‘Richard’s Emporium’, announced the faded letters on the glass shop front. Proprietor: E. Richards Esq. It was a grandiose name for a village store, but at least, numerous foodstuffs crammed every shelf.
Ann led the way to the counter where a thin melancholy young man stood, rigid as a flagpole.
“Good morning, Sir. My cousin and I have recently moved into my grandfather’s cottage near the Haverstock signpost. Do you recall Lord Sebastian Linley?”
“No, I don’t, but I know the place you mean though, surrounded by forest. It’s been empty for years.”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
Melanie nudged Ann with her elbow and raised her eyes to the Jewelry bought and sold sign hanging above the counter.
“We’d like two ten pound bags of flour, a bag of sugar and salt.” Ann rattled off the things they needed. “A box of bullets too. And can you tell us where we can buy bales of hay? Three or four should be sufficient. I don’t have any money but….”
“We don’t give credit.” He snapped the words out like a steel jawed trap.
“I have some jewelry to sell.” Ann dabbed at her eyes with a white lace handkerchief. “I’m Ann Locksley and this is my cousin’s wife, Melanie O’Dea. We’re both widows, left in distressing circumstances by the sudden deaths of our husbands on the Australian goldfields.”
“Good morning.” He inclined his head. “Theodore Richards at your service.”
Ann showed him the locket.
Mr. Richards dangled it in his hand, feeling the weight. “I’ll need to check with my father.”
“It’s gold,” Ann said.
He left them at the counter while he disappeared through a side door.
“Distressing circumstances?” Melanie grimaced.
“This is so degrading, but I didn’t want him to think we had more valuables in case they tried to rob us. Two women alone are vulnerable.”
“How clever of you, Ann, I didn’t think about that. I’m glad we found that shotgun under the bed, and that you know how to use it. Maybe we could say Peter is coming in a day or two?”
“I will.” Ann plucked at an imaginary crease in her skirt. “I never wanted to learn how to shoot but Geoffrey insisted.”
“Lucky for us he did. The only time I held a gun was at the Eureka stockade.” Melanie shuddered on remembering the soldier whose horse she stole.
Mr. Richards returned, wearing a smug grin. “I’ll give you two pounds for it.”
“What! That’s preposterous,” Ann exclaimed.
“Your groceries, the bullets and I’ll get you four bales of hay, plus delivery this afternoon. With the two pounds in cash, it’s a generous offer. Take it or leave it.”
Daylight robbery and they all knew it.
“My brother should arrive in a day or so,” Ann said. “And I know he won’t be happy about this.”
“Then he should have provided you with more money.”
They took it. What else could they do?
Melanie spun on her heel, took Ann’s elbow and deliberately banged the shop door behind them.
“I know we can’t really afford it,” Ann said, “but I’d love a decent pot of tea and a sticky bun. There’s that little tearoom across the road.”
“Yes, let’s go. We deserve a treat after what we’ve been through.” What a mean, miserable person that man was.”
“If I ever get my money and social position back, I swear, I’ll never take either for granted again.”
Did Ann really believe she would regain her wealth? In Melanie’s experience, the poor usually became poorer.
The tearoom and bakery had pretty lace curtains fluttering at the window.
“Oh look, they have pork pies. I’m going to have one,” Melanie decided, “even if we can’t afford it.”
“I will too, and we’ll get a loaf of bread to take with us.”
The girl who took their order wore a black dress covered by a frilly white apron, and a wide band of lace reposed on her auburn curls. Minutes later, she brought their orders and the white china teapot had pink roses around the rim, as did the cups, saucers and plates.
Melanie wasn’t disappointed, the pie tasted delicious. She savored every mouthful. They squeezed two cups of tea each from the teapot. Well fortified, they started on their return journey to the cottage.
“If only we could get a cow from somewhere,” Melanie mused. “We could have milk in our tea, and make butter with any left over. Wishful thinking, unless … how many acres is the cottage set on?”
“I’m not sure, but about twenty I think. The lease belongs to me now. It was originally for ninety nine years and there are still about thirty left.”
“Oh? Who owns the freehold?”
“I think the freehold is owned by the church. Before I left for Australia, my mother signed the place over to me, thank goodness. It passed through her family. I’m guessing that it isn’t worth much because of not owning the freehold and the ground being poor. I think towards the end of her life, Mother realized Peter would have eventually gambled it away.”
“You and it have been a life saver for me. I don’t know where I would have ended up otherwise, probably the poor house.”
Ann shuddered. “You wouldn’t survive there. I’d kill myself before I went to a place like that.”
Melanie liked to think she would do the same. Only the destitute went there. But would she actually kill herself? What of the baby? If something happened to her, the baby could end up in a foundling home or worse. Fear chilled her blood.
“Ann.” She grabbed her friend’s arm. “If something happens to me, swear on your word of honor. On Geoffrey’s grave, you’ll care for my baby. The circumstances of its conception aren’t the child’s fault.”
Ann stopped dead, and stood with her hands on her hips glaring at Melanie. “Stop it. You’re tempting fate talking like that.”
“But you promise.”
“Of course.” Near her heart she made the sign of the cross. “I’d bring it up as my own. In fact, I’d tell everyone it was mine. I’ll write to Aunt Helen in Paris, I know she’ll help us.”
“Why would she help someone like me?”
“Because you’re my friend, and she’d be sympathetic. Rumors abounded in the family about her committing some indiscretion with a married man. She was only seventeen when she went to France, got married there and never returned to England, not even for a visit. Come on, let’s get back.”
Away from the village, moorland rolled to the horizon, studded with scattered farmhouses, rough hedgerows and dry stone walls. Melanie bent over to smell the wild pink roses trailing over a tumbledown wall.
They crossed a small bridge straddling a gurgling stream. Once they left the main road the countryside changed. Huge trees on both sides of the pathway formed a brooding canopy that only let in filtered sunlight. At night it would be pitch black unless there was a full moon. Melanie shivered and moved closer to Ann.
She felt a sudden urge to break the silence. “When do you think the store will deliver everything?”
“I don’t know, sometime in the afternoon could mean anything. This place frightens me. How are we going to survive when the snow comes? We’ll be isolated. If only Peter would hurry back.”
Melanie had a horrible suspicion he wouldn’t be back. He’d dumped them here and believed his duty was done. We have to be organized, stockpile wood and food and make sure the cottage is storm proof. It’s all we can do. Inwardly she steeled herself, knowing she would have to be the strong one, or they were doomed. She had to survive, would fight to survive for the baby’s sake.
Back at the cottage they set to work. After about an hour of scrubbing, Melanie climbed to her feet. Pain shot down her legs from kneeling on the hard floor. The place would never amount to anything much, no matter what they did, but thank goodness it appeared solid enough to weather even the most vicious of storms. Having withstood nature’s fury for a couple of hundred years, there was no
reason to suspect it wouldn’t still be standing in another hundred years.
Ann finished washing the filthy windows and immediately the cottage became almost cheerful. If any of the calico remained after making the covers for their straw mattresses, they could sew curtains. Ann was a skilled needlewoman, and if she trimmed the curtains with lace or perhaps some brightly colored embroidery, it would improve both the dinginess and their spirits a hundredfold.
“Keep busy and think positively, that’s what we have to do.” Melanie rubbed her aching lower back.
She had lit the fire and the water in the kettle simmered, ready for when their supplies arrived. Returning from chopping more wood, she discovered that the man from the store had been. She planned to gather and chop a small amount of wood each day, because her axe skills were not great, and she quickly tired. Fortunately, the fire place was large, so many of the fallen logs didn’t need to be cut up. Twigs and small branches suitable for kindling carpeted the forest floor.
Dropping an armful of wood on to the hearth, she gratefully accepted the cup of tea Ann had made. “This is good, even without milk.” The sweetened black tea slid like melted honey down her throat.
“Eddie, the boy who delivered the order, lives a couple of miles away,” Ann told her. “He said he might be able to get us a milking cow and a few chickens.”
“We can’t afford to pay much.” Melanie gratefully accepted a second mug of tea.
“I told him that. His father has grazed his stock here for some years, and the boy thinks he would agree to loan us a cow and give us a few chickens in return for letting the cattle stay here.”
“Sounds good, but this place is covered with trees.”
“Apparently there are some cleared paddocks beyond the forest – they’ve been using them for years.”
“Did you agree?”
“Yes.” Ann made a face. “I don’t like drinking black tea.”
Melanie laughed. “Black tea? It’s the eggs I’m thinking about. We might be able to get meat from the farmer every now and again too. Wouldn’t a leg of roast lamb be nice?” Her mouth watered just thinking about it.
“There are rabbits here too, I saw a couple of them as I gathered the wood. We could fish in the stream, maybe plant a few vegetables. There are probably wild mushrooms in season, and there’s sure to be blackberries, too.” She tried to sound strong and confident. “Ann, we have to be self sufficient.”
They set to work with renewed energy. Melanie helped Ann sew the calico on three sides so they could stuff it with straw. The finished mattresses though lumpy would be a vast improvement on bare boards.
They sat down for a rest and Melanie said. “To save our lamp oil we can make what we call in Australia slush lamps.”
“Slush lamps?”
“Yes. You half fill a tin with clay then top it up with mutton fat. A piece of worsted material wrapped around a stick forms a wick. Smelly and smoky, but they do throw out a reasonable light. I can make soap, too.” Melanie knew all about soap and candle making. She had learned the hard way under the eagle eye of Mrs. Prince at Guilford Lodge, in what seemed another life time. In fact, she still had the scars to prove it. Even after all this time a pink puckered scar remained near her elbow.
She hadn’t let Priscilla or fate beat her then. Had left Guilford Lodge unbowed and unbroken. Living here she could do the same. She had to.
Chapter Eleven
Winter arrived with a sudden vicious chill. Last night a bitter wind howled and screeched all night, driving rain against the window panes so hard Melanie feared they might shatter. That must have been the thudding sounds that had been so frightening. Heavy and awkward with her pregnancy now, she had difficulty doing anything, but doggedly chopped the wood for the fire and milked the cow, because Ann was still trying to conquer her fear of animals.
Melanie surveyed her callused hands; her feet were covered with painful, itchy chilblains. Some days her back ached so badly she felt like someone was cutting her in half with a rusty saw.
She could no longer sit up and get out of bed in her usual manner, her belly was too swollen. Maneuvering herself to the edge of the bed, she swung her legs out on to the floor and used her hands to push herself upright. At night she sat on the bed and got Ann to lift up her legs and swing her around.
How much longer can we survive like this? If she didn’t recover from the birth quickly they would be in dire straits.
A crashing thud interrupted her morbid thoughts. Shivering, she wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and waddled into Ann’s room. Glancing out the window, she saw an enormous tree branch lying in the yard. Thank goodness it hadn’t landed on any of their buildings. It was snowing heavily. She had never experienced snow like this. Enormous flakes formed a blizzard so thick she couldn’t even see the barn.
Ann coughed continuously, a nagging, barking sound that had increased in severity over the last few days. She had lost weight, her once plump cheeks pale and gaunt.
“It’s snowing.”
“Is it?” Ann sounded as if she didn’t care. If her condition deteriorated she would have to see a doctor otherwise she might end up with consumption.
Melanie patted her friend’s wasted hand, “You stay in bed, I’ll make the tea and we’ll have porridge today.”
“I’m sorry.” Ann gave a weak smile. “I should be waiting on you, not the other way around.”
“You can’t help being ill.”
“If only Peter would come back.”
“Be realistic. He isn’t coming back. Once I’ve had the baby and regained my strength, we’ll go to France to your aunt’s place.”
“I can’t believe my own brother would do anything so contemptible as to leave us in such pernicious circumstances.”
“Well.” Melanie tried for a laugh, wondering how she could. “Why don’t you take up Farmer Wolstencroft’s offer – to be his wedded wife?
Ann grimaced. “No thank you. Imagine the gall of the man to front up here with the cow and half a dozen miserable chickens as arranged with his son, question me about my marital status then offer marriage.”
“He obviously didn’t want me because I was with child. Thank goodness. The man is an utter slob. He hadn’t shaved in days and he stunk.” Melanie shuddered. “Did you notice his blackened teeth?”
“Stop it! You’re making me feel bilious.” Ann eased herself out of the bed and slipped on a warm dressing gown, a garment Melanie did not possess.
After breakfast she borrowed Ann’s coat and boots, wrapped a woolen scarf around her neck, and pulled on her gloves and a knitted hat, before venturing outside.
She plodded through the snow to the stable where their cow resided for the winter. Not much of a cow, she gorged herself on their hay, but only managed half a bucket of milk twice a day.
They had found an old butter churn, but with careful use, they made some quite palatable butter. Keeping things fresh with all this snow wouldn’t be a problem she mused as she cornered the cow and dragged up the milking stool. Removing her gloves, she rested her hands on the beast’s warm sides before starting milking. Even the teats felt warm.
“Now, you give us a good lot of milk or else….” she threatened. “We want to make butter.”
The cow swished her tail in Melanie’s face, gave a snorting moo, and continued chewing her cud.
“You mean thing. Not even half a bucket of milk. I ought to cut your hay rations.”
She traipsed back to the cottage, making sure not to spill a drop of the precious liquid. Snowflakes driven by the wind slapped her face. This nasty white stuff blanketed the ground and trees, icicles hung from the cottage eaves. Her nose stung, her eyes watered, and a numbing chill froze her feet and legs. She had never endured such cold. After breakfast she would empty the bucket they now used as a toilet, rather than face the freezing journey to the outhouse.
Ann had already made the tea and porridge, and Melanie wolfed it down. It warmed her up and eased her hunger
. Until now they ate reasonably well. An excellent markswoman, Ann did not seem to have any trouble bringing down a wild deer or a rabbit. They had salted some of the meat and hopefully it would last until spring. If it didn’t they would have to go without. Unbelievable that no one except Farmer Wolstencroft on the one occasion, and his son Eddie, on a few occasions when he delivered their supplies, paid them a visit.
Had the village people somehow discovered her true marital state? Even the church hadn’t bothered about them. She had always felt that there was something strange, almost sinister about the village and its people. She didn’t want sympathy, but a visit now and again for two young women who lived alone would be welcome. Was that too much to expect? Obviously Christian charity was in scant supply around here.
They stockpiled flour, sugar, tea and salt and had an emergency supply of lamp oil. Eddie told them the heavy snow usually lasted for a couple of months. Her baby was due in December, and while a white Christmas baby would be nice, under the circumstances the sooner she gave birth and regained her strength the better. How much longer would Ann’s jewelry last? They had sold all the antique books. After the baby’s birth she would have to try to obtain some kind of employment, but what?
“What’s wrong?” Ann paused with her spoon halfway to her mouth. “You’ve gone so white.”
“I’m wondering how long your mother’s jewelry will last.”
“I’ve still got a few pieces left. I’m prepared to sell everything but not my ruby engagement ring or my wedding ring.” Her lips trembled. “They’re all I’ve got left of Geoffrey.”
“I know, and I wouldn’t expect you to. I’ve been thinking that some of those gowns Michael bought me could be worth money.”
“Not in this village they wouldn’t. We would have to travel to one of the larger market towns. Maybe Leeds. London would be best, but we can’t afford to go there. We have to keep enough money to get to France.”
“We’d have to travel down to London to get the boat, wouldn’t we?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“I’ll try and sell the gowns then, if we can hold out for that long.”
A Wicked Deception Page 19