She slipped the piece of paper into her pocket and turned to Jinny. ‘Tell the boy I’ll come straight away,’ she said.
‘Well?’ Mrs Bannister demanded, as soon as the door was closed. ‘What did it say? Who was it from?’
Agnes got to her feet. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I have to go and call on someone,’ she said.
‘Who? Who do you have to call on?’ Mrs Bannister twitched with annoyance. ‘I disapprove of secrets. This is the doctor’s house, and he has a right to know—’
‘It’s quite all right, Mrs Bannister.’ Dr Rutherford raised his hand to quieten her. ‘Do you think you might need my help, Miss Sheridan?’
Agnes looked at him. How many times had she begged for his help and he had refused? All those poor people who had gone on suffering because he wouldn’t lift a finger.
She was tempted to remind him of it when she saw the wistful look on his face. She knew then that she didn’t need to say a word. He was already counting the cost of what he had done.
‘It’s all right, Doctor,’ she said kindly. ‘You enjoy your rest. You’re retired, remember?’
‘Aye.’ Dr Rutherford looked sad. ‘Aye, so I am.’
Outside, a bitter wind howled through the streets, ripping at the bare trees. It was scarcely three o’clock in the afternoon, but already the sky was darkening.
Even through her gloves, Agnes’ hands were raw with cold as she clutched the handlebars of her bicycle. She could feel the first icy spots of snow stinging her face.
On her way up the hill out of the village, she passed a man and a woman, with a small child between them, heading down the lane. The woman had hold of the child’s hand while the man dragged an enormous Christmas tree behind him.
Agnes overtook them, then pulled in to the kerb and stopped to wait for them to catch up with her.
‘Merry Christmas!’ she called out to them, her words carried away on the whistling wind. ‘My goodness, what a big tree!’
‘My son chose it.’ James Shepherd gave her a mock grimace. ‘I only hope I’ll be able to get it in through the front door!’
Agnes looked down at Henry’s beaming face, rosy with cold. Now he was losing his baby softness Agnes could see he was starting to look more like his father, with his deep set brown eyes and wisps of brown hair poking out from his thick woollen hat.
If Rob Chadwick had stayed in the village a few more months, he would have been in no doubt that James Shepherd was Henry’s father. It looked as if James had got his miracle after all.
Or perhaps it wasn’t such a miracle, she thought, looking at Carrie Shepherd. It was still early days, and her slender figure showed only the slightest curve under her coat, but she already had the radiant bloom of a pregnant woman.
‘Have you heard our news, Miss Sheridan?’ Carrie said, smiling. ‘James has left the pit.’
‘No!’ Agnes looked from her to James and back again.
‘Aye, it’s true. Now Miss Colley’s left to get married, he’s taking over as the junior teacher up at the school.’ She beamed proudly at her husband.
‘That’s wonderful news. I’m so pleased for you. I think you’ll make a very good schoolmaster.’
‘I don’t know about that.’ James looked rueful. ‘I’m not sure what Miss Warren will make of me!’
‘Surely she can’t be any worse to work with than Sir Edward?’
‘That’s true.’
Agnes could already see the relief on James’ face. He looked as if the weight of the world had been taken off his shoulders.
‘I’m very pleased for you,’ she said.
‘Aye.’ Carrie reached for her husband’s hand. ‘It’s a new start for us.’
Agnes saw the look of love that passed between them, and felt a pang. If anyone deserved a new start, it was them. And with Rob Chadwick now long gone from the village, and James his own man at last, perhaps that was what they would get.
‘Where are you going on this terrible night?’ James asked.
‘I have an emergency call to make.’
‘Well, I hope you haven’t got too far to go. The snow’s going to be coming down soon.’
‘Snow!’ Henry cried out, jumping up and down with excitement.
‘Yes, indeed, young man.’ James smiled down at him. ‘We shall have to see about building a snowman in the morning.’ He looked at Agnes. ‘Be careful, won’t you, Miss Sheridan? I don’t envy you being out in this weather.’
Agnes glanced up the lane, where the first flakes of snow were beginning to swirl and drift, carried about on the hectic wind.
She wasn’t looking forward to it, either.
‘I didn’t think you’d come,’ Hannah said when she opened the door, her bulky frame blocking out the dim lamplight from the room behind her. For a moment she stood there staring, then she remembered herself and shifted aside to let Agnes in.
Inside the cottage the air was hot and stuffy, reeking of smoke and cats. But even though the cottage was warm, it was still bare and cheerless. What furniture there was seemed old, worn out and unloved.
A scrawny ginger cat dozed on a threadbare chair by the fireside. It raised its head to look balefully at Agnes as she set her bag down on the table.
‘How is she?’ Agnes asked, taking off her coat.
‘Ailing,’ Hannah said shortly. ‘She’s been bad for a few days but she’s got worse since this morning.’
‘Why didn’t you send for me earlier?’
‘I didn’t want to send for you at all. She were the one who wanted you, not me.’ Hannah jerked her head towards the doorway that led to the other room.
‘Why? I’ve never met her.’
‘I don’t know, do I?’ Hannah snapped. ‘Mother has her own ways of going about things.’
She looked put out about it, and Agnes could understand why. Over the past couple of months, she and Hannah had reached an uneasy truce. They tolerated each other, as long as the managed to keep out of each other’s way.
‘Is that her?’ a thin voice croaked from the other room. ‘Has she come?’
‘Aye, she’s come.’ Hannah kept her unfriendly gaze fixed on Agnes. ‘Tha’d best go in,’ she said. ‘She don’t take kindly to being kept waiting.’
Agnes wasn’t sure what to expect of Nella Arkwright. She had heard enough tales of the fearsome witch who lived up in the woods, who cast spells and consorted with demons and who murdered her husband by magic when he said a wrong word to her.
But it was nothing more than a frail old lady she saw lying in the bed, her shrunken frame almost lost under the patchwork quilt. Her white hair was fanned out in sparse strands over the pillow, framing a tiny, wizened face like a dried apple.
She cackled, ‘I told you she’d come, didn’t I?’ Nella turned her dim gaze on Agnes. Her eyes were opaque with age, but Agnes had the uncomfortable feeling she could see more deeply without them. ‘She said you wouldn’t. But I knew you better than that.’ Her mouth stretched, exposing a dark, toothless hole. ‘Oh, yes, I know you very well.’
Agnes stepped back from the bed. ‘Your daughter tells me you’re not feeling well,’ she said briskly, fighting to regain control. ‘Let’s see what we can do for you, shall we?’
‘You can put all that away, you’ll only be wasting your time,’ Nella said as Agnes opened her bag. ‘I’m dying. My time has come, and that’s all there is to it.’
‘In that case, why have you sent for me?’
‘Because I wanted to see you.’ She raised a hand to beckon Agnes to her. ‘Come closer, and let me look at you.’
Agnes glanced at Hannah, who stood like a sentry by the door, her face expressionless.
‘Well, come on!’ Nella snapped impatiently. ‘Don’t worry, I in’t going to eat you. I suppose that’s what you’ve heard, in’t it? That I go out hunting in the woods to find bairns for my cooking pot?’
‘I’m sure I don’t listen to such nonsense,’ Agnes dismissed.
‘So you won’t mind c
oming closer, will you? Just into the light, where I can see you better. My old eyes in’t what they were.’
Agnes edged closer to the bed. This was ridiculous, she told herself. She had nothing to fear from an old, dying woman. But she still felt a wave of revulsion wash over her as Nella looked her over.
‘Aye, just as I thought. You’re a pretty little thing. She’s got a look of my Sarah about her, don’t you think, Hannah?’ Nella nodded to herself. ‘No wonder you caught Seth Stanhope’s eye. Men always like a pretty face.’
Agnes saw Hannah’s stricken expression out of the corner of her eye.
‘So what seems to be wrong with you?’ Agnes said.
‘I told you, I’m dying. Stop asking foolish questions and let me be – ah!’ Nella stiffened with pain.
‘Mother!’ Hannah rushed to her side, but Nella turned away from her.
‘No! Don’t you touch me. You’re too clumsy with those big, rough hands of yours. Have you seen her hands, Nurse? Like shovels, they are. I ask you, d’you think any man would put a ring on a great big paw like that? They’d never get one to fit!’
She gave a harsh, rasping laugh. Agnes glanced at Hannah, waiting for her to react. But she shrank back, her head hanging low, like a scolded child.
‘Your daughter’s hands are very skilled, Mrs Arkwright,’ Agnes said. ‘I’ve seen how gently they can dress a wound and bring a baby into the world.’
Hannah looked up, and Agnes saw the look of surprise and pride that flashed across her face.
‘So you two are all friends together now, are you?’ Nella’s voice was caustic. ‘It won’t last, it never does. Who’d want to be friends with a big, ugly lump like her?’ She turned to Hannah, cowering like a whipped dog in the shadows. ‘Don’t just stand there, girl. Make thysen useful and bring me a cup of tea. I’m parched.’
‘Yes, Mother.’ Hannah scuttled off.
Nella’s toothless mouth curled in derision. ‘“Yes, Mother,”’ she mocked her daughter’s girlish lisp. ‘What kind of cruelty is it, to give a monster like that such a pretty voice? It makes you wonder about the world, doesn’t it?’
‘Leave her alone.’
Nella turned her head to look at Agnes. ‘And who are you to tell me what to do in my own house?’
‘I can always leave, if that’s what you want? Unlike your daughter, I have better things to do with my time than dance attendance on you.’
Nella cackled. ‘Listen to her! In’t you afeared of me, lass?’
Agnes lifted her chin. ‘Certainly not.’
‘Happen you should be.’
Before Agnes could reply, Hannah returned, carefully carrying a chipped bone-china cup and saucer in both hands.
‘Here you are, Mother.’ She set it down on the nightstand, then carefully lifted her mother’s frail body upright and held the cup to her wrinkled lips.
Nella took one sip then spat it out, straight into her daughter’s face.
‘It’s stewed!’ She snatched the cup and hurled it at the wall with surprising strength for one so frail. It shattered, splashing the faded rose wallpaper with an ugly brown stain.
Agnes gasped, her hands flying to her mouth, waiting for Hannah to explode with rage. But the other woman laid her mother back down and stood up.
‘I’m sorry, Mother,’ she said quietly, wiping her face. ‘I’ll make some fresh.’
She left the room. Agnes stared after her, shocked by what she had seen.
‘You don’t like it, do you?’ Nella taunted her from the bed. ‘You think I treat her badly.’
I think you’re an absolute monster. The words were on the tip of Agnes’ tongue, but she knew she must not say them. Nella was trying to anger her, but Agnes would not give her the satisfaction.
‘It’s not for me to say,’ she said. ‘Now, you seem to be in a lot of pain. Would you like me to give you something?’
Nella turned her face away. ‘I in’t afeared of pain,’ she said coldly.
‘In that case, I’ll leave you to rest.’ Agnes smiled to herself, sensing Nella’s frustration and fury. Agnes was refusing to play her game, and Nella didn’t like it one bit.
Agnes turned on her heel and went through to the kitchen, where Hannah stood at the range, making the tea. Agnes could see straight away the other woman had been crying.
She turned away from Agnes sharply, sniffing back tears. ‘How is she?’
‘She’s resting.’
‘Would you like a cup of tea? I’ve made a fresh pot.’
Agnes glanced at the window. The snow was falling more heavily now, thick flakes drifting against the glass. She thought longingly of Dr Rutherford’s warm, clean house.
‘Thank you, but I really should be—’ Agnes was about to refuse when she saw Hannah’s desolate face. ‘That would be very nice,’ she finished instead.
Hannah took her mother another cup of tea and then she and Agnes sat together in the flickering firelight, listening to the wind howling outside.
‘What a dreadful night,’ Agnes said.
‘Aye. Mother allus said she would die on a night like this, when there was snow in the air.’ Hannah’s voice was flat as she stared into the flames.
‘Why do you let her speak to you like that?’
Hannah shrugged. ‘Mother don’t mean anything by it,’ she said. ‘Besides, she’s right. I am big and ugly. Can’t argue with that, can I?’
Agnes turned back to look into the fire.
‘My mother could be harsh too, sometimes,’ she said.
She could feel Hannah looking at her. ‘Why?’
‘I was – am – a disappointment to her, I suppose.’
‘You?’ Hannah sounded disbelieving. ‘I can’t imagine that. You couldn’t be a disappointment to anyone. Not like me.’ The scrawny cat jumped into her lap and she stroked its long, sinuous back. ‘You got any other family? Brothers and sisters?’
‘One sister. Vanessa.’
‘Older or younger?’
‘Two years older.’
‘Sarah were younger than me. The bairn.’ Hannah’s mouth twisted. ‘She were always the favourite.’
So is Vanessa. Agnes thought about her mother and sister, off for afternoon tea or on another of their endless shopping trips. It never ceased to amaze Agnes how long they could spend talking about shoes, or gossiping about people they knew. She was more like her father, with her nose always in a book.
‘Mother allus preferred Sarah to me,’ Hannah’s lisping voice interrupted her thoughts. ‘She’s even told me it would have been better if I’d died instead.’
Agnes stared at her in shock. She couldn’t imagine even Elizabeth Sheridan being cruel enough to put such a thought into words.
Poor Hannah. No wonder she was so desperate to find someone to love her.
They went on sitting together in silence, both lost in their thoughts. Agnes wondered if Hannah had fallen asleep, but when she looked to the side the other woman was wide awake, staring into the flames.
Gradually, the fire died down and Hannah roused herself to build it up with more logs from the basket. The cat sprang from her lap and came to wind himself around Agnes’ legs.
‘You haven’t been to visit the Stanhopes lately,’ Hannah said.
‘I’ve not had any reason to come. Christopher has made a full recovery, there’s no need to check on him any more.’
‘All the same, I thought you might have called.’
‘Why?’
‘To see Seth.’
Agnes reached down to stroke the cat’s skinny flanks. The last time she had seen him was two months earlier. Christopher had come out of hospital, and Agnes had been to visit him as part of her duties.
She was just packing away her things when Seth had come in, black from the pit. Billy followed at his heels, chattering away.
Seth had stopped dead when he saw her, the smile freezing on his face. ‘Nurse,’ he nodded, whipping off his cap.
‘Mr Stanhope.’ Agnes was sur
prised to find herself just as tongue-tied. ‘How is your shoulder?’ she asked.
‘Mending nicely, thank you.’ He glanced past her towards the bedroom. ‘How’s our Chris?’
‘He’s doing well.’ She could feel a blush creeping up from underneath her starched collar.
For a moment they stood awkwardly, looking everywhere but at each other, until Billy broke the tension.
‘Can you play football, Dad?’ he asked.
Seth started shaking his head, and for a moment Agnes thought he might refuse. But then he said, ‘You’ll have to wait till I’ve had my bath, lad.’
Agnes felt her face growing hotter, remembering the time she had walked in and caught him in the tub. Her gaze strayed to the fire, thinking about it, then she pulled herself together.
‘Right, well, I’d best leave you to it,’ she said briskly, gathering up her bag. ‘I’ll call again tomorrow.’
‘Aye.’
But she hadn’t seen him since. Every time she called on Christopher after that, Seth somehow contrived to be out of the house. Agnes knew it was no coincidence. He might have stopped avoiding his children, but now for some reason he was trying to avoid her.
‘He went back down the mine,’ she said.
Hannah nodded grimly. ‘What else could he do? He’s got to earn a living. Besides, mining’s in his blood.’
‘I suppose so.’ Agnes wondered if he had the same nightmares she did. Did he wake up gasping for air, fighting off the bedclothes, imagining they were rocks landing on him?
Once more, they fell silent. The fire hissed and crackled as it consumed the new logs.
‘I was jealous of you,’ Hannah said at last.
Agnes frowned. ‘Why?’
‘I’ve always loved him, you see. But then I lost him to Sarah.’ The firelight flickered on Hannah’s face. ‘Then when she died, I thought I might have another chance with him. But then you came along, and—’ She stared down at her hands in her lap. ‘I hated you. I blamed you for taking away what I felt were mine. But I were wrong, just like I were wrong about him and Sarah. She didn’t take him from me.’ She turned to look at Agnes, her eyes dark pools in the firelight. ‘Seth Stanhope were never mine, and he never will be. It’s you he wants.’
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