A Time Like No Other

by Audrey Howard

  She sighed deeply. ‘I don’t know what this is all about, Roly. Why you have summoned me up here to discuss this foolish notion you seem to have that—’

  ‘Tell me that child in your nursery is mine. That is what I have summoned you up here for.’

  ‘But why?’ Lally had lost the dread she had felt and only knew exasperation. ‘What has got into you, Roly? Do you honestly believe that an hour up here with you, which was a mistake, of course, could produce a baby? Harry and I were lovers for weeks,’ she lied. ‘And the daughter that I bore was his.’

  ‘I don’t believe you. Harry is not the sort of man to make love to a woman, a lady from decent society, without marriage. He is too honourable.’ His voice had contempt in it and Lally felt wonder move through her that in all these years neither she nor Chris had really known this man.

  ‘He is honourable but we . . . were carried away . . . he was carried away and I . . .’

  ‘Yes,’ he sneered, ‘you were so overcome you allowed . . .’

  Lally turned away and strode to the edge of the plateau on which they stood. Her dogs followed her, keeping close to her skirt. She slapped the skirt of her riding habit with her small whip, her mind in a turmoil, for this was obviously going somewhere and for the life of her she couldn’t imagine where.

  Was it something to do with Harry? There had always been some dissension between the brothers which was why it worked so well when Roly was abroad and Harry was left to run the mills as he liked, but perhaps Roly was no longer satisfied with this arrangement despite the fact that it had made them enormously wealthy.

  She looked out at the October landscape which was wide and empty of all but a moving straggle of sheep grazing under the morning sun. A gentle wind blew the scents of the moorland into her nostrils – heather, bilberry, sedge, cowberry – and the moor was shadowed here and there as the wind moved the clouds, forming a pattern in the valley below and on the hillside opposite. There had been an early frost which had dissolved as the sun rose. It had tinged the tussocky grass with amber and the bracken with scarlet. Small flocks of migrating birds flew restlessly over the rugged hillsides, their calls high and piercing.

  She turned abruptly. Roly had resumed his position against the huge boulder, which had been carried by ice from an adjacent valley thousands of years ago and in some strange manner had perched on a scatter of other, smaller, limestone boulders. Sheltering the clearing was a group of upland oaks, their leaves almost gone at this altitude and time of the year.

  ‘Well, Roly, I haven’t the faintest notion why you have brought me up here for what you have to say is all nonsense.’

  ‘Really!’ Roly’s mouth twisted into a smile that was deliberately sardonic and unkind. ‘You do surprise me, but never mind you will know in good time. Harry and I have been . . . at odds for a long while now and I have had no weapon to force him into what I want. Now I have and I shall depend on you to help me. That child of yours, of ours is illegitimate – oh yes, make no mistake about that,’ for she had gasped in horror and every vestige of colour had left her face. Her hand went out to the rough surface of the boulder but Roly merely smiled. ‘Her parents are not married therefore she is—’

  ‘Harry is . . .’

  ‘No, he is not and if he and you do not comply with my wishes I shall let the whole of Yorkshire know it. Now then, I must be off. Let Harry know, won’t you, what we have discussed and that I shall be round to see both of you shortly. I shall consult with my solicitor.’ He paused for a moment, then swung himself into the saddle and trotted down the slope, breaking into a canter as he reached the rough track made by the sheep.

  She watched him go with death in her heart.

  They were at dinner before she spoke, waiting until Jenny had left the room.

  ‘I saw Roly today.’ Her voice was abrupt. Harry was helping himself to a scoop of Stilton cheese and as she broke the silence, for they had barely spoken since they had sat down, his hand holding the cheese scoop stopped in mid-air and his face closed up. His brown eyes which, when he was at peace, had a golden glow about them, immediately darkened, became shuttered and Lally wondered with that part of her brain that was separate from this drama whether he would ever be able to hear his brother’s name on her lips without freezing up.

  ‘Oh, yes. I wondered where he had got to this morning. He intimated that he had something on his mind but when I turned round he had disappeared. So he was here, was he?’ His voice dripped ice.

  ‘No, we met on the moor.’

  ‘By arrangement?’

  ‘Yes.’ She was determined to be truthful.

  ‘So it is to begin again?’

  ‘What?’ She was bewildered.

  ‘Your . . . associating.’ His face was totally without expression but in his eyes was devastation.

  ‘Our association? Harry . . . ?’

  ‘Why should he want to see you secretly? Why should he want to see you at all? When did you make this assignation?’

  ‘Assignation! Don’t be so damned silly. He . . . well, I don’t really know what he’s up to, if you must know. Except that he threatens to . . . to expose Cat if you and I don’t fall in with whatever he has in mind.’

  ‘What in hell’s name are you talking about?’ Harry stood up, throwing the cheese scoop to his plate where it landed with a clatter. Just at that moment Jenny entered the room but Harry glared at her, waving his arm and telling her to get out. Lally had the impression he would have liked to say ‘bugger off’! Jenny scuttled out of the room, running to the kitchen with the tale that the master and mistress were having a row and really she didn’t know why Mr Harry had to speak so roughly to her since it was nothing to do with Jenny. She had only gone in to . . . Biddy told her to hold her tongue and the atmosphere in the kitchen was almost as tense as that in the dining room.

  ‘Roly told me to be on the moor this morning where he wanted to talk to me about our daughter. Not yours and mine but his and mine. That’s what he said.’

  ‘Why in hell’s name didn’t you tell me this last night?’

  ‘I don’t know. I suppose I wanted to find out what he was after first. And he does want something, not from me but from you. He talked about solicitors and . . . and, unless we complied with whatever he has in mind he would tell the whole of Yorkshire that Cat was . . . was his child. Oh, Harry . . .’ She stood up and tentatively touched his arm where he stood by the dining-room window staring out into the dark garden but seeing only his own and her reflection in the glass.

  He recoiled slightly, so that her hand fell to her side. His face was composed now, his anguish well hidden. He had a hold of himself, not allowing her to see what she was doing to him. Their marriage had moved along tranquilly. They did not quarrel or disagree on anything of importance. She ran their home with Mrs Stevens in real control and the children, including the baby, were settled and happy in the nursery. Susan Harper ruled it, and them, with firm kindness and he had thought that their life together was settling down to a pleasant rhythm. His wife was the most stylish in Moorend and he was proud of her, encouraging her to spend a fortune on the plain, pastel-tinted afternoon gowns in which she looked so well, the rich poppy evening gown, the black velvet against which her skin was whiter than buttermilk. He bought her a victoria to drive in, far superior to the conventional landau when it came to the fashion of wide crinolines, and he had been pleased when it seemed they were to become a fashionable couple. They gave informal dinner parties and the house functioned with a smoothness he found very satisfying. Of course, he knew she did not love him but he had known that before he married her and if he was perfectly honest with himself he had no doubt she would not have married him had she not been pregnant with his brother’s child. All he prayed for, or would if he was a praying man, was that she would bear another child. His! And that one day she would come to love him.

  But by God, he loved her! Every day his love grew, for she had become a complete woman, content in her own life, shap
ing their life and that of the children in a way that pleased him, obliging him every night in their bed with what he thought hopefully was real enthusiasm, and though he, as was his wont, kept his feelings to himself, he sometimes imagined she was beginning to look on him with a softness he found most encouraging.

  And now this bombshell!

  Lally watched his shoulders slump and wanted to go to him to . . . well, she wasn’t sure what she wanted to do but his rejection of her a moment ago seemed to imply he did not want or need comfort.

  ‘What are we to do?’ she asked hesitantly. ‘Would he really destroy our lives and the lives of our children if we do not do what he wants, whatever that is?’

  Harry passed his hand over his face, thrusting it through his hair. He walked slowly towards the door, opening it for her to pass through then followed her into the drawing room. The dogs were there, sprawled in front of the fire, and they both thumped their tails on the thick carpet in greeting. He sat her down on the sofa, moving the dogs with his foot, then poured himself a stiff whisky before sitting down opposite her.

  ‘It is widely known in Moorend that Roly and I are not good friends. You look surprised; well, it’s true. And you must know that . . . what happened between you and my brother’ – his face was grim and she turned away to stare into the fire – ‘does not endear him to me. But that is not all of it. They say in commercial circles that neither of us appreciates what the other contributes to the business. Our looms and frames are working to capacity and to order, though I’m beginning to see Roly’s constant journeyings as self-indulgence but Roly insists that without his travels there would be no orders to fill. There has been for a while a fast-accumulating tension between us which Roly sets out quite deliberately to aggravate. He has always been ambitious but he lacks caution. He is autocratic and shrewd but he is not always fair. Perhaps this is a way for him to achieve what he wants.’

  ‘What is that, Harry?’

  ‘We will have to wait and see. Now, would you like some hot chocolate before we go to bed?’

  He made love to her that night with a passionate abandon that surprised her, revealing more of himself and his feelings than she had ever seen before. His hands and tongue explored the whole surface of her skin, the curves and crevices of her body with minute care, all scrutinised and caressed. His teeth possessed themselves of the lobes of her ears, the bursting rosy nipples of her breasts, not painfully but compellingly as though to let her know and to reassure himself that she belonged wholly to him. His penetration of her was deep and explosive and when it was done, though she did not herself climax, his body nailed itself shuddering to hers and he groaned as though in agony.

  Though neither of them knew it she became pregnant that night.

  The days passed and though she questioned him each evening as they dined together he had nothing to tell her. He would wait for Roly to make the first move, he said. It seemed Roly was taking a great deal of interest in the actual running of the mill, surprising the hands by being at the locked mill gate of either High Clough, West Heath or South Royd at the amazing hour of half past five every morning, obliging latecomers to stand outside until breakfast time and whereas Harry had thought the loss of three hours’ earning punishment enough Roly fined them as well. When Harry remonstrated with him, he was told that he was concerned only with efficiency which improved time-keeping in the sheds.

  ‘And what is to happen when you go off on your extensive travels again?’ Harry asked him mildly.

  ‘We will see,’ Roly answered slyly.

  The days moved on and became colder as October turned to November. It was becoming too raw now for the children to roam about the gardens and woodland with Lally, Susan and Dora, but on one fine day when the sun shone from a brilliantly blue sky they all wrapped up well and ventured out. The visit to Folly Farm in the summer had resulted in three kittens joining the nursery which was becoming overcrowded with four children and two big dogs. Caterina was considered too young as yet for a kitten but Jamie, Alec and Jack were given one each. Goodness knows, said Polly McGinley, who the father of the litter was, for each kitten was an entirely different colour. Coal black with a white star on its pointed little face was one, a soft and velvety grey another and a pure white little thing which was immediately appropriated by Jamie who was, as the biggest and oldest, the leader in the nursery. Within a week all interest had been lost and it was left to Dora to transfer the three waifs to the kitchen where they settled down equably with the kitchen tabby until, as children do, they carried them off back to the nursery to be played with for an hour.

  The three of them were in the perambulator with the delighted baby, curled under her soft blanket, while Jamie, Alec and Jack hopped, skipped, ran, jumped about the vehicle, darting off in different directions to investigate some fascinating object they spotted.

  ‘Have you seen anything of John recently?’ Lally asked Susan, for it was accepted in the house that Doctor Burton was much taken with the widow and the gossip in the kitchen was rife.

  Susan blushed, then lifted her head since it was no one’s business but her own. Doctor Burton really had no need to come to the Priory in a medical capacity, for everyone in the nursery and out of it was in rude health. But it was known that he was in the nursery at least once a week and on her day off she disappeared, telling no one, not even Lally, where she had been.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she answered coolly.

  ‘Oh, come on, Susan, don’t go all coy on me. You know he is . . . sweet on you.’

  ‘Sweet! Lally Sinclair, how dare you use such a word when speaking of a respectable gentleman. Besides which it is no one’s business but ours.’

  ‘So there is something. Has he spoken of . . .’

  ‘What if he has?’ Susan tossed her head, manoeuvring the perambulator between the roots of two massive oak trees, for by now they had entered the woodland known as Tangle Wood through which the rough path led to Folly Farm. Jack was doing his best to climb over a fallen tree trunk, following the other two boys. The dogs had raced off somewhere, probably following the scent of a rabbit and Dora, conscious of her responsibilities, was trailing behind the two older boys. They were intent on being the first to reach Mrs Polly, who made the best gingerbread men in the world.

  For a moment the two women were distracted by Jack’s efforts and when the two men stepped out from behind the gnarled and twisted trunk of an old holly tree they were taken by surprise.

  It was Jed and Ham Weaver.

  19

  The two women regarded the two men, first with surprise then with annoyance. Well, Lally was annoyed. She knew them, of course and she also knew that Harry had spoken of turning the Weavers off their land but it seemed they were still here. They studied her and Susan with some insolence and she felt her annoyance turn to anger.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing,’ she asked them sharply, ‘trespassing on private property? This land belongs to my husband and the tenants will not be at all pleased to know that you are wandering about, and with rifles over your shoulders,’ for both men did indeed have old rifles slung across their broad shoulders.

  ‘Eeh, will yer listen to ’er, Ham,’ one of them said, turning to smile at his companion who smiled back. ‘Trespassin’ she ses an’ us doing nowt but walk through woods on our way ’ome. Short cut it be ter Foxwell.’ Which was not true, for Foxwell, where the Weavers ‘farmed’ was on the far side of the Priory from where Lally and Susan had just come.

  ‘Well, I suppose that depends where you’ve come from, Mr Weaver. I hear there is a lot of game to be had in Tangle Wood.’

  ‘Nay, d’yer see any game on us, missis?’ the first one snickered, holding out his arms in a gesture that asked her to search him, in fact he would enjoy it if she did.

  The baby in the perambulator stared with open mouth at the two men, her eyes wide with interest and a flicker of anxiety, for she could sense the disquiet in her mother and in Susan. The kittens popped
their pretty faces out of their cocoon and in the far distance Lally could hear the barking of the two dogs, wishing they were here with them now.

  ‘I shall tell my husband that I have seen you hanging about in the woodland with guns on your person—’

  ‘Oh, on our person,’ sneered the first man and both of them laughed. ‘We wasn’t doin’ no ’arm, missis, as I say, tekkin a short cut.’

  ‘You were doing no such thing. You are Jed and Ham Weaver, aren’t you, and have no right to be—’

  ‘We’ve as much right as you two lovely ladies ter be—’

  ‘Get out of our way, if you please,’ Lally declared stoutly, grabbing at the handle of the perambulator, for the two men had begun to edge towards them. ‘Let us by with the perambulator.’