Down Weaver's Lane

by Anna Jacobs

  ‘Emmy, my dear—’

  Her expression was fierce now, her voice low and passionate. ‘If they had looked after her after my father died, my mother would not have had to turn to a life like that. She was no more capable of looking after herself than a - a butterfly!’

  He was silent, acknowledging to himself the truth of this, then said sadly, ‘I should have done more, too. She was my sister.’

  She nodded, the look she turned on him unusually severe.

  ‘Did you never read those papers Douglas Reynolds gave you, Emmy?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘They contain your mother’s marriage lines.’

  She gave a mirthless laugh. ‘They’re still in your house, actually, hidden in the attic.’ She explained.

  ‘I’ll bring them to you.’

  She shrugged, not really wanting them - not wanting anything to do with her father’s family, even angrier now that she knew the truth. ‘The only thing I’m glad about is that I’m not bastard born. For Jack’s sake.’

  And even when her uncle Isaac retrieved the package of papers, she didn’t open them, didn’t want to. Let the Reynolds keep their secrets. She was Emmy Carter now.

  Emmy settled in quickly at the Parsonage, finding the hours flying past as she shared the work and chatted to the others. In the evenings she started sewing some underclothes with Cass’s help. She had intended to make herself a new dress, because she had enough money to buy some material and wanted to look nice for Jack. But Mrs Bradley brought out from her stores of cast-offs from rich friends a dress in fine blue wool that was so beautiful Emmy accepted it at once. It had hardly been worn and was of the finest quality material. The colour was so lovely it made her feel happy just to touch its soft folds. It had been made for a much taller and stouter woman so needed quite a few alterations, but Cass helped her work on it.

  Two days after their return, Jack turned up at the Parsonage during his midday break and took Emmy to see the two cottages belonging to Mr Rishmore that were vacant. Neither of them was really suitable. The better one was too far outside the village for safety and the other was damp and very dark, situated in the middle of one of the narrow streets that ran parallel to Weavers Lane.

  ‘It’ll have to be this one,’ Emmy said at last when they had walked round the four small dark rooms in silence. ‘We can whitewash the walls. It’ll look better then.’

  Jack looked round and grimaced. ‘I doubt it. And it’ll still be damp. Eh, I wanted something better for us, love. The other place was far nicer, but here you’ll be surrounded by neighbours.’

  She looked up at him, her eyes troubled. ‘I’m bringing danger on you just by being here.’

  ‘No.’ He tugged her into his arms, not holding her too tightly which always made her tense, and for once she rested her head against his chest and sighed. ‘I can’t bear the thought of losing you, darling Emmy,’ he murmured into her soft shining hair. ‘If we have to move away, we’ll go together.’

  ‘And your family?’

  ‘Are not in danger like you are.’

  ‘I don’t want to take you away from them - or from a good job. And I don’t really want to leave Northby.’

  He laughed, a bitter sound. ‘I’d be glad to find some other job.’ When she looked up at him in surprise, he confessed, ‘I’m not made to be shut up indoors. The noise of that mill drives me mad while the office is like a - a cage. Sometimes I feel like running out of it and never going back.’

  ‘But what else could you do?’ she asked with a frown.

  ‘I’ve allus had a dream to run a little shop and be my own master. You can pop in and out as you please if you’re your own master, walk to the door and just enjoy a bit of sun on your face. And there’s no damned machinery pounding away. Eh, that’d be the life!’ He sighed. ‘Only you need money to start up and buy the stock—and I’d need some experience before I’d know how to run a shop properly. I have none and no chance of getting any, so I don’t know why I even think of it.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘Well, you can’t stop yourself dreaming, can you?’

  ‘I have the money, Jack. Mrs Tibby’s savings. And we could sell the silver, too, if that’s not enough.’

  He smiled down at her. ‘If we didn’t have this threat hanging over us, maybe we could do summat like that, but as it is I think you’re safer here in Northby, where Parson and Eli Makepeace can keep an eye on you, than among strangers. And you’ll have Hercules, too, don’t forget. He’d soon let you know if someone tried to break in.’

  Emmy didn’t say anything else that night, but she was beginning to feel depressed. Not once since her return had she dared go out alone and things wouldn’t change overnight just because she had a wedding ring. Marcus Armistead was not only evil but obsessed. When he had held her prisoner his eyes had had a wild light which had frightened her far more than the horrible way he had touched her - and those staring eyes haunted her nightmares still.

  Samuel Rishmore called Isaac into his office. ‘Where’s

  Staley going to live after he’s married?’

  ‘There’s only the cottage on Bates Road.’

  ‘What about the place Mrs Oswald used to live in? That’s still empty.’

  ‘It belongs to the Armistead.’

  ‘Marcus is selling everything and intends to settle in Manchester permanently. There’s someone interested in buying Moor Grange but they don’t want all the other little places so he offered them to me. Go and see Armistead’s man of business. Tell him I’ll buy them all if he’ll push the sale through quickly.’

  Isaac stared at him. ‘That’s very kind of you.’

  Samuel shrugged, his expression bleak. ‘I hope I am learning a little kindness. If ever I find my daughter again, I pray we can lay the past to rest and live happily together.’ He shook his head. ‘Jane must have planned things very well to have got away with no trace.’

  ‘She always seemed a clever little lass when she used to come into the mill to see you. If she’d been a boy . . .’

  ‘Yes. I didn’t give her enough credit.’ Samuel changed the subject firmly, unused to baring his innermost thoughts. ‘How are your own daughters?’

  ‘Dinah’s very happy at her school and doesn’t want to come home even during the holidays, because of her mother. I miss her. Lal’s unhappy, but her one visit home was such a disaster, I haven’t let her come back again. I fear she’s too like her mother.’ Isaac bowed his head as he admitted, ‘I may have to find somewhere to put my wife away, somewhere they’ll care for her properly. She’s growing increasingly strange in her behaviour. Not really rational at all now.’

  They stood there in silence for a few minutes, two ageing, unhappy men who had shared an almost-friendship since they were both lads.

  Isaac went into Manchester the very next day and spent an hour with Marcus Armistead’s head clerk, a man he disliked on sight but who was only too eager to do business with him. When he returned to Northby he was able to report that a price had been agreed and they had been granted permission to take immediate possession of Chad’s Cottage.

  When the banns were called that first Sunday, the congregation buzzed like a hive of bees as people heard that Jack Staley was to marry Emmy Carter. The buzzing grew even louder and was accompanied by shocked looks as Mr Rishmore and his wife paused briefly outside the church to wish the young couple well, and then Isaac Butterfield lingered to talk to them for quite some time.

  From a corner of the churchyard Gus Norris watched the young couple sourly. He’d already sent word to Moor Grange that the lass had come back to the Parsonage, but this new development would have to be reported as quickly as possible. He’d best go across to Padstall that afternoon. Why the hell did a rich man like Mr Armistead, who could have any number of women, want this unwilling one so much that he’d risk kidnapping her? It didn’t make any sense.

  What’s more, if Mr Rishmore himself approved of the match, Gus didn’t want to get involved in any funny business that
might upset his landlord. Unfortunately, though, George Duckworth knew too much about him and he didn’t dare go against his cousin’s orders.

  Hiring a nag, he rode despondently over the tops to Moor Grange. Once there he left a message with the snooty butler, who said his master was in Manchester and he’d send the message on. And the old bugger didn’t even offer Gus a wet of ale to see him on his way back.

  Two weeks before the wedding Jack turned up at the Parsonage in the afternoon, beaming so broadly that Cass, who had let him in, gaped at him in surprise, for he usually wore a rather serious expression.

  Emmy heard his voice and came running down the back stairs with the dog close behind her. ‘It’s such a fine day I thought we could go for a stroll,’ she said, carefully avoiding the word ‘walk’ which always sent Hercules into such paroxysms of yelping delight that it prevented any further conversation. She didn’t intend to take the animal with her this time as she wanted to talk quietly to Jack about what they would need for their new home.

  ‘Has something happened?’ she asked as they walked down the Lane. ‘You look full of news.’

  He nodded. ‘I am.’

  When he didn’t speak, she poked him in the ribs. ‘Well, aren’t you going to tell me what?’

  ‘In a minute or two.’

  They came to the place Emmy thought of as ‘Mrs Tibby’s cottage’ and she stopped to look at it, as she always did.

  When she would have moved on, Jack held her back and pulled a key out of his pocket, dangling it in front of her. ‘Want to go inside?’

  She stopped dead. ‘How did you get the key? Doesn’t this place belong to him?’

  ‘No, Mr Rishmore’s just bought it from him, and guess what?’ He stopped at the door to beam down at her, then could hold back the news no longer. ‘He says we can rent it if we want to.’

  She gasped and tears filled her eyes.

  ‘Is something wrong? I thought you’d be pleased!’ Jack opened the door and guided her inside.

  ‘Of course I’m pleased, you fool!’ she said, wiping away a tear with the back of her hand and fumbling for her handkerchief. ‘I’m crying for joy.’

  He chuckled. ‘Oh, well, if those are happy tears that’s all right.’ He pulled out his own crumpled handkerchief and wiped them away, then bent his head to kiss her. For the first time she gave herself to him gladly, pressing her body against his and kissing him hungrily. He did not dare prolong the kiss but his heart lightened considerably and he began to feel hopeful that if he continued to be patient with her, he’d gradually undo the harm Armistead had wrought.

  When she pulled away, he offered her his arm. ‘Shall we look round our future home, Miss Carter? The furniture is yours anyway, apparently, only you’ve never claimed it. Just look at it! Isn’t it grand?’

  She smiled as bitter-sweet emotions chased through her. ‘I never thought I’d dare claim it.’

  ‘Well, you can now. This place has just been sitting empty since Mrs Tibby died, apparently, waiting to be sold. We’ll have to check what needs doing.’

  She ran one fingertip across the dusty top of the sideboard, leaving a mark in the dust. ‘I shall have to give the place a good bottoming. Oh, I shall treasure her things, absolutely treasure them.’

  They spent a delightful hour examining every inch of the place, with Jack making plans for some necessary minor repairs.

  ‘Oh, my love.’ Emmy looked up at him misty-eyed. ‘Things are going so well. Surely that man will stop trying to capture me now?’

  ‘I hope so,’ he said carefully, not wanting to mar her happiness, ‘but I don’t want you to take any risks, my darling.’

  ‘No. Of course not.’

  But her joy had visibly dimmed and he felt the old anger churning through him that one wicked man could make so many other people unhappy. Would this never end?

  20

  The following day as soon as the main chores were finished at the Parsonage Mrs Bradley sent Cass to the cottage with Emmy to help her scrub it from top to bottom. The two young women chatted as they worked and by late afternoon had everything gleaming.

  ‘I can’t believe I’m going to live here again,’ Emmy said, smiling round her. ‘And with Jack.’ It felt as if all her dreams had come true.

  ‘After this you’ve got to stop doing any scrubbing,’ said Cass as they were walking home. ‘You don’t want your hands looking all red when he puts the ring on, do you? We’ll rub some of Cook’s goose grease into them tonight. Eh, you’re going to be well set up there, aren’t you?’ She realised her companion was not listening, however, and nudged her. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘That man!’ Emmy pointed with a finger that trembled. ‘The tall one. He’s the one who’s been following me, watching me.’

  Cass stopped dead, her mouth open in shock. But there was no one visible who matched Emmy’s description, and although they’d been out together several times, she couldn’t remember seeing anyone following them. ‘Are you sure?’

  Emmy saw the doubt on her friend’s face. ‘I’m not imagining things, Cass.’

  ‘What does Jack say about it?’

  ‘I haven’t told him. He’s got enough to worry about. Only, what’s going to happen after we’re married if this doesn’t stop?’

  ‘You have to tell Jack and Parson and—’ She broke off as she saw another man in the distance and shrieked at the top of her voice, ‘Constable Makepeace! Yoo-hoo! Wait for us.’ Grasping Emmy by the arm, she rushed across the street and up the hill.

  ‘Cass, stop! You shouldn’t do this. There’s nothing he can do to help,’ Emmy panted, but her friend was bigger and stronger than she was, and she could not prevent Cass from dragging her over to the constable.

  ‘There’s a man been following Emmy!’ Cass announced breathlessly. ‘And she won’t tell anyone about it, but I thought you should know.’

  ‘I’m being careful,’ Emmy muttered.

  ‘Do you know who he is?’ Eli asked.

  ‘Gus Norris,’ she admitted reluctantly.

  ‘I might have known he’d be involved. Him and his cousin George are a pair of villains.’ He looked at Emmy’s anxious face and his expression softened. ‘I’ll have a word with him for you.’

  ‘It’s no use, I can’t prove anything,’ Emmy said despairingly. ‘He’ll just say I’ve made a mistake.’

  ‘You leave it to me, young woman.’ Eli lowered his voice and added, ‘I’m keeping a careful watch on the Parsonage, and I’ll be at your wedding, too.’

  But she was regretting now that she’d ever come back and put Jack in danger. Why could no one do anything to stop Marcus Armistead? Was Gus Norris working for him?

  She was still wondering whether she should run away again, for Jack’s sake, when she fell asleep that night.

  Eli went along to the Horse and Rider that evening and ordered a glass of ale. As the woman behind the counter teased him about honouring them with a visit, he smiled and nodded, noting who was there and seeing one man down his ale and leave hastily.

  Just as Eli was draining his glass and debating going home for his evening meal, he saw Gus Norris come in. The man looked to be in a bad mood and when he saw the constable, hesitated visibly.

  That lass wasn’t imagining things, Eli decided. There’s definitely something going on. If ever I’ve seen a guilty look, that’s it.

  But he merely set his glass down, thanked the woman for the ale and left without saying anything further. No use warning them he was on to them.

  Two days later Emmy and Cass were taking in some washing, laughing and talking together in the back garden. Hercules had gone out on his own business, as he sometimes did. When her friend went back into the washhouse, where the fortnightly washerwoman was busy with the poss stick, to bring out the next load, Emmy continued unpegging the last few articles.

  Suddenly a man jumped out from behind some bushes and grabbed her, clapping his hand across her mouth. He was wearing a muffler round his face, but sh
e recognised him at once. Gus Norris. She struggled and tried to scream, but could do nothing against such a big, strong man, especially when another appeared to help tie her up and gag her. It was all done in a couple of minutes.

  They carried her across the churchyard to a cart waiting in the lane beyond and threw her into the back of the vehicle, covering her with an old blanket.

  She could only lie there, rigid with fear, as the cart drove off, unable to do anything, even kick away the blanket, because when she tried, a heavy body leaned on her so that she couldn’t move. After a while, the weight was removed but by then they sounded to be outside the town, for the wheels had a more muffled sound to them.

  Where were they taking her? How could no one have noticed what was happening?

  The cart jolted and rumbled along for what seemed like a very long time. Emmy was too terrified even to weep. All she could do was pray that Cass had missed her. Surely, surely they would be looking for her?

  Where were these men taking her? She could guess.

  To Moor Grange.

  To Marcus Armistead.

  Cass came out of the laundry at the back of the house with another basket of clean washing. ‘Emmy love, what do you—’ As she saw the overturned basket and clean linen scattered across the grass she froze then dropped her own basket and began to screech at the top of her voice. She kept on screeching till the laundrywoman, Cook and Mrs Bradley all came rushing out.

  ‘Emmy’s gone!’ she gasped. ‘Look! She’d never have dropped the clean things. Someone’s took her again.’ She began sobbing.

  Mrs Bradley ordered, ‘Be quiet this minute!’ and walked past the basket. There were scrape marks on the lawn and behind the bushes she found some large men’s footprints. ‘Stay where you are!’ she tossed over her shoulder, swallowing her own fear and anxiety as she continued to examine the garden. There was no sign of Emmy, no sign of anyone. Only that line of incriminating footprints.