Outcast

by Josephine Cox

  Climbing the last few steps, Emma realized just how long ago it had been since she had come this far. There they still were – the great long-barrelled guns from the Crimean War. Emma was not surprised to see people already strolling about. To her left there was a tall, willowy man with a flat cap and heavy boots, and by his side, a weary-looking woman. The woman was carrying a large hessian bag and wearing a long dark frock, covered with a grey shawl. This she pulled tight about her against the breeze, which cut like a knife across the hill-top. Since taking up her clerical duties at the mill, Emma had become aware of many things she hadn’t known before, such as the fact that many unemployed and hard-up families were forced to find out-of-the-way hiding holes in the park, where they made themselves a shelter in which to sleep. She wondered whether that was the plight of this sorry-looking pair. If it was, she thought, they had such a proud and independent look about their faces that it made her heart go out to them.

  In the distance, Emma could hear the laughter of children and, stretching her neck as she approached the gun-barrels, she could vaguely distinguish five figures approaching. Smiling at the sight of the two smaller figures running and jumping ahead in the same way she herself had once done, Emma pulled herself up on to the cold, hard gun-barrel, all the while puffing and panting from the long upward climb. Once she was settled comfortably in a secure position on the slippery metal barrel, Emma straightened up to take in the view. It was a magnificent and awesome sight to behold. From here, she could see over almost the whole of Blackburn town, with its sea of graceful church spires, and, standing tall beside these, as many mill chimneys – the former sending prayers to Heaven, and the latter sending up black rancid smoke, which day after day settled over the houses to become an intricate part of the landscape. Yet, for all that, Emma saw a curious magic in Blackburn town, particularly on a busy day when it was filled with the hustle and bustle of horses and carts, bent, shawled figures, and flat-capped little men, all answering the summons of the mill siren, and all either hurrying to, or from, their weaving and spinning machines. How they talked and laughed, Emma thought, as though they hadn’t a care in the world. They would exchange friendly greetings as they hurried towards those great formidable mills, as though they were on their way to make a fortune – their indomitable spirits belying the fact that their wages did little more than feed and clothe them, and maintain a distance between themselves and the workhouse.

  From the better houses the clerks and the other more important business folk would emerge, like her own papa, Emma remembered nostalgically. They presented a very different spectacle – all sporting handsome tail-coats, together with those familiar tall hats of black and sombre appearance and some carrying canes. Then, at a later hour still, the ladies would step out in their pretty flowered bonnets and rich taffeta skirts. And, constantly, making their own particular music over the jutting cobbles, the clip-clop of horses’ hooves could be heard up and down the street as they pulled along the merchants’ flat-waggons, brewers’ drays and carriages of all manner and style – all going about their business and all most exciting to Emma.

  Today was market day, and from her vantage point, Emma imagined she could see the grey flapping canopies which covered the stalls and hear the urgent and colourful shouts of waremongers. As she sat there, perched on the gun-barrel with the breeze numbing her face and pinching her ears, Emma gazed across Blackburn town and told herself that, in the whole of her life, she would never want to be anywhere else but here.

  When the family of five strolled by, Emma thought what a lovely sight they made. There was papa, impressively dressed in a dark suit, with a white silk scarf around his neck, and on his head a most expensive looking tall hat. He had long side whiskers and a friendly smile, which he directed at Emma. His wife was also extremely well turned-out in a fine green velvet outfit, with a large sweeping bustle. The two older children, both boys, were smartly dressed in short, dark breeches, grey cloth caps and little fitted jackets. Emma could see by the way they constantly broke free from their parents to run and hide, that they were probably quite a handful. Holding onto the woman’s hand was a little girl of about three years old, a pretty chubby-cheeked child with a serious face and regal step. As the family sauntered away, they reminded Emma of the Royal Family. The little girl in particular looked just like that picture in the paper of Queen Victoria’s youngest child, Princess Beatrice.

  Smiling to herself, Emma got down from her perched position, rubbing her hands against the cold and thinking it was time she started making her way back down. She would head for the lake and the ducks and spend a while there.

  Emma was surprised to find herself the only one down at the lake. But then, she reminded herself, she was much earlier today on account of wanting to get away before Caleb Crowther might change his mine. Coming to where the railings finished and the grassy bank sloped gently down to the lake’s edge, Emma stepped forward until the tips of her boots were almost touching the water. Then, throwing the crumbs as far out as she could, she watched with pleasure as the ducks sped forward, loudly quacking and nudging each other in order to be the first to grab them. Emma reflected on how peaceful it was here, and how soothing for a person’s turbulent thoughts.

  Not far away, there was another who was of a similar mind to Emma. After seeing to his sister’s comfort that morning, Marlow Tanner had walked the mile or so which took him to Corporation Park. He felt a great need for peace and quiet, away from the incessant banter of Sal – who he thought must be the worst creature on God’s earth when struck down and made virtually immobile – so that he might reflect on things. It was in Sal’s nature to be obstinate and demanding, he knew, but never more so than since the accident. And, above all else, she insisted on constantly reminding him that there was only one thing to be got from giving your heart above your station – and that was grief. ‘More grief than you could ever imagine!’ she’d warned over and over. This morning, however, she had finally got under his skin. If he hadn’t got away he might well have been tempted to dunk her in the canal, for he knew only too well the wisdom of her words.

  ‘Come here, Jake!’ he called now, as the panting dog strained hard on its lead, ‘Ease up there!’ But the dog did not like the rules which dictated that he must at all times be kept on a lead. He was hot and thirsty – and his eye had caught sight of the wide, shimmering lake, alive with noisy fluttering ducks.

  Meanwhile, Emma was so captivated by the comical antics of the water fowl that she was totally unaware of the dog presently bounding up behind her – the great bull-mastiff had slipped his lead and was now full of mischief. The first she knew of it was when, with a great energetic bound, the dog launched itself towards the lake. The only obstacle between the dog and the water was Emma. With a thud the bull-mastiff careered into her shoulder sending her reeling off balance, and with a cry she flung out both hands, one into mid-air and the other to clutch hold of the railings. The dog landed heavily in the lake, sending both water and ducks in every direction – the ensuing noise rising like a crescendo into the hitherto still and quiet air. As the ducks fled, flapping their wings and sending up a volley of noise, Emma also yelled as she hung suspended by one hand from the railings, her feet and skirt-hem in the water, and her arm aching so much that any minute she was afraid she might let go. Emma was frantic as she believed the water here was considerably deep.

  Suddenly, the dog’s owner came rushing round the corner. ‘Jake!’ he was shouting, ‘Get back here!’ – every word accompanied by a threatening shake of the dog’s lead. Emma saw him before he saw her, and when she realized who it was she began calling, ‘Help! . . . Please help!’ Whereupon, seeing her through the railings, he flung down the lead and raced towards the lake’s edge where he immediately plunged into the water, sinking up to his knees as he waded to where Emma was hanging by her fingertips. Within a minute he had her by the waist and the next moment she was in his arms, being gently carried to the bank. When Emma saw that the water wa
s not as deep and dangerous as she’d feared, and in fact came no higher than Marlow’s knees, she looked into his concerned eyes with a smile. The smile quickly became a grin and then she began laughing. She felt such a fool as she realized what a comical spectacle she must have presented, and, what a comical sight the two of them must look now – with Marlow’s dog yapping at their heels in a delighted frenzy, and the ducks quacking their disapproval from a safe distance.

  When Marlow stumbled on to the bank, where he fell over with Emma still in his arms, they were both gripped by fits of laughter, and when the dog bounded from the water to shake itself vigorously, and in so doing drenched the pair of them, Marlow and Emma laughed even louder and clung to each other beneath the deluge of water that showered down.

  It was at that moment that two other regular visitors to the park entered this uproarious scene. One was a shawled lady of some fifty years of age, slow of footstep and with slightly stooped shoulders beneath a sour, wizened face. The other was a small homely-looking fellow with sandy coloured hair, and was none other than Gregory Denton. The disagreeable woman with her arm linked in his was Doreen Denton, his fearsome, widowed mother.

  Gregory Denton was somewhat embarrassed to witness such untoward frolicking, although, for a brief moment, he envied the couple their obvious joy in each other. Coughing and quickening his step, he averted his gaze and began to change direction.

  ‘Really! Upon my soul!’ Doreen Denton gripped her son’s arm as she forced him to a halt so that she might observe the scene more closely. ‘Disgraceful!’ she declared with a fierce scowl. ‘I shall have words with the park attendant, you can be sure of that!’ she told her acutely embarrassed son. ‘What in Heaven’s name is that young lady doing in the company of a ruffian like him? She looks to come from a decent family . . . while the fellow, well! He seems no better than a bargee!’ She hoped to catch their attention with her loud tutting noises, so that she could give them both a piece of her mind.

  Something in what his mother had said made Gregory Denton look back at the couple. On looking closer, he was horrified to see that they were no other than Miss Grady and Marlow Tanner! For a long, unbearable moment he refused to believe what was painfully obvious. Then, as the truth sank in, a black, suffocating jealousy arose in Gregory Denton’s heart. He found himself unable to tear his wide, disbelieving eyes away from where Marlow had raised himself up on one elbow and, his laughter now replaced by a serious expression, was gazing down on Emma intensely. On seeing the way in which Marlow was looking at her, Emma also grew quiet. This shared moment of silence between them was spellbinding and, as Marlow’s passionate gaze mingled with the wonder in Emma’s soft eyes, it became one that they would both treasure forever. In her heart, Emma was afraid. Every corner of her body was trembling as she experienced sensations of excitement such as she had never known. She sensed that Marlow was going to kiss her, but still she made no move, for she was held helplessly in the same magic spell as Marlow. Now, as he lowered his head towards her, Emma’s heart jumped and her hand reached up towards his face. When his mouth covered her open lips and his body leaned into hers, Emma thought there could never be anything more wonderful in the whole of her life.

  Meanwhile, as Emma found herself moved by great joy and love as she lay in Marlow’s arms, witnessing this scene Gregory Denton was immersed in the darkest, most crucifying mood, which swallowed his reasoning and suffocated the kindliness of his nature. As he quickly turned his stricken eyes away and led his mother from that place, a malicious plan of action was already forming in his affected mind. Once before he’d warned Caleb Crowther of Emma’s involvement with the river-people, but because of his concern for Emma he had not followed it through when confronted by her furious uncle. Now, however, he would have no such reservations. For the first time in his uneventful life, Gregory Denton intended to put himself first – and bugger the consequences!

  ‘No!’ Emma’s eyes were anxious as she looked into Marlow’s surprised face. Whatever was she thinking of, to roll about in the grass and to conduct herself in a way that, to certain eyes, was no better than if she were a harlot! As she scrambled to her feet, Emma was both ashamed and frightened – ashamed of her own behaviour and, remembering how his back still carried the scars of another incident, desperately afraid for Marlow. Instinctively, she looked all about her, praying that no one had seen them. When she saw only two figures – a man and a woman in the distance – she gave a little prayer of thanks. Then she swung herself away from Marlow – who was still on his knees and looking up at her with a quizzical gaze – and, pausing only to call out in a troubled voice ‘Please! Stay away from me!’ she clutched the cumbersome folds of her skirt in her hands, and, ignoring the wet discomfort of her boots, ran as though the devil himself was chasing her! With every step she took, Marlow’s voice was in her ears, ‘Emma! I love you. Wait . . . please wait!’ But she paid no heed, only quickening her steps even more. In her trembling heart she prayed for forgiveness and help: forgiveness of the Lord for those feelings she had experienced in Marlow Tanner’s arms when she’d craved much more than the feel of his mouth against hers, and when every instinct in her body had been that of a woman; and forgiveness for having so easily betrayed the promise given to her papa. Emma could feel herself slipping away from all she had been taught, and it frightened her. In her heart, even while she was running from him, Marlow Tanner made her feel warm and intoxicated, and he filled her with such a joy that it took all of her will-power to stop herself from turning round and going to fling herself into his arms. Emma doubted whether she would ever be able to get him out of her heart, especially when she didn’t want to! Yet, she knew she must, and so she asked the Lord for the strength to do so. She also asked that Marlow might find the strength to put her out of his heart; for Emma knew that if she loved Marlow Tanner, it was no less than he loved her. And, for both of them, it was an impossible love – a love which, although born in Heaven, could carry them both to Hell!

  Chapter Five

  Monday, 17th October 1860 was a fierce kind of day. It was a day of bitter cold winds and driving rain; a day when the sky stayed dark from morning till night and even the dogs took shelter. It was also a day which heralded a chain of events destined to bring about Emma’s worst nightmare.

  On the late evening of this particular day, two men stepped from a hansom cab in a back street of London town. Both were well-dressed and authoritative in their bearing. They had both been drinking and were full of high spirits, and had come to this area of Spitalfields to indulge their baser nature. The one who went by the name of Bartholomew Mysen was a man of law; he was tall and willowy with clean-shaven features. The other was a large, loose-limbed fellow, with dark hairy features and formidable blue eyes. He was also a man of the legal profession, who had a reputation for being a man of little mercy. His name – Caleb Crowther.

  ‘Come on, Crowther . . . the night’s almost spent!’ reprimanded the tall, willowy man as his companion delayed in giving instructions to the cab-driver – these being that he should return for them on the morrow before the break of day.

  ‘Have you got that?’ Caleb Crowther demanded. When the fellow touched his cap and assured him that he certainly had, the fare was put into his palm and he was dismissed.

  The two men immediately went into a large, red-bricked, seedy establishment. By their confident manner, it was obvious that this was not the first time they had frequented such a place. Inside, the subdued lighting made the surroundings appear gloomy. The grimy walls and threadbare carpets were effectively camouflaged by the deep, dark shadows and the plentiful, long frilled curtains.

  In the distance the sounds of laughter, music and frolicking could be heard. Then, the air was cut silent by the sudden cessation of music. Presently, there came a man’s voice announcing the evening’s programme of entertainment, which was greeted by an uproar of shouting, clapping and stamping of feet.

  ‘Looks like yer just in time, guv,’ said th
e man at the desk, presenting a comical sight with his bald, shiny head, full face of whiskers and wide, spectacular, pink dickie-bow, ‘I reckon they’re about to start.’ When neither Caleb Crowther nor his companion showed even the slightest appreciation of his comments, he gave a snigger, then a shrug of his shoulders, and when Caleb Crowther dipped into his waistcoat to spill a number of coins on to the counter, he grabbed them up and pointed to the double doors ahead. ‘Yer knows yer way, guv!’ he sneered, already preparing to sink back into his chair, and continue with his solitary game of cards.

  On the other side of the double doors was a narrow walkway, beyond which was the heart of the club. There, numerous chairs, tables and people – mostly men – were squashed into the vast space. At the far end was a grand old stage, adorned with rich, red velvet curtains, and which was lit up by the footlights hidden in the recess along the front. Remaining in the dark private walkway, the two men watched and waited. On seeing them there, the portly proprietor made his way towards them, with the semblance of a smile on his face and one hand fidgeting about in his pocket, as if preparing to count the money which these two eminent figures represented.

  The next moment, a great wave of shouting and cheering erupted as the music started up again and the dancers tapped their way on to the stage.

  ‘Now, there’s a sight to set your pulses racing, Crowther!’ murmured Bartholomew, running the tip of his tongue over his lips and gently nudging his companion.

  Caleb Crowther gave no answer but continued to move his narrow eyes along the line of chorus girls. When the proprietor made his presence known, by stating ‘Young an’ fresh . . . all of ’em,’ the two men nodded, all the while observing the scantily clad girls who were thrilling and exciting the audience with their provocative body movements and beckoning smiles.