The Bobbin Girls

by Freda Lightfoot

  ‘I know but...’ Why hadn’t he stopped them? Surely he couldn’t have been moved by the delight mirrored in both young faces? ‘I would have stopped them, brought the lad to heel, only I didn’t want to make a song and dance of it. Not with everyone watching.’

  Olivia had laughed, calling him an old fuddy-duddy. ‘Leave Robert alone,’ she’d warned. ‘If you try to control him too much, you’ll lose him.’

  ‘There’s no logic in that,’ said James. ‘We’ll lose him if I don’t control him.’ Women, he thought, were ruled too much by their emotions to understand what made a man tick. But he surely understood his own son. If the boy was ready to be bedded, so be it, but James would have to make sure he kept him out of the clutches of Alena Townsen. He’d get him suitably wed, though not, please God, just yet. In the fullness of time and to the right person, then the boy might bring some prestige and happen a bit of extra land into the family. ‘George Tyson has a daughter, why doesn’t he pay some attention to her? A most profitable alliance, that would be.’

  Olivia had looked at him then, in that disturbing way she had when saying something she considered of such great importance that she had to spell it out for him, as if he were some sort of idiot. ‘You cannot order someone to love where you direct. You, above all, James, should know that.’

  There it was again, he thought, that implied criticism of himself. What was she referring to anyroad? An affair long since over and done with?

  ‘No one should be expected to marry and live out their life without love,’ she finished in reflective tones, the hardness of her gaze emphasising her point. ‘I, most of all, should know that.’

  ‘I thought love was a two-way street,’ he barked, driven to the limit of his endurance by a disobedient son and a recalcitrant wife who had finally barred him entirely from her bedroom by means of a bolt to the door.

  ‘I’m talking about love,’ she repeated. ‘Not - passion.’

  He smirked. ‘Sex, you mean. You know naught about passion, Olivia. Not that I’ve noticed.’

  ‘You don’t know everything.’

  ‘Where would you learn such things? If anyone was daft enough to take on a frigid, middle-aged woman such as yourself, you wouldn’t have the first idea what to do with him.’ And he laughed.

  It gave James great satisfaction to see her blush. For once he had discomfited her.

  ‘Anyroad, this isn’t about us, is it? It’s about our son, who’s far too young, in my humble opinion, to be up to what Mickey Roscoe claims he’s up to. The kind of mischief, in fact, that can bring unasked for results and to which I mean to put a stop.

  ‘Mickey Roscoe told you this?’ She put an odd sort of emphasis on his name.

  ‘He did, aye. Said he’d seen them together and they were close. Very close, were his exact words.’

  ‘What else did he tell you?’

  James noted with pleasure how the colour had drained from her face. He’d struck home for once, won a round, had he? Well, that made a nice change. Couldn’t bear to have folk gossip about her precious son. This small but gratifying proof of the power he still held over her had sustained him all through his walk in the woodlands by the mill leat. But now, with the confirmation of Mickey’s warning before him, his elation vanished.

  How could this have happened? How, despite all his efforts to keep them apart, in spite of his not permitting them to see one another for years, could they still be together?

  It occurred to him then, in a rare moment of enlightenment that his very antipathy to the friendship might have made it more appealing. Perhaps by denying them the chance to grow up and become bored with each other, he’d succeeded only in making forbidden fruit taste sweeter?

  Very close, Mickey had said. If they got much closer he’d really have a problem on his hands.

  They lay together in the long grass, which, little more than trailing willow branches and slender alder stems, did little to hide them. James watched, appalled, as the boy’s fingers peeled the girl’s blouse from her. The sun glistened on the pale skin of bare shoulders and breasts, the copper halo of her hair flying free as she threw back her head in an ecstasy of abandonment.

  The very tenderness which his son displayed as he caressed the silken flesh set the heat rising in James’s face, partly from embarrassment at playing Peeping Tom, and partly from a burning anger he could no longer control. He felt it harden in him like a knot of steel, bringing with it the familiar pain that clamped his chest like a vice, spreading onward down his arms and making his fingers twitch convulsively.

  He should never have agreed to her salvation. It was another’s soft heart that had undone him. What a deal of trouble and heart-ache would have been saved if he’d let the child die as she’d been expected to do. They’d thought him a benefactor, but what did they know? The guilt of that night had shattered and finally led to the death of one man, and marred the very marriage it should have saved. His own.

  The fists were bunched into iron balls of fury that he longed to slam into his son’s stupid head. Why couldn’t the boy test out his prowess on one of the maids, or a stupid village girl, any village girl but this one? Alena Townsen would ruin all James’s carefully laid plans, if only by playing on his sense of guilt.

  But it was too late. The damage was done. He knew he would either have to live with the results of his misjudgement or do something far more radical to put a stop to it, to make certain that matters went no further. Well, he’d never been afraid of doing what had to be done in the past. So what was stopping him now?

  Even as he watched, he saw his son lean over and gently take one dark nipple in his mouth. The girl arched her back, moaning with soft pleasure, her own mouth, with its soft pink lips and white teeth, forming a breathy circle of ecstasy. James could tolerate no more. Overwhelmed with fury, stifled guilt and frustrated pride, he stepped out from behind the bushes and strode up to the young lovers.

  ‘Get away from her!’

  The pair sprang apart, their faces a picture of utter shock and horror. He saw her blench, then flush crimson at being discovered thus, frantically scrabbling to fasten her blouse. He felt no compassion for her discomfiture, not a jot of sympathy for his ash-pale son. Fury at Rob’s disobedience hardened his heart to flint, making him utterly ruthless.

  Grasping his son by the collar, he flung him aside, almost instantly picking him up from the ground to hit him again, shouting at the boy as he did so: foul words that rang out over the calm waters, defiling the beauty of the scene. James began to punch him again and again. Rob made no move to defend himself, beyond lifting his arms to shield his face, while the girl’s screams sent birds soaring from the tree-tops in fright. James was beyond listening to her pleas though perhaps an inner voice stirred somewhere, reminding him of an earlier fight that had taken place at this spot, one that had gone terribly wrong.

  And this was his son.

  When he next struck Rob down, he held back, clenching one fist inside the other as he strove to regain control of himself, his breath harsh in his chest.

  Rob got slowly to his feet, wiping blood from a cut lip with the back of one hand. Bravely he faced his father, the contempt in his voice cutting short every word as if with a knife. ‘Do what you will with me, I don’t give a damn. What harm are we doing to anyone? I love her, and she loves me. Do you understand, Father? You can’t ever change that, no matter what you do or say.’

  ‘Can’t I?’

  ‘No. I mean to get work in the forest, find us a little place.’

  ‘Us?’

  Alena and I. We mean to be together, with or without your consent.’

  There was a pause before James answered, then the words seemed to burst out of the depth of his rage, and nothing could stop them. ‘No, you’ll not have her, and I’ll tell you why. Because she’s as much my daughter as you are my son. Which puts you in a peculiarly delicate situation, wouldn’t you say?’

  He revelled in their stunned silence. Knew they did not rec
ognise the lie. But then, if he was to have his way and remain in control of this son who had already cost him dear, what choice did he have?

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me you were James Hollinthwaite’s mistress?

  In one sentence this man had destroyed Alena’s life. Her whole world had been turned upside down and she was reeling from the shock. Now she saw a myriad emotions flit across Lizzie’s face. Shock, fear, outrage and despair, and something frighteningly like guilt.

  Alena couldn’t even recall how she had got home, how her feet had carried her when her entire body was shaking so much her teeth rattled. She could remember the horror on Rob’s face, the way he had half turned to her, as if seeking the truth before plunging into the depth of the forest, leaving her alone with his father.

  Her instinct had been to run after Rob, to deny the terrible words. Why she had not done so she couldn’t rightly say. Instead she’d stood rooted to the spot. Alena could clearly recall, for it would forever be etched upon her soul, how James had glared at her with cold loathing and simply said, ‘I had to do it.

  ‘Is it true?’

  His smile had been wry, even insolent, and had chilled her to the bone. ‘Don’t you believe me?’

  ‘I believe you are determined to get me out of his life once and for all. If it’s true, why did you never mention it before?’

  ‘Sometimes secrets have to be kept, the sensitivities of others considered.’

  Consider who? Who else but Lizzie? Now Alena folded her arms and confronted her mother. ‘Well? Don’t tell me you’re going to deny it?’

  Lizzie at last found her voice. ‘Of course I’m going to deny it. It isn’t true.’

  For a moment Alena looked into her face and hope swelled, compelling her to believe that James Hollinthwaite had simply wanted to drive her away from Rob, as he had tried, and failed, to do so many times before. Ma would never have had an affair, had loved Ray despite his faults. She was a good and honest woman, not man-mad like Dolly’s mum. Alena felt ashamed for accusing Lizzie of such an unthinkable act, and almost opened her mouth to say so. But one glance at her mother’s face, some instinctive awareness of her mood spelled out a warning, and the heady burst of hope died stillborn. She remembered then the kindness James Hollinthwaite had shown at Ray’s funeral, the way her mother always made excuses for him, and the doubts flooded back.

  ‘What is the truth? There’s something, isn’t there? Tell me.’

  Lizzie looked like a woman who had been dealt one blow too many; like an old hawthorn tree bending before the wind in the forest. Alena saw desperate unhappiness in her tired face, and almost welcomed it. For if she herself was hurting, why shouldn’t everyone else be hurting too? Neither of them spoke. Alena certainly couldn’t as she felt fear close her throat.

  At last Lizzie stood up. Moving like an old woman she slid the kettle onto the stove, going through the familiar motions of brewing tea, fetching the cake tin, setting out plates and mugs. Alena sat tight-faced throughout these delaying tactics. Only when a mug of hot tea was placed before her did she finally find her voice, ‘Are you going to tell me?’

  Lizzie sat down wearily at the table and sipped at the scalding tea, not caring that it burned her tongue. Then she smiled the smile that Alena had always loved because it lit up her face and made her look like a happy young girl again.

  ‘I was overwhelmed with joy when I got you.’ Her voice grew soft as the memories flooded back. ‘Welcomed you as if you were my own, I did. I’d longed for a little girl so much it seemed you’d been sent in answer to my prayers.’

  Alena struggled to take in what her mother was saying, but the words were becoming distorted by the sound of blood pounding in her head. Something about never feeling safe, Stella Bird interfering, Ray coming home after the war and being upset. Something shifted and tilted, staying just too far out of reach for her to grasp.

  ‘I know you didn’t always see eye to eye with your father but he was every bit as pleased to have you as I was in the end, once he’d grown accustomed to the idea, and couldn’t have been kinder.’

  ‘Stop. Stop! Alena fought for breath which seemed to have compacted into a steel ball in her chest. ‘Are you saying - are you trying to tell me that although you never were James Hollinthwaite’s mistress, neither were you my mother?’

  Lizzie looked Alena straight in the eye. ‘Yes, love. Strictly speaking, that’s exactly what I’m saying.’ Unable to bear the anguish in the girl’s face, she refilled her mug with a hand that trembled, so that most of the tea spilled out over the table and she had to fetch a cloth to wipe up the spreading pool.

  Alena leaned her elbows on the table and covered her face with her hands. A thousand questions burned in her head but the roaring in her ears, the pain in her heart, made it impossible to speak. She could only shut out the sight of Lizzie’s face and try to make sense of the terrible words.

  ‘The housekeeper at that time was a Stella Bird. Funny stick of a woman, very well suited to her name. She came to me one day and...’

  ‘Was Stella Bird my mother? Oh, dear sweet heaven, she and James were lovers, weren’t they?’

  Lizzie sipped her tea. ‘There were rumours, but James Hollinthwaite’s never been one for hanky-panky, as you might say. Treasures his reputation too much, so I couldn’t rightly say it was true.’

  But if it were, then Alena could indeed be James Hollinthwaite’s child and Rob’s sister. Oh, dear God, the thought made her want to vomit. What would she have left if she lost her darling Rob? And it seemed she’d already lost Ma.

  Her voice was thick with tears. ‘I see now why you never properly answered any of my questions. No wonder Dad never loved me. No wonder I sometimes felt the odd one out, as if nobody understood me.’

  Lizzie was shaking her head, a deep sadness in her soft grey eyes, and a pain in them which stated she would have done anything - anything - to have saved her lovely daughter from this agony. ‘Everyone feels that way when they’re growing up. And in a houseful of men how could you not feel the odd one out? But I never shut you out, love. Never. I always loved you as me own, whether I gave birth to you or not.’

  Alena tossed her head, angrily sweeping the tears from her cheeks. ‘How do I know that? Why should I believe you, when you’ve told me nothing but lies all my life.’

  ‘Oh, Alena.’ Lizzie looked stricken. ‘Don’t say such a cruel thing, lass. Don’t say anything you might regret.’

  But Alena was suffering too much anguish to hear the soft words, or respond to the warmth of the loving embrace she needed so desperately. If ever, she thought, she could find it in her heart to forgive the deceit, it was certainly not at this moment while the wound was still raw. The woman she had loved as a mother now sat at the familiar kitchen table with her hands clenched tightly together as if in supplication.

  Alena turned her face away, refusing even to look at Lizzie as she fired out questions. ‘You admit, then, that I’m not your child?’

  ‘Not in the way the boys are, that’s true, but nonetheless precious for all that. Still mine in my heart.’

  ‘Yet you kept it a secret all these years. Why? You should have told me. You should have.’ Alena was on her feet, anxiety making her voice climb with rising hysteria as she desperately fought to keep herself under control.

  ‘You’re right. I should have told you,’ Lizzie admitted. ‘I meant to, when you were old enough to understand, but then - I kept putting it off - left it too late.’ Silence while Lizzie confronted the reality she had avoided for so long. How she’d lived in dread of Alena learning she was not her mother after all. ‘I suppose a part of me hoped I might never have to tell you, that you might never find out. But, of course, that was too much to hope for.’ She’d thought Alena might be too naive, too passionate, seeing things only in terms of black and white, right and wrong. How could all the emotions and complications of that time be properly explained?

  Now the girl had heard in a way
which was a hundred times worse.

  Somewhere, deep inside, Lizzie confronted a memory of Ray as he carried out his own investigations after the war, behaving coldly towards her, not wanting to talk properly about the situation. Coming home to find an infant not of his making had caused a great deal of trouble between them. She’d had a hard time convincing him of the truth, and he’d gone to endless lengths to confirm the validity of her story. And then, out of the blue, James Hollinthwaite had told him there was no longer a job for him, and naturally they’d been more concerned with finding somewhere else to live than establishing the identity of the parents of the lovely child whom Lizzie, at least, now called her own.

  Yet the whole affair had left her with an abiding sense of guilt. Even seeing the two youngsters grow up so close had added to that guilt; their friendship keeping the link with the Hollinthwaite family and serving as a constant reminder of the high price Ray had paid. There had been times when it had felt almost like a betrayal to her over-sensitive husband and sorely tested Lizzie’s loyalty. But how to explain any of this to Alena, without making her feel even more rejected than she already did, was beyond her in that moment.

  Alena could feel her heart hammering against her rib cage; anger boiled within her, knotting her up in a torment of distress. She could taste blood in her mouth after biting her lips in her torment. Lips that would never again taste kisses from Rob’s sweet mouth. Illegitimate. A bastard, Dolly would call her. The realisation of this alone was enough to dismay her, but she could live with that gladly if there could still be hope, still a chance that she and Rob may not be related. If only she could be anyone else’s child but James Hollinthwaite’s.

  ‘You must know something. All my life has been a lie. How could you do this to me? Who am I then, if not Alena Townsen?’

  You are Alena, and always will be. My Alena. 1 think it was fate. We were meant to be together, you and me.’

  ‘But who am I.’

  Lizzie heard the pain and fear in the girl’s voice, saw the hardening of the young face, and instinctively got up and held out her arms, dropping them helplessly to her sides when Alena made no move towards them. All right, I’ll tell you what I know, what Stella told me. But you have to remember that you’re my lass. Nothing will change that.’