by Rosie Clarke
‘I am certain she wouldn’t. I must admit I was surprised when she came up with the idea of a ball for Amy.’
‘It is as much for Lizzie’s sake as mine,’ Amy said and fiddled with her ring. ‘Lizzie might have had a season in view this year, had things been different.’
‘Lizzie can wait a bit longer. Perhaps next year, if things go well for me.’
‘She told me Grandmama has hinted that she will pay for her to have her season next year. It wouldn’t be a good idea at the moment because of my wedding. Besides, she may be eighteen but she is too young in her ways – look at the ribbons she wore this evening. Lizzie should be putting her hair up now.’
‘Yes, well, if that is all you wanted, you may as well go up now. I have some work to do in my library.’
Amy said goodnight, left her parents and went upstairs to her sister’s room. Lizzie had already undressed and was perched up against a pile of lace-edged pillows reading her book. She put it down and smiled as Amy sat on the edge of the bed.
‘So, Granny is giving you a grand dance for your wedding,’ Lizzie said. ‘Are you excited?’
‘Yes, I am. I think it will be lovely to see the manor polished and shining and dressed for a ball. Perhaps we could persuade Grandmama to put some of the clutter away for a while. We shall have to think of a theme, Lizzie. If we bought some material we could make garlands ourselves. Would you enjoy that? And of course you will need a new gown. We shall be so busy planning it all and writing invitations.’
‘You don’t have to think of things to do just to make me feel better. I’m not a child. Aren’t you just a little frightened about what happened?’
‘I’m more angry than scared,’ Amy said. ‘I like to ride out alone – unless you come with me. Do you remember when as children at the old house we used to race the milk train on our ponies, where it passed the edge of our land near the river?’
Lizzie nodded. She plucked at the bedcover, which was green like the curtains at her windows. Unlike most of the house, her room had been refurbished recently and she’d been allowed to choose her own colours. ‘Do you miss it – the old house and all the rest of it?’
‘Papa is the one I feel for. The estate was in his family for six generations. To be forced to sell and come here must have been a blow to his pride.’
‘We were lucky Granny invited us. Had she not given us a home we might have had to live in a much smaller house.’
‘Father could have sold the London house rather than letting it out to strangers. He could have bought a smaller estate in the country.’
‘It wouldn’t have been like Barton Abbey, nor would it have been as large as Priorsfield Manor.’
Amy had noticed her father prowling after dinner, filling his brandy glass perhaps more often than was good for him. Perhaps it was because of losing his estate, but she’d become more aware of his unhappiness – the silent look of resentment towards his wife, and sometimes an expression of resignation. Amy was disturbed by it and knew that she did not want to end her life feeling cheated as he did.
Amy picked up a blue glass scent bottle from the dressing table and opened the silver top, sniffing it before replacing it amongst the clutter of bottles and powder jars, bits of ribbons and other trinkets littering the polished top. The perfume was flowery and young, not to Amy’s taste. Lizzie was almost as bad at collecting things as her grandmother. Amy found the mess offensive; she preferred everything to match and asked Mary, the maid who looked after her occasionally, to keep things tidy.
‘Perhaps you are right. Personally, I can’t wait for my wedding.’
She smiled at Lizzie and went out, leaving her to sleep.
Lizzie sat looking at the door as it closed after her.
Tears welled up inside her and a few trickled down her cheeks. She wiped them away with her hand and told herself not to be stupid. Of course Arthur would never have looked at her. She was too young. He was older and he wanted someone more sophisticated. Amy was perfect for him.
Lizzie must learn not to mind. Her feelings would mend in time. She would meet someone nice when she had her season and forget she’d ever had a crush on her sister’s fiancé. It was merely a crush and this feeling that she would never love anyone else was ridiculous.
Lizzie thought about the girl that had been murdered. She was so young and she hadn’t had a chance to live and be happy. Lizzie wouldn’t dwell on her unhappiness. It would be dreadful if Amy guessed how she was feeling and it spoiled her wedding.
Reaching out, she turned her lamp down but not out. Lizzie didn’t much like the dark. She preferred a little light in the room if she woke in the night.
Chapter 13
‘They’re advertising in the local paper for help up at the manor,’ Ma said when Emily came down for supper that night. ‘You’re dressed up. You’re not going out again, are you?’
‘No, but Harry Standen told Pa he might call to see me this evening.’
Her mother nodded, looking thoughtful. ‘You know your father’s ill? He needs to go away for treatment but the foolish man says he’s too busy. If you found yourself a job he could take on a man full time and then he could go to the sanatorium.’
Emily was so shocked she couldn’t speak for a moment. She’d dreamed of perhaps having a job in the future, but she’d never thought her mother would allow it. Ma had always said she couldn’t manage without her – now she was suggesting she take a job at the manor. The idea horrified Emily.
‘Go out to work somewhere else?’
‘It would be good for you, a nice little job like that up at the manor.’
‘Me work at the manor as a skivvy? Why should I want to do that? I’d rather find work in a shop in Ely. Besides, you need me here and I help Pa on his rounds sometimes.’
‘You mean you like being at home.’ Ma glared at her and folded the paper. She got up to take a tray of rock cakes from the oven and the smell of them made Emily feel hungry. ‘Your father is a fool to himself. I’ve told him he should get a man to help him full time but he says he can’t afford the wages. If you were bringing in a wage he could manage to pay a lad to do most of the work. We can’t always expect Derek to help out for nothing.’
It was on the tip of Emily’s tongue to tell her mother that Derek was paid for his help but she kept silent. ‘Is that what Pa wants? Me to go out to work?’
‘He wouldn’t dream of asking it of you. I’ve told him he must go to the doctor and ask what he needs to do. He says he will but he hasn’t been – and I don’t like to see him so tired. I know he’s thinking of how much it might cost for medicines and treatment. Think about taking this job, Emily – for your father’s sake.’
Emily felt pressured. Her mother was blackmailing her, using her father’s illness to make her feel guilty, trying to force her to take a job she would hate. She sought for an excuse.
‘What about Harry? If I worked at the manor I couldn’t see him often.’
‘Is that more important than your father’s health? There’s no saying you would get the job if you tried, but it would be a help if you were bringing in some money.’
Ma’s face was hard, looking older than her thirty-nine years, with her dark reddish-brown hair swept back from her face and turned under in a roll that went right round her head. It was fastened by hairpins and tidy but far too severe. Like her washed-out blue dress, it did nothing for her appearance. She could have made more of her looks but she’d stopped bothering since she’d promised Pa it was over with Eddie Fisher.
‘You spend half your time with your head in a book anyway.’
Emily felt her mother’s criticism unjust but didn’t deny it. She enjoyed reading, especially since Christopher had found her some novels by Emily and Charlotte Brontë, and was at the moment halfway through Wuthering Heights with the promise of Jane Eyre to come. Despite her love of reading she never neglected her chores and her mother’s accusations made her smart with indignation.
Just as she wa
s about to answer back, her father came in. He looked tired, his face pale and drained. Emily’s heart caught and she realised that her mother was right. If she was earning money, Pa might be able to afford to take on a labourer so that he could take the time he needed to get well.
‘I shall want you in the morning,’ he said to Emily. ‘Be up early and don’t slip off anywhere.’
‘Of course I shan’t,’ she said. ‘I think I heard Harry Standen’s car. He might take me for a little drive somewhere. Is that all right?’
‘Just behave yourself,’ Ma said. ‘I don’t want you getting into trouble and bringing shame on us.’
‘Em wouldn’t do that,’ Pa said. ‘Besides, Harry is a decent bloke.’
Emily darted at him and kissed his cheek, whispering in his ear that she would be good. He grinned and gave her a little push. She went outside to Harry’s little car. He was just getting out to come and call for her and smiled as he saw she’d saved him the trouble.
‘I thought we might drive down by the river and have a drink at a hotel there.’
It was like Harry to think of something special. He was kind and considerate and she went to put her arms around him and give him a hug. Harry hugged her in return, and then kissed her cheek.
‘You’re a nice girl, Emily,’ he said. ‘I’ve got something to tell you later …’
Emily felt her stomach spasm. He wasn’t going to ask her to marry him – was he? She looked up at his face and thought his expression was a bit strange, almost guilty, but then he was smiling and she thought she’d imagined it.
Half an hour later, sitting in the quiet lounge of the small riverside hotel, Harry told her what was on his mind. He’d bought her orange juice and a beer for himself. He fidgeted with his glass for a moment before clearing his throat.
‘I hope you won’t hate me, Emily …’
‘Why should I hate you?’
Harry cleared his throat again. ‘I really like you, you know I do – but … there’s this girl called Christine. We used to go out and then she broke it off just before the dance last Christmas. I was a bit cut up over it that night and you were such a pretty, decent girl. I liked you and I asked you out but … two months ago I met Christine again at a young farmers’ meeting and well … she told me she still loved me.’ He took a deep drink of his beer. ‘We … we started kissing and one thing led to another. I did things I shouldn’t have done. Afterwards, I told her I was seeing you and I needed time to think … but she came to see me this morning. She’s having my baby, Emily. I have to marry her. I don’t have a choice.’
Emily was stunned. She didn’t know whether she was more shocked because he’d got a girl into trouble or that he’d carried on seeing her, Emily, knowing what he’d done. Harry was right about one thing. He didn’t have a choice. Her family would demand that he marry the girl and it was only right that he should.
‘No, you don’t,’ she said, feeling let down and disappointed. The idea of becoming the wife of a successful farmer had taken root in her mind and she had thought it would be nice. She liked Harry, enjoyed his kisses and being taken out in his car, but she wouldn’t marry him now even if he asked. Not after what he’d done.
‘I’m sorry, Emily. I didn’t know any other way to tell you.’
Emily took a sip of her orange juice. At least he had told her. He’d brought her here and let her down as easily as he could, but it didn’t alter what he’d done. She wasn’t sure how she felt. It was a blow to her pride, but had he broken her heart? Emily didn’t think so, though she knew Ma would go on about it when she told her – and Pa would feel Harry had let her down.
‘Well, maybe it’s for the best. I’m probably going into service so I shouldn’t have much free time to see you.’
Harry looked relieved. Perhaps he’d expected her to make a fuss or get angry, but she couldn’t be bothered. She’d enjoyed his company and she felt let down, but she wasn’t going to break her heart over him. After all, she’d been seeing Christopher sometimes, as a friend – but Harry had seemed serious for a while. Finishing her drink, she stood up.
‘Let’s go. I wouldn’t want your fiancée to think you were cheating on her with me.’
Harry looked red in the face but didn’t speak. He hadn’t finished his beer but he left his glass and followed Emily outside. Neither of them spoke on the way home.
Harry pulled the car to a halt outside her house. He got out and opened the door for her, looking at her in such a miserable way that her anger evaporated.
‘It’s all right, I shan’t die of a broken heart,’ she said, kissed his cheek and ran into the house.
‘So Harry Standen’s marrying someone else,’ Ma said when Emily got back from helping her pa the next morning. ‘You might have told me, Emily. I warned you what might happen if you went out with that Christopher as well as him.’
‘It wasn’t important.’
‘Harry Standen was a catch, my girl, and don’t forget it. He would have given you a good home and a secure future – do you want to end up like me?’
Emily turned away without answering. Ma wouldn’t understand that though she’d liked Harry she didn’t mind that he was going to marry his former girlfriend. Nor would Ma understand that she felt comfortable with Christopher, because she wasn’t ready to marry anyone just yet.
‘I’m going out to see if there are any eggs,’ she said and took her coat down from the peg behind the door.
Having shrugged on her coat and boots, she picked up a large rush basket and went out into the yard. The weather had turned really hot of late. Emily thought that might be the reason the hens were not laying as much as usual. She checked the hen houses but found nothing, then walked into the paddock and started to make her way round the large field, bending down to look under the hedges. She found three eggs but was about to give up when she saw a patch of violets and knelt down to pick them with a cry of pleasure. They were always such a joy at this time of year and she picked some, holding them to her nose, to inhale the fresh perfume. They made her smile, because little things like this made her feel good to be alive.
‘A penny for them,’ the voice she least wished to hear was so close behind her that she jumped. ‘Dreaming of your lover I suppose?’
Emily looked at her uncle as she rose to her feet. Something in his face made her shiver, her blood running suddenly cold. She glanced round, realising that they were out of sight of the house behind the high hedge. Her mouth felt dry and her stomach tightened with nerves. Why was he looking at her like that? His expression was so strange, so menacing that it frightened her.
‘I don’t have a lover,’ she said icily. ‘I was just enjoying the violets and the mild weather.’
‘Don’t lie to me, Emily. You bitches are all alike. I know you’re giving it to Standen. You little whore.’
‘Don’t you dare say such things to me,’ she said, anger making her forget caution. ‘I don’t have to listen to your filthy talk.’
‘You’ll do as I tell you,’ he muttered and moved to block her path as she tried to pass him. ‘Always pretending to be so high and mighty. I saw you with him …’ He grabbed her as she would have walked off, swinging her round to face him. ‘Don’t you dare ignore me. It’s time you were taught a lesson, Emily Carter.’
‘Let go of me. You filthy brute!’
She hit out at him but he caught her wrists, thrusting her back against the hedge and clawing at her skirt. The branches caught in her hair and scratched her cheek but she hardly noticed them. Fear was curling inside her as she felt his warm breath on her face. Guessing what he meant to do, as he released one of her wrists to fumble at his breeches, she screamed for all she was worth and, in desperation, kneed him in the privates. Derek gave a yell of pain and let go of her. Emily made a run for it across the field but Derek was faster. He caught her and brought her down with a flying tackle so that she landed beneath him on the ground. She landed with her face against a protruding stone, feeling a sting
of pain as it grazed her cheek. Panic made her scream again and again. She fought him, wriggling, bucking and fighting to throw him off, her nails going for his face as he pawed at her skirt. She managed to claw his cheek deeply before he grabbed her wrist. Then he hit her and swore, before trying to kiss her, to force open her mouth to allow his tongue inside as his hand went beneath her skirt to feel for the tender place between her legs. She bucked and fought as hard as she could, screaming out once more, even though he hit her across the face again and warned her to be quiet.
‘Scream again and I’ll break your neck,’ he muttered.
Emily’s reply was to turn her head and bite his exposed wrist. He yelled and hit her harder. Her senses reeling, she knew there was little more she could do to defend herself when she heard a roar of rage and the next minute Derek had been hauled off her. She struggled to open her eyes and see what was going on. Realising hazily that her father had come to her aid, she was more anxious than relieved. Pa was breathing heavily, shouting at Derek, calling him a dirty bastard as they struggled.
‘I always knew you weren’t to be trusted,’ Pa muttered as he swung out with his stick. ‘Come near my girl again and I’ll kill you.’
As Emily struggled to her feet, one hand to her head because she still felt dizzy, she saw Derek punch her father in the stomach and then land another in the same place. Until then Pa had been giving a good account of himself but now he buckled and she saw blood trickle from the side of his mouth. He doubled over, the thick cudgel he’d been using falling from his hand. Seeing that Derek was about to kick her father, she swooped on the stick and raised her arm, bringing the stick down against the side of Derek’s head with all the strength she had left. He swore and reeled. Her blow had brought blood to the surface. He touched it with his fingers and his top lip curled in a snarl of rage.
‘I’ll finish that lesson …’ he began but then a shout from the gateway made him pause and, seeing the man charging across the field towards them, he suddenly took off in the opposite direction, a threat on his lips. ‘I’ll get you another time, Emily. Just wait and see …’