Angry with these thoughts, he rose abruptly from his chair and, collecting his hat and stick, went out into the brightness of a summer day and trod the paths of his domain, reminding himself afresh of the tangible evidence of his success.
He came to a small clearing in the woodland close to the back of the house. A wild cherry tree grew here and he frowned ponderously upon a crop of ox-eye daisies that had sprouted defiantly at its root. A shiver ran down his spine. For a moment it was as if the sun had been blotted out and dusk was falling. He felt the cold beat of rain, heard it battering on the cotton canvas sheet, and the wind howling as if with pain through skeletal branches of winter-bare trees. And he smelled yet again the sweet-sour scent of death and damp earth.
What if his son would not come home? All his efforts would then be as dust. For a moment black doubt assailed him as he considered the lost years that he could have spent on the boy, the wasted education that had not resulted in university entrance. Rob’s quiet, passive nature and determination to work with his hands instead of his brain, showed only disdain for his father’s achievements in acquiring property and wealth. James knew exactly what he would be doing now: living the life of a peasant. Thus his bitter disappointment in his son remained. Even so, an as yet unacknowledged admiration for the way Rob was determined to carve out his own future flickered grudgingly to life.
He heard the piercing sweet notes of a blackbird’s song and shook all the doubts and the spectres away. Singing a lover’s song?
He snorted his derision. Love wouldn’t last long. He’d spread the word that no employer in the county who cared for his reputation should consider offering his son a job. Once the pair ran out of money, as they soon would Rob would quickly tire of his foolish rebellion, and of Alena Townsen who’d caused his problems. Perhaps it would have been better to let the relationship run its course years ago. But what did it matter now? So long as no actual ceremony had taken place, then he could hope for victory in the end. All James needed was time and patience, but for all he had these in abundance, he fully intended to play a major role in bringing Rob to heel.
He had built her a house. The kind of house the first men of Cumbria might have built, a style perpetuated by the coppicers and charcoal burners. Rob had found the remains of one on his regular treks through the forest, its circular wall still strong and in place. In the days apart, while he’d waited for Alena to break free from Mickey, he’d built on a chimney, tall and straight, with a fireplace to warm them. A sheet of metal within deflected the flames and heat from the roof, and prevented the fire from becoming too smoky. He’d then cut four long birch poles and set them in the traditional wigwag shape, lashing them together at the top with withies. Further poles had been placed between and the gaps filled with bracken and clay.
Now all they had to do was add a layer of overlapping turfs to the sloping roof to keep out the rain. It took several days of hard work to complete it, but they didn’t mind. It had to be done properly, the sods cut as thin as possible to keep weight to a minimum and then pleated together in such a way that not a drop of water could penetrate.
They sang and chattered as they worked, outdoing the birds in their joyousness. A wood pigeon cooed and once, as they ate the food Lizzie had provided, a hare came and sat watching them quizzically, before bounding off into the undergrowth. Each night they fell asleep exhausted beneath the blankets she’d also insisted on their taking, a sparkling canopy of stars above their heads, the heather soft at their backs.
They lay untouching, side by side, and for all it was hard to resist consummating their love, yet they were both determined that the first time should be special; a magical moment to remember throughout their lives together, not a hasty coupling beneath a hedge. And after a good night’s rest, over a breakfast of oatcakes and tea cooked over a small fire, they talked excitedly of their plans.
‘ I can work as a woodsman making sheep hurdles, gates and such like. Perhaps even try my hand at charcoal burning.’
‘ And I can make besoms and baskets.’
‘ I’ll build you a proper house one day. One to be proud of.’
‘ I’m proud of this one.’
These wonderfully romantic plans and their love sustained them through the hard labour. Alena swept out the fireplace, fashioned hooks and shelves from branches and hung up the pots and pans that Lizzie had provided. Then she collected wood, stacking it beneath a tree close by, and beside the hearth to dry. Lastly she cleared the ground inside the hut and laid down a layer of dry reeds. She expected them to sleep on bracken, as they had when they’d stayed with the coppicers. Rob, however, had other ideas.
‘ We may have caused a scandal that will keep the gossips busy for months, and we may have to wait a while before we can make it legal, but I’ll not take you on rough bracken.’ Alena could only blush at the promise of this anticipated joy.
As the days passed it became harder to resist the strength of their emotions. Sometimes their fingers would brush against each other, or her hair would graze his cheek and he would smell its sweetness. Then he’d catch her hand and pull her to the ground and kiss her. Work would be forgotten during these times of loving discovery as they lay together, perhaps for hours; then they would guiltily dust each other down and return hot and dishevelled, but secretly smiling, to the task in hand.
Rob made the bed out of birch poles, hammering the sharpened corner posts into the ground, building a rectangular frame and lashing the cross-poles to it. Filled with excitement, and the adventure of it all, Alena stitched up one of the sheets Lizzie had packed for them and, together, they risked a two-mile trek to a nearby barn, begged for a little straw from the friendly farmer, then dragged it back, singing and laughing at the tops of their voices, spirits high and hearts full of hope and love.
They laid the mattress on the fine birch bed, together with a pillow Alena had also made. When the bed was finished they covered it with the blankets and couldn’t help but admire it, standing foursquare in the snugness of their hut. Then they smiled shyly at each other.
‘What else is left to do?’ Alena softly asked.
‘Only this.’ Rob nailed some sacking across the door, then lifted her up in his arms and carried her inside.
That first time was a tender coming together. They gave of their love generously and with joyful abandon, at last able to express all the feelings they’d been forced to deny for so long. They kissed until their faces burned, touched and caressed with a sensitivity that left them breathless. And when she finally welcomed him inside her, thrilling to his thrusting need of her, glorying in every tremor of his young body, she lifted herself to him and as one they cried out in their ecstasy.
Afterwards they lay entwined together, the new bed strong and firm beneath them, the mattress soft and yielding, smelling sweetly of the coming summer, and Alena wept in his arms.
Rob was alarmed. ‘What is it? Did I hurt you?’
‘No, no, of course not!’ She hastened to reassure him that it was from happiness that she wept, and when words failed her, she told him with her lips, her fingers, the silky touch of her legs against his and her urgent need for him to love her again.
Closeted in the green dimness of the hut, the bed became their sanctuary. They sat on it to eat their meals, they read to each other from the book of poems that Rob had brought with him. They snuggled up beneath the cosy blankets to make their plans for the future, and on each successive occasion that they made love, it was with an increasing passion. This was their world, safe from the dictates of Rob’s father and the jealous temper of Mickey.
Alena didn’t care if the villagers gossiped about them.
She didn’t care that they had no money, or even that the small supply of food they had brought was running low.
She didn’t care about a better house, or a grander bed.
She had not a single regret. She was quite certain that Mickey would soon find himself another girl, one who would return his love as she could
not. And James Hollinthwaite would accept the inevitable, now that he’d been proved a liar. She had Rob, what more could she ask? She was, at last, supremely happy and safe in his arms.
Patience was not something that came easily to Mickey Roscoe. Nevertheless his native cunning served him well.
He couldn’t remember ever feeling so humiliated in his life, and if there was one thing he hated above else, it was to be made a fool of. No one did that to Mickey Roscoe and lived to tell the tale. But he did not intend to make a hasty retaliation. He needed time to think.
He attempted to rationalise matters by telling himself that it might only be a temporary state of affairs. Who knew what might happen in the next few weeks? Rob would certainly find it hard to get other employment, and love would soon wither on the branch if there were nothing to feed it. Summer would pass and they’d grow cold and hungry. How would Rob’s charms appeal then? The excitement would fade and Alena would tire of him.
His own mistake had clearly been that he’d shown her too much respect and hung back too long. A woman should be given no time to think, but be swept off her feet. Though it grieved him to admit it, Mickey acknowledged that Hollinthwaite had been right. He should have made sure of her in the time-honoured way. But it was not too late. So long as she and Rob weren’t actually married, there was still hope. And Mickey was certainly man enough for the job, a better man than the one she’d foolishly chosen and would soon come to regret. Then he could forgive her and take her back, and enjoy reasserting his authority over her.
The important thing was first to find out where, exactly, they were living. And what better way to discover it than by close contact with one of Alena’s best friends?
Once he’d allowed a suitable period of mourning for his lost bride to elapse, he called upon Sandra, standing on the doorstep of her aunt’s house with a woebegone expression that was meant to melt any female heart. He told her that he knew many details concerning Hollinthwaite’s forestry project, and explained how, on those evenings he hadn’t spent with Alena, he’d attended many public meetings, visited pubs and inns, even got himself invited to discussions in private houses, and generally been the eyes and ears of James Hollinthwaite, bringing him the information he needed to further his plans. But now he would be glad to share all of this with her.
‘ I owe that man nothing since he has allowed his son to steal my bride.’
‘ I doubt he could have stopped him,’ Sandra felt bound to point out.
‘I desperately need to fill my time with something. Let me help. I’ll address envelopes, carry around a placard, stick up posters, whatever you wish, only give me something to take my mind off my troubles.’ He’d looked at her with such moist, beseeching eyes that Sandra, ever soft-hearted, and in dire need of all the help she could get, saw no reason to refuse.
Sandra was beginning to feel a prisoner in her own home. She gave comfort and succour on a daily basis to her aunt, she worked hard for Mrs Rigg at the village store, and was conducting this campaign on everyone’s behalf. She’d certainly stood by Alena through her troubles. It had been her own letter to Rob, apparently, which had sparked his determination to find out the truth, once and for all, and led to his finally coming to claim her.
But who was there to help her? Who was offering her comfort and succour, or helping her to find the happiness she craved? No one. Save for Mickey, of all people
As Mickey put his back into the campaign, she began to feel real sympathy for him. It wasn’t his fault that Alena had been in love with someone else and he’d been deprived of his bride. Just as it wasn’t her fault that Harry had lost his job and gone away. They were both victims, in a way, like poor King Edward who had now married Mrs Simpson but lost his crown.
She watched Mickey, seated at Aunt Elsie’s chenille-covered table, busily drawing up plans of which sections of the woodland James Hollinthwaite meant to clear and replant. He even sketched out a possible time-scale, attempting to explain the process to Sandra. In her chair by the fire Aunt Elsie softly snored, and from out in the hall came the loud tick of the grandfather clock. The huge old-fashioned house seemed suddenly to echo her loneliness, despite Mickey’s presence. She wished desperately it could be Harry here beside her. Where was he? Had he found a job in Liverpool? He wrote from time to time but made no promises, never even asked her to wait for him, though she always promised she would in the letters she wrote back.
How different her life would have been if she hadn’t suffered that dreadful accident and Harry hadn’t led the deputation against Hollinthwaite. Yet he’d been standing up for what was right, and nothing would make her back down from this campaign. What more did she have to lose? The rest of the village, however, was another matter. A few gave her their support, but in a secretive, back-door sort of way; the rest refused even to get involved for fear of ending up like Harry.
Mickey finished his drawing and turned it for her to see. ‘There you are. Devastate this village, he will. Quick cash crops, that’s what he’s going for, and to hell with the consequences.’
‘Yes, Mickey, but how do we stop him? How do I persuade everyone to stand against him?’
They were worrying over this problem when there was a knock at the door.
Aunt Elsie woke with a start. ‘My house is no longer my own.’ she grumbled. ‘No wonder I suffer constantly from a headache, with all this activity going on.’
Sandra glanced through the window, to see who was calling so late. ‘It’s only Lizzie. You like Mrs Townsen, Aunt.’
‘I don’t think she likes me,’ Mickey pointed out, getting up. ‘Time I went home in any case. There’s not much more we can do tonight.’
Sandra, suddenly anxious that Lizzie didn’t see Mickey or interpret her accepting his help as some kind of betrayal, agreed, and bustled him out through the kitchen door. Only then did she let Lizzie in, breathing rather fast and filled with unaccustomed guilt. ‘Oh, you are in then. I’d nearly given up hope.’
‘Sorry, I was upstairs and Aunt Elsie never answers the door if she can help it.’
Over a cup of tea, Sandra showed Lizzie the maps and plans of the proposed planting sites, without mentioning who had drawn them. Aunt Elsie sat in sulky silence by the fire with her own favourite china cup and saucer and a plate of Bourbon biscuits as the two chatted. Sandra prayed the sulks would continue for once, and she’d make no mention of Mickey’s having just left.
‘I’ve brought you a bit of news about Harry,’ Lizzie said and Sandra was instantly alert.
‘What? Is he all right? He isn’t sick or anything?’
Lizzie laughed, patting the girl’s hand fondly. ‘No, of course not. Strong as a horse, my Harry. He’s coming home. Only on a visit, mind, but I thought you’d like to know.’
‘Oh, Lizzie!’
She leaned close and put a gentle hand to Sandra’s cheek which had suddenly grown hot. ‘I’ll try and put in a word for you. I know he still loves you, if the fool would only admit it.’ They exchanged knowing smiles, and Lizzie shook her head. ‘Children, what a trouble they are! Even when they’re full-grown and should have more sense.’
She talked for a while about how happy she was that Tom and Dolly seemed content at last, and how Dolly had felt the baby quicken only yesterday; of Jim and Ruby’s brood, and how Kit had finally decided to go into market gardening.
‘Told him to do that years ago.’ Inevitably the conversation turned to Alena. ‘I do worry about the lass. The weather is kind at the moment, being June, but what will happen when autumn comes? They can’t stay in that hut, can they? And they could be hungry even now. Perhaps I should take them more food? What do you reckon? Would that be considered interference?’
Sandra raised her eyebrows. ‘You know where they are then?’
‘Of course I know where she is. I’m her mother. Would it hurt Rob’s pride, do you think?’
Sandra smiled. ‘Why should it? So long as you take the kind of food that the forest, or Rob’s hunti
ng skills, cannot provide. Salt and flour, that sort of thing. They have to eat.’
Lizzie was looking brighter by the minute. ‘Oh, Sandra, you’ve taken a real weight off my mind. That’s exactly what I’ll do.’ And as Aunt Elsie’s snores rang out once more, she chuckled and said she’d take her leave so that the old lady could be put to bed.
Taking his ear from the parlour door, Mickey smiled as he slipped quietly back up the passage and let himself out once more through the kitchen and into the back garden and walked jauntily away.
Lizzie was excited as she set out with Jim in his old Morris van along the winding lanes into the forest. She had so much news to give Alena. The reaction of the village to the whole scandal would be discussed, of course. But on a more cheerful note, wouldn’t she be pleased to hear about Harry coming home, and that he’d found himself a job? Maybe there’d be two marriages in the family and a couple more grandchildren before long. Alena would be as pleased if Sandra could escape the clutches of her aunt. But, as yet, these were no more than daydreams.
Lizzie would like to have seen her own daughter safely married, but she wasn’t complaining. Everything came to those who had the patience to endure.
‘You can drop me here,’ she told her son as they rounded a bend and he dutifully drew the van to a halt, only to glance about him with some concern. Beyond the clearing where he was now parked the trees were thickly planted with little light showing between. ‘Will you have far to walk? It’ll be darker in the forest, particularly later on your way back. Have you a torch?’ Lizzie produced one and he grinned. ‘You seem to have thought of everything.’
The Bobbin Girls Page 31