A Daughter's Price

by Emma Hornby

  ‘Oh. Oh, well. That’s all right. No bother. I erm, I’d best get back to work.’ He flashed a half-smile and walked away, head down.

  Inwardly cringing, Laura turned accusing eyes on Amos.

  ‘No need for that, now, was there? Where was the harm?’

  ‘Please don’t ever put me in such an awkward position again. Embarrassing ain’t in it! Honestly, Father, I didn’t know where to look.’ She jumped from the cart and made her way to the office before he could say anything further. An argument was the last thing she desired, but he’d been wrong to do that to her. As for poor Nathan …

  She stole a look at him across the yard and was pained to see him looking back, his face a mask of forlornness. He put her in mind of a kicked puppy, all large sorry eyes and slumped shoulders. She tore her gaze away and hurried for the sanctuary of the office.

  For the remainder of the afternoon, she avoided the window lest she caught another glimpse of Nathan outside, and threw herself into her duties with gusto to keep mind busy as well as hands. She recalled sitting down gratefully some time during the day and drinking a cup of tea, but at which point she’d fallen asleep, she couldn’t say. She awoke suddenly. Blinking away the dream fog, she looked about the empty room.

  At least she’d thought it was empty.

  Ambrose was standing in the dim corner, watching her.

  Something in his expression froze Laura’s limbs to marble ice. It seemed he hadn’t noticed her eyes were open – no wonder, as his dark gaze was fixed firmly on her chest. Then her stare travelled down and she saw to her sheer disbelief that his hand was moving furiously inside his trousers.

  A wave of smothering repugnance assaulted her soul – she reared back in the chair as though struck by an invisible fist. Its meaning – the truth – was absolute. There was nothing that the logical side of her mind could conjure up to explain away this.

  ‘God in heaven …’

  ‘Lass! I—’

  ‘Nay. You just stay back.’ Her hands, claw-like, swiped the air between them as he moved towards her. ‘Stay back, I said!’ she almost screamed when he failed to halt, the words punctuated with choking sobs. ‘Father will kill thee for this, you just wait and see!’

  ‘I’ve done nowt, you hear?’

  ‘What? How can tha say that when you were—?’

  ‘I touched thee not. Only myself. Go on, deny it!’

  Laura’s brain spun with the warpedness of it all. ‘And that makes it any less grotesque?’ she asked incredulously. ‘You were … I saw thee, what you were about. For the love of God, I’m your niece.’

  ‘Aye, well.’ Not a trace of shame or remorse stirred his features. ‘It’s not like you’re a daughter, is it? Not that closely bonded, are we? That would be bordering on foul, I grant thee.’ He shrugged. ‘I like the way you look. You’re a bonny ’un, aye. What? I’ve done nowt!’ he burst out again at the contemptuous curl of her lip. Realising his excuses wouldn’t wash with her, his tactic changed. He drew himself up to his full height – a formidable-looking figure enough when at ease, tenfold in anger. ‘Go on, then, you go right ahead and tell that father of yourn. Reckon he’ll believe thee? Huh! Looks up to me, he does, allus has. Worships me, tha might say. Your words would mean nowt stacked against mine.’

  ‘That’s lies! Father … he would listen, he would, he—’

  ‘Stake your life on that, would you?’

  Though instinct had her head snapping up and down in a firm nod, her inner voice whispered doubt. Just how often had she lambasted herself for what she’d believed to be her wild imaginings? How many times had she dismissed her uncle’s improper behaviour as innocent? If she had so little faith in her own judgement, could she say with complete conviction that her father would take it as gospel? Mother of God, if he should think her lying … the pain of that would be too much to bear. And what then? Would he disown her? Cast her out through the shame and disgust of it? He’d stood by her unshakably where her disastrous marriage and the Cannock brothers were concerned – but this? His brother? She’d sooner die than lose him.

  The corner of Ambrose’s mouth lifted at her hesitation. ‘Got it cushy, here, youse have. A sound job apiece, good dwellings – you’re willing to chuck it all away? Ruin the lot, see our Amos on the streets along with thee? And for what? I never laid a finger on thee. I’ve women aplenty for that, don’t you fear.’

  Though her heart was banging with terror and the building rage of injustice, she lifted her chin. ‘Like Bridget Figg, you mean?’

  ‘That’s right. By, but she’s willing enough. With you … I were looking, is all. Just looking. There’s no harm.’

  ‘But I don’t want you to! Never in that way. Not ever. It’s depraved, that’s what!’

  Charged silence hung between them. Her uncle’s face was stony; she could glean no clue as to what he would say – do – next. Then he spoke, and the air around her seemed to shatter like glass, the words jabbing at her ears like a physical thing:

  ‘I’ll do as I like. Ain’t no prissy young doe tells Ambrose Todd what to do.’

  ‘Then you leave me with no choice.’ She edged forward towards him and the door. ‘Get out of my way.’

  ‘Aye, all right. You seek out our Amos, try your luck. Just know this, missy: I don’t take kindly to slander.’ He delivered his threat calmly. ‘You’ll live to regret your folly, by you will.’

  Who was this monster before her at all?

  Skirting past the desk, Laura made her dash for freedom. ‘I wish to God we’d never come here.’

  ‘And why was that, I wonder?’

  Her hand froze on the knob. She swallowed.

  ‘Queer, it is. A reet rum do, aye. Upping sticks like youse did, no warning or word to me, hotfooting it to Manchester, just like that.’

  Thankful she had her back to him, she closed her eyes. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Aye? Shall I tell thee what I think’s occurring here? I reckon you’re running. Oh yes. From what, I wonder? Happen I should make a few enquiries, eh, in yon Bolton town? What says thee to that?’

  Her tongue refused to form an answer, be it a denial or otherwise. Her chest felt heavy, her legs weightless. She prayed to the Almighty that she wouldn’t pass out.

  ‘So. There we have it. I’m right, eh?’

  He couldn’t discover the truth. He mustn’t know. For if he did, if he informed on her to those men … It would mean a fate worse than death for her. Worse still, Father, too. No. No.

  ‘Well, then. Now we know where we stand … I’ll leave thee to get back to your duties.’ As if a switch had been pressed, Ambrose was suddenly changed. His voice was jolly, his face beaming. ‘I have some calls to make. See thee later, lass.’

  The door slammed shut behind him. Numbness kept her scorching tears from spilling and the sobs confined to her throat.

  She released a long breath. Then she crossed the room slowly and returned to her work.

  The following morning, Bridget had prepared breakfast before leaving for church, and Amos and Ambrose were helping themselves from the dishes on the table when Laura entered the kitchen. To match her mood, the cloud-heavy sky had released a steady stream of rain since dawn, and the sight of her uncle sitting there smiling, his large stomach resting on the table in front of him, dulled her world further.

  ‘Morning, lass!’

  She flicked her eyes to her father and, seeing him watching her, forced herself to smile at the other man. ‘Morning, Uncle Ambrose.’

  ‘Any plans the day?’

  Reaching for the small teapot, wishing he’d shut up and leave her be, she shook her head.

  One thing Laura was sure of: if her father chose to practise what this day was intended for – to rest – and coupled with Bridget away at worship, she would make an excuse – must – for she wouldn’t spend the day alone with him. No way. The notion caused her stomach to churn and bile to rise. Yesterday …

  She never dreamed herself such
a coward, yet here she was, sat breaking bread with him after all he’d done, his disgusting display … And to think that before venturing to this city she’d believed that things surely couldn’t get any worse. Stupid.

  Sleep would be an impossibility later, same as last night, and no wonder. Lying in her moonlit bed, she’d gathered up the coverlet in her bunched fists, raging inside, tears of helplessness coursing unchecked down her face. Ambrose Todd had her over a barrel, and he knew it.

  Telling Father what his brother was about would result in nothing but loss for them both. Their dwelling, their jobs, would be no more. Even if Ambrose didn’t boot them from his home and business if confronted, Amos would never stay on here and at the yard if he knew. And yet she knew that was the best outcome she could hope for. Because the alternative scenarios that could play out were far, far worse.

  Her father could kill him. Had he solid proof of the real goings-on, he’d tear his brother’s head from his neck, of that she was in no doubt. Then he would hang. Just contemplating this killed her. Next, of course, there was the possibility that Amos wouldn’t take her revelation as truth. He could side with his brother. Then she’d be homeless, jobless and alone. Penniless, destitute, disowned, destroyed by the person she loved more than any other. She couldn’t – wouldn’t – risk that.

  And if Ambrose should – nay, he definitely would, oh yes – carry through with his threat of asking their business in Bolton and what had driven them here, reveal her whereabouts to the Cannock brothers … Her very life would be in jeopardy – more so than it was now, with no one, without her father’s support and protection. She’d be done for, well and truly.

  No. There was no way out of this mess he’d created. She had to keep her silence, at least for now. At least until she had a way, a plan. If ever. It was the safest, most sensible option open to her at the moment. And yet … what did that mean for her?

  Would he attempt again …? Of course he would. Hadn’t he said himself no one told him what to do? He had no intention of stopping what he’d started. He had her in his palm, to play and manipulate as and however he pleased. The horror, fear, made her want to weep.

  Damn it, she couldn’t let him violate her like that. She couldn’t!

  ‘I’m for returning to my room forra lie-down, I think,’ Amos announced, slicing through his daughter’s thoughts, oblivious of her agonising. He rose and stretched. ‘It’s what lazy Sundays are for, eh, after all?’

  ‘Aye. Me, an’ all,’ Laura said, doing her utmost to keep the panic from her voice at the prospect of what she’d dreaded becoming reality: being alone with her uncle. Then she glanced to the very man and her heart dropped as though from a heady height to see him staring at her with a deep and knowing glint in his eye.

  Mother of God, surely not. Not at home, with her father in the next room? He wouldn’t try it here … Was nowhere safe?

  Crossing the flagged floor quickly, she snatched up her shawl, saying to Amos over her shoulder, ‘Actually, I’ll take a walk, Father, whilst you’re resting.’

  ‘A walk?’ Her uncle’s interjection was clipped; he wasn’t best pleased she’d thwarted his sick plans, she saw. ‘But it’s raining. You’ll catch your death of cold.’

  ‘Nay. It looks to be clearing,’ she said, keeping her eyes averted as she busied herself knotting the ends of the garment beneath her breasts.

  ‘But these streets and lanes ain’t the place to be alone, even in daylight hours. There’s all manner of madmen in the slums, and you being a lass, to boot … It’s in danger you’d be, aye. ’Specially if some varmint took it into his head to get a grip of thee, bonny ’un like you,’ he added slyly, and Laura knew he was using the attack the day she accidentally wandered into the cluster of alleys when searching for employment to frighten her. Hah. It was here, with the madman that was him, that terrified her far more.

  Amos was frowning. ‘’Ere, lass, happen your uncle’s right—’

  ‘I’ll be fine, Father. I’ll be fine,’ she repeated reassuringly, seeing his anxiousness, sorry to worry him but loath to have him talk her out of it, to remain here. ‘I’ll not roam far, have no fear.’

  Ambrose’s eyes followed her from the kitchen, and it wasn’t until she reached the end of the street that she was able to breathe easier. She leaned against the wall of a pawnbroker’s on the corner and squeezed her eyes shut, biting her bottom lip to stem her emotion until she tasted blood.

  She and her father had promised to accompany the maid to church another time – Bridget, a staunch believer, had been thrilled to discover they practised the same faith. Laura’s maternal grandparents had been Irish and Amos, with no solid denomination, his own family lax on the religious front, had converted to Catholicism after falling in love to appease his future in-laws. Laura now wished she’d gone along today to the Hidden Gem, as St Mary’s in the city centre was known locally, to offer prayer; she needed all the help she could get. Fortunately, she wouldn’t have to suffer her uncle for a few hours next Sunday at least; he followed no doctrine. No surprise there. He’d probably combust if he stepped through a holy door, devilish piece that he was.

  Just how have things come to this? she asked of the Lord, squinting skywards through the drizzle. This new nightmare she’d become trapped in was worse than she’d thought. What the hell was she to do? Living and working together, she couldn’t avoid that beast for ever; what, then?

  ‘That’s it.’ Her eyes opened slowly. She nodded. ‘We’ll move. I’ll find me and Father fresh dwellings and a new position for me. Father won’t miss my help delivering the coal sacks when I’m gone from the yard, not once he’s had the medicine and is well again – the medicine!’ She clicked her tongue, remembering. What with everything that was going on, she’d forgotten all about it, much to her shame. I’ll prepare it for him later, she vowed, pushing herself from the grubby wet bricks and continuing on her way.

  Laura had been walking aimlessly for what felt like days when a voice called her name – Bridget! She hurried to catch up with the Irishwoman and, upon reaching her, had to stop herself from throwing her arms around her neck. Never had she been so happy to see another human being. ‘Hello, Figg.’

  ‘Saints preserve us! What are ye doing out wandering the lanes? Sure, you’re soaked through to the marrow!’

  ‘I fancied a walk.’

  ‘Fancied a …?’ She shook her head in bemusement. ‘I don’t understand the young of today, I’m sure I don’t! Come, colleen. Let’s get you home by the fire and a hot drink inside ye.’

  Laura gratefully allowed herself to be led. Her clothes and the body beneath them were itchy with damp and her feet throbbed in her squelching clogs. She’d be safe there now she had company. God above, how much more of this?

  Minutes later, she had a fluffy blanket around her shoulders and was warming her toes before the kitchen fire’s leaping flames; Ambrose was nowhere to be seen. Where he’d gone, she neither knew nor cared, was just glad of the fact.

  ‘Ta, thanks, Figg,’ she said, taking a steaming cup from her and feeling quietly calm for the first time that day. She just hoped her uncle wouldn’t return to mar her mood for a good long while. ‘Is my father still abed?’

  The woman smiled. ‘If the snores I heard coming from his room when I went upstairs to fetch your blanket are anything to go by, he is.’

  Laura nodded. She’d leave him to rest a while longer before preparing and taking up to him the foxglove tea. Would he accept it? Would it even work? Time would soon tell. In the meantime …

  ‘Figg?’

  ‘Aye, colleen?’

  She kept her tone as matter-of-fact as she could muster. ‘What was the name of that mill again where you said your nieces work?’

  ‘Sedgwick. But you’ll not be needing the use of that place now, will ye? Not since sir gave you a position at his works, kind and generous soul that he is.’

  Her false nod of agreement made her want to be sick. Bridget couldn’t see him for wh
at he was, all he stood for. She was infatuated, had to be. Laura had heard talk that it happened often with servants and their masters, but dear God, him, who spoke to and treated Bridget like muck beneath his boot? Was love really so blind?

  ‘How are ye getting along, then, at the yard? You’re enjoying it, I trust?’

  Again, she forced a bob of her head. ‘Aye yes, I—’

  ‘Sweet Jesus, what was that?’ the maid gasped, looking upwards in the direction of the heavy thump that had cut off Laura’s answer. The women shot each other a worried glance then hurried from the kitchen.

  Laura took the stairs two at a time, heart thumping, and burst into her father’s room. She slapped a hand to her mouth. Amos was lying face down on the floor by the bed, unmoving. ‘Father!’

  ‘Let me through, colleen.’ Bridget moved her aside and knelt by Amos. She took his wrist and checked his pulse whilst Laura looked on, frozen in terror. Then gently, she lifted his head. ‘Mr Amos, sir? Can ye hear me?’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘Oh, thank God!’ Laura threw herself to her knees. ‘Father, what happened? What ails thee, what—?’

  ‘Give him a minute to gather his bearings,’ soothed Bridget, squeezing her arm. ‘He’s coming round, see.’

  With effort, they helped Amos into a sitting position and propped him against the bedstead. His eyes were glassy, and blood trickled from a small cut above his nose where it had made contact with the floor. Laura dabbed at it tenderly. He peered up at her with a frown.

  ‘Lass … What happened?’

  ‘You took a tumble, Father. Fell from your bed, it seems. Lord, seeing you lying there … You frickened me half to death. I thought … You’re all right?’ she asked through her tears, scrubbing her face with her sleeve.

  ‘My head. Hurts. Tea …’ He glanced to Bridget, who nodded. ‘Parched.’

  ‘Let’s get ye up and back into bed first, Mr Amos, then I’ll bring you up a sup.’

  Again, between them they lifted him up and half dragged him on to the bed – even with two of them, his considerable size, coupled with his weakened state, made it a struggle. The moment his head touched the pillow he closed his eyes and was immediately back asleep.