by Diane Allen
‘Perhaps next time you need to get a fitter man to do the job, sir, or at least someone with two good legs,’ Lucy stated as she looked drily at him.
‘Perhaps you are right, Lucy. I should know my limitations.’ Adam smiled at his straight-talking maid, without whom he’d have still been up on the roof. ‘But I’m a stubborn devil and I don’t like to admit defeat.’
‘No, neither do I, sir, but there are some things I’m not daft enough to do, especially when I could kill myself doing them. Now I’ll put the kettle on and go and put my bread in the oven; it should have risen well by now.’
Adam sat at the table and looked across at Lucy. ‘You seem to have made yourself at home here already.’
‘Well, I know that you are in need of looking after – it’s as plain as the nose on my face. It’s like my mother says: it’s a woman’s touch that makes a home, and menfolk are no good at making things pretty about the house.’ Lucy grinned as she watched Adam sip his tea, while he glanced at the Welsh dresser with its array of blue-and-white china proudly displayed upon it. ‘I’ll make the list that you need for when you go into Keighley, after the bread has come out of the oven. You’ve no polish left and there are not many candles, not to mention flour, eggs and the like. What you have already won’t last very long, so I hope that you are not short of brass.’
‘No, I think I can manage to pay for what we need. Stocking the house’s cupboards is the least of my worries. Next week I’ll have to start and look for some stock for the land, but first I’ll have to get some better pain relief for this leg of mine. It’s letting me down, and I can’t be having that, when I need to inspect the boundary walls and perhaps mend and repair them.’ Adam sighed. He was beginning to think his idea of living back in his old home had been a foolish fantasy and that he was going to struggle with his new lifestyle.
‘You need somebody to help you. Archie Robinson, the lad who brought your limewash, is a good hand at anything. He only works three days a week for my father, and the rest of the time he does odd jobs for people. He looks after his mother, bless him; he lost his father after an accident at the quarry, so his mother depends on him.’ Lucy stood back against the window and looked at her master.
‘I can guess your plan, Lucy. I noticed that you were sweet on him when he introduced you to me. I don’t think your father would be that pleased if I took him on as well as you; and besides, you’d be too busy flirting to get anything done for me.’ Adam grinned and looked at Lucy’s cheeks flush.
‘It’s not like that, sir. I just feel sorry for him. Archie never has any time for himself and he works so hard to keep a roof over his own and his mother’s head. He used to have dreams, like me, when he was young, but with being the only bread-earner at home, he’s worn down. He deserves a bit of luck and he hates working at the flay-pits. I’ve known him since we were little, so I do tend to wind him up a bit with my cheek, but I never think of him in that way. It’s like you say: my father would kill me if I had to marry him. My father has set his head on somebody far more important for me, although I’ll marry who I want and he’ll not stop me, if I have my way.’ Lucy hung her head and then walked to the oven to check on her bread.
‘And who does your father think suitable for you then, Lucy? It sounds as if he has somebody in mind.’ Adam looked at the flushed young woman, who had ideas of her own when it came to the man she was going to love.
‘He thinks I should be fluttering my eyelids at Alex Braithwaite from the quarry, but I’m not having any of it. Or one of the Buck lads, but neither are for me really. I might flirt with them, but I haven’t come across the right man yet. Besides, Alex Braithwaite is never out of The Fleece of an evening. It’s no good marrying a drinker – my mother told me that and she should know, because my father likes a gill or two and often comes home from The Fleece the worse for wear. It’s his usual night for having a gill tonight, and I bet he’ll come home in a right stinker this evening, especially if my mam has told him her news. Me and the young ones will keep out of his way and hide under the bedclothes, if he starts ranting. He’ll not have taken the news well, and I only hope my mam will be alright.
‘He’s got a bit of a temper sometimes, although he never raises his hand in anger; just gobs off and frightens everybody with his language. But it’s as my mam says: at least she’s not like Rebecca Town that lived down in Keighley – she had thirty children before she died at the age of forty-four. Thirty children, and all of them died before they reached five! The poor woman must have died of a broken heart.’ Lucy was thankful she couldn’t see the response on Adam’s face, as she bent down to take the second loaf from the oven. Her father’s temper wasn’t something she’d told everyone about, but her new employer seemed a kind man and had shown a tender side to him, in the two days she’d worked for him.
‘Now I’d never have thought that of your father. He seemed a reasonable man. I’ve not heard of this Rebecca Town, but it does not surprise me, in the depravity of Keighley town. It is somewhere I’m not very fond of.’ Adam looked concerned at his young maid; it would seem that Bill Bancroft was not what he appeared, and that Lucy had seen fit to talk to him about her father’s temper, out of worry.
‘My father’s just got a lot on his mind, what with the tannery and all of us to feed. It’s only when he’s had a gill that he lets rip. We all know to keep out of his way then. You’ll not say to anyone that I’ve told you, will you? He doesn’t like us to gossip – he’d bray me to within an inch of my life.’ Lucy shot a look at Adam and wished she hadn’t said anything.
‘No, I’ll not say anything, Lucy. But if he gets too violent, you come here with your sister and brothers. I’ll not have any of you hurt by a man in drink. Even though it’s none of my business.’ Adam looked across at the blushing young woman and decided to leave it at that, saving her any further blushes. ‘I’ll go and have a walk around the higher pastures, inspect the walls and see what needs to be done. Can you put me a slice or two of that newly baked bread with a chunk of cheese? That will do me for my dinner, and then I’ll return before dusk, for you to go home.’ Adam watched as Lucy hurriedly cut into the new loaf and bundled a good slice of Wensleydale cheese into a napkin for him to carry.
‘Don’t be going too far – think of your leg,’ Lucy said, as Adam took the napkin in his hand and put his cap on. ‘I’ll be making a stew of some sorts, with what we’ve got, for your return; and I’ll tidy that spare bedroom, not that you have a lot of furniture in it.’ Lucy wanted to make sure her new master realized that she wouldn’t be idle while he was out and about.
‘Aye, that’s grand. And don’t worry – I’ll take it easy. It’s been a long time since I’ve walked up the moors around here. I used to love the view. I’ve had many a tanned backside for being late home, and my parents wondering where I’d been, when I was just a lad.’ Adam smiled as Lucy shook her head.
‘It’s fellas: they never grow up. My mam says that, God knows how many times a day, and she’s right.’ Lucy watched as her master closed the door behind him, leaving her to worry about what was going on back at home, and whether her mother had plucked up the courage to tell her father about the baby, which was not wanted. Thank God she was out of the way for a while, because there would be hell to pay, for sure.
Adam walked slowly but surely around his acres of land, which he would have covered in an hour or less when he was in his prime, but now the rough moorland and his injured leg made walking that little bit harder, and he rested on one of the limestone walls that were in need of attention. He leaned back and closed his eyes and smelled the rich, clear moorland air, and listened to a skylark singing above his head. It was a million miles away from the roaring cannons of the battlefields of the Crimea, and his experience there made him appreciate every second of the wild moor’s silence.
He opened his eyes and smiled as he watched the moorland grass blowing in the wind. In another few months it would be covered with cotton-grass flowers, like litt
le puffs of white cloud upon the dark peaty bogs. It seemed but yesterday that he had walked these pastures with his father and built and mended the rough limestone walls, complaining that his hands and back hurt, when his father said he was slacking. His father had been right. There was more hurt to be had in life than sore hands and an aching back, but it was too late to tell him, now that he understood. Adam breathed in deeply and followed the contour of the wall, watching it dip down into the next valley, where the village of Haworth tucked itself into the hillside. The cobbled streets were busy with small shops and people going about their business. He’d go and spend a day there shortly, perhaps call in on the vicar at the parsonage, and see the heartbroken old Reverend who lived there. He’d been a rock for Adam after the death of Mary, even after suffering heartbreaking losses in his own family.
Adam took a last look around him and decided to head home, to see what transformations Lucy had made to the old homestead in his absence. So far her employment with him was working well, and he realized that his initial opinion of an empty-headed flirt of a girl had been wrong. Lucy was a good worker and would be an asset to him in the future.
He stood up and made his way back down over the moorland to home, just as the sun was starting to dip in the sky. As he walked down back into the Worth valley he looked down upon Keighley and the industries that meandered along the valley bottom. The Industrial Revolution had arrived in his valley, and wool and cotton factories and ironworks were rising up everywhere. He was glad that he was out living in the wilds, and not part of the mad lifestyle in the valley bottom. He might not be the richest of people, but at least he was his own master.
‘Eeh, Master Brooksbank, what have you walked so far for? You look so weary.’ Lucy gave him a portion of potato-hash, fresh from a pot that had been simmering over the fire since the time he had left. ‘There’s no meat in there, but it’ll warm you through and I’ve added some sage that I found in the overgrown garden. Give me another month and I’ll have that garden full to the brim with vegetables and herbs. I’ve added to the shopping list some packets of seeds that I need, if you can remember them. It’s exactly the right time of year to be turning the ground and planting things.’
‘I’m after buying a horse first, Lucy. Do they still have the horse market in the centre of town? Or has that gone now, like everything else? A horse will save the trudge back and forth into Keighley and I can ride it around my land. It would save my legs.’
‘You’ve missed the main horse sale of the year; it’s usually held on Scott Street or Russell Street. You need to go and see Tom Gaine on Fell Lane – he breeds sturdy little fell ponies that will not think twice of carrying you, or anything else, across their backs. Everyone goes to him, he’s a right good horseman. My father swears by him, and so do a lot of folk around here, so he must be a good fella.’ Lucy looked at Adam as he ate his hash, and thought how good it smelled.
‘Have you had any of this?’ Adam looked up from his supper and noticed how hungry Lucy looked.
‘No, sir, I made it for you.’
‘Well, there’s enough for two, so pull up a chair and get yourself a plate and join me. I’m not sending you back home with an empty belly. You can join me each evening at supper, if you wish. I’d be glad of the company, and I’m not one for standing on ceremony and keeping my maid at arm’s length. We are all God’s children, after all.’
‘Are you sure, sir? I shouldn’t sit at the same table as you, it isn’t right. My mother said I’d to mind my manners and not be impudent.’ Lucy looked at Adam with concern.
‘Go on, help yourself, and then I’ll walk you part of the way home. The sun’s setting fast, and I wouldn’t want you to be accosted by any rogues out there.’ Adam watched as she placed a helping of the hash on a plate and sat down at the other side of the table from him, eating it so quickly that he couldn’t help but think it had been the only thing she must have eaten all day. ‘You eat when I eat, while you are here. I never thought of saying that, when I took my bread and cheese with me this morning. I’ll not pay you any less for your meals, so don’t be afeared of that. You can’t do a day’s work on an empty belly.’ Adam smiled and looked across at his maid.
‘Thank you, sir. I’ll not eat you out of house and home. There’s no need to walk me home, as your leg’s bothering you.’ Lucy stood up and cleared the plates, washing them quickly in the stone sink in the back kitchen, before returning with her cloak tied around her.
‘I’ll walk you home so far, and then I’ll watch you the rest of the way. I must admit it’s been a long day and my leg feels the worse for it. I’m going to have to realize that I’m not the man I used to be.’ Adam rose from his chair and opened the door for them both to walk out into the darkening night. They walked in silence down the dark track to the crossroads, from where Lucy’s home could clearly be seen.
‘The stars are out tonight, sir, and there’s a full moon just beginning to rise. Leave me here – look, my home’s in sight now. Watch me run down the hill to home and then go back yourself. There’s really no need to walk me back home every night; it’s only a five-minute walk.’ Lucy realized that Adam’s limp was getting worse with every step, and she didn’t want him hurting himself further.
‘Go on then, it’ll save me climbing back up the hill from your home, but I should have walked you a little further.’ Adam was thankful for her suggestion, and looked down the hill towards the row of workers’ cottages, which were easily seen in the silver of the moonlight. He watched as Lucy, with cloak and skirts billowing, ran down the hill and disappeared into her home. He turned and walked steadily back, leaning heavily on his walking stick, thankful when the lights of his home came into sight. It had been a long day, but one that he had enjoyed, and he was pleased with his choice of maid. He had but one more job to do before retiring to his bed, and that was to write a few words to Ivy Thwaite and tell her that he was home at last, and perhaps she would care to visit him. It would be good to see a friendly face, Adam mused, as he put pen to paper before calling it a night. In his letter he told Ivy of his move and his new employee, and that he had missed his old friend’s correspondence.
Sitting on the edge of his bed, Adam sighed. In the dim light of the oil lamp by his bedside, he swallowed the mixture known as Kendal Black Drop and waited for the warmth of the opium, mixed with spices and vinegar, to overcome him. As he looked at the empty bottle that usually contained his preferred pain relief of laudanum, regret for his weakness at his pain filled him. He should have made sure that he had enough laudanum; instead the bottle had been empty since his arrival at Black Moss. Tomorrow he’d visit the chemist in Keighley, as he couldn’t manage without the laudanum any longer.
5
‘You’ve had a long day. Does he expect you to work these hours every day? If he does, I hope he’s willing to pay you for what you are worth, because I’m missing your help around here.’ Dorothy Bancroft lifted her head and scowled at her fresh-faced daughter as she burst into the three-bedroom cottage they considered home. ‘Our Bert is teething; Susie is wailing about, because she’s lost her doll; and I’m up to my arms in washing and ironing. It’s alright your father sending you out to work, but who’s going to help me with all our bairns?’
‘I’m back now. I’ll find Susie’s doll – she usually drops it under our bed when she’s half-asleep and forgets about it. I’ll look for it now.’ Lucy looked around her. Although they weren’t that poor, you’d never have guessed it, by the state of the house. Unlike Adam Brooksbank, her parents took no pride in their home, as they were too busy working and bringing up all their offspring.
Lucy untied her cloak and hung it behind the kitchen door and picked up the teething Bert under her arm, as she climbed the wooden stairs to the bedroom she shared with her sister. She placed Bert on the bed as he bawled yet again, his cheeks flushed with pain and his snotty nose mixing with his tears. ‘Just be quiet, our Bert – here, chew on this.’ Lucy passed the blond-haired, blue
-eyed baby a dolly peg that she always carried in her pocket for him to chew on, and to ease the pain in his gums, as she lay down flat on her stomach on the bare floorboards of the bedroom and fished from under the bed a handmade rag doll that had been handed down by several members of the Bancroft family. ‘I knew where it would be. Susie should be old enough to look for it herself, instead of having tantrums and moaning about it,’ Lucy said as she looked at her young brother. He was now sobbing and fretting while holding his hands out to be hugged by his older sister, discarding the dolly peg and wanting some closer attention from his substitute mother. ‘Black Moss Farm is like heaven compared to this,’ Lucy whispered as she picked him up and wiped his snotty face on the edge of her apron. ‘Now, let’s take Susie her dolly and put something on your swollen gums, and see who else needs my attention.’
‘Oh, you’ve found it – thank God for that! And just look at Bert. I couldn’t make him do, and now he’s as quiet as a mouse in your arms. Nathan! Stop that this minute, else you can go and sleep in the coal house tonight, out of my sight. Lord knows, you’ll probably be safer out there anyway, the state your father will probably come back in this evening.’ Dorothy clipped her eldest son around the ear as he boxed and fought with his younger brother, making him cry. ‘You are all enough to send me to an early grave, I’ll be glad when the summer months are here and I can turn you all out of the house until bedtime and save you from being under my feet. What your father thought he was doing, sending you out to work, our Lucy, when I’ve all these on my hands, I don’t know. If he stopped his visits to The Fleece, we wouldn’t need the extra money.’