‘I’ll stay with you, Annie,’ Tessa said when Annie was settled at her own hearth. ‘I’ll sleep in the chair by the fire.’
‘You’ll not.’ Annie’s face was calm now and her eyes were lucid. She sat in a wing chair, old and somewhat faded, brought over hastily by carriage with several other pieces by the maids, her head resting against its padded back. She was clean, her skin stretched tightly over her delicate bones, pale and thin, but clean, and her own pleasure at the comfort of it showed in the way her eyes lingered on every shadowed corner of the room, on the warm flames licking against her old kettle; in the way she smoothed her hands down the faded but spotless skirt and bodice rummaged from somewhere in Tessa’s wardrobe, far too big, but clean.
‘I’m not taking orders tonight, Annie, you are, and besides, the carriage has gone.’
‘I’m all right now, so you can get off home.’
‘You don’t change, do you, Annie?’
‘Not where it shows, lass, and I’m not ready to talk . . . about . . . about them, not yet. ’Appen in a day or two . . .’
‘Annie, oh, dearest Annie . . .’
‘Give over, Tessa.’
‘Why didn’t you let me know? You know I would have come at once. You make me feel ashamed . . .’
‘Nay, you’ve nowt ter be ashamed of. Yer’ve bin a good friend ter me.’ It was the nearest Annie could get to a declaration of affection. ‘Yer’ve ’ad enough on thy plate, so I ’eard, ter be botherin’ about me an’ mine.’
‘But it’s all done now, Annie. Everything’s running beautifully. I’ve . . . we . . . we had help . . .’ She looked down at her hands which gripped one another tightly. Her face was soft and smiling and her skin flushed to a lovely rosy hue. ‘The mills are a limited company now and there is a board of directors. Will Broadbent . . . you remember Will?’ She looked up at Annie and her eyes told their own story and Annie knew, of course. But this was not the time to ask questions, even if she had cared to.
‘That’s why I came to fetch you, Annie,’ Tessa went on, not aware that her love for Will Broadbent shone in her flushed face. ‘The mill is to be opened next week and your job is waiting for you if you want it. But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.’
‘Yer know I’ll do what I’ve always done an’ that’s work at mill an’ earn me own livin’.’
‘But what about those girls from Spicers, and all the other young women who need someone to help them?’
‘You’ll help them.’
‘No, you will.’
‘Me? What can I do?’
‘You’ll think of something, Annie. We could . . . open a small factory . . . do pin-heading, but in decent conditions . . .’
‘But I’m a spinner . . .’
‘Does that mean you can do nothing else? Would you not like to give a hand to girls who have no one else to help them?’
‘Aye.’ Annie’s face had become quite pink and her eyes glowed.
‘But you’re to have a rest first, Annie.’ Despite Annie’s sudden interest it was apparent she was very tired. Beneath the false glow there was a waxy look of strain about her mouth and sad eyes.
‘Aye, a day or two, ’appen, then . . .’
‘Annie, will you stop being so stubborn? You’re in no fit state to . . .’
‘I’ll decide what sorta state I’m in, if yer don’t mind and . . .’
The soft knock on the cottage door made them both jump but even as she moved to open it the image of Will Broadbent slipped into Tessa’s mind and her heart began to beat joyfully.
His enormous frame filled the doorway. He was dressed in a rough jacket and cord trousers, the legs pushed into the tops of his knee-length boots. His shirt was opened at the neck and his hair was dishevelled as though he had ridden at speed. He looked exactly as he had done on the day she first met him: a working man with a brown face and hands, a bit rough and ready with none of the smoothness he acquired when he put on his business suit, but clean, dependable, steady, with a curl to his mouth which said he was ready to laugh easily and a soft glow in his eyes when he saw her at the door.
She loved him. Dear God, how she loved him.
‘I thought you would be here,’ he said, ready, she knew, to take her in his arms, indeed they lifted involuntarily and she almost stepped into them.
‘Come in, Will.’ The voice from the kitchen was weary and instantly they moved away from the embrace they both longed for. ‘Come in, Will, an’ tell me ’ow the dickens yer knew I were back. News don’t ’alf travel fast ’ereabouts. I’ll be ’avin’ the Mayor of Oldham knockin’ on’t door next.’
He knelt at Annie’s feet and though she turned red with embarrassment and was stiff and awkward, he drew her slight figure into his arms and hugged her. The gesture was spontaneous, warm with affection, and Annie allowed it. She even smiled and when Will stood up and turned to Tessa her eyes were deep and knowing as he took Tessa’s hands in his.
‘I might have known this was your doing, Tessa Harrison,’ and I love you even more for it, his eyes told her, ‘but I’m only sorry I didn’t do it myself. I thought she was . . . comfortable . . . with a decent place . . .’
‘Don’t talk about me as if I wasn’t ere, Will.’
‘I’m sorry, lass,’ he tore his reluctant gaze away from Tessa, ‘but I feel that ashamed . . .’
‘That’s what Tessa said but it were no one’s fault. If we’d . . . if the fever, well, wi’ first one then t’other goin’ down . . . cholera, it was said . . . I couldn’t work. Nay, I’m not goin’ ter weep again. See, Tessa, give Will a cuppa tea, I’m off ter me bed. ’Appen Will’ll see yer back ’ome, lass.’ She stood up slowly, her gaunt frame showing the effort required to control her straining emotions.
‘I said I’d stay . . .’
‘An’ I said I want to be on me own, Tessa.’ Her voice was sharp and painful, then it softened. ‘Just fer a day or two . . .’ She could not put into words her need for peace and privacy in which to do her grieving and she begged Tessa to understand. ‘I’ll be right as rain, lass. I just want ter . . . ’ave a bit o’ rest. Come over in a day or two, if yer’ve a minute ter spare. Now don’t come out ’o yer road, only if yer over this way . . .’
‘Oh, stop it, Annie. One more word and I’ll not come again, ever.’
‘I reckon I’d manage on me own if yer didn’t.’ But Annie was smiling as she made her slow and weary way up the stairs which Tessa’s maids had scrubbed, to the warm, herb-scented bed they had made up for her.
‘Shall I come up with you, Annie?’
‘Nay, my lass. I’ve bin puttin’ meself ter bed since I were a bairn.’
‘How did you know she was home?’ she asked when Annie had closed the door quietly on her spartan bedroom.
‘Oh, it’s not easy to move about this valley undetected, my darling. In no time at all the news that Annie Beale was being treated as a valued guest at the home of Mrs Drew Greenwood reached the ears of my head clerk who informs me of anything he thinks might be of interest to me. And knowing Annie as I do, I was pretty certain she wouldn’t be happy until she was in her own place, by her own fireside. I came over at once.’
They both smiled at Annie’s stubborn pride. Tessa was still dressed in the soiled organdie gown she had put on that morning – was it only such a few short hours ago? – but she had left her bonnet, her parasol and gloves on the bedroom chair where she had tossed them as she had helped Annie inside. Her hair hung about her face and shoulders in damp drifts and there was a streak of dirt across her forehead where she had pushed a frantic hand through it.
‘You’ve had a hard day, Tessa.’ The very words she had longed to hear, and who but Will would know her needs, how utterly exhausted she was? How lovely it would be to sink into the chair Annie had just vacated, to kick off her filthy boots and put her feet on the fender, to have a cup of tea put in her hand and pour into some sympathetic ear the dreadfulness of what she had seen that day.
&n
bsp; ‘Sit down, my darling.’ When she did his hands were at her bootlaces removing her filthy boots. Then they caressed the arch of her foot, her ankles, smoothing the skin and taking from her weary bones the memory of the recent horrors. The tea was forgotten as he lifted her up and drew her into his arms. Their mouths met for a brief moment and she sighed for Will knew just what was in her heart and troubled mind, as he had always done.
The woman who lay sleepless in her bed above them listened sadly to the silence.
29
The formal betrothal between Johnny Taylor and Alicia Henderson was announced at the ball his father gave at the beginning of August, and his weekend guests, amongst them Mr and Mrs Drew Greenwood, were fulsome in their congratulations.
Hadden Hall was a fine old country seat in the parish of Middleton, Sir Anthony Taylor, Johnny’s father, being a great landowner in those parts. Like Squire Longworth he had sold a tiny corner of his land to the railways so that the Manchester to Rochdale line might proceed unhindered through Lancashire and had made himself enormously wealthy in doing so.
By chance, as the navvies prepared the track, which was several miles from the Hall, coal was discovered on his land. Fortunately the colliery winding-gear built to get his coal out of his land would not be seen from the windows of his home, so he allowed the necessary work to go ahead, and his income tripled.
Drew and Tessa rode over in their splendid carriage, another following behind packed with their boxes, and with Emma and Hibberson, the footman who was to ‘do’ for Drew. Behind the second carriage rode Walter on Drew’s bay and leading Tessa’s mare, for there was bound to be some sort of sport on horseback and though Sir Anthony had a fine stable Drew had declared he would prefer to ride his own animal.
It was a glorious day, the sky across the moors a vast and endless bowl of blue. The summer had been fine with warm, sunny days and a good deal of rain at night and the moorland was a wonderful sight, swathed in the deepest purple heather, the verdant green of the springy turf and the yellow of gorse. The banks of the lanes as they drove through villages and hamlets were covered with harebells, toadflax and hackweed, the occasional field hedge laced with long streamers of honeysuckle and sweet-scented bedstraw.
Drew dragged the clear air deep into his lungs, looking around him contentedly. He put his arm about Tessa’s shoulders, indifferent to the eyes of the servants, and drew her more closely to him, smiling down into her face.
‘This is better than that damned factory, don’t you think, my pet? Just smell the air.’ He took another deep breath and obediently she did the same.
‘It’s lovely, Drew,’ she agreed.
‘And you look quite glorious, my darling. I shall have to keep a watchful eye on those fellows at Hadden: not one of them would hesitate to steal you from me if they could.’
‘Fiddlesticks, Drew, and you shouldn’t joke about such a thing. Besides, I might not want to be “stolen”, have you thought of that?’
He grinned and bent his head to drop a light kiss on her upturned mouth. He was at peace with himself this morning, and with her. He had made love to her last night, finding nothing lacking in her submissive acceptance, pouring his terrible nightmares from his body into hers, releasing the tension which came to grip him, and sleeping like a child in her arms for the rest of the night. He did not know what his nightmares were any more for it was five years since Pearce had died and six since the horror of the battles he and his brother had fought side by side. In a way his terror had something to do with Tessa which was strange for she was the hand which led him from the shaking quagmire that threatened him. But during the last twelve months she had shown a strange and quite unbelievable attention to the mill, and in that time he had felt his fears begin to grow again. Fears of what? he asked himself in his more lucid moments, and he could not answer. But she was here with him now. The new mill was running smoothly, he had been informed, the directors had it all in hand and he and his wife were to take up their pleasant life again from now on.
‘This will be a splendid weekend, sweetheart,’ his voice was soft in her ear, ‘and there are such good things ahead. D’you know, I think this is my favourite time of the year. The grouse next week and then at the beginning of September the partridge, with hunting to follow. Did I tell you we are invited to Scotland again?’
They were all there to meet them on the imposing steps which led up to the wide front door of Hadden Hall: Johnny Taylor, Nicky Longworth, all Drew’s insolently aristocratic friends who welcomed them enthusiastically, young lords at play, not one of them under the age of twenty-five, Tessa thought, and all acting as though they had just been released from the school-room.
‘They are high-spirited, Mrs Greenwood.’ Sir Anthony took her arm benevolently but his eyes ran appreciatively over the soft swell of her breast inside its cream silk, finely-tucked bodice, her splendid shoulders and slender neck, the bright flame of her lips and the extraordinary colour of her long-lashed eyes. She felt his speculative gaze and knew clearly and suddenly, however he might deny it, that she and Drew would never be completely part of this wild-riding, hell-raking, self-assured and overbearing class of society. Though he might welcome her warmly, Sir Anthony Taylor considered it not at all discourteous to let his glance roam quite openly over her body, to let her see that he thought her charms were there for anyone to admire just as though she was no more than a maidservant in his fine old home. All these years she and Drew had imagined that they were the same as these people, part of their society and accepted by them, whilst in reality they were no more than an amusing diversion. They were welcome wherever they went: both were well-mannered, attractive and charming, with money which Drew lost regularly at cards, and were prepared to join in any mad escapade, showing that wild courage which the privileged class admired, but they were not of them.
What had opened her eyes to it, she wondered, as she moved about the elegant bedroom she was to share with Drew, directing Emma in the preparation of the gown she would wear for dinner, the choice of her jewellery, the consideration of how her hair should be dressed. Perhaps she had always known but had chosen to ignore it for what else could she and Drew do with the rest of their lives? They had been brought up as neither fish nor fowl belonging in neither the industrial, commercial world of her mother, her aunt and uncles, nor the autocratic and often noble class to which her cousins had aspired.
But these last twelve months, amazingly, had been the most gratifying of her life, she realised with a shock. Once she had accepted her position in the Greenwood world of business; once she had been shown how to manage that position, to fit herself into it, she had found the challenge quite exhilarating. She had never been made to buckle down to anything or face up to what she really was until Charlie’s death and Drew’s weakness had compelled her to it.
And she was doing it! What was more, she was doing it well! Now that Annie had returned to the mill and was implementing the scheme Tessa had devised for her and was helping the general day-to-day running of the mill’s operatives; now that she had Will to give her his strong hand over the sticky patches and the shelter of his love to protect her, she had the fancy she could make as good a ‘millmaster’ as other women in her family had done before her.
She moved to the window and stared out across the stunningly beautiful grounds of Hadden Hall. Weekend guests were moving about the stretch of lawn which led down from the terrace to a tree-shaded stream several hundred yards away from the house. The ladies were mostly in white with flower-trimmed parasols and hats, seated beneath wide-spreading chestnut trees, taking tea at tables set with lace cloths and served by housemaids with expressionless faces. Chairs were scattered about for anyone who cared just to sit and watch, and on a flat stretch of lawn cricket stumps were being set up and several young gentlemen, one of whom was Drew, were skylarking. He was brandishing a cricket bat imploring Nicky not to be such a fool and to throw the ball but Nicky and Johnny were ignoring him, launching the ball over his
head, backwards and forwards.
‘Come on, chaps,’ she heard him shout, his voice carrying through the open window, and when they took no notice she had the sudden dreadful feeling that he was about to fling the cricket bat down and stamp off like some small boy in a tantrum. Even from where she was standing she could see the clenching of his jaw and the astonishing flush of hot temper in his smooth brown cheek; then Nicky carelessly threw the ball in his direction, quite unaware of his alarming but fleeting danger, and the moment passed. Drew hit the ball, sending it into the far distance of the trees, his body beautiful in its grace, his beauty stunning in its masculinity. The ladies clapped in admiration and Tessa could hear the murmur of well-bred voices and well-bred laughter.
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