Pit Bank Wench Page 18

  Closing the door, Emma turned back slowly. And though her cheeks were stained pink with the thought of all her lies of the previous night, Emma’s eyes shone now with the light of truth.

  ‘No, it is not the hope of a day’s work has me refusing the food you offer.’ The words came slowly, the pain of embarrassment holding Emma’s lips stiff. ‘It’s the thought of what I said to you last night. I lied to you. After all you had both done for me, I lied to you. That’s beyond forgiveness and I ask none. But Daisy told no lie. She did not betray a kindness. Therefore I ask no forgiveness for her but I do ask you if you can find it in your heart to give her work and a place to stay?’

  ‘No!’ Daisy caught at Emma’s arm, her eyes bright with consternation. ‘I won’t stay anywhere without you. You promised, Emma! You promised we would stick together.’ Her voice cracking on the threat of tears, she glanced wildly at the butcher’s wife. ‘It ain’t that I’m not grateful, Mrs Hollington, I am. But I want to be with Emma, no matter where that might be. She’s the only real friend I’ve ever had. Weren’t . . . weren’t no friends in the workhouse . . .’ Her fingers tightening on Emma’s arm, Daisy choked, ‘Don’t turn your back on me, Emma, don’t leave me . . . please don’t turn from me!’

  In the warmth of the kitchen lit by the glow of oil lamps mingling with the light of dancing flames leaping into the dark chimney, Emma placed her arm about the girl’s shoulders as sobs shuddered in her throat. She had wanted only security for Daisy, but what was security when balanced against a young girl’s breaking heart? If leaving here meant going to the workhouse or even taking to the road again then at least they would do it together.

  ‘Daisy didn’t mean . . .’

  ‘I know the wench’s meaning.’ Sarah nodded. ‘Same as I knows there was no rudeness in it. She loves you, that be the all of it. No need to say more.’

  Her arm still about Daisy, Emma smiled but in an instant it was gone, sadness taking a little of the light from her lovely eyes.

  ‘Maybe not for Daisy, but for myself there is every need. I lied to you last night, to you and Mr Hollington. I told you I was married when it is not true. This ring . . .’ she lifted her left hand slightly then let it fall back to her side ‘. . . was not about my neck through fear of its being stolen. It is a wedding ring, yes, but it was not given to me by a man.’

  Her sharp intake of breath audible over the gentle hiss of the lamps on the dresser and beneath the window, Sarah’s glance went to her husband.

  ‘I should explain. This ring belonged to a very good friend of my family’s. Jerusha wore it over three-quarters of her lifetime but when her husband died she said she had no further use for it and gave it to me. I still remember what she said to me at the time: “It will bring you a comfort no words can give”. I think now I understand what she meant. Wearing her wedding ring will give me a measure of protection from men such as those your husband saved us from last night.’

  ‘And a measure of protection for the child you carry!’

  It was Emma’s turn to gasp, an exclamation from Daisy quickly following.

  ‘You don’t have to affirm what I say.’ Sarah’s hand once more smoothed an already crease-free apron.

  Drawing a deep breath, Emma looked first at Samuel and then his wife. ‘Nor will I deny it,’ she said quietly. ‘I am carrying a child . . .’

  ‘Emma!’ Breaking free from her grasp, Daisy made to pull her to the door. ‘There be no need for you to say more. Ain’t nobody’s business ’cept your own. Come away, we’ll find something . . .’

  ‘You be right, Daisy. It be none of our business, the child your friend be carrying.’ His mouth though not yet empty Samuel spoke out, ignoring the reprimand he would surely receive later. ‘And my wife isn’t prying, she is merely . . .’

  ‘I am merely trying to say that a girl who is expecting should not be on the road!’ Sarah interrupted, her tartness hiding a genuine concern. ‘And the workhouse be a poor place for a child to enter into the world.’

  ‘A poor place, yes.’ Emma’s mouth drooped. ‘But a safer one than beneath a hedge, and that is all that matters.’

  ‘Yes, that matters,’ Sarah agreed, ‘but it is not all that matters. A child needs love as much as anything, maybe more than anything. What sort of love will it get in that place?’

  ‘It will get all I can give,’ Emma whispered, her lashes drooping over eyes clouded with misery. If what she had heard of workhouse procedure was true she would be given precious little time to spend with her child, and should she be boarded out to work she would not get to see it at all, for who would take on a woman hampered by a newborn infant?

  ‘I’ll love the baby, Emma, I’ll help take care of it.’ Daisy squeezed the hand that hung at Emma’s side.

  ‘And who will have the keeping of you while you do that?’

  Lost for a reply, Daisy stared helplessly at the woman who the night before had as good as said she would take her on to help in this house.

  Reaching a large boldly striped teapot from the hob, Sarah filled the cups set at three places then refilled Samuel’s large pottery mug. Replacing the pot, she pointed to the empty chairs. ‘Both of you start showing a bit of common sense and sit down. A bite of breakfast will help things seem all the clearer. Come on now, I won’t have no refusing!’

  Hearing the sympathy beneath the covering tartness, feeling the slight tug of the hand fastened about her own, Emma felt the impossibility of refusing both Daisy and Sarah Hollington, but still pride held her back.

  ‘I . . . I will accept your kindness only if you will listen . . .’

  ‘We want to hear nothing of what has gone before.’ Samuel smiled understandingly. ‘Explanations ain’t a prerequisite of a meal in this house. But if it be what you truly want then we will listen . . . after you have eaten!’

  Pushing the milk jug, a gaudy match to the teapot, towards Emma, Sarah smiled. ‘My Samuel speaks for both of us, wench. Speak only if the need drives you. We respect the fact that you have already admitted to not telling the truth last night. We did not ask it of you . . .’

  ‘Which only makes what I did the harder to bear. You gave us shelter in your home and I . . .’

  ‘Say no more,’ Sarah interrupted, spooning sugar into her own cup.

  Careful this time to swallow the food from his mouth, Samuel glanced at the girls sitting at his table, shawls spread neatly over the back of their chairs. ‘My Sarah and me got to thinking last night. For some time now we have both realised we could do with taking on some help, she with the house and me with the stall in the market . . . well, what I be saying is this. If the two of you feel it be the work you wants then the jobs be yours.’

  A cup halfway to her lips, Emma held it steady while tears spilled down her cheeks. After what she had told them, knowing her to be nothing short of a liar, these people were offering her employment!

  ‘Come on now, Emma wench!’ Samuel’s voice was gruff, a manly reaction to tears. ‘That tea don’t want no weakening. Like I tell Sarah, there be enough water in it already to sail a boat on.’

  Placing her cup on the table, Emma brushed her fingers across her cheeks. ‘I . . . I’m sorry. It’s just that I never expected . . .’

  ‘Neither did I.’ Daisy beamed, slicing into a sausage. ‘But the answer be yes, Mr Hollington, we wants them jobs, both of us, though Emma can’t tell you as much ’til her be finished blartin’.’

  ‘A cry never hurt a woman.’ Sarah’s tartness disappeared in her ready defence of Emma. ‘It be far better out than in. A bellyful of tears is a weight a body be all the better for not carrying.’

  Pushing back his chair, Samuel drew out his pocket watch, checking it with the time showing on the tin clock. Taking her cue, Sarah stood up.

  ‘I put you a bite of dinner in the basket along of Samuel’s.’ She smiled at Emma. ‘Just in case you accepted his offer.’ Then, as Emma made to move, added, ‘There be a few minutes yet afore he has the cart loaded, time
enough for you to finish your breakfast.’

  But as she followed her husband from the kitchen Emma thrust her plate away, already full with the emotion that surged in her. Yes, she would take the employment offered and she would work hard. And in some way . . . some way she did not yet know she would find the means to repay the kindness this couple had shown her.

  ‘Did you have the man dismissed?’

  Standing in the beautiful octagonal drawing room, Paul Felton confronted his brother.

  Seated beside the fire, Carver turned a page of his newspaper with slow deliberation.

  ‘I asked you, Carver, did you have the man dismissed?’

  The anger behind the question quite obvious, Carver kept his eyes fixed on the newspaper. Paul had returned unexpectedly early from his last assignment and his first act had been to ride over to Doe Bank.

  Flicking over a page, Carver answered noncommittally. ‘His work was not up to my expectations.’

  ‘Wasn’t it!’ Paul’s voice, harsh with anger, rang around the lovely room. ‘Or was it the man’s daughter who was not up to your expectations? That’s it, isn’t it, Carver? Emma didn’t match up to your requirements, she was not a suitable candidate for marriage into the Felton family. Isn’t that nearer the truth?’

  He turned another page, his eye travelling slowly over it before he answered. ‘Since you already know my opinion on the matter, why bother to ask the question?’

  ‘So you trumped up some excuse about her father’s work at the Topaz, just so you could get rid of him!’

  Lowering the newspaper, Carver lifted his glance, coal black eyes cold and indifferent to the fury obvious in those of his brother.

  ‘I need no excuse to give a man his tin and certainly need give you none for my actions. I am in control of the Topaz mine and of you, brother. Both are subject to my decisions.’

  ‘And it was your decision to evict the Price family,’ Paul answered scathingly. ‘To turn a whole family on to the road just to make sure you got your own way. Well, no doubt you have heard and taken joy in the fact that Caleb Price, his wife and his daughter, died that same night. Died in the flames that reduced the house to ashes.’

  He had been told. Carver returned his glance to the paper in his hands though it remained unread. He had been told of the fire and of the daughter who had not been home at the time. The elder daughter. His fingers tightened on the paper. Emma had been away on some errand, so Barlow had reported to him, returning when the blaze was at its height. Others from the village had been forced to hold her, to stop her from racing into the heart of the flames. And the next day she had left Doe Bank.

  He had not asked where she had gone. For a moment he saw again in his mind the vision that came so often to haunt him in the night: a vision of a lovely young face wreathed in silver-gilt hair, eyes wide and terrified as they stared back at him. No, he had not asked where the girl had gone, nor had he admitted the reason why. Acknowledged his fear he might be forced to follow after her.

  ‘But Emma didn’t die.’ Paul laughed scathingly. ‘So you see, Carver, all your underhand conniving was for nothing. Emma’s alive and I intend to bring her home. She will be my wife, the mistress of Beaufort House, and there isn’t a thing you can do about it!’

  Blinking away the vision that filled his eyes, Carver kept them averted as he replied, ‘Have you forgotten, I am your legal guardian?’

  His breath hissing between clenched teeth, Paul swung away to the window overlooking a garden heavy with the blooms of late summer, but the anger inside him blinded him to its beauty.

  ‘Not for much longer, Carver,’ he grated. ‘A few months more and I will be my own man, responsible only to myself. In a few months I will become a co-owner of Felton’s and be in a position to marry whomsoever I please. And that woman will be Emma Price.’

  Flicking the paper again Carver deliberately took his time before answering. ‘As you say, brother, in a few months. But these months have yet to pass and until they have you are under my jurisdiction and will do as I say.’

  Anger blazing from him, Paul swung round to face the brother for whom all his childhood love was fast fading. ‘Damn you, Carver!’ he hissed. ‘Where is she? Where has she gone? Don’t tell me you don’t know – you know everything that goes on in Lea Brook, you make it your business to know! I realise you would not follow after her, would not bring her back to Doe Bank, but nevertheless you would know where she went.’

  ‘You would not follow after her!’

  The words seemed to ring in Carver’s ears. How many times had he been on the brink of doing just that, of searching for the girl who gave him no peace? Only to save himself by the reminder she was nothing but a Doe Bank girl, the daughter of a coal miner.

  ‘How right you are.’ His reply held no trace of the feelings of a moment ago, of the lurch of his heart as he’d stared into those lovely phantom eyes. ‘I would follow after no woman, still less one of her station, but you are wrong to say I know where she is for I do not. The whereabouts of that girl bothers me not at all.’

  Covering the room in swift strides, Paul swiped a downward blow at the newspaper, tearing it from his brother’s grasp. ‘Dammit, Carver!’ he breathed. ‘For once in your life tell me the truth. Where’s Emma?’

  Bending forward to retrieve the fallen paper, Carver made an elaborate show of first smoothing then folding the crumpled sheets. Then, calmly looking into the furious young face, he slowly shook his head.

  ‘Tut-tut! Still very much the child, I see. Perhaps Father should have named me your guardian for several more years, give you more time to grow up.’

  ‘There was no need, Carver!’ His brown eyes gleaming, Paul stared at the man sitting before him. ‘I have done a deal of growing up these last weeks, enough to realise many things. Such as your reluctance to allow me any say in the way things are run here. But that will end soon, you will have no legal hold over me. And as for any other kind – don’t try, Carver. Don’t even try!’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jerusha Paget drew the worn woollen shawl about her shoulders. The evening sun on her face showed every line and wrinkle but her eyes were clear and bright with a common sense that never faded despite her years.

  ‘Emma Price said naught to be of where she might be headed, nor to any in Doe Bank so far as I know.’

  ‘But you were with her that night?’ Paul Felton gazed into her time-worn face.

  ‘True.’ Jerusha nodded, settling herself on the stool it had become her habit to carry outside and sit on in the warm evenings. ‘I was with Emma, and it is true I spoke to her the morning after, but all she said was that she could no longer bide in Doe Bank.’

  ‘But why?’

  Eyes squinting against the setting sun, Jerusha looked into his drawn face. She needed no golden silence, no silent voice to tell her of the pain this young man was suffering, nor the cause of it. He loved Emma Price but that love had been forbidden him and the price of its taking away had been the death of Emma’s family.

  ‘You can ask that,’ she answered quietly. ‘You can ask why, after all you have heard? Could you stay in a place where those you held most dear in life had burned to death?’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head, lowering it so as not to see the reproach in the old woman’s eyes. ‘No, of course, I understand. But not why she didn’t say where she intended going!’

  Behind his tall figure Jerusha watched a spider scuttle over a web, its strands glinting pale gold in the last rays of the sun. Pale gold . . . pale and silken as Emma’s hair. She too had disappeared as the spider had now disappeared. But they might meet again, she and Emma. The silence would tell her if that time came. Until then she could say nothing.

  ‘I understand my brother caused Mr Price to be dismissed from his job at the mine. I am very sorry for that.’ Paul looked up, meeting eyes that held no blame. ‘I wish I could tell Emma so.’

  ‘There be no need to give any apology to me.’ Jerusha gave him a rar
e smile. ‘Though it be good to hear you speak those words. They be ones I know that brother of yours would never utter.’

  No, Paul thought grimly. They were words Carver would never say. Doe Bank people were too far beneath him even to warrant an explanation, much less apology.

  ‘Then you cannot tell me where I might look to find Emma?’

  She could ask. Jerusha lifted her face, eyes closing in appreciation of the sun’s last gift of warmth. She could ask that silent voice, ask to be enfolded in that wonderful golden peace, to be told what this man wanted to know. She could ask, but she would not. She would not cast aside the practice of a lifetime. The voice would come at its own appointed time. If she were to know any more of Emma Price it would tell her then. Until that time she must wait.

  ‘I could suggest many places.’ She opened her eyes. ‘But there be no telling whether or not you would find her in any one of them. Search if you must and the Lord guide your steps. Jerusha Paget cannot.’

  Looking into his face she knew she could say much more. She could tell this tall young man with tumbling brown hair and eyes turned to brazen copper by the light of the dying sun to be wary of his brother. She could tell him to guard against a woman’s greed for power that would stop at nothing. But her lips clamped together and Jerusha let her tongue lie silent. She would not come between family, set brother against brother, though in her heart she felt there was already a gulf between the sons of Edward Felton. It was not for her to interfere. The fates would set the path both these men must tread, just as the fates would determine their fate.

  Glancing once more, his eyes relaying the thanks his mouth could not smile, Paul swung himself into the saddle of the horse he had tethered to a nearby gorse bush. Holding the animal tight to the rein as it pranced, eager to be away, he looked again to Jerusha.

  ‘If Emma should return, or should you hear of her whereabouts, would you be kind enough to send me word, Mrs Paget?’

  ‘Arr, lad.’ Jerusha nodded, her answer holding none of the deference the villagers of Doe Bank habitually used when replying to one of the Feltons. ‘I’ll send you word, though whether that word will reach your ears be summat else again.’