Down Weaver's Lane (32 page)

She shook her head. ‘You have your own family, and even if you didn’t,’ she hesitated, then said in a rush, ‘I haven’t changed my mind about marrying. No one will ever forget what my mother was.’

‘You could marry someone from another town or go and live elsewhere.’

She shook her head decisively. ‘No. I’d still have to tell the - the person about my mother. I couldn’t keep something like that a secret. And it’d probably probably drive him away or make him suspicious of me. Better I stay unwed, with only myself to worry about.’

‘Any man worth his salt would see that you’re not like your mother ...’ But she had withdrawn from him, was nodding and walking away. And he could only stand and watch her go. It felt as if the sun had gone behind a cloud and he was surprised when he looked up to see that it was still shining.

Sighing, he turned towards his home where there would be arguments between Meg and his mother, his little niece grizzling - poor Nelly was sickly and seemed to fret a lot, and the other children would be demanding his attention or squabbling with one another. He didn’t know which was worse when he wanted a bit of peace for himself.

 

By May the new cottage was ready and Emmy went there to receive the furniture Mrs Armistead was sending across from Moor Grange. As she waited for the men to arrive she walked from room to room, longing to come and live here. There was a proper hall with a front parlour to the right and another room behind it where she and Mrs Tibby could sit cosily in the evenings. That way the parlour would do them credit, always spotless and ready to receive guests. In the kitchen a Yorkshire range had been newly installed. Such a modern miracle! It had a fire in the middle with an oven at one side and a boiler for heating water at the other side, with a tap to draw it off. Just imagine being able to get a bucket of hot water any time you needed one! She was taking lessons from Cook on using a range.

When the furniture arrived Emmy helped the men from Moor Grange decide where to put it, then after they had gone rushed round the house, trying the new chairs and marvelling at how comfortable they were, touching each piece of furniture. After that, in a fit of furious activity, she made up Mrs Tibby’s bed with the linen that had been sent - such fine smooth sheets and such thick feather beds to lie on, even for her! She had never felt so happy in her whole life.

But still, just occasionally, she experienced nightmares in which she relived that dreadful time when George had captured her and Marcus Armistead tried to rape her. She kept telling herself not to be silly, that it was all over and done with, but the nightmares kept returning and she would wake screaming to find Cass or Cook standing by her bed shushing her. In her uncle’s house, Lal or Dinah had shaken her roughly awake whenever this happened and told her to stop caterwauling. And once or twice her aunt had slapped her for waking everyone - as if she’d done it on purpose!

She would have to warn Mrs Tibby about the nightmares or they would come as a great shock. She didn’t know whether her mistress was aware of what had so nearly happened, but there would be no hiding it from her once they were living together.

Emmy shook those sad thoughts away. She was not going to let them mar her present happiness. The nightmares would pass. Mrs Bradley said they would. And indeed, they came far less often now.

That reminded her suddenly of the package she had hidden in her uncle’s attic. She had been too distraught to think of it when she left and since then there had always been something more important to do. After all, she didn’t want to wear the locket and if truth be told, she didn’t want to read her mother’s papers. She was sure they’d only contain unpleasant news. No, they could stay where they were until she needed them. No one ever did more than sweep the floor up there. They’d never notice them.

A noise from outside alerted her and she went rushing to the front door to see the Armistead carriage draw up and Mrs Armistead get out. Emmy rushed to help her get Mrs Tibby down and together the two women eased the old lady across the pavement towards the house.

Tibby stopped for a moment on the doorstep to stare along the street. ‘Oh, Eleanor, it’s as nice here as I remember. It’ll be so convenient to have a proper pavement outside. The mud used to be dreadful at our other place, didn’t it, Emmy?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘And we’re nearly in the centre of the town. I’m sure I’ll be able to manage such a short walk, as long as we take it slowly.’

Inside the house Tibby allowed them to seat her in the best parlour and felt a bit annoyed when Eleanor asked Emmy to fetch some tea. It was her home, after all, and her place to do that. And it might be ungrateful but she wished her sister-in-law would leave them alone now. She wanted to talk to Emmy, find out what had happened to her. She was sure it was more than Mrs Butterfield cutting off her hair. The girl looked years older and there was an unhappy shadow in her eyes for all her smiles and chatter. Something very serious must have happened and they were not going to keep it from her.

When Eleanor had at last been driven away, Tibby said firmly, ‘Come and sit in here with me, Emmy.’

‘But don’t you want me to unpack for you?’

‘Not yet. We’ll do that together later. I want to talk to you now.’ She stretched out one hand. ‘And don’t pretend they haven’t hurt you badly because I know better. I can see it in your eyes, my dear child.’

With a sob, Emmy sank down on the rug at Mrs Tibby’s feet and poured out her tale of woe. The familiar hand was on her hair, stroking, offering unspoken comfort. Not even Mrs Bradley knew all the details of what had happened, but somehow she could say anything to Mrs Tibby, anything at all.

When the tale ended, when all the questions had been asked and answered, she blinked up at the dear old face and gave a half-laugh as she mopped her eyes again. ‘How dreadful of me to greet you like this!’

‘There’s no need for pretence between us, Emmy dear. As I shall not pretend about how painful my hip has become. I fear I shall not be able to walk at all if this goes on.’

‘Then I’ll be your feet and look after you. Or we’ll get a bath chair and I’ll push you round town.’

Mrs Tibby brightened. ‘We could do that, could we not? I need not become a prisoner here, need I?’

They sat together for a long time, age-spotted hand in firm young one, then Mrs Tibby stirred. ‘Time to inspect my new kingdom.’

They made a slow tour of the little house, so different from their old one, just as Emmy felt like a very different person from the one who had left the other house only a few months before.

 

By the time Marcus returned from visiting his friends, Jane suspected she was with child. When she saw the carriage she rushed up to her bedroom to dress her hair as unappealingly as she could before he saw her, then took a deep breath and walked composedly downstairs. He looked exhausted, but with such smug triumph behind his weariness that it made her wonder what he had been doing. Nothing good, she was sure.

‘Heavens, you get uglier every time I see you,’ he said by way of a greeting.

She was tired of humouring him ‘So do you. When you speak so nastily, it seems to be reflected in your face.’

He took a threatening step towards her, hand up-raised.

She retreated hastily behind a chair. ‘I’m with child! You’d better be more careful how you treat me from now on if you don’t want me to lose it.’

He stopped dead. ‘I was beginning to wonder whether you were barren as well as ugly. Well, your ability to conceive a child is about the only thing I know in your favour. Make sure you look after yourself properly from now on.’

‘I shall not come to your bedroom again until afterwards,’ she reminded him.

‘Think I want you there?’ Then he frowned. ‘But I shall need somebody to warm my bed. I’m going to bring in a girl to serve my needs. We can tell everyone she’s a maid.’

Jane was horrified. ‘I shall not allow that!’

‘You will, you know. It’s that or you sharing my bed.’

‘But we have an agreement.’

He snapped his fingers in her face. ‘That for your agreement! And after the child is born, we’ll do things my way. I insist on being master in my own house.’

She did not allow herself to become agitated, for the baby’s sake. Later she left him sipping a glass of brandy - he seemed to be drinking much more recently - and went up to her own bedroom, bolting the door behind her as always and sitting gazing bleakly out across the moors. Even to get children she did not think she could share his bed again. It had been so wonderful while he was away.

As for bringing in a girl to serve his needs, well, if it kept him quiet she supposed she would put up with it. For the time being.

She had never thought herself capable of wishing for someone’s death, but she wished for his. Every time she was forced to share his bed, every time he hurt her, she prayed fervently that he would die, preferably slowly and in agony. If that made her wicked, she could not help it.

If only she could run away and never see her husband again!

But if she left here, how would she live? That was the main problem. She stared down at her hand and noticed the gold bracelet gleaming at her wrist, which reminded her of the leather-covered box filled with jewellery her father had given her. That jewellery was worth a great deal of money, and she did not need to live richly. Mrs Tibby had managed on a very small amount of money, after all.

Could she
really
escape from him?

Jane clasped her hands together at her breast and closed her eyes to contemplate the wonder of a life without Marcus, then she opened them again and drew in a deep, shuddering breath. It would have to be carefully planned - very carefully indeed - but she had nearly seven months to do that.

She did not even want to take his child with her. She wanted nothing of his.

At Chad’s Cottage Emmy was happier than she’d ever been in her whole life before. She and her mistress were together again and had no worries about money. What more could you want? She didn’t let herself think about that. For someone like her this was as much as you could expect from life. The other was - impossible.

She watched indulgently, sometimes feeling like a mother with a shy child, as Mrs Tibby began to enjoy a social life, receiving other ladies and calling on them, too, on her better days. Mrs Armistead came to visit them whenever she called on the Rishmores, usually accompanied by her daughter-in-law who was expecting a child in January. Jane always behaved in a friendly manner towards Mrs Tibby, but from what Emmy saw as she brought in a tea tray there was a look of strain behind the calm smiles and conversation. Well, was it any wonder, married to Marcus Armistead? She felt sorry for the poor young lady, she really did.

But the days when Mrs Tibby could walk into town grew fewer as time passed, and it was bitter-sweet for Emmy to see her beloved mistress growing slowly weaker, more and more incapacitated by her twisted, swollen limbs, and sometimes breathless for no reason.

Mrs Tibby really needed a bath chair now, but she always made some excuse when Emmy raised the matter, saying there was plenty of time for that later. She remained cheerful in spite of her painful hips, saying she had a lot to be thankful for and must not complain about growing old.

Another bitter-sweet pleasure for Emmy was to go to church which her mistress rarely missed, even in bad weather. From the rear pews Emmy would watch Jack Staley singing in the choir or see him outside afterwards when the weather was fine enough for them to linger in the churchyard. She had long since stopped pretending to herself that she didn’t care about him.

But she cared too much to encourage him.

That decision was reinforced each Sunday as she waited quietly on her own for Mrs Tibby, standing at the edge of the crowd in the churchyard. Few of the other servants, except for Cass, did more than nod to her and some of them very ostentatiously avoided her

But her uncle spoke to her sometimes and had begun calling on them both. Mrs Tibby enjoyed his company and Isaac seemed to enjoy hers. Well, the whole town knew how hard it was for him at home nowadays and how strangely his wife was behaving. No one had seen Lena Butterfield outside the house for a while and a woman went in every day now to help - every day but the Sabbath.

Emmy could not help noticing that occasionally young women from the congregation tried to flirt with Jack. This made her feel jealous even though she never saw him do more than respond politely and coolly. Usually he brought his mother, brothers and sisters with him to church, and his mother clung to his arm, scowling at any young woman who dared to come near. Mrs Staley had to go home on her own, however, and leave Jack to teach in the Sunday reading classes, so he would occasionally come across to speak to Emmy after her departure. She treasured those conversations, short, impersonal and public though they were.