by Diane Allen
‘Well, I don’t know her that well. I’ve only seen her around Settle when she’s been going to and from work. She seems a nice enough lass. Perhaps a bit quiet for Mister Danny, but that’s not for me to say. I’m sure she’s got a sensible head on her shoulders.’ Jethro pulled on the reins as the horse trotted into the mill yard.
‘As long as her family are decent, I’m going to have to grin and bear it. After all, if Danny decides to marry Harriet, she will be part of our family and will hopefully put Dora Bloomenber behind her.’ Charlotte stood up and offered her hand to Jethro to hold as she climbed down out of the gig.
‘I wish you well, ma’am. You must be going through hell worrying about the lass. Let’s hope Dora Bloomenber does not influence her too much. Because, as they say, a leopard never changes its spots.’
‘Don’t say another word, Jethro. I keep thinking that and I just hope I’m looking on the black side, because the lad is smitten with her. Let’s hope we are both wrong, for all the family’s sake.’
‘You take care, ma’am. Do you want me to wait for you, or are you walking back this morning?’ Jethro asked, while holding onto the jingling reins of the eager horse.
‘No, I’ll walk back later, it will give me some time to think. Thank you.’ Charlotte walked across the cobbled yard and up the steps into the mill. Nothing ever went smoothly, and she couldn’t think of a time in her life when she had not had a worry, since her father died. She could see that things were not going to get better in the future.
Isabelle sat painting a picture of the bowl of roses that had caught her eye, when Mazy had brought them in earlier and placed them on the sideboard in the parlour. She leaned back and looked at her handiwork, critically assessing her brushstrokes. She heard the doorbell of the manor ring, as she sighed with annoyance at her attempt to do nature justice.
Mazy re-entered the room and stood beside her mistress. ‘That’s just lovely, Miss.’ She looked at the painting that the young woman had done, and admired both the picture and the woman she had seen grown up to become a well-rounded individual.
‘No, it isn’t, Mazy, it’s absolute rubbish. I can’t portray the softness of the petals, and just look at that bud. Nature would never form anything like that. I’m hopeless!’ Isabelle moaned.
‘Now, Miss, I think you are seeing all the faults, and none of the beauty that you’ve painted. I think you could be proud of that. I would be, if it was mine.’ Mazy glanced at Isabelle, whose face looked as if she was chewing a wasp, and tried to build up her mistress’s confidence.
‘Yes, but you haven’t had art lessons with Mr Jelly for the past twelve months. My mother will think she’s completely wasted her money, if she sees this.’ Isabelle tore the painting off the easel that it was resting on, screwed it up and threw it across the room. ‘I’ll start again, and this time I’ll get it right. Who was at the door, Mazy – did you tell them nobody’s in except me? And no one ever wants to see me.’
‘It was the post boy from Settle, Miss. It was for you, as it happens; he brought you this small parcel. A late birthday present, I expect.’ Mazy handed over the brown-paper package and then went to pick up the discarded painting. ‘May I keep this, Miss? You might not like it, but it would brighten up my room, if I can flatten it out.’
‘Yes, do what you want with it, but believe me, it belongs on the back of the fire, not on your bedroom wall.’ Isabelle looked at the small, square wrapped box with a Settle postmark upon it and put her paintbrush down upon the ledge on her easel.
‘Thank you, Miss, I think it’s beautiful.’ Mazy smiled and tried to smooth out the painting as she walked from the room.
Isabelle untied the string around the parcel and unwrapped the brown paper, revealing a shagreen box. She opened the long, slim box to reveal an elegant pendant adorned with diamonds and rubies. She lifted it out of the box and held it to her neck, and then up to the morning light that filled the drawing room. The diamonds and rubies glittered and shone, and she gasped at how delicate the gold-work that bound them was. Who could have sent her such a beautiful necklace? It must be worth a small fortune. She picked up the small card that had been hidden between the wrapping paper and the box, and looked at the handwriting upon it:
This belonged to your grandmother.
Your father would have wanted you to have it.
Isabelle dropped the necklace back into its box with shock. Who had this come from? There could only be one person responsible, and it must have been Dora Bloomenber, especially with the postmark being Settle. She recoiled in horror at the thought of the necklace once hanging around her grandmother’s neck, and at the repercussions of telling her mother and family that she had received it. What was she to do? She didn’t want to hurt her mother, for Harriet’s involvement with the Bloomenbers had already brought upset to their normally smooth-running family. She closed the box quickly, screwed up the wrapping paper and placed it onto the parlour’s fire, watching it burn in the flames. Keeping the handwritten card in her hand, she looked at it and wondered why it had been sent – perhaps her long-lost aunt simply wanted to know her. Dora had never done the family any harm, and perhaps her mother was wrong about her; after all, time did change people. She opened the box once more and looked at the beautiful jewels inside. It would be a shame to return them; she’d hide the necklace, not tell anyone, keep it to herself and see what came of it. After all, if it was her grandmother’s pendant, there was no harm in keeping it.
She quickly made her way up the stairs and to her bedroom, hiding the necklace deep within the chest that held the spare bedding. No one would ever find it there, and it would give her time to make up her mind what to do with it. It would be her secret, until she had time to think.
The sun shone down relentlessly on one of the warmest days of the summer. The sky was bright azure-blue, with not a cloud in sight. Danny had dawdled on the five miles from Windfell to Crummock, thinking of the morning’s upset and of the love that he had for Harriet, as he revelled in the beauty of summer in the Dales. The smell of meadowsweet and of hay drying in the roadside fields nearly made him feel light-headed, with their heavy summer fragrances. The track up to Crummock led him past the ‘Norber Erratics’, boulders left over from the Ice Age thousands of years ago, around which grew wild thyme that honey bees dined on, filling the air with their buzzing as he slowly climbed the winding track on his plodding horse. Danny tethered it outside the long, low farmhouse and opened the kitchen door, expecting to hear some response as he shouted his arrival into the usually busy kitchen, but none came. He untethered his horse and led it round to the stable, handing it over to the stable lad before making his way down to the hay meadows, where he knew all Crummock’s inhabitants would be, along with his father.
‘So this is where you are – you look jiggered.’ Danny looked at his father, who was leaning against the drystone wall at the bottom of the largest hay meadow at Crummock, his scythe by his side. ‘Leave it to the hired men to do. That’s what you pay them for, and anyway I’m here now.’
‘About bloody time and all. It’s nearly dinner time, and half of the day’s gone. What have you been doing? Calling on that bit of lass from Winskill, before coming to help your old father, I bet.’ Archie mopped his brow and watched as his son took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.
‘No, I haven’t. There’s been a bit of a to-do over breakfast, and I waited until it had calmed down. Besides, the weather didn’t look that promising this morning. It’s only in the last hour that the sun’s got out. Let’s hope it keeps fine for the next day or two, until this lot’s safe and dry in the barn.’ Danny reached for the scythe and started to sharpen it with the whetstone that his father had placed on the wall behind him.
‘Just stop your sharpening and tell me what this “bit of a to-do” was. Was your mother upset over your lass? I know she wasn’t happy that she works for Dora Bloomenber.’ Archie waited for his son’s reply.
‘She said you’d be wo
rrying. It’s alright, Father. A lot was said this morning – stuff that should have been said years ago. You know, Isabelle and me are not daft; we’ve known about her father and what he did for ages, it’s just that we’ve never spoken of it because it opens old wounds and causes hurt. I can’t help it that Harriet works for Dora Bloomenber. I love her, Father, and no matter what anyone says, I think she’s the one for me.’ Danny looked at his father; he loved him dearly, but if he had to make a choice, then he would make a new life with Harriet.
‘Bloody hell! You mean you’ve always known about that bastard Joseph Dawson? Your mother’s tried so hard over the years to keep him as the skeleton in the cupboard, never to be talked about; she just didn’t want Isabelle to be hurt. Was my Lottie alright, lad? It will have really shaken her up.’ Archie rubbed his head with his handkerchief and looked around him. ‘She fought so hard to bring you up correctly, and with love. She’s a good woman, is my Lottie – headstrong, but can easily be hurt. That’s why, lad, you’ve to swear to me that you’ll not let that lass of yours tear us apart, because she could do, if she lets that bitch of a woman, Dora, back into our lives.’ Archie grabbed hold of Danny’s arm and squeezed it tightly.
‘Mother was upset, but I think it is better that things are now out in the open. As for Harriet, I swear I won’t let her or Dora bloody Bloomenber hurt any of us.’ Danny looked at his father. ‘I’ve made it clear that Dora will not be welcome in our family home. I promise that nothing I do will bring any more hurt to the family.’ He picked up the scythe and started mowing where his father had broken off, every cut of his aimed at the woman who seemed to be going to cause his family worry yet again.
‘Aye, well, we will have to see how we go on with your Harriet. I’ll ask your mother if she can come to Sunday tea this weekend, and we’ll get to know her a bit better. See which way the wind blows with her. Does that sound alright with you, lad?’
Danny nodded his head, his arms swinging in rhythm with the scythe as the long grasses and meadow flowers dropped in submission to his actions.
Archie looked around him, to the high scars of Moughton with the white limestone pavement and screes dazzling in the sun, and then down to the valley bottom, with the rolling hills and meadows lying out before him, green and lush in full summer bloom. He’d grown to love the farm as much as Charlotte did; he’d put nearly twenty-one years of his life into it, and hoped that once Danny had a wife and family, he would move into the farmhouse and bring up his family there. That was the plan, and always had been, in the back of his mind. Whether the Armstrong lass was right for his lad was another matter – time would tell, no doubt. Right now he couldn’t help but worry about the news Danny had brought with him. How would his Lottie have coped with the shock revelation that both children had known about Joseph Dawson all their lives? A secret that Charlotte had wanted to take with her to her grave.
‘Are you away now, Mister Atkinson?’ Arthur Newhouse walked towards his master as he noticed Archie’s son take his place in the mowing.
‘Aye, I’ll be away; my lad’s taken over from me, as he should do. The hired men seem to be doing a good job. Are they all toeing the line, Arthur, no misbehaving? Not like last year, when we found that paddy drunk under an empty beer barrel in the barn. That barrel shouldn’t have been touched until after the harvest was in.’ Archie grinned; he was cross at the time, but now he found it amusing. Needless to say, the Irish hired hand had been given his marching orders, and they had been a man down all summer.
‘Aye, they are all behaving themselves, we’ve got a good lot this year. Mary says they are all polite when she gives them their meals; and, as I say, they are all workers.’ Arthur leaned on his scythe and chewed the end of a stalk of grass as he watched the men under his control.
‘You can’t ask for much more then, Arthur. I’ll get away. I’m just going to call in up at Butterfield Gap; since my mother died last year, my father’s been a bit down. I worry about him up there on his own, and he’ll be thinking he should be hay-timing, when he’s not up to it. Once we’ve done here, I’ll send one of your men to get it done with our Danny.’
‘Yes, that will be fine. Your father must be getting a good age now – he does well to stop up there by himself,’ Arthur replied. His interest in knowing how old Charlie Atkinson was keeping was for selfish reasons, for he fancied trying to buy Butterfield Gap after Charlie’s day and becoming his own man, instead of being the farm man at Crummock.
‘Aye, he’ll be seventy-five in November. Charlotte and I have asked him to come and stop with us at Windfell, but he’ll not be having any of it. Says to let him be with his few sheep, as it’s them that keep him going.’
‘Aye, well, give him my best, and I’ll get back to the lads.’ Arthur put his scythe over his shoulder and walked off to the meadow. Archie made his way back to the farmhouse and stables, where he mounted Sheba and trotted down the stony lane into the village of Austwick and across the valley to Eldroth, enjoying the warmth of the summer sun upon his back.
‘How was your day?’ Charlotte sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her long cotton nightdress over her legs, before propping herself up on the pillows and bolster and pulling the bedcovers over her. It was the first chance she’d had to talk to Archie all day, as he’d been late back from his visit to his father.
‘Never mind about my day. I understand from our Danny that both children came forth with a revelation or two. Were you alright, my love?’ Archie waited, as he knew Lottie would have been upset.
‘I didn’t know what to say to them both. I had no idea they knew so much. It’s a relief, but a shock at the same time, and I don’t know if it makes Danny’s love for Harriet any easier.’ Charlotte breathed in deeply and sighed. ‘Isabelle was so matter-of-fact about it all. I think she realized I only withheld the truth from her to save her heartache. How can you tell your child that her father was a crook from the back streets of Accrington, as well as a murderer and a bankrupt? I still stand by what I’ve done, even though it caused upset this morning and neither of our children will look at me in quite the same light ever again.’
‘Come here. I know what you did was for the best, but even I am slightly relieved that the past is now out in the open.’ Archie opened his arms to Charlotte and held her tightly. ‘I spoke to Danny up at Crummock and I’ve suggested that he brings Harriet to tea on Sunday. Let’s not condemn her before we know her, if you are in agreement.’ Archie looked down at a worried Charlotte.
‘I suppose we could invite her. No matter what we do, your Danny’s that stubborn he’d court her behind our backs. Best to get to know her, and then we’re sure what we are dealing with and can try to find out just how much influence Dora has over her life.’ Charlotte squeezed Archie’s hand. ‘Anyway, enough of the children – we can’t undo what’s been done. How’s your father, is he coping?’
‘He’s a bit low in spirits and he’s nearly bent double with arthritis. He’s such a stubborn old devil. I told him that he’s more than welcome to come and live with us. But no, he won’t have any of it. He doesn’t think it would make life any easier for all of us, if we didn’t have him and Butterfield to worry about. He thinks he’s farming it, but he’d be lost without our Danny and me. I spent all my day doing work around the farm and making sure he was alright, then he insisted I stop with him for something to eat. I’d rather have had Ruby’s braised beef than that fatty lump of bacon he fried over the fire, with an egg that he wondered was fresh or not.’ Archie leaned back in bed and reached for Charlotte’s hand above the covers.
‘You’ll be just as stubborn when you are his age. You are getting that way already.’ Charlotte grinned at the disdain on Archie’s face. ‘Talking of Ruby, she’s asked me if there is anything we can do for Mrs Batty, as her sight’s beginning to fail and she’s struggling with her work; she’s nearly seventy, but still insists on helping in the kitchen. She really does get in the way, but there’s nowhere else for her to go. I’ve been
thinking about what we could do for her, and I wondered if she would like one of the cottages down at the locks that’s just come empty. She’d be better down there, in her own home, instead of being in her room in the servants’ quarters. They all look after one another, down at the locks; besides, she deserves a place of her own.’
‘And the rent? Let me guess: you’ll charge her a pittance? You are too soft, Lottie, it’s a wonder you make any money.’ Archie chastised her, but he knew her kindness towards others less fortunate than herself was his wife’s strongest point.
‘She’s old and she deserves some comforts in her last few years, and the young ones have no patience with her. Besides, it will give Ruby her own rule in the kitchen. Too many cooks, and all that! I think things get a little strained down there.’ Charlotte smiled.
‘Whatever you think, my love. I’m sure you’ll do it without my consent anyway. You usually do. As long as we all pull together, we will be alright as a family – that I promise.’ Archie turned and kissed Charlotte on her cheek. How he wished he believed his own words, but only time would tell.
4
‘I don’t know, I’ve always been used to a life in service. I’ll be lost without all you lot giving me grief every day. And what if I can’t manage on my own? I’ve nobody down there to look after me.’ Mrs Batty sat, rocking herself gently, in her usual chair next to the fire in the kitchen at Windfell. ‘I know it’s kind of the mistress to give me my own cottage, and some folk would bite her hand off for such, even if it is the cottage that Betsy Foster lived in, but it’s a big decision, at my stage of life.’
‘Well, I think it’s the perfect move for you. Besides, you’ll not be on your own; you know old Gertie Potts, she’d be next door to you. She’ll never be out of your house, because she must be lonely since her husband died. And I and Jim are only over at Stackhouse. I’ll be walking past your door on the way up to Windfell every day.’ Ruby rolled out her pastry on the pine table, and then decided to stop and talk to the doubting old cook. ‘You’ll not have all those stairs that you hate to climb up and down every day in the manor. I know how you hate them, and there’s a lot to be said for having your own independence.’
