‘I wish he’d come home,’ Cissie replied with a small sigh. Then, raising her head slightly, she placed the flat of her hand against the round bulge beneath Beth’s blue gown. ‘Do you think our Matthew’ll be home afore the babby comes?’
‘It all depends how far away he is,’ Beth explained. ‘It may be impossible for him to get home in just a few months.’
‘That sailor said Matthew would come home a man. We won’t know him, will we, Beth?’
‘Of course we’ll know him,’ She laughed softly. ‘Don’t forget, we all change. Every day we change a little, but you wouldn’t expect Matthew not to know us, would you, eh?’
Cissie shook her head. ‘All the same, I wish he’d come home,’ she insisted. ‘The sea makes me frightened.’ She recalled the docks, and the way the sea screamed and wailed like a soul in torment, throwing itself against the piers with a wild vengeance that struck terror into her young heart. ‘It’s like a real person,’ she said, ‘it gets angry, and it drowns people.’
‘That’s a fine way to talk, Cissie Armstrong!’ Beth told her in a reproachful voice. ‘Matthew’s gone to be a sailor. Sailors know all there is to know about the sea.’ She held the girl at arm’s length. ‘Are you saying Matthew won’t make a fine sailor?’
Beth’s ploy worked. At once, Cissie was indignant. ‘Our Matthew’ll make the best sailor there ever was!’ she declared. Now, when Beth smiled knowingly, the girl saw how she had been manipulated, and soon the two of them were laughing.
Luther did not laugh, though. When David proudly took the letter to him, he scanned it and threw it aside. ‘The young bastard!’ he hissed. ‘Not one word for old Luther who took him in! Never a mention of the one who spent many an hour teaching him the way of things. Ungrateful bugger! Serves him right if the sea rises up and drowns him!’
No sooner were the words out of his mouth than he glanced anxiously about, his unattractive features relaxing when he saw that his words had fallen only on his stepson’s ears. If ‘that bloody woman’ had heard him utter such a curse, she would have ripped into him with a piece of her mind, then he would have whipped her with his tongue, then this sop of a man before him would have got between them, and afore you knew it, there would be a full-scale war waging – and in the heat of the moment he might foolishly betray his devious plans to boot the lot of them out of his house and out of his life. And that would be soon as ever he had his own son safely established back under this roof, where he should have been all along! For the moment, he was canny enough to see the wisdom of keeping his stepson sweet, and that would not be achieved by stirring up a hornets’ nest.
As for Matthew, the old man had to admit that, despite his anger at the boy for having deserted him, he still felt a murmuring of affection towards him. He chuckled inwardly, thinking that maybe the boy was not altogether lost to him. Boys had a way of doing things in a great hurry and then regretting them afterwards. Adventure might seem exciting, but all too soon it could seem like a prison sentence, especially when it meant living aboard a ship with all manner of rogues and scoundrels. Happen it wouldn’t be long afore he was back here, and then they would see. Yes, indeed… they would see.
‘The lad made his choice,’ he told his stepson now. ‘I’ve other things on my mind at the minute.’ Draping a cloak round his crooked figure, he leaned on his cane and shuffled awkwardly to the door. ‘Let’s be having you!’ he grumbled, impatiently donning his top hat. ‘Or have you forgot we’ve a sale to attend?’ A thought suddenly occurred to him. ‘You remember what I told you? I’ve no intention of paying for a Hansom all the way to Liverpool. The railway’s cheaper, and it’ll get us there just the same.’
‘No, I’ve not forgotten’ David sighed wearily. There were times when he almost believed that Luther feigned his disability. Certainly he seemed surprisingly agile in that moment. He still could not understand the old man’s fever to acquire yet more land. ‘The Hansom will take us to Blackburn Railway Station, then from there we’ll travel to Liverpool and should arrive with time to spare.’
‘Good! Then don’t stand there dithering, you bloody fool. Let’s be away!’ He groaned. ‘If it weren’t for me old bones and the fact that I might be overlooked when the bidding starts, I wouldn’t want you within a mile of that sale room. Sometimes you’re worse than bloody useless.’ He flung the door open and waved his cane impatiently. ‘Come on! Come on!’ he snapped, thumping the end of his stick on the floor and glowering from beneath his unkempt eyebrows.
As they passed the kitchen, Cissie came rushing out. ‘Don’t go without me!’ she reminded them. Usually Beth accompanied her to town, but, seeing as the Hansom would be going right by the flower-shop, she had arranged for Cissie to be dropped off there. As the party filed through the front door, the girl called out, ‘Cheerio, Beth. I’ll see you later.’
Beth was standing in the kitchen doorway, the dishcloth in her hands and a serious expression on her face. ‘Bye, sweetheart,’ she returned, at once shifting her gaze to David. Neither of them smiled, but each knew the other’s thoughts. Beth had heard the manner in which the old man had addressed her husband, and it would have gladdened her heart to hear him snap back; just for once to tell the old villain to ‘Go to Hell!’ Yet, she knew he wouldn’t. He looked at her now, a sheepish half-smile on his face that said, ‘I’d better not antagonise him further by passing a minute with you.’ Instead, he allowed the old man to usher him along and occasionally jab at him with his stick. Beth could not bear to witness such humiliation, and so she averted her gaze and returned to her work.
She heard the front door close. Putting the dishcloth on the drainer, she spread out her hands on the rim of the sink and leaned her weight forward. Glancing at the big old wall-clock, she saw that it was still only eight-thirty. The day loomed unending before her. Young Richard would be kept busy with his learning for some considerable time yet, Cissie would not be ready to come home until tea-time, and David had warned her that it would be late when he and his ‘father’ returned, especially as Luther had expressed a desire to ‘celebrate afterwards’. He obviously meant to have the land that was being auctioned, and when he set his sights on something Luther Reynolds usually got his way.
By ten-thirty, Beth had cleared away the breakfast things, washed the dishes and stacked them into the big dresser, wiped down the kitchen table, taken the coconut matting from the floor and hung it over the line outside where she beat every speck of dust from it before replacing it over her freshly scrubbed quarry tiles; all that done she was now enjoying a cup of tea, before setting about the drawing room. She felt strangely restless, wanting to throw herself into every small task that awaited her throughout the house. There was an energy about her, a drive that told her, ‘Keep going, Beth. Don’t give yourself time to think… to think about Tyler!’
When the daily help came through the back door and into the kitchen, she found Beth sitting at the table, breathless and dishevelled. ‘Why, Mrs Miller! Whatever have you been doing?’ A quick glance told the plump jolly creature that most of her work had already been done. She was horrified; not only because she could see how Beth had thoroughly exhausted herself, but because she had been taken on two weeks ago by Mr Miller, who had told her categorically, ‘I don’t want Mrs Miller tackling any of the heavier domestic tasks, you understand? Her condition is advanced now, and one can’t be too careful.’ He had explained that, ‘Mrs Miller is a woman not used to being idle and will sweep clean through the house with fearsome enthusiasm if she isn’t watched. Be here on time and do your work well and I might consider hiring you on a regular basis once the child is born.’
Eager to secure the position, the girl had fervently assured the master, ‘Depend on me, sir. I’ll watch Mrs Miller like an ’awk. I shan’t let her do a thing, ’cause I’ll be two steps afront of her all the time.’ She had been taken on straightaway, and was now settled in the position. Having just wed, and her husband laid off from the cotton mill only four days since,
her wages were now the only ones coming in, and she lived in fear of being put out of work.
‘Don’t fuss, Peggy,’ Beth told her. ‘I can’t see the sense in leaving all the work to you, when I have so much time on my hands.’
‘But, if you’ll pardon me, Ma’am… it’s what the master pays me for. He partic’ly said I wasn’t to let you lift a finger about the house.’ She nervously dipped the top half of her body forward in a half-hearted curtsey. ‘Mr Miller’d skin me alive if he could see you now,’ she said in a pitiful voice. ‘You look fair worn out.’ She glanced from one end of the kitchen to the other, noting the sparkling sink without a cup or plate in sight, and the gleaming table top, then the freshly scrubbed floor that was still damp in the corners; the coconut matting beneath her feet bristled from its merciless thrashing. ‘The master was most partic’lar,’ she said lamely. ‘Most partic’lar.’
Smiling mischievously, Beth leaned forward. ‘I won’t tell if you won’t,’ she whispered as though imparting a secret. Pointing to the chair opposite, she told the girl, ‘Come and sit with me a while, Peggy. Tell me all about your weekend. Has your husband managed to find a position yet?’ When the girl made no move, she realised that instead of putting the poor creature at her ease, she had only succeeded in heightening her anxiety.
‘Begging yer pardon, Ma’am, but… well, I’d rather get on with me work, if yer don’t mind. That is… begging yer pardon.’ She repeated the half-curtsey, her big round eyes going over Beth’s face and a sense of panic taking hold of her. She didn’t like the unusually high colour of the mistress’s face. ‘Are yer all right, Ma’am?’ she asked, looking desperate.
‘Of course I’m all right,’ Beth reassured her. ‘Hard work never killed anyone that I know of. And please, Peggy… I would rather you didn’t curtsey. It makes me nervous when you keep dipping unexpectedly like that.’ Suddenly, a wave of tiredness swept through her and she closed her eyes for a moment, during which the girl remained quiet, but visibly agitated and eager to be getting on with her work. Sighing wearily, Beth opened her eyes and told her, ‘You’re right, Peggy. I think I went into the work with a little too much exuberance this morning.’ She smiled warmly, and not for the first time the girl thought how incredibly lovely her mistress was. She had a nice nature too, not like some of the gentry; although, of course, the Reynolds weren’t really ‘gentry’ as such.
Everyone knew the story of how old man Reynolds had come up from nothing to be a land-owner. There was a time when he owned only this great mausoleum, and that piece of derelict land at the bottom of Shorrock Hill. That son of his… what was his name?… Arnold Thomas, yes, that was it. Well, the story was that Arnold Thomas was the ambitious one, while the old man was content to live on the money he got from leasing the land to them as paid the price, usually folk who wanted a storage area or distribution centre. At one time, Mr Jarvis the coalman paid a pretty penny just to park his waggons there. But Arnold Thomas smelled a bigger profit from the up and coming developers who were looking to build back-to-backs for the mill-workers. The old feller would have none of it! Time and again they argued, with the son wanting the land sold on the open market, and old Luther arguing that he would ‘do what the bloody hell I think fit with me own land!’ He were always a bit of a tyrant.
In fact, Peggy remembered her own mam saying as how there were certain folk, including herself, who believed it were Luther Reynolds’ fault when his second wife died of the fever. Weeks she’d been badly, and he wouldn’t hear of spending a penny on a doctor. After the poor woman died and his own son deserted him, the old man took his bitterness out on the little stepson left behind. Yet, in spite of everything, David Miller grew up to idolise the old rascal.
Looking at Beth now, the girl was made to wonder whether she had ever regretted coming to this house. Certainly, there were times when the mistress had a strange faraway look in her eye, a look that belied her busy nature and preoccupation with the children she adored: a haunted lonely look. She seemed to find it difficult to make friends, and the fact that she hardly ever wandered far from the house only added to her loneliness.
‘You rest there a while, Mrs Miller,’ the girl said with unusual boldness, ‘and I’ll make you a fresh brew of tea before I start on the drawing room.’ She frowned at Beth when an awful thought suddenly occurred to her. ‘You ain’t already been in there as well, ’ave you, Ma’am?’ Her whole body relaxed when Beth told her with a measure of amusement, ‘No, Peggy, but I might well have done if you hadn’t come in when you did.’
‘Then, is it all right if I get on, begging yer pardon, Ma’am?’ She flushed with guilt when Beth took a few moments to reply. Against her better judgement she added hastily, ‘I’ll stay if you really want me to. If you’re lonely, Ma’am, that is?’
Deliberately ignoring the girl’s last comment, Beth replied in a more serious voice, ‘I’m sorry if I’ve made you anxious, Peggy. You go about your work.’ She pushed her chair back and stood up, one hand across the bulge of her stomach and the other holding the small of her back. ‘If you should need me, I’ll be in my room,’ she said. She had risen this morning with the intention of going into town and meandering among the shops, perhaps treating herself to a new bonnet, or buying Cissie those pretty boots she had so admired some days ago when the two of them had walked up and down Ainsworth Street, browsing in all the shop-windows; afterwards, Beth might have called in to the delightful tea rooms at the corner of the boulevard. Now, though, she only wanted to sit in her room a while. Later, when her son was finished with his learning, she and he might make their way to Corporation Park, where they could stroll through the gardens and enjoy the sunshine of a beautiful July afternoon.
With this thought in mind, Beth went from the kitchen and along the landing, then up the stairs towards her room. Outside the nursery, she paused and quietly inched open the door. Seated at his tiny desk beneath the window, Richard was intent on the word-pictures being held up by the kindly faced tutor. Unobserved, Beth closed the door and went softly into her own room.
Here she went to the dressing table where she sat down and regarded herself in the mirror. Looking back at her was a young woman in her thirtieth year, with trim shoulders and strong handsome features. Her hair was loosely coiled into the nape of her neck, and at her throat was a pretty cameo brooch given to her by her husband last birthday. As though suddenly observing a stranger, Beth looked down at her hands, small dainty hands that were now red from scrubbing the floor. She looked at the bump beneath her gown, and touched it with tenderness. Sighing, she raised her head and stared once more into the mirror, into those dark eyes that rarely revealed what was in her soul. In the secrecy of that room, where she had lain so often in David’s loving arms, her eyes now betrayed all. Soft tears blurred the image in the mirror. When they spilled over, she did not wipe them from her face. Instead, she remembered what Peggy had said just now: ‘I’ll stay if you’re lonely.’ The ghost of a smile flitted across her sad features. Another ghost walked her heart, reawakening old wounds, reviving old memories. ‘Lonely?’ She nodded her head and smiled, murmuring the words which no other living soul would ever hear. ‘Yes, I am lonely… lonely for him. Lonely for what might have been.’
Shaking off the nostalgia that threatened to overwhelm her, she went to the window and threw it open, startling a tiny robin that had been resting on the sill. As it flew away, the songs of many starlings filled the air. The sun was already hot on her face, and down below in the garden two doves stalked the lawn, looking for titbits. Soon, July would be gone, she thought, and with it, the turning of the year. Suddenly, she felt lighter of heart, ready to face the truth she had long denied herself. Yes, there were things she would never experience in life, special things which a man and woman in love might enjoy; she would never carry Tyler’s child again, nor would the two of them grow old together, content in each other’s love. But she was blessed in so many other ways. She had her health and strength and the tiny life
forming inside her; she had security and a comfortable home; then there was Cissie whom she adored, and her own darling son who was so like his father that her joy in him must always be mingled with pain. Besides all of that, Beth reminded herself that she had the love of a good man; although, sadly, she could never return his love, she was bound to remain by his side until the end of her days.
Looking up to the blue sky, she watched the many birds flying overhead, chattering and screaming as they passed out of sight. The world was beautiful. Life was beautiful. Now, as she prepared to close the window, the robin returned, standing only inches from her hand and eyeing her with great deliberation, his tiny head cocked to one side and his bright eyes glinting in the sunshine. Suddenly her mind was made up. In no time at all, she was hurrying down the hallway towards the nursery, where she swept in to announce, ‘It’s such a glorious day, Mr Turnbull, I think we’ll cut short Richard’s lessons and I’ll take him out in the sunshine.’
The tutor appeared unsure, but the boy jumped up from his place, rushing to Beth and grabbing her by the hand. ‘Where are we going, Mammy?’ he cried excitedly. ‘Can we go to the Park? Can we?’
‘First, we’ll go down to the kitchen and pack a small picnic,’ she told him, ‘then, yes… we’ll make our way to Corporation Park.’
He gave a squeal of delight, turning round on the spot and throwing his little arms around her. ‘Can we stay all day?’ he said breathlessly. ‘I want to feed the ducks, and I want to play in the sandpit. Can I climb the cannons? Oh, can I, Mammy?’ The questions tumbled from him as he went hand in hand with Beth, down the stairs and into the kitchen, where Peggy was soon caught up in the excitement. ‘I’d best fetch the smaller basket,’ she said, ‘on account of your condition, begging yer pardon, Ma’am.’ Soon, the wicker basket was packed with fruit, slices of pork pie, daintily cut sandwiches and a small earthenware jug of sarsaparilla. ‘Gotta have enough, Ma’am,’ Peggy remarked. ‘Small boys have such enormous appetites, don’t they?’
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