by Diane Allen
‘That’s physical pain, but your pain must be deeper, my friend.’ The chemist leaned over the counter and watched as his shop’s door slammed shut, leaving the doorbell above it ringing. So Adam Brooksbank was back and was still hurting; hurting so much that he had to find relief in laudanum.
Adam stood for a minute and pondered whether to go back into the apothecary’s shop and tell the chemist that the years he had been away from his home town had changed him; that now the drugs were definitely for his sword wound, and not to ease his heartache. But then he thought better of it, for the old man would think what he wanted, no matter what Adam said. Folk did that, hearing only what they wanted, most of the time. He should by now be used to gossip, and should ignore any that he heard or that was of his making. At least he had his laudanum now, and a few good nights of sleep, free of pain, would make all the difference.
He put his hand in his pocket and fished out Lucy’s list of storeroom ingredients; all the items she had requested were available from the shops along North Street. Adam decided to leave her list with Harrison’s, the main supplier of provisions on North Street, for them to get ready for his return, after seeing Tom Gaine with regards to his need for a horse. What Harrison’s couldn’t supply, he’d pick up elsewhere on his way home, and would strap it all to the horse’s back. He quickly walked the few yards to Harrison’s, giving them the list to put together, before making his way across to the other side of town towards Fell Lane, seeking directions from a woman who was peddling her goods at the crossroads that led out of Keighley up to the wild moorland.
Standing on the doorstep of Daisy Cottage, Adam looked around him. But for the row of cottages and an inn, appropriately called The Three Horses, this part of Keighley had not yet been touched by the ongoing Industrial Revolution. Instead it was surrounded by grassy scrubland and fields, where Tom Gaine’s love of horses was obvious to all, as numerous beasts stood and grazed in the surrounding fields.
‘Aye, what can I do for you?’ A small, wiry-built man answered his knock. His face was wrinkled and tanned and he had a look of a travelling Gypsy about him.
‘I’m told you are the man I need to see about a horse. I’m in need of a steady, strong mount that’ll carry my weight and is not too headstrong. I’m not bothered about the breed, just as long as it’s not an old nag that you sell me.’ Adam looked at the old man and waited.
‘I’m not into selling old nags – they go to the knacker’s yard. My horses are the fittest you’ll find; all broken in by my own hand, and I know all their temperaments. Now, is it for pleasure or work? And more to the point, have you the money to pay for it?’ Tom Gaine looked at the well-dressed fella and tried to work out who he had standing on his doorstep.
‘Aye, I’ve got brass, and I know horses, as my father always had at least one up home. Young Lucy Robinson, from the flay-pits at Denholme, told me you were the one to come to, if that makes a difference. She said you were the best horseman for miles around.’ Adam realized that to get anywhere with Tom he had to state his business, else he’d be getting nowhere fast.
‘She did, did she? She’s a fair lass, is that one. She’ll make a good catch for someone some day. Full of cheek, mind. So how do you ken her?’ Tom grinned.
‘I’ve taken her on as my maid at my farm at Black Moss, up above Denholme. She is a good lass, as you say.’ Adam looked at the old man as he closed his door behind him and made his way to the field gate next to his house.
‘You must be Len Brooksbank’s lad. I thought you’d been killed in the Crimea? Yet here you are, standing in front of me, as large as life. Your father was a good sort. You know you broke his heart, when you left him and turned your back on farming? Still, you are back now. We all get wiser with age and realize what we once had was worth holding onto.’ Tom looked Adam up and down, then led him into the small pasture with ponies and horses grazing contentedly within it. ‘You are limping, lad. Have you got something wrong with your leg?’
‘You knew my father! And yes, you are right, I’ve come to my senses and returned home. I might not have got killed in the Crimea, but I felt Russian steel through my leg. That, along with a need to get around my land, is why I need a horse.’ Adam looked around him at the various horses in the field and spotted a beautifully marked piebald horse, at least seventeen hands tall. ‘That’s a grand horse. How much is he, and how old is he?’
‘You want nowt with him, lad. He’s my prize stallion, but doesn’t he know it! He’s got that much temperament that there’s only me can handle him. But I’ll give you something – you’ve got a good eye for a horse. Now, this is the lass for you: she’s gentle-natured, built to carry any load you care to put on her, and is as sound as a pound. She’s happen not the bonniest, but she’ll serve you well and is just the right height if you have a dicky leg. She’s broken in, and as kind as you like, when you are on her back. Here, look at her teeth and feel her fetlocks – she’s a grand li’l horse.’ Tom ran his hand down a small, dark fell-pony’s neck and pulled on her mane to lead her to Adam. ‘She’s one of my favourites and she needs a good home – not carting goods back and forward on these turnpike roads, with a switch across her backside every five minutes.’
Adam looked at the dark-eyed fell-pony, which was no more than fourteen hands tall. She was a drab looker, but when he stared into her eyes and inspected her teeth and hooves, he knew that Tom was right. He needed nothing with the flash stallion that had a mind of its own. ‘How much do you want for her?’ He stood back and looked at her shape.
‘Fifteen guineas, and she’s worth every penny of that.’ Tom looked at Adam and held out his hand to shake.
‘Nay, I think fourteen’s enough, and I expect a saddle and harness thrown in, even at that.’ Adam stroked the little horse’s mane.
‘Fourteen and a half. And aye, I’ll be daft enough to throw in a saddle and harness. I sometimes wonder how folk thinks I make a living.’ Tom held his hand out once more and smiled.
‘Go on then, we’ve got a deal. She does look right for me and, as you say, she’s placid.’ Adam shook Tom’s hand, as he spat on it to seal the deal, and watched as he walked to the ramshackle hut in the corner of the field that held all the horse tackle, appearing with a saddle and harness.
‘You’ll not regret buying her. She’ll give you foals, if nothing else, if you don’t want to ride her,’ Tom shouted as he put on the reins and saddle.
‘Nay, I need her for my legs. I’ll not be keeping her in foal every year.’ Adam put his hand through the little horse’s mane and pulled on her reins, as Tom opened the field gate for them both to leave. Passing him the money from his top pocket, he watched as Tom quickly put it in his own.
‘What the missus doesn’t see, she won’t grieve about. I aim to keep a bob or two of this for myself – there’s nothing better than a gill or two at The Three Horses of a night.’ Tom smiled. ‘It’s better than drinking water, from what I can make out. The poor buggers at Haworth were dropping like flies because of the water there. It’s a good job the parson got involved a few years back, else they would still be drinking water that ran off the churchyard, and getting ill from the stinking midden-steads that were everywhere. He’s a good man is the parson; it’s a pity he lost all his family, with one thing and another. Those lasses, I believe, could write a right good tale – not like their brother, who must have been a disappointment to his father.’ Tom stood on his doorstep as Adam climbed the mounting block next to his door and bestrode the little black mare, who did not flinch an inch. ‘See, I told you she was golden.’
Adam sat back in the saddle, holding the reins tightly, and felt the horse beneath him. ‘I used to know all the family very well. The Reverend has had his fill of grief over the years. When I’ve time, I must go and see him.’
‘I hope you had nowt to do with that son of his. He was as wild as a mountain hare, always in bother with somebody or someone. Anyway, because of his father addressing Haworth’s problems, Keighley
Waterworks are sorting out the water down in Keighley itself. It’s been announced that reservoirs are to be built at Ponden, Watersheddles and Blackhill. You’ll not find me saying anything against them – we need ’em – but folk from them parts are moaning. The stench down in Keighley is enough to knock you over some days. God only knows what the water tastes like down there. I’ve my own spring, so I never drink anything when in town. You want to go and see Haworth; it’s cleaned up just grand, and there’s plenty of fresh water pumps now. Well, I’d better get back to my old lass, she’ll want to know what I’m about. Take care of my horse and if there’s anything else you want, let me know.’
Tom turned his back on Adam and his horse and went inside, leaving Adam pondering whether a visit to his old friend, the parson at Haworth, was in order. He used to knock regularly on the parsonage door when he was a peeler, to tell the Reverend that his errant son was in bother once more, and had always been graciously accepted.
Adam reached home as dusk was descending. Tom had been right about his four-legged purchase, and the sturdy animal had not quaked once at the uphill journey back to Black Moss, even though she carried the weight of Adam and all the supplies that he had bought while in Keighley. He was thankful to see the oil lamp lightening his window and a cloud of smoke rising from the chimney, as he dismounted from the pony for the last few yards up the wild, overgrown path to his home.
‘You are home, sir. I was beginning to worry that you were not going to make it before nightfall.’ Lucy greeted him at the porch doorway and helped him in with the supplies.
Although he had not been living there long, the house already felt like home, with the fire blazing and the smell of a good stew simmering in the pot, Adam thought, as he helped her with his goods.
‘My brother Nathan came by with a brace of rabbits, so I put them in the pot along with an onion and some tatties. So you’ve got a warm meal waiting for you, and I’ve not been idle – I’ve sorted and cleaned your bedroom. There’ll be no spiders tonight, sir.’ Lucy grinned as she carried the loaded hessian sacks into the kitchen. ‘You’ve got a horse, then?’ she asked on her return, eyeing the dark-haired creature that stood at the garden gate.
‘Aye, she’s a good ’un, just like Tom Gaine said. She’s not flinched once, and has done everything asked of her, so she deserves a night’s rest. I’ll unsaddle her and take her into the small paddock behind the house. At least she can’t go far in there, for the walls are sturdy enough. And then I’ll sit down and have my supper.’ Adam grabbed the reins of the small, sturdy pony and went to unsaddle her, hanging the saddle up in the ramshackle stone hut that his father and his grandfather before him had used for horse harnesses. He stood at the paddock gate and watched as the small mare trotted around her new home and then rolled in the middle of the field, flailing her legs in the air and snorting and whinnying, as if she knew that she had come to a good home and was going to make the best of it.
Adam smiled to himself as he walked back to the kitchen. He’d got himself a horse, his house was looking like a home and he couldn’t wish for any better maid than Lucy. For once in his life he was content, although he couldn’t help but worry how long it would last.
After a while he sat back and licked his lips. It had been a long time since he’d eaten rabbit stew that good. The sprigs of mountain thyme that Lucy had placed in the stew had made it more than simply palatable, and he thanked her as she took his plate away into the back kitchen to be washed. Suddenly there was a sharp knock on the door, and Lucy rushed back into the room to greet the visitor.
‘I hope you don’t mind, sir, but this will be Archie – Archie Robinson. I asked him to call this evening to talk to you about your need for someone to help you with your boundary walls and fences. I happened to see him as I left home this morn.’ Lucy blushed and wondered if she had been too forward in asking Archie, and if she should show such enthusiasm at answering the door.
‘Well, you’d better let him in then. It could have waited a while yet, but spring will soon be upon us and I’ll soon be needing to put the stock on the land, so you’ve done right.’ Adam sat back in his chair next to the fire and reached for his pipe, lighting it with a spill from the fire, as Lucy opened the door and bade Archie remove his cap and stand in front of him.
‘So, Lucy tells me she’s talked to you about my need for a drystone waller? Would you be interested, lad, and can you lay hedges as well as a drystone wall? My boundaries are a mixture of both in places, and none of them have been touched for a good few years now.’ Adam drew on his pipe as the young lad played nervously with his cap between his hands.
‘I can, sir. I’ve worked for various folk roundabouts. You can ask them what they think of my work – I don’t think they have any cause for complaint.’
‘Of course they don’t, Archie, you know they don’t. Stop doing yourself down,’ Lucy butted in.
Archie gave her a dismissive look, wishing that she’d mind her own business and leave it to him.
‘Well, I could do with someone perhaps two days a week. Lucy’s already told me that would fit in with your work at the flay-pits. I’d pay you reasonably and you’d get fed, but in return I expect you to graft and not complain. There are a few miles of boundary to be seen to, and it will take all summer.’ Adam looked at the expression on Archie’s face and knew that he was grateful to have been asked.
‘I’d work hard, sir, you’ll not regret taking me on. Besides, the sooner you get your boundary walls up, the better. You’ve not got the best neighbours, with the Baxters farming next to you. They let their stock stray and are not averse to stealing the odd sheep or two. My mother says they always will – it’s in their blood. “Bloody Border reavers,” she calls them. If you’ll beg my pardon, sir.’ Archie hung his head.
‘I’ve not come across them yet, lad. They must have come since I used to live here, because we all used to rely on one another when I was a lad, and there was none of that stealing. Now, when can you start, and what days are you to be mine?’ Adam looked at Archie and noticed Lucy listening in at the doorway of the back kitchen, where she was hiding away.
‘Will next week – Thursday and Friday – be soon enough for you?’ Archie looked hopeful.
‘Yes, that’ll do. We can manage that. I expect you here as soon as it’s sunrise, and the days will be long ones, until we get all done. And then we will see where we go from there.’ Adam saw the look of worry vanish from the young lad’s face.
‘I’ll work hard, you’ll not regret taking me on. I’ll not let you down. My mother will be so glad that I’ve got secure work for the summer. Thank you, sir.’ Archie glanced across at Lucy, who was smiling at the good news.
‘I tell you what: start your work with me tonight, and walk Lucy back down home – save these legs of mine. Lucy, leave those pots to wash and get yourself home with Archie, and then I know you are safe.’ Adam tried to keep his face straight as Lucy protested, from the depths of the kitchen, that she would rather be washing the pots than walking home with Archie.
‘Get yourselves gone. The dishes will still be there in the morning,’ Adam shouted.
‘Yes, sir; if you say so, sir.’ Lucy reached for her cloak and hat from behind the door and grinned at Archie.
‘I’ll see you in the morning, Lucy, and I’ll see you on Thursday, Archie.’ Adam rose from his chair and patted Archie on the back, as he opened the door for them both to leave into the darkness of the evening. He stood for a while and watched the couple for as long as he could, as they disappeared down the farm track, listening to the giggles of a flirting Lucy as she egged poor Archie on.
How he wished he was young Archie, with his life spread out in front of him to do as he wanted, and with Lucy his for the taking. She’d make him a good wife, if Archie did but know it. How come life was wasted on youth? Why hadn’t he made the most of his own youth? And why did he feel just a hint of jealousy creeping in as he watched the lively Lucy disappear into the darkness of
the night?
7
‘Don’t you be fluttering your eyelashes at that simpleton of an Archie Robinson – he’s worth nowt. Not a brain cell in his head, nor a penny in the bank. I need you to do better than that.’ Bill Bancroft spat out a mouthful of saliva and growled as he watched his eldest daughter going out of the family home, full of spirits, to her work at Black Moss Farm, knowing that Archie was to start work there.
‘Don’t worry, Father, I just like his company. I aim to marry someone who’s got money and can look after me, and will not have me scrubbing floors and washing dishes all my life.’ Lucy tied her straw bonnet on tightly and grinned.
‘If you can’t win over Alex Braithwaite with your looks, then you could start to set your sights on Edward Buck. He’s plenty of brass, and his family owns more land and houses than anyone else in the area. And don’t you be flirting with Thomas Farrington; he might be a good worker, but he drinks his pay every week,’ Bill yelled at her.
‘I’ll choose who I want. And as for Thomas Farrington, well, he looks at me in a way that no man should look at a woman. He frightens me. You’ll not get me flirting, and definitely not wedding him, so don’t worry about that,’ Lucy answered back, before looking at her mother, who said nothing in her defence.
‘You’ll marry who I bloody well say you do. Happiness doesn’t enter into it; all that matters is security and money. So you can bloody well do as you are told,’ Bill growled as the youngest of his family started to wail and his wife, Dorothy, looked at him anxiously. He was fed up of constantly having children at his feet and headstrong women nagging him – the worst being his eldest, Lucy, who was proving to have a mind of her own when it came to finding a suitable husband.
Bill sighed and swore at his wife, as Lucy banged the kitchen door behind her and made her baby brother cry even more, sensing the atmosphere in the room. ‘It’s you, woman, that’s made her like this. She thinks herself better than a lass from the flay-pits. It’s time she was lined up with a man. I’ve seen how everybody looks at her when she struts about the place. And this last week or two, since she went to work for that Adam Brooksbank, she’s put on right airs and graces,’ Bill growled.