‘You want a percentage of my livestock profits?’
‘Yes but I don’t want cash. I want a share of your brokerage business.’
‘You mean you want a partnership?’
‘More like an investor. That way you can put all you make into the new venture and it’ll be on a sound footing from the off.’
Abel saw the sense of this. He wouldn’t be beholden to any bank either if he had a partner. But he was wary. ‘That’s very generous, sir. You risk losing your investment if I am not successful.’
‘There is a condition. Once you’re set up, I’d like you to take on my youngest boy. He’s got an eye for livestock and that’s all he interested in.’
‘He’s his father’s son, is that one,’ Abel commented.
‘Aye. Do we have a deal?’
‘Very well,’ Abel agreed. He held out his hand and said, ‘We have a new partnership for the New Year.’
They shook hands on it and Mr Stacey asked, ‘Where are you keeping your flock now?’
Abel told him where he had leased another field. ‘I have lodgings in the farmhouse.’
Mr Stacey seemed satisfied. ‘You can have my youngest to help at lambing time for nowt.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘You’ll be doing me a favour. He’s restless with his book learning.’
Abel finished his brandy-laced tea and stood up. ‘I’ll get back to my flock then.’
‘There’s just one more thing. You didn’t say why you left High Fell and I’ve heard rumours about you and Edgar Collins’s young wife. Was the bastard child yours?’
It hurt. Abel tried to hide it and his brow furrowed only slightly. It wasn’t the gossip. He was five and twenty and tough enough to ignore the scandalmongers. It was – it was that he truly wished Beth’s daughter had been his. He answered, ‘You know me better than to believe that.’
‘Aye, I do. That’s all I wanted to hear. I’ll put my good lady straight and we’ll say no more about it.’
‘Thank you, sir. I’ll get partnership papers drawn up right away.’
As he went outside, Abel thought that it was just as well he was moving away from the Dales for he must put Beth Collins right out of his mind. But he grieved for her in the knowledge that she had lost any hope of a happy marriage through prejudice and malice. He wondered what would happen to her daughter and almost wished he had followed his desires during those nights on the fell. She had felt the passion too, he was sure. He would have had a claim on the child. At least Beth was accepted as mother to Edgar’s heir and that was a kind of compensation for her. She would need something to help her through a future as Edgar Collins’s wife.
After the Spring lambing Abel considered riding up to High Fell to find out how Beth was. He was a stockman. He had good reason to be out on the fell but he knew how contrived it would look if he was seen by any of the local folk. He guessed as soon as her son was older and Beth’s scandal was overtaken by someone else’s, she would come down to Settle in the trap for market day. But by then he would be long gone to his new life in the South Riding.
Even if Beth removed to Redfern Abbey when Edgar inherited, their paths were not likely to cross. Beth’s future was as Lady Redfern, however much she was disgraced now, and his – his? He did not know what the future held for him, only that he regretted not being able to share it with the woman he had grown to love.
As he thought of her he felt a stirring in his loins and it was not the first time this had occurred when she was in his mind. No woman had affected him like this before. Good God, the fact that he was thinking of her in this way shocked him. She was another man’s wife, a lady destined for greater things than being a simple country wife. He must put Beth Collins out of his head and ensure he kept a great distance between them.
Perhaps Mr Stacey was right. It was time he took a wife. He had seen what he wanted in Beth Collins, a pretty woman to be sure, but straightforward, practical, one who was strong in spirit, a wife who would be his friend as well as his lover. But first he must be well set up and solvent, for children would follow. A goodly number of them, he hoped.
Eight years later
‘This is a respectable house, sir. I do not tolerate lewd or drunken behaviour. Payment is due on Saturday night for the following week. Your washing is extra but my charges include mending and pressing. My late husband was a clerk to the law court and you will find that my standards are high.’
Mrs Carter, Abel’s prospective landlady, sat primly on a low chair in her front parlour. Her back was ramrod straight, her gown was fashioned from plain fabric but was prettily adorned with ribbon. She wore a lace cap over her fair hair.
‘You are a widow, ma’am?’
‘These three years, sir.’ She looked sad for a moment then her features returned to seriousness. ‘I have a brother living but a few doors away. He works for the town constable.’
‘I see.’ Abel glanced around the neat, well-furnished chamber with polished wooden floorboards and heavy drapes at the window. It was a house similar to Mr Stacey’s home in Settle and one that Abel aspired to for himself and – and – he put a stop to his wandering thoughts. It was too early to think about a future family. ‘Are your children at their labours?’ he asked.
‘My children are full grown and wed, sir. You will find my house is quiet and very suited to a professional gentleman.’
She must be older than she looks, he thought. But clearly a woman who had taken care of herself and had never had to milk a goat on a frosty morning. He guessed she had a housemaid to light her kitchen range at first light.
‘May I enquire the nature of your profession, sir?’ she prompted.
‘Livestock, ma’am,’ he replied. ‘I am a livestock dealer from the Dales and looking for premises near the market place.’
‘Oh, you are in trade.’ She looked disappointed.
‘It is a very necessary trade if I may say so, ma’am. We all have to eat. Perhaps I should explain that my vocation is more that of a broker or agent. I shall need offices not sheep pens.’
This information seemed to impress her. ‘You are from the Dales, you say?’
‘Indeed I am. Your home is very comfortable, ma’am. I should like to take the large chamber at the front.’
Her eyes lit up briefly. They were a fine clear blue and now that he looked more closely, he noticed that some of the fair hair curling from under her lace cap was more white than yellow. Nonetheless, she rose to her feet in one smooth movement and went to open a small bureau where she completed the formalities. ‘Very well, sir. When will your luggage arrive?’
Abel had left his travelling bag outside the front door, but he believed in honesty and responded with all the charm he could muster. ‘I have it with me, ma’am, but I should be most obliged if you would direct me to the best gentleman’s outfitters in town.’
It worked and she summoned her maid to bring in his few possessions and take them upstairs. His lodgings were near enough to town to avoid the expense of a horse. He had gold in his pocket from his stock dealings but he was a newcomer to this town and he needed central premises and new clothes to impress existing traders. He had had a good start as Mr Stacey had given him letters of introduction to established businesses. His new life was taking shape and he walked towards the market place with a spring in his step.
Abel was successful in his new life. He quickly found premises near the beast market of this thriving industrial town. Mr Stacey was an enthusiastic partner and had plans for their office in Skipton as soon as Abel had installed a clerk to run things in the South Riding. They corresponded regularly, but for the present Abel had no reason to return to the Dales and he did not. Mrs Stacey urged her comfortably off husband to take her to the cities of Leeds and Sheffield where the shops and stores occupied her and her daughters and gave the gentlemen time for their business meetings.
But Abel did not forget the ill will that Edgar Collins had wished on him at High Fell Farm and w
ith his accumulating wealth purchased the mortgages Mrs Collins had taken out with the Dales bank. The bank wished to offload them as the return of the capital borrowed was long overdue and her son was borrowing more on the strength of his future inheritance to pay the interest.
At first it was revenge on the Collinses but later when Abel discovered quite by chance from Mrs Stacey that Beth had remained at High Fell and not removed to Redfern Abbey, he did it for her. Of course he could never admit that to anyone, and there were times when he even denied it to himself. She was a married woman and had to be part of his past whether he wished it or not. The widow who was his landlady, he reflected, might be part of his future for she possessed many good qualities of the kind that would serve him well as a wife.
He realised that he was starved of female attention. His daytime dealings were with men, his club dinners were men only and he kept long office hours to foster trade connections. He was not established as a man of means, nor was he well-versed in social conversation. Invitations to meet the wives and daughters of his business colleagues were not forthcoming.
He lacked social intercourse. He lacked the other kind of intercourse as well. He was three and thirty and he felt the frustrations of this enforced celibacy. He was aware that this state of affairs was not good for him, though he had not, so far, been tempted by the whorehouse despite the encouragement of some of his more unsavoury associates. Marriage, he reflected, was the only solution for him.
Abel considered his landlady, who went out of her way to please him and he was aware of her growing affection for him. She was older than he and wise, a quality that attracted him. But he did not love her and wondered if he ever could. He knew the answer for he could never love another woman with the desperate longing that he loved Beth. His face crumpled at her memory and he covered his eyes with his hands.
It did not matter where he went or what he did, Beth was always there to haunt him, to provide a comparison for any woman he met. He could not have her but in the short time he had known her his feelings for her had been strong. He longed to know such love again. But would he ever find another woman to match Beth? Was he to be forever in this purgatory?
If his love for Beth could not be equalled with another he must reconcile himself to less. There was regard, respect and admiration. Surely a man who felt these for his wife would be happy? He must find a dear sweet girl who would be a good wife to him and mother to his children. In return he would make sure he was a devoted husband and father.
But not a lover, for even as he thought of it he knew he would not deceive a woman so. His vows before God would be a sham and this conclusion caused him anguish as he reconciled himself to continuing his life of celibacy and hard work. It was time to move on and he did not wish to dwell on his decision.
‘I have decided to give up my chamber here,’ he said.
‘Oh no, please don’t leave.’ The widow sounded genuinely upset.
‘I have arranged to view a horse today and I shall look for new lodgings at the same time,’ he explained. ‘I shall, of course, pay you one month’s rent in lieu of notice.’
A clean break, he thought. He walked past her and up the stairs where he packed all of his belongings into his new travelling valise and carried it down to the front door. He left it in the porch and placed his key carefully on the hall table. She lingered, watching him with reddened eyes. He was not unmoved by her tears but if he stayed her affections for him might grow and, as he was unable to return them, it would be unfair on her. ‘I’ll send a man for my belongings,’ he said.
She nodded wordlessly.
As he walked into town he felt a huge sense of relief at his decision, as though a burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He booked in at the Crown where the landlord knew better than to enquire into his changed circumstances. Later, he bought the horse he’d viewed and arranged livery, then ate dinner at the Red Lion where the cooks were better than those at the Crown. By morning he had decided to upgrade his assistant to manager and spend a few months at his office in Barnsley. But a letter later in the week caused another change of plan.
His partner Mr Stacey took ill and died with a few weeks, leaving only his son in charge of their Skipton office. The Dales trade was busy and Abel removed himself to Skipton instead of Barnsley. Mr Stacey’s son was disappointed not to take over from his father but Abel judged he was not ready. So Abel set him up in a small office in Settle for him to learn more about his responsibilities and be nearer to his widowed mother at the same time. Abel stayed in Skipton, visiting Settle from time to time on market day. He had friends and colleagues all over that part of the Dales and renewing his old business acquaintances filled his time adequately. He often thought of High Fell but he did not go there.
Chapter 11
Two years later
‘Come on, girl, get yoursenn outta bed, there’s work to be done.’
Beth kept her eyes closed. Another day to get through, another day of hell on this godforsaken fell. What was the point? She may as well be dead. ‘Where’s my medicine? You’re supposed to give me my medicine.’
‘Not until you get yourself off your back, otherwise I’d get no work from you ever.’
Beth couldn’t get through her day without the medicine. ‘Witch,’ she seethed.
‘Whore.’
‘Chance would be a fine thing,’ she snapped. No one visited except the quarterly supply cart that brought their flour, oil, candles and other essentials including her medicine.
‘If you don’t curb that temper of yours you’ll get none of your poppy juice until tonight.’ Mrs Roberts rattled the keys in her hand. She must keep them under her pillow at night, Beth thought. She had searched everywhere else for them.
Beth was immediately contrite. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Roberts.’
‘That’s better.’
‘When can I have it?’
‘I’ll think about it when you’ve milked the nanny.’
‘Evil witch,’ Beth said under her breath as the older woman left her chamber. Mrs Roberts had become hard of hearing lately, which was a blessing for Beth, who hated her with a vengeance yet fawned on her pathetically for her medicine. She picked up a damp flannel from the washstand and wiped it over her face, peering into the long cheval glass that graced her chamber.
Her drawers, chemise and stockings were wrinkled and crumpled but it was her face that shocked her. Who was that woman, the one with wild knotted hair and sunken shadowy eyes in a ghostly face? Oh, her? She was the mad woman who lived on the fell; the woman whose children had been taken away because she was a whore. She was the woman whose husband had left her; the woman no one wanted.
The hurt would not go away. It travelled through her, all over her body, inflaming every nerve ending. Only her medicine soothed it, lifting her out of her torment and laying her gently on a cloud; calm, free of all hurt and placid. ‘I want my medicine,’ she yelled, and picked up a stray boot to throw at her image. The glass shuddered but did not break and she shivered. She mustn’t upset Mrs Roberts, not until she had her medicine. Everything would be all right then. As long as she did as she was told, Mrs Roberts would unlock the larder and take out the bottle. There were several bottles in there, all neatly labelled ‘Laudanum’ and lined up in the corner, enough to last until the next quarterly delivery.
She’d tried to get past her once and reach for the medicine herself but Mrs Roberts had her orders and had been angry. For an older woman she was surprisingly strong and she had pushed her to the floor and had made her wait a whole nerve-jangling frantic day before letting her have a single drop.
Beth struggled into her stained rank gown and boots, rammed a cap over her hair and staggered down the stairs. Mrs Roberts was tending the fire in the range. Beth knotted a wool shawl about her shoulders, took a clean pail from the scullery and went outside to the nanny. Her hands shook as she placed a milking stool in the stall. She forced a long suppressed growl out of her throat and the nanny shied as s
he shoved the pail under her teats. Spooked, the goat kicked away the pail and reared, tugging at her halter. The ring tethering her to the wall, already loose, fell out.
Beth grabbed the trailing rope and screamed, ‘You stupid, stupid animal!’ The frightened nanny butted her sending her off-balance and she stumbled against the wooden stall. Her feet tangled in the legs of the upturned stool. Desperately she retrieved the pail and pushed it over the goat’s head, scrambled for the stall door and escaped. She must have her medicine. She couldn’t do anything without her medicine. Why didn’t Mrs Roberts understand that? She must make her understand. She must.
Every nerve-ending screamed as she stumbled through the kitchen door. Mrs Roberts was stirring porridge over the fire. The table was laid with bowls and plates. A half loaf of bread stood on a board, the large kitchen knife beside it, ready to cut.
Beth picked up the knife, brandished it in the air and cried, ‘You give me my medicine now or I’ll kill you!’ She crossed the muddy flags and raised her arm high.
Mrs Roberts turned and saw her approaching. For a fleeting moment Beth glimpsed naked terror in her eyes as she backed away. The older woman’s hands fumbled in her pocket and dragged out her keys. She threw them on the floor. ‘Have it,’ she squealed. ‘Have all of it. It’ll kill you anyway.’
Beth saw the keys lying on the flagstones and let the knife fall from her fingers, clattering to the floor. The keys! They were her salvation. She bent quickly to retrieve them, feverishly sorting through for the one to the larder. Which one? Which one? She crossed the kitchen to the larder door, frantically trying each key in turn, forcing it into the lock, straining her fingers to turn it. At last, the door opened! There! There in the corner. Two bottles waiting for her, all for her. Her fingers shook as she removed the stopper from the nearest and tipped it to her lips. The bitterness made her shudder and she gagged, splashing the precious liquid on her skin. The empty bottle slipped from her grasp and smashed on the stone floor. She wiped her grubby fingers over her face, sucking off the bitter fluid. Slowly she sank to the cold hard granite. She heard the kitchen door slam shut. Everything was so much quieter now, so much calmer. Her nerves began to soothe and soon she would be floating on her cloud, her own private cloud …
The Lost And Found Girl Page 10