire which even now dragged at his loins, a desire those evenings spent riding the panting unattractive Sarah Clews did not lessen.
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