Friendship's Bond

by Meg Hutchinson

  No use in asking how long she spent with the cows, it was Leah’s habit to talk with each one individually, to chat as she might with a woman neighbour. Suppressing worry mounting with every second Edward went on. ‘So when did you realise she was not in the house?’

  ‘That I remembers clear. I come in from the pasture and findin’ Ann not yet downstairs an’ hearing no sound from above thought as how her could be restin’. Lord knows her be a needin’ of it. So I reckoned to let her lie until evenin’ milking. It were after I settled the girls for the night; I were puzzled as to why her hadn’t come along to help in the milkin’ parlour nor yet to help with putting the milk into the settling pans, that don’t be like her at all: that were my thought so comin’ back to this room an’ findin’ her still not to be here I went upstairs only to find each room empty.’

  The evening milking. Edward turned Leah’s words over in his mind. Punctual in that as she was in all things to do with her dairying she would have gone to the milking parlour at five. Milking a dozen cows, sponging their udders, seeing them into the barn for the night; then the task of emptying pails of milk into the vats, the scouring of utensils, all would have taken at least two hours, probably much longer.

  ‘There were no sign to tell her ’ad ever been in that bedroom,’ Leah was speaking again, ‘everythin’ were neat an’ proper on the wash stand and on the bed.’ She paused, swallowing hard. ‘On the bed laid careful as any bridal troosoh was clothes, Deborah’s clothes I’d asked Ann to keep for herself but her hadn’t teken not one thing.’

  Half past seven at the earliest, that would have been the time Leah discovered Ann was gone. Edward heard Leah speaking but his brain still mulled over what was already said. If the girl had slipped away when Leah went to the cow field she had been gone – he glanced at the clock on Leah’s mantelshelf which showed eight fifteen – more than four hours! Anxiety prickled in every nerve. Ann Spencer had left this house over four hours ago; she could be miles away by now.

  ‘She has gone looking for me.’

  ‘No lad, her ain’t.’ Leah answered the boy rising from the chair she had insisted he take beside the fireplace. ‘Ann told me earlier on, her said her wouldn’t go a searchin’ of you no more for her be certain you’d gone to be with them relatives of your’n.’

  ‘But why would Ann say that? She had to know I would have gone to them long ago had I been able.’

  ‘Said it be her reckoning you had some idea of where to find your folks and that bein’ how it was then weren’t no use of her goin’ lookin’ for you no more.’

  ‘. . . why would Ann say that? She had to know I would have gone to them long ago . . .’

  Alec’s misgivings echoed Edward’s own. Why indeed! And if she no longer intended to look for Alec why the abrupt departure? Why leave without a goodbye for Leah?

  ‘I think Ann told you I was gone to my relatives to save you from worry, but . . . I think also she will still be searching so . . .’ Alec smiled apologetically, ‘forgive me, Grandmother Leah, I must go look for her.’

  ‘What good will that do?’ Leah protested. ‘It just means the two of you will be out there on the streets. I says it be best you bide where you be least ’til mornin’; won’t stand no chance of findin’ her in the dark.’

  ‘What Leah says makes sense,’ Edward put in, seeing Alec about to argue. ‘You can p’raps find your way about the town in the daytime, Alec, but you don’t know it well enough to do so at night even supposing you knew her to still be in Wednesbury.’

  ‘You know Ann, Grandmother Leah, you and she cared for me together when I was so sick, you saw her tears, you knew the many times she refused to leave my side. Tell me, do you truly think the darkness of night will prevent my going to look for her?’

  Grandmother! Leah’s heart tripped. That was something she would never be. Her children were dead and along with them the hopes of holding grandchildren in her arms: the simple pleasures that were the birthright of every woman had been denied her. This lad – she glanced at Alec shrugging into his coat – he was no kin to her, he called her grandmother out of politeness yet the word and the affection she knew to be at back of it pulled at her very soul.

  From across the room Edward caught the emotion playing over Leah’s features. She had faced losing this lad once already; now the same unhappiness stared at her again.

  ‘Wait.’

  Sharp, decisive, more an order than a request, it halted Alec as he stepped towards the scullery.

  ‘Nobody questions that you want to go looking for Ann but I think Leah would feel easier in her mind if I were to go along with you.’

  Chapter 27

  Leah had looked at him with more than gratitude in her eyes. Edward blessed the night gloom hiding the colour rising in his cheeks. She had divined that he as much as the lad walking by his side wanted to find Ann Spencer.

  ‘Even’, Edward lad, weren’t lookin’ to see you ’ere along o’ this time o’ night. Don’t be summat up wi’ Leah do there?’

  ‘No Ezekial, there is nothing wrong with Leah.’

  ‘I d’ain’t mean of no pryin’,’ Ezekial’s tone had become tinged with apology, ‘I were frettin’ of Leah bein’ poorly.’

  The two had been children together, during their whole lives had known only friendship for one another, so it was natural Ezekial would worry for the health of such a friend. Edward replied with a smile in the darkness. ‘Enquiring after the well-being of a friend is never prying, Ezekial; I’ll tell Leah you were asking after her.’

  ‘Thank y’lad.’ Ezekial turned his glance to Alec. ‘An’ what of you, young ’un, be you over that illness o’ your’n?’

  ‘Quite over it I thank you, Little Father.’

  ‘Ehh.’ Ezekial’s long-drawn breath sighed in to the night. ‘I told Jinny Jinks an’ the rest o’ they women it were a long time since I’d heard them words, same as I just been talkin’ of ’em wi’ Samul Bradley. We was in the Crimea along of the same time an’ we enjoys a talk over old times. I said to ’im how the lad called me Little Father an’ that turned the conversation to him an’ the wench ’appenin’ to come to this town. Samul said he’d seen the wench not an hour since.’

  ‘Samuel Bradley says he has seen Ann . . . Miss Spencer!’

  ‘That be what I told you.’ Ezekial pointed his walking stick in the direction he had come along Meeting Street, ‘Back there in the Rising Sun, we enjoys a pint there; Henry Butler keeps a good barrel.’

  ‘Is Samuel still in the pub?’

  Ezekial frowned at the brusque interruption. ‘Left when I did. Edward lad, be summat up, you seems right agitated.’

  ‘Little Father, did Mr Bradley speak with Ann, did he perhaps ask where she might be heading?’

  The question had been polite enough. Ezekial glanced at Alec, his face showing pale in the enveloping greyness. But there had been that same note of anxiety he had heard in Edward Langley’s voice. Aware his answer would be disappointing he said gently, ‘No lad, Samul said naught of speakin’ wi’ the wench though he did say as he were puzzled by her turnin’ into Queen’s Place at such an hour, ’specially seein’ there be no service tekin’ place in the chapel.’

  Samuel Bradley had seen Ann less than an hour ago! Edward had thanked the old man, had heard the tap, tap of his stick fading along the street, but his mind had rung with that one phrase: ‘seen the wench not an hour since’. She had been going to pray, why else go into Queen’s Place? But an hour was a long time. Would she still be there?

  He must control the urge to run. The lad had spent the night in the barn where he might not have slept well; running to Queen’s Place could overtire him after such a recent illness. Edward walked as quickly as he dared, backtracking along Meeting Street then turning left into the narrow almost alley-like School Street, hemmed closely on one side by a ribbon of ebony shapes, each house made darker with the soot and smoke of factory and foundry. Across the passageway they faced the unedifying stern structur
e that was the National School. But Edward was gazing ahead to where Queen’s Place and its chapel stood still robed in darkness at the further end.

  ‘Edward, do you think Ann will still be in the chapel?’

  Alec asked the question which had preoccupied Edward since speaking with Ezekial. Trying to keep doubt from his voice he said lightly, ‘Probably the peace and quiet of the place has lulled her to sleep, let’s go wake her up.’

  They had not woken her. Edward closed the door of the chapel behind him. Ann Spencer was not there, no one was; silent, the black shroud of its interior not relieved by a single candle flame, the room had seemed to shrink from the light of the matches he had struck, to draw away, hugging its secrets to itself.

  Breathing deeply to contain his disappointment, Edward touched the shoulder of the boy whose own long-drawn breath exhibited that same regret.

  ‘It was a long shot, Alec,’ he said, turning towards the street, ‘we’ll just go look somewhere else.’

  His appetite needed no boosting. Thomas Thorpe leered into the face lifted to his by the force of his fingers threaded into thick sherry-gold hair. He was ready now ready to take what he had so often promised himself . . . but not yet. Some deep sense intimated that to rush things was to deny himself the thrill of seeing fear mounting to dread, seeing the tremor of horror ripple through the slender body as the last shred of clothing dropped away; then hear the sob of utter despair as he forced that naked form on to the bed. Yes, it was right he should claim that pleasure; he had earned it by providing a roof for those weeks. She could have given her thanks then, quietly paid the true cost of renting this house yet . . . had Ann Spencer acted willingly then this enjoyment, this extra amusement, would have gone by the board. But she had not acted willingly. He was grateful to her for that, glad of her refusal for this way he could delight in her misery every bit as much as he enjoyed his own gratification.

  He clamped his mouth hard on her lips, stifling a plea starkly visible in wide frightened eyes.

  After releasing Ann he breathed deeply as she stumbled from his arms. He must control his emotions, keep desire in check or nature would take its own course and while providing ease it would cheat him of the satisfaction of that first delicious moment. But self-denial would be short-lived. Flesh reared hard and demanding. There would be many other moments. He smiled eagerly at Ann as she backed away from him.

  ‘I think we’ve waited long enough,’ then with each syllable dripping lust he added thickly, ‘take off your clothes.’

  Ann shook her head. ‘No.’

  In an instant the sensual smile was gone, replaced by cold menace. Thorpe’s narrow eyes glittered beneath heavy half-closed lids. ‘No? Then I will do it for you.’

  ‘Wait,’ Ann’s arms crossed protectively over her chest, ‘first tell me where Alec is.’

  ‘First!’ he sneered. ‘Why would I tell you first?’

  ‘You promised if I came here you would tell me where to find Alec.’

  ‘After!’ He emphasised the word. ‘A sensible businessman doesn’t hand over goods until they are paid for; you know my price, the sooner it is paid the sooner you get those goods.’

  Ann at once realised that there was nothing to prevent Thomas Thorpe going back on his word, no guarantee he would reveal where he had Alec hidden. Goods. The word stung in her brain. That was all she and Alec were to this man: no more than a paper bag which once used was thrown away. But buying and selling was a two-way operation. Head lifting determinedly she said, ‘We both have a price, Mr Thorpe. Mine is that you produce Alec now or the business you hope to engage in is ended.’

  ‘I’m the one to say when it is ended and that won’t be for many a day.’ Thorpe’s screech of anger echoed through the silent house and he struck Ann hard across the cheek, the savagery of it banging her head against the wall. A second blow sent her tumbling to the bed; a laugh rattled in his throat as he reached for her.

  ‘What was that?’ Edward Langley paused in mid-stride. ‘Did you hear anything?’

  ‘Someone shouting, probably came from the alehouse across the street.’

  Maybe. There was nothing unusual in a man’s raised voice when leaving that place but the sound which had come with it, the quiet underlying sound of a woman’s cry, was not so usual.

  ‘Not the alehouse,’ he said, ‘much nearer; it could almost have come from the chapel.’

  ‘But there was no one there, you saw for yourself.’

  Yes, he had seen – he had also heard. Edward stared at the darkened building; somewhere close by a woman had cried out, a sound alive with fear. Ann? For a moment the thought stunned him. Could the woman be Ann Spencer, had she tripped and fallen in the darkness, was she lying injured? Edward forced himself to stay calm. A quick search of the grounds would settle matters.

  ‘Best take a look around the back, someone could be hurt.’

  He did not want to wait even a minute; that minute could be spent searching for Ann. Alec followed, stopping as his glance caught the gleam of light in a window of Chapel House.

  ‘Samuel Bradley saw Ann coming here.’ Edward too was looking at the gleam peeping between curtains not quite closed together. ‘Maybe she has been given a night’s lodging.’

  ‘She will not be in that house!’

  It had come too quickly. Edward looked at the lad already turning away.

  ‘Why, Alec?’ He caught the boy’s shoulder. ‘Why would Ann not be in that house?’

  ‘It . . he held fear for her.’

  Edward frowned. ‘Fear of what? Does it have rats?’

  ‘I do not think it was an animal caused Ann to be afraid.’

  These two, so gossip in town had it, had of their own choosing left that house. But if vermin were not the problem then what had been?

  ‘Alec.’ Edward turned the boy to look at him. ‘Tell me truthfully, why did you and Miss Spencer leave here, what was she afraid of?’

  ‘You ask for the truth Edward but what I say may not be truth, for Ann did not say what troubled her.’

  ‘But you knew all the same.’

  ‘I can only guess . . . but I think it was to do with the man who came to collect payment for use of the house. It was on those evenings Ann was feared; I asked on each of those occasions should I remain in the room with her but she would not allow me to, so you see I cannot say with truth if it was this man caused her to be frightened.’

  Edward stiffened. Just what sort of payment? Leah had said Ann Spencer had come to her with no money to speak of so what had that rent collector asked in lieu?

  ‘This man, do you know who he is, can you tell me his name?’

  ‘I did not see him on either of those evenings but I heard Ann talking with him, she called him Mr Thorpe.’

  Thorpe! The one man whom Leah spoke of only with loathing. What had he to do with Ann Spencer?

  Another cry, this time cut sharp as though by a blow. Edward ran for the house. If it were not Ann Spencer in there he would apologise; though if a man was using his fist on a woman that apology would be given along with a blow or two to his own head.

  Inside the house, at the foot of the stairs, Edward’s hand stopped the boy. ‘Wait here.’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘Wait here!’ The curt reply brooked no more argument. Alec nodded as Edward took the stairs two at a time.

  At the open door of a bedroom he halted at the sight of two figures. Thorpe! But it was not the furious face turning to look at him that Edward saw in that explosive moment; he focused only on the face of a young woman, a scarlet weal vivid across her pale cheek, the nape of her neck gripped in Thorpe’s left hand while the other grasped the cloth of a dress ripped open to the waist.

  ‘Get away from her.’ Little more than a murmur, it pulsed fury.

  Shocked, Thorpe stared into eyes gleaming murder.

  ‘Let her go or I swear I’ll kill you where you stand.’

  In the seconds it took for Edward to make that threat words
of a very different kind came to Thorpe. Langley, they whispered, Langley is in love with the girl. Like warm sunshine it melted the coldness of shock. He could use the knowledge to torment the man as he had, and would continue, to torment the woman. Another blessing! He dropped the cloth still held in his fingers while pushing Ann a step forward.

  ‘But of course I’ll let her go,’ he smarmed, ‘did you think I was holding her against her will?’

  Ann couldn’t . . . she couldn’t have come willingly. Edward looked at the slight figure pulling the torn dress to cover her bare flesh, seeing the rest of that waxen pale face flush scarlet as the weal marking it. He was certain.

  Small eyes the colour of slushed ice held Edward’s stare; mockery in the voice was loud as an open laugh as Thorpe pushed Ann one more step towards Edward.

  ‘Tell him Ann, tell him did I bring you to this house or did you come of your own choice.’

  She had to say she had come looking only for a place to spend the night, that what he had seen had been forced on her. His heart seeming to stand still, Edward waited for Ann’s reply. With the whispered, ‘It is my choice,’ his certainty died.

  ‘Satisfied?’

  Like a spark to dry tinder Thorpe’s sarcasm ignited the passion of hurt smouldering deep inside Edward, hurling it upwards in a volcanic spurt.

  ‘Not quite!’ He spat venom. ‘I want to feel the kind you get from striking a woman, except mine will be got from beating you senseless.’

  ‘No Edward, stop, you don’t understand.’

  Thorpe was already in his grip, he was dangerously close to delivering a blow. Ann’s cry halted the strike. Edward answered savagely, ‘No I don’t understand, I don’t understand how you can humiliate yourself like this.’

  ‘I did it for Alec!’

  That wasn’t the cry of a tuppenny whore! Edward shot a glance at Ann, whose eyes glistened with shame; then his grip on Thorpe tightened.

  ‘Alec,’ he snapped, ‘you came here on account of Alec! Do you want to tell me why? Or should I ask Thorpe!’