by Emma Hornby
Clear as day, in his quiet gruff tone, she heard it: ‘A.C. and L.T. A.C. and L.T. …’
She awoke with a frown etched in her brow. Those initials. Hers and her late husband’s. Just like before, with her dream of Adam in bed … But why? It made no sense. Why did her father, of all people, want her to remember them? He’d hated Adam Cannock with a passion. It was he who had wanted her to wed Nathan, wasn’t it? So what on earth did it all mean? What?
The sky beyond the thin curtains was the darkest of blue, but faint sounds of industry could be heard from somewhere in the distance – the city was slowly stretching its legs in readiness for a new working day. Pushing back the covers, she climbed from bed and padded downstairs.
After raking out the dead ashes as quietly as she could so as not to disturb the sleeping Mrs Price, she built a fresh fire and went to fill the kettle at the pump outside.
Lost in recent thoughts of Amos, she was halfway across the moonlit yard when she spotted the man ahead of her. Stripped to the waist, he was bent forward with his head under the wide tap, one arm moving up and down glinting white as he cranked the handle.
Unable from his position and the darkness to make out his identity, believing it to be an outsider who had wandered into their court, she swallowed a gasp and had begun to back away when she spotted Smiler by his feet. Daniel.
Realisation should have calmed her racing heart. She should have turned and headed back indoors until he’d finished his ablutions. However, for reasons unknown to her, neither of these things happened. She simply stood and watched, transfixed, as he gave himself a final rinse and flicked back his head, sending a silver spray of water through the air to land with gentle pip pip sounds on to the cobbles. He wiped his face on his forearm and ran his fingers through wet hair now darkened to the colour of caramel. Then he whistled to the dog and turned for home – stopping dead to see Laura standing behind him.
Neither spoke. After some seconds, he crossed the space towards her.
‘Morning, Laura.’
‘Morning.’
Despite the dawn air’s winter bite, he didn’t seem to notice the cold on his bare skin. Droplets of water made their slow track down his shoulders and smooth torso and, for the briefest moment, she had the overwhelming urge to put her tongue to them. The shocking impulse acted like a slap to the face and now, her gasp was given life. She tore her gaze from him with a shudder of mortification and not a little shame.
‘Sorry if I kept thee waiting.’ He motioned to the kettle swinging limply in her hand. ‘Go ahead. I’m all done, now.’
‘Ta, thanks.’
Yet still she made no attempt to leave – what the hell was wrong with her? Until, that is, movement to their right caught their ears and she turned to see Nathan standing watching them.
His eyes flicked from his brother to her as he walked towards them; it was only then she realised her state of undress. Her long nightgown was open at the neck, revealing the clear swell of her breasts; and her hair, normally drawn back from her face and secured at her nape in a neat knot, flowed freely over one shoulder.
She attempted a smile but failed. What must he think of her, out here, at this hour in the secluded dark, with his half-naked brother? If his expression was anything to go by, she could well guess. She made to utter an explanation, but Nathan was already addressing Daniel:
‘You’ll catch your death of cold parading around the court like that.’ There was an edge to his tone.
‘I’m not parading, lad. I were having my wash.’
‘Aye, well.’ Nathan then trained his gaze on Laura. ‘You an’ all, for that matter.’
‘You’re right, we just, me and your brother, we crossed paths when I came to fill the kettle.’ She held it up to reinforce her words. ‘I’d best get on, else Mrs Price will be up and about and wanting a sup of tea,’ she told him, edging to the pump and cursing the flush that sprang to her cheeks as her arm brushed Daniel’s on her way past. ‘I’ll see thee later.’
Daniel nodded to her a farewell, but Nathan didn’t respond. She hurried to the pump and busied herself with her task, and by the time she turned back for home the court was deserted. She stole a glance at Joyce’s door. Then, releasing a slow and shaky breath, she made back inside.
The old woman hadn’t stirred; the kitchen was still empty. Laura put the kettle on the heat and lowered herself into a chair at the table. Her tumbling thoughts ran on and, again, her cheeks flamed with the memory of her actions – or lack thereof. She covered her face with her hands.
What she’d wanted to do just now … more to the point, with whom … She was wicked, that’s what! How would she be able to look either man in the eye now? Where on earth had those sudden and mistaken desires come from? Nathan deserved so much better for a wife!
Her mind was still in disarray and her guilt still lingered when he knocked for her some time later. She opened the door with an apologetic smile, but she needn’t have worried – to her relief, it was like nothing had occurred. Nathan wore his usual grin and greeted her warmly.
‘Ready, lass?’
She nodded. ‘I’ll just fetch my shawl.’
‘I’m excited about this, you know. It’s going to work well, I can feel it,’ he said as they approached Mr Howarth’s yard.
‘A fresh start,’ she agreed.
He met her stare and his eyes held none of the recrimination from earlier. Now, they shone with only happiness, hope and affection. ‘For the both of us.’
How she’d missed this.
Taking in a lungful of sharp air, Laura leaned in closer to Nathan with a contented sigh.
The feel of the wind in her hair, the sulphurous smell of the black nuggets wafting from the sacks, the clop of Kenneth’s hooves on the cobblestones … It made her feel alive. Of course, it had been difficult at first, owing to the fact her father wasn’t here now to share it with. But she knew he saw, and she was certain he was proud, and she soon rediscovered her love of the job. Delivering coal was in her family’s blood, and they were damned good at it – that she was keeping up the tradition in Amos’s memory was an honour and brought tears to her eyes.
They had experienced no hiccups. Nathan had taken to his new role like he’d been born to it, even seemed to be enjoying himself in the process. Naturally, the horse was a little agitated to begin with at the strange hands working the reins, but he soon settled down. And though by the end of the first round he still swung his long lean head around occasionally with soft, puzzled whinnies in search of Amos, which tore at Laura’s heart, he was well on his way to accepting Nathan as his new master.
They had restocked the cart at the yard with fresh supplies and had set off on their afternoon delivery when Laura spied a familiar stooped figure heading towards them down Carruthers Street. Her mouth set in a hostile line. Though part of her told her she was being unreasonable, that true culpability lay not at this person’s door, the stir of resentment refused to abate and she pointed her out to Nathan.
‘That there’s the herb woman, Widow Jessop. I don’t know how she has the gall to hold her head up in public.’
‘Now, I know you’re upset, but—’
‘Upset? That don’t even come close to it. Her medicine was meant to help him. Stop the cart.’
‘Laura—’
‘Stop the cart, Nathan. I must have an explanation.’
With a sigh, he drew Kenneth to a halt at the roadside. Swallowing back the lump that had sprung to her throat, she climbed down and waited for her to reach them. However, as she drew nearer, Laura saw that her features were wreathed in misery and her own anguish, the anger along with it, faded. Frowning in concern, she raised her hand: ‘Widow Jessop.’
The aged eyes squinted into focus. Then recognition dawned and the herb woman’s face spread into a gladsome smile. ‘Hello there, lass!’
‘Is everything all right? Only I couldn’t help but notice …’ Laura faltered as, to her consternation, the woman instantly crumple
d with emotion, as if she’d been holding it back all day and one kind word had been enough to shatter the dam. ‘Widow Jessop, whatever’s the matter?’
‘Oh, lass. Oh, what’ll I do?’
Putting her arm around her thin shoulders, Laura hushed her soothingly. ‘Tell me what’s afoot. Happen I can help.’
Gulping down her sobs, she shook her grey head. ‘Tha can’t, lass. I’m done for, you see. It’s the poorhouse for me come the morrow. Oh! How will I bear such a place!’ she cried, and again she dissolved into a flurry of tears.
‘The workhouse?’ Laura was horrified. ‘But why?’
‘They’re closing up my cellar, lass. Summat to do with the New Streets Act what were passed or some such, the sanitary inspector said. Slum clearance, aye. Not fit for human habitation, they reckon. They’re clearing up the whole city of cellars used as dwellings; what in the world will all us residents do? Nigh on thirty years I’ve lived there and now they’ve taken it. Aye, it’s but a hole in the ground, but it’s mine, you see? Love that place, I do.’
A solution to the woman’s dilemma formed in Laura’s mind immediately, but she hesitated. Still, a niggle of bitterness lingered deep within her and she was unsure if she could put the idea – that Widow Jessop lodge with Mrs Price – forward. Could she reside with ease, in the intimate confines of the court, with someone towards whom she harboured such bad feeling?
Misplaced blame, that’s what this is, her inner voice whispered, and she knew it spoke sense. This woman had gone out of her way to aid Father. She’d offered advice, acted as a friend, didn’t even charge for her services. She’d offered no hard guarantees, simply did her best with what she had. No one else was to blame but those Cannock devils and Ambrose. Let the animosity go. Help her, as she endeavoured to help you.
Holding her closer, Laura gave life to the suggestion: ‘The lovely wench I dwell with takes in lodgers. She’d put you up, I’m sure, till you find summat else, like?’
Widow Jessop’s eyes lit up. She wiped her face on the corner of her shawl. ‘Eeh, lass. Where?’
‘A court up Ancoats way.’ Despite her own misgivings when she’d first set eyes on the place, she’d since developed a queer kind of protectiveness for it and, now, she felt the need to defend it. Every abode within it was scrupulously clean and presentable – good housekeeping made all the difference to a person’s surroundings. Of course, not much could be done outside in way of improvements – you couldn’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, after all – but the decent lot at Ebenezer Court did their best. ‘It’s norra bad sort as courts go, ain’t bursting at the seams with folk like most. I reckon you’d like it.’
‘It sounds gradely,’ the old woman breathed with genuine excitement. Given what she was used to, Laura realised – cellar dwellings were notoriously terrible places, which only the poorest and most desperate members of society inhabited – it was little wonder. ‘And you sure she’s got the room?’
‘Aye. And she’d be glad of the brass. You’d be doing each other a favour. Another thing: it’s no great distance from the market so it’d be no hardship getting there to sell your wares.’
‘I don’t know what to … how to thank … Eeh, I’ve been that worried. You’re an angel, what are thee?’
Laura smiled. ‘Well, I don’t know about that. I’m just happy to help. I tell you what …’ She looked to Nathan, who, guessing what she was about to propose, nodded. ‘How’s about you go on home, Widow Jessop, and pack your things? Me and Nathan will clear things with Mrs Price when we’ve finished our round then come and collect you and your belongings on t’ cart. Will that do thee?’
‘It will, aye. I haven’t much, really, bar my jars and potions. ’Ere,’ she added, clicking her tongue. ‘Listen to me prattling on with my own woes and forgetting the manners my dear mam taught me: how’s that father of yourn?’
‘He … He died, Widow Jessop. Last week. Summat to do with a bad valve in his heart, so said the doctor.’
‘Oh, lass. Eeh, I am sorry. Sadly, them herbs of mine can’t work the unworkable, not with complaints that are out of the control of human hands.’
‘I understand,’ Laura assured her, meaning it. ‘You did your best.’
‘You handled that good, lass,’ said Nathan when the old woman had given them her address and left for home and Laura rejoined him on the cart.
‘Aye, well. Fault lies not with her, really, does it? Besides, I couldn’t see her – anyone, for that matter – destitute when there was summat I could do to help. Kindness costs nowt, after all.’
‘That’s you, all right. Generous with everyone.’
Something in his tone made her turn to look at him. His eyes were straight ahead, concealing his expression, but a pulsating muscle in his jaw hinted at … was that annoyance? At what? By ‘everyone’, did he mean his brother? The thought struck her suddenly. Or was her guilt having her read things into the situation that were not there? Her cheeks reddened in memory of their encounter, of what she’d longed to do, and she lowered her head. Then the moment was gone and Nathan was speaking again in his usual cheery way, convincing her she was paranoid:
‘Right then, let’s get this lot delivered and go and see Mrs Price. Ged up there, Kenneth lad!’
Tired and cold but with warm satisfaction in their breasts, they headed for home at the day’s end arm in arm. The remainder of the shift had gone as well as the beginning – they could really make a go of this new position, of that they were both confident. The future didn’t seem so bleak any more, in spite of Ambrose’s best efforts to the contrary. Finally, they were on the up.
They had taken Kenneth to the yard for a rest and a nosebag of oats whilst they called on Mrs Price, and would collect him again soon for the short trek to Widow Jessop’s home. Passing through the narrow alleyway that led to Ebenezer Court, Laura was crossing her fingers that Mrs Price would agree to the other woman staying when Nathan drew her to a stop. He looked down at her for a long moment and there was an intensity there that she’d never seen before.
‘Lad?’
‘Sshhh.’ He leaned in and brushed the tip of her nose with his. Then his lips were on hers, his kiss ardent.
Taken by surprise, it was all she could do not to shrink from him. However, feeling his fingers move inside her jacket to tweak her nipple, common sense returned to her and she pulled back. ‘Lad, we shouldn’t … Someone might come this way and see.’
‘They’ll not,’ he whispered against her mouth, his breathing heavy. He put his free hand on her buttock and pulled her closer to him. His hardness pressed against her stomach and he groaned. ‘Laura, Laura …’
‘Nathan, please. Stop.’
He jerked back as though she’d struck him. The dim light held his face in shadow but his words, low and clipped, portrayed his mood perfectly: ‘I bet you wouldn’t say stop if—’ He cut himself off and his deep swallow was audible.
If I were Daniel. Is that what he’d been about to say? Was this merely her imaginings again?
‘If what, Nathan?’ she made herself ask.
‘If … If we were married.’
‘Oh. Well, aye, ’course that would be different—’
‘Then let’s do it. As soon as possible.’ There was a sense of almost manic desperation in his tone, as though he feared if he didn’t claim her soon, he’d lose her. Which was silly – she’d already promised herself to him, had she not? ‘It’s what we both want, ain’t it?’
‘It is. But—’
‘But what?’
She blinked several times as an odd sense of alarm took hold of her. ‘Well, we haven’t the brass, for one. And there’s the timing: won’t it look a bit distasteful, us entering into celebration so soon after Father?’
‘Nay. It’s what he’d have wanted. He’d want thee to be happy. Ain’t that so?’
‘Aye,’ she had to agree.
‘Then it’s settled? Shall we say Christmas?’
‘Christmas? But th
at’s only a few weeks—’
‘Christmas Day! Eeh, now that would be nice. Extra special, like, that is. I could stretch to the upkeep of the rent on that house of yourn lying empty till then – we’d have a home all ready to move into. What says thee? You happy with that?’
‘I …’
‘Please say yes, lass.’ His tone had softened to one she recognised. He brought her hands up and squeezed gently. ‘You’ll not regret it.’
‘I’ll wed Nathan.’
‘Then my heart is gladdened again. That it is, lass.’
Her and Amos’s last conversation on the matter, his final wish, whispered to her like a breath on the breeze. She nodded.
‘Aye?’ Nathan’s voice was full of wonder.
‘Aye. There’s nowt I want more than to marry thee, lad.’
‘Oh, Laura …’
‘You’re right,’ she murmured, returning his embrace. ‘It is what Father would want.’
That her alarm had swelled to panic, she chose to ignore.
CHAPTER 14
OF COURSE, MRS Price had been all for Widow Jessop staying and, immediately upon meeting, the two elderly women had struck up a genuine friendship. Evenings in the small house at number one were now filled with laughter and chatter as, wrapped in their ancient shawls, they reminisced about the ‘good owd days’ over tea and toast by the fire.
Warm, contented, safe – Laura would watch them with a small smile, the winter frosts shut out, the soft candlelight lending the room a cosy glow. She’d be sad to leave them. They had taken on the role of mother figures and, once she set up home with Nathan, she’d sorely miss them.
Days had rolled into weeks and Laura allowed herself to be pulled along with the upcoming nuptials. Joyce, overjoyed with the news, had taken over the planning, and Laura was content to let her. Her take on the matter had switched to that of apathy – marry they must and so she awaited the festive morning with quiet acceptance.
Today marked ten days until the event, and Laura was whiling away the slow Sunday at number five with Lizzie. It felt strange being in what she still deemed her and her father’s house – Bee O’Brien’s was bursting at the seams with children, and Laura had given Lizzie the use of her kitchen to bake a birthday treat in peace for a friend of hers.
