Nobody’s Darling

by Nobody’s Darling (retail) (epub)

  Creeping back to the front door, Ruby made a great fuss about coming in. ‘Goodnight, God bless!’ she said, poking her head round the parlour door.

  ‘Goodnight, God bless, lass,’ they called in unison; Lizzie’s face was a picture as she hastily straightened her hair and fastened the top button on her blouse. Ted just smiled knowingly. But it was a nervous smile.

  Upstairs, Ruby stripped down to her pants and climbed into bed beside Dolly. As usual, the bed struck cold; the damp had a way of creeping out of the walls and seeping into everything. The child was fast and hard asleep. Ruby couldn’t sleep though. She was in too much of a turmoil. She thought about her dad being out of work, and couldn’t forget how her mam blamed Oliver Arnold. She remembered that sobbing sound she’d heard on coming in at the front door, and the way her mam had tried not to show how worried she really was. It was this which touched Ruby most. There was something wonderful about the way her mam and dad loved each other.

  Suddenly, she found herself thinking about Johnny’s kiss: warm soft lips brushing her mouth, dark handsome eyes that looked into hers and stirred her deeply. She was dreaming again, and lay back in the bed, her eyes turned to the ceiling, her imagination taking her right out of the room, out of the house, out of Fisher Street, and into a grand place filled with grand things – and him. Suddenly it was Luke Arnold who was filling her thoughts, and she was both thrilled and ashamed; thrilled because he had smiled at her when she was waiting for her dad outside the foundry last week, and ashamed because of what she’d just heard. She knew he was the boss’s son, because she’d heard two men talking nearby.

  Long after her mam and dad had gone to bed, Ruby lay in the darkness, thinking about the events of the evening. The thing that stood out in her mind was that her dad was out of work and her mam was worried – and all through no fault of their own. Her dark eyes shone with tears and her young heart hardened with bitterness. Tonight she had learned three important lessons. The first was that love was a foolhardy luxury that cost a body too dearly. The second that it was dangerous to trust your future to others. And the third was the most important of all. If you were rich, you were powerful, and if you were powerful, you couldn’t be frightened the way her mam and dad were frightened.

  Those were the things she had learned that night, and the far-reaching consequences of these revelations would shape Ruby Miller’s destiny for many years to come.

  Chapter Two

  Oliver Arnold peered out of the carriage window at the familiar landmarks. After a long hard day he was glad to be home. Lately the challenges of big business didn’t seem quite as exciting as they once had. But then, he reminded himself, he was no longer a young man. This year he would be fifty years of age, and he was lonely. Even after four years without her, he still deeply missed his late wife. All the same, he could not afford to wallow in self-pity for she had left him with three children and he must keep going for their sake. He thought of his son, Luke, and a frown creased his forehead; he had not done such a good job on raising that one, he thought. Teresa, his eldest daughter, had been a source of strength to him, yet still he couldn’t love her in the way he loved his youngest child. Ida was only eight when her mother died, but she was everything that lovely woman had been – warm and caring, a joy to be with, and as Oliver thought of her now, he couldn’t help but smile. She would be watching for him to come home, and he was waiting for the moment when she would run out to greet him.

  The carriage came up the top of Buncer Lane, the big grey horses going at a trot through the huge wrought-iron gates that led to Arnold Lodge, a grand old house with timbered gables and tall bay windows. On this glorious July day, the entire front of the house was hung with clematis and honeysuckle that spilled out a profusion of blossom and filled the air with heady fragrance. The long winding driveway meandered past lawns of velvet green interspersed with crescent-shaped flower-beds where humming bees and many-coloured butterflies buzzed and fluttered in and out of the open blossoms. Great oaks and silver birch trees lined the way. Here was paradise, a haven of peace and quiet away from the noise and smog of a busy industrial town.

  Less than two miles out of Blackburn, Arnold Lodge had been built by Lucas Arnold some thirty-nine years before. His son Oliver was a boy when he watched the house grow out of the naked earth, from the laying of the first brick to the hanging of the last lampshade. The house was his pride and joy, a sanctuary in an acre of valuable land which developers would have given their eye-teeth for. Yet there wasn’t one of them who would ever have dared approach the mighty Oliver Arnold.

  In time, though, his son Luke might prove to be of a different mind altogether. Now twenty-two years of age, immature and selfish, Luke Arnold was motivated only by greed and an insatiable need for excitement and danger. He spurned responsibility in any shape or form, and had no regard for either his family home or his father’s discipline. Expelled from every school he had ever attended he strongly protested his innocence of the many crimes of which he was accused; crimes that had involved fraudulently making money out of his peers, blackmail and corruption of a kind that quickly earned him the reputation of being a bad lot. It was only because of his father’s wealth and influence that scandal had been avoided time and again. But even so, he was not grateful. Instead he resented his father’s intervention, and grew increasingly more sullen and defiant. Lately, though, he seemed to have mellowed, apparently wanting to make amends. Always hoping that his son would one day make a man he could be proud of, his father was ready to give him the benefit of the doubt. There were those who claimed that his mother’s death some years ago had sent him off the rails, but there were others who insisted that he was rotten through and through. And this was all the more surprising because his father, although hard and ambitious in business, was not a ruthless man nor ever knowingly unjust.

  Since his wife’s death, Oliver Arnold had done his best for Luke and all he had received in return was heartache. Yet he loved his wayward son and against his better instincts was convinced that all would come right in the end. Indeed, after being given some authority over safety measures at the largest foundry, Luke seemed at last to be settling down and accepting his role as heir to the Arnold fortunes and all the responsibility that went with it.

  At long last Oliver had hopes that his son would come to realise the prominent role he was expected to play as a leading figure in a vast and thriving business concern. However, being the astute fellow he was, he had limited his son’s responsibilities until such time as Luke proved himself to be worthy. In fact, having spent a year under his father’s strict tuition, and a further six months assigned to the manager at Arnold’s largest foundry, Luke had shown himself to be surprisingly capable. This was encouraging, as was his blossoming relationship with respectable Cicely Banks whose father owned the only remaining foundry in the area that was not under the Arnold flag. Oliver was pleased at his son’s progress, and soon he would pass over much more responsibility. These days he was feeling his age and felt his decisions were not as sharp as they once had been. It would be good to have a son’s broad shoulder to lean on.

  But Oliver was fooling himself. Instead of teaching him to be a better man, the experience of being monitored by his father and then by his father’s ‘trusted’ manager, who was required to report on his every move, had succeeded only in making Luke Arnold dangerously bitter and more deceitful. Already he was secretly colluding in a very underhand and dangerous activity which was bound to end in shame and scandal.

  The carriage drew to a halt at the entrance to the house. Oliver Arnold climbed out, his weariness showing in the stoop of his shoulders and the slowness of his steps as he went to speak to the driver. ‘I won’t be needing you any more this evening, Thomas.’ He looked up at the little man in the driver’s seat. ‘You’re free to get about your other duties.’

  The driver’s homely face broke into a smile. Respectfully tipping the neb of his flat cap, he nodded gratefully, replying in a gruff voi
ce, ‘Right you are, sir.’ As the other man walked away, he regarded him closely and muttered under his breath, ‘By! There ain’t even a smile for us tonight, is there, eh?’ In fact, he had never seen his master look so worn. These past years had been a terrible strain on him, but Thomas believed that if his master was looking for the son to share his heavy load, he was heading for another disappointment. The father was good, the son was bad, and nothing would ever change that.

  Thomas continued to watch as the older man approached the door. There were only two years between himself and the master but there might well have been ten, because while Thomas himself was carefree and jolly, the other man was white-haired and bowed down by the weight of office. Nearing fifty years of age, Oliver Arnold could never be described as a handsome man. He was tall and as thin as a pike-staff, with wispy iron-grey hair and a matching moustache; his best features were his strong blue eyes and his straight white teeth. Like many tall men, he stooped slightly at the shoulders, and had a noticeable habit when angry of stretching his thin neck upwards, until the sinews in his throat stood out like tram-lines.

  Many years ago Oliver Arnold had inherited a small fortune from his father; this consisted of a working foundry and a number of tenanted houses throughout Blackburn. Lucas Arnold had been an exemplary businessman, with a modest instinct for making money. He had also been a fair-minded, honest man who always had the welfare of his workers at heart. His son Oliver was made in the same mould; although neither man ever gave an opportunity to trouble-makers or those who would disrupt the orderly running of the business concerns. Like his father before him, Oliver Arnold chose his managers with the utmost care, trusting these same men to uphold Arnold traditions and values, one of their duties being to keep a sharp eye out for mischievous trouble-makers who were then dismissed without a second thought. Conversely, if a man showed promise, he was always rewarded with more responsibility.

  Oliver Arnold never engaged in underhand deals or shady speculation. He was a shrewd, ambitious man with an instinct for making money. It wasn’t long before the legacy left him by his father had become an immense empire.

  ‘Arnold Holdings’ now amounted to three foundries, a cotton-mill and two warehouses. Always seeking to expand his fortune, Oliver was presently in negotiation with the owners of a small merchant fleet operating between Liverpool and America. The company was reputed to be in deep financial trouble and so had attracted his attention. No one doubted his ability to acquire a troubled company and turn it into a thriving concern. He hoped that soon he would be able to unload some of the responsibility onto his only son’s shoulders.

  As he walked up the steps to the front entrance, Oliver Arnold had sensed the driver watching him. Puzzled, he glanced round, asking, ‘Is there something else, Thomas?’

  ‘No, no. There’s nothing, sir. I’m on me way,’ Thomas Miller was quick to assure him, at the same time slapping the reins against the horses’ rumps and causing the animals to start forward. The way round to the stables was narrow and winding, which meant that he must keep the horses at a steady gait. Thomas Miller loved his job and he had a deal of respect for the man of the house, but he saw things here that nobody else saw. His master was one man to the outside world and another here in his own domain. Thomas had seen the deep abiding love that drew him to his family; and he had seen the pain and disappointment when his only son returned a failure time and again. He recalled how weary his master was just now, and it made him think.

  ‘Aye, it makes yer count yer blessings,’ he murmured to himself. ‘I ain’t got no family, except my brother Ted and his brood. I ain’t rich nor handsome, and I don’t know much except horses, but I do know this… I wouldn’t want the master’s life for a gold clock. He may have a fine big house and an army of servants at his beck and call, and happen he’s the wealthiest man in Blackburn, but it don’t mean to say he’s a happy man, do it, eh?’

  As the carriage approached the stable-block, he gently pulled on the reins. ‘Whoah, me beauties,’ he coaxed. In a moment the carriage was still and the horses impatient to be free of their harness. Climbing down from his lofty seat, the little man called out, ‘Johnny! Give old Thomas a hand, will yer?’ He continued muttering to himself as he began undoing the cumbersome harness. ‘Johnny!’ he called again, looking about impatiently, ‘Where are yer, lad?’

  The ‘lad’ appeared then, a broad-shouldered young man with smiling dark eyes and a quick strong stride. Johnny Ackroyd was stripped to the waist and carrying a pitchfork. ‘The stables are cleaned out,’ he said, ‘and I’ve got the feed waiting.’ He hung the pitchfork from the timber beam above the straw-bales. ‘Miss Teresa’s just gone. She wanted to see the big greys before we settled them down for the night.’

  He came to the horses and began lovingly stroking their noses. The big greys knew him and nuzzled into his work-worn hands. ‘It’s all right, Thomas,’ he said, ‘I’ll see to them. You look tired.’ He freed the horses from the shafts, then he set about loosening the brass buckles that secured the harness. ‘I’ll clean up these brasses while the horses are feeding,’ he said. ‘Oh, and there’s a fresh brew simmering on the stove for you.’

  ‘Bless yer heart, lad, what would I do without yer, eh?’ Thomas asked. He watched Johnny skilfully remove the harness before leading the greys into the stable. Following behind, he thought how capable the lad was and how he had taken to this work like he was born to it. He often wondered how he’d managed before Johnny was hired as his assistant. ‘You say Miss Teresa came to see the horses?’ he asked mischievously.

  ‘Aye. She’s only been gone a few minutes. I wish she wouldn’t hang about when I’m trying to work, though.’

  ‘Hang about, did she?’ Thomas chuckled. ‘That’s ’cause it ain’t the horses she came to see.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Thomas was surprised that Johnny hadn’t already seen through Teresa’s dangerous little game. ‘The lass came to see you,’ he remarked. But then his voice changed and he warned, ‘Don’t be tempted though, lad. Women is trouble. And rich men’s daughters is the worst trouble of all.’

  Johnny didn’t answer straightaway. He was thinking of Thomas’s niece. There was only one girl for him and that was Ruby Miller. ‘You’re imagining things,’ he replied somewhat sharply. ‘Miss Teresa came to see the horses, like she said.’

  ‘Aye, well, have it your own way. But I’m warning you, Johnny lad, be on your guard. Temptation comes in many shapes and forms.’ Having delivered his warning, he slapped the lad on his bare back and chuckled mischievously. ‘I forgot, though. It’s our Ruby as takes your fancy, ain’t it?’ He shook his head. ‘She’s a quality creature is that. Oh, but she’s proud! All the same, one o’ these days, she’ll make some fella a grand wife.’ When he saw the deep red flush that crept from Johnny’s muscular neck right up to the roots of his hair, he thought he had teased him enough. ‘Aye, well, just think on what I said about that one in the big house.’ He rubbed his hands together and chuckled again. ‘There’s a brew o’ tea, you say?’ he asked, going to the stove and licking his lips in anticipation.

  He set about the serious business of pouring out the tea, and it wasn’t long before he was seated in the old torn armchair that he’d rescued from the gardener’s bonfire. With his hands wrapped round the enamel mug of steaming liquid, and thankful that the day’s work was almost over, he took a moment to contemplate. ‘I can’t stand this July heat,’ he complained, ‘it saps a body’s strength. It’s all right for you, lad,’ he muttered, ‘you’re finished for the weekend. But my work ain’t never finished.’ A sudden smile lit his face. ‘Still, I won’t complain, ’cause I’ve a great deal to be thankful for after all’s said and done.’

  Appearing not to have heard the other man’s ramblings, Johnny placed the bucket of water where both horses could reach it. Stretching up, he told Thomas in a serious voice, ‘One of these days, I’ll have to punch that Luke Arnold on the nose.’

  ‘H
ey! We’ll have none o’ that, young fella,’ Thomas rebuked him. ‘I’ve told you before… don’t let the bugger rile you.’ He supped his tea and sighed, all the while aware of Johnny’s anger. ‘What’s he done this time?’ he asked impatiently. Running through his mind was the incident when Luke ‘accidentally’ dropped one of the best saddles in the horses’ trough after Johnny had spent a full hour polishing it. Luckily Johnny was busy fetching the hunters in from the top field and didn’t see the damage until later or there might have been a punch-up then. As it was, Thomas had his work cut out to stop Johnny going after the master’s son. There was deep bitterness between those two, and it was a great source of worry to Thomas.

  ‘He’s a bad ’un,’ he said in a whisper. ‘And he’d like nothing more than for you to lunge at him, so he can have you chucked out of your job. Is that what you want, eh? How do you think your mam would feel if you went home and told her you’ve no wages coming in, ’cause you let yourself be drawn into a fight with that good for nothing?’ He shook his head. ‘What was it he done, anyroad?’

  ‘Nothing you could put your finger on. He just stood by the stable door, kicking at the ground and watching me. Whenever I turned round, he was there… watching and sniggering. Going out of his way to aggravate me.’ Johnny’s fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. ‘If he does it again, I swear I’ll black his eye and face the consequences. At least I’ll get the satisfaction out of knocking him flat on his back!’ The prospect made him smile.