Alice's Secret

by Lynne Francis

  By early afternoon, though, Sarah’s fears had dissipated. Alice was up and about, seemingly none the worse for her bad night, all traces of fever gone. She set to work, helping Sarah with the household chores and taking the washing to peg out on the line. The heat of the last couple of weeks had blown away along with the storm and been replaced by a brisk breeze, sunshine and scudding clouds.

  ‘We’ll need to keep an eye on it, mind,’ Sarah warned. ‘It’s sunny enough now but it might change at any minute. At least it’s a good drying day, while it lasts.’

  Alice felt a rising agitation, which she tried to quell by keeping busy. She was aware of Sarah observing her, but her mother didn’t say anything, beyond trying to persuade her not to do too much.

  ‘Take it easy, Alice. You’ve not been well. You don’t want the fever to return.’ Sarah persuaded her to sit down at the table to help prepare the vegetables for the evening meal.

  Alice frowned as she peeled the potatoes, rinsing the residual mud away from the surfaces in a large bowl of water, then setting them aside, now shiny white, to chop. Sarah worked away quietly and watched her, removing the bowl and refilling it with fresh water when she saw that the rinsed potatoes were coming out dirtier than they had gone in. Alice showed no sign of having noticed.

  Alice began to chop the potatoes, halving, quartering, then dicing them. Suddenly she flung the knife down and Sarah saw blood smeared over the white cut surfaces of the vegetables, dark-red droplets falling from her fingertips.

  ‘You’ve cut yourself!’ Sarah passed a cloth over to Alice, then went to wring another out in fresh water. She came back to see Alice staring, unseeing, as more drops fell and flowered on the wet surface of the table.

  ‘I’m to be married,’ she said abruptly.

  Sarah, applying pressure to the cut in an effort to staunch the flow of blood, almost didn’t register what she had said.

  Alice repeated, ‘I’m to be married. To – to Owen Williams.’

  Sarah started back and stared disbelievingly at her daughter. Memories of the state that Alice had been in one night on her return from the mill flooded back. Shaken and distraught, she’d appeared on the doorstep, her arms scratched from where she’d struggled home along the path without the aid of a lantern, her face bruised from where she’d blundered into branches, she’d said. Privately, Sarah wondered what else might have caused these injuries. Weeks had followed where Alice hadn’t been herself, had been withdrawn, snappy, moody. Then there had been the day when Albert had brought her home from the mill, after the fall, and the terrible night that had followed. The bleeding, the pain, the furious weeping. Sarah knew that Alice believed she’d kept the truth hidden, but Albert had told her everything. She felt a sudden rush of anger, remembering her feelings of helplessness and rage against the person who had done this to her daughter. Against Williams, the man Alice now said she was going to marry.

  ‘Why, Alice? Why him? When did this happen?’

  ‘It was agreed yesterday.’ Alice spoke, looking down at the table, twisting the knife absently between her fingers. Sarah, seeing that the blood still flowed, silently removed the knife and bound Alice’s fingers with the wet cloth.

  Alice looked up at her. ‘It has to be. He wants me. His position is safe at the mill, and it may be that I can get him to make Ella’s job safe, too. It’s the only way for us all to survive.’

  ‘No, Alice.’ Sarah felt tears well up. ‘No, there has to be a better way. We’ll manage, we always have. I’ll –’ She stopped, at a loss as to how to go on.

  ‘You see?’ Alice shrugged her shoulders. ‘There is no choice. There’s nothing else to be done. So many mouths to feed –’ She gestured at the doorway. The younger ones had come silently through, leaving their play behind, aware of the change in the tone of the voices in the kitchen.

  Alice stood up. ‘Come and help me bring in the washing. The rain’s on its way.’ The children rushed ahead of her into the garden, fighting over who was to carry the wash basket. Sarah turned to look out of the window. Dark clouds had gathered and the first drops of rain struck the windows.

  She stopped Alice as she made to follow the children outside. ‘He’s not Elisabeth’s …’ Sarah stopped, unable to bring herself to continue.

  ‘Father? No!’ Alice laughed bitterly, despite herself. ‘Maybe it would have been better if he was.’ She headed out into the gathering wind. ‘It has to be,’ she flung back over her shoulder. ‘There’s no other way.’

  Chapter Three

  Later that week, when Ella arrived home with Albert after the long mill day, Alice was delighted to see him. They found her out in the garden, tying up trailing rose stems blown loose in the recent stormy weather. Autumn’s arrival this year had been heralded by days of blustery winds. Ella headed straight into the house, desperate to wash away the dust of the day, but Albert lingered.

  ‘It’s lovely to see you,’ Alice said. ‘You’ve been quite the stranger.’

  Albert looked uncomfortable, staring down at the cap that he was twisting in his hands.

  ‘How are things at the mill? What about your job? Is it safe?’ Alice, sensing his unease, hoped that her prattle would relax him, draw him out.

  ‘Is it true?’ he blurted out.

  ‘Is what true?’ Alice stalled, playing for time, but her heart sank.

  ‘That you’re going to marry that – that man. Williams.’ He all but spat out the name.

  Alice flushed. ‘Yes, it’s true.’

  ‘Ella told me. I couldn’t believe it. I know what he did to you. How could you, Alice?’

  Alice’s heart was beating uncomfortably fast. ‘I have to, Albert. It’s the only way.’

  Albert was staring at her. She found it hard to meet his eyes, and when she did, she saw that they were brimming with tears.

  ‘Here, I’ve got this for you.’ He thrust a folded piece of paper into her hand. ‘I’ll not be acting as a messenger boy for you any more, Alice Bancroft.’ And with that he turned on his heel and headed back up the path.

  ‘Albert!’ Alice called after him, but he ignored her, shoulders hunched. She feared that he was crying.

  She unfolded the note with trembling fingers. It could only be from one person, someone she had never expected to hear from again.

  Ella was calling from the house. ‘Alice, your food’s on the table. Come and eat before it gets cold.’

  Slowly Alice refolded the note and slipped it into her apron pocket. It would have to wait, although how she was going to hide the agitation it had caused her from her family, she couldn’t begin to imagine. She needn’t have worried. Hers wasn’t a family to sit in quiet appreciation of their food, but one that talked to, at and over each other. When she entered the kitchen, Sarah already had her hands over her ears.

  ‘Sssh!’ She tried in vain to hush them all. ‘You mustn’t talk with your mouth full!’ She turned to Alice. ‘Where’s Albert? Will he not stay and eat with us? There’s enough to share.’

  ‘He had to go. His parents were expecting him.’ The lie tripped off Alice’s tongue and Ella gave her a hard look. Alice had a feeling that Albert had confided in Ella on their walk home.

  ‘Did he tell you his news?’ Ella said.

  ‘No. He seemed in a bit of a hurry,’ Alice said, truthfully.

  ‘He’s to be the new nightwatchman at the mill. It means he will have full-time work. He was so worried about how his mother and father would get by if he was put on short-time, and they had to manage on those wages.’

  Alice squeezed in between Sarah and Thomas and began to spoon up her stew. But after a few mouthfuls she had to put the spoon down, her stomach churning with anxiety over the contents of the note, its presence like a red-hot ember burning in her pocket. Just as she was wondering whether she could make her excuses and leave the table, Ella leant across and said, ‘Oh, Alice, there’s some gossip going around the mill that might interest you.’

  Alice, apprehensive at what she was
about to hear, could only raise her eyebrows and look encouraging. Her mouth was too dry to speak.

  ‘Well, your teacher friend, Master Richard, hasn’t been seen around the mill since his wedding. We all thought he and that Miss Caroline had gone off on their honeymoon, but it seems not. Caroline has been up at the big house all this time, moping by all accounts, while Master Richard has been off on his father’s business. Although now it seems this mysterious business might not have been at his father’s request after all. Louisa overheard Mrs Weatherall having words with old Mr Weatherall about sending their son away straight after his wedding night, and on such a long trip. Mr Weatherall got all indignant and said Richard had volunteered to go, nay, insisted. Said it was vital for the mill that he went to Manchester and Leeds to look at the new machinery that the mills there were using. Now word’s all round the mill that’ – Ella lowered her voice and mouthed at Sarah and Alice – ‘the marriage hasn’t been – you know – properly er … er …’ She seemed at a loss for a moment. ‘Anyway, so that’s why he went away. But he was back in the mill today. He didn’t stay for long. He was up in the office and then we all saw him come striding out and he just left, looking very grim. Not like him at all. He’s normally very polite to us girls. Now it’s got some worrying that the news about the short-time is going to be even worse than we all thought.’

  While Sarah’s attention was distracted by Ella’s tale, Alice had managed to surreptitiously offload most of her stew onto Thomas’s plate. He was guaranteed to spoon it up without saying a word, quietly delighted at his luck. Alice was even more conscious of the note in her pocket. Her fingers itched to open it, her agitation rising as she tried to divine its contents by sheer force of will. Then, in an instant, her mood changed. She felt deflated. What possible difference could the note make?

  ‘We’ve set a date.’ She spoke, unheeding, not having been listening to any further conversation.

  Ella and Sarah, who had moved on to more mundane matters of village news, both turned to look at her, momentarily uncomprehending.

  ‘The wedding date. It’s to be on Saturday afternoon. Just quiet. The church won’t have us – because of Elisabeth.’ Alice swallowed. ‘So he’s made other arrangements.’

  Sarah looked aghast. ‘Saturday! So soon?’ She’d hoped for time to persuade Alice not to follow so hasty a course. ‘Are you sure? But we must arrange—’

  Alice cut in. ‘There’s nothing to arrange. It will be quiet, like I said. No reason – I mean, need – to celebrate. Just a ceremony.’

  ‘But you must come back here! We can’t let it go unmarked! A bride should—’

  Alice interrupted Sarah again. ‘He doesn’t want it. We’ll come back to get my things, and Elisabeth’s. He’s hired help to take them to his place.’

  Sarah’s thoughts flew to the dark cottage in the woods, glimpsed on her forays to find herbs. She’d always avoided it, not sure if it was the woodland setting, or what she knew of its occupant, that made her fearful. Now she shuddered to think of her daughter, and her precious granddaughter, hidden away behind its shuttered windows.

  She started to cry. ‘Well, if your mind is made up? You mustn’t be a stranger to us here. We want to see you every day. We’ll miss you so—’ Sarah choked on her sobs and couldn’t go on. Ella stared open-mouthed, and all the little ones around the table had fallen silent, unused to seeing Sarah in distress.

  Alice threw herself into the business of distracting everyone. She chivvied the children into clearing their plates from the table, persuaded Sarah into the parlour with Ella for company, made her a hot drink with a nip of brandy for medicinal purposes, set Annie to the washing of the dishes, and entrusted the drying to Thomas and Beattie.

  Then she shooed them upstairs, to wash hands and faces and get ready for bed. She piled them all into Sarah’s bed for a bedtime story, at the end of which Elisabeth was fast asleep, cosy in her nest of children. Alice gently disentangled her and took her to her cot, soothing her brief protests as she felt the chillier air, tucked her in and patted her back to sleep. Alice returned to chase the others into their own beds, blowing out the lamps one by one, and by the time she headed downstairs to join Sarah and Ella, she’d all but forgotten about the note that had seemed so important such a short time ago.

  It wasn’t until Alice was back in her room, preparing for bed, that the crackle of the paper in her pocket reminded her. In an instant, her legs felt shaky and she had to sit on the edge of the bed, unfolding the paper with trembling fingers. As she scanned the first few lines, her fingers flew to her mouth to stifle a gasp. She cast her eyes around in desperation. What time was it? She had no way of knowing up in her bedroom. She threw off her apron then, with a quick glance to make sure that Elisabeth slept soundly, she opened the door quietly and crept down the stairs, taking care to avoid making a sound. Pausing only to take a shawl and slip her feet into her boots, quickly lacing them, she unlatched the kitchen door.

  It was a clear night, with enough moonlight for Alice to have no need of a lamp. Hastening down the path, she paused at the gate to lift her skirt clear of her boots then ran as fast as she could. Before long, she had to slow down, her breath catching in her chest in sobbing gasps. Pressing her hands into her side, where she could feel a stitch, she forced herself on.

  Her mood this time as she approached the deer pool was very different to previous occasions. In her agitation, she paid much less heed to whether or not anyone saw her. Her passage from the main path to the deer pool itself found her stumbling and blundering into brambles, only dimly aware of the scratches to her face and arms.

  Alice cast around desperately when she reached the pool. Was that someone there, half hidden in the shadows against the rocks at the back of the pool?

  ‘Richard?’ she called, low and urgent. There was no response, no movement. She sank to her knees on the muddy ground, pressing her hands to her chest to still her pounding heart, and tried to breathe deeply and slowly to calm herself.

  She had no idea of the time. In her haste, she’d forgotten to check the clock in the kitchen before she left. Perhaps she was too early and he hadn’t got here yet? Perhaps he had been held up at the big house, finding it hard to slip away, waiting for sleep to envelop the house before he could make his escape. In her heart though, she feared he’d been here, waited, and gone. He’d said ‘ten o’clock’ in his note, but Alice suspected it might well have been that time before she’d read it, perhaps even later. Now it must be nearly eleven. Would he have waited an hour? Or might he still be on his way?

  She looked around to see whether he had left any sign that he had been there. But then, why would he? If she didn’t come, he would assume that she had nothing to say to him, that his marriage had put paid to their love, that her forthcoming marriage was to put the final seal on the whole hopeless affair. His note had said how desperately he missed Elisabeth, how he missed Alice so much that he had had to take himself far away from his new wife, for fear she would look into his eyes and see what was written in his soul. He’d said how he couldn’t bear to think of her married to Williams, of Elisabeth growing up believing him to be her father. But if she was set on that course then he knew he could hardly blame her, although his whole being shrank from the very idea. His note had finished with the line, ‘If you do not come, I will not presume to trouble you again but I will carry my love for you with me wherever I go.’

  Alice had brought the note with her, and she scanned it over and over again in the dim light, until the words were seared into her brain. She rose from the mud and sought out a more comfortable spot to wait out the night. Surely Richard would come? Surely she hadn’t missed her chance of seeing him? For a brief moment, she imagined herself going to the big house, ringing the bell and banging on the door, begging for admittance, making everything come right. She could see it clearly: the forbidding grey-stone wall, the barred gate, the cobbled courtyard leading to the imposing front door. Even if she got that far, stood on
the flagged steps and raised her hand to pull the bell cord, waited for the sound to die away inside, for measured footsteps to cross the polished floor, hands to slide the bolt; even then, already placed at a disadvantage because the door stood yet one step higher, she would have to meet the disapproving gaze of the housemaid, falter out her request to see ‘Master Richard’.

  All nonsense, of course. She could never put herself in such a position. Her rightful place would be down the steps to the side of the building, stone steps worn smooth by the passage of many feet, leading down to the basement kitchen. It was an area that never saw the sun, the air cold whatever the time of year, the grey stones green and slimy with damp. This was not the door at which to enquire for Master Richard either. Alice knew her place.

  The first dawn light was breaking through on the horizon when Alice rose stiffly to her feet, hugging her arms about her body, trying to rub some warmth and feeling back into them. She feared Elisabeth would wake before long and she couldn’t risk staying a moment longer. Her thoughts during her vigil had taken a desperate turn, and she faced the new day with a very heavy heart. She knew what she must do and it brought her no small amount of fear. Moving slowly at first, until her circulation was working properly again, she left the deer pool and headed for home, her footprints and a discarded, crumpled piece of paper the only sign of her presence.

  Chapter Four

  She’d made it back home before Elisabeth had woken, and had slipped into her own bed, hopeful of an hour or so of sleep before the day began in earnest. Elisabeth had been kind in that respect, but Alice’s mind had refused to let her rest. Every time she closed her eyes, images of Williams flashed in front of her: Williams at the mill, his eyes following her wherever she went; Williams’s harsh words when she had suggested that her family might provide a wedding breakfast to celebrate their day; Williams taking Elisabeth from her, muttering that she was using her to hide behind; Elisabeth wailing at his rough handling, a brief flash of rage crossing his face before he’d handed her back with bad grace. She tried to push the images away, and relax into much-needed sleep, but it was no good. Were these the thoughts that should be filling the mind of a woman about to be married?