A Daughter's Price

by Emma Hornby

  ‘Well, you can put that from your mind, lass. Starting the morrow, you’ll work here for me.’

  She blinked in surprise. ‘Here?’

  ‘You object to it?’

  ‘Well, nay, but …’ Glancing through the window to the busy yard and the thick-muscled men hard at toil, she bit her lip. ‘You really think I’ll measure up, Uncle Ambrose? I’m stronger than I look, it’s true, but those sacks look awful heavy … What?’ she asked when Ambrose threw back his head and laughed heartily. ‘What did I say?’

  ‘Not out on t’ yard floor, you daft bugger, yer,’ he spluttered on a guffaw. ‘Nay. You’ll work alongside me in t’ office, here.’

  ‘Oh.’ She grinned sheepishly. ‘That makes more sense.’

  ‘It’s a ruddy mess, and that’s the truth.’

  Taking stock of the space, she nodded agreement. ‘I’ll be tidying and such, like?’

  ‘That’s right. And keeping my papers in order – just by date will do if you’re not too sharp with the reading – and making brews, that sort of thing. Well, what d’you reckon?’

  ‘I reckon it sounds gradely, aye.’ And she meant it. So long as he didn’t think to treat her as he did his other staff, that was. She’d give him no cause to complain, of course, and in return hoped he’d show her the same level of courtesy. ‘Eeh, ta, Uncle. I’m that grateful.’

  ‘That’s settled, then. Now, you get going home.’

  ‘Aye, all right.’

  ‘And lass?’

  Laura paused by the door. ‘Aye?’

  Rising from his seat and closing the space between them, Ambrose fixed his eyes once more on her chest. Then he reached out and prodded between the cleft of her breasts – she squirmed beneath his touch, though he didn’t seem to notice. His voice was low and thick. ‘Get Figg to repair yon button afore your father notices. Remember, not a word to him about today’s antics.’

  ‘Aye, yes, I … I will.’ Gripping the shawl tightly against herself, she backed off through the door. ‘I’ll be going now. Goodbye.’

  Throughout the short journey home her mind was a jumble of thoughts. That she’d gained a position she was, for her father’s sake, happy about. And yet …

  Her hand travelled to the spot her uncle had fingered; his touch still lingered, as though branded there. Confusion and an odd sense of sickliness washed through her. She frowned. Then her rational side was telling her not to be silly, that she was misreading the situation. He was her uncle, for goodness’ sake … And wanting to believe it, she listened.

  Still, she was at a loss as to why the unease coiling her guts remained with her for the rest of the day.

  Amos was delighted with the news.

  ‘She’ll come to no harm under my watch, brother.’

  ‘Aye, that I know.’ He patted Ambrose on the back. ‘The lass couldn’t be in safer hands.’

  Laura offered them a small smile and continued with her breakfast. Her encounter yesterday with the scar-faced varmint in the dark and deserted lane lay heavily on her conscience; keeping secrets from Amos, no matter if it was to protect him, didn’t sit well with her. However, Ambrose had been right: her father would be furious should he learn what had occurred, and that would do his health no good at all. Better that they kept it to themselves.

  Her thoughts switched to her conspirator and their meeting in the office and her body gave an involuntary shudder. But again, she told herself she had blown this all out of proportion, that if anything she was the queer one to be harbouring such inappropriate notions. He was her uncle … Today marked the start of a fresh beginning for her. Not only would she be earning, but she’d get to see Amos throughout the day when he dropped in at the yard between rounds. It was the perfect position, really. She must do her utmost to see that it worked out.

  ‘Right, then. I’ll see youse shortly.’ Ambrose rose from the table with a nod to them both. ‘Don’t you be late, lady,’ he added to Laura, winking to his brother, who chuckled.

  ‘I’ll not,’ she assured him, waving him on his way. Her smile soon slipped, however, when, immediately her uncle left the house, Amos’s face contorted in a discomfort he’d clearly been hiding from the other man. ‘Father?’ She rushed to his side. ‘What is it?’

  Rubbing his chest with a bunched fist, Amos breathed deeply. ‘Nowt, no need to fret. I’ll be reet in a handful of minutes, allus am.’

  ‘This has happened afore? When? How long has tha been getting this pain?’ He’d appeared fine yesterday upon his return from his first day at his new job. Had that been a mask he’d been wearing, too? ‘Father, why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Lass, I’m all right.’

  ‘But Father—’

  ‘We’ll speak on this no more, Laura.’ His voice brooked no argument. Taking a last deep breath, he sat up straight and picked up his spoon to resume his meal. ‘You see. I’m fine now, just like I said.’

  Fear had her gripped in its jaws and, more than ever, she was thankful for her new job. She’d maintain a better watch, see that he took rests between his rounds. Lord but she loved him, needed to keep him well.

  A short time later, as they walked together to the coal yard, she flicked sidelong glances in his direction to check how he fared, but he looked his usual self. Again, when he climbed atop his laden cart and was about to set off, Laura scrutinised Amos’s face – all seemed fine. Breathing a sigh of relief, she watched until he and Kenneth had disappeared through the gates then made her way to the office, her attention now on her own duties.

  The morning passed quickly and she found the work pleasant enough. After tidying and sorting into neat piles mounds of ledgers and loose papers she set to organising everything in order of date and filing them away into their relevant drawers. Ambrose, busy directing his workforce in the yard, flitted in to check her progress once or twice only throughout the hours and was happy with the results.

  Laura matched his feelings. She knew a sense of accomplishment she wasn’t accustomed to, and she liked it. She’d never had to work as Adam’s wife – he’d have had a blue fit had she suggested the idea, and incurring his wrath was something she’d striven to avoid at all costs. Earning an honest crust all by herself left a warm glow deep within her that she hadn’t expected. She was good at something. She knew now that, if she could help it, she’d never be out of work again.

  Having dusted and swept, she made a fresh pot of tea and allowed herself her first sit-down of the day. She was sipping her sweetened brew when the door opened once again and her uncle entered. He took stock of the room and slowly nodded his approval.

  ‘You’ve done well.’

  ‘Ta, thanks, Uncle Ambrose.’

  ‘Any tea going begging?’

  Laura went to fetch him a cup. He drained the drink in one then reached for a bundle of papers on his desk.

  ‘I’m away to a business meeting. You’ll manage right enough whilst I’m gone?’

  ‘Aye, Uncle Ambrose.’

  He nodded, smiled. Then he crossed to her chair and stooped until their faces were level. His eyes, a darker grey than usual, bore into hers. He chucked her under the chin – though if Ambrose meant the action to be friendly or jocular, he was sadly mistaken; Laura squirmed at his touch.

  ‘I’ve a feeling we’re going to work well together, lass, aye,’ he murmured.

  She tried but failed to offer a response, and the smile she attempted to drag to her lips wouldn’t cooperate. Uneasiness had quickened her heartbeat, and the struggle to remain calm, to stop herself from springing from her seat and him, and running from this room, was growing by the second. She couldn’t even pinpoint what exactly was going on in this moment. She just knew instinctively that whatever it was, it wasn’t … natural was the only term she could put to it. And she didn’t like it.

  ‘Right, then.’ Ambrose straightened and strode to the door. ‘I’d best be away. I shall be gone some hours. See thee later.’

  When he’d left she released air she had
n’t realised she was holding. When, moments later, footsteps sounded beyond the door, and believing it to be her uncle returning, having perhaps forgotten something, breath caught in her throat again. However, it wasn’t Ambrose’s towering form that entered the office but the wiry one of the young man Nathan, his employee.

  ‘Apologies for disturbing thee, miss. Your father …’

  ‘What is it?’ She was on her feet and hurrying towards him in a heartbeat. ‘He’s unwell?’

  ‘I reckon so, aye.’

  Pushing past him, she sprinted outside and scanned the yard. She spotted Kenneth and the cart by the gates, but Amos was nowhere to be seen. ‘Where is he?’ she asked of Nathan, who had followed her.

  He pointed to a makeshift bench a short distance away. ‘I left him there to rest whilst I came to collect thee. He’s insisting nowt ails him, mind.’

  Laura rushed to the older man, who sat with bowed head, his hands on his knees, as though struggling to catch his breath. She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. ‘Father?’

  ‘Hello, lass,’ he wheezed out, and his attempt at a smile was more of a grimace. ‘How’s your first … day going … then?’

  ‘Oh, Father.’ Tears sprang to her eyes. ‘Please stop this pretence. Summat’s not right with thee and—’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘But you ain’t! I’m sending for t’ doctor—’

  ‘Nay.’ Amos’s head sprang up. His eyes were steely. ‘That’s an order, my lass. As for thee,’ he added to Nathan coldly, ‘you see what you’ve gone and caused? I told yer I was all right, told yer not to go running to the girl here, upsetting her.’

  ‘I’m glad he did,’ Laura cut in. ‘For God’s sake, Father, you’re not well. You need to rest—’

  ‘It’s back to work I need to be.’

  She could only watch in horror-filled astonishment as her father rose and headed to his cart, on to which men were piling fresh sacks of coal in preparation for his next round. ‘I don’t believe … Why won’t he listen?’

  ‘He’s proud, miss. But he ain’t doing hisself no favours.’

  Her tears spilling, she turned desperate eyes to the young man. ‘What d’you think it is, Nathan? What’s ailing him?’

  He hesitated at her distress, then: ‘It’s his heart, I reckon. It’s what drew my attention when he arrived back here; he were clutching his chest, looked in mortal pain.’

  Gulping back a sob, she returned her gaze to Amos. Still, a deathly pallor touched his features, and anger rose up in her. She straightened her shoulders. ‘Right. There’s nowt else for it.’

  ‘What will tha do, miss?’ asked Nathan, hurrying after her as she strode off towards her father.

  ‘Summat that’ll make him see sense, God willing. And please, call me Laura.’

  ‘Now, lass, I’ve told thee—’ began Amos when she reached him, but her nod and sweet smile stopped him in his tracks. He blinked in surprised relief that another pestering, as he clearly saw it, was to be avoided. ‘Right, then. Good. I’ll see thee later.’

  ‘Wait a minute, please, Father.’

  Pausing in his task of climbing aboard the cart, Amos turned back with a frown. He was still wearing it when, after hurrying to the office, Laura returned waving an old flat cap she’d spotted in a cupboard earlier during her cleaning. She put it on, tucked her hair beneath it and nodded again. Then she pulled herself up into the space beside her father’s seat.

  Amos was aghast. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘There’s work to be done, Father. You said so yourself.’

  ‘Aye, but—!’

  ‘And you’re right: the coal won’t deliver itself, will it?’

  ‘Well, nay, but—!’

  ‘Are we all loaded?’ Laura asked Nathan, standing in stunned silence, watching the scene unfold. At his confirmation, she lifted her chin. ‘Right. Come along, then, Father.’

  ‘Laura, what in the world … Have you taken leave of your senses entirely, girl?’

  ‘Nay, Father, you have. That’s why I’m being forced to take this action.’ Her tone brought Amos’s mouth open in shock. Not once in her life had she spoken as harshly to him, had never so much as raised her voice. Her desperation – and steadfastness – was clear. ‘You’re driving your health into the ground, and I can’t sit back and be witness to it any longer. If you’re determined to continue toiling like this, then I’m going to help.’

  ‘Help? Thee?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Now, Laura, you’ve gone too far here. I’ll not—’

  ‘Father.’ She laid a hand on his shoulder and, leaning in close, spoke softly now, soothingly, sensing his mounting humiliation. ‘I love thee; oh, more than I can put into words. Please. Let me do this for thee. Let me ease your burden in whatever way I can. Just till you’re stronger, eh? No one need know. We’ll be discreet, and Uncle Ambrose will be none the wiser. Please.’

  ‘Lass …’

  ‘I’ll not take nay for an answer,’ she said, her firmness returning before he could pooh-pooh the suggestion further. Glancing down to Nathan, she added, ‘My uncle ain’t due back forra while yet; me and Father should be back afore he is. Mind, if Uncle Ambrose should return and find I’m not here … tell him … tell him I weren’t feeling too good and took myself off home. Will tha do that for me, Nathan? Please?’

  ‘’Course, aye. Fret none; Mr Todd is allus gone from t’ yard forra few hours each day.’ He looked over the sacks on the cart then nodded. ‘You’re all set.’

  She passed the reins to Amos, who accepted them with a defeated sigh. His pride was taking a painful battering, she knew, but it was for his own good. Hopefully, he’d see that in the long run. She must do this.

  As the shire made his steady way from the yard and into the street, Laura pulled her oversized cap lower, obscuring her face. Folk could be funny about the fairer sex involving themselves in heavy trades, were inclined to be untrusting of their capabilities, not take them seriously. Unless it was out of public sight, of course; that was another matter. It was perfectly acceptable for females to work themselves into early graves behind the closed doors of dangerous mills and factories, or labour hard in the fields alongside husbands on isolated farmsteads.

  Women, too, had even contributed greatly towards coal haulage, but in an altogether more unpalatable capacity – in the actual mining of the stuff. In one of the toughest, dirtiest, most perilous jobs there was, they had toiled up to fifteen-hour days, six days a week, until the 1842 passing of the Mines and Collieries Act prohibited this, only a few short decades ago.

  It was a typical, and rather ignorant, case of out of sight out of mind, that was for sure. Nevertheless, she and Amos could well do without word getting back to Ambrose. Besides, unwanted attention was the last thing she needed with the Cannock brothers still – she was sure – on the search for her. Manchester this might be, but Bolton town wasn’t so great a distance away. Perhaps they had discovered where she’d gone, were already on her tail, just waiting for the right time to strike …

  Quickly, she forced the thoughts away before terror consumed her and concentrated on the task in hand.

  CHAPTER 5

  AMOS’S BELLIGERENCE ONLY grew throughout the course of the afternoon. Despite Laura’s best efforts, he refused to readily accept her help at every house they came to and mumbled his displeasure non-stop. Taking it in her stride, realising how difficult this was for him, she retaliated with but easy silence and smiles.

  Their round took them through the heart of the city, past wharfs and warehouses, mills, brick and timber yards, as well as tanneries, boneyards and gasworks, and culminated in a plethora of fetid smells, depending on which way the wind was blowing. To her surprise, Laura found that she loved the work. Though her arms and back had begun to ache within minutes, and muscles she didn’t know she had burned from the unaccustomed toil, she’d pushed through without complaint. By the time only half the sacks of coal remained on the cart, eve
n her father was showing a grudging admiration of her tenacity – it showed in his eyes, though he did his best to mask it.

  ‘We’ll be finished afore we know it, Father.’

  Amos didn’t respond. Drawing Kenneth to a halt outside the next customer’s house, he climbed from the cart, and Laura followed. He dragged a heavy sack towards him then, bending his knees, hauled it up and on to one broad shoulder. Once more, she was waiting. Gripping the bottom of the sack in her two hands, she lifted it high, thus distributing the weight and sharing the burden, and in a shuffled walk they made their way to the circular coalhole cover imbedded in the pavement by the property. This, she knew, like the others they had stopped at on the round, would have been unlocked from the inside in preparation of their visit, to be swiftly secured again on their departure – you never could be too careful in this swarming city, where both desperate and opportunist burglars abounded.

  Ingenious, really, Laura thought again, eyeing the silver plate, beneath which lay the resident’s coal bunker in the cellar. Thanks to this method, sooty sacks and equally grubby delivery men had no cause to venture inside the house proper, just as these more affluent occupiers desired – though their poorer counterparts were not afforded such luxury.

  The last thing these customers wanted was coal dirt, thick and black and smelly, besmirching the beautiful carpets, or large and clumsy men bumping into their delicate, spindly-legged furniture with their dusty sacks. In turn, the depositing holes’ location on the street made the coalman’s job easier, minimising the distance over which they had to carry their heavy load. It suited all concerned.

  Yet to her, more impressive still were the varied designs on the covers themselves. Roughly twelve to fourteen inches in diameter, they were mainly of cast iron, though one or two she’d seen today even included small glass panes and concrete panels. Besides advertising the name of the foundry which had smelted them, each boasted moulded patterns, some more intricate than others, which were raised to prevent them being slippery underfoot in wet and sleety weather. Some bore simple designs; others were more decorative and rather beautiful, depicting bold, interlocking stripes and even images: flowers and stars, suns and diamonds. A mostly overlooked form of art in their own right.