by Diane Allen
‘I too have known grief. I lost both my wife and my unborn child when I was younger, so I can understand a little of your pain. Has your wife seen a doctor? Is there a reason for her miscarriages?’ Adam sat down across from Lucy, his coat still dripping with the rain, but now his concern was for the man who sat across from him and the pain he was suffering.
‘Nay, a doctor will not do anything. Every woman loses babies – it’s a fact of life, and nowt can be done about it. I should have the sense to keep myself to myself and save her the heartache, instead of having my lustful way.’ Bill glanced quickly at Lucy and caught her blushes as her father talked so openly with her employer. ‘Besides, we’ve been blessed with five fit ’uns; that’s more than enough to feed and educate. And doctors cost money – something I have very little of, by the time I’ve paid the men their wages.’ Bill sighed. ‘We’ll just have to make the best of it. Dot is recovering now and, hopefully, this will be the last one we lose. Neither of us is getting any younger. Perhaps that’s what’s wrong this time.’
‘Well, now I know the reason for you not being with me, Lucy, I can fully understand. You stay at home until your mother’s strong enough to run her house and look after your siblings. Children come first. I am used to looking after myself, and a few days more will not hurt me.’ Adam looked across at Lucy, who seemed to be out of place in the dire conditions of the tannery owner’s humble home. Although the house was spotless, it was sparsely furnished, with the minimum of frills and pottery. Indeed, from the outside the whole row of houses looked dilapidated and in need of urgent repair. Perhaps the tannery was not doing so well and the Bancroft family was struggling. However, now he understood why Lucy had been fascinated by the story of Rebecca Town and the number of children she had borne and lost. It was true that life was cheap in the society they lived in, but Bill Bancroft was sitting across from him, grieving, and Adam felt for the man and his family.
‘I’ll be away now. If there’s anything I can do, you know where I am at.’ Adam stood up and looked down at the man, who could not be bothered to raise his head to acknowledge his departure. ‘Lucy, there’s no rush back. Look after your mother and these little ones.’ Adam smiled down at baby Bert, whose cheeks were bright red and whose nose was running with snot.
‘Sorry, sir, he’s teething. It’s his birthday tomorrow – he’ll be one, although he’s a lazy one, he’s not even walking properly yet. Susie and I were walking a long time before that. It’s lads that are always slow. Still are, seeing that my brother never delivered my message to you. Just wait until he gets home – I’ll give him what for.’ Lucy shook her head.
‘No, leave him be. He’ll have had better things to do. I remember what it was like to be his age, and life was full of more important things than running errands for big sisters.’ Adam laughed.
‘I thank you, sir, for being so understanding,’ a weak voice from the bottom of the stairs whispered, as Dorothy stood, still in her nightdress, holding the bottom of the stair rail. ‘Lucy will be back with you tomorrow. I aim to be back on my feet then.’
‘Mother, go back to bed – you are still unsteady on your feet.’ Lucy went to her mother’s aid as Dorothy walked hesitantly to sit on the chair next to her youngest daughter. She smiled as Susie looked at her and carried on playing with her dolls.
‘I heard voices, and I knew that you would be sitting blaming yourself, Bill. Now, I’m on the mend. I’m not about to leave this earth just yet, so we’ll have none of this gloom. There’s enough of that outside, with the weather. Bill, come on now – your men need you. And I thank you, Mr Brooksbank, for showing your concern. We’ve lost a baby, but it happens every day. My mother lost one or two, of that I’m sure.’ Dorothy gave a wan smile.
‘Aye, lass, go back to bed. I’ll stir my shanks and get back out there, now I know that you are looking a bit livelier.’ Bill stood up and looked still dark in mood, but knew that he had to do as his wife said, else his yard would not be running smoothly, despite his faith in Thomas Farrington. ‘I’ll walk out with Mr Brooksbank here, although I’ll be drenched to the skin within minutes, as the weather shows no kindness towards us, either.’
‘Come, we will walk out together. Now, Lucy, you take care of your mother, and return only when she is fit and well enough to leave. You are needed here more than with me. Besides, the weather means I can’t be out on my land, so I can keep my own house until this weather lifts.’ Adam walked out behind Bill, who glanced backwards at his wife and family before closing the kitchen door behind them both.
‘Bill, I noticed when I walked down your yard that all the water and waste are running down this ginnel and nearly into the same place as you draw your water from. You don’t think there’s something in the water you are all drinking that causes your wife to keep miscarrying? I only say this because over in Haworth they have had a lot of deaths and disease, and that was because of their water supply being contaminated. There must be plenty of unpleasant substances in those hides and in the lime that you use. If it’s seeping into your water, it could be poisoning you and your family.’ Adam stood and looked at the filth and water running down the yard and disappearing just short of the row’s water supply.
‘We’d all be ill, if that was the case. All the row uses the same water supply. Sometimes we do get belly gripes, but not that bad.’ Bill took offence at the suspected uncleanliness of his yard, and that it could be his fault that his wife could not bear children.
‘But have any other women on this row lost babies? It could affect just that part of a woman.’ Adam had listened with interest when the parson at Haworth had informed him, on the day of their tea together, that some women had lost babies because of contamination in the water, especially near the ironworks.
‘There are no other women down here, except my family. No woman in her right mind would live down here and breathe this stench every day, and all the houses are in need of attention. My old lass and all mine complain about the yard most days. But that’s what you’ve got to put up with, if you are in my line of business,’ Adam grunted.
‘Then perhaps you should think about moving your family away from here, to protect them. Or at least channel the waste away from the house and water supply, because I bet that’s where your problems lie.’ Adam pulled up the collar of his coat and looked at the dawning on Bill Bancroft’s face that his words might carry some weight. ‘It’s worked in Haworth – the mortality rate for babies has nearly halved.’ The rain dripped down over his face and he hoped that Bill would take his words seriously, as he looked around him.
‘I’ll think about it – you might be right. But it’ll cost too much to move, and it’ll cost a lot to make drains for all the pits. I’m not made of money, not like some.’ Bill scowled at Adam and thought long and hard about his words. The drains of the yard needed his attention, and in wet weather like the current day, the pits did find their own drainage, running down the yard into the nearest drain near his back door.
‘You think about it. If you need help, I’ll give you a hand. It’s what neighbours are for.’ Adam patted Bill on the back and saw him giving time to his words, before setting off on his way home.
Bill stood in the yard and watched Adam walk back up to his home high on the moorland. Perhaps he was right: it could be his fault for not keeping on top of the yard’s drains. There were all sorts of chemicals and pollutants in the hides, not to mention the lime that burned skin and irritated eyes. If it stopped the worry of his Dorothy losing babies, then he would have to do something about it, whether money was short or not. He was thankful that Adam had not asked what had become of the baby. His secret was safe for now at least, and that was how he’d like to keep it.
Thomas Farrington looked around: the pits were silent, everybody was in their beds and the moon shone down ghost-like, throwing a haunting light over the flay-pits and the heaps of hides yet to be processed. All was quiet except for the squeaking of the rats that inhabited the yard, and the o
wls that flew silently down to catch them as their prey. He lifted his shovel and put his oil lamp down beside the lime pit that everyone who worked in the yard was forbidden to go near, by the outspoken Bill Bancroft. This was where he’d find the bastard’s money, Thomas thought as he dug deep into the pit. He’d worked hard for Bill all his life and had never been shown any respect by him or his family. Now was the time to pay; the time for him to grab the box of money that Bill obviously hid in the heap of lime, else why had he been digging in it in the early hours of the other morning?
He dug his shovel into the lime, where he had seen Bill digging. Suddenly his shovel hit something, but it wasn’t hard; it was soft, and Thomas bent down to throw it to one side to make way for the box of money he hoped was hidden underneath it. He pulled on the sacking, displaying the contents enclosed within it onto the lime pile. He felt his stomach churn and held his hand against his mouth to stop him vomiting. There in front of him were the skull and limbs of a baby. But not a normal babe; its limbs were not yet formed, and likewise its face and features. It was obvious to him that the child had been born too early and would not have survived even if it had been born full-term, by the look of its features. So this was Bill Bancroft’s secret: there was no hidden money, just a dead baby.
But it wasn’t the first time that Thomas had seen Bill digging there, so as he wrapped the deformed shape up, he decided to dig deeper, only to reveal the badly decomposed skulls of a further two babies, before placing the sack and its contents back into its white, acid-eating grave. The lime pile was a burial place for miscarriages, and he had witnessed the disposal of the latest one. They couldn’t be Lucy’s babies, for she was as thin as a lathe, so they must be those of Dorothy Bancroft. And Bill was flouting the law by hiding them in the lime pit without a decent burial; whether they were full term or not, they still had to be accounted for. Now what to do with his discovery, he didn’t quite know, as he hurriedly buried the deformed body back in the lime pit. But he knew he could use Bill Bancroft’s dark secret against him and would take great delight in doing so.
11
Lucy had been back working for Adam for the last three days. Her mother was recovering nicely and was managing to look after her youngest two, while her father went about his business as usual. The weather had improved and the warmth of a spring day shone down on Black Moss. The lower fields of the farm were beginning to be filled with the smiling faces of white daisies and golden-coloured celandines, while underneath the more sheltered hedges, primroses and violets were starting to flower.
‘I love this part of the year. Summer is coming and everything is starting to look fresh and green.’ Lucy stood on the front step of the farmhouse, after shaking the tablecloth free of crumbs when Adam had finished his dinner. ‘Just smell that fresh air. I wish it smelled like that down home. Sometimes my stomach retches with the stink. I’ll be glad I’m working up here this summer, because the smell gets worse with the heat.’
‘I told your father to move – it would be better for all of you, in my eyes.’ Adam looked across at the young lass who had taken his home to heart.
‘He’ll never do that; it’d cost too much. Although I have heard him muttering about digging some new drains down into the river, so that the yard isn’t such a puddle. So your words have not fallen entirely on deaf ears.’ Lucy sighed. ‘I’d love to live away from the flay-pits, somewhere like this. Although I’ve noticed that when the wind is blowing a certain way, you can still smell them, even as far up the moor as here.’ She walked into the kitchen and folded the tablecloth, then placed it in the kitchen table’s drawer.
‘He’ll pollute the river then. But I suppose it would be better for all of you. Now, I’ll away and see how Archie is getting on. He’s made a start on some of the gaps in the walls in the top pastures. I’ll soon be able to get some sheep and their followers in another month or two, and then my work will have started and I’ll no longer be the man of leisure that I feel I am now.’ Adam pulled on his jacket.
‘You are not a man of leisure – you are forever busy. The difference to this place is unbelievable, since you arrived. It’s a true home now. There’s always something being done to improve somewhere, sir.’ Lucy knew that her master worked hard and was proud of his home.
Adam smiled. He’d have to start to earn some money with his stock and his land, as his army savings wouldn’t last forever and his father did not leave him that large a fortune, although he was richer than most of his neighbours. The sooner the old place was in shape, the better. He aimed to go to the spring fair at Denholme to buy himself a flock of sheep with lambs, to earn him some income in the autumn.
‘I’m going to see your friend “Old Moffat” later today. He’s got some chickens for sale. So we will soon have hens in the yard in the morning. It’s apt that it’s Easter tomorrow and that I’m bringing chicks onto the farm. I’m going to place them in the coop that I made while it was pouring down last week. Now on Sunday you don’t usually work for me, but tomorrow being Good Friday, I’d expect you still to come, although I’m willing to let you have Easter Monday off. I’m not a religious man, but I do respect other people’s beliefs, and perhaps you need to be with your family on that day.’ Adam stood in the doorway.
‘Chickens at Easter will be lovely. Susie would love to see them,’ Lucy exclaimed. ‘Thank you for giving me Monday off, sir. I’ll be able to do something with my brothers and sisters and take some pressure off my mother. She says that she’s alright, but I know she’s just saying that; she looks really weary.’
‘She’ll have to look after herself and take care not to overreach herself with tasks. Why don’t you bring your sister and the baby to see the chickens? I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere, and it seems that I am not to have any visitors. I was hoping a dear friend, Ivy Thwaite, might have written to me, replying to my letter I sent her quite a few weeks ago, but it seems that she has not had time yet.’ Adam’s face clouded over. He was hoping that Ivy was alright, and was more than a little concerned at not receiving news from her.
‘She’ll write soon, I’m sure, sir. I would like to bring the two youngest to see the chicks – it’s very kind of you to ask us. And thank you for giving me both the Sunday and Monday off. My mother will want us to go to on Sunday. Although I hate going, it’s expected of us.’ Lucy pulled a face; she loathed attending and walking up the hill to the church at Denholme in her finest. And the Sunday service was so long, when she could be doing so much else with her time. The only good thing was that she could smile and flirt over the pews with Alex Braithwaite from the quarry, or perhaps the youngest son of the Bucks, if they were in residence at their home in Denholme, and not in Wales.
‘No, you won’t be getting me to church, either. I’ll go and tell the Lord my sins up on the moor. Now I must go. Poor Archie is all on his own, and he’ll be thinking I’ve deserted him.’ Adam walked out of the farmhouse and into the paddock where his horse was grazing, lifting its head and trotting towards him on his approach. ‘Aye, come on, lass. Four legs are better than two, when I’ve this moor to walk up. But we’ll not saddle you; now that you’ve got used to me, we’ll dare going bareback today.’ He ran his hands over the little faithful horse and led it through the gateway and into the yard, pulling on its mane to guide it to the mounting block in the corner of the yard. ‘Now, hold still. It’s been a long time since I rode bareback and without reins, but we’ve got to know one another, and both of us will prefer being without restrictions.’
Adam held tightly to the horse’s mane and then threw his left leg over the sturdy little mount, which flinched not an inch. ‘Now then, let’s see – if I give pressure with my knees and a bit of encouragement from my heels, we should go where I want to go, and not where you want to go.’ He grinned as the horse started to step out up the steep hillside to the moor. He patted it on its neck and pulled on one of its ears, as it made its way higher up the hillside. ‘I never did like saddles. I always rode bareba
ck when I was a lad and now, thirty years on, I’m back doing it. My father will be laughing, if he can see me, and thinking what an idiot I’ve been, wasting my life in other men’s service when this could have been mine all along,’ Adam whispered, and then halted the mare as they reached the top of the moor. He would never tire of the view from his land; it was his home, the place he loved, but it had taken him half his life to realize it. What an idiot he had been.
Lucy swept the hearth tidy and then went into the dairy to skim the cream off the top of the day’s milk, before putting it into the butter churn. She filled the large glass jar halfway up, then screwed the lid on it. The lid was attached to a handle and gears, which turned two large wooden paddles that hung down in the creamy milk; when the handle was turned, it agitated the milk, making it separate into butter and buttermilk after a good length of time.
However, today it took no time at all, in Lucy’s eyes. She was too busy wondering who Ivy Thwaite was, and what had she to do with Adam Brooksbank. Were they just good friends or more than that? Perhaps they were lovers? Was Ivy beautiful or a plain, ordinary woman? Whoever she was, Lucy hoped that she would never visit, because another woman in the house would only bring worry, in her view. She enjoyed running the house at Black Moss and she didn’t want any interventions in her perfect position of maid and companion to Adam Brooksbank, especially if it came from another woman. She was beginning to look at her master in a different light. He was kind, witty and, for a man his age, quite attractive. What’s more, he was a man of means, and Lucy found herself wanting his company when she was not at Black Moss, even though she only worked for him.