by Emma Hornby
Puffing from the exertion, Bridget gnawed her lip. ‘I’m not happy with him, colleen. I think we should send for the doctor.’
‘He’d cause merry hell; he dislikes owt to do with medical men.’ And if Ambrose should discover … ‘He seems well enough, now … Or is it just wishful thinking on my part?’ Laura was torn. ‘D’you really think it’s that bad, Figg?’
‘I can’t rightly say. He could have banged his skull, could have done some damage …’
‘There’s no injuries I can see, bar the one on his nose.’
‘Aye. And as ye say, he’s stable enough.’ The maid nodded. ‘We’ll keep an eye to him till your uncle returns, see what he decides. I’ll fetch that tea.’
Before Laura could beg her silence – the last thing she and her father needed was Ambrose finding out – she was gone. Sighing, Laura perched on the edge of the bed and, taking one of Amos’s hands in her own, stroked it softly. Had he simply rolled from the bed in his sleep? Or, as she secretly feared, had he already risen and collapsed whilst conscious? Would he remember when he wakened? Would he admit the truth to her if he did?
Was his health deteriorating? Closing her eyes, she breathed through the rising panic. Lord, watch him, please. One thing was clear: she couldn’t leave the yard after all, not now. She must be close by to keep an eye to him, to help him in his work. He needed her. And Father, I need you, now more than ever before.
Could she really endure her uncle, though, if she was to stay on there?
Her gaze swivelled to Amos’s tired face and, of its own accord, her back straightened in resolution.
God help her, she’d have to.
CHAPTER 7
OCTOBER GALES HAD brought to the city the first shivers of winter. In every Manchester street, court and lane, people kept a watchful eye on the impending season with quiet dread. Cold brought illness, and for the poor in particular, increased threat of death. No money meant no coal. No fire meant no hot meal or drink to stave off the chill. Coupled with inadequate and ragged clothing and dwellings colder than the outdoors, the only healthy thing in the slums was the reaper’s trade. If the freezing temperature didn’t get to them first, disease would finish the job. Countless people would perish before the birth of the new spring. Such was the way of the world.
Life in the house off London Road continued as usual. The foursome rubbed along beneath the same roof as if nothing was changed – only Laura and her tormentor knew different. With dogged determination, she did her utmost to ignore him as much as she was able and steer clear of him when she wasn’t. At home, her bedroom was her sanctuary – Ambrose had to pass his brother’s room to reach hers and so, as yet, hadn’t attempted it. Being holed in the small office at work, however, made it harder to avoid him but, much to her relief, besides leering looks and the odd lascivious remark, he’d left her be. For now.
The one beacon of hope in her otherwise tense and uncertain world was that the medicine seemed to have done the trick – Amos was fresher, brighter, than she’d seen him in many months. As the old herb woman forewarned, the foxglove tea had made him sick something awful. But soon enough, he was up and about, frowning in discomfort less and smiling more, and for this alone, Laura was thankful of their circumstances.
Then came the day when the situation took a sinister shift. It was a time she’d dreaded. When stares and comments were not enough, and Ambrose upped the stakes in his debauched game.
It was the end of the week and nearing finishing time at the yard. Her uncle had been absent for most of the day and, when he entered the office, he did so on slightly unsteady feet. It was fast approaching the best time of year for men of his trade; fuel was king. Clearly, he’d raised more than one glass in the public houses in celebration that business was increasing and profits were up. Laura took one look at his bleary gaze and slack-jawed grin and felt her guts drop to her toes. She quickly filed away the papers she’d been sorting through and went to fetch her shawl. Wrapping it around her shoulders, she moved to the door, eyes averted, head down.
‘’Ere. Wait.’
‘But I’ve completed what tasks tha set me for the day—’
‘And a gradely job you’ve done, too, no doubt, as always. Nay, it’s not that.’
‘Then what?’ she forced herself to ask.
‘Sit with me awhile.’
‘Father … Father will be waiting for me, he—’
‘I sent him on an errand. We’ve a handful of minutes to ourselfs afore his return.’
Unease traced prickly fingers up her spine. She licked her lips nervously. ‘Aye, well. Nonetheless, I think I’ll just be on my way—’
‘Sit.’
His tone brooked no argument. After a last look of longing at the door Laura did as she was told.
Ambrose leaned against the desk close by, his knee almost brushing hers, and folded his arms. He chuckled when she shifted her legs to avoid them touching. ‘I ain’t riddled with the bubonic, lass.’
‘What d’you want?’
‘To talk is all.’
‘What about?’
His eyes trawled the length of her. ‘Tonight.’
‘What?’
‘I’m for coming to you later when you’re abed. I’ll not waken thee. Be sure to keep a healthy fire in your room so as you’ve no need for blankets. ’Tain’t as fun if you’re all covered up.’
She had to be dreaming this whole sordid nightmare, surely? Mouth falling open with incredulousness, she shook her head slowly. ‘You’re mad – foul.’
‘I told thee—’
‘Now I’m telling thee,’ she spat, springing from her seat. ‘Come anywhere near me and I’ll run screaming to Father. He’ll kill you, d’you hear, and it’s no more than you deserve!’
‘You’ll not.’
‘I will, I tell you!’
‘Then you’re a fool. I could make your life very unhappy. I’ll see thee with nowt as easy as that.’ He clicked his fingers.
Though scared, she forced her chin up. ‘Listen to yourself. You’re really so arrogant you believe you can bully and intimidate me into going along with your disgusting wishes? I’m not a slip of a lass, Uncle Ambrose, what knows no better and will bend to your will. I’m a grown woman who’s known life, known a man. A widow—’
‘Aye, I’ve been thinking on that.’
The calmness with which he delivered his statement – and its subject – threw her. She swallowed hard. ‘What d’you mean?’
‘How was it again that Adam died? I can’t recall.’
‘That’s because I’ve never told thee. But if you must know, he was sick. An, an illness took him.’
‘Well, that’s queer.’
‘What is?’
‘Well, our Amos, you see, he reckons it were a tragic accident occurred at work. He said so hisself out yonder, the day youse arrived in this city. Remember?’
Laura went hot all over. He’d been trying to catch her out, and it had worked. Consumed by her emotions, she wasn’t thinking straight, had allowed herself to be tricked. Stupid, stupid.
‘So? Which is it? Or have I to take myself up to Bolton town, dig out the truth for myself?’
‘Just leave me alone. Please.’
Seeing the nervous twisting on her hands, the tears building in her eyes and tremor of her bottom lip, he sighed as though satisfied. ‘Later, then. You’ll be … accommodating, won’t yer?’
She stared back dully. She had nothing left to fight with.
‘No sticking to your father like a limpet, no lingering in the kitchen till all hours with that bloody maid, no avoiding me. You just get yourself off to bed at a reasonable hour the night. You hear?’
‘Please …’
‘That’s an order. Ah, here’s Amos,’ he added cordially, as though nothing had taken place between them, glancing to the yard through the window. ‘Run along now and catch up with him, get yourselfs off home. I’ll see thee later.’
She fled. Desperate eyes fixed on
her father chatting to another worker up ahead, she failed to spot Nathan emerging from the stables until it was too late; she hurtled into him, almost knocking the pair of them to the grubby cobbles.
‘Lad! Oh! So sorry, I … didn’t see …’
‘That’s all right. ’Ere, what’s the matter?’ Taking in her wild stare and trembling hands, his smile faded. ‘Laura?’
‘I … I just …’
‘Come with me.’ He made to lead her to a quieter part of the yard, but she pulled back, couldn’t bear his kindness right now, for she’d break down without a doubt and all would be lost.
‘Nay. I’m fine, lad, honest. I …’ A sudden idea came to her and her spirits lifted ever so slightly. ‘Does your offer of going out some place together still stand?’ she asked tentatively. She’d embarrassed the both of them a few weeks ago by refusing, although, being the easy-mannered fellow that he was, he hadn’t let it come between them – would he still be interested? She needed something to avoid that house of her uncle’s for a few short hours and all it had come to stand for. She’d also more than welcome Nathan’s calming presence. ‘If you’ve changed your mind, of course, I’ll understand—’
‘’Course I ain’t. I’d like that, Laura, aye. I’d like that very much.’
Warmness filled her, threatening to tip her emotions overboard. She smiled, nodded. ‘Today?’
His pleased grin spread. ‘Aye. Aye, yeah. Where d’you fancy going?’
‘Anywhere, I don’t mind. You’ll call for me at home? You know the address?’
‘Aye yes.’
‘Say … in an hour?’ The sooner she could escape its confines, the better.
‘An hour?’ He seemed surprised. ‘Well, I suppose I could have a quick scrub and change of clothing in that time … Mind, we’d have to snatch summat to eat whilst we’re out, for Mam mightn’t have my meal prepared so soon—’
‘That suits me,’ she cut in, already making her way to the gate, lest he questioned her urgency. ‘See you later, then.’
And what of tonight upon your return? For you’ll have to go back there some time. He’ll be waiting. He’ll take his chance, slip across the landing, into your room and— ‘Nay,’ she whispered fiercely, scattering the loathsome fact from her racing mind. ‘I’ll not dwell on it!’
‘Hello, lass.’
How she commanded the smile to her lips and kept it there, she didn’t know. Begging her thumping heart to slow and the tears to stay at bay – this man was her safe harbour; she should have been able to tell him of her crippling struggles, would have done anything for it to be possible but, damn it, it wasn’t – she fell into step beside him. ‘Good day?’
Amos nodded. ‘You?’
A few deep swallows, then: ‘Aye.’
‘Good, good.’
Oh, Father … ‘You’re well? You’ve had no pains – breathlessness – at all?’
‘Nay, lass. I’m mended, I told thee. No fussing.’
‘Sorry.’ She smiled again, linked her arm through his. ‘I love thee is all.’
‘And I thee. Now, then. Young fella-me-lad back yonder …’ He jerked his head towards the yard and wiggled his bushy grey eyebrows. ‘Youse seemed to be deep in conversation back there.’
‘He’s … Well, we’re for meeting up later. Only as friends, mind,’ she hastened to add when Amos nodded knowingly.
‘Well, I’m glad to hear it, lass. He seems a sound sort.’
‘Aye, he does.’ And she meant it. Perhaps in another time, another place … But no. She couldn’t, no matter the man, knew she never would again. Adam Cannock and his ways had put paid to that.
It had been a wonderful evening.
Laura cast the gathering darkness a bitter glance. She could have stayed out for ever. And much to her shock and not a little confusion, the reason wasn’t only to avoid home and her uncle.
She’d enjoyed herself.
Despite her current problems and those still haunting her mind from the past where the opposite sex was concerned, she’d found herself warming to Nathan in a way that she hadn’t anticipated. He made it difficult not to, and she’d quickly given up trying to uphold a distant front. He was cheeky, fun, made her laugh. Most importantly, he was kind and respectful. More than anything else, she’d needed that tonight.
He’d opted for the People’s Concert Hall, known locally as the Cass, situated on Lower Mosley Street. A plain, drab-looking building, its edifice soot-blackened like everything else in the chimney-choked industrial towns and cities, it seated upwards of three thousand people. Classes were segregated into separate areas and Nathan had announced that he could stretch to the best seats, but she’d persuaded him otherwise and they had instead made a beeline for the cheapest section. She didn’t want him to feel obliged to impress, to fritter his hard-earned brass unnecessarily, and especially not on her.
As he’d previously pointed out, it was a rowdy place. Packed with men and women of all ages, desperate for a brief reprieve from toil and want, it was somewhere they could let their hair down and lose themselves, if only for a little while, in the entertainment of the night. The air was muggy with tobacco smoke, over which hung an ale-laden pall, and the atmosphere had throbbed with joviality. Strains from the orchestra mingled with shouts and guffaws, and the audience had shown their appreciation with foot-stamping and loud applause – or boos and hisses for anyone who didn’t pass muster.
Fortunately, most acts had been decent; she’d laughed along with Nathan at the comic performer until her sides ached. Then it was on to a supper room for chops and potatoes swimming in onion gravy, where, to her surprise, she’d found she had a hearty appetite. Later, hands wrapped around mugs of strong tea, watching Nathan laughing as they discussed the night’s show, his scrubbed face free of coal dirt shining with animation in the gaslight, she’d known a sudden urge to lean across the table and press her lips to his.
Though fleeting, the moment had alarmed her and she’d blushed to the roots of her hair. Mistaking her flush for the heat of the room, he’d suggested they take a slow walk back to her home, much to her disappointment; yet hadn’t she known that the evening must end at some point, Lord help her?
Now, as they stood outside her door beneath a milky moon, pricks of shimmering silver studding the navy sky, her earlier happiness seemed a distant memory and she wanted to weep. She stared up at him, wanting to say so much but knowing she couldn’t utter any of it.
‘I’ve had a gradely time, lass.’ His voice was husky with feeling. ‘Thanks for agreeing in t’ end, for giving me a chance.’
‘Thank you, Nathan. I’ve enjoyed every minute.’
‘Aye?’
She nodded. ‘Aye, really.’
‘You’ll come out with me again, then?’
Her answer needed no deliberation: ‘I will.’
Silence hung between them.
‘Well.’
‘Well.’
‘Goodnight, then.’
‘Night, lad.’
He dipped his head and planted a swift kiss on her cheek then turned and walked away.
Only when he’d disappeared from view did she force her feet forward and enter the house.
Inside, all was quiet as the grave. For a full minute she stood stock still, listening for the slightest movement, any indication that her uncle was about. None came. Nevertheless, as she moved towards the kitchen, where she knew Bridget would be waiting up for her return in order to lock up, her breaths came in short gasps and her palms grew slick.
Please don’t let him be here. Let him have already fallen into a drunken stupor, she pleaded silently, over and over. To her sheer relief, her prayers appeared to bear fruit – the maid, seated alone before the near-dead fire, smothered a yawn and smiled as she entered.
‘Sorry to have kept you from your bed, Figg.’
‘Tsk, no. Sure, it’s not altogether late. Did you enjoy your evening?’
‘I did.’ Her eyes strayed to the ceiling. ‘Fathe
r’s abed?’
‘He is so.’
She wetted her lips in anxious dread. ‘And Uncle Ambrose?’
‘Aye, sir as well.’ She smiled again. ‘Snoring away like a pair of wild boars, they are.’
Laura was aware that the maid was still speaking, but the words didn’t register, so intense was her relief. Closing her eyes, she exhaled deeply.
‘Colleen?’
‘Aye. Sorry. What did you say?’
‘I asked whether you’re for wanting a sup or bite to eat, or are ye away to your bed also?’
She suddenly felt bone-numbingly tired. ‘Nay. Thanks, but I think I’ll go on up.’ Bidding her goodnight, she left and headed for the stairs.
In her room, Laura undressed and slipped beneath the sheets. Despite Bridget’s reassurance that Ambrose was asleep, her gaze remained fixed on the door for an age. But sure enough, nothing occurred; no approaching footsteps out on the landing, no turning of the knob, only silence. Eventually, her lids grew heavy. She snuggled deeper in the bed and the memory of Nathan’s smiling face carried her to her dreams.
It was the metallic scrape of a belt buckle being unfastened that woke her in the dead of night. Complete darkness, thick and clogging, enveloped the room – disorientated, Laura squinted desperately but could see nothing. Then her uncle spoke:
‘No blankets, I said, damn it.’
In a heartbeat, she was out of the bed and springing for the door. He grasped her shoulder, hissing at her to stop, but she shook him off savagely. Then she raised her arm and, going by guesswork, aimed in the direction of his face. The flat of her hand made contact with his nose, the sound like the crack of a whip rebounding from wall to wall.
Her voice was a guttural growl. ‘Get out of here.’
‘How dare you! Young gutter bitch—’
‘Go on, get out!’
‘You’ll pay for this.’
She felt him rush past her. The blackness of the landing swallowed him up and all was still once more. She closed the door. After some moments, she crossed the cold floor and got back into bed.
