by Emma Hornby
With the memory of Dotty Cannock, Laura’s upper lip curled in distaste. A drunken, foul-mouthed, vicious slattern, completely lacking in morals and common decency – it was little wonder her children had turned out the way they had. Laura had tolerated her for Adam’s sake, had done her utmost to be civil. Dotty, on the other hand, had never attempted to disguise her detestation for ‘the uppity bitch who had snared her last born’, as she’d referred to Laura from day one.
Now, fingering the bottle in her pocket, dread and not a little terror rolled through her guts at the events to come.
Praying for strength and purposely avoiding Ashburner Street, loath to see the burnt-out shell of Mrs Hanover’s shop that was once her beloved home, she set off for the demons’ lair.
As she’d suspected, she arrived at Red Lane to find the cottage empty. No matter the time of day, there was only one place you’d be certain to find Dotty: propping up the counter of some low inn or other. As for her sons, God alone knew where they would be – up to their criminal activities somewhere, no doubt. However, it had been best to make absolutely sure and, after a last squint through the grimy window, and satisfied no one was home, Laura headed out towards Bury Road, where it was busiest.
After checking one or two beer houses without success, she pushed open the dark-wood door of the next and, peering through the gloom, scanned the occupants. Several bags of bones clad in rags huddled around the small open fire, but Dotty wasn’t amongst them. Then Laura trained her gaze in the opposite direction and there, alone at a stained table, a glass clutched to her breast like a suckling babe, was the beshawled figure she sought. Laura smiled grimly. Pulling her cap lower still over her eyes, obscuring her face, she crossed to the counter.
‘What’s your poison, lad?’
She put on her deepest voice. ‘Er … porter,’ she told the innkeeper, thinking on her feet – it was what Adam used to drink. She took the filled tankard from him with a nod, paid and went to sit in a secluded alcove. Pretending to sip the foul-smelling drink, she kept her eyes on her former mother-in-law across the room. The woman looked to have been supping since dawn, was slurring a ribald song to herself and swaying precariously in her seat. She’d be ready for home soon. Not long, now.
As the minutes ticked on, Dotty’s voice grew in pitch until, eventually, another down-and-out customer yelled across to her to ‘shut tha bloody trap’. She in return screeched back a stream of profanities, which caught the innkeeper’s attention, and Laura prepared herself for the imminent departure.
‘Right, Dotty, let’s be having thee,’ the aproned man told her sternly as he came to stand over her, hands on hips. ‘I’ll have no ruckus on my premises. Go on home and sleep it off, there’s a good girl.’
‘Good girl? Who the bleedin’ hell d’you think you’re talking to?’ She lashed out with a clogged foot, catching him on his shin. ‘Ha! Serves thee right, an’ all,’ she cackled gleefully as he yelped in pain. ‘Good bleedin’ girl, I ask thee. It’ll be poor bloody Bob for you when my lads hear of this and get a grip of thee. Ah aye, that’s knocked the bolshiness from yer sails, ain’t it?’ she added with a smirk when he blanched at the threat.
‘Now then, Dotty. No need to bother your sons with this, is there? Another gin afore you leave?’ he simpered, and Laura ground her teeth to see the level of power that loathsome duo exerted, over everyone, it seemed. Aye, well, not for much longer …
Some thirty minutes and two drinks later, Dotty finally lumbered to her feet. She staggered to the door and disappeared outside. Several seconds later, Laura rose and casually followed.
She kept a reasonable distance between them, which required walking at a snail’s pace – the drunken woman could barely stay upright, was zigzagging her way homewards at an agonisingly slow rate. At one point, midway along a rutted footpath leading to Red Lane, Dotty’s feet seemed to become tangled and she stumbled sideward in a floppy trot, landing headlong in a hedgerow. She lay for a time hooting with laughter, and it took her a good few minutes to crawl out and right herself again. Reaching the end of her patience, it was all Laura could do to stay out of sight and not drag Dotty the remainder of the way by the scruff of her neck.
After what felt like hours they arrived at the cottage. Whilst Dotty was busy fumbling with the lock, Laura took the opportunity to scan the area to make sure they were not being watched. Then she crept up behind the older woman in readiness.
Dotty got the door open and ambled inside – Laura was right behind. Before Dotty slammed it shut, Laura slipped into the cottage behind her and flitted to the corner of the kitchen, where stood an ancient dresser, which concealed perfectly her crouching form. It wouldn’t have done to break in. Damage to door or window would have been spotted right away; no one must suspect a thing. Fortunately, the idea had worked perfectly.
Heart hammering, she watched Dotty go to the fireplace and lift from the mantel a quart bottle of spirit. She removed the stopper with her teeth, spat it across the room and fell with a grunt into a sagging chair by the hearth.
After a few sips of the fiery liquid Dotty’s eyelids began to droop in her flabby face. This was what Laura had been waiting for. Quiet snores told her the time was right – she emerged from her hiding place and crawled noiselessly across the flagged floor.
Upon reaching the chair, she glanced back around towards the door and prayed the Cannock brothers wouldn’t arrive home just yet. Then she took the laudanum from her pocket.
She removed the cork carefully and peered inside the bottle at the reddish-brown contents. She chewed her lip. How much to administer? Ten drops? Thirty? Despite being sold legally by even respectable druggists and its wide usage amongst all classes – it cost around only a penny an ounce, the same as a pint of beer – ingested in high amounts, the poison could be lethal; it was a common killer. She didn’t want to murder Dotty, just induce sleep, suspend her in a heavy state of narcotism for a while so she wouldn’t get in the way of Laura’s main objective. She didn’t really deserve death – unlike her sons.
Daniel would have known the dosage. The thought tapped at her mind, but she shut it out quickly. He wasn’t here and she wouldn’t think of him. No. She refused to. She was on her own, now, and that was that. Cursing the lump that had crept to her throat, she returned her attention to the task in hand.
It was extremely bitter to the taste, but the brandy would mask that – Dotty wouldn’t notice anything untoward … would she?
Laura hesitated a few moments longer. Then she held straight the bottle lying loosely in the woman’s hand and tipped into it the entire contents of the laudanum.
After hurrying back to her hiding place, Laura took a series of deep breaths. Then she raised her hand and slapped the flagstones hard. The action had the desired effect – Dotty wakened with a start and, puzzled, squinted around the space. Spying nothing, she shrugged. Then she glanced down and, remembering the brandy, brought the bottle to her lips.
As she glugged on the laced drink Laura crossed her fingers that it would work. She didn’t have long to wait.
Dotty grew drowsy and, shortly afterwards, appeared in a half-dazed state. She began babbling incoherently – had she fallen victim to the drug’s hallucinogenic properties? Laura suspected so. Then suddenly, Dotty’s head lolled and she fell into a death-like sleep.
Laura crept across. She lifted one eyelid then the other. The woman’s pupils were greatly constricted. Panic rising, she put her ear to her chest and listened. Her breathing had shallowed alarmingly. Dotty had slipped into unconsciousness.
Had she given her too much? Would she die? Laura fretted. She glanced around the room in the grip of confusion, unsure now what to do.
You’ve come this far. You can’t back out now, her inner voice commanded. Follow the plan. Do it. For Nathan, for Father.
Her face hardened and she nodded.
She turned and bolted up the stairs to hide.
Waking to a flurry of activity downstairs, Laura b
linked in the darkness. It took a moment for her befuddled senses to return and, as remembrance slammed back, she swallowed hard. She was in the Cannocks’ house. And it sounded like the brothers had just arrived.
True, she hadn’t known enough rest last night, but still … how on earth had she fallen asleep with all that was going on? Shaking her head at her own stupidity – the men could have discovered her and she’d have been done for – she scrambled to the bedroom door and craned her neck to listen.
Someone was stabbing viciously at the kitchen fire in a vain attempt to tease some life into the dead embers. A loud curse rang out then the clang of metal reverberated off the walls as the poker was slung across the room.
‘Look at her! Fast akip, no fire in t’ grate and bugger all to eat on t’ table.’
‘Aye,’ the younger of the two agreed. ‘She’s a bone-idle sow if ever I saw one. ’Ere, mind out; I’ll waken her.’ His footsteps thumped as he crossed angrily to his mother – Laura held her breath.
Dear God, the laudanum. Was she …? Had she killed the woman?
‘Mam?’
Nothing.
‘Mam, wake up! D’you hear me?’
To Laura’s sheer relief, a gargled groan from Dotty sounded. Thank God …
‘Ah, leave her be, lad. There’ll be no getting sense from her till the morrow, when she’s slept the drink off.’
‘Bloody slattern, she’s nowt else.’
‘Check that there pot on t’ fire,’ said the elder brother. ‘Happen she made some grub earlier. It’ll be stone cold by now, but owt’s better than nowt.’
There came the scrape of a pan lid, then: ‘Ay! Good owd Mam.’
‘What is it?’
‘Beef steak and onions, by the looks of it.’
‘Fetch it across, then. I’ll get the bread.’
For the next few minutes the scratch of spoons on bowls, intermingled with the occasional burp, filled the silence. Then one of the men began to speak and the hairs stood up on the back of Laura’s neck:
‘What I’d not give to get my hands on that Todd whore. That haul we made away with … we’d be set for bloody life, now, if not for her!’
‘Aye. Instead look at us. Barely a ha’penny to our names, sat here eating what favours stewed dog spew.’ He breathed deeply in fury. ‘Don’t fret, lad. We’ll track down the thieving little slut if it’s the last thing we do. She can’t hide for ever. I’ll snap her bleedin’ neck once we’ve reclaimed what’s rightfully ours.’
Thieving …? What haul? What were they talking about?
‘That mystery fella Mam overheard in that tavern in Bolton town were right enough: Laura was in Manchester.’
God damn you, Ambrose …
‘And spotting her father as we did proved it. Mind, we didn’t get much information from that quarter, did we? Silly owd bastard. Fancy him keeling over like that afore we could get her whereabouts out of him.’
Laura had to bite down hard on her bottom lip to stop herself from crying out. Father, Father. I’m so sorry.
‘But who’s to say she ain’t moved on since? The bitch could be anywhere by now.’
‘Aye. We’d be taking a gamble stepping foot back in that city again after the trouble last time.’
‘Nowt’s come back on us, has it? Nor shall it. We were away afore possible witnesses could get a proper look at us. And it’s not like the swine what came at us will squeal, eh? After all, dead men don’t talk.’
Oh, Nathan.
‘Anyroad, he asked for that blade in his windpipe. Charging at us as he did, fists swinging; what the bleedin’ hell did he think would happen?’
‘Aye. What d’you reckon it were about, then, that?’
‘God only knows. Probably some sod what couldn’t hold his ale thinking hisself tough and looking for bother.’
They didn’t know he’d confronted them for her sake. Her husband hadn’t even had a chance to explain. Oh, lad …
‘Weren’t so much the big man when we’d finished with him, mind, were he?’
Their laughter rent the air and Laura squeezed her eyes tight. Shut up, she silently begged. Shut up.
‘Bleating for his mam as he clutched at his throat,’ the younger brother spluttered on a guffaw. ‘Fancy it. The daft bloody babby.’
Dear Lord, no! Shaking her head, she clamped her hands over her ears. How could they mock, and with such contempt, something so terribly tragic? For the first time, she was thankful that Daniel wasn’t here, for this would have killed him inside to hear. This pair were the devils through and through. By God, they were. They deserved all they had coming to them, and more.
‘Who’s that, then?’ one of the men asked suddenly. ‘D’you hear it?’
‘Aye.’
Laura’s eyes widened. Where they referring to her? Had she created a noise without realising it, given herself away? They were speaking now in hushed tones – she slunk further from the bedroom to hear them properly.
‘There it is again,’ a brother hissed to the other. ‘Listen.’
Laura knew then they didn’t mean her – she hadn’t made a sound. Now, she listened, too. When she heard it, her mouth fell open in astonishment – and sheer, gut-wrenching horror. No.
‘A dog.’
‘Some bastard’s loitering outside the cottage.’
Oh God, oh God. What should she do? She’d know that bark anywhere. Smiler. That could only mean one thing …
What the hell was he doing here? Should she cause a distraction? Do something – anything – before the brothers discovered him? But what? What?
In the next moment, all hope was lost when a knock came at the door.
‘Evening, lads.’
The sound of Daniel’s voice brought conflicting emotions and tears to her eyes. You foolish man; why put yourself in danger like this? But by God, it’s so good to hear you …
‘And what can we do for thee?’ The younger brother’s tone was low with aggression.
‘Well?’ demanded the other.
‘I trekked to Breightmet this afternoon on t’ promise of work, but it’s fell through – farmer whose land I were for labouring on don’t need me after all. Now I’m stuck here, you see, and in need of lodgings for t’ night. I’ve been asking hereabouts if anyone has the room but ain’t had no luck so far.’
‘Oh aye?’ The suspicion was clear. ‘What farm were that, then?’
‘The one behind the little school down Roscow Fold way,’ Daniel answered easily without hesitation – it was evident he’d done his research before approaching here.
‘And from whence d’you spring?’ shot back at him the other brother.
‘Blackburn town, and I’ve missed the last train. I’ll be away again home the morrow. So, have you lads the room to spare? I’ve brass to pay, of course.’
This last statement looked to do the trick – the men, in the penniless state they had mentioned earlier, whispered amongst themselves in consideration. Then: ‘We’ve a place you can lay yer head, aye.’
‘You can take Mam’s bed,’ explained the elder brother. ‘She’ll not surface from her chair, there, the night.’
‘Ta, thanks.’
There came the sound of money being exchanged, then the brother spoke again: ‘Well, come in, then. I’ll show thee upstairs.’
Laura looked about wildly then darted for the bedroom she assumed was Dotty’s. Daniel’s voice, saying that Smiler would do well enough stopping outside, floated up to her and she breathed in relief. One whiff of her scent and the dog would have given her away instantly.
A battered old wardrobe slouched against one wall and she scrambled inside it. Secreted amongst the musty-smelling garments, she kept watch through the thin gap between the rickety doors. As she waited, her gaze flicked about her surroundings, coming to settle on the wall opposite in cold dread. Hanging there was an aged biblical print, depicting an image of Daniel in the Den of Lions – what were the chances? Was this a hint of things to come? Dear Go
d …
In the next moment one of the brothers entered the room. Then there he was, following closely behind: her Daniel. She almost cried out at the sight of him. Despite her fear for him, and her anger that he’d followed her here, she’d never been more thankful to see anyone in her life.
The brother pointed to the bed, Daniel thanked him, then the former left the bedroom, banging the door shut behind him. Alone, Daniel’s cool demeanour vanished – dragging his hands through his hair, he began pacing the floor, his agitation palpable as he agonised what to do next.
Laura was quick to put him out of his misery. She pushed open the wardrobe door and whispered his name. The expression on his face as he whipped around to look at her was one of disbelief swiftly followed by utter relief.
‘You shouldn’t be here, lad.’
‘Thank God.’ He was at her side in a heartbeat. His arms went around her. He held her close against him for a moment then drew back to stare into her face. ‘Thank God,’ he said again. Then his brows drew together. ‘You say I shouldn’t be here? What the hell were you thinking, coming here alone, Laura? Anything could have happened to thee—’
‘Well, it ain’t, has it?’
‘Why did you go off like that without a word? When I wakened and you weren’t there … I just thank God them bastards downstairs swallowed the tale I concocted to get me into the house. We were meant to do this together, had planned—’
‘Aye, well, I changed my mind.’
‘But why?’ he demanded.
Jerking her head to the door, she held a finger to her lips. ‘Keep your voice down.’
‘Why did you change your mind?’ he pressed, albeit in a more hushed tone.
She shrugged. ‘It matters not. Besides, this is summat I need to do on my own. It were daft of me to drag thee in on it to start with. The first opportunity you get, I’d like you to go. You must leave this to me. Return to Manchester, to your mam … to Lizzie.’
He opened his mouth then closed it again. His gaze flicked from her to the floor. ‘Ah. You know, then.’
