Alice traced the tiny, perfect stitches with her fingers. Sarah had been quite insistent that Alice should learn to sew beautifully, too. These days Sarah’s eyes were too weak and tired to let her create such fine stitching, but Alice was reasonably sure that her standards could match those of her mother. She traced around the hexagonal outline of a few more patches – there was the floral print she herself had worn in a pinafore, handed on to Ella and her younger sisters until it was too worn to be of further use for clothing, but still serviceable enough to create a few of the last patches for the quilt.
Gently, she eased the blanket from around the face of the tightly swaddled Elisabeth. Richard hadn’t yet seen his daughter. She had no idea how it would be possible for him to ever see her, or whether he would even want to.
She became aware that Sarah was awake, and watching her. Something in Alice’s face made Sarah ask gently, ‘What is it?’
Alice turned to her, her eyes huge and dark in the firelight. She’d realised with a sinking feeling of guilt that she’d barely thought of Richard since Elisabeth’s birth. ‘I was just thinking that Elisabeth might never know her father.’
Sarah smiled wryly. ‘No matter. Perhaps it’s for the best. She’s better off brought up here, with family around her. Times are hard at the moment, with the snow, but the patients will be back. I’ll make sure she wants for nothing, and you’ll bear that responsibility too.’
Sarah had shown no curiosity as to the identity of Elisabeth’s father, and Alice hadn’t sought to discuss it with her. She suspected that Ella would have heard gossip from the mill about Williams and herself, and she would have put two and two together, like everyone else. No one would have thought that Alice could have strayed so far beyond her station as to form a liaison with the mill owner’s handsome son. Whenever he walked amongst them on the mill floor he generated giggles and blushes amongst the girls. To them, he was a desirable but remote figure, so far removed as to not be worth more than a moment’s private fantasy. Yet Williams, who was within their reach, generated no fantasies at all. The girls hushed and bent to their work as he passed, unwilling to catch his eye. There was something unsettling about his demeanour, an air of menace lurking beneath the surface. Unlike the overlookers on the mill floor, Williams never relaxed that stern exterior, never let down his guard to share a joke with the workers under his rule.
Alice thought back to the terror he had aroused in her. It had mysteriously vanished after the fall, when she’d slipped from the packhorse steps and fallen so hard in her rush to work. One of the delivery men, using the old route from the village through habit, had found her by chance. She’d been knocked unconscious, out for quite some time they said. They’d carried her into the mill, without much care as to whether bones had been broken in the fall. It had been Ramsay who had seen to it that she had been placed in the manager’s office, setting chairs together to create a makeshift couch, and working quietly at his desk until she roused.
He must have read the fear and confusion on her face as she’d blurted, ‘Williams will …’ somehow convinced in her mind that she was late for work and in trouble. He’d soothed and reassured her, explained how she came to be where she was, and waited until she felt strong enough to stand. Then he’d sent for Albert and instructed him to walk her slowly home and explain to Sarah what had happened. Alice knew she was lucky not to be sent straight to the factory floor, and luckier still when late that night the cramping pains and the bleeding came. Sarah dosed her with a tonic that she’d worked late into the night to create. Both of them knew that they couldn’t afford for Alice to miss the wages for another day’s work.
Sarah hadn’t asked how this had all come about, and for that Alice was grateful. Back at the mill, Alice suspected that Ramsay must have said something to Williams for, to her relief, he left her alone for a while. Ramsay had moved her to work in the schoolroom for half the day, and before very long Richard arrived to join her. Within the month, although Williams was back to his old ways, Alice felt more than able to shrug off his unwanted attention. Even when Ramsay retired, she’d managed to evade Williams successfully. She wasn’t sure how she would have coped if things had turned out differently.
Alice, rousing herself from her thoughts, became aware that Sarah was still watching her. She turned to her with a half-smile. ‘You’re right. It’s family that’s important.’
Chapter Six
As soon as the weather improved, Alice was to be found out and about again. At first, she confined herself to the garden, Elisabeth closely swaddled against the still-cool weather and strapped tightly to her mother. The crisp sunshine lifted Alice’s spirits as she busied herself tidying neglected herb beds, the snow having turned the plants to blackened sticks draped in dispiriting flags of grey foliage. As the days passed, she took to venturing further afield, delighted to spot vivid yellow celandines appearing along the grassy banks. Elisabeth’s early morning feed, which still took place in darkness, was now conducted to a background of birdsong as the birds staked their territorial claims. Alice preferred to think that they were simply singing to welcome spring.
It was on an unusually mild day that Alice spotted her first primroses at the edge of the woods, where the sunlight warmed the bank for most of the day. She bent to examine the pale lemon-yellow petals set amongst rosettes of crinkled leaves of the freshest green. ‘Look, Beth, primroses,’ she whispered. ‘The first proper sign of spring.’ As she straightened up, she became aware of a man’s figure between her and the sun. He was in silhouette and at first her heart leapt, thinking it must be Richard. Then, before she even registered his features she noticed his build. Tall and broad, not slender, and dressed in the garb of a working man.
‘So,’ said Williams. ‘This is the bairn half the mill thinks I’m supposed to have given you.’ He stepped towards Alice, who immediately stepped back.
‘Don’t be daft, lass,’ said Williams, impatiently. ‘You’ll at least let me have sight of it?’
Alice hesitated. Elisabeth was tightly bound to her, her face nestled into Alice’s breastbone, her body warmed by her mother, their heartbeats echoing each other’s. She was content like this and Alice was loath to disturb her. Gently, she turned Elisabeth’s head so her face, set beneath Alice’s jawline, was towards Williams. He gazed at Elisabeth, then at Alice and abruptly his face, uncharacteristically soft until then, hardened. His brows knitted together into a frown and his jaw set.
‘No doubt as to the father, then,’ he said. ‘Much good it’ll do you. You should have used your wits, Alice Bancroft. You could have had yerself a house of your own and a husband with a steady job. Instead, you’ve got yerself a bastard and another mouth to feed in a house that can barely cope with what it already has. I’ll wager your mother’s proud of you and your education now?’
He spat out the last words as he moved away, leaving Alice ashen and shaken. The sun seemed instantly drained of any warmth and his words struck like splinters of ice in Alice’s heart. In some ways, he was right. She’d lived the last few weeks in a cocoon of unreality. The landscape that, until a few minutes ago, had looked so lovely, offering the promise of spring, now seemed bleak and threatening. Poverty and hardship, ever at the edges of their lives, seemed to loom closer; Alice’s romantic notions about the future, if she’d entertained any, were crushed.
Sarah noticed the change in Alice as soon as she returned home. ‘You’re as white as a sheet. You shouldn’t go walking the paths around and about yet. You’re feeding the baby and you need your strength. Sit yourself down and I’ll heat some soup.’
Alice shrugged her off impatiently. ‘I’m well enough. Don’t fuss, it’s nothing.’ She paused. ‘But the primroses are out on the bank near Tinker’s Wood. The weather has changed and people will be coming back to see you now that the paths are passable. I can search out plants to gather while I walk with Elisabeth, and we must think about the planting in the herb garden and the vegetable patch.’
; Sarah put her hand to Alice’s brow. Her cheeks had gone from deathly pale to flushed. ‘You’ve over-tired yourself. Go and lie down for a while. I’ll watch Elisabeth. And don’t worry. Spring is coming, we’ll get word out that I’m feeling better now and the patients will return, as they always do. I’ll be glad of your help, and Ella will bring in money from the mill. Elisabeth is too small to make a difference to us yet. You’re the one keeping her alive, and it’s you that must take care of yourself.’ And with that Sarah pushed Alice into her room, not unkindly, and closed the door firmly. Alice sank onto her bed, her agitation slowly draining away now that she was back in the safety of her own home. As she drifted into sleep her thoughts turned to Ella. ‘I need to make sure she is safe,’ she thought. ‘I need to talk to Albert, to get him to watch out for her …’
Chapter Seven
Alice stood at the range, stirring the porridge pot and shivering. It was dark, but she had been awake for some time now, disturbed by a fractious Elisabeth, and there seemed little point in trying to get back to sleep with morning so close, and her head full of worries. She turned as Ella stumbled sleepily across the room. From the jug on the side, Ella scooped up a handful of water, collected at the pump the night before, and splashed her face to shock herself into wakefulness to face the day.
‘Hurry and get dressed.’ Alice stirred the pot vigorously. ‘You’ll have time to eat some of this to warm yourself before you go. It’s still bitter outside.’
Ella yawned and stretched, and went over to baby Beth, now sleeping peacefully in her wooden cradle. She rocked it gently.
‘Don’t wake her,’ Alice warned. ‘It’s the first bit of peace I’ve had all night. Now, get on with you.’ She gave Ella a little push back towards the stairs.
Ten minutes later she was down again, and Alice had already set two bowls of porridge to cool at the table. Ella started to spoon hers quickly into her mouth. ‘I’ll be late,’ she mumbled.
‘You’ve got time enough. There’s no need to bolt your food like that,’ Alice scolded. ‘Now listen, I want you to ask Albert to come by one night on the way home. He’s not been to see Beth yet, and I want to ask something of him. Will you do that for me?’
Ella was already on her feet, pushing her chair back. ‘Of course. We can walk back together. It’s nice to have some company when the path is so dark.’ She looked out of the window as she pulled on the same rough wool shawl that Alice had also worn for her winter journeys to the mill. ‘Dark at night, dark in the morning.’ She sighed, picking up the lantern that Alice had already lit for her.
Alice turned Ella towards her, searching her face, troubled by the way the spark seemed to have gone out of her. ‘Is all well at the mill?’ she asked, trying to keep the anxiety out of her voice.
‘Well enough.’ Ella turned away to take hold of her lantern and work basket as she unlatched the kitchen door. She paused on the threshold, gazing out into the darkness, then turned and looked back into the kitchen. The fire in the range glowed now, bringing some warmth into the room. All was calm and peaceful, Beth slept soundly, and the younger children weren’t awake yet.
‘I hate the mill, as you did,’ she said. ‘But there’s nothing to be done.’
Alice caught her arm as she turned to go. ‘But there’s nothing else? No trouble with anyone at work?’
‘Oh, some of the girls are quite snippy.’ Ella shrugged. ‘But we get along well enough.’ And with that she gave Alice a quick hug, then headed off down the path. Opening the gate, she stepped out into the road, blending into a group of other figures, similarly muffled against the cold, as gusty winds blew them along on their journey towards the woods and the mill path.
Chapter Eight
‘You’ve got a visitor.’ Ella came into the kitchen, accompanied by a blast of cold air from outside. She unwound one shawl from around her head and neck, and shook another from her shoulders. Her cheeks were flushed bright red from the bitter wind, and for a moment Alice envied her day away from the confines of the house, even though she knew only too well what it entailed.
Albert loitered shyly in the doorway behind her. ‘Come in, come in,’ Alice said, tugging Ella further into the room so that Albert could enter. She pushed the door shut and shivered. ‘You’ve brought all the cold in with you.’
She turned to Albert and smiled, genuinely delighted to see him. ‘Albert, I’ve missed our morning walks to the mill. How are you? Come in and warm yourself by the fire – and meet Beth. She’s awake – and happy for once.’
Albert hadn’t uttered a word. He was overwhelmed at being back in the Bancroft house again and in the presence of Alice, the girl he admired so much. Now she was pulling him into the front room, where Elisabeth was propped up among pillows on the floor near the fire, watched over by Thomas, Annie and Beattie.
‘Go along and help your sister in the kitchen,’ said Alice, shooing them out. ‘Albert has come to be introduced to the baby.’ She closed the door firmly behind them.
‘Come and sit down.’ Alice drew a chair close to the fire as Albert, now quite scarlet with both nervous embarrassment and the sudden heat of the fire, unbuttoned his jacket. He turned his attention to baby Elisabeth, but Alice had other things on her mind. ‘Listen,’ she said urgently, her voice low. ‘I need to ask two favours of you and I don’t have much time. Can I ask you to carry this note to Richard Weatherall for me?’ And she took a folded piece of paper from her pocket and pressed it into Albert’s hand.
‘The teacher?’ said Albert, puzzled.
‘Yes … I left some books behind in the schoolroom when I left the mill. I’d like them returned – for Elisabeth when she grows –’ It was Alice’s turn to blush. She didn’t like telling falsehoods to Albert, but wasn’t ready to trust him, or anyone, as yet, with the truth. ‘He’ll probably send you a note back, but I’d like you to give it direct to me, not send it with Ella.’ She paused. ‘She’s a bit of a scatterbrain, as you know, and she might lose it. Will you do that?’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Albert, only half listening, his eyes sliding towards baby Elisabeth, kicking and gurgling as she watched the flames dance in the fireplace.
‘Albert –’ Alice laid her hand on his, drawing his attention back to her face at once. Her expression was very serious. ‘I need to ask you something else. I’m worried for Ella at the mill. Will you promise you’ll keep an eye out for her, as you did for me? With Williams, I mean? I’m frightened he’ll try to use Ella to get at me.’ Alice hesitated, fighting down terror at the thought. ‘I couldn’t bear it if she went through what I did.’ She sighed, suddenly aware of the enormity of the task.
‘Of course I’ll watch out for her,’ said Albert. ‘But Williams shows no sign of being interested in her. In fact, he doesn’t seem to have bothered anyone in a while.’ Albert mused on this a moment, then turned to Alice, conscious of the trust she had placed in him. ‘You’re not to worry. I’ll keep my eyes open. And Ella does well at the mill. I know she gives the impression of living in a bit of a dream world, but that does her no harm. The others tend to leave her alone and I’m sure she’s tougher than she looks.’
Alice felt a wave of relief. This was the first bit of news that she’d been able to get since she’d left the mill, and Ella had been so guarded when she’d quizzed her about her days that Alice had feared the worst. It looked as though mill life, as with the rest of life, rather washed over Ella, who seemed to exist in her own little protective bubble.
The door opened and Sarah and Ella, carrying a tray with glasses and a pitcher, came in followed by a gaggle of young ones.
‘What do you think of her, Albert?’ demanded Ella. ‘Isn’t she just lovely?’ Albert was confused for a moment: not having had the chance to pay any proper attention to Elisabeth as yet, he thought that she was referring to Alice.
‘Why – yes,’ he stammered.
Alice laughed and scooped Elisabeth up. ‘Here,’ she said, thrusting her towards Albert. ‘I’ve kept
him talking with news of the mill and we’ve quite ignored Beth. He’s not even held her yet.’
Sarah was busy pouring ale from the pitcher into glasses. ‘Our first visitor to see Elisabeth,’ she said. ‘So we thought it deserved a toast.’
Albert, struggling to balance the baby in the crook of his arm and raise a glass with his free hand, was looking hot and bothered again, but Ella rescued him, and took Beth, who looked as though she was preparing to wail.
‘Just look at her perfect little fingers and toes,’ she said, waving Beth’s podgy hand at Albert. He was grateful to Ella for stepping in. Albert was unused to babies, with no younger brothers and sisters of his own, and felt awkward and clumsy around them. Released from the pressure of hanging onto a wriggling bundle, Albert could relax and enjoy his ale, and observe the room. Alice was revelling in the change from routine that a visitor had brought, especially a visitor as dear as Albert, who was like another brother to her, and Ella was made quite giddy by the general lift in spirits and the delicious warmth that the ale had sent coursing through her. There was such a relaxed atmosphere in the little front room that it was with great reluctance that Albert eventually set down his glass and declared that he must head home. His parents would be wondering at his non-appearance and the lateness of the hour, and his evening meal would be waiting.
‘Supper!’ Sarah’s hand flew to her mouth. She, too, had been caught up in the enjoyment of having company. ‘I put a pot to boil on the stove and forgot all about it!’ And she leapt to her feet and hurried into the kitchen.
Ella looked up from her fireside seat, Beth on her lap, and waved Beth’s hand at Albert as he left. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ she said.
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