Constance glared icily at Alice and Violet. ‘Please leave my house this instance. I no longer regard you as relatives of mine.’
After Alice and Violet had left, Lacey apologised for any aggravation she had caused by allowing them to think the constable had called with regard to Nathan’s disappearance. ‘Alice can’t forgive me for marrying Nathan. At first I considered her vicious threats to be nothing more than the ramblings of a thwarted woman with a warped mind. I never imagined she would try to blacken my character by having me charged with theft.’
‘But we didn’t let her get away with it,’ piped Felicity, grinning impishly. ‘We plotted to expose her, and it worked.’
Constance hurried to Lacey’s side and held her close. ‘Oh, my poor darling, we were all aware of Alice’s careless tongue but I for one never thought she would stoop to mendacity.’
Jonas groaned. ‘That’s because you refused to listen to me; I’ve had the measure of that woman for years. This time, however, she’s overplayed her hand.’ He stood up and crossed the room to pat Lacey’s shoulder. ‘Go on home, lass,’ he said kindly, ‘Alice Burrows’ll trouble you no more.’
31
Richard Brearley was a happy, sturdy youngster, the light and life of all his mother’s hopes and dreams. Too young to remember the father he had seen only once, Richard spent his days in the company of his mother, his nanny, his doting aunts, uncle, cousins and grandparents, his little world unhampered by sadness and loss. On the other hand, although his mother appeared outwardly calm and briskly efficient, her soul was in turmoil and her heart an aching, yearning weight inside her chest. Only those who knew her well saw through the façade, understanding that she would never again be the fun loving, cheerful, cheeky girl they had once known.
Lacey’s Modistes continued to thrive, her wealthy clients always able to locate and pay for new materials to make their garments, and her poorer clients often needing a worn out dress refurbishing or coats and suits altering for a wedding or a funeral; for life and death went on apace in Garsthwaite. So too, did romance.
On a breezy March morning in 1918 Lacey kept her morning vigil at the open shop door, on the look out for the postman. Behind her, the whirr of sewing machines and muted chatter let her know it was business as usual.
‘Morning, Lacey.’ Sam Barton shoved a pile of envelopes into her hand. ‘They all look like bills, luv. Sorry about that.’ Like most people in the town, he knew Nathan was reported missing. ‘Better luck tomorrow, eh.’ Off he went down the street, whistling.
Lacey watched him go, thinking, I might have married Sam had I not met Nathan. How different life would now be if I had. I wouldn’t be standing here worrying about where my husband was. I’d know. But she knew in her heart, no matter how much pain it caused, she’d never exchange Nathan for Sam.
She thumbed through the envelopes. Just as Sam had said; no personal letters, only bills. As she turned to go back inside she caught sight of a heavily built young man leaning against the lamp post outside the house next door. He wasn’t anyone she recognised but now she came to think of it he’d been there yesterday and the day before. Fleetingly, she wondered why, the thought escaping her mind as quickly as it had come when the shop door opened and Jonas stepped inside.
It was the first time he had set foot in Lacey’s establishment since its inauguration and Lacey, surprised to see him there, paled. Was the purpose of his visit to relay the news she least wished to hear? Jonas’s face creased into a wide smile and her fears evaporated. ‘Good morning, lass,’ he boomed cheerily.
‘Whatever brings you here?’ she asked.
‘I thought it was high time I visited your little empire; see how you run your business.’
Lacey clapped her hands to her cheeks in mock horror. ‘Checking up on me, are you?’
Jonas laughed. ‘Not at all, I trust you know what you’re doing. I’ve come to collect Richard. Constance and I are going to take him to Hollingworth Lake for a picnic; begging your permission of course.’
‘He’s with Susan in the house,’ said Lacey, ‘I’ll go and get him ready. He’ll be delighted; a ride in the big car, and a picnic.’
Lacey led the way into the house. ‘Ganpa.’ Richard ran to his grandfather, Jonas rewarded by the warm welcome.
‘Hello, young man, what do you say to coming for a car ride to Hollingworth Lake? We’ll have a picnic and feed the ducks.’ David and James, on their knees playing with toy cars, stood expectantly, but Jonas had eyes only for Richard, who by now was so excited that Lacey had trouble dressing him in his topcoat and boots.
‘Stand still, you little monkey,’ she laughed, as she pulled on his cap. Richard planted farewell kisses on Susan and Lacey’s cheeks then, hand in hand with Jonas, walked happily out to the street. Cheevers lifted Richard into the car beside Constance, Lacey waving until they were out of sight, saddened that the Brearleys had not thought to invite James or David to join them.
To make it up to them, Lacey popped across the street and bought ice creams, a rare treat. As she waited to be served it suddenly occurred to her that Constance and Jonas were preparing Richard for the future. Before long they’ll want to send him to a private school then boarding school, she thought, educate him as they did his father. They don’t believe Nathan will come back.
When she handed the treats to James and David she thought, these boys don’t have their futures mapped out for them but mine does. She couldn’t decide whether to feel angry or elated. Her son was the heir to one of the most prosperous mills in the valley and not yet three years old; was it a boon or a burden?
Leaving the delighted boys with Susan, Lacey wandered out into the back yard deep in thought. Nathan loved the Mill, and knowing it would be his eventually, he had taken pleasure in planning for the future. But what if, years from now, Richard didn’t want to be a manufacturer? He might choose to be an academic, an artist or an actor. What then? Would he be allowed to choose – she wanted that for him – but would Jonas?
Back inside and deep in thought, Lacey slowly surveyed her surroundings: the refurbished haberdashery, the busy workroom with its colourful clutter of fabrics and Joan, Molly and Sarah behind their machines, the steady whirr and clack mingled with Katie and Ann’s lively chatter. So much to be thankful for, thought Lacey, walking through into the dress shop and nodding pleasantly at Isabel, the sales assistant. If Nathan is dead and if, years from now, Richard chooses to carve his own future then this will give him the freedom to do so.
Through the shop window she saw the young man she’d seen earlier now standing right outside the door. She eyed him curiously and then marched into the workroom.
‘There’s a fellow hanging about out there. He was there yesterday and this morning. I don’t like the look of him.’
Katie and Ann giggled. Molly laughed out loud. ‘That’s a pity,’ she said, ‘Joan won’t like that. He’s her young man.’
Lacey stared at Joan, askance. ‘Your young man?’
Joan, her cheeks pink, nodded affirmatively. ‘He’s Lizzie Isherwood’s nephew, home from the war. He came to stay with her a while back. We’re walking out.’
This time it was Lacey’s turn to flush. ‘I didn’t know… Oh, Joanie. I’ve been that wrapped up in meself I’ve not taken any notice of you or anybody except Richard.’ Lacey sounded as though she was about to cry. ‘Why ever didn’t you say summat?’
Joan looked wounded. ‘You’ve a lot on your mind, what wi’ Nathan an’ the business. I didn’t like to bother you.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Lacey, ‘an’ I’m sorry I said I didn’t like the look of him.’ She grinned impishly. ‘Ooh, you dark horse, Joanie Micklethwaite; go an’ fetch him in an’ introduce us.’
Alfie, wearing an embarrassed smile, stepped into the workroom. He was a tall, beefy lad with a shock of thick black curls. Lacey went to greet him. Only when she held out her hand for him to shake did she notice that the cuff of his right jacket sleeve was pinned to the uppe
r part. Alfie had lost an arm. Burning with shame she clasped his left hand in both her own.
‘Pleased to meet you, Alfie; you be good to our Joanie. She’s a very special person.’
‘I know that, Mrs Brearley. She’s special to me.’
Joan flushed with pleasure and pride. ‘Alfie an’ me are going to eat our sandwiches down by the river,’ she said, ‘we’re taking James with us.’ Joan picked up a basket and linking Alfie’s good arm, she went to collect her son. ‘I’ll be back inside an hour, Lacey.’
‘Take your time, luv. It’s precious,’
Molly followed her. ‘I’ll take David to the park. We’ll eat our lunch there.’
Lacey watched them go, a feeling of sadness creeping over her. Her son was lunching at Hollingworth Lake, and taking his first tentative steps towards the life of a gentleman and heir to a fortune. Please God, she thought, as she made her lonely way into the house and into the kitchen, don’t let Constance and Jonas steal him from me.
She filled a teacake with cold, roast meat and sat down to eat it. As she chewed she mulled over the events that now affected her life and the lives of those she loved. Firstly there were her fears for Nathan, and now Richard. Then there was Joshua and Matt, still worrying over Arnold Beaumont’s claim on the fields; she really must get back to John Hinchcliffe about that; and now there was Joan, married and widowed before she’d barely had a chance of happiness, in love again with a man who surely had known grief. You didn’t lose an arm and not have regrets. I’ve no right to monopolise sadness, Lacey thought. We all have sorrows in some shape or form. We have to learn to live with them.
Her hunger satisfied but her spirits still low, Lacey left the kitchen and strolled across the yard to the shop. As she entered by the rear door a woman dashed out into the street. Damn it, Lacey thought; she’d been so distracted she’d forgotten to lock up after everyone went for lunch.
‘What did she look like?’ Joan asked, after Lacey had relayed the incident.
Lacey looked blank. ‘I only saw her from behind: old, wearing a black coat. Apart from that I’ve no idea.’ She paused, a frown wrinkling her brow. ‘On second thoughts, there was something familiar about the shape of her. Maybe we made something for her in the past.’ She shrugged dismissively.
*
‘We’ve had a splendid day,’ Constance declared when she and Jonas brought Richard home. ‘He was a perfect little gentleman.’
At the use of the word ‘gentleman’, Lacey bristled, her thoughts returning to the reason for the Brearleys taking Richard out. Hiding her fears, she listened indulgently to Richard’s garbled account of feeding ducks, eating a picnic and riding in the big, shiny motor.
‘We must make a regular habit of it,’ Jonas said, as he and Constance took their leave.
Later that same evening, as Lacey tucked Richard into bed, she was still somewhat disconcerted by what she thought of as Jonas’s and Constance’s interference in his future. They mean well, she told herself, but he’s my son, not a replacement for theirs.
The thought still bothered her when she climbed into bed and fell into a fitful sleep.
*
Crash! In the still of night somewhere close at hand, something shattered. It sounded like a large amount of glass. Lacey leapt out of bed, running barefoot along the landing to peer through the window overlooking Towngate. It was past midnight, the street deserted, the pavements slick with rain.
Lacey placed a foot on the low windowsill to obtain a better view, craning her neck to look down on the pavement immediately in front of the haberdashery. Shards of glass glinted in the light from the nearest gas lamp. Someone had smashed her shop window!
Back in her bedroom, Richard was still sleeping soundly. Lacey put on her slippers and hurried downstairs. In the haberdashery she felt the draught of cool night air blowing through the gaping hole in the window. A large red brick nestled amongst garments now sprinkled with broken glass and a display dummy lay drunkenly on its side.
‘Bloody vandals!’ Probably some drunk who’d fallen out with his wife or his mates had decided to vent his temper on her window, she thought. Or was it thieves? She crept into the dress shop and then the workroom.
Ears pricked and breathing suspended, Lacey listened to the footsteps padding nearer and nearer. She stretched her arm, her fingers trailing the wall in search of the light switch. Thanking God for the recently installed electricity, she snapped down the switch.
Joan’s scream split the air. Blinking in the sudden glare, her hair on end and her nightdress hitched up to her knees, she stared at Lacey. Lacey stared back. Then they both began to giggle.
‘I thought I heard summat,’ Joan gasped, ‘it sounded like breaking glass.’
‘It was. Come and look.’
‘The buggers!’ cried Joan, when she saw the ruined window display.
Lacey smirked ‘I thought you were a burglar when I heard you coming across the workroom. I’d have clobbered you if I’d had something to hit you with. It’s a good job we don’t still have gas mantles; I’d have torn you limb from limb.’
Joan shuddered. ‘Don’t joke, Lacey. It’s nasty work is this; I wonder who did it?’
‘Probably a drunk on his way home to beat the wife.’
Joan pointed to the broken windowpane. ‘We’d best get it boarded up. We don’t want cats traipsin’ in an’ pittling on everything.’
‘It would have to bloody pour down tonight of all nights,’ grumbled Lacey, as a flurry of rain spattered through the hole.
‘There’s a roll of oilcloth in my spare room,’ Joan volunteered.
They went up to Joan’s apartment. ‘You living above the premises is proving handy in more ways than one, Joanie,’ Lacey said, as they struggled down the stairs with the oilcloth. ‘Otherwise I’d have been here all on me own. It’s awful not having a man about the place.’ There had been no further word of Nathan and, whilst he was never far from her thoughts, times like this cut through her armour like a knife.
‘There might be a man about the place afore long. Alfie’s asked me to marry him,’ said Joan, resting her end of the oilcloth on a step.
Lacey let go of her end and, as the oilcloth slid towards her she grabbed at it wildly, crying ‘Oh, that’s wonderful, Joanie. I’m happy for you.’
‘So am I,’ Joan cried, yanking the oilcloth back. ‘There was a time when I thought I’d be left on me own for t’rest of me life. I still think fondly of Stanley but I love Alfie, an’ I need him. James loves him too, an’ he needs a dad.’
Lacey tugged at the flapping oilcloth, the chink in her armour widening. She too, needed someone to love, and Richard needed a father. She didn’t begrudge Joan her happiness, but Lacey didn’t want to consider giving her love to another man. No one could replace Nathan.
The garments from the window display salvaged and the window sealed, they mashed a pot of strong tea. When their eyes began to droop they bade one another goodnight, one woman filled with hope for the future, the other nursing a heartbreaking sadness.
*
Jack Eastwood, the local police sergeant, solemnly studied the window, his embarrassment tangible at such a thing happening on his watch. He pushed up his helmet and wiped his brow. ‘Jim Braddock’s on duty tonight,’ he said, ‘I’ll tell him to keep a look out, Lacey.’
‘It’ll hardly happen two nights running, Jack. It was most likely a drunk with a nasty turn of mind. Maybe I made his wife a dress he didn’t like.’
Jack grinned. ‘Aye, it’s hardly likely you’ll have any more bother.’
But Jack was wrong.
One week later, Lacey woke to find the dress shop window daubed with black paint. ‘Who’s doing this?’ she ranted, out on the pavement with her dismayed employees. Only when they stepped back inside and surveyed the damage from a different angle did Lacey interpret the random slashes. Although the paint had dribbled, she was able to make out the letters W H O R E.
‘I know who’s behind this
,’ she said.
*
Later that day she told Jonas of her suspicions.
‘Press charges,’ he said.
‘I won’t for a number of reasons: I don’t have any proof and I don’t want the good name of my business or yours dragged through the courts. If Alice is charged, her connection with you will be made public; think what that will to do to Constance. She’ll be mortified. Her feelings are more important than a brick through a window or daubs of paint.’
Touched by Lacey’s consideration for his wife’s feelings, Jonas squeezed her hand affectionately, saying, ‘But you can’t go on—’
Lacey didn’t let him finish. ‘I know Alice’s pranks are annoying, but that’s all they are; stupid pranks. They’re hardly likely to ruin me.’
32
‘Well, what did John Hinchcliffe have to say about the fields?’ Lacey asked Joshua, as soon as she entered the kitchen at Netherfold.
Joshua’s leathery face creased in consternation. ‘He didn’t say owt much, except them old maps are drawn so badly it’s hard to say who owns what.’
Matt took up the strain. ‘He says we could pay one o’ them fellows what measures the land, but even that might not prove owt. They didn’t keep accurate records in Grandad Barraclough’s day.’ Matt covered his face with his hands. His eyes, still visible above blackened fingernails, begged Lacey for a solution.
Lacey didn’t have one, but she wasn’t giving up the fight. ‘Let’s talk things out. Arnold Beaumont says he owns the fields and that his dad let your dad farm them rent free because Hardacre Farm had no use for ‘em.’
Joshua nodded. ‘Aye, that’s what he says.’
Sneering disbelief crossed Lacey’s face. ‘I think Arnold Beaumont’s trying it on. I can’t believe he’d not charge rent for summat he owned. He doesn’t have a reputation for being generous.’
‘You can say that again,’ Edith cried. ‘Do you remember t’winter afore last you asked for a loan o’ some fodder. You told him you’d pay him back next season. He wouldn’t let you have as much as a blade o’ grass, the miserable sod.’
The Girl from the Mill Page 27