Ada accepted the breakfast that was put in front of her without question and Sarah, feeling if anything more unnerved by her grandmother’s strangely quiet behaviour than by her anger or contempt, noted that she didn’t eat a great deal of it.
‘I had a troubled night,’ Ada said, once breakfast was over. ‘I’m going to try to rest a little before we must go. Be sure to wake me in plenty of time to dress.’ And with that she left the table, trailing the quilt behind her as she slowly mounted the stairs. Sarah was struck by how her grandmother seemed to have suddenly aged: it was as though ten years had been added to her overnight.
She busied herself tidying the kitchen, glad of something to keep her occupied until it was time to leave the house. Her dress for the day was hanging in her room and so, once she was satisfied that there was no more housework to be done, she took off her apron and went upstairs.
She felt that she should be making a special effort with her appearance, something that there had been little call for in the past, so she unpinned her hair, letting it fall halfway down her back. She brushed it well before pinning it back in place. If it had been summertime she would have left it long and dressed it with flowers, but there was nothing much to be had from the garden at this time of year, other than a few berries. So she settled on a tortoiseshell comb, decorated with artificial flowers, as an adornment.
Sarah took her dress off its hanger, spread it out on the bed and scrutinised it. It was plain in style, the fabric lightly sprigged with cream flowers on a brown background. She wished that it could have been a little more elegant for such a special day but, once she had pulled it on and done up the buttons, pinning a brooch at the throat of the high neck, she felt it would do. Appraising herself critically in the freckled glass of the mirror, Sarah wondered whether her appearance was a little sombre for the occasion. She supposed that she would, at least, have colour in her cheeks after their walk to the chapel, for the blue skies and sunshine had brought with them a chilly wind.
Mindful of the time, Sarah went to wake Ada. Her grandmother, who was lying on the bed, already awake, nodded approvingly when she saw how Sarah was dressed.
‘How well you look! No one can criticise your appearance on your wedding day, Sarah. Joe is a lucky man to have you.’ Ada sighed and shook her head but said no more, simply holding out her hand for Sarah to assist her from the high iron bedstead. ‘Help me with my dress then we must be on our way,’ she said.
Within the half-hour Sarah and her grandmother were making their way down the garden path. Sarah had wondered whether, once they reached Northwaite, her grandmother would choose quiet alleyways rather than their usual Sunday route to reach the chapel. But no, she marched along the road through the village, greeting everyone whom they met. The conversation never strayed beyond commenting on the weather, but Sarah could see the villagers’ curiosity as to why she should be abroad on a weekday with her grandmother, both of them dressed in their best clothes. She felt relieved when they had turned off to take the quieter path down to the chapel, then became filled with anxiety as to whether Joe would be there.
She needn’t have worried. As they entered by the main door, the small group waiting at the altar turned around to look. Sarah felt Ada stiffen slightly, then she withdrew her arm from Sarah’s.
‘You should go forward. I will take a seat. Now, don’t rush.’ The last words were uttered as an admonishment to Sarah who, legs made shaky suddenly from the overwhelming nature of what was about to happen, had started forward down the centre aisle, almost at a trot.
‘Oh, Sarah, I almost forgot.’
Sarah turned back towards her grandmother, who had opened her reticule and, to Sarah’s surprise, taken out a tiny posy. There were no flowers, just plants and herbs of different hues of blue and green, some with spiky leaves, some with soft, silver-furred leaves, all tied with a cream satin ribbon. Sarah recognised rosemary, sage, bay and ivy. She buried her nose in the posy, then smiled her thanks at her grandmother. The aromatic scent seemed to steady her sudden agitation and the posy gave her something to do with her nervous hands.
Sarah turned back towards the altar and walked at a more measured pace down the aisle. As she did so, she took in the appearance of her groom-to-be and his best man and realised why her grandmother had reacted as she had when they had entered the chapel. Joe and his best man made a poor show against the smart, restrained appearance of the minister and his chaplain. The latter looked at ease in their Sunday suits; Joe and his friend looked as though their attire had been borrowed from a number of different acquaintances. It was all mismatched, the jackets being of a different tone to the trousers, and Sarah couldn’t help but notice that the sleeves of Joe’s jacket were a good few inches too short for him and that the fabric strained slightly across the back.
He’d made an effort to slick down the wave of his hair, she observed, finding it comical and trying not to laugh. She caught a glimpse of one of his bright waistcoats, partly hidden by his tightly buttoned jacket, and he’d given his love of bright colours full rein in the red neckerchief that he wore at his throat.
Sarah gave Joe her biggest smile, feeling a little lurch of her heart as he reached out his hand to grasp her fingers and pull her towards him. His hands were warm and dry; hers felt clammy and sweaty by comparison. She stole a glance past him at his companion and her smile faltered. No amount of slicking down his hair with water or trying to adopt a smarter dress could disguise the fact that he looked, as her grandmother would have described it, ‘rough’. His nose had the appearance of having borne many a punch in a fight and, when he smiled at Sarah, the gaps in his teeth only backed up that impression.
Sarah raised her posy to her nose, breathed deeply and turned to glance back at Ada, the only guest, who had seated herself halfway down the hall, before letting her gaze roam around the octagonal chapel. Light was streaming in through the windows on each wall, and splashes of colour fell to the floor in front of her from the single stained-glass window behind the altar. Someone had recently polished the pews and the wooden panelling: Sarah could smell the rich scent of beeswax on the air.
Joe squeezed her arm to draw her attention to the minister. Her senses seemed heightened as she waited respectfully for the minister to begin, and so the sudden crash of the main door being flung open, and just as quickly closed again, made her start violently.
Chapter 11
All heads swung round to see who had entered the chapel and for the second time that day Sarah was aware of the reaction of the person beside her. Joe had stiffened and shaded his eyes against the bright sunlight flooding the room in order to take a better look at whoever had entered. She felt him relax as it became apparent that the visitor was a young man who looked flustered and was making apologetic motions with his hands as he slid quickly into a pew near the back of the chapel.
The minister cleared his throat and Sarah, Joe and his best man turned around to face him. Sarah found herself distracted; who was this young man who had just arrived and why was he here, an uninvited guest at her wedding?
Joe had to nudge her to make her responses and so it was in a kind of daze that Sarah found herself married and on the receiving end of congratulations from the best man, whose name she still didn’t know, then ushered out into the sunshine by the minister who clearly had other things he wished to attend to on a Wednesday in the working week.
Sarah was aware of the young man hovering in the background as Joe introduced his best man as Alfred, then took both her hands in his, looked her deep in the eyes and told her that he must leave, that he was already running late with the cargo that he must deliver. Alfred nodded his head in vigorous confirmation of his words.
Sarah had known that this was going to happen but she still couldn’t help feeling a stab of bitter disappointment. The lack of a wedding celebration after the build-up of tension over the last few days felt like a major let-down.
Joe took her head between his hands and kissed her hard on the l
ips. ‘I’ll be back with you as soon as I return,’ he said. ‘And my thoughts will be with you every moment I am away. Sarah Bancroft – my own wife!’ and he laughed as if he found it hard to believe. Then he kissed her again, nodded in acknowledgement to Ada and strode away, Alfred scurrying to catch up.
Sarah stood and watched him leave, feeling hot tears well up. She willed him to look back but her concentration on his departing back view was broken by an exclamation from Ada.
‘You don’t say! Sarah, did you hear that?’
Reluctantly, Sarah tore her eyes away from Joe and turned towards her grandmother.
‘This young man has come all the way from Manchester at your mother’s behest. She couldn’t be here today, as you know, but she has asked Daniel to return with news of the day.’
Sarah took in the young man’s appearance: he was as smartly dressed as she suspected his pocket would allow and his freckled countenance was friendly and open. His dark brown eyes seemed to view her with some sympathy and on impulse she said, ‘Why, then you must come and celebrate with us and share whatever news you have. As you can see I have been abandoned already on my wedding day and so we must make our own entertainment.’
Daniel began to protest. ‘I came but to witness the event and I must apologise for the lateness of my arrival and the manner of my entry. I’m unfamiliar with the area and found myself by mistake at the church in the village rather than the chapel. Now, I’m afraid, I must set out again on my return journey.’
‘Nonsense!’ Sarah, thwarted in her wish to celebrate her marriage with her new husband, had now seized upon a different plan. ‘You must at least take tea with us before your return. Let it not be said that the Randalls –’ she paused ‘– and the Bancrofts lacked manners and sent a traveller back on his homeward journey without sustenance of any kind.’
Ada looked a little bemused by the turn of events but lent weight to Sarah’s invitation and promised that means would be found to help convey him to Nortonstall later that afternoon so that he might journey onwards by train to Manchester. So Daniel found himself borne along on a wave of Sarah’s nervous excitement, back through Northwaite, where she was this time oblivious to the outright curiosity of any villagers whom they passed. Ada called in on Mrs Sykes to see whether her husband, the carter, would come by and collect Daniel in good time for his journey and then they made their way back to the cottage.
Ada and Sarah made tea and buttered slices of fruit bread, plying Daniel with questions all the while. How was Mary? And Jane? And Ellen? Was there any improvement in their health? How did Daniel know the family? Where did he work? Where was Sarah’s father, William?
Daniel appeared embarrassed and clearly reluctant to impart too much in answer to the queries. Sarah had a suspicion that he was focusing on describing his own work to prevent further probing. He explained that he lived in the same lodgings as Mary and her daughters and worked at the same mill, but his skill with machinery had kept him away from the mill floor and in the office, where he was engaged in working with the owner on some new designs to improve the efficiency of the waterwheel. It was on the pretext of visiting a mill in the area, which was known to have recently made major improvements in its output, that he had managed to make his visit that day.
‘But surely you will be in trouble on your return if you do not have the expected information?’ Sarah said, not a little troubled on Daniel’s behalf. She wondered also why he was so willing to undertake this journey on her mother’s behalf.
‘I was able to make the visit this morning,’ Daniel said. ‘I had fully expected to be turned away but, in fact, they were keen to show me around. It was this, and my mistake in going to the church, that caused me to be later in finding the chapel than I had intended.’
‘And the affliction affecting Mary and the children?’ Ada asked. ‘Is she receiving treatment?’
Daniel looked uncomfortable.
‘It is something that has swept through the mill and troubled the women most particularly. I think their lungs are weakened by constant exposure to the cotton dust. Mrs Gibson was perhaps not in the best of health when she fell ill and she has taken it hard.’
‘And my father?’ Sarah demanded. ‘Where is he? Can he not help?’
Daniel looked even more uncomfortable.
‘Ah, Mr Gibson no longer lives at the lodgings. I think perhaps he has gone to work at a mill on the other side of town and taken lodgings there for convenience.’ Despite his best attempts to dress up the truth, it soon became apparent that Mary had revealed less than she might have done in her most recent letter.
There was a silence while Sarah and Ada digested this news then Ada said crisply, ‘Do you mean he has left the family, Daniel? Is that what has happened?’
Daniel blushed scarlet. ‘I really couldn’t say for certain, Mrs Randall.’
‘Humph!’ Ada looked down at her plate, chasing a few crumbs around with her fingertips, then reached a decision. ‘I must go to Manchester. Sarah, you will be all right here on your own for a few days, won’t you? I think that I must see with my own eyes what is happening.’
The half-hour before the carter was due to arrive passed in a flurry of activity. Sarah tried hard to maintain polite conversation with Daniel whilst running up and down the stairs, helping Ada to pack a few things together and searching in the larder for provisions to send to her mother and sisters.
‘Why was she not more honest in her letter?’ Ada was hunting through her cupboard of remedies. ‘I could have prepared something for her if I’d had a better idea of the situation, and of their struggles. As it is, I will just have to take whatever I think may come in useful.’
Sarah barely had time to tie the remedies securely into a cloth bundle before the carter was at the door.
‘Sarah, take care.’ Ada, distracted, was tying on her bonnet as Sarah handed her another shawl for the journey. ‘I’m sorry to leave you like this but hope to be back before the week is out.’
Sarah, overwhelmed by all that had happened that afternoon, tried very hard to remember her manners. ‘Daniel, it was very nice to meet you and so good of you to have come all this way.’
‘I can assure you, the pleasure was all mine. I wish you every happiness in your marriage, Mrs Bancroft, and hope that I may be lucky enough to be in a position to visit again.’
‘Do come. Perhaps you may have cause for another visit to the mill here.’ Sarah was preoccupied, speaking half over her shoulder as she handed her grandmother’s belongings up to her while she settled herself behind the carter.
Daniel sprang up into the front seat and doffed his cap. ‘Goodbye. Goodbye,’ he called. She sensed that he wished to say more but the carter shook the reins and they were off. Sarah watched the lamp on the cart as it dwindled away into the gathering dusk and was visible no more, then she went into the kitchen and began clearing up through force of habit.
She looked out into the darkness, aware that she needed to light the lamps inside, and thought of both her husband and her grandmother somewhere out there, wending their separate ways to great cities. Now she was left totally alone on her wedding day and it seemed like a cruel blow. She sat down suddenly at the table, rested her head on her arms and burst into tears.
PART TWO
September 1874 – February 1875
Chapter 12
While Ada was away a spell of damp, cold weather swept in. It brought with it a morning fog that frequently lingered until midday unless there was any autumn sunshine to burn it away. Darkness seemed to arrive each day by five o’clock, and on some days it felt as though it barely got light at all.
The change in the weather also brought a steady stream of visitors, all looking for Ada. Mostly elderly, they were out of breath by the time they had climbed the hill out of the village to reach Hill Farm Cottage. At first, Sarah wondered whether their appearance was due to curiosity at the state of affairs surrounding her marriage, but she quickly realised that in all cases the visi
t was prompted by a need for a consultation with her grandmother, caused by a flare-up of rheumatism or the onset of a troubling cough.
Sarah invited in each arrival and, when they had regained their breath and offered their congratulations on her newly married state, they had (without exception) turned querulous over Ada’s unexpected absence. Sarah could only reassure them that she was expected back any day now and offer to pass on a message about the nature of their illness to her grandmother as soon as she returned.
It wasn’t long before Sarah was regretting, yet again, her lack of literacy. If she had only paid attention to her letters she could have written down the name of everyone who called, as well as the nature of their business. As it was, she was reduced to memorising the details and forcing herself to recite them out loud each morning on waking.
The arrival of the week’s end found Sarah in a state of anxiety. She had expected her grandmother’s return by now, but there was no sign of her and no word from her. Once again, Sarah had cause to regret her inability to read and write. Otherwise Ada might, perhaps, have sent her a note of explanation. But she knew only too well that her granddaughter would be unable to read it.
Sarah took to imagining what might be happening in Manchester. She convinced herself that Ada must have felt the need to stay on to nurse her daughter and granddaughters back to health. Surely there could be no other explanation? But as a new week began, her conviction was sorely tested. She found it hard to put on a brave face for the trickle of visitors who continued to arrive and her assertion that she expected her grandmother’s return any day now sounded, even to her, as though it had a hollow ring to it.
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