A Daughter's Price

by Emma Hornby

  ‘Nay, there’s no way. As far as anyone knows, them items could be the brothers’ own property. Put thoughts of that from your mind.’

  ‘It’s not your mam, is it? She’s not poorly? You, you’re not sick, are yer? Or is it summat to do with the stall?’

  ‘Nay, none of that.’

  ‘Then what, lad?’

  ‘It’s your uncle.’

  Her brows drew together in a frown. ‘Oh. What about him?’

  ‘I said, didn’t I, that I’d keep an ear to the ground concerning him. Well, I’ve learned summat the day. He’s in debt. Badly.’

  She lowered herself into a chair. ‘Aye?’

  ‘Underhand dealings, bad investments, overspending – he’s neck deep in the lot. Add to the list a raging gambling habit and it don’t paint a pretty picture, does it?’

  Laura was stunned. ‘How d’you know all this?’

  ‘Let’s just say he suffers from one hell of a loose tongue when filled with drink.’

  She nodded. She was well aware of that, all right. ‘Spouting his business in the inns and taverns, was he?’

  ‘That’s right. Bloke I know were telling me today.’

  ‘I can’t believe it. He allus comes across as comfortably off.’

  ‘A rich man’s tastes with a poor man’s pockets, by all accounts.’

  ‘Come to think of it,’ she said, eyes thoughtful, ‘he was hardly ever at the yard. He was forever disappearing to some meeting or other – or so he said.’

  ‘Gambling dens, more like. You never noticed owt untoward when you worked in t’ office? No incriminating documents, things like that?’

  ‘Nay. My duties were mainly sorting papers by date – anyroad, I’m not a strong reader,’ she admitted.

  ‘He’s set to lose the business, you know, in time. Maybe the house, an’ all.’

  ‘No! Really? It’s that bad?’

  Daniel nodded. ‘He’s borrowing left, right and centre to stay afloat, but it’ll not last. So there you have it. You know what this means, don’t you? You’ll have the last laugh, all right. He’s made sure he’ll get what’s coming to him all on his own without you needing to lift a finger.’

  ‘Aye. I suppose he has.’

  Going over what she’d discovered in bed later, Laura was still struggling to process it. Ambrose Todd penniless. Those words just didn’t fit right together in the same sentence. However, the most surprising thing of all was she didn’t know how she felt about it. He’d wronged her in so many ways, caused her untold misery, and yet now … Now, she just couldn’t seem to care.

  But that didn’t make sense, did it? There had been times when her very essence had ached for his downfall. When she’d have done anything to have him suffer for everything he’d done, see he got his comeuppance. And soon, she would. She’d bested him. So why was she so indifferent?

  The answer was quick to come.

  She’d had enough of being bitter. Revenge was an ugly thing. Soul-destroying, and with the potential to be deadly. Certainly, she’d found that out to her cost. She was simply bone-weary of hating. It caused nothing in the long run but misery to the one who harboured it, left you locked in its black and inescapable hold.

  She wanted only to continue moving forward. She was done with all that had gone before.

  What a day it had been, she thought as she drifted to sleep. Her success paired with her uncle’s defeat. By, but it was a funny old world at times.

  As the weeks rolled by the business went from strength to strength. Not only had they begun to build up regular customers, but the buyers had told their friends, who in turn told others, and soon Laura was having to lend Lizzie a hand in the preparation of the cakes in order to fulfil demand. Not that they were complaining, oh no. Things were going better than either of them could ever have envisaged and they thanked God for it in their prayers every night.

  One chilly morning at the beginning of February, they were busy as always at the stall, selling to and chatting with customers, when the strongest wave of nausea washed through Laura out of nowhere.

  Occupied with rearranging gingerbreads, she paused with a frown and slapped a hand to her mouth. Within seconds, the sensation had gone. Shrugging, she thought no more of it and continued with what she’d been doing.

  However, minutes later, the same thing happened again – this time, she was forced to dash to a corner behind the stall to be violently sick.

  ‘You all right, love?’ asked a concerned Lizzie when Laura returned to her side, pale and shaking.

  ‘It must be summat I’ve ate.’

  ‘I can manage here if you want to get off home?’

  ‘And I’m here to lend the lass a helping hand,’ Frank called across from his own stall, receiving a shy smile of thanks from Lizzie in return.

  But Laura shook her head. ‘Ta, but nay. I feel much better now, honest.’

  And yet she was mistaken – the queasiness lingered for the remainder of the morning, though she kept quiet so as not to create a fuss.

  By the day’s end, Laura was utterly exhausted. On the walk home she turned to Lizzie with a grimace. ‘I think I am poorly, after all,’ she was finally forced to admit.

  ‘Eeh, love. You’re to take the day off the morrow. I insist.’

  Too weary to argue, she nodded. ‘You will manage?’

  ‘Aye, I should be fine. Anyroad, Frank’s there if I need him.’

  She gave her a sidelong glance. ‘He’s nice, Frank, in’t he?’

  ‘Oh aye,’ agreed Lizzie. Again, the little smile from earlier touched her lips. ‘Aye, he’s all right.’

  Laura was sure he’d say the same about her friend, too. He hung around their stall more than his own these days, and all the while could barely tear his eyes from Lizzie. That he’d taken an instant shine to the sunny-natured girl was as clear as the nose on your face – a fact that surely couldn’t have gone unnoticed by Lizzie herself?

  ‘Frank’s mam’s Irish as well, you know?’ she was saying now as they neared Ebenezer Court, though Laura was barely listening; the rolling in her guts was back and it took all her focus not to heave up her lunch at the roadside.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘And his father passed away when he were but a kiddy, an’ all, like mine. Siblings aplenty, he also has, too. ’Ere, and you’ll never guess what else—’

  ‘Sounds like you’ve a lot in common, lass,’ Laura interjected, desperate to bring the conversation to a close – she was definitely going to vomit again. ‘Sorry, Lizzie, but I must go and lie down.’

  ‘Eeh, you’re a shocking colour. Are you sure you’re all right?’

  Mumbling assurances that she was, that a nap would set her right, Laura hurried across the cobbles for home.

  She headed straight upstairs. Crawling into bed – shawl, clogs and all – she immediately fell fast asleep.

  She awoke to children’s voices filtering through from the yard below and for a good half a minute hadn’t a clue what she was doing here or why. Then remembrance drifted back and she smiled. At least she felt better; great, in fact. That little rest had done her the power of good – and a short one it must have been, she thought, for the sky beyond the window still held some daylight.

  With a stretch and a yawn, she rose and headed down to the kitchen. She made herself tea and went to stand on the front step for some air. She was smiling, watching Bee O’Brien’s giggling offspring playing a spirited game of tag, when their mother appeared at her own door.

  ‘Hello, Laura. Sorry if this lot woke ye.’

  ‘Nay, not at all.’

  ‘Our Lizzie said you were taken unwell. You’re feeling more yourself, now?’

  She took a sip of her brew. ‘Aye, much better.’

  ‘That’s grand to hear. And you’re not to worry over the stall – it’s in safe hands with Lizzie.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll be well enough for work the morrow after all. Will tha let her know, please?’

  Bee blinked in mild amuseme
nt. ‘Tomorrow’s already here, lass, and Lizzie’s away at the market.’

  ‘What? But it can’t …’ It was then Laura noticed properly the small expanse of sky visible between the rooftops. It wasn’t one of late afternoon, as she’d assumed, at all, but that of early morning. She shook her head. ‘I dreamed right through to a new day?’

  ‘Ye did. Aye, you must have needed it!’

  ‘I suppose I did.’ She must have been sicker than she’d thought. ‘I’ve never afore slept as long as that.’

  The older woman had been chuckling, but it suddenly petered out. Her eyes creased with empathy and she bit her lip. ‘Laura? You couldn’t be …?’

  ‘What, Bee?’

  ‘Well, you know.’ She motioned to Laura’s midriff.

  It was like an invisible pail of icy water had been emptied in her face – she sucked in an almighty gasp. ‘My God …’

  The sickness, exhaustion. The lack of monthly bleed, which she hadn’t realised until now that she’d missed, what with all that had been going on. It was clear as crystal – how had she not seen it? This couldn’t be happening. Just what was she going to do?

  ‘Laura? Are ye all right?’ Bee came across and put her arm around her. ‘It’s a lot to take in, I know.’

  ‘My husband dead, no mother to help me … I feel so alone and so very, very afraid. How will I manage – how?’

  ‘Ay, lass. Have I to fetch Joyce?’

  Of course. Her sensible, straight-talking mother-in-law would know what to do. ‘Aye, please do.’

  When Bee returned with Joyce minutes later Laura was standing anxiously by the fireplace wringing her hands. At the woman’s concerned expression, tears immediately sprang to her eyes. ‘Oh, Joyce …’

  ‘What, lass? What is it, what’s to do?’

  ‘I’ve summat to tell thee. Please sit down.’ She did, and Laura sat facing her. ‘I think I’m … I’m with child. I’m having Nathan’s babby.’

  ‘Oh my …’ Joyce shook her head. Then she was on her feet, her astounded laughter following her around the room as she performed an overjoyed jig. ‘Oh, tha don’t know what this means, how happy you’ve made me! Oh, my bonny, bonny lass! Come here.’ She pulled her to her feet and held her with such warmth and care it made Laura want to weep with the relief of it. Which she did. Then Bee joined them in their embrace and, as they cried and laughed together, Laura knew she could do this.

  She wasn’t on her own, nor could she ever be, so long as she had her new family, her friends. Her child would never be wanting in attention and love.

  Her child. Laura’s heart tripped at those two little words. She was going to be a mother! And by God, she’d make sure she made the best job of it that was humanly possible. That Nathan wouldn’t get to see his baby and experience the privilege of parenthood tore at her like a physical pain, but she would love this child enough for the both of them. And she’d endeavour to see that he or she never forgot him. Oh, lad, how I miss thee …

  ‘Our Daniel will be fair overcome when he learns of this,’ Joyce said, breaking through Laura’s thoughts. ‘A little piece of his brother still with us … Eeh, I can hardly believe it.’

  She struggled to raise a smile. It felt wrong even to hear his name mentioned right now. This was her and Nathan’s moment. Mother and father. Husband and wife. Daniel had been the secret third party, with them in the background from the outset, it was true. But not now. Not with this.

  Never again, for that time had passed, and the past was where it belonged. This miracle life was her future now.

  CHAPTER 23

  DANIEL CRIED WHEN Joyce broke the news. Genuine, breath-snatching tears that made Laura, despite her earlier vow, want to wrap her arms around him. His happiness was absolute. He smiled at her and mouthed a thank-you. She nodded, squeezed his shoulder then moved to the door.

  ‘You’re not stopping for tea, lass?’

  Laura shook her head. ‘I’ll get back home, if you don’t mind, Joyce, and rest.’

  ‘Aye, all right. Ay, you must take care of yourself, now. Just you shout me, should you need owt.’

  Assuring her she would, Laura left the house and headed back to her own. Indoors, she stood for a long while in the doorway, picturing scenes now gone; precious memories created and contained in this room of the two men whom she had loved and had lost. This evening, the emptiness seemed heavier somehow and she wrapped her arms around herself, wondering how on earth she was meant to bear being alone for ever more. Of course, she had those in the court, and would soon have her child. But it wasn’t the same, was it?

  Her father’s death, she was slowly coming to terms with. You expected to lose your parents, after all – it was the natural workings of the world, wasn’t it? But a husband, and so young? No. That wasn’t and would never be right. That wasn’t how it was meant to be, and she’d never accept it. The loneliness of that only grew with time; it never went away.

  To have someone lie beside you every night and be there with a good-morning smile upon awakening. To have meals with and conversations in the evenings by the fireside. To share fears and hopes, good times and bad. To love and be loved as only man and wife can. To be wanted. Yes, to be wanted. She missed that most of all.

  She’d prepared and was picking at a late dinner when tapping sounded at the window. Frowning, she rose and went to open the door.

  ‘Evening, lass.’

  ‘Mr Howarth!’ She smiled in surprise. ‘Please, come in.’

  ‘I’ll not, if you don’t mind.’ He twisted the hat he’d removed in both hands. ‘The reason I’m here … It’s the horse, lass.’

  The hairs on the back of her neck rose in dread. ‘Kenneth? He’s all right, ain’t he?’ she whispered.

  His rugged face answered for him. He lowered his gaze and Laura released a soft whimper.

  ‘He’s … dead?’

  ‘I’m sorry, lass.’

  ‘Why? How?’

  ‘It were his age, I reckon. Just general decay, lass. I’m sorry,’ he said again, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his awkwardness at the tears now coursing down her face clear. ‘If it makes it easier, he suffered none. Went in his sleep, he did. I made the discovery myself as I were leaving the yard.’

  ‘I want to see him.’

  ‘Aye.’

  She plucked down her shawl from the nail in the wall and stepped outside, pulling the door shut behind her. Then she and the coal merchant set off through the dark evening to his premises nearby.

  He looked peaceful, at least.

  Dropping to her knees, she stroked his mane and placed a soft kiss on the hard-working giant’s nose. Then she thanked him for his dutiful service, whispered goodbye and told him to go and be at rest, that Amos was waiting.

  When she rose shakily to her feet she could barely breathe for crying and Mr Howarth opened his arms to her. She clung to him for a long moment whilst terrible, terrible thoughts raced through her mind.

  Why did everyone have to go and leave her? Would the child? Black terror seized her.

  She’d be too afraid to love it for fear of it being snatched from her, like everyone else had been, she just knew it. Please God, no. Why – why – wasn’t she allowed to have anyone? What was wrong with her? What had she done that was so very bad?

  ‘Come, lass.’

  Laura went with Mr Howarth to a small office, where he eased her into a chair and brewed them both a cup of tea.

  ‘I shall miss him,’ she choked when they were sat facing one another. ‘He’s all I had left of my past, my family. It feels almost … almost like I’ve lost Father all over again. Does that sound daft?’

  ‘Not at all. I know that feeling only too well, aye. All my loved ones are dead and buried. My parents, siblings. My dear wife, my children …’ Staring into his cup, he sniffed and shook his head.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Such is life, lass.’

  She nodded. ‘I just … I’m frickened to get close to a
nyone, Mr Howarth, for they all leave me in t’ end. I can’t bear the pain of it any more, I can’t.’

  Why was she telling him all this? They got along, it was true, had become friends since Amos’s passing, would share a cup of tea and a natter whenever she came to visit Kenneth, but still … And yet, he was nodding understandingly. He wasn’t judging or trying to soothe her with the line that she was mistaken and being maudlin, as those at the court would have done in their well-meaning but unhelpful way. He was easy to talk to, and he listened. She found herself relaxing.

  ‘But what a life we’d have if we didn’t take the chance, eh, lass? How lonely if not to let folk in? We must. And we appreciate them whilst we have them, for however long that might be. It’s all we can do.’

  Nodding again, she wiped her eyes. ‘You’re right. It’s just … This time, with this one …’ Her hand snaked to her stomach protectively. ‘I’m with child, Mr Howarth. And should anything … I don’t know if I could go on, and that’s the truth.’

  ‘Eeh, lass. Congratulations to thee. All will be well, I’m sure.’

  ‘You really think?’

  ‘I do, as must you. It’s the only way, you know?’

  ‘Aye.’ Surprisingly, his advice had struck her in a way she hadn’t expected. ‘Think positive, eh?’

  ‘That’s the one. Can’t harm none, can it?’

  ‘Nay.’ But it might just go some way to keeping her sane, if nothing else. ‘Nay, it can’t.’ Smiling, she put down her cup and stood. ‘I’d best be away home now, Mr Howarth.’

  ‘Not on your own in this city you’re not. I’ll walk thee, lass.’

  ‘I don’t know how we’ll manage, Lizzie. Look at the struggle we had getting the stock to the market this morning on that rickety old handcart of Widow Jessop’s – it’s just not adequate. What will we do without Kenneth and the cart?’