Emma now realized that Blackie had confided very little about his friend and she did not know what to expect as they stood on the front step. She certainly wasn’t prepared for the girl who opened the door and greeted them so charmingly, and with undisguised delight. Laura Spencer had the shining and tranquil face of a Madonna, and there was an expression of such trust in her eyes, and her smile was so loving, and so sweet, it was at once apparent to Emma that she was confronting someone who was unquestionably different from anyone else she had ever met.
Laura ushered them into the house, exclaiming on the rawness of the weather, sympathizing about the long cold journey they had just endured, her genuine concern for their well-being obvious. She took their coats, scarves, and Emma’s tam-o’-shanter and hung them on the hat-stand near the door, and then drew them into the parlour, moving with infinite grace as she led them to chairs grouped around a roaring fire.
Now Laura took hold of Emma’s hands as she said, ‘I’m so happy to meet you, Emma. Blackie has told me such lovely things about you. Goodness, your hands are cold! Sit here and get the chill out of your bones, dear.’
Emma said, ‘I’m glad to meet you, too, Laura.’ Without appearing to rudely scrutinize the room Emma swiftly took in the subdued blue-and-white-striped wallpaper, the heavy blue velvet curtains at the windows, the few pieces of mahogany furniture, scant but gleaming with beeswax, and the attractiveness of the other furnishings. The room was small but neat, and not at all cluttered like Mrs Daniel’s hideous front parlour. An air of solidness and comfort prevailed.
Laura said to them both apologetically, ‘I am sorry I wasn’t all prepared for you, but I had to visit a sick friend and I was delayed longer than I anticipated. I just got in a little while before you arrived. Anyway, the tea will be ready shortly, and the kettle’s boiling.’
Blackie said, ‘That’s all right, Laura. Don’t fuss yeself. We’re in no hurry, so take ye time, love.’ This was uttered so softly and so temperately Emma’s eyes flew to Blackie with quickening interest. She discerned a marked difference in his demeanour, which was restrained, and there was a look of mingled gentleness and respect on his face. This did not surprise Emma. She had already perceived that Laura’s refined manner was bound to bring out the best in other people.
‘Please excuse me for a moment or two,’ Laura continued in her soft voice, placing the remainder of the china on the table. ‘I have a few last-minute things to do in the kitchen.’
Blackie and Emma murmured their assent and Blackie said, ‘Do ye mind if I smoke me pipe, Laura?’ She was halfway across the floor and she turned and shook her head, her eyes filling with laughter. ‘No, of course not Please make yourself at home, and you too, Emma.’
From her vantage point near the fireplace, Emma could see Laura in the small kitchen that adjoined the parlour. She was wearing a pale blue woollen dress with a full skirt, long sleeves, and a large white Quaker collar, and although the dress was a little worn and darned in places, its simplicity and pristine colours added to the impression of immaculateness and virtue she conveyed. She’s beautiful, Emma thought, intrigued by the tall, slender girl who appeared to be surrounded by an aura of spirituality.
Laura Spencer’s features were so classically drawn, so fragile, and the bones were so fine, her face seemed attenuated at times. There were those, who were undiscerning, who considered her plain and faded and they would not have agreed with Emma at all. But Emma saw the Dresden china-like delicacy of the features that contributed so much to her exquisiteness, saw the golden lights in her honey-coloured hair that gave it a shimmering iridescence, saw the tenderness and wisdom that filled the enormous hazel eyes with a radiant luminosity. And she recognized Laura’s loveliness for what it truly was—an outward reflection of purity.
Emma was not wrong in these assessments. There was indeed something special about Laura Spencer. Very simply, she refused to countenance evil. Laura was a Roman Catholic and unwavering in her faith; her religion, which she never discussed or inflicted on her friends, was the mainspring of her life. To Laura, God was neither nebulous nor remote. His presence was constant, eternal and everlasting.
Sitting there in that cosy parlour, listening to Laura’s light voice echoing out from the kitchen, Emma was not yet entirely aware of all of this. But somehow, in some curious fashion, Laura’s inner grace had mysteriously communicated itself to her, and she was experiencing a sense of peace so profound she was startled. Emma continued to gaze at Laura and she thought: I want her to be my friend. I want her to like me. I want to share this house with her.
‘Ye are very quiet, mavourneen,’ Blackie said. ‘That’s a bit unusual for ye, I am thinking. Ye are generally such a chatterbox.’
Emma jumped. He had startled her. ‘I was just thinking,’ she responded. Blackie smiled and puffed on his pipe. Emma was just as captivated by Laura as he had anticipated, and he was delighted.
‘Could you bring the kettle into the kitchen, please, Blackie,’ Laura called, ‘so I can mash the tea.’
‘Sure and I can, mavourneen,’ he exclaimed. He lifted the steaming copper kettle off the hob and strode across the room, a towering bulk in that small space.
‘Can I do anything?’ Emma inquired eagerly, also rising.
Laura looked around the kitchen door. ‘No, thank you, Emma. It’s all ready now.’ Within seconds she came into the parlour carrying a large tray containing plates of food and Blackie followed with the teapot.
As she sat down, Emma thought how nicely Laura had arranged the table. ‘You are very artistic, Laura. The table looks lovely,’ Emma volunteered. She smiled at Laura, who seemed pleased at this shyly offered compliment.
‘Aye, ‘tis a feast fit for kings, sure and it is,’ Blackie said, also regarding the table. ‘But ye shouldn’t have made such a spread or gone to all this trouble, Laura. Ye have enough to do with all ye church work and charities.’
‘It was no bother, Blackie. You know I like cooking. And I enjoy having visitors. Now, come along. Help yourselves. You must both be hungry after that chilly trip from Leeds. I’m sure you’ve worked up an appetite, Blackie.’
‘Aye, I have that,’ he responded, and helped himself to a sandwich. Something of Blackie’s natural exuberance flowed to the surface during the tea and he kept the girls giggling at his stories, as was his artful way when he wanted to be entertaining. The actor in him could never be suppressed for long, and he became so volatile neither Emma nor Laura could get a word in edgewise. Laura, however, did respond swiftly to some of his more outrageous pronouncements, and Emma realized this gentle girl was blessed with a sense of humour in spite of her basic seriousness, and that mild manner belied a stringent wit.
For her part, Laura Spencer was impressed with Emma. She had been initially startled by her striking beauty, but while she had prepared the tea, Laura had observed her discreetly, and she had quickly become aware of the younger girl’s pleasant yet dignified manner. She had also detected the intelligence in those matchless green eyes and the refinement in the oval face. Blackie had told her that Emma lived in a small uncomfortable attic and spent hours walking to and from work. He was worried about her health. And no wonder, Laura thought. She needs a little mothering at a time like this: seven months pregnant and utterly alone. She was filled with a rush of sisterly warmth for Emma.
As the tea progressed, Blackie pondered about the two girls who flanked him at the tea table. He loved them both, albeit in wholly different ways, and he was gratified that they had taken a liking to each other. He had known they would, even though they were exact opposites physically, and in temperament. He stole a look at Laura, who was wiping her vulnerable mouth with her serviette. There she was, all porcelain fragility, retiring, spiritual Laura, who was utterly selfless in so many ways. He glanced at Emma out of the corner of his eye. Next to Laura’s gentle loveliness, Emma’s beauty seemed fierce and wild; there was something frightening about her, and he had long suspected she might turn out to
be ruthless and expedient, if that was ever necessary. And yet, in spite of their intrinsic difference, they shared several common traits—integrity, courage, and compassion. Perhaps those things will bind them in friendship, he thought. Also, even though Laura, at twenty-one, was only a few years older than Emma, Blackie believed she would look after her in an affectionate and motherly way. Likewise, he sensed that Emma’s spirited and vivacious presence in the house would help to assuage the loneliness Laura had felt since her mother’s death four months ago. He hoped so.
Emma was talking enthusiastically to Laura about the tailoring trade and Kallinski’s workshop, and her vibrant voice caught his attention. Blackie turned to look at Emma. In the roseate glow of the parlour her animated face blazed with life. Her looks would blind any man, he said to himself. Then he wondered, as he had so often lately, who it was she had blinded seven or eight months ago. He still had not dared to ask her who the father of her child really was. He crushed down on that disturbing thought and turned his attention to the matter at hand—how to broach the subject of Emma moving in with Laura, and going to work at Thompson’s mill.
Almost as if she had read his mind, he heard Laura say, ‘You sound as if you really love the tailoring trade, Emma. And you’ve certainly mastered it quickly, from what I hear. I’m sure you would have no trouble learning to weave—’ Laura paused, as always not wanting to appear presumptuous or forward.
‘Is weaving very difficult?’ Emma asked cautiously.
‘No, not really. Not when you’ve got the hang of it and understand the process. I don’t think you would find it hard, Emma. Honestly I don’t.’
Emma glanced swiftly at Blackie and then turned back to Laura and said, ‘Can you get me a job at Thompson’s? Are you sure?’
‘Yes, I am positive!’ Laura exclaimed. ‘I spoke to the foreman the other day, and you can start any time you want. They are looking for new girls to train. You’d go on the looms right away, as a learner, of course.’
Emma pondered this for a split second and made up her mind. She plunged right in. ‘Would you be willing to let me share the house with you, Laura? I won’t be any trouble and I’ll pay my way.’ Her gaze did not stray from Laura.
Laura’s angelic face broke into a delighted smile and her fine hazel eyes lit up. ‘Of course, Emma. I would love to have you. Anyway, I can’t really afford to keep this house on alone, but I am reluctant to give it up. I’ve lived here most of my life. Apart from that, you would be wonderful company for me. I’ve been looking for someone congenial and pleasant like you.’ She leaned forward and squeezed Emma’s arm affectionately, and in a reassuring way. ‘And also, I think you would be better off here with me, what with the baby due in two months. I can look after you, Emma. And I know Blackie agrees—’
‘I do that!’ interjected Blackie, pleased with the turn of events.
‘Do let me show you the rest of the house, and the room you would have, Emma,’ Laura suggested. She led the way up the steep and narrow staircase. Laura opened a door on the landing. ‘This would be yours, Emma,’ she announced with a bright smile. She swept in ahead of them and lighted a candle on the dresser.
‘Now, isn’t this nice and comfy!’ Blackie stated, hovering in the doorway. He pushed Emma forward.
Emma looked back at him. ‘Yes, it is,’ she said. Taking up most of the space was a large brass bed covered with a patchwork quilt. The walls were white, and there was even a clipped rug on the floor by the bed.
‘This was my parents’ room,’ Laura said. She then added, rather shyly, ‘I thought you would like it, Emma. Since it’s large, and has a double bed, your husband could stay here when he’s home on leave.’ Emma opened her mouth and instantly shut it when she saw Blackie’s face.
Blackie said, ‘Er—er—well, he’s not due to come home for a long while yet. A very long while. He’s at sea. So, we don’t have to be worrying about that!’ He looked around, desperately wondering how to change the subject, and continued rapidly, in a rush of words, ‘Now, Emma, do ye not see that space over there by the window? Between the wardrobe and the washstand? Ye could be fixing up a sewing table there and making the dresses for the ladies, like ye said ye wanted to. Laura wouldn’t be minding. Would ye, Laura, me love?’ He hoped he had managed to avert an awkward discussion about that damned imaginary husband of Emma’s.
‘No, not at all. It won’t disturb me.’ Laura glanced at Emma, who was surveying the room, a crease still puckering her smooth brow. Laura thought with dismay: Oh, dear. She doesn’t like the house. But being unwilling to influence Emma in any way, she was prompted to say, ‘It’s a bit cold up here. Shall we go downstairs? You can let me know later, Emma. You don’t have to make up your mind now.’
Emma saw the flicker of consternation on Laura’s face and she grasped her arm. ‘I like the room! Really I do! I would love to share the house with you. That is, if I can afford it, Laura.’
The three of them trooped back to the parlour. Blackie threw logs on to the fire and Laura got out her housekeeping accounts book. She joined Blackie and Emma in front of the hearth. ‘The rent is four shillings a week, so your half would be two shillings, Emma. Then there is the cost of the logs and the coal in winter and the paraffin for the lamps. If you could split that with me I would be most grateful. Altogether, it will come to about five shillings a week in winter. But it will be less in summer.’
‘Five shillings!’ Emma exclaimed.
Laura stared at her, a worried expression flooding her eyes again. ‘Oh, dear. Is that too much? Perhaps I can—’
‘No, it’s not too much,’ Emma interrupted. ‘I expected it to be more. It’s certainly very fair. Why, I pay three shillings a week for the attic at Mrs Daniel’s.’
Laura looked at Emma askance, and Blackie roared, ‘I always told ye that bloody woman was robbing ye blind, and ye wouldn’t pay no mind to me! Ah, Emma! Ye should have moved in with Laura weeks ago, like I was begging ye to.’
‘Hush, Blackie. Don’t get so excited,’ Laura said lightly but with firmness. She handed the housekeeping book to Emma. ‘You can see all the figures for yourself. I want you to know what everything costs.’
Emma did not want to take the book, but Laura forced it on her. She gave it the most cursory of glances, for she knew this girl would not attempt to make money out of her. After a moment she handed it back. ‘Laura, please! I don’t have to go through all these figures. I know you are scrupulous. In fact, maybe you are not charging me enough. I don’t want you to be out of pocket.’
Laura said, ‘Yes, it is enough. Really it is.’ She returned the accounts book to the sideboard drawer and went on, ‘Did Blackie tell you that you’re not paid for the first month, while you are learning to weave?’ Emma nodded. Laura cleared her throat and looked at Emma carefully, then she said, ‘Well, for that first month you don’t have to pay me anything.’
‘No, I can’t do that. It wouldn’t be right,’ Emma cried.
Laura was adamant. ‘I will not take money from you when you’re not earning, Emma.’ The older girl saw the immense pride flaring on Emma’s face, and, understanding that she did not want to accept charity, and not wishing to embarrass her further, Laura remarked quietly, ‘Just give me the two shillings for the rent. That’s a happy medium.’ Emma reluctantly agreed, so as not to offend Laura, although she was determined to pay her the whole of the five shillings. She would take it out of her savings.
‘It’s all settled, then. Emma will move in next Saturday. I shall bring her meself, sure and I will!’ declared Blackie, now taking charge. He beamed at them both. ‘Ye see, I was right all along. I knew it would work out and that ye would be liking each other.’
Emma smiled but made no comment. She was happy she had made the decision to move to Armley, to share Laura Spencer’s house. A strange pervading sense of peace settled over her again, and she relaxed in the chair, feeling suddenly at ease and more sure of the future than she had been for a long time. Everything wa
s going to be all right. She knew that now. Emma was not aware of it at that moment, but she was never to forget that first encounter with Laura Spencer as long as she lived. Over the years she grew to realize that Laura was the only truly good person she had ever known, and she loved her deeply.
The following Friday Emma said a sad farewell to her fellow workers at the tailoring shop, who were sorry to see her leave, and to all of the Kallinskis, with whom she had Sabbath dinner at Janessa’s insistence. After dinner Janessa took Emma to one side. ‘I want you to promise me that you will come to me if you need anything in the next few months,’ she said. ‘Armley is not so far away and I can soon be there.’
‘Oh, Mrs Kallinski, that’s lovely of you. Thank you. I promise I will.’
It was a tearful parting and only David seemed undismayed. He knew their paths would cross again. He intended to make sure of that. Emma gave him her address in Armley and he extracted a faithful promise from her to write as soon as she was settled. Even Mrs Daniel had tears in her eyes when Emma left and she, too, asked her to stay in touch.
On Monday morning Laura took her to Thompson’s mill. From the moment she entered it, Emma hated that place as fiercely as she had loved Abraham Kallinski’s little factory. No camaraderie here. No jokes and laughter. Rigid discipline reigned, and the gaffers were harsh and demanding as they walked up and down between the looms. Emma instantly loathed the stench of the oily raw wool and was deafened by the unceasing rattling of the shuttles; on her third day there she was totally unnerved when she witnessed a shuttle fly off and strike a girl in the face, scarring her for life, an accident that was not unusual.
Laura was a good teacher, patient and explicit in her instructions; nevertheless, Emma found the weaving process difficult and she was terrified of getting a ‘trap’, which occurred when a hundred or so threads broke on the loom. A ‘trap’ took hours to repair. These were precious hours lost, and the weaver had to work furiously to make up the lost time. But Emma was careful and she never did have a ‘trap’ as long as she worked at the mill.
A Woman of Substance Page 53